Moonspell by Gwen Hansen

1 In the Tower Room

As slowly as she possibly could, Sheila McCarthy climbed the stairway that led to the tower room of Prince Laric's pal­ace. Fortunately for Sheila, it was a tall tower with a great many stairs; at the rate she was going, she could truthfully say it had taken her half the morning just to reach the tower Door
She stopped on the fourth landing and leaned out one of the high arched windows, surveying the courtyard below. Morning sunlight streamed down onto the square as a band of warriors in dust-stained tunics rode in through the gate. What I wouldn't give to be down there instead of here, Sheila thought, hearing the prince's men calling to each other and laughing as they dismounted. They had just returned from some sort of mission, she guessed, and now had only to see to their horses and enjoy tonight's feast in thanks for a job well done. The sun vanished behind thick white clouds, and Sheila resumed her climb.
It's just a lesson, she reminded herself. I'll pretend it's algebra or something. Algebra had been Sheila's worst subject, a class she had dreaded every day of her freshman year. It had been complicated, tedious, and sometimes completely mystifying, yet she had made it through the school year—that is, backwhen she used to do normal things like go to school. She shook her head with a start. It did no good to think about the life she used to live or the world she had left behind.
Once, and she couldn't even keep track of how long ago that was, Sheila had been an average fourteen-year-old student at Hillside High. She had gone to school, played softball, watched music videos, hung out with her friend Cookie at the local pizza place, and read a lot of fantasy and science fiction books. There hadn't been anything unusual about her, except perhaps for her friendship with an elderly, rather eccentric scientist named Dr. Reit. Dr. Reit was famous for inventing imaginative, remarkable, and extremely strange contraptions. Most people didn't believe that Dr. Reit's inventions actually worked. And even Sheila had been doubtful when he first showed her his Molecular Acceleration Transport Device, a machine that was supposedly capable of transporting people into other times. And yet she had actually fallen into it and wound up in this strange parallel world where unicorns, sword fights, and magic seemed as natural as softball in her own world. Sometimes she still couldn't believe she had become one of the unicorn riders—a small group of warriors led by Illyria, the Unicorn Queen, whose special calling it was to protect the magical herd of unicorns.
Magic. Sheila frowned as she reached the seventh and final landing. Directly ahead of her was the heavy oak door that led to the tower room. She hesitated one last moment, look­ing back down the stairs and wondering if she had the nerve to play sick now and make up an excuse later.
"Sheila." A voice that was at once sharp and gentle cut into her thoughts. "How much longer would you like to put off today's lesson? Till tomorrow perhaps?"
Sheila flushed as she turned to Micula, sister of Prince Laric, who ruled Campora. Like her brother, Micula had straight black hair, strong, high cheekbones, and the proud, self-contained presence of those born into royalty. She was only an inch or so taller than Sheila, and yet there was something unnerving about her.
Sheila realized she had not heard the rower door open. In fact, it wasn't open. Had Micula opened and closed it so si­lently—or had she simply passed through it as water passes through a sieve? Either was possible, Sheila knew. For Micula was a powerful sorceress, and she was here to teach Sheila magic.
"Come inside," Micula said, dismissing the question of Sheila's lateness and waving her reluctant pupil into the tower room.
This was the one room in the palace that held no finely carved furniture, no rugs woven to look like flowers scattered on the forest floor or stars flung against the night sky, no lamps carved of jade and lapis lazuli. Campora's palace was known far and wide for its exotic treasures. And yet this tower was completely empty. There were only five stone walls with a single high window cut into each, a white marble floor, and a vast ceiling of polished alabaster that seemed to gather the sunlight from above and transform it into a soft white glow. What Sheila really liked to do here was simply lie on her back and watch the play of light on the ceiling, changing it from an opaque sheet of white to what reminded her of fine china, so translucent she could almost see through it.
"Why not?" Micula said in response to Sheila's thoughts. "You may lie on your back if you like."
Maybe that's why she spooks me, Sheila thought. She can always read me—but I can never read her. It was impossible to tell whether the sorceress was mocking her or genuinely thought that lying down was a good idea.
"Let's begin, then." Micula's voice was rich and throaty, as if she had spent a lot of time laughing, a concept Sheila found very difficult to imagine. "Have you been practicing?"
Sheila hesitated a moment before answering, "Not ex­actly."
"You mean you haven't,' Micula translated.	
This was definitely worse than algebra. At least her algebra teacher never gave her the third degree. And, Sheila added silently, my algebra teacher never made me feel as if I'd have to become a completely different type of human just to work an equa­tion. The more Sheila saw of Micula, the more it seemed to her that Micula had given up everything—the privileges of her royal birth, normal friendships, even her beautiful waist-length hair—in order to work magic. Sheila knew she could never make those kinds of sacrifices.
What she really wanted to do, Sheila realized, was tell Micula that she would rather not study magic anymore. When they first started working together, she had expected to learn all sorts of… well, tricks. She had imagined herself creating illusions, making herself invisible, using magic talismans, be­ing able to understand the language of the unicorns—all things Micula seemed to do as easily as other people walked. But Sheila had been studying with the sorceress for two months now and still couldn't perform anything resembling a trick. In fact, she hadn't done a single thing that felt at all magical. Clearly the lessons weren't working.
"Micula," Sheila said hesitantly, "the reason I was late is… I don't think I'm very good at this magic stuff."
"No," the sorceress agreed. "But then you haven't been at it very long. You need to strengthen your concentration and let go of your fear."
"I know," Sheila said. This was about the fifth time Micula had told her that, It occurred to Sheila that quitting might be as difficult as casting a spell. She tried a new tack: "You know that spell of protection we keep working on?"
Micula said nothing, but her dark eyes seemed to look right through her student.
"Well," Sheila went on, "maybe it's that particular spell I'm not so good at. What if we try something different?"
Micula looked doubtful.
"It is not everyone who has made a personal enemy Of a wizard as powerful as Mardock," the sorceress reminded her.
"I know," Sheila said again.
Micula’s voice held no reproach as she asked, "Have you thought about the consequences if you do not learn some form of protection?"
When Sheila really thought about it, the fact that Mardock, a sorcerer who practiced the blackest kind of magic, had sworn vengeance on her, made her sick with fear. More than once he had almost taken her life. Whether through skill or luck, Sheila had always managed to hold him off. But holding him off was very different from defeating him. After all, it was months since they had last met, yet Mardock's magic still followed her. He sent her dreams—nightmares so terrifying she woke up screaming. Before Micula arrived at the palace, the nightmares had come every night; now, with Micula's help, Mardock couldn't seem to get through more than once or twice a week. But to keep him out completely, Micula said, Sheila would need to draw on powers of her own.
"You don't have to remind me what it was like before you came,'' Sheila said, suppressing a shiver.
"What it was like?" Micula echoed her words in disbelief. "Sheila, sending you nightmares is the least of what Mardock can do. You ought to know that by now." Her voice softened as she continued: "Teaching is not something I often do—magic is nothing to be given away. But Illyria convinced me that I couldn't leave you unprotected against evil as powerful as Mardock's. Therefore," she finished, "we must start with a spell of protection.''
Sheila briefly considered arguing that she had a certain amount of protection in the backpack she had brought from her own world. Filled with the "magic" of the twentieth cen­tury objects like her tape player and Polaroid camera the backpack had gotten her out of more than one tight situation. Once or twice it had even worked against Mardock.
The sorceress smiled, suddenly looking very young. "Tell me: how effective was your precious backpack against Mar­dock's dreams?" And more out of frustration at having her thoughts read than the desire to work magic, Sheila began the preparation for casting the spell of protection.
One of the first things Sheila had learned about magic was that it wasn't an ordinary type of power. Working magic meant entering a different realm, and to do that safely and be able to return to this world, the first step was grounding. That is, Sheila had to somehow connect herself to the world around her: the earth beneath her, the air that surrounded her, the sky she saw through the windows, and the sun that lit the alabaster stone above her.
After slipping off her sandals, Sheila sat down cross-legged on the cool marble floor and began to concentrate on her breathing. She forgot about arguing with Micula and tried to feel the breath moving through her body. She pictured it as a cool blue mountain stream and sent the image of the stream through her feet and legs, through her stomach and chest, through her arms-and as she sent it through her arms, the picture in her mind changed.
For an instant she saw a solid wall of sapphire blue, and then the wall vanished, revealing an image of sword practice just beyond the palace stables. Sparring against Cam, one of Laric's lieutenants, was Darian, Illyria's sixteen-year-old brother. Despite the fact that Cam was about seven years older, a good deal stronger, and like all of Laric's warriors, an expert fighter, Darian moved in without fear, pacing himself, waiting for an opening ...
"Sheila,"
Sheila looked up apologetically. "I'm sorry. I lost my con­centration."
"Did you really?" the sorceress asked dryly.
"I didn't even begin to cast the spell," Sheila admitted. "I got lost in the preparation."
"I noticed." Micula regarded her with what might have been amusement. "Why don't you try what I suggested earlier? Lie on the floor on your back, and try grounding yourself that way. I'll guide you this time."
This is turning into a complete disaster, Sheila thought un­happily. First I'm late, then I argue with Micula, and now all I can think about is Darian! Determined to do better, she lay down and began the breathing practice, feeling slightly silly in a position that seemed better suited to sunbathing than spell-casting.
"Now," Micula continued, “let the energy of the sky above you and the earth below you run along the length of your body. See it."
Sheila tried to picture the movement of clouds across the sky moving through her body, and at the same time she tried to feel the kind of impulse that would send a new blade of grass up through the surface of the earth. The attempt to do both at once made her dizzy.
"Good," Micula said. "Now call on those powers to help you. Draw them into you, and feel their strength become one with your own." Micula's voice was a soft, almost hypnotic chant, and Sheila felt the floor fall away beneath her. It was as if she had been in the ocean, riding waves all day, and now the rhythm of the waves was still moving through her body, carrying her in a gentle, swaying rhythm. "When you take in earth and sky, they will change you," the sorceress continued. "Don't be afraid. Magic is change. When you are filled with the energy of earth and sky, you will call forth a circle of protection that cannot be broken by anyone."
Sheila felt herself drifting, comfortably floating farther and farther from Micula's voice. She was moving toward a cliff that overlooked the sea. It was night, and the dark sky was lit only by the sliver of a crescent moon. She watched the surf crashing onto the shore, and somehow was not surprised to hear above the roar of the waves the sound of impossibly light hoofbeats, The hoofbeats grew nearer until she saw Illyria on Quiet Storm, the great silver unicorn, racing along the shore of the dark coast.
"Sheila," As if the sorceress had pulled her in on an invisible rope. Sheila suddenly found herself back in the tower room. She was lying flat on her back, staring at the translucent ceiling, feeling the hard floor beneath her.
"Sit up slowly," Micula said, rising with catlike grace. "We're about to have a visitor."
No sooner had she spoken than there was a sharp knock on the wood door. Remaining beside Sheila, Micula brought her left hand out from beneath her long robe, passed it once across her body, and the heavy door swung open. Illyria, the Unicorn Queen, strode in,
Illyria nodded apologetically to Micula, "I'm sorry to in­terrupt, but I must speak with you at once.
Sheila felt a surge of pure relief at the sight of Illyria. The unicorn riders were a close-knit group, but Illyria had kept herself apart over the last few days, conferring only with Myno, her second-in-command. She looks all right, Sheila thought.
The Unicorn Queen was dressed in a simple red tunic, and her long silver-blond hair was caught up in a mass of intricate braids that were, as usual, half undone. Yet as Sheila studied her more carefully, she saw that Illyria's face was drawn, and her hair more disheveled than usual. Sheila won­dered how long it had been since she last slept.
"Will you excuse us, Sheila?" Micula's polite request left no room for argument.
"Myno and Zanara-Ki are holding practice in the court­yard now," Illyria said more gently. "Why don't you join them?"
Sheila nodded and left the tower room, glad that the magic lesson was over but irritated at having been dismissed like a child. She started down the long flight of stairs, trying to figure out what was troubling Illyria. She was almost at the bottom when she found a slim, dark-haired teenage boy barring her way.
Darian stretched a muscular arm across the stairway, dar­ing her to pass him. Sheila was never quite sure whether she was madly in love with Darian or wished he were in another world altogether—usually it was a little of both—but the mere sight of him always made her heart beat faster. With his straight brown hair nearly to his shoulders, dark wide-set eyes, and a smile that seemed to make everything light up, she always found him disturbingly good-looking. Now Sheila stopped staring into his eyes long enough to notice that a bloodied bandage was wrapped around his other arm. He paid it no mind as he leaned toward her and said menacingly, "No one passes without paying the toll."
"How much is it?" she asked, unimpressed.
“Haven't decided yet," he said with a grin.
Sheila gave a mock groan, made a move to sit down on the stair, and then slipped quickly beneath his arms. "Not much of a tollkeeper, are you?" she taunted.
He caught her arm, laughing. "Aren't you supposed to be studying with Micula?"
"I was just expelled," she said, and as Darian's eyes wid­ened she quickly explained, "Illyria came in, said she had to talk to Micula about something important, and then they asked me to leave."
"When did she come back?" Darian asked, his voice sud­denly sharp.
Once again Sheila felt excluded from whatever it was that was going on. "I didn't know she was missing," she said stiffly.
Darian sighed and sank down on the stairs. "Last night, just after midnight, my sister rode out of the palace. She headed north up the coast; Laric and I both tried to go with her, but she wouldn't let us nor would she take any of the other riders. And she wouldn't give any explanation. No one could find her this morning, either. She must have just come back,"
Sheila barely took in the last few sentences. “Did you say Illyria rode up the coast last night?" she asked. "When I was working with Micula just now I saw something. It was like a picture of what you just described—Illyria riding up the coast in the darkness. On Quiet Storm."
"And you think it was a vision of what happened last night?" Darian's voice was thoughtful.
"I don't know," Sheila admitted, sitting down beside him. "Maybe it was just my imagination." And then she realized there was a way to find out. "Darian," she said carefully, "what were you doing just before you came up here?"
"Sparring," he answered impatiently. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Unarmed?"
"No, with swords. By the stables. And I wasn't exactly brilliant." He winced and held up his bandaged arm. "But then, no one is against Cam."
Sheila felt a chill run through her. She hadn't even come close to casting a spell of protection. But she had seen Illyria riding up the coast, and she had seen Darian sparring with Cam.
The magic had begun.

2 The Unicorn’s Call

Sheila stood up, feeling a little shaky as she realized that the visions she had seen were real. Maybe the lessons with Micula were working. Of course, she reminded herself, there was no guarantee she would ever have visions like that again. She wondered if the visions were tied into the spell of protection or part of another magic altogether.
"Was Illyria all right?" Darian asked, bringing her back to more immediate problems.
"I think so. She looked tired."
"That's not surprising." Darian leaned against the tower wall, absently toying with his bandage.
Sheila gestured toward his arm. "Does that hurt?"
He shrugged. "It wasn't deep. Just messy. Cam was show­ing me how to block this twisting cut he uses, and I didn't move fast enough. I guess it's going to take some practice."
Sheila knew that Darian dreamed of one day joining Laric's elite band of warriors, but Laric took no one before the age of twenty-one, and then only if he passed a series of rigorous tests.
"Practice," Sheila echoed with a groan. "I'm supposed to be down in the courtyard right now working out with Myno and the others." She looked at Darian suspiciously. "How come you're not there?"
He held up his injured arm. "Pelu told me to take it easy for a few days."
"Oh, you poor thing," Sheila teased. "I bet you're secretly thrilled to have another scar to show off."
Darian raised one dark eyebrow. "Want me to come watch you practice?"
"No, thanks," she answered quickly, and took off before he could make good on his offer.

