He lisped slightly.
The stag wondered, none too happily, if the thing’s
tongue were forked.
“Evil only to those who bring evil with them.” He
added to the ritual response, “Many have. They do not leave
again.” He thought, briefly, of King Peris, of the
Forestmaster, and of betrayal. “But there is much to be
gained here, as well as risk.”
“Name the gain.” The dragon-man signaled behind
him. The arriving troops moved to the very edges of the
trail, not beyond, and formed twin lines, guarding each
others’ backs without a word. They were well-trained for
war.
The stag considered what that meant, but went ahead.
“There is one who watches over this wood.” He hesitated,
then amended, “Who rules this wood. All in it, living and . .
. human and animal, serve her.” He took a deep breath and
finished, “To take this wood, it is only needed to slay her.”
Treachery neither surprised nor impressed the dragon-
man. “And she is?”
“The Forestmaster. The ruler here. A white unicorn.”
Several of the company hissed involuntarily. The
leader started. “A unicorn? You suggest a blood-force of
draconians could – ”
“Hunt her and slay her, yes.” The stag added drily, “It
appears the moral requirements for such a hunt were
exaggerated. That seems sensible, since there is no
morality to such a hunt.” He added more plainly, “You
need not be virgins.”
The dragon-man waved a claw. “We have no capacity
for desire.” He made a face that could have been a smile.
“Or for love.”
“You are happier than you know,” the stag said,
mainly to himself. Aloud he repeated, “I have offered you
a unicorn hunt. Will you take my offer?”
The dragon-man considered. “How would we find
her?”
“You would not. I would, and you would follow. For
the rest – ” The stag shrugged, his shoulders rippling the
motion up his well-muscled neck. “Surely you need not ask
me how to hunt and slay animals.” An old ache reminded
him what this betrayal meant, to the lover as well as to the
loved. For one moment he had a vision of those teeth, those
claws, tearing at the shadowless white flesh of the
Forestmaster.
The dragon – draconian – had not moved for some time.
“We would do this for conquest, as well as for reasons we
will not share.” He smiled, after his kind, with a great many
teeth. “Why would you do this?”
“For reasons I will not share.” He finished more softly.
“For reasons which, apparently, would mean little to you.”
More and more, the stag was wondering why scorned love
and thwarted desire meant much to himself. “I was not
aware that soldiers needed excuses, or perhaps you do not
feel up to your quarry.”
The draconian answered without anger, “Look in
our faces. We could hunt any creature alive to its death.”
“I see. And beyond?” the stag asked politely, but the
joke was lost on them. “Follow, then. Not too closely.”
As he turned and bounded away, he heard a single
command, a word or a language he did not know. Once
again he was afraid – for his world, and not for himself.
“Perhaps I grow sentimental. Next I will write bad
songs and carry noisy bipeds on my back,” he said aloud.
But the joke was flat, and he realized that sarcasm and self-
parody could no longer protect him from his own feelings.
Behind him he heard the rasp of strange and wicked claws,
tearing at the wood that was his whole world.
He was more than halfway to the clearing when bulky
shapes, half-hidden in leaves, blocked his way. He froze in
place, hoping the draconians behind him would do the
same.
A voice called, “Halt.”
“Remarkably alert,” the stag observed, “if unnecessary.”
“Don’t be giving rudeness to those who keep faith.” The
deep voice, unbothered at the stag’s sarcasm, went on,
“Where does tha go?”
“I have an errand.” He spoke coldly, hoping the sentry
would take offense and turn away. “Is it habitual in this
wood to question duty?”
“Not my habit, nor that of my kind.” The figure
emerged from the undergrowth. It was, as he had known