Around the next big hill, the road straightened, and they could see ahead almost half a league. Not another soul was insight.
Frez and Miya pulled their mounts to a halt. The Ergothian drew his saber.
“Woman,” he said, “tell Lord Tolandruth we’re in trouble.”
Miya wasted no time questioning the veteran soldier but wheeled Pitch in a tight circle. The wagons rolled slowly up behind Frez and stopped. Miya cantered down the line. As she passed her sister, Kiya nocked another arrow.
Before Miya reached Tol, the air around them flashed as bright as a sun. Pitch balked and reared, but Miya held on. The draft animals neighed in fright and yanked against their heavy traces. The wagons were suddenly burning!
Drivers and guards leaped for their lives. Pitch shied away, nimbly climbing the hillside sideways to escape the billowing flames. Miya held on for dear life and shouted, “Husband! We’re attacked! The wagons burn!”
From their place forty paces back, Tol and Darpo had seen the caravan halt. With a cry of “Fire!” Darpo pulled his sword and galloped ahead.
Tol drew his new dwarf-forged saber and followed quickly. In spite of the cries from his people and the wagoners, he saw no flames. The rearmost wagon, slightly askew on the road, looked the same as always. The driver was crawling away in the dust, beating at his pants legs. Yull emerged from the canvas enclosure yowling and slapping at his head and face with meaty hands. Neither man was on fire, though they obviously thought they were.
“It’s a trick!” Tol shouted, as Shadow galloped toward the beleaguered caravan. “There’s no fire! Watch out for an ambush!”
He left Darpo to guard the rear wagon. Ignoring the screeches of Yull and the driver, Tol spurred Shadow up the hillside and caught the reins of Miya’s terrified horse. Fumbling for the millstone, he clapped a hand to Pitch’s neck, and the horse calmed. Grasping Miya’s wrist, Tol broke the illusion for her as well.
“It’s an illusion,” he said. “There’s no fire! Are you all right?”
She was and very angry at being tricked. “I’m going to crack some skulls for this!”
“Fine! Follow me!”
Tol also broke the spell for Kiya and her horse. Likewise furious at being deceived, Kiya joined Tol and her sister as they rode to relieve Frez. They found him beset, surrounded by eight attackers on foot. He was keeping them off with sweeps of his saber. Her horse at full gallop, Kiya rose in the stirrups and loosed an arrow, taking down an opponent armed with a billhook.
A shower of stones fell on Tol and the Dom-shu. On the crest of the facing hill stood foes with slings whirling. Leaving Kiya to drive the attackers back with swiftly loosed, well-placed arrows, Tol and Miya rode to Frez’s aid.
Their opponents were nothing more than a rabble, armed with whatever arms they had gleaned from earlier victims. Tol’s dwarf blade-”Number Six,” as Mundur Embermore had called it-split iron and bronze with equal ease. He struck down two robbers with only two blows, cleaving a helmet (and skull) in twain and piercing a brazen buckler.
Having lost the element of surprise, the raiding party fled, leaving three of their number lifeless on the road. Kiya got another, a sling-wielder on the hillside, at a range of two hundred paces. Frez had a few cuts, as did his horse, but those were the only injuries among Tol’s party.
They rode slowly down the line of wagons, which had been abandoned by drivers and guards alike. Frantic to escape the phantom flames, the draft horses had torn free of their traces and run away into the distance.
Darpo was waiting by the last wagon. His eyes were wide as he hailed Tol and gestured to the wagon he guarded.
“My lord,” he said, “you must see this!”
Tol peered through the parted canvas. Lying in the bed of the wagon was what appeared to be a young horse, a colt, with a coat the color of clover honey. That made sense, given the rations Yull had been feeding their prisoner. Then the colt lifted its head and all such prosaic thoughts fled.
A single horn, white as cream, protruded from the animal’s forehead.
“Mishas save us!” breathed Frez. “A unicorn!”
The men stared in open-mouthed shock, but the Dom-shu women fell to their knees, gasping. Among their forest-dwelling people, the unicorn was revered as a demigod, the living embodiment of the wild.
“Sacrilege!” Kiya said, her voice choked with fury. “The young Forestmaster must be released!”
Tol did not share the Dom-shu’s reverence for the rare animal, but he pitied the hobbled beast and was angry at Orlien for lying to them. He climbed inside the wagon and drew his dagger. The unicorn watched him with soft, sad eyes, fringed with golden lashes.
“Easy, there,” Tol said soothingly. “I’ll not hurt you. Let me cut those bonds-”
As soon as the thongs holding the colt’s legs parted, the creature exploded into action, driving its horn at Tol’s chest. The Ergothian dodged clumsily, hampered by the close confines of the wagon. The cool ivory horn instead slid along his neck. Then small golden hooves smacked into Tol’s chest. He fell backward against the canvas. It split, and he tumbled out of the wagon to land on the dusty road.
Angry shouts greeted his abrupt appearance. Yull and the wagon guards had returned.
Realizing the secret was out, Yull unlimbered his single-edged axe and led the hired men against their ostensible escort. They were five against five, but having the mighty Yull on their side seemed to offer the attackers an edge.
Tol had lost his dagger when the unicorn kicked him, but he still had Number Six. With the cry, “Juramona!” he rallied his comrades.
Yull’s men charged. Although not soldiers, they were well-versed in this sort of brawl. With spears and round brass bucklers, they drove the Ergothians away from the wagon and backward up the sloping hill. Yull urged them on, waving his ugly axe and growling. He paused at the rear of the wagon to glance in at the captive.
With a loud thock, a pair of tiny, unshod hooves hit Yull directly between his leather eyepatch and good eye. He staggered back, knees wobbling. The unicorn colt sailed out of the wagon. As soon as his front hooves touched ground, his back legs lashed out.
Yull’s cry caused his men to turn. Immediately, Tol charged. He and his people surged down the hill, slashing at their distracted foes.
Ignoring the resurgent Ergothians, Yull stalked toward the unicorn. Kiya raised her bow, but it was struck from her hands by a skillfully thrown spear.
“Tol!” she yelled. “Save the young Master!”
Tol, dueling with a guard, heard her plea. He lopped off his opponent’s spearhead. The guard brought up his buckler to ward off another blow, and Number Six’s point penetrated the brass shield and stopped a hair’s breadth from the fellow’s right eye. Yelping, the guard abandoned his shield and took to his heels.
Tol freed his blade and closed on Yull. The big man was trying to snag the unicorn’s trailing bonds. He planted one foot on the leather thongs. The unicorn stumbled as its hind legs were caught. Yull raised his heavy axe-
“Stop!” Tol bellowed. “What will your master Orlien do to you when he finds out you killed such a prize?”
The idea was enough to give the angry brute pause. Torn between fear of Orlien’s retribution and the desire to slaughter the insolent beast who’d hurt him, Yull hesitated. For the first time in the entire journey, he spoke.
“You not steal!” he said, pointing from Tol to the trapped unicorn.
“I’ve no intention of stealing anything,” Tol replied, continuing to close the distance between them. “I intend to set him free.”
“No! Valuable! Bring much gold!”
Tol didn’t doubt that. The horn alone had medicinal and magical qualities that would fetch awesome prices in the markets of Daltigoth or Tarsis.
Glaring at the hulking man before him, Tol said, “You’ve no right to hold such a rare creature. Yield now, and I’ll spare your life.”