The morning sun was completely gone when Sheila entered the courtyard. The sky had become overcast, a solid mass of gray that made even the white palace walls look unusually bleak. In the middle of the courtyard the unicorn riders had gathered in a wide circle. Pelu, the delicately built healer, stood in its center, breathing hard and waiting. Sheila felt a familiar readiness as she took her place on the edge of the circle and began to stretch.
Myno, Illyria's lieutenant, barked out the name "Nanine," and a stately black woman with gold cords braided though her long black hair stepped into the center. She and Pelu exchanged quick bows of respect, and then Nanine's leg shot out, hooking itself around Pelu's ankle and bringing the healer down in a sweep. Although Nanine was obviously stronger, Pelu rolled out of the fall unhurt and was instantly on her feet again. Blocking a blow to the neck, she caught Nanine’s arm, twisted it, and brought the larger woman down.
"Well done," said Myno, signaling the end of their match. She glanced around the circle. "Sheila, you're next," she an­nounced.
Sheila nodded and took Pelu's place. Although she was no longer afraid of this exercise, she always felt a rise of ten­sion when she stepped into the ring. No one knew what would happen in the circle. And even though Sheila had become fairly competent at defending herself, she still felt a little selfconscious with all of the other riders watching her.
"Zanara-Ki," Myno called, and the group's most skilled martial artist approached. The two combatants bowed to each other, Sheila bowing a little deeper to acknowledge that Zanara-Ki was one of her teachers. Then, before Sheila had a chance to plan her first move, Zanara-Ki whipped off a series of lightning-fast kicks precisely aimed at Sheila's stomach, ribs, and head. Instantly Sheila's tension dissolved as she became caught up in her own defense. She twisted out of the way of the first two kicks and caught the third one on her arm. It hurt, but not badly, and she forced herself to move in on her opponent. Zanara-Ki let Sheila move in and then launched herself over the novice's head with a flip any gymnast would envy. Sheila whirled and, as Zanara-Ki landed, aimed a back-fist at her opponent's chin. The blow was blocked, but Sheila followed it up with an uppercut to the ribs, and this time she connected.
"Score!" Myno declared, and the fight was over.
Sheila and Zanara-Ki bowed to each other, Sheila felt a rush of pride as her instructor smiled, congratulating her on the successful attack.
"Kara!" Myno called as a light rain began to fall.
A graceful young woman, whose long brown hair hung in a single braid, stepped into the center of the circle. She held two spears in her hand and casually tossed one to Sheila.
Sheila caught it and bowed, glad to see her old friend again. Kara, an archer, had joined Illyria's band long ago, searching for her missing sister, Lianne. Eventually, as Illyria had suspected they would, the riders had found Lianne a pris­oner of the tyrant Dynasian. What no one had expected was that Kara would leave the riders and settle quietly in the city of Campora to make a home for her younger sister. But even though she was officially "retired," Kara often joined the other riders for practice.
When they had ridden together, Kara had treated Sheila like another younger sister, and the two had grown close. But Sheila knew none of that would matter inside the ring. Kara was circling her slowly now, a predator waiting for its prey to make the first move. Don't let her scare you, Sheila told herself. Holding her own spear lightly at her side, Sheila followed Kara's moves and instinctively darted to the side as the archer's spear flashed toward her. I didn't even see that coming, Sheila thought nervously. Kara's spear ripped toward her again, grazing her tunic.
“Sheila, do something!" Myno ordered sharply. "Either attack or cover yourself. Don't just stand there!"
Sheila felt her face redden and was glad Darian wasn't watching. Kara was teasing her now, darting the tip of the spear inside her guard, pricking her lightly to let her know how easily she could penetrate her defense. Rattled, Sheila thrust her own spear straight ahead, aiming for Kara's ribs, only to have the spear wrenched cleanly from her hand In the next second Kara's spear tip was resting gently in the hollow of Sheila's throat.
"Score," Myno said, stating the obvious.
Sheila bowed to Kara, her eyes downcast, and started to leave the circle.
"I didn't say you could leave," Myno said shortly, stop­ping Sheila in her tracks. "You've got another fight . . . Dian!"
For the first time Sheila really noticed the rain. It was only a drizzle, but carried on a cool wind, it felt good against her sweaty skin. Without letting herself think about the fact that Dian, only a year older, was a fierce, often intimidating fighter, Sheila bowed to her opponent.
Myno strode into the circle, holding two long wooden poles. With a nod she handed one to each girl. Sheila's hand closed on the smooth wood; it was oddly comforting.
Dian attacked first, raising her staff and bringing it down hard. Sheila whirled away seconds before it could connect with her shoulder blade. Dian looked furious at Sheila's es­cape and Sheila realized that in a strange way, this girl was more dangerous than either Kara or Zanara-Ki. Though the two older riders were far more skilled as fighters, they never let their emotions enter a fight. No matter how fierce the battle, they remained calm and in control. Dian, however, didn’t like to lose a practice match, especially to Sheila, whom she had always considered a rival.
Dian raised her staff, swinging wildly at Sheila, and Sheila used her own staff to meet the blow. The force of Dian's strike jolted her so hard she felt it in her arm sockets. Dian struck again, and this time Sheila dropped her own staff and grabbed Dian's. The two girls struggled for a moment, locked in place.
"That's enough," Myno called. "Much better, Sheila."
Sheila was breathing hard now, hoping she wouldn't have to fight again. Her arms and legs were shaking with exhaus­tion. Nervously she watched Myno scan the circle and then abruptly call a halt to practice as the light rain turned into a sudden downpour.
For a minute Sheila stood still as the other riders scattered. After three fights the cold rain pelting down on her was as welcome as a cold shower-something she hadn't had since leaving her own world. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to see Kara smiling at her. "Come with me!" the archer shouted over the downpour. “I want to see the uni­corns.” She nodded toward the stables and broke into a swift, easy run. Sheila followed, ignoring the ache in her side from the fights. It was a good kind of soreness, she decided, and she would take the sparring ring over magic lessons any day.
Sheila slowed to a walk as she neared the stable; after all, she couldn't get any wetter than she already was. Rain streamed down her long auburn hair and made a second soaking ­wet skin of her tunic. She let herself into the stable, taking in the sweet smell of hay and the warmth of the animals.
Inside, Kara was already leaning against a wooden pillar, squeezing water from her braid. "Whew! That's some rain," she said. "And we've had enough of it lately. Our garden is drowning."
"You have a garden?" Sheila asked in amazement. Some­how she couldn't picture the lithe archer engaged in any ac­tivity as tame as gardening.
Kara nodded matter-of-factly. "Lianne and I planted it this spring. For a while, before the rains came, it fed us."
A loud clap of thunder seemed to break directly over the stable building, and a chorus of shrill whinnies rose out of the stalls. Kara stood up at once, peering down the long aisle of horse stalls to an open enclosure at the end of the building. "Come on," she said. "Let's go see the beasts."
Together they walked down the aisle of stalls, past the great war horses that Laric and his warriors rode. As all the riders knew, unicorns were creatures of the wild. None of them were partial to the indoors, and they had panicked when the riders tried to lead them into the stalls during the first of the heavy storms. It was Prince Laric who had finally arrived at a solution to the problem—this huge open room. Sheila still had a hard time thinking of it as a room. It was easily as large as three football fields laid side by side. Unicorns, Laric said, could not be crowded.
While they tolerated this stable, the unicorns obviously didn't like it. The animals were milling about restlessly now, as if eager to break free of the walls. Sheila thought it a won­der they weren't bucking. She had rarely seen them all so nervous at once.
"There you are, my friend!" Kara called as a dark brown unicorn with a white star broke away from the others and trotted toward her. "I've missed you," the archer murmured, planting a kiss on the velvety nose.
Amused, Sheila watched the happy reunion until she felt a gentle nudge against her side. Morning Star, her own be­loved unicorn, touched her gently with her black horn. "I've missed you, too,” Sheila assured her, running a hand through the mare's silky white coat. "Who brought you in out of the storm?" It must have been one of the riders; for, with the exception of Micula and Lanric, the unicorns would let no one else near them.
"I did," came a familiar voice.
Sheila and Kara both looked up to see Darian in the mid­dle of the herd, trying to soothe an excited Wildwing. Even under the best of circumstances, Wildwing was difficult to handle. A powerful black stallion, he was easily the wildest of all the unicorns who allowed themselves to be ridden. Though he had formed a strong bond with Darian, he often acted as if he were still part of the wild herd that followed the riders. "Stop that!" Darian snapped, pushing hard against the uni­corn's side.
"He was going after Quiet Storm," Kara said in amazement.
"I don't believe this," said Sheila fearfully as the great silver-coated unicorn whirled and lowered its horn to meet Wildwing's attack. "They never fight with each other."
"And they won't now," Darian said between his teeth as he managed to turn Wildwing away from the challenge. He stood talking quietly to the animal for a few moments. "It's this storm," he told Sheila. "It's got them all on edge. What a time to have to take them inside."
"I don’t see why you did. They've weathered storms be­fore," Kara pointed out. “They'd be fine outside."
"Illyria doesn't think so," Darian countered. "She's the one who told me to take them in.
The archer shrugged. "Where is Illyria anyway?" she asked. "I thought she would be at practice today, but Nanine, Pelu, Dian—they all tell me it's been days since they've seen her. Is she all right?"
Neither Sheila nor Darian answered.
"Maybe she's with Laric,'' Kara suggested hopefully. “Per­haps the two of them just wanted time alone.”  Illyria and Laric had been in love for years.  But now Laric a kingdom to run, and while Illyria had come to accept Campora as a sort of home base, she was often away from the city with her riders.  To Sheila it seemed the two barely saw each other.
"No," Darian disagreed. "Laric doesn't know any more about this than the rest of us. At least, he didn't last night."
The inside of the stable was suddenly lit up as lightning flashed through the sky. Like mirror images, Wildwing and Quiet Storm faced each other and reared up, their fore­legs striking out. Darian raced to Wildwing's side, trying to position himself between the two stallions without being struck.
"I think he's going to need reinforcements," Kara said with a worried glance. "I'll get the others."
The rain let up almost as soon as Kara left the stable. By the time she returned with Nanine and Pelu, Wildwing was calmly gulping oats from a bucket, Quiet Storm was looking regally indifferent, and Darian was showering Sheila with a handful of hay.

Illyria did not appear all that afternoon. Nor did she come out for the evening meal. Laric showed up halfway through dinner only to exchange a few words with Cam before leaving again. In the great banquet hall it was clear that something was wrong. A howling wind tore at the palace walls, and the riders and Laric's men barely spoke. Everyone seemed to be waiting for whatever it was that was sure to come. Without the usual high-spirited banter, the meal was over quickly. One by one the riders drifted away from the table until only Sheila and Darian were left.
"Did you notice who else didn't show up tonight?" Darian asked softly.
Sheila nodded. "Micula."

	*	*	*
It was nearly midnight when Pelu found Sheila in the palace garden. The wind was still fierce, but with everyone in the palace seeming so tense, Sheila had not wanted to remain inside. It was a dark night with no moon.
"I've been looking for you," the healer said. "Illyria has summoned us to the great hall. You must come now. It's urgent."
Sheila followed without question, a sense of excitement rising within her. She didn't know what was wrong, but if Illyria had summoned them, that meant they were going to do something about it.
Inside the palace the great hall blazed with torchlight. The other riders were already gathered, talking quietly among themselves. Illyria stood on an onyx dais, flanked by Prince Laric on one side and Micula on the other. But it was to the two women that all eyes were drawn; a study in dark and light, their very presence commanded attention. What complete op­posites they are, Sheila thought. Illyria's silver-blond hair was bound in a single thick braid that fell to her waist. Tall and strong, she looked every inch the warrior queen. Micula stood beside her, slight of frame with a short cap of shining black hair and a fierceness in her fine-boned face that was almost frightening. There was one thing they had in common, though. In her own way, each woman was strikingly beautiful. And each, Sheila realized, projected an unshakeable inner strength.
As if by signal, the riders suddenly fell quiet, waiting for the Unicorn Queen to speak.
"The next full moon will bring great changes to the land," Illyria began simply. "You are all aware of the frequent storms that have lashed our land these last few months. And I'm sure you've noticed that they have become more frequent and se­vere with each passing day. At the same time the unicorns grow more and more difficult. At first I thought the violence of the storms had simply unnerved them, and there is some truth in that. But there is more. The storms will be getting worse, and so will the unicorns. For the next full moon is a moon of great power, and it is  . .'' Here Illyria hesitated, seeming at a loss for words. "It is pulling things," she said at last. "It is pulling the storms from the sea. And it is pulling the unicorns toward Ryudain."
"I've never heard of Ryudain," Myno said gruffly.
"Nor I,'' said Zanara-Ki.
Looking about the room, Sheila was pretty sure that no one except Illyria, Micula, and Laric knew what Ryudain was.
Micula stepped forward and said, "Ryudain lies north of here, a fortnight's journey along the coast and then inland along the Caolin River. It is the source place for the uni­corns—the place where they originally came into this world." The sorceress stepped back, indicating that she had explained everything necessary.
"Oh, that's helpful," Darian muttered.
Illyria glared at her brother for a second, then obviously decided that more explanation was indeed called for. "There is a great deal about this that I myself don't understand," she confessed. "But I do know that every seven years the unicorns must return to Ryudain to have their magic renewed. What we are talking about is a wild magic whose powers exceed that of any man or woman. This is a magic that belongs to the moon. The unicorns and the storms are part of it. I believe—I hope—that once the unicorns have returned to Ryudain, the storms will ease. It is a matter of restoring a natural balance, of returning to the moon what is rightfully hers."
Sheila knew that in this world the moon was considered a source of power and magic. It was thought of as female, as the sun was considered male. What she didn't understand was how the moon, the unicorns, and Ryudain all tied together.
"None of us knows exactly what will happen in Ryudain," the Unicorn Queen went on in a calm, quiet voice. "But it is clearly calling to the unicorns, and it is our duty to see they get there safely." She stopped for a moment, her blue eyes searching the faces of her riders. "I can tell you that this will not be an easy journey. Until we reach Ryndain, we'll be riding by night."
Sheila felt a ripple of uneasiness spread through the room. When the riders rode at night, it usually meant they were being pursued.
Prince Laric stepped forward, his dark eyes grave. "You must understand," he said, "that here in Campora we've had a relatively easy time of the storms. They have been much worse in other parts in the realm, particularly the north, the area through which you'll be riding. There, entire villages have been destroyed by floods, and the seas are still rising. The northerners are superstitious people. They may blame the unicorns for their troubles."
"Even if they do not," Illyria said, "there may be others who will try to stop us. And no matter what, the unicorns will become increasingly wild as we near the source place."
Illyria hesitated again, as if weighing some additional bit of information and then deciding, almost against her better judgment, to reveal it. "There is something else you should know. If the unicorns do not reach Ryudain by full moon, they will die." Ignoring her riders' gasps of dismay, the Uni­corn Queen continued in the same steady voice: "And even if they do get there in time, they may never return to us from the wild. Prepare to ride now," she finished briskly. "We leave tonight under the dark of the moon.”

3 Dark of the Moon

The courtyard was a confused mass of riders, the unicorns they were attempting to saddle, and the rest of the herd, which was prancing about skittishly as if to urge everyone else to hurry. Sheila emerged from the stable, saddle and bedroll under one arm, sword at her side, and backpack strapped securely to her back. Even if Micula didn't think much of twentieth-century “magic," Sheila knew she would never go anywhere without it.
She scanned the courtyard, trying to catch sight of Morn­ing Star, and finally spotted her racing around the perimeter of the courtyard with one of the wild mares.
"Morning Star," Sheila called. The unicorn stopped, looked directly at her, and then continued her run. Oh no, Sheila thought. I didn't expect her to start acting up tonight. "Morning Star!" she called again, this time with more au­thority. Almost reluctantly the unicorn approached and stood still while Sheila slipped the saddle over her back and began securing the bedroll.
The wind was playing havoc with the torches that lit the courtyard, throwing wildly exaggerated shadows one minute and threatening to extinguish the flames the next. Darian who had been standing beside Myno, sorting through a pile of provisions and gear, made his way over to Sheila and handed her a small bundle containing dried food and a water bag. He seemed distracted, barely acknowledging Sheila but looking around the courtyard as if searching for something.
"Did Wildwing give you a hard time?" Sheila asked.
"No more than usual."
"Morning Star was racing around with…" Her voice trailed off as she realized he wasn't even listening. "Darian, what is it? What are you looking for?"
Instead of answering, he unlooped a length of rope from his belt, took the bundle of provisions from her, and fastened it to Morning Star's saddle.
"I could have done that myself," Sheila said.
"I know." Darian concentrated on the saddle, ignoring her. Finally there was no way to pretend the saddle needed any more attention, and his eyes met Sheila's. "I don't know what it is," he admitted. "Things just feel different this time."
Sheila, who had never seen Darian look so uncertain at the start of a mission, found herself trying to reassure him. "It's not as if we're riding into battle.''
He gave her a quick smile. "That wouldn't scare me. But this… it's going to change something. I don't know what, but I know things won't be the same after." He nodded to­ward the entrance to the palace. "And there's the first change. We seem to have a new rider."
Sheila's jaw dropped as she saw Micula, who had been standing beside Illyria and Laric, step into the milling group of unicorns. At once the animals backed away, leaving an open circle around her. For a long moment the courtyard was perfectly still. Then an all-black unicorn mare, one of the wild herd, stepped into the center of the circle and knelt before the sorceress, her ebony horn touching the ground.
Micula dropped to one knee beside the animal, gently stroking the side of its neck. Then both she and the unicorn got to their feet, and in a motion so quick Sheila's eye could barely follow it, Micula was sitting astride the unicorn's back.
The riders fell quiet with surprise. All of them knew that no one could ride a unicorn unless the animal chose that person, and that the choosing was a slow ritual of trust; it often took days before one of the wild unicorns would accept a rider.
"Is she going to ride bareback?" Darian asked in disbelief.
"Probably," Sheila said with a sigh. She hadn’t counted on Micula's coming with them, and for some reason the very idea made her irritable. "I don't know why she bothers with a unicorn at all. She could probably ride the wind if she wanted to."
Darian looked at her sharply. "You don't like her much, do you?"
Sheila suddenly felt embarrassed. She had never talked to anyone about Micula; it would have meant admitting how badly she was doing with the magic. “She's all right," Sheila said noncommittally. "I just don't understand why she's riding with us.''
"You don't?" Darian asked with a grin. "Of all the people here, you'd think the sorceress's apprentice would understand."
"I'm not her apprentice," Sheila insisted,
"Well, whatever you are," he said agreeably, "you still ought to know. It's the unicorns' magic. As it grows stronger, it's bound to attract other forces of equal strength. Almost any kind of power works that way.”
"So?" Sheila asked.
Darian gave her an exasperated look. "I just told you. Power unleashed attracts equal power—more often than not of the opposite nature." He sounded as if he were quoting a law of physics, and once again Sheila was struck by the fact that everyone in this world took it for granted that magic worked, and everyone seemed to know more about it than she did.
Sheila's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Myno's voice, rising above the general chaos, giving the order for all riders to mount.
Beside the gates that led out of the courtyard Illyria sat astride Quiet Storm, her eyes on Laric, who was calling his men together. All of them were mounted, Sheila saw, which was not necessarily the way they traveled. Laric and his warriors had once been under a curse that had changed them into eagles. Though the curse had since been lifted, the men still retained the ability to shape-shift. Sheila knew it was an abil­ity they used rarely and only in times of great necessity. She was relieved to see that they would be coming with the riders-and that the situation was not desperate enough to require shape-shifting.
Myno gave another shout, and when the courtyard was quiet again, Illyria said, "I am pleased that Micula has offered to ride with us. I hope you will all make her welcome. And we shall have additional help—at least for this night. Prince Laric and his warriors have offered to escort us to the borders of Campora.”
Laric's hand closed over Illyria's wrist, and Sheila saw a brief flash of regret cross his face. "We would escort you all the way to Ryudain," he said, "but I dare not leave Campora unprotected for so long."
"There’s no need," Illyria said steadily, her eyes never leaving Laric's. "Bringing the unicorns to Ryudain is a task meant only for the riders. Still, we will be glad for your com­pany this night.
She turned to the riders and raised her sword in salute. Then, with Laric riding at her side, she led the way out of the palace compound.

