1 The Outstretched Shadow.3 (28 page)

 To be out of City lands by sunrise. I need help to be out of City lands by sunrise. I don't care how, or where I end up, but that's what I need—REALLY need. And I don't care what I have to pay for it —no, that's not true, I won't murder to pay for it, and there are probably other pretty horrible things I wouldn't do, but something personal probably wouldn't be a problem. And that's what I need—REALLY need.

 He felt a great sense of relief, as if he'd managed to solve a riddle correctly. That was what he needed, and that was what he'd ask for. And how badly awry could the spell possibly go? According to The Book of Stars, if he didn't specify a payment limit, he would be granted the chance to turn down what he was offered—with no hard feelings, as it were. For instance, if he was asked to murder someone…

 Because some things, as Kellen was already discovering, came at too high a price. And if, just if, as Lycaelon claimed, there were Demons involved, Kellen knew there might be a price worse than that of giving up his own life.

 With the matter settled to his own satisfaction, Kellen waited some more, this time with a purpose. At last the moon rose through the trees, shedding its dappled light through trees rustling with the new leaves of early spring. Finally, he could see where he was, and what he needed to get.

 The Calling Spell he intended to try was a bit more elaborate than the simple Finding Spell he had cast twice before, and required more ingredients. Fortunately the trees were already in leaf, and those simple ingredients were easy enough to find. Two chimes' search allowed him to collect leaves from each of three trees: an oak, an ash, and a thorn tree, and to amass a good handful of tinder and dry sticks from the forest floor to build the fire to burn them.

 Returning to the center of the cart track, he piled his kindling and tinder carefully in a heap, then took the strongest of the sticks he had gathered and carefully drew a circle around himself, digging the line as deeply as he could into the rutted bare-earth surface of the road. He broke up the stick and added it to the pile, and then with a flick of his fingers, set the small pile of sticks and tinder alight.

 It was such an easy spell—the first one in The Book of Moon, the first one that the Student of High Magick studied—that for a moment Kellen wasn't sure which method he'd used to summon the flames. He felt disoriented, caught between two paths: the rigid discipline of the High Magick, the fluid inspiration of the Wild Magic.

 There's still time to back out.

 But there wasn't. Not really. There was going forward, or there was giving up and staying where he was out of fear. Those were his only real choices just now. The City would not take him back. When morning came, the Outlaw Hunt would kill him.

 He bent down and picked up the three leaves that he'd set aside. There was one last thing he needed to cast the spell. Still holding the fresh green leaves between the fingers of his left hand, he opened his pencase and pulled out his little penknife. Holding it carefully in his right hand, he cut a shallow scratch along his left palm. They'd taken none of his possessions from him except his Talisman—he even still had the key to the back garden. He wondered if Lycaelon would miss it and change all the locks.

 The blood welled up, pooling in the palm of his hand. He wiped the penknife dry on his pant leg and replaced it in the pencase, and took each leaf in turn, dabbing it in the blood until each had been marked. Probably there wasn't any need to make quite so much of a mess, but he wanted to be sure he was doing everything right.

 Then he dropped the leaves—and his blood—carefully into the fire, willing his spell, his call, as they burned and sizzled, sending up a thin plume of peculiar-smelling smoke. Help to leave the City lands by daybreak. Nothing more. Help unspecified, for a price unspecified.

 Kellen had expected—or at least hoped—for fireworks and drama, but there were no bright lights, no mystic bells. The fire was small, and a few minutes later it had burned away to embers and ash. Kellen rubbed it out with the sole of his boot. His left hand itched, and he licked it clean, then rubbed it gingerly against his velvet tunic, wary of starting it bleeding again.

 Still nothing happened. Kellen stalked back and forth, stopping automatically at the edges of his circle. The moon was above the trees now, and he could see his shadow on the ground pacing him as he turned, but though he strained all his senses, he heard nothing more than the cry of a night-hunting bird, the faint rustle of its prey, and the rhythm of the wind through the trees, and he saw nothing at all.

 How long do I wait?

