adding an obnoxious gesture with his horn. Unicorns could convey considerable freighting in this manner. The dragon oriented on him, steam pressure building up, measuring the distance it might strike. Clip stayed just out of range, trotting downstream with a lewd swish of his tail. He played a few bars of music, and Stile could just about make out the words: “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out . . .” Dragons were the monarchs of the kingdom of worms, and were sensitive to such disparaging references. This dragon followed Clip briskly, hoping the unicorn would stray just within range of fang or steam.
Soon Stile and the Lady stripped and swam safely across with Hinblue, holding their garments aloft. They were, after all, prevailing without magic. “This is fun,” Stile murmured, contemplating her body in the clear water. “Shall we dally a bit?”
“Until the dragon joins the party?” she inquired sweetly. They climbed out at the far bank and shook themselves dry in the sun. Stile tried not to stare; this was a type of motion he had never seen done by a woman of her construction, though he had lived most of his life in a society of nudity.
There was a small coughing sound. Both Stile and the Lady turned—and discovered the dragon was watching too, its labile lips pursed into the semblance of a whistle. Stile experienced a rapidly developing emotion. He tried to control it, but in a moment it overwhelmed him. It was mirth. He burst out laughing. “Oh, I’ll bet that monster doesn’t see what I see!”
The Lady looked down at herself, frowning. “It doesn’t?”
“It sees the most delicious morsel in two frames. I see—“
“Never mind what thou seest,” she said with mock severity. “I take thy meaning.” She was neither self conscious nor angry. She had one of the finest bodies in the frame and knew it.
A hawk arrived, swooping low and converting to unicorn-form. Clip was ready to resume the journey. Soon the curtain veered north, crossing the mountain range again. Fortunately this occurred at a natural pass, so they were able to get past expeditiously. They emerged into the rolling countryside that was the main grazing range of the unicorns. Now progress was swift—but the distance was long. They were not yet near the Oracle’s palace before night overtook them and forced another halt.
Again the animals grazed, and Stile was about to conjure another tent when the Lady stayed him. “Expend not thy magic superfluously, my Lord. Tonight the open sky suffices for us.”
“If that is what thou dost desire, that is what thou shalt have,” he agreed. He gathered straw and moss to fashion a bed, and they lay down side by side and looked up at the moons.
“Oh, see—the blue moon rises!” she cried, squeezing his hand.
“Our moon,” he agreed. This was sheer delight, being with her, sharing her incidental pleasures.
“Oh, play, my Lord, play,” she begged.
Obediently Stile found his harmonica and brought it to his mouth. But something stayed him—an ominous though not unpleasant feeling. He concentrated and placed it. “It was not far from here that I first found this instrument, or thought I found it. Here in the open, riding with Neysa. I conjured it without knowing.”
“It is all that remains of my former Lord,” she said.
“His music and power have since found lodging in thee. Great was my grief at his loss, yet greater is my joy in thee.”
“Still it bothers me how he died. Surely he could have saved himself, had he tried.”
She stiffened. “I told thee how the demon amulet choked him, so that he could make neither music nor spell.”
“Aye. But was not this harmonica always with him?”
“Always. But he could not play it, either, if—“
“And the golem did not remove it?”
“Nay. It was gone ere the golem came.”
“Then how did it get out here in the fields for me to conjure? Or, if it were not here, how did it get wherever it
Soon Stile and the Lady stripped and swam safely across with Hinblue, holding their garments aloft. They were, after all, prevailing without magic. “This is fun,” Stile murmured, contemplating her body in the clear water. “Shall we dally a bit?”
“Until the dragon joins the party?” she inquired sweetly. They climbed out at the far bank and shook themselves dry in the sun. Stile tried not to stare; this was a type of motion he had never seen done by a woman of her construction, though he had lived most of his life in a society of nudity.
There was a small coughing sound. Both Stile and the Lady turned—and discovered the dragon was watching too, its labile lips pursed into the semblance of a whistle. Stile experienced a rapidly developing emotion. He tried to control it, but in a moment it overwhelmed him. It was mirth. He burst out laughing. “Oh, I’ll bet that monster doesn’t see what I see!”
The Lady looked down at herself, frowning. “It doesn’t?”
“It sees the most delicious morsel in two frames. I see—“
“Never mind what thou seest,” she said with mock severity. “I take thy meaning.” She was neither self conscious nor angry. She had one of the finest bodies in the frame and knew it.
A hawk arrived, swooping low and converting to unicorn-form. Clip was ready to resume the journey. Soon the curtain veered north, crossing the mountain range again. Fortunately this occurred at a natural pass, so they were able to get past expeditiously. They emerged into the rolling countryside that was the main grazing range of the unicorns. Now progress was swift—but the distance was long. They were not yet near the Oracle’s palace before night overtook them and forced another halt.
Again the animals grazed, and Stile was about to conjure another tent when the Lady stayed him. “Expend not thy magic superfluously, my Lord. Tonight the open sky suffices for us.”
“If that is what thou dost desire, that is what thou shalt have,” he agreed. He gathered straw and moss to fashion a bed, and they lay down side by side and looked up at the moons.
“Oh, see—the blue moon rises!” she cried, squeezing his hand.
“Our moon,” he agreed. This was sheer delight, being with her, sharing her incidental pleasures.
“Oh, play, my Lord, play,” she begged.
Obediently Stile found his harmonica and brought it to his mouth. But something stayed him—an ominous though not unpleasant feeling. He concentrated and placed it. “It was not far from here that I first found this instrument, or thought I found it. Here in the open, riding with Neysa. I conjured it without knowing.”
“It is all that remains of my former Lord,” she said.
“His music and power have since found lodging in thee. Great was my grief at his loss, yet greater is my joy in thee.”
“Still it bothers me how he died. Surely he could have saved himself, had he tried.”
She stiffened. “I told thee how the demon amulet choked him, so that he could make neither music nor spell.”
“Aye. But was not this harmonica always with him?”
“Always. But he could not play it, either, if—“
“And the golem did not remove it?”
“Nay. It was gone ere the golem came.”
“Then how did it get out here in the fields for me to conjure? Or, if it were not here, how did it get wherever it
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