At first the riders and Laric's men rode single file through Campora's narrow, winding streets, past the wharves and docks of the harbor, and finally through the high city walls and into the lands that lay beyond. As they headed north up the coast, the horses and unicorns broke into a wide, loose formation, racing five and six abreast.
Nanine and Dian rode on either side of Sheila, calling to some of Laric's men, daring them to match the unicorns' speed with their mere horses. Sheila felt herself grinning as the pace quickened, and Morning Star skimmed lightly over the ground. The wind was still strong, surrounding them with the salty tang of the sea and sending gauzy clouds sailing across the stars. It's as if the night is riding with us, Sheila thought. Everything's in motion.
The ride became wilder as they reached a broad section of hillside strewn with boulders. Morning Stat did not slow her pace, but jumped the boulders like a trained show horse, com­ing down lightly each time before taking flight again. Sheila held tightly to the black mane, feeling the backpack bounce against her back. The backpack. It had become a strange re­minder of the world she had left, the world she could no longer return to. But for the first time, that thought gave only the slightest twinge of regret. Part of her would always miss her family and friends, of course, but another part of her had to admit that her own world paled by comparison with this one, At this moment there was nowhere she would rather be than right here.
"Kind of slow, aren't you?'' called Darian, galloping past her. Sheila's grin broadened as Morning Star lengthened her stride, giving chase without any prompting. While they were all together like this, racing and laughing, she didn't want to think about her own lost world or the dangers that might lie ahead in this one. She bent low over Morning Star's neck.
"Go on, girl," she urged. "You and me, we'll ride like this forever."
The riders made camp in a stand of cypress trees just beyond the point where Laric and his men left to return to Campora.  The camp was set up quickly and methodically. No one spoke; they were all numb with exhaustion. They had passed the northernmost border of the realm, riding on till nearly dawn. Sheila was asleep seconds after she crawled into her bed­roll.
She woke late the next afternoon, sore from having slept on the hard ground. I've gotten spoiled from living in the palace, she thought as she tried to stretch out her back, Looking around, she saw that Zanara-Ki was cooking some sort of gruel over a small fire. Most of the others were up and about, al­ready beginning to break camp. Still feeling stiff, Sheila knelt and began to roll up her blankets.
"Did you sleep well?"
She gazed up to see Micula offering her a bowl of the gruel. Dressed in a simple brown sleeveless tunic, the sorceress looked as if she had always been one of the riders.
"Thanks." Sheila accepted the bowl, suddenly feeling rav­enously hungry. Micula nodded toward a fallen tree, and Sheila sat down with her meal.
"Did you dream last night?" Micula asked as Sheila began to eat.
"No, I was too tired," Sheila said, and then realized what Micula's question implied. "I thought Mardock could only send me those dreams because he knew where I was—in Cam­pora. He won't be able to follow me here, will he?"
The sorceress ran a hand through her sleek black hair. "He followed you last night. There was a sending. I managed to deflect it, but-"
"Another nightmare?" Sheila broke in, her stomach tight­ening with fear.
Micula nodded. "His magic travels well. It may be that as long as you remain in this world, he will be able to reach you." Her tone softened. "Don't be frightened. There is much you can do to protect yourself. We will keep working to­gether."
Sheila swallowed hard. "What if that doesn't help? I can't always depend on you to shield me from him."
"No, you can t," Micula agreed. "Sheila, there are only two ways to keep you safe from Mardock. Either you must learn enough magic to protect yourself, or you must return to your own world. Strong as he is, his magic can't follow you there."
Sheila winced at the thought. "Well, I can't go there, either," she said. "I have no way to get back."
"What about the sorcerer who sent you here?"
"Dr. Reit?" Sheila gave a shaky laugh. "First of all, Dr. Reit isn't a sorcerer. He's a scientist. It's not the same. And second, I don't even know if he can find me anymore. Mardock stole the Tracker he gave me, and-" She stopped as she re­alized that the sorceress couldn't possibly know what a Tracker was. "It was a device, almost like an amulet, that would let him find me in this world," she explained. "But now it's in Mardock's hands, and that means Mardock's the one who can summon Dr. Reit. Not me."
"That's a fate I'd not wish on anyone," Micula said. Her dark eyes took in Sheila's unhappy expression. You miss this scientist?''
"A lot," Sheila said, surprised at how much the admission cost her. Why was it that talking about Dr. Reit made her so sad? Suddenly she missed not only him but her parents and her friends and even her awful algebra class. Only last night she had felt she never wanted to leave the land of the uni­corns, and now she felt trapped in it.
"I don't know how to send you back to your world," Mi­cula said softly. "That's beyond my power. All I can do is help you keep yourself alive in this one. When you are ready to work again, let me know."
Sheila watched the sorceress walk off, feeling more alone than she had since coming to this world. Although she had won a place as one of the unicorn riders, she would always be different from the rest of them. She would always be torn between their world and her own. And unless she managed to learn enough magic to protect herself from Mardock, it seemed she would always be in more danger than the rest of them. It was with a sense of relief that she heard Myno give the order to prepare to ride out. She didn't want to think about any of this anymore.

The second night was even darker than the first. Under a thick blanket of clouds, the sky was starless. Following Micula's directions, the riders were traveling along the mountainous northern coast. These were the lands that had been badly battered by the storms. They passed a tiny cluster of huts just after nightfall and then another near midnight, but for the most part they rode along a deserted dirt road that was carved into the cliffs edging the sea.
Sheila wasn’t sure if it was the narrow road that forced them to go more slowly, or the fact that Laric's men had left, but she felt none of the exhilaration of the first night's ride. Instead, it seemed as if they were all caught up in a strange timeless pocket between the sea and the cliff. The rumble of the waves crashing below bounced off the rock face, echoing relentlessly. The road itself rose and fell along the cliff, but otherwise was unchanging; all around them was the sound and the smell of the sea.
Then a long, lonely cry rose above the sound of the water. Sheila had never heard anything like it. "What is that?" she asked Pelu, who rode beside her.
"Wolves," the healer replied. "Above the cliffs there are forests. That's where they are. They've probably caught the unicorns' scent."
And the unicorns have caught theirs, Sheila thought as Morning Star began to rear up. With great effort, Sheila brought the mare's head down. "It's all right," she crooned, trying to soothe her. "The wolves can't get down here." She turned to Pelu. "Or can they?"
The healer leaned forward to calm her own unicorn. “Wolves are extremely intelligent," she answered. "I wouldn't put anything past them."
Great, Sheila thought as she continued to stroke her uni­corn. Morning Star's silky white coat felt stiff and sticky with brine. Oh, let's just get off this road, Sheila prayed silently.
But the unicorns continued to ride along the cliff, and the wolves continued to howl for what seemed like hours. At last, ahead of her, Sheila saw the road widen.
The riders came to a halt, and Sheila realized she might have her wish; the cliff road edged up the mountainside where it intersected another equally narrow road—they had come to a crossroads. And then she saw that the others were gathered around something on the ground, In the exact center of the crossroads someone had set out a cluster of small wheatcakes, each holding a single lighted candle. The tiny flames flickered in the wind, miraculously remaining lit.
Nanine knelt down to examine them. "They must be an offering of some sort," she said thoughtfully, and would have picked one up had Micula not stopped her.
"Don't touch them," the sorceress said sharply. "The tribes in this part of the land link the dark of the moon with death. The cakes are a way of entreating the moon to return. They belong to her. As for the candles—spirits often enter this world at crossroads; the candles light the way for those who may linger here."
Sheila felt the hairs along the back of her neck rise. That was another thing that spooked her about Micula—the sorcer­ess seemed to be able to see into other realms, into planes of existence that belonged to the spirits. She thought of her own visions the day before. Was that the first step? If she kept working with Micula, would she one day be seeing spirits flickering at crossroads?
"Does this mean we're near a village?" Dian asked ner­vously.
Myno gave an eloquent shrug; obviously the thought of spirits frightened her no more than the thought of battle. "I say it means we ride on and see what we find. And we get off this blasted coast road. I'm tired of feeling as if the sea's about to come up and sweep me off the cliff."
"Inland we'll be closer to the wolves," Pelu pointed out.
"Indeed." Micula's tone, light and curiously detached, made Sheila even more uneasy. "Soon we will enter the darkest hour of the night," the sorceress said. "There are some who call it the hour of the wolf. If the wolves want us then, there will be little we can do to stop them."
"Then we won't worry about it, said Illyria, as close to crossly as Sheila had ever heard her. "We'll take the inland road."
Without question the riders followed the Unicorn Queen. Sheila guessed they were all relieved to be off the cliff road, but the night was such a strange one that no road felt safe. The call of the wolves followed them inland. It was impossible to tell if the pack was getting closer or if it simply seemed that way because here the sea sounds were muffled by a ridge of hills. It was as if they were riding into another country that belonged wholly to the realm of magic. They had twelve more nights to reach Ryudain, and Sheila couldn't help wondering if they would all be this eerie.
Sheila rode cautiously, trying to keep Morning Star calm. The mare was definitely edgy. Like the rest of the unicorns, she wasn't used to the continual howling of the wolves. Darian suddenly galloped past without warning, and it was all Sheila could do to keep Morning Star from bolting after him. She watched curiously as he rode straight up to Illyria. Brother and sister conferred for a moment, and then Illyria signaled to Nanine and Dian, who dropped back to become the last of the riders.
Waiting until he returned to his place in the middle of the group, Sheila rode up alongside Darian. "What was that all about?"
"Aren't you the nosy one?" he teased.
''Darian!''
"It's probably nothing to get upset about," he told her. "But unless I'm mistaken, we're being followed."

4 The Tomai

The wolves still howled, and the riders still rode. Sheila's stomach was doing somersaults as she waited for the attack she was sure would come at any moment.
Ahead, Illyria suddenly veered off the road and down a steep hillside. The riders followed silently through the dark­ness as she led them to a spot that was sheltered from sight by large pillarlike boulders.
"We'll camp here," Illyria announced.
"What about Dian and Nanine?" Sheila couldn't help asking.
Myno was already lifting the saddle from her palomino unicorn. "They'll find us," she said.
"If no one else finds us first," Darian amended. "I'll take first watch." He turned to Sheila with a sly grin. "And Sheila will take it with me.
"But-" Sheila began.
"Fine," Myno said before Sheila could explain that she didn't feel particularly capable of defending the camp from a pack of wolves, much less anyone who might be following.
Sheila gave her bedroll a longing glance. Protesting would do no good, she knew; no one ever got out of watch. With a sigh, she adjusted the sword at her side and left the relative safety of the boulders.
It took her a moment to make out Darien's form against the side of a cyprus tree. Since he was not exactly her favorite person at the moment, Sheila turned in the opposite direction and set off along the slope of the hill. She made a mental note of the hollows in the hillside, the shadows cast by the trees—any place where someone might be concealed.
Keeping watch was a game of nerves. It was some comfort to know that the unicorns, unwilling to stay within the camp, were also roaming the hillside. Sheila knew they would sense most sorts of danger long before an enemy had the chance to come close. Still, the unicorns were already skittish, and the threat of the wolves might easily mask some other danger. It seemed now that the howling was coming from a spot directly above camp. How far away were they, she wondered. Twenty yards? Thirty? Or less?
"Where are you going?"
Sheila jumped straight into the air at the sound of a hushed voice behind her. She whirled on Darian furiously. "Thanks to you, I'm supposed to be out here listening for intruders, so I'd appreciate it if you would shut up and leave me alone."
He stepped back in surprise. "You're as edgy as the uni­corns.
"You scared me half to death," Sheila hissed, trying to keep her voice to a whisper. "When will you stop sneaking up on people?"
Darian eyed her thoughtfully. "Are you really so angry about being put on watch? You would have had to do it sooner or later anyway.
"You could have let me decide when."
"But then I'd be out here with Myno or someone.”
Sheila glared at him
"I didn't think you would mind," he said, his voice some­how innocent. "With everything that's been going on, we’ve barely had a chance to see each other lately. I thought this would be a good chance to talk."
"Oh," said Sheila, her anger dying down as quickly as it flared up.
"You've been acting, I don't know—strange—lately. Mostly when it comes to Micula."
Sheila slid down against the trunk of a tree with a sigh. “Darian, have you ever wanted to work magic?" she asked.
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Probably," she agreed. "But I mean really want it. As much as you wanted to learn the sword."
"Once… but being a warrior, that's something I've wanted ever since I can remember." He sat down beside her and his voice became gentle. "What's wrong—you don't want the magic badly enough?"
"I don't know," Sheila admitted. "All I know is that it scares me. Micula scares me. And, besides, I'm really not very good at it.''
"Micula's a strange one," Darian said. "I think anyone who's steeped in so much magic gets changed by it. Illyria once said that Micula travels roads not ordinarily meant to be traveled, and that they've marked her. Sometimes I think she even makes Laric nervous.
"But Laric works his own magic.
"Not at her level," Darian said. "Anyway, you know you can trust her. And she wouldn't waste her time working with you if you didn't have any ability."
''Are you sure?”
"Positive." Darian stood up, held out his hand, and pulled Sheila to her feet. "Now, if I remember correctly, you and I are supposed to be keeping watch."
"Oh, right," Sheila said, realizing that the fear she had felt all night had slipped away while she and Darian were talking. She never knew exactly what it was that was between them. Although they had kissed once or twice, they weren't really romantic—at least not like Illyria and Laric. And there were plenty of times when they got on each other's nerves, Still, underneath it all, they were definitely more than friends.
"Someone’s coming," Darian whispered suddenly, draw­ing his sword without a sound. They both listened for a long, tense moment. Then Darian sheathed his blade. The sound of light hoofbeats approaching was now clear. "It must be Nanine and Dian," he said.
"The wolves," Sheila said. "They're not howling anymore.
"That doesn't mean anything. The pack is still nearby—I can feel it. Come on." He nodded toward the enclosure of boulders. "We'd better tell Illyria they're riding in."
Sheila began to follow him back to the camp, and then remembered something. "Darian," she called.
“What?"
"You said you once wanted magic as much as you wanted to be a warrior. What made you want it?"
He turned to face her, and his answer took her breath away. “You," he said. "There was one time I wanted magic more than I wanted anything in this world. You were risking your neck for me, and I was sure you were going to get killed, and I thought that if I could only work magic, I could save you.”
Sheila looked deep into Darian's eyes. Even in the dark, they shone warmly. "And what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"The usual." Darian kissed her lightly on the nose and mussed her hair. "You saved me.”

"It sounds like the Tomai," Illyria pronounced after listening to the report given by Nanine and Dian. The riders had in­deed been followed. There were about ten pursuers on foot, ­men and women wearing saffron yellow robes and armed with knives and spears. "Their tribe has suffered from the storms," the Unicorn Queen explained. "They are simple people—most of them either farm or fish. But now their fields have been flooded, their fishing boats lost at sea.
"So why are they following us?" Darian asked.
It was Micula who answered. "I doubt any of them have seen unicorns before," she said. "They may well be linking their misfortune to these strange creatures with horns in the middle of their heads. In any case, our beasts must be making them very uneasy.”
Zanara-Ki slipped. her knife out of its sheath and ran a finger along the blade. "Do you think they will attack us?" she asked with mild curiosity.
"Not if we don't provoke them," Nanine replied.
"How do you know that?" Myno demanded. "I'm not looking for a fight, but I don't like being followed. Why don't we just scare them off? If we turn around and confront them, they're sure to lose interest in us fast."
Pelu, who was as gentle as Myno was fierce, offered an­other solution. "The unicorns are creatures of good. Surely the Tomai will see that if we bring them into the camp.
Darian shook his head. "I'm with Myno."
"So am I," said Dian.
Sheila was just about to side with Pelu when Illyria broke in. "We are not taking a vote," she declared firmly. "The unicorns are growing more uncontrollable by the hour. I'm not at all sure they would appear as creatures of good to anyone who had never seen them before. And I'm certainly not about to let them loose on a group of unsuspecting farm­ers. If the unicorns feel threatened, we could have a slaughter on our hands. What's crucial now is to get them to Ryudain by full moon. That means we don't have time to spend fight­ing or befriending the Tomai." She turned to Dian. "How far away are they?"
"About an hour behind us."
"Then we have to ride out now," said Myno.
"Wait," Sheila broke in. For some reason the image of the candles at the crossroads came to her, and with it an idea. “I think I know a way to scare them off without anyone get­ting hurt. If we don't, we'll always have to worry about them trailing us.”
"Yes?" Illyria gave her an encouraging glance.
Sheila took a deep breath. “It doesn't involve fighting or magic, but I think it just might work...."