 Emotionally battered by the events of the day, Kellen couldn't stop himself from wondering: What if there had been truth in more of his father's words than he wanted to believe? What if the Wild Magic was… unreliable? What if it was going to betray him now, just as everything else in his life had?

 No.

 Kellen wasn't sure where that conviction came from, but it was deep and sure. The response to his attempts at spellcasting might not be exactly what he'd like—it might be downright scary in fact, confusing, unexpected, utterly puzzling, but the Wild Magic was not a cheat and a lie.

 Finally he stopped fidgeting and looked up at the moon. It was still rising. Kellen wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd cast the spell—at least half a bell. No matter what, he knew he couldn't simply stand here all night, waiting for help that might never come. Maybe the spell hadn't worked—that wouldn't be the Wild Magic's fault, after all. He wasn't exactly a full-fledged Wildmage, was he? Maybe he already had all the "help to get out of City lands by daybreak" he actually needed. Maybe he could reach the edge of City lands on his own two feet, unlikely though that seemed. Lycaelon might have lied about that, hoping to make him give up without trying.

 He sighed. Might as well start walking, anyway. If help is coming, it can find me wherever I am. No harm in that.

 He was about to step out of his circle when he saw a flicker of something white and glowing heading toward him from the west. It looked as bright as the moon itself, but it was clearly coming through the trees toward him. The hair on the back of his neck rose. Was this the answer to his call? Was it a ghost, or some other noncorporeal creature?

 Kellen took a deep breath and resolved to stand his ground.

 It approached cautiously, as if, whatever it was, it was as wary of him as he was of it. As it came closer he could see that it had four legs—a deer? No, a horse.

 Then it stepped through the trees and out onto the road, and Kellen saw that it was neither.

 It was a unicorn.

 The unicorn was about the size of a small pony, but there the resemblance to anything equine ended. It had long slender legs and a long, lithe, slender—almost feline—body, covered with short plush silvery-white fur, fluffed out against the nocturnal chill. It had a lionlike tufted tail—which it carried, catlike, curled up and away from its body—and narrow pale cloven hooves, like a deer's or a goat's. It had a long slender neck, with a short roached mane that stopped just short of its horn. Its head wasn't really shaped like either a deer's, a goat's, or a horse's, though a little like each.

 But its horn… !

 The unicorn's horn was the most beautiful thing Kellen had ever seen—like polished diamond, or perhaps silver, if silver were somehow transparent. The horn was set in the middle of the unicorn's wide forehead, between its large dark eyes, and seemed to drink in the moonlight from the air around it and glow with a blue light that came from within. It was spiral-shaped, like the narwhal-teeth the Selken-folk sometimes brought to the City for sale, but where they were blunt, the unicorn's horn tapered to an elegant point sharper than any needle…

 "If you're quite through staring," the unicorn said acerbically, "I believe we need to get on with this."

 Kellen blinked, then stumbled back in alarm. While he'd been gawking in awestruck wonder, the unicorn had walked right up to him and stopped, close enough to reach out and touch. Its eyes were on a level with his own—deep fathomless pools of spring green, fringed with long thick silver lashes. Its small elegant ears flicked back and forth as it spoke, signaling amusement—or was it annoyance?

 "Well," the unicorn said. "You know why I'm here, Wildmage."

 Finally it seemed as if Kellen was able to think again, and not just stare. Not only a unicorn—but a talking unicorn. It was too much to comprehend all at once. "You're—going to get me out?" Kellen suggested feebly. "Of the City lands?" he added, stammering.

 "Yes, but—you know why J am here," the unicorn said implacably.

 Kellen suddenly remembered something he'd read about unicorns and felt himself blushing hotly. Unicorns only came to virgins. A virgin could tame a unicorn; non-virgins got skewered if they approached too closely or threatened one.

 "There is a price for my help, and it is this: that you will remain chaste and celibate—you do know the difference?" the unicorn asked, interrupting itself.

