Dark Moon

“Be still,” the gryphon said. “I am not yet done.”

Surprised, the young prince subsided, felt the careful, meticulous touch of the tercel’s claws along the crest of his neck, tugging at his mane. The claws released him, and Jan stood up abruptly. The halter slipped free. With a great whi

“Unending thanks to you, friend Illishar,” he began.

The tercel before him lay ru

“What have you done?” he asked Illishar. “What more have you done besides what I asked?”

He felt surprise, puzzlement, but strangely, no alarm. The gryphon looked at him and held the halter up.

“You have given me this,” he said, “to bear back to my people in token of our pledge. I, too, have given you a token to carry to your flock. One of my feathers I have woven into your mane. Let none of your boar-headed people dare doubt now that you have earned the goodwill of a gryphon.”

Once more, Jan shook himself, tossing his head. He felt elated and untrammeled. He felt like the strange, wild unicorns wrongly called renegades—who dwelt upon the Plain, unbound by the Law and customs of their cousins of the Vale. They called themselves the Free People, and wore fallen birds’ feathers in their hair.

“Go now,” the gryphon told him, “and treat with this Tlat of the shrieking herons. I will prepare myself for your return, when I will allow you to break and reset my wing.”

27.

Return

The sky stretched high and blue and clean of clouds. The air was warm, full spring at last. Jan halted, breathing deep. Ryhe

“So many,” Ryhe

“Jan! Jan, prince of the unicorns, returns!”

Jan loped eagerly down the slope, Ryhe

“Look—hornless, beardless. Outcast! Renegade!”

He wheeled to find the whole crowd shying, staring at Ryhe

“Behold Ryhe

The crowd fidgeted nervously, then abruptly parted, allowing Teki through.

“Greetings, prince,” he cried. “Yonder come your sister and dam.”

Looking up, Jan beheld his mother, Ses.

“My son, my son,” she cried.

Behind her, Lell eyed him uncertainly with her amber-colored eyes. Jan held himself still as the tiny filly approached, sniffing him over. The sharp knob of horn upon her brow, just begi

“Jan!”

Teki began to speak of the winter past. Jan listened, dismayed how precisely his dreams had already revealed to him his people’s fate. Sheer madness and bitter waste! Under a sane and reasoned leadership, the herd might have fared the brutal famine and cold with far less loss of life.

“Where is Korr now?” he demanded hotly.

“In our grotto,” his dam replied with a heavy sigh. “He grazes only by twilight now, eats barely enough to keep himself alive, though forage is once more plentiful.”

Jan bit back the grief and anguish welling up in him. “You say he turned against Tek and drove her from the Vale—why? Why?”

The pied stallion cast down his gaze, shook his head and whispered, “Madness.”

“But what has become of her?” Jan pressed. “You say she was in foal?”

Teki’s face grew haggard, his eyes bright. “We have no word,” he answered roughly. “Dagg, who went in search of her some days past, has not yet returned.”

The healer stopped himself, regained his breath. His chest seemed tight.

“We fear she may be dead.”

Jan stared at the others, staggered. He turned from Teki to Ses, but his mother’s gaze could offer him no hope.

“Nay, not so!” a voice from across the throng called suddenly. “I live!”

The whole herd started, turned. Jan’s heart leapt to behold Tek, long-limbed and lithe, her pied form full of energy, loping toward him, flanked on one shoulder by the Red Mare and on the other by Dagg. Others, less plainly visible, trailed them but the young prince’s gaze fixed wholly on Tek.

With a cry, he sprang to her. The press of unicorns had fallen back to let her and her companions through. She stood laughing, no sorrow in her. Her breath against his skin was sweet and soft, her touch gentle, the scent of her delicate as he recalled, aromatic as spice. He nuzzled her, whickering, “My mate. My mate.”

She gave him a playful nip, then started back suddenly. “What’s this?” she cried. “How came you by this gryphon plume?”

He felt her teeth fasten on it, tugging angrily to work it free, but he pulled back, nickering. “Peace,” he bade her. “Let be. I will tell you when you have told me of yourself. How fared you this winter past?”

“My daughter sheltered in my cave,” the Red Mare answered, “as safe and warm and well-fed as were you, prince Jan, in the sorcerous City of Fire. You have freed another of its captives, I see, and brought her home with you. Emwe! Hail, daughter of fire,” Jah-lila called. “Do I guess thy name aright: Ryhe