The night was still dark as the riders spread out along the road, keeping the wild part of the herd well behind them. They were waiting for the Tomai, and like all waits, this one seemed endless.
A whicker from Quiet Storm finally announced that some­one was approaching. At once Sheila slipped off Morning Star and took her backpack off. Reaching into it, her hand closed on a long thin cardboard box and another much smaller one. She drew them out, hoping her great brainstorm was going to work. Micula had not been impressed with the plan, but then Micula never really approved of the "tricks" in her backpack.
Opening the longer box, Sheila removed a handful of sparklers, the kind used on the Fourth of July, and handed two to each rider, along with a couple of matches. Despite the demonstration Sheila had given back in the camp, Dian and Pelu examined theirs doubtfully, as if wondering how these sticks could really be different from any others.
Sheila got back up on Morning Star and waited nervously for the right moment to light the sparklers. She knew they wouldn't stay lit very long, and it was important that the Tomai see them all lit. As soon as I hear the first footstep, she told herself, and then realized that like almost everyone she had encountered in this world, the Tomai were probably masters at moving silently through the darkness. In fact, as far as she knew, she was the only one here who couldn't slip si­lently through the night.
Morning Star, who had been standing quietly, suddenly turned her head around and gave a quiet whinny. Absently Sheila ran her hand along the unicorn's nose and then froze. this was what she had been waiting for. The unicorn was tell­ing her it was time to act.
"All right," Sheila whispered, lighting her sparkler. Warily the other riders followed her example. Sheila heard Dian muffle a gasp of awe as her "stick" began sending its shower of sparks into the night.
Seconds later a man's voice called out in alarm. A wom­an's shriek followed it, and then a handful of men and women dressed in tattered yellow robes confronted the line of war­riors, each mounted on a horned beast and holding a burning star in the dark of the night.
Backing away from the sparklers' light, the Tomai defi­nitely looked scared. Unfortunately, though, they weren't run­ning. In fact, they seemed transfixed by the fiery display. Sheila had a sinking feeling that her plan was about to back­fire.
Micula's voice broke the standoff with an order that seemed to echo through the night. "You must return to your village at once," she said. "Go now and you will not be harmed."
"The stars," said one of the women in a quavering voice. "You hold the stars in your hands."
"Go back now,' Micula repeated.
An elderly man, toothless and hunched over, stepped for­ward, chanting, "They bring the stars, they brought the storms.''
Sheila wasn't sure that was the connection Micula wanted them to make, but she soon realized it wouldn't last long any­way. One by one the sparklers were burning out, and one by one the riders were frantically trying to light the backups be­fore the effect of their illusion vanished completely. Equally fascinated by the disappearance of the stars, the Tomai began edging closer to the riders, their spears drawn.
"You would disobey me?" demanded Micula. Sheila realized that the sorceress's voice had changed. It was deeper, louder, echoing across the land with the authority of a god­dess.
The Tomai stopped their advance.
"I will only tell you once more. Return to your homes now!"
The tribespeople hesitated a moment too long. "Then by the dark of the moon, I send you," Micula com­manded, and chanted an incantati9n in a language Sheila did not recognize.
A wall of stars shot up from the ground, making a mockery of the tiny sparkler display that had preceded it. Tiny1 dazzling white suns filled the night and moved toward the line of Tomai. Sheila flinched as she smelled one of the saffron robes being singed and heard the shrieks of the Tomai fill the air. They ran from Micula's stars as if they would never stop, and the stars followed them along the road.
"How long will they last?" Sheila asked in a shaky voice.
"Until the people are back in their village," Micula said in her normal voice. "No one will be hurt, but I wish that hadn't been necessary."
"And I," Illyria said, sounding weary. "Let's return to the camp and hope they stay away."

5 The Summoning

On the third leg of their journey, the riders set out well before nightfall. They continued along the inland road until it wound its way back to the sea. This was as it should be, Illyria assured them. They would continue along the coast until the place where the Caolin River joined the sea, then follow the river inland to Ryudain. The wind was still fierce, and the ocean swells high. The unicorns seemed to be feeding on the energy of the wind, breaking into a gallop wherever the road was wide enough. At one point it dipped down to the edge of the sea, and Sheila found herself part of a wild race through the break­ers, salt spray soaking them all.
It was almost dusk when Sheila realized she hadn't seen Darian for a while. She scanned the line of riders. He wasn't ahead of her; perhaps he was bringing up the wild herd that was running behind. As she twisted around in her saddle, she saw him galloping full speed in the distance. Someone was sitting in the saddle in front of him, but they were too far away for her to make out who it was.
Shielding her eyes from the setting sun, Sheila tried to see more clearly.
"Why have you stopped?" asked Zanara-Ki, riding up be­side her. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know." Sheila pointed toward Darian. "Who's that riding with him?"
Zanara-Ki sat quietly for a moment before answering. "I have no idea, but from the way he's sitting, I would say his hands are bound behind his back. It looks like Darian's got himself a prisoner,"
As Darian drew closer it became apparent that Zanara-Ki was right. Sheila was soon able to see that the rider in front of him was a boy of about twelve. His face was bruised, as if he had gotten the worst of a fight, and even though his hands were bound behind him, he was still struggling, trying to twist out of Darian's grasp. Grim-faced, Darian rode past the other riders, not stopping until he reached Illyria.
"A present for you," he said angrily, shoving the boy out of the saddle and onto the ground.
Sheila saw that the boy wore the saffron robes of the Tomai. He was slightly built with curly brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a face that could have looked angelic were he not so furious. He remained on the ground, straining against the leather thong that bound his wrists and glaring defiantly at the riders who surrounded him,
"Why have you brought him here?" Illyria asked.
Darian drew a long curved knife from his belt. "This is his. He was sent to cut the throat of the 'white mare with the black horn.' " Sheila felt her chest tighten as she recognized Morning Star's description. "He's to return with the unicorn's blood."
"How do you know that?" Sheila asked, not wanting to believe what she'd heard.
"He told me… after a little persuasion."
"You know better than to mistreat a prisoner," Illyria said, her voice dangerously low.
"He wasn't my prisoner at the time," Darian retorted. "And you don't have to feel sorry for him. He's stronger than he looks. It'll be days before I can sleep on my side again."
Micula stepped forward, took the knife from Darian, and turned it over carefully. "This is a sacrificial knife," she said. "I think they hope to stop the flooding, perhaps even the wolves, by offering the unicorns' blood."
"Apparently the Tomai have recovered from last night's scare," Illyria said. "We have no choice now but to outride them. Darian, keep the knife and release the boy."
Darian looked at his sister with disbelief. "Do you think taking his knife is going to stop him? Or the rest of his tribe?"
"Do as I say," Illyria ordered.
Darian shook his head. "I'm not setting him free."
Illyria's blue eyes narrowed at her brother's defiance. "We don't keep prisoners. You know that."
"Look at him," Darian snapped. "He's still fighting. Let him go, and I promise you that within the hour he'll be after the unicorns again. Besides, if we keep him, the rest of his tribe will come looking for him. He's the perfect bait. We can use him to set a trap for the Tomai and stop them once and for all.''
"There is no time for traps," Illyria said, trying to master her own impatience. "Our job is to get the unicorns safely to Ryudain before full moon. I will not delay them so you can engage in petty strategies against a tribe of terrified people."
Darian's voice was filled with contempt. "No, you'd rather risk letting the Tomai sacrifice the unicorns. I thought you were warriors," he said, "all of you. And all you want to do is run.
"That's enough out of you," Myno broke in angrily. "There's only one leader in this group, and if you think you're too good to follow her, you know what you can do."
"No," Illyria said quietly. "However rude my brother may be, there is sense in what he says. If I were looking at this purely from a fighter's viewpoint, I, too, would consider set­ting some sort of trap for the Tomai—though my trap would not risk the life of a boy who's barely grown. But this time we don't have the luxury of strategies and waiting games. We are sworn to protect the unicorns. I repeat. It is our job to bring them safely to Ryudain, and I will allow nothing to interfere with that." She turned to Darian, her eyes hard and unyield­ing. "Do you understand me?"
For a long moment her brother said nothing. He just stared at the boy on the ground, who, oblivious to the riders' argu­ment, was still trying to work his hands loose. "I understand you, Darian said at last, meeting the Unicorn Queen's gaze. "But I can't agree with you. Go to Ryudain, all of you. I'll stay here and stop the Tomai."
"Single-handedly?" Myno scoffed.
"It means you will have to give up Wildwing now," Micula said. "For he cannot remain here. There are only eleven nights left until full moon, and he must travel with the others.''
That, Sheila saw, was something Darian hadn't counted on. He swallowed hard, running his hand through Wildwing's thick black mane, and for a moment she thought he would change his mind. But he dismounted and removed the saddle from the unicorn. She saw him whisper a few words to the animal, and heard Wildwing whinny in response, almost as if trying to dissuade his young rider from his foolish plan.
Darian stood with his arms around the unicorn's neck, then broke away, turning to face his sister, "I hope you get to Ryudain safely," he said, his voice all but breaking.
"Darian," Illyria said softly, "are you sure you want to do this?"
He nodded stiffly.
"What about the boy?" she asked.
"He's my prisoner," he said defensively. "He stays with me.”
Illyria sighed, "Well, at least have Pelu see to his wrists before you go. He's rubbed them raw."
"I'll see to them,'' Darian said gruffly. ''Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt him. You know that."
"I know," Illyria said with a sad smile. "I only hope the Tomai will be as gentle with you." And before he could pro­test, she dismounted quickly and hugged him. "Travel well, little brother,'' she said. "I'll miss you.''
Darian didn't say anything, but reached down and pulled the boy up from the ground. Then, without another look at any of them, he turned and headed back toward the Tomai village.
Sheila couldn't believe any of this was happening. She knew that Darian was proud and stubborn and a little too full of himself. And there had been other arguments with Illyria, almost always over strategy, but never anything like this. She couldn't believe he would actually leave the riders. And she couldn't believe he would leave without even saying good-bye to her.
"Let's go," Illyria said briskly. "We've wasted too much time already."

It was early afternoon, and there was time to kill before the riders broke camp and set off again. Sheila was walking down by the water's edge, trying to ignore the hollowness she had been feeling ever since Darian's departure. She had just de­cided to turn back when she heard a shrill high-pitched whinny behind her. It was a sound Morning Star only made when she was ready to fight—the unicorn's battle cry.
Whirling in alarm, Sheila saw the white mare running full-speed toward her, black mane flying and eyes wild with fury. Instinctively, Sheila drew her sword, and her eyes scanned the terrain for signs of intruders. But there was no sign of an en­emy. Only the unicorn charging madly ahead, her black horn lowered. Sheila felt her throat tighten as she realized what was happening. Morning Star was charging her.
"Easy," Sheila heard herself say. "What's got you so scared?"
The mare screamed again and reared up, lashing out with her forelegs.
"Morning Star!" Sheila's cry was anguished. “It's me! Why are you doing this?" But her words had no effect. It was as if the unicorn had gone mad. With another shrill cry Morning Star launched herself at her rider, and Sheila watched in disbelief as instinct took over—her sword arm lifted itself in an attempt at self-preservation, and the unicorn's white chest met the blade.
“No!" Sheila screamed as she saw Morning Star stumble in the surf. The unicorn was bleeding, looking at her now in confusion, as if unable to understand why Sheila had hurt her.
"Morning Star!" Sheila threw the sword down and wrapped her arms around the warm, silky neck. There was blood all over, and the unicorn dropped to her knees. "No" Sheila sobbed. "You can't die. Please. Don't let it be me who's killed you.”
"But it is," said a silky-smooth voice.
Sheila looked up through her tears to see a tall, dark man whose hair fell to his shoulders in jet-black curls. He watched her without pity or amusement. There was only malice in Mardock.
"You're covered with blood," the wizard observed. "But don't worry, the water will wash it all away. Let the beast go now—she's dead. And you will come with me,"
"No!" Sheila screamed as the wizard came closer. She buried her head in Morning Star's neck, weeping, for she knew that Mardock had spoken the truth.
Then gentle arms were lifting her up. "Sheila, it's all right. It's just a dream. Come, wake up."
Unbelieving, Sheila opened her eyes and saw that it was Illyria who was holding her, and she was sobbing against the Unicorn Queen's shoulder like a small child. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling away in embarrassment.
“There’s nothing to apologize for," Illyria said softly. "He's sent you another nightmare, hasn't he?"
Sheila's voice shook. "This one was worse than all the others. Where's Morning Star?"
"Right here."
Sheila looked up and realized that the unicorn was stand­ing beside them, alive and well and watching her rider with concern. Instantly Sheila was on her feet, her arms around the mare.
"I had hoped that by now you would be able to turn away Mardock's dreams," Illyria said.
Sheila released Morning Star, unable to meet Illyria's eyes. "Me, too," was all she could say.
Illyria put a comforting arm around her youngest rider. "Well, perhaps this will be the last one," she said. Together they walked through the camp, past Zanara-Ki and Dian, who were practicing knife-fighting, past Pelu, who, as usual, was in the middle of the unicorn herd, to where Micula stood alone, looking out at the sea.
"Time and again you've proven to me that you're a fighter," Illyria told Sheila as they approached the sorcer­ess. "Now you need only find the weapons to use against Mardock."
"You make it sound easy," said Sheila.
"Not easy,” the Unicorn Queen answered. "It's never easy. But for you it is possible." She gave Sheila a quick hug and then turned back toward the camp.
Hesitantly Sheila approached the sorceress. Micula did not turn but said, "The waves are growing higher. We've had no storms since leaving Campora, but there will be flooding any­way.
Sheila stood beside Micula, watching the sea. To her it looked the same as always—full green swells and waves crashing endlessly on the shore. "How do you know?" she asked.
Micula gave her a rare smile. "When I was a child, I was sent to this part of the country to be taught. I spent a year just a little way up the coast in a miserable, dark hovel with an old woman who could call down the rains if she wanted to. She held more magic than anyone I've ever known, and spent her whole life trying to avoid using it."
"Did you learn a lot from her?" Sheila asked, for the first time curious about Micula's childhood.
"She taught me which roots and herbs to gather for cer­tain healings. But mostly she taught me to clean her hut. I hated it. And, at the time, I hated her."
Sheila focused her gaze on the sea, not daring to meet Micula's gaze. She had never actually hated the sorceress, but there certainly were times when she hadn't liked her. "Does the old woman still live here?" she asked nervously.
"No, I would have sensed it by now if she were still in this area. I don't know what happened to her. I think that if we met now, she would probably still terrify me."
"You?" Sheila couldn't keep back a snort of laughter. It was impossible to imagine Micula who sent armed men flee­ing with an incantation being scared of anyone.
Micula regarded her student with amusement. ''Perhaps," she said, "you and I have more in common than you think."
Sheila took a deep breath. "Then will you work with me again?"
Micula gave her a sideways glance. "Are you sure you want to?"
''Yes.''
"Very well." Micula led Sheila a short distance away to another hill that overlooked the sea. Without being told, Sheila sat down and once again began the process of ground­ing. She concentrated on making her body very still and very relaxed. Then she tried to feel herself a part of the hill beneath her, the sky above her.
"Feel what is around you," Micula said.
A strange sensation passed through Sheila's body, some­thing she didn't recognize at first. Then she knew that it was nothing less than all of the strength that flowed through the physical world around her. She felt the earth holding her up, the salt breeze lifting the long strands of her hair and playing with it, and the overwhelming power of the ocean as it hurled itself against the shore.
"Their strength is now part of you," Micula said. "You must gather it round yourself in a circle of protection, a circle no one may enter and no one may break. Call the power to you.
Sheila felt herself trembling as she said, "Earth and sky, wind and water, I ask you to lend me your power.”
All around her Sheila felt energy rising, as if an invisible rolling wave were surrounding her, flowing into her, threat­ening to carry her with it.
"Now bind it!" the sorceress commanded.
"And"—Sheila faltered—"and gather that energy into an unbroken circle.”
As quickly as it had risen, the wave of power receded.
Sheila looked up, dazed. "What happened? How did I lose it?''
"You lost your concentration. Not for very long, but long enough," the sorceress answered. "When you stumbled over the words, you broke the spell. True power can only be com­manded with surety.
"Oh." It was impossible for Sheila not to feel disap­pointed. For the first time she had almost worked a spell.
"You came very close," Micula said thoughtfully. "I think we might try something else. This is actually a simpler matter, but one you could not achieve without the power you just demonstrated."
Sheila gave Micula a questioning look. Was the sorceress actually saying that she, Sheila McCarthy, had some sort of power?
"Everyone has it," Micula replied, reading her once again. "It's simply a matter of knowing how to focus and use it. Now, I want you to try a summoning. Try to call one of the riders, Pelu would do well; she's not far from here, and she's sensitive to magic. Find her and call her to you.”
Sheila nodded, trying to contain her excitement. Once again she began the grounding, patiently guiding herself into an awareness of her connection to the world around her. This time it was the wind she felt most strongly. She felt it moving across the face of the water, bending grasses and sweeping through trees, swirling around her and rising within her, one with her own breath
"You must see Pelu now," Micula said. ''See her and ask the wind to call her to you."
Sheila concentrated on an image of the fair-haired healer, standing as she had last seen her among the unicorns. For a second she held a picture of Pelu in her mind. And then Pelu's image faded, and in its place Sheila saw a wall of sapphire-blue light. As it had once before, the wall vanished and Darian appeared before her. He stood alone on the shore, shivering in the morning sun. His face was turned away from her. Darian! she called out silently. At her call he whirled to face her, and Sheila felt herself stiffen with fear. Darian looked the same as always—strong and handsome and just a touch too cocky for his own good—but clinging to him was a gray vapor that had nothing to do with the spray rising from the waves, Sheila had never seen anything like it before, and yet she knew at once that it was something to be feared.
"Micula!" she called out, breaking the spell. "You've got to help Darian. He's in danger!''
At once Micula's cool hand was on her own. "Shhhh. Calm yourself and tell me what you saw.”
Fighting her own rising panic, Sheila related the vision as best she could.
"There was only the gray vapor?" Micula asked.
''That's enough!'' Sheila insisted. ''I know it means him harm."
“Possibly," the sorceress admitted. "This time, however, Darian will have to take care of himself."
Sheila got to her feet, furious. "What good is it to see visions if you can't do anything about them?"
"Not can't," Micula corrected her. "Won't. Magic is not something to be used lightly. The old woman was right about that. Neither you nor I may use magic to interfere with Darian unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You're right in that danger surrounds him, but it will be a while yet before it's a serious threat. For now we must leave him to his own de­vices.
Everything Micula had said made sense and yet Sheila couldn't accept it. She knew she would have to find a way to help Darian. But in the meantime she had a question. "Micula, what happened? I tried to summon Pelu and got Darian instead. And it happened once before—in the tower room
Micula gazed out at the sea once more, and for a moment Sheila was afraid she wouldn't answer the question. "There are two things involved here," the sorceress finally said. "The first is that you have a strong connection to Darian, and power flows most easily where there has already been an exchange of energy. You've already cleared the way, as it were. And the second thing is that you have stumbled upon one of the great rules of magic."
"I have?" Sheila asked.
"Indeed," Micula answered with a deep laugh. "Magic is unpredictable."