 There was a pause. Kellen realized that the unicorn was waiting for him to answer. Fortunately his lessons with Undermage Anigrel had been of some use, and he did know the difference. Celibate meant simply that he wouldn't marry. Chaste meant that he also wouldn't have sex, or engage in sexual or erotic practices of any sort. He nodded, swallowing hard to cover his embarrassment at the topic of the conversation.

 "—for a year and a day from now," the unicorn finished. "If you break this promise…" It lowered its head and brandished its horn meaningfully. The tip—just as sharp as it had looked—whispered against the front of Kellen's tunic, barely touching it, below the belt line.

 Up this close, now that he wasn't just dazzled by its eldritch beauty, Kellen could see that the unicorn was male. Its implication was clear: break his promise, and he wouldn't be any longer. Well, he hadn't had any trouble staying a virgin until now, and it didn't seem like a price that would be particularly difficult to pay—or one that would hurt other people if he paid it.

 You can still back out, a small voice inside him said.

 "I… yes. Okay. I agree," Kellen said quickly.

 "Then by the blood you have sacrificed, Wildmage, you are bound by your vow," the unicorn said formally. "Now get on my back—quickly. We have a long way to go before sunrise." It turned sideways, lashing its tufted tail just like an impatient cat.

 Awkwardly, Kellen stepped forward. He was worried about hurting it— it was so small, so graceful, and thinking about getting on its back was like thinking of riding a deer, or a foal—but refusing to do as the unicorn asked was impossible now, and Kellen had to suppose it knew what it was doing. With only a little difficulty, he managed to scramble onto its narrow back. The thick fur was just as soft as a cat's fur—and just as slippery. Feeling the flex of its muscles between his thighs, Kellen realized the unicorn was much stronger than it looked.

 It was also much harder to stay aboard than any horse Kellen had ever ridden, bareback or otherwise. Kellen began sliding sideways on the oil-slick fur just as the unicorn went from a dead stop to a full-out running plunge into the forest. He grabbed at its mane, but found no handholds in the short coarse bristles, and barely managed to fling himself forward and wrap his arms around the unicorn's slender neck in time to keep from falling off altogether as the creature broke into a clearing.

 Its fur smelled like cinnamon.

 If he'd thought about riding a unicorn at all—and he hadn't—Kellen would have imagined that it would gallop like a horse.

 It didn't.

 Once it reached its top speed, the unicorn bounded like a deer in full flight—not that Kellen, child of the City, had ever seen a deer except in carefully tended City parks—launching itself directly into the deepest part of the forest. It bounded over fallen logs and through thickets, occasionally running flat-out for a minute or two before gathering itself to spring into the air once more. Every time it sprang forward, Kellen thought he'd slide right off the back, and when it landed, he nearly broke his nose on the unicorn's neck.

 Speed seemed to be its only concern. It paid no attention to the branches that whipped and tore at Kellen's flesh and clothing, lacerating him as if he were running a gantlet of riding-crops wielded by sadistic riders. He buried his face in the unicorn's neck, low against its shoulder, to protect his eyes, and was very glad he had—brambles plucked at his arms and legs, ripped his clothing, tore at his hair, and once, for one terrifying moment, the hood of his cloak caught on something, threatening to strangle him or drag him from the unicorn's back. He clung to its neck with all his strength as the unicorn strained, until at last the cheap cloth of the Felon's Cloak gave, tearing free to be left behind.

 And still it ran, tireless, faster than the fastest horse Kellen could imagine. He knew from the burning along every exposed part of him, the outsides of arms and legs, and to a lesser extent his shoulders and back, that he was bleeding from a thousand scrapes and scratches all along his arms and legs—if he had not shed enough blood to seal the pact between them before, he was certainly shedding it now.

 His chest was bruised, he was battered from neck to toes by collisions with branches, and he was having trouble breathing as his arms and chest muscles began to ache from the sheer effort of holding on. Battered and breathless with sheer speed, Kellen wondered if he'd specified anything in his spell about reaching the boundaries of City lands alive—this almost seemed worse than anything the Outlaw Hunt could do to him.