6 A Rider Alone

By the time Micula and Sheila returned to camp, dusk had fallen and the others were preparing to ride out. Micula called to her unicorn at once, while Sheila went in search of her saddle. It was only four nights since dark of moon, and with each passing night Morning Star had become increasingly dif­ficult to saddle. She would allow Sheila to put the saddle half on before twisting away and then refusing to come near again,
Sheila called the unicorn with a sigh. She was not looking forward to tonight's wrestling match. But Morning Star sur­prised her by coming at her first call and standing calmly while Sheila fastened the saddle girth and her gear and then mounted.
"What's got into you?" she wondered aloud, "You haven't behaved this well since before we left Campora."
The unicorn whickered what sounded like a brief and ir­reverent explanation.
"Whatever the reason," Sheila said, leaning forward to drop a kiss between the mare's ears, "I'm glad you're in a good mood. Now, you and I have something very important to take care of."
She wheeled the unicorn through the camp until she caught sight of Illyria. The Unicorn Queen was engaged in a
wrestling match of her own with Quiet Storm, who was easily twice the size of Morning Star and twice as resistant. Sheila watched in awe as through a combination of patience, guile, strength, and shameless pleading Illyria managed to saddle the silver-coated stallion. "I think I'll start riding bareback like Micula," she muttered under her breath when she was se­curely mounted.
''Illyria.''
"What is it?" Illyria snapped. Her tone softened as she looked down and saw Sheila. "Did the work with Micula go any better?" she asked.
"Yes," Sheila said, her words coming out in a rush, "and that's why I need to talk to you. Micula had me try a sum­moning, and I saw Darian. He looked all right, but I could see that there was danger around him."
"What did Micula say to this?" Illyria asked.
“That I had seen correctly,'' Sheila answered, "and that we couldn't help him through magic. Please, you've got to let me go to him."
The Unicorn Queen frowned. "And where exactly do you think you'll go? Do you know where he is?"
"No," Sheila admitted. "But if I head south, toward the Tomai village, I'm sure I can find him."
Illyria looked skeptical but didn't have a chance to re­spond. Wildwing suddenly darted by, riderless, and Quiet Storm rose up on his hind legs, clearly intent on following. Using all her strength, Illyria held the unicorn in place and turned to Sheila. “1'm worried about Darian, too," she said. "But he chose his course. As for you, it is your duty to bring Morning Star to Ryudain."
"I know," Sheila said, "but I think I had that vision for a reason. I've got to try to find him. Just let me take Morning Star overnight. We'll rejoin you by nightfall tomorrow—with Darian."
"You're making promises you can't keep."
"Please," Sheila said as Micula rode up beside them on the all-black unicorn.
“First Darian, now Sheila," Illyria muttered to the sorcer­ess. "If I didn't know them better, I would say I had a mutiny on my hands."
"Hardly," said Micula, making an effort to calm her own unicorn.
Illyria gave the sorceress a look Sheila couldn't decipher. You approve of her going?"
"Approve is the wrong word," Micula answered. "Darian is already in tremendous danger, and if Sheila goes, she will join him in that. But she has been called to it. I don't think we have the right to stop her."
"As the unicorns were called to Ryudain,'' Illyria mur­mured, running a hand through Quiet Storm's mane. Her gaze returned to Sheila. "And how do you plan on convincing Morning Star to run south when everything in her is being drawn in the opposite direction?"
"I don't have to persuade her," Sheila said, realizing for the first time why Morning Star had been so well behaved. "Look at her. She's the only unicorn who isn't acting up. She doesn't want to go to Ryudain right now. She'll go with me."
"She speaks the truth," the sorceress said. "Let her go, Illyria.''
Illyria sighed and gave Sheila a worried smile. "Go and come back safely. And bring that stubborn brother of mine with you."
"I will," Sheila promised.
"Micula, give her whatever information will be useful in dealing with the Tomal," the Unicorn Queen ordered. Then she brought Quiet Storm alongside Morning Star and gave Sheila a quick hard hug. "We will meet in Ryudain," she promised.

	*	*	*

Sheila rode out under a crescent moon, feeling fairly pleased with herself She had almost gotten the spell of protection to work, and she had somehow managed to summon Darian. And since Morning Star was cooperating so beautifully, she was sure that she was meant to find him. But as she traveled far­ther south, her confidence waned. She was riding straight into a headwind that left her exhausted, and she was not used to riding alone. Worse, she knew she wasn't really alone—from the moment she and Morning Star set out, they had been followed by the wolves. Occasionally a blood-curdling yell rose above their howls, a sound Pelu had long ago identified as the call of a mountain lion.
If the Tomai don't get us, the wild animals will, Sheila thought nervously. And if all that wasn't enough, she really had no idea of where the Tomai village was. She would have to de­pend on luck and Morning Star. Fortunately, the unicorn was running in smooth easy strides, as if she knew exactly where she was going.
Sheila would have ridden straight through the day, but as the sun moved directly overhead, she found herself barely able to keep her balance in the saddle. The night's ride had taken its toll, and she knew she had no choice but to stop and catch a few hours of sleep. In a glade of birch trees just off the road, Sheila spread out her bedroll, asked Morning Star to keep watch, and instantly fell into a dreamless sleep.
She awoke to find that the sun was still up. Morning Star stood beside her, whickering nervously. "What's wrong, girl?" Sheila asked groggily, trying to focus her eyes.
The unicorn stamped one white hoof and tossed her head straight in front of her. It was almost as if she were pointing with her horn.
Sheila sat up slowly, scanning the trees around her, trying to see into the shadows they cast. Careful to make no sudden movement that might give her away, she slipped on her sword­belt and reached for the backpack. Keeping low to the ground, she moved forward slowly, stalking whatever it was that might be stalking her. All around her the woods were silent and still.
And then she saw it—a square of bright saffron. Crouched behind a silvery-white birch was a Tomai woman holding a large, curved knife. The woman, whose gaze was focused with frightening intensity on Morning Star, seemed oblivious of Sheila.
Should I fight her? Sheila wondered. The woman had to be at least thirty, but her robes concealed her body, making it impossible for Sheila to gauge how strong she might be. It would be my sword against her knife. Sheila shut her eyes briefly at the thought of the possible outcome. Although she had grown to like sparring, real fights where real people got hurt were a very different matter. Even after months spent riding around with a bunch of warriors, she still thought violence was sickening. But now she had to stop this woman from at­tacking Morning Star; she had no choice . . . or did she?
Briefly Sheila considered casting a spell of protection around the unicorn. Forget it, she told herself at once. Your command of magic isn't exactly dependable. But remembering what Micula had told her about the Tomai, she decided that there was another sort of "magic" that might work.
"The Tomai have many superstitions," the sorceress had said. "Among them is the belief that if you capture their im­age, you capture their soul."
Sheila slipped her Polaroid camera out of the backpack. Well, at least it's worth a try, she thought, before someone around here gets cut.
As if in a trance, the woman advanced on the unicorn completely unaware of Sheila. And for reasons Sheila would never understand, Morning Star stood calmly, simply watching.
There was a soft click as Sheila snapped the woman's pic­ture, then a little grinding sound while the camera processed the photograph. Seconds later Sheila pulled it from the cam­era, waving it impatiently as she waited for the light to fix the image. Hurry up, she whispered. The woman was only a yard or two from the unicorn.
"Stop!" Sheila shouted. Running forward, she thrust the square of paper at the woman. "Look!" she cried.
The woman froze.
"Look," Sheila repeated. "This is you. I hold your soul in my hand," she went on, finding the words eerie even though she knew they were nonsense. "You are nothing now. Just a shell without a spirit."
The woman looked hard at the picture and then even harder at Sheila, and for the first time Sheila knew exactly what terror looked like. With a wail that echoed through the woods, the woman turned and fled.
Shaken, Sheila watched her run. She hadn't really ex­pected her trick to be that effective, and though she had saved Morning Star, somehow she felt guilty about it. She tucked the photograph into her pack and turned to the unicorn doubtfully. "Let's follow her," she said. "Maybe she'll lead us to the tribe.''
It was nearly dark when Sheila and Morning Star reached the outskirts of a small village set beside the sea. Sheila could see thatch-roofed hilts, two rickety piers that had obviously been battered by the storms, and farther inland, bordered by a series of low stone walls, the fields. Ahead of her, the woman in the saffron robes hurriedly entered one of the huts. I hope you forget all about the picture, Sheila thought.
Satisfied that she had found the Tomai village, Sheila de­cided she would have to find a safe place to keep Morning Star before setting off to look for Darian. Morning Star, as usual, had a definite opinion on which way they ought to be going. She turned sharply about and began galloping north along the beach.
“Where are you headed?" Sheila demanded, knowing she wasn't about to get an answer.
The unicorn picked up speed, racing toward an outcrop of rock in the distance. Moments later she came to a dramatic splashing halt in the surf directly in front of the rocks.
"You could at least have picked someplace dry," Sheila grumbled as she slipped off the unicorn and into a good three feet of salt water. Obviously the tide was coming in. Sheila -made her way to the rocks, and saw that they formed an entrance to some sort of cave. "Is this what you wanted me to find?" she asked.
Morning Star gave an affirmative neigh— and Sheila drew out the box of matches from her pack. Lighting one, she stepped into the dark cave. The match dropped from her hand as she realized it wasn't necessary. There was already a small fire built in the center of the room. Crouched against the far wall, his hands still bound, was the Tomai boy. And resting. a comfortable distance from the fire sat Darian, with a small, tawny lion cub curled up on his lap.

7 The Cave by the Sea

Darian was the first to recover from his surprise. "What are you doing here?” he asked.
"What am I doing here?" Sheila nearly shrieked. "I've been looking for you." She stared at him as if she couldn't believe he was in one piece. There was no gray vapor clinging to him nor any other sign of harm. In fact, the bandage he had worn since his sparring match with Cam was gone, re­vealing a neat crescent-shaped scar. "Are you all right?" she asked at last.
"I'm fine," he said. "How are you?"
"Ready to punch you out," she replied heatedly. "I saw a vision of you in some kind of trouble, and I've been worried sick ever since.”
Darian shrugged and turned his attention to the purring cub in his lap. "Well, as you can see, there's nothing to worry about. How did you get here anyway?"
"Morning Star brought me.”
His head jerked up angrily. "Have you lost your mind?" he demanded. "How could you bring her so close to the Tomai? Do you want to see her throat slit?"
"I told you. She brought me," Sheila retorted. "And don't you dare yell at me. You're the one who walked out on the riders.''
Darian stood up, spilling the cub from his lap, his eyes blazing. He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, "I left to protect the unicorns."
"You left because you're too proud and stubborn to listen to Illyria.”
"Really?" His cocky smile was back. "And I suppose she told you to come after me?"
"Not exactly," Sheila admitted with a sigh. "I guess you're not the only stubborn one."
"Come on. Darian grinned and held out a hand to her. Let's get Morning Star inside before someone spots her."
Morning Star gave Darian an affectionate welcome, but she could not be persuaded to enter the cave even though it had begun to rain, Twice Sheila and Darian coaxed her as far as the entrance only to have her rear up wildly.
"It must be the cub," Darian said. "Or maybe it's Jeno."
''Jeno?''
"The Tomai boy. He's tied up, but she may still sense him as danger. We'll have to leave her out and hope no one sees her." He gave Sheila a worried glance. "You really shouldn't stay here."
Sheila let the comment pass, ducking back inside the cave. She couldn't discount her vision— Darian was in some sort of danger, and she wasn't about to leave him here on his own. On the other hand, she wasn't ready to get into an argument about it. To divert him she knelt down in front of the lion cub and held out a hand for it to sniff. The cub moved forward on stubby little legs and touched its pink nose to her palm. "Where'd you find him?" she asked, charmed.
"This one?" Darian scooped up the cub and began to cud­dle it. "He was already here. I think this cave must have been his mother's lair and she left for some reason and never came back."
"Now he thinks you're his mother," came a mischievous voice from the back of the cave.
"Oh, shut up," said Darian with a grin.
Sheila locked at the Tomai boy with surprise and then back at Darian. "You and your prisoner seem to be getting along pretty well."
"He's all right," Darian said. "If I could trust him not to alert everyone in his village, I would let him go." He nodded toward the backpack. "You don't have any bandages in there, do you? I wrapped his wrists with some strips from my tunic, but he could probably use something cleaner."
Sheila nodded and took out a roll of white gauze and a tube of antiseptic cream.
Darian led her over to Jeno. "This is Sheila. She's going to look at your wrists," he explained.
"I don't want her looking at my wrists," Jeno said. He was smaller than she remembered him, but no more approach­able.
"It's not your choice," Darian said, untying the boy's hands. "Don't give her a hard time," he added sternly.
"Is he always so bossy?" Jeno asked. He waited until Darian's back was turned and made a face.
"Usually," Sheila answered, hiding a grin. Cautiously she knelt beside the boy and examined his wrists.
"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.
"Getting rid of these rags first," she said, loosening the torn strips of cloth. Despite Darian's crude first aid, Jeno seemed to be healing well. He watched, fascinated, as Sheila squeezed some yellow cream from the tube and rubbed it in where the skin still looked raw. "Does that hurt?" she asked.
He shook his head stoically.
"You wouldn't tell me if it did, would you?"
Jeno gazed at her defiantly through light hazel eyes. Sheila gazed back, somehow knowing she couldn't afford to lose this staring contest. The boy gave in first with a wide, disarming smile and offered her his other wrist. Sheila took it and smiled back at him. This was definitely a weird way to begin a friendship.
"Storage," Darian said, lifting a rock from the floor of the cave and pulling out what seemed to be a handful of blackish-green seaweed.
Sheila rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me that's dinner."
"No complaints," Darian ordered. "I wasn1t about to go out fishing and have the entire village see me.
After a salty dinner of washed seaweed and some stale oat cakes that Sheila dug out of her backpack, Darian filled her in on what he had discovered. The Tomai had suffered terribly from the storms, with tides rising so high during the last full moon that the fields were flooded. Almost as bad, the wolves had been coming down from the mountains and raiding the herds of sheep and goats.
"My father's horse was found with its stomach slashed open.” Jeno pointed to the cub, who was sleeping peacefully at Darian's ankles. "Mountain lions."
"And you think the unicorns are to blame?" Sheila asked him.
The boy stared sullenly at the ground. "Not blame. But to stop the floods of the next full moon, we must sacrifice to our gods at half moon. The priests have said that the gods want the unicorns' blood,"
"What gods?" Sheila asked.
"Forget it," Darian advised wearily. "I've already tried to talk him out of it." He gave Sheila a long dark look. "Now I'm going to try to talk some sense into you. You can't stay here with Morning Star. Sleep here tonight if you want, but tomorrow you're going back to Illyria."
"Fine," said Sheila. "As long as you come with me."
"I can't," Darian said quietly. "I have to stay until the night of the half moon."
"Your plan is crazy," Jeno said contemptuously.
"What plan?" Sheila demanded. "What are you talking about?"
Neither boy answered. Jeno fit himself into a hollow of the cave wall and closed his eyes while Darian untied the leather thong he had used to hold back his hair and dangled it in front of the cub.
"All right, don't tell me, you-" Sheila began, and caught herself before finishing the angry sentence. "Oh, Darian," she said miserably, "I didn't come here to fight with you, but that's about all we've been doing."
He let the cub take the leather string from him. "I know. What do you say we take a walk, watch the waves crash or something?"
She nodded and followed him from the cave. Outside, a light rain fell on the water, and a sheer white mist veiled the crescent moon. Sheila shivered in the chill air. It wasn't the same, and yet the scene reminded her of her vision.
There was no sign of Morning Star, and with relief Sheila realized that she didn't hear the wolves. There was only the relentless sound of the waves hitting the shore. The tide was out, revealing a narrow strip of sand.
Darian picked up a piece of driftwood and turned it idly in his hands. "You heard Jeno talk about the sacrifice at half moon, he began. "Well, I think I've figured out a way to use the ceremony and permanently convince the Tomai to leave the unicorns alone."
Messing with a religious ceremony based on blood sacrifice did not strike Sheila as a good idea. "Why go to the trouble?" she asked. "You know Illyria and the others will outride them."
"Only if they're lucky," Darian said. "The Tomai don't give up. There's a group of them out there now trying to cut the riders off at the Caolin River. And look at Jeno—he's barely thirteen, and half the time he wants to be my friend, but he would murder Morning Star in a minute if he got close enough. I'll release him after the ceremony; I can't risk it before," He put an arm around Sheila and drew her close. “You're shivering."
She leaned against him, feeling warm and protected in spite of the rain. Being around Darian was totally confusing. One minute she was ready to strangle him, and the next she just wanted to stay in his arms forever Stop thinking that way, she scolded herself. You're here for a reason. "Darian," she tried again, "you've got to believe me about this. Micula was teaching me to do a summoning. And I summoned your im­age. You were all alone, on the shore here, and there was some sort of danger all around you. Just because nothing's happened yet doesn't mean it won't, Please come back with me.”
"I can't do that." He turned her around so that they faced each other. "If it's any comfort, I do believe you. Ever since we found this cave I've felt . . . something. I don't know what it is, but I know it means us harm. That's why you've got to leave."
"Not without you," Sheila vowed.
Darian tilted her chin up and gave her the gentlest of kisses. "We'll discuss it in the morning."
But it was Morning Star who ultimately made the deci­sion, Sheila had ventured out into the foggy morning to call the unicorn, wondering how to do it loud enough to be heard over the breakers without attracting the villagers' attention. Morning Star came at once, bounding out of the treeline above the cave. "Did you find a safe place to sleep?" Sheila asked and was answered with an earnest series of whickers.
Darian stepped out of the cave, carrying Sheila's gear. "Here," he said, holding out her saddle. "No arguments now."
Sheila glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. "You saddle her if you're so set on getting rid of me.”
She couldn't help giggling as she watched Darian repeatedly try to saddle Morning Star, and the unicorn nimbly dance out of reach at each attempt. "I don't think she wants to go," Sheila observed.
"Very funny," Darian chided the unicorn. "You're as im­possible as your rider." He turned to Sheila with a scowl and then headed back into the cave.
"You were terrific" Sheila said, reaching out to give the mare a well deserved hug. But the moment she touched her, the unicorn bolted. "Morning Star!" Sheila couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice. "What's wrong?"
The unicorn gave a high-pitched whinny in reply and again darted out of the way when Sheila got too close. Refusing to be put off, Sheila spent the better part of the next hour trying to approach the unicorn. Finally she had to admit defeat. It was not a good sign—with full moon still eight days away, Morning Star was already unmanageable.
At last Sheila returned to the cave, where she found Darian honing the edge of his sword and trying to keep the curious lion cub away
"He's awfully cute," she said, picking up the cub and set­tling him in her lap. He licked her hand with a rough pink tongue and purred. It was impossible to believe that the cud­dly little animal would one day be a full-grown mountain lion, capable of taking down a horse.
"Don't get too attached," Darian growled at her. "You're riding out of here as soon as that unicorn of yours stops play­ing games."
Sheila chose not to answer but winked at Jeno, saying, "He's getting bossier by the day."
Darian smiled in spite of himself. "You're probably right. But I can't help it this time."
"Neither can I," Sheila said. The cub slipped out of her lap and began nosing at Jeno. "I mean about riding out. I couldn't leave if I wanted to. Morning Star won't let me near her."
Darian slid the whetstone into a small leather pouch that hung from his belt and gave Sheila a curious look, "Really?"
She shook her head, noticing that the lion cub seemed to make Jeno uneasy.
"Either it's this Ryudain thing driving Morning Star crazy or she doesn't want you to leave," Darian said thoughtfully.
"Doesn't matter which," Sheila grinned, picked up her bedroll, and set it out at the far end of the cave. "It looks like I'll be staying for a while."
All that day the tides swelled, so that even at low tide it was impossible to leave the cave without wading through water knee deep. The cave echoed continually with the sound of crashing surf and rain, and Sheila began to dream they would all be swept away in a flood. Early in the evening and again some­time after midnight, she had gone out to check on Morning Star. In between she slept—and dreamt. In her nightmare the Tomai had caught the unicorn and were holding her down for sacrifice, a gleaming knife raised above the pure white throat. In reality, however, Morning Star had been keeping herself out of harm's way. Though she came at Sheila's call, she wouldn't let herself be touched nor would she approach the entrance to the cave. She's returning to the wild, Sheila thought sadly, wondering if the next time she called, the uni­corn would be gone, making her own way toward Ryudain.
Sheila slept late the next day and awoke to find Darian gone. It was nearly afternoon—the afternoon of the half moon-when he returned to the cave from what he called "a little scouting."
"The piers down in the village were swept away in last night's rain, and the fields are completely waterlogged. They're losing their crops," he reported. "And I caught a snatch ofconversation—something about some woman hunting the unicorn and losing her soul."
Sheila shut her eyes at the memory. What had she done?
“Anyway," he went on, "she's still terrified, and the rest of the Tomai aren't too pleased. The good thing is, they ob­viously haven't caught a unicorn for tonight's ceremony. Most of them are out now, hunting like mad."
"Oh, Morning Star . . ." Sheila moaned.
Darian gave her a reassuring smile, "Look, if Morning Star won't even let us get near, you can be sure she's going to keep her distance from everyone else. Don't worry," he said. "She can take care of herself."
The lion cub chose that moment to wedge himself be­tween them, making Sheila laugh in spite of her fear. "So what do we do tonight?"
Darian sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "I think the ceremony is being held in the fields. At least, they're setting up some sort of platform there. The most important thing is that if they do manage to get a unicorn, we find some way to free it. But I don't think that's going to happen. They haven't been successful so far, and they don't have much time left before moonrise. So they'll probably sacrifice a lamb or a cow.”
"A goat,'' Jeno corrected him.
“A goat, then. What I'm planning is to show up at the ceremony and convince them I'm some sort of messenger from their gods. And the message is—leave the unicorns alone!"
"I've already told you that won't work," Jeno said in a bored tone.
Sheila had to admit it didn't sound terribly promising, but at the moment she didn't have a better idea. ''Well," she said, we could use makeup from my backpack and paint our faces to look really bizarre. And we could take my tape recorder, and I'll play some tape really loud. That should scare them."
"What's a tape?" Jeno asked.
Sheila grabbed her recorder from the pack, slipped in her only metal tape, and blasted it. Jeno looked mildly curious but otherwise unaffected. "You're both going to get killed," he predicted.
"So are you if you don't shut up," Darian snapped. He looked at Sheila and said, "Let's get started."
Sheila nodded and reached into her pack for the makeup she had brought along. She took out three little pots of blush, a palette of eyeshadows, an eyeliner pencil, and a lipstick. Starting with the black eyeliner, she drew designs on Darian's face that made him look as if he were wearing a fierce kabuki mask. Gradually she began to fill in the lines with splashes of red, blue, yellow, and green in the most garish combinations she could think of.
Darian was squirming impatiently by the time she sat back on her heels to assess her work.
"Well?" he asked.
“you'd be great on Halloween," she said with a sigh.
"On what?"
"Never mind. Turn around and face Jeno. See what he thinks.''
Jeno promptly dissolved into hoots of laughter. "That," he gasped between howls, "is the funniest thing I've ever seen.
Sheila put her head in her hands, and Darian stalked out of the cave.
Darian returned a few moments later, having washed his face in the surf. He glared murderously at Jeno and then looked wistfully at the backpack. "There's nothing else in there that might help?" he asked.
"I don't think they would fall for the sparklers twice," Sheila answered. "And the only other thing I can think of is the tape player." Actually, she had considered the camera, but even if she could work out the logistics of photographing an entire tribe at once in the dark, she wouldn't do it. She had had enough of soul stealing.
Jeno straighted up against the wall. "If you'll let me go, I'll help you.”
"Why?" Darian asked bluntly. "I thought you believed in the sacrifice."
"I believe in our gods," Jeno answered carefully, "and that something must be given to the moon to stop the floods. But I don't like the priests. And if you're caught . . . what they'll do to you will be a lot worse than what you've done to me. It wouldn't be right."
"How can you help us?" Sheila asked, wanting to believe him,
"Untie me," Jeno said, bargaining already.
Darian stood with his arms folded, weighing the boy's claims. "First," he said, "I want your word that this isn't a trick and you won't try to run."
"You have it."
"Second, I swear that if you betray us in any way, you won't live to see the next moon, even if I have to come back from the dead to see to it. Do you understand?"
The boy nodded seriously.
"Good." Darian smiled, drew out his knife, and cut Jeno's bonds. "I was getting tired of keeping you prisoner anyway.
Jeno stood and stretched luxuriously. "All right," he said in a take-charge voice. Obviously, he was delighted with the switch from captive to mastermind. "Here's something you two don't know about this ceremony—the night of the half moon is also the night of prophecy. During the ceremony the gods will speak through members of the tribe."
"They'll what?" Sheila asked,
"They will speak through us; the priests will be chanting, and then suddenly someone will start talking in a voice that's not his own. It always has something to do with the future, and it almost always comes true. We call it the Prophecy of the Gods."
"So?" Darian prompted.
"So I've never had it happen to me, but it's supposed to start in your twelfth year. I was thinking maybe I'd start to­night."
"And you'll tell them not to kill the unicorns?" Sheila said hopefully.
Jeno frowned. "I'm still not sure that the unicorns aren’t connected to the disasters," he said honestly. "But you've said that all this stuff should get better after full moon. So I'll just tell them to hold off until then."
Darian shook his head. "It’s better than my plan, but what if someone else's prophecy directs them to kill all the unicorns tomorrow?"
"Simple," said Jeno, his hazel eyes sparkling with mis­chief. "We give them proof that I'm the one to believe. I'm not going to just tell them to leave the unicorns alone-I'll also prophesy the coming of a stranger to the village. And then," he added, nodding at Darian, "before the ceremony is even over, that stranger will miraculously appear."
"And what will they do to him?" Sheila asked, feeling the beginnings of fear. Jeno's plan meant giving up Darian to the Tomai. Could this be the boy's way of getting revenge?
"That depends." Jeno sidestepped the cub who was dart­ing at his ankles. "It all depends on how Darian handles him­self.''
Darian flashed a reckless grin. "Don't worry about that part of it," he said. "The question is, what do we do now?"
"Nothing. All you have to do is show up after moonrise. Watch the ceremony, and then shortly after I've made my prophecy, announce yourself."
''I don't like this," Sheila said nervously. "Darian, they could do anything to you— including decide that you'd make a terrific sacrifice."
"They won't," he said shortly.	
"Besides," she went on, looking at Jeno, "do you really think it's right to pull a hoax like this in the middle of a religious ceremony?"
He shook his head uncertainly, suddenly looking very young.
Darian stepped forward and grabbed the cub, who was still going after Jeno. ''Look," he said, "this isn't a perfect plan. It just happens to be the best one we have." He knelt beside Sheila. "I trust him."
"With your life?" she demanded.
Darian nodded. "With my life. But I'm going to need you to back me up, to be out there watching and ready to come to the rescue if I need you. Will you do it?"
"You know I will," Sheila said reluctantly. "But I still…"
"Good," Darian cut her off, his eyes alight at the promise of action. "Jeno, you probably ought to go home now, so your family doesn't die of shock when you show up at the cere­mony."
"I'm really free again,'' the boy said softly.
"Go!" Darian ordered, giving him an affectionate cuff.
The Tomai boy nodded. "I'll see you both after moonrise." And he was gone before Sheila had a chance to say good-bye.

Except for a perfect half moon, the sky was dark when Sheila and Darian left the cave and headed for the Tomai village. The rain had let up, but the wind was sweeping in off the sea, and Sheila shivered as it cut through the thin cloth of her tunic, She rubbed at her right arm. "That cub of yours," she complained. "I reached down to pet his head, and he scratched me.
"I'll have a talk with him," Darian promised. "You do that,'' Sheila said, smiling.
They kept off the main paths, working their way from the outskirts of the village to the fields. Even by moonlight they could see that the village was awash in mud. Pools of stagnant seawater surrounded the Tomai huts; and when they finally reached the fields, Sheila saw that a good part of the crops had washed away.
"There," Darian said, nodding to a large square platform surrounded by torches.
Sheila felt her heart speed up as she watched the Tomai gathering. There was no sign of any unicorn or unicorn's blood, but still she was frightened. What if Jeno had been lying to them? What if he hadn't and the plan failed any­way?
"We have to get closer," Darian whispered, "or we'll miss Jeno's performance."
Sheila tightened her hand on the hilt of her sword. She didn't intend to fight anyone, but the feel of the cold steel was reassuring. Silently she followed Darian until they found hiding place just yards away from the ceremony.
A man who must have been a priest stepped to the center of the platform and began an invocation to the powers of the moon. One by one the people of the village joined him, and the chant turned into a lilting, haunting melody.
It's beautifitli Sheila thought in surprise. She had expected something barbarous and instead found herself listening to one of the loveliest songs she had ever heard. It ended as it began—one by one the voices dropped off until only the priest was singing.
A woman—one of the village elders, Sheila supposed—stepped forward and respectfully addressed the moon. In a soft uncomplaining voice she enumerated all the ills that had af­flicted the village: there were farms flooded, boats lost, prop­erty destroyed, domestic animals killed by wolves and mountain lions, and one woman who had lost her soul. It was a small price to pay, the speaker went on, to offer the blood of the unicorn in return for the moon's favor, but even that offering had been denied them. The Tomai hoped that tonight the moon would accept, as a mere token of good faith, the blood of a goat. They would continue to hunt the unicorn, she promised.
Sheila watched transfixed as a small white kid was brought struggling to the platform and held down. All she could think was, That could have been Morning Star. She closed her eyes as the knife flashed through the night, but she couldn't shut her ears to the animal's terrified shriek. Curled up with her head on her knees, Sheila tried to pretend she hadn't heard the sound; tried to pretend she was home safe in her own world, in her own room,
"The sacrifice is over," Darian whispered, putting an arm around her. He held her like that until she stopped shaking.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. There were ritual prayers, followed by chanting, dancing, and the burning of incense. Sheila barely noticed when a woman began to speak in a strange high-pitched voice.
"That's it," Darian whispered. "They've begun the proph­ecies."
Sheila picked up her head and listened. The first two prophecies seemed like nonsense to her—seven sheaves of wheat that would feed seven families, a ship woven out of reeds.
Then Jeno stepped forward, and one of the elders cried out, "The boy's first prophecy! Heed him well."
Jeno's eyes were fixed on the distant ocean, and when he spoke it sounded as if he were in a trance. Clear and distant, his voice carried easily on the wind. "The unicorns belong to the moon," he began. "They are sacred to her, and if you would keep faith with her, their blood must not be spilt. She will send you a sign of this, a young warrior who bears her crescent on his right arm. She-" Here Jeno began to sway, and before anyone could reach him, he crumpled to a limp heap on the platform,
"Is he all right?" Sheila gasped.
"I don't know," Darian said, sounding shaken. "That was a little too realistic for me.''
A man with brown curly hair and wide-set eyes stepped up to the platform, lifted Jeno tenderly in his arms, and carried him into the darkness.
"That must be his father," whispered Sheila. "I hope the boy's all right."
“Me, too. I wasn't counting on anything like this." Da­rian turned to her and ran a gentle hand through her hair. "Listen, I think I'd better make my appearance now.
"No!"
"I must. It's time to make Jeno's prophecy come true.
Jeno was unconscious, Morning Star's whereabouts were anyone's guess, and Darian seemed determined to surrender himself to the Tomai. "I don't want you to go!" Sheila cried; she couldn't stand the thought of being alone on this strange, haunted night. "Please don't. We'll think of something else."
"Take care of yourself," Darian said. "I'll be back soon. I promise." He held her tightly to him, released her with a kiss, and then he was gone.
Sheila's heart began to race as she watched him walk into the torchlight. At first the Tomai, intent on another proph­ecy, didn't notice him at all. He stood in the crowd at the edge of the platform, just another onlooker, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
The priest was chanting again, holding up a silver goblet to the moon, when a man cried out and pointed to Darian. "The moon's warrior!" he proclaimed, "The moon's warrior has come!"
Instantly Darian was surrounded. One of the Tomai took his sword, while someone else grabbed his arm and pointed to the scar. Through it all, Darian remained remarkably calm. He stood silently, letting the Tomai have their way, but Sheila wondered how long that could possibly last. She knew that even unarmed and outnumbered, Darian would fight to the death if challenged. Intrigued with their prize, the Tomai began poking at him. They're trying to make sure he's mortal, Sheila realized with a sense of shock.
"That's enough'." the priest suddenly spoke. The crowd fell back, leaving Darian surrounded but untouched. “Bring him here."
Darian stepped onto the platform, angrily shaking off the men who would have carried him.
"Who are you?" the priest demanded.
Sheila held her breath.
"I serve the lady of the night skies," Darian replied qui­etly.
"And she has sent you here?"
"Wherever I go, it is according to her will."
The priest regarded Darian skeptically. His hand shot out, taking Darian's arm. Slowly he traced the crescent scar. "It is as Jeno foretold," he said at last. "We will nor shed the uni­corn's blood." Sheila nearly yelped with relief, but the priest's next words made her heart thunder again. "Lock him in the grain house. We will watch this warrior of the moon.”
I won't cry, Sheila told herself as she saw Darian being led away. But when he vanished into the darkness at the edge of the field, she was powerless to stop the tears.

9 The Unicorn’s Gift

Sheila dried her eyes and set off after Darian. She would have to find the grain house and free him. She just hoped he wouldn't be under guard. He had been led off the south end of the field, so she walked in that direction, taking care to steer clear of the ceremony and anyone who might be wan­dering about.
She was just approaching the spot where she had last seen him when she heard a pssst!
Relax, she told herself, but her hand went instinctively to the sword at her waist. Your mind is playing tricks on you. There's no one here except you.
"Sheila!" the same voice insisted.
Sheila froze and peered into the shadows. "Jeno?"
"Over here!" A curly brown head popped out from behind one of the huts.
"I am so glad to see you!" Sheila whispered as she fol­lowed the boy along an overgrown path. "We thought you were unconscious."
"I was," Jeno said, He stopped and turned to her in the dark. "It was a genuine prophecy. I didn't even know what I said until my father told me afterward."
Sheila felt a chill run through her.
"I couldn't stay at home then," Jeno went on. "I had to go back to the ceremony. I got there just as they were taking Darian away.
"Do you know where the grain house is?'
Jeno grinned. "That's where we're going."
Although the Tomai village was a small one, it seemed that Jeno led her through miles of fields and backroads before they reached a large square building that sat beside the charred remains of a barn. The building looked deserted.
"I don't see any guards," Sheila said optimistically.
"No, but every so often, they'll send someone by to check on him," Jeno told her. "That's what you have to watch out for. Now, just leave the rest to me.”
Sheila looked at the boy in amazement. "What are you going to do, spirit him out?"
"That won't be necessary." Jeno drew a long, metal pick out of his belt. "I'm good with locks."
"I don't believe this," Sheila murmured.
"Wait here." Staying low to the ground, Jeno made his way over to the grain house. In the darkness Sheila couldn't tell exactly what he was doing—but whatever it was, she was glad he was doing it. Jeno was only twelve years old, she re­minded herself, yet Darian had trusted him with his life, and it was probably the first sensible decision he had made since leaving Campora.
A quiet creaking sound told Sheila that the door was being opened. She heard it being shut again, and a few seconds later Jeno emerged into the moonlight with Darian behind him. He signaled for Sheila to join them, and together the three began making their way back to the cave.
They had reached the shoreline, a short distance from the cave, when Jeno suddenly stopped. "Do you hear anything?" he whispered.
Sheila heard the waves slapping against the sand, and the wind above it all. And finally she heard a much softer sound, a sound that might have been footsteps.
Darian swore under his breath. "We're being followed. And we're in the open with only one sword among us.
For a crazy moment Sheila thought they would all have to go underwater. There was no other hiding place. Then again, maybe they wouldn't have to hide at all.
Working on reflex, for she was far too tired to think, Sheila stood still and let the wind and water and the night sky be­come part of her. The moon had helped them once before, and now she called on it again, with all the power she could muster, asking it to help her cast a circle of protection around her friends.
"What do you think you're doing?" Darian hissed. "We don't have time to stand around."
He reached out and would have grabbed her, but at that instant the half moon slipped out from behind a cover of clouds. The sky was suddenly flooded with silvery light, and a gleaming halo arced out from Sheila, ringed Darian and Jeno, and circled back to Sheila.
Sheila stood astounded, not daring to believe what she had done. The magic was moving through her like a hot, white liquid, and she was afraid that if she moved it would enflame her. So it was with dread that she saw the priest and three men armed with spears approaching. She couldn't move, and from the looks of it. neither could Darian or Jeno.
The priest and his companions walked right by—as if Sheila and Darian and Jeno didn't exist. They went a little farther along the shore, then turned back toward the village, passing them a second time. And the minute they were out of sight, the circle of silver light spread outward, growing ever thinner as it moved away until it was no more.
Darian turned to Sheila, his voice hoarse with wonder. "You did it. You-" But he never finished his sentence. Sheila was reeling, everything in her spinning out of control. Darian caught her in his arms just before she passed out.

	*	*	*
Sheila awoke back in the cave, She was still in Darian's arms, and Jeno was standing beside him, holding out a steaming cup.
"Moon be praised," Darian swore softly. "I thought I'd lost you."
Sheila shook her head groggily, tried to sit up on her own, and slumped back against Darian. The cave was whirling around her.
"Here," Darian took the cup from Jeno. "Try to drink a little of this."
Sheila took one swallow. The liquid was hot and bitter and, if it was possible, made her feel even worse. "I need to lay down," she said.
Gently Darian and Jeno helped her back down to her bed­roll, where she fell into a feverish sleep.

The second time Sheila awoke it was because Darian had a cool, damp cloth pressed against her forehead.
"What are you doing?" Sheila asked.
Darian smiled at her. "Trying to keep your fever down. You've been burning up for three days now.
"I've been having all these dreams," Sheila said, shaking her head. "Nightmares."
"We know." Jeno knelt down, offering her a bowl of broth. "You kept crying in your sleep."
"I kept seeing Morning Star being sacrificed, and Darian being burned in the grain house, and-" She stopped herself Just talking about the dreams seemed to bring them back. Mardock! He had found her again.
"Aside from being nearly wild, Morning Star's fine," Darian assured her. "But we've only got four more days to get her to Ryudain, and you're in no condition to ride. It doesn't look as if she's going to leave without you, either.
"I'm all right," Sheila insisted, trying to stand up. But the ground tilted at a forty-five degree angle, and her legs had no strength in them.
Darian caught her as she collapsed. A familiar look of irritation crossed his face. "You know something, even when you're sick you're impossible."
"Sorry," she said meekly.
Jeno offered her the bowl again, and she made an effort to eat despite the fact that it tasted like boiled seaweed. It wasn't until she had finished the soup that she realized the cave was missing an occupant. "Where's the cub?" she asked.
"He disappeared on the night of the half moon," Darian said. "I went out looking for him, but couldn't even find any tracks. I'm worried about the little guy—hope he's all right." He gave her a sharp look. "How are you feeling?"
"Not so great," she admitted. "Do you think my being so sick has something to do with the spell?"
"Maybe," Darian said. "I've heard Laric say that some­times magic turns against the person who summons it."
"I shouldn't have been messing around with it at all," Sheila said miserably.
"That's ridiculous," Jeno argued. "You saved us with that spell when nothing else would have worked."
"And look what it's done." Sheila turned away from them, sick and discouraged and heartily wishing she had never even heard the word magic.
Darian and Jeno took turns sitting with Sheila all that afternoon as she slipped in and out of fevered dreams. Occa­sionally she would wake up and Jeno would try to feed her one of his vile tasting herb concoctions, but mostly she dreamt. And in every dream she misused magic and someone she cared about died for it. She woke up sobbing more times than she could count.

"Sheila, wake up." It was Darian shaking her. "You've slept through another day, and you were about to go into another nightmare." He shook his head in amazement. "I can actual­ly see them coming on." Gently he sat her up against a wall. "Just wait a minute. I'm going to get you something to drink."
Sheila sat there dazed, only remotely grateful to have been spared another nightmare. She tried to focus on the far wall of the cave, but shut her eyes as she saw a shimmering form slowly appear there. I'm going to open them again, and it will just be a plain old cave wall, she told herself, determined to put an end to the hallucinations,
She opened her eyes. The form was still there. And it was becoming more solid by the second . . . a tall, white-coated form with frazzled gray hair. "Dr. Reit?" Sheila asked in aston­ishment.
The elderly scientist looked around him with interest. "What a fine cave," he muttered. "A bit damp, but good ventilation."
Sick as she felt, Sheila was now relatively certain she wasn't hallucinating. No hallucination could be that eccen­tric. "Dr. Reit," she said again.
"There you are, my dear girl!" He crossed the cave in three strides. ''I've been all over this world searching for you, though I haven't had much control over where I've been."
Sheila blinked. "I can't believe you're really here."
"Well, yes, it seems I am." Dr. Reit held out his arms and examined himself, as if to make certain. Then his gaze fell on Sheila and his expression changed from one of mild bewilder­ment to deep concern. "Oh, my dear girl," he said, kneeling beside her, "whatever has happened to you?"
"I don't know," Sheila confessed. "I think I tried to work a spell and it backfired." She was still feeling woozy and couldn't manage a more complicated explanation.
"A spell!" The scientist snorted with disapproval. "Magic and science are a strange mix, you know." He stopped at the sound of Darian returning to the cave, "What an extraordi­nary coincidence! I do believe it's that young man of yours."
"He's not my-" Sheila began, totally mortified.
But if Darian had heard Dr. Reit's last remark, he paid it no heed. "Dr. Reit!" he exclaimed. "How did you get here? I thought Mardock had the Tracker."
"Yes, well, it seems he does, but the fool doesn't know how to use it. Every so often he pushes a button by mistake and I appear." The scientist ran a hand through his frazzled white hair. "Which means, of course, that he must be nearby. I tell you, I don't like that man at all!"
Sheila had known Mardock was close; all her dreams told her so. But somehow hearing it from Dr, Reit made it even more real. "We've got to get out of here," she said, her voice shaking.
Dr. Reit frowned at her from beneath his bushy white brows. "You, my dear, are in no condition to go anywhere," he pro­nounced, "Now, I don't know anything about this spell busi­ness, and I'm not a medical doctor, but let's have a look at you and see what the problem is,"
Dr. Reit had Sheila open her mouth and say "Ahh." He looked into her eyes and felt her forehead. Finally he took her hand in his. It was while he was counting her pulse that he noticed the angry red welts on the underside of Sheila's arm. "Good heavens."' he exclaimed. "How did this happen?"
Sheila looked at her arm and shrugged. "I think that's where the lion cub scratched me."
"A lion cub?" he echoed.
"He didn't mean to.  Sheila said, feeling very groggy. "That cub was really cute."
"I don't care how cute he was," the scientist snapped. "These scratches are infected, and they're poisoning you."
Behind them Darian gave a whoop of relief
Dr. Reit turned to the boy and fixed him with an angry gaze. "I hardly consider a diagnosis of poisoning to be cause for celebration."
"Sorry," Darian said quickly. "But if it's really just poison, I may have the cure." And before the scientist could ask any questions, Darian filled an earthenware cup with drinking water and took it outside the cave.
Remaining with Sheila, Dr. Reit parted her hand. "Now, don't you worry, "he said. "I'm sure we'll think of something or other that will help."
Much as she wanted to believe him, Sheila wasn't comforted. And much as she wanted to know how he was and where he had been, she didn't have the strength to ask. She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting.
"Sheila, wake up," Dr, Reit said sometime later. "Darian's back, and he wants you to drink something."
"I’ve already drunk half the sea," Sheila grumbled drow­sily. "All he does is give me things to drink. Tell him to go away.
Then Darian was lifting her head and saying, "This is the last one. I promise. Come on—wake up.
"No," Sheila said stubbornly, but in the end she gave in. She opened her eyes, glared at Darian, and took the cup from him. “What is this?" she demanded suspiciously. "It looks like water.''
"That's exactly what it is," Darian said between his teeth. ''Drink it.''
"How is plain old water-"
"Sheila," Dr, Reit said wearily, ''do as he asks. I don't know what's in the cup, but at least it's something. And I know I don't have anything for you myself"'
"All right already." Sheila tilted the cup up and drank water that tasted as if it had come from a fresh mountain spring. The strange thing was that she could feel the water moving through her. As she'd once tried to imagine her breath, she felt the water flowing through her body like a cool stream. She could feel it traveling down her throat and into her arms and legs. And as it flowed, it washed away all traces of fever and sickness. By the time she had finished the water, the welts on her arm were gone. The poison had left her body completely.
She looked up at Darian and Dr. Reit, unable to speak.
Dr. Reit asked the question for her. "What on earth was that?"
"Morning Star's gift," Darian answered. "She's a water conner. All unicorns are. They can change poisoned water into clean. Or change plain drinking water into an antidote for p9ison."
"Ah, yes," said Dr. Reit. "I've read legends about the power of the unicorn's horn to counter poison."
"They aren't legends," Darian said quietly.
''No,'' admitted the scientist. ''I suppose not.''
Sheila sat up slowly, amazed to feel her strength returning. Smiling, she got to her feet. And when she saw that that was no problem, she leaped into the air with a shout of sheer joy.
"Yes, you're fine," Dr. Reit mumbled distractedly, his mind already focused on a new scientific quandary. "Tell me," he asked Darian, "exactly what did Morning Star do?"
"Came when I called her and dipped her horn into the water," the boy answered, unable to take his eyes off Sheila.
"I wish I knew what was in that horn," the scientist said vehemently.
Sheila looked at him fondly. ''It's definitely something you would have trouble reproducing in the lab," she assured him.
"Oh?" he said, a bit defensively. "And what exactly might that be?"
"Magic," Sheila told him. "Pure magic."

10 Racing to Ryudain

"Well," said Dr. Reit, noting Sheila's new improved state, "whatever it is that's cured you, seems to have done so thor­oughly."
"I'm fine now," she assured him.
"Then you really ought to leave this place at once, before Mardock finds you." The scientist thrust his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat and began to pace the perimeter of the cave.
"That's right," Darian agreed with a troubled frown.
"I'm fine," Sheila insisted. "Morning Star's the one who's really in danger."
"Tonight will be the eleventh night in the fortnight—that gives us just three days till full moon," Darian calculated. "I only hope that's time enough to reach Ryudain." He looked at Dr. Reit curiously. "I wonder if there's some way to bring you with us . . perhaps Jeno could find us a horse."
"Where is Jeno?" Sheila asked, realizing she hadn't seen him for a while.
"Probably cooking up more herbs for you," Darian said with a smile.
"Well, whoever Jeno is and whatever he does, I don't think there's much point in taking me with you," Dr. Reit said. "Sooner or later that maniac Mardock will push the right
button again, and I'll be transported to wherever he is. The only saving grace is that he has no idea what he's doing
''We're not leaving you here," Sheila said fiercely.
"I'm afraid you have no choice, my dear."
It was, as the scientist had apparently known, too late. Already his form was beginning to fade into a shimmering, transparent ghost of the man who seconds ago had stood before her.
"Why can't he stay?" Sheila asked, willing herself not to cry.
Behind her, Darian put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm afraid for him," she said. "What happens when Mardock figures out he has him in his power? He will, even­tually, you know."
"Come on, Darian said gently. "Let's pack up.
Together they put out the fire, gathered up their belong­ings, and did their best to remove all identifiable traces from the cave. They moved swiftly and smoothly as if on auto­matic drive, Sheila thought.
Darian scattered the three rocks he had arranged to form a table. "That's it," he said.
"No, it's not." For the first time since Dr. Reit's invol­untary departure, Sheila was smiling. ''Look," she said, ges­turing toward the entrance to the cave
"Jeno!" Darian's eyes lit up when he saw what the boy was carrying in his left hand. "You got my sword back! I can't believe it."
Jeno gave an overly casual shrug. "It's not a Tomai weapon anyway. We prefer knives."
Darian took the sword from him, handling it with the sort of reverence normally reserved for newborns. Oh, for heaven's sake! Sheila thought, but she didn't say a word. Long ago Darian had chosen to live by the sword, and for him she knew there was no possession more precious.
"You're leaving," Jeno said, observing the emptied cave.
"We have to," Sheila said. “For Morning Star."	
Jeno nodded.
"We owe you . . . a great deal," Darian said. ''And I don't know how to repay you.
Jeno considered this a moment. Will you be going home to Campora?" he asked.
"If we ever get to and back from Ryudain," Darian said. 'Why?"
The boy suddenly became very absorbed in a pattern his foot was tracing on the ground. "Well, I just thought . . . I mean, I've always wanted to see the palace, and-"
"As soon as we get back, we'll send an envoy from Prince Laric himself," Darian promised. "You'll come to Campora in great style—escorted by Laric's own men.
Smiling as if he would never stop, Jeno accepted the pledge. Then he turned to Sheila and held out his hand. She shook it solemnly. "Jeno," she said, "I have to ask you for one more favor."
Instantly the mischief-maker was back, comically rolling his eyes. "Now what is it?" he asked.
"Do you know the woman in your village, the one they say lost her soul?"
His face sobered. "Marta. No one knows what happened to her."
Sheila took a deep breath. "Well, I do, and I know how she can get her soul back." She reached into her backpack and took out the slightly bent snapshot that had saved Morning Star's life.
"Her image!" gasped Jeno, turning pale.
"I want you to return this to her," Sheila explained. "Tell her she must burn it at once. Tell her that if she bums it, no one will ever be able to take it from her again. Will you do that for me?''
Jeno swallowed hard and took the photo, holding it gingerly away from his body. Walking carefully so as not to die turb Marta's image, he left the cave.
Darian rummaged through the pile of belongings, found his empty swordbelt, and slipped the blade into its sheath. "What was all that about?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing," Sheila mumbled.
Darian arched one eyebrow. "Well, for 'nothing,' you're starting to sound an awful lot like Micula," he told her, "and that may or may not be a good thing."

Morning Star had come running the minute Darian and Sheila stepped out of the cave. It had taken a while to persuade her to let them mount, but not nearly as long as Sheila had feared.
While Darian settled himself behind her, Sheila reached forward, untangling a knot in the unicorn's black mane. "Do you think she'll be able to manage with both of us on her back?" she asked worriedly.
"I don't think that's going to be the problem," he yelped, holding on for dear life as Morning Star bolted from the cave.
Although Sheila was the one supposedly controlling the unicorn, it was clear from the moment they set out that Morning Star could be neither guided nor held. It was as if all her time waiting outside the cave had been spent storing up a tremendous reserve of energy that was now being released in one mad run for Ryudain.
Though Sheila would have tried to find the road again, Morning Star ran along the shoreline, splashing through the surf, leaping rocks and pieces of driftwood, getting stronger the longer and harder she ran.
Darian and Sheila were soaking wet and freezing in no time. The wind had whipped the waves to a froth, and the breakers were crashing all around them. Sheila felt sure she would hear their roar echoing through her long after this day had passed.
She barely saw the terain, and couldn't have said whether the coast had grown green or barren, mountainous or flat. The land went by in a blur. It was as if they were riding straight through the waves. Buffeted by wind and water, it was all she could do to hold on.
Morning Star ran all day without slowing. As dusk fell she finally veered off the coast and began to run inland. Sheila saw that they were riding along the edge of a broad blue river rushing into the sea. The Caolin.
At first the riverbank looked much like the shore, edged with wide strips of sand. But as they traveled farther inland, it became clear that they were riding into the mountain for­ests, the home of the wolves and the wildcats, a land of pred­ators who hunted by night. The trees grew dense around them, the ground steep, and when night fell the darkness was com­plete. Sheila could barely see the unicorn's head in front of her, and still Morning Star ran on, sure-footed and fleet, fol­lowing the sound of the river.
Despite a cruel wind that hurled itself against them, Sheila was beginning to think they would actually reach Ryudain with time to spare. Morning Star had never run more swiftly or more tirelessly. It seemed nothing could stop her. And then the unicorn suddenly broke stride, skittering sideways in a frenzy.
"What is it?" Sheila asked, unable to see what had scared the animal. She felt Darian's arm tighten around her waist as the unicorn reared up on her hind legs. "It's an owl!" he cried, shouting to be heard over the wind.
An owl? Sheila thought with surprise. Why would a unicorn be scared of an owl?
Then a streak of white lightning split the sky, and Sheila understood, Diving toward them, its talons outstretched and perilously close to Morning Star's head, was the largest owl Sheila had ever seen. Its wingspan must have been six feet across, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was hunting them.
Sheila heard herself scream as the sky went dark again and she felt a giant wing brush her face. Morning Star was growing more panicked by the second. She jerked her head down and then arched it up again, ran forward a few steps only to back up with a terrified whinny.
Again lightning illuminated the forest in a blaze of hot white, and with it the rain began, cascading wildly through the treetops. Within seconds everything in the forest was drenched. And still the owl hovered above them. There's something unnatural about this, Sheila thought, trying desper­ately to hold on to Morning Star. The owl gave a loud screech. Then, just as Sheila was sure it would attack, it gave up, ap­parently unwilling to withstand the rain.
Morning Star came to a halt, her sides heaving. Worried, Sheila leaned forward to comfort her. "Come on, girl," she urged. "You're all right. Let's go. You don't want to stand here in all this rain." She knew her voice wasn't carrying over the fury of the storm, and pressed her knees against Morning star's flanks. Neither did much good. The unicorn stood as if frozen in place.
Sheila turned in the saddle to face Darian. "I can't get her to move!" she shouted.
She never heard his response because the thunder began then, crashing so loudly that Sheik was sure the sky was breaking open. It was all Morning Star could take. As if meeting the storm with her own fury, the unicorn gave a high-pitched scream and reared up again. Sheila and Darian tumbled to the ground, and Morning Star galloped straight into the night.
For a moment Sheila lay stunned, half sunk in a pool of rainwater. The fall had knocked the wind out of her, and she didn't even try to move until the nausea had passed.
"Sheila?" Darian's voice came from somewhere nearby.    
"Over here." She stood up, bruised, shaken, and chilled by the icy rain. But all she could think about was Morning Star. They would never catch her. And although the sky was completely dark in the storm, she knew there were only three more nights till full moon. Please get to Ryudain in time, she prayed. Please get to Ryudain.
Darian sloshed over to her. In the flash of another light­ning bolt, she saw that he was covered with mud and pine needles, but otherwise seemed all right. His hand closed over her arm. "Let's try and find some shelter.''
"Do you think Morning Star will be okay?" she had to ask. Though the rain was still pelting down, the wind had quieted and they were finally able to talk without shouting.
"I don't know. Come on," Darian said tersely, steering her through the darkness.
Sheila planted her heels in the mud. "What about the owl?" she said. "There was definitely something weird about that owl."
"Can't we have this conversation when the rain lets up?" Darian asked with an attempt at humor.
Sheila shook her head stubbornly.
“Then, if you're asking me if I think the owl was magic, the answer is no. Owls happen to grow very large in this part of the land."
"But it shouldn't have attacked Morning Star," Sheila insisted. "Micula once told me that owls were creatures of the moon, like the unicorns. So I don't see why an owl would try to keep her from Ryudain."
"You're probably right," Darian admitted tiredly, "but there isn't anything we can do about it. Morning Star's on her own now. I'm hungry and soaking wet. All I really want to do is get out of the rain—unless, of course, you would rather stand here and chat."
"You don't have to get sarcastic," Sheila grumbled as they began trudging through the forest.
Lightning was still streaking the sky, so they didn't dare take shelter under a tree. But as far as Sheila could see, there was nothing but trees—trees, and somewhere nearby a river swollen with rain. Even above the thunder, they could hear the Caolin ripping its way through the woods. Sodden and miserable, they headed toward the river. In the morning they would be able to follow it toward Ryudain, they told each other. It was a good idea. But though they could clearly hear the sound of the river, they couldn't seem to find it. Instead, they wandered aimlessly through the storm.
Sheila's hands were so cold she could barely move her fingers, and her feet had long ago gone numb. She stumbled over logs and into puddles in her struggle to keep pace with Darian. The thunder made her jump, and when lightning struck a tree just ahead of them and the massive trunk caught fire, she stood transfixed. She hadn't thought she could pos­sibly get any wetter or colder or more frightened, and yet the night was definitely getting worse. It almost seemed as if the storm had set a trap for them. First, it had separated her from Morning Star. And now it was going to make sure they never left the forest alive.
Darian suddenly pulled her to him. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to the left. "Look straight ahead of you," he said, "and tell me what you see.
Sheila did as he asked. Then, just to be sure, she shut her eyes and opened them again. It was still there. "I see a house," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "A huge stone house with hundreds of small, square windows. And every one of them is lit."

11 The House in the Woods

Sheila and Darian approached the house warily. It was hard to believe it was real. What would such a grand house be doing in the middle of a forest? Still, Sheila told herself, if it was some sort of illusion, Darian was experiencing it, too.
Up close the house was far larger than it had originally seemed. Built of stone and massive timbers, it towered above them. Sheila couldn't even guess how many stories tall it was; with all those crazy windows, it was impossible to tell. All she knew was that the light inside looked inviting, and the sound of the rain hitting the roof made her want more than anything to be inside, It had been a long time since she had been in anything resembling a house. In Laric's palace she and three of the other riders all shared a large, rather sparsely furnished room. The idea that somewhere inside this house there might be a warm, cozy bedroom nearly undid her.
Sheila stared at the black lion's-head knocker on the door. What if they knocked and whoever was inside refused them shelter?
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Darian asked.
“I just can't believe this is real," Sheila said honestly. Darian gave a bitter laugh. 'Neither can I, but I'm willing to find out. If we're going to meet danger, I'd rather do it warm and dry."
Sheila had no desire to argue. She lifted the iron ring that hung from the lion's mouth and let it fall. On the third knock the door swung open.
Framed by the light of an elaborate candelabra was a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the fourth-grade teacher Sheila had long ago adored. She almost said, "Mrs. Kaplan?" but Mrs. Kaplan would never have been wearing a floor-length gown of green velvet, nor would her dark hair be threaded with perfect, tiny diamonds.
The woman looked at the two shivering, soaking-wet teen­agers with astonishment. "Come in, whoever you are," she said. "This is no night for traveling."
Gratefully, Sheila and Darian stepped into the entryway. From the inside the house was even grander than they had imagined. A chandelier ablaze with candles lit the main hall, revealing rich tapestries, a long, finely polished table, and a blazing fire in a black marble hearth.
Sheila was suddenly terribly conscious of how awful she must look, Glancing down at the stone floor, she was horrified to discover dirty puddles around her feet. "Maybe we shouldn't come any farther," she murmured. "We're dripping all over your house."
"Yes, you are,” the woman conceded with surprising warmth. "However, I'm sure I have some dry clothing you can borrow. The floors will survive a little water. Please, you must at least wait out the storm and let me feed you some dinner."
Charmed, Sheila and Darian followed the woman through the great hall, into a parlor whose walls were covered with green and gold silk, and then up a broad, winding stone stair­case. On the third landing the woman turned and led them down a wide corridor. She pointed to two doors, one diago­nally across from the other.
"Please make yourselves comfortable," she said graciously. "There are wardrobes in each room. You may borrow whatever you like until your own clothing has dried. And in the meantime, I'll bring you some warm food."
Sheila and Darian exchanged a glance in which they re­alized that neither one of them had any intention of turning down this offer. Thanking the woman, Sheila went into the room on the left, and Darian the room on the right.
Sheila gasped with delight at the sight that awaited her. It was all delicately carved cherry furniture and the finest fab­rics—a thick blue carpet on the floor, chairs upholstered in a lighter blue silk, and a thick down bed covered with a woven blanket of ivory wool so soft that Sheila found herself uncon­sciously stroking it. Get a grip! she told herself with a grin when she realized what she was doing.
She stood for a moment warming herself in front of the fireplace, then crossed the room to the wooden wardrobe. Turning a tiny gold key in the door, she opened it to find a row of gowns and tunics. Apparently, the woman had a hus­band, and from what Sheila could see, he was taller and broader than Darian. The woman was also taller and broader than Sheila, and Sheila stared enviously at the gowns, won­dering if any of them could possibly fit. They were all in jewel tones—deep blues, reds, greens, and purples-some edged with golden thread, a few embroidered with gemstones. Sheila held up a blue one with sapphires set in the neckline. Never had she seen such finery. But much as she longed to wear one, she somehow knew they weren't meant for her. What if she did something really stupid and completely typical like spill soup all over the sapphire one?
Quickly she flipped through the men's tunics. These, too, were finely woven, but at least they felt like something she might legitimately wear. She took out what looked like the smallest one. It was simply cut from the same soft ivory wool used for the blanket. With great satisfaction she shed her own filthy tunic. On a bedside table she found a marble basin filled with water and immediately set about washing up.
She had just finished changing into the new tunic when she heard a knock on the door. The woman entered the room, bearing a loaf of fresh bread and two steaming bowls of stew on a silver tray. "What?'' she said in surprise. "I thought you would choose a gown.
"I didn't think they'd fit,'' Sheila said sheepishly.
"Neither does the tunic," the woman remarked with a laugh as she set the food down on a small rectangular table.
"I can belt it," Sheila explained. She eyed the food hun­grily. "That looks great," she said.
"Then I'll leave it with you." The diamonds in the wom­an's hair glittered with the light from the fireplace as she looked toward the windows. "The storm is still raging," she said. "You will stay the night, won't you?"
Sheila glanced at the big feather bed. Nothing had ever looked more inviting. "Probably… can we let you know after dinner?"
"I'll be downstairs if you need me," the woman answered, picking up the tray with the second bow. "Now, I'd better take this in to your friend before it gets cold." With a smile she left the room.
Sheila sat down at the table, thinking that things couldn't be more perfect. If someone had deliberately set out to create her fantasy of the ideal escape from the storm, they couldn't have come any closer than this house. She picked up her spoon and stopped. In fact, now that she thought about it, everything seemed just a little too good to be true. She put her spoon down regretfully. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe everything really was fine, but suddenly she wanted to talk with Darian before she got any more comfortable.
Sheila had no sooner stood up than the door swung open. She let out a sigh of relief as Darian walked in. He, too, had changed into a fresh tunic, but his fit considerably better than hers. "I was just going to find you,” she said, thinking that this was no time to be noticing how handsome he was.
He looked around her room in surprise. "This is completely different from the one I’m in," he said. "Mine has all these great old shields and banners hanging from the walls. I could look at those things for hours."
Sheila's first thought was that their room assignments had worked out very well, and her next was that they'd worked out too well. "Maybe that's exactly what you're supposed to do," she said slowly. "Darian, I've been thinking that every­thing here is a bit too perfect."
"Ingrate," he said with a grin.
"No, really. I—''
"Shhh," he said, crossing the room to stand by the wall of windows. Without another word, he opened the iron latches and pushed against the casements.
"Haven't you had enough rain for one night?" Sheila asked in exasperation.
The windows didn't budge.
"Actually," Darian said. "I was thinking it might be a good idea to get back out there again." He pulled his sword from his belt and began methodically ramming its hilt into each of the windowpanes. He could have been hitting stone for all the effect it had. He turned to face her. "The windows in my room don't open, either. And they don't break, which I find pretty strange. Almost as strange as what you're talking about. I'm afraid you're right. Ever since we saw this place, things have been too neat. Too easy."
"As if they were arranged for us," Sheila said, trying to quiet the fear that was rising inside her.
Smiling, Darian brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "I think we actually agree on something for once. Let's get out of here."
Without another word, Sheila buckled on her swordbelt, grabbed her soggy backpack from the floor, and followed Darian into the hall, Moving soundlessly he led the way down the stairway. Sheila's heart was hammering as they reached the ground floor. Neither one of them had any idea where the other outside doors might be. Their best bet was to go out the way they had come in. But to do that they would have to go through the parlor and the great hall. Sheila found herself wishing she had mastered the spell of invisibility.
Ahead of her, Darian hesitated a moment. Then, keeping his body close to the shadows, he edged into the parlor. The house was unnaturally quiet. Don't think about it; just go, Sheila told herself, taking one slow step after another. She breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the room. Darian was already moving into the great hall, which meant the coast was clear. Maybe the woman had gone to sleep. Feeling slightly bolder, Sheila worked her way past the fireplace and around the long table. She froze at a faint creaking sound, decided it was noth­ing, and continued on.
At last she reached the entryway. Darian stood at the door, intent on lifting the great iron crossbar that served as a bolt. Sheila drew her sword1 standing guard over him. She saw him fumble with the latch, then heard him swear under his breath. He turned to her, his eyes bewildered, and shook his head silently.
"What he's trying to tell you," said a silky voice behind them, "is that there's no way out. The house is sealed."
Sheila felt her skin crawl at the sound of that voice. She would have known it anywhere. She forced herself to face the sorcerer who had sworn vengeance on her.
Wearing blood-red robes, Mardock stood tall and impos­ing, his long black curls tumbling to his shoulders. "Do you like my house?" he asked cordially. "It was created with just you two in mind. Or to be more specific, it was created from your minds."
"It's all illusion, then?'' Sheila asked, surprised to find herself curious despite her fear.
"You're both so easy," the wizard gloated. "It was child's play to reach into your minds and draw out the images that would comfort you. Sheila even provided me with the lady of the house."
Sheila shut her eyes. It had been Mrs. Kaplan, slightly reworked, of course. Mardock had been able to steal her mem­ories from the fourth grade! And she hadn't even felt him reaching for them. Every time she came up against this wizard, it seemed he had more power than the last time. Was there anything within her that he didn’t know?
She opened her eyes in alarm as she heard a familiar scrap­ing sound. Darian, his sword drawn, was moving toward the sorcerer with a frightening intensity.
Amused, Mardock watched him. And then, as if deciding to let the boy have his way, he began backing up into the great hall.
"Darian, stop!" Sheila called out. "You know you can’t hurt him that way. He's only playing with you."
Darian ignored her, advancing steadily on Mardock, There was no way to talk him out of it, Sheila knew. Once he had begun a fight, he lost all fear.
Desperately Sheila unzipped her backpack. Unwilling to take her eyes off Darian, she fished around blindly with one hand. She bypassed matches, the last of the sparklers, her tape player, the makeup. Everything seemed useless. Then her hand closed on the camera. It might not work against the wizard, but it was definitely worth a try.
Mardock's eyes flickered curiously as she took his picture, but he didn't try to stop her. He simply continued his cat-and-mouse game with Darian, who struck at him repeatedly without connecting.
Nearly frantic, Sheila waited for the picture to develop, and then thrust it quickly between Mardock and the tip of Darian's sword. "See what I hold," she commanded, ignoring Darian's order to get out of the way
Mardock gave the photo a cursory glance. "A pretty trick," he declared. "What good is it?"
"Don't you know?" Sheila asked, wondering if she could actually pull off this bluff a second time. She tried to give her voice authority as she said, "I've captured your image, and with it your soul. Your power will soon be mine."
"You are stupider than I thought." The sorcerer's voice dripped with contempt. "And I grow weary of playing with this overly aggressive cub. Let me show you how much of my power remains mine."
Mardock didn't move. He didn't have to. Sheila saw the same gray mist she had seen in her vision rise out of his body. It floated into the air, hovered for a moment above the fire­place, and then settled around Darian like a fine gray net.
Darian's eyes went wide as he dropped the sword and fell to his knees.
"What is it?" Sheila asked, terrified. There were no marks on Darian, and yet he was writhing in pain. "What's he done to you?"
"It burns," Darian gasped. "It's burning me."
"You," Sheila breathed, facing Mardock furiously. "You lift that mist from him now!"
Mardock looked bored. "You're hardly in any position to be giving orders, girl." He gestured to the fireplace. "For you I think I'll use a more traditional flame."
To her horror Sheila found herself drawn to the burning hearth. She had no control over her feet, but was somehow being led slowly, surely, to the roaring flames. The high black mantel rose well over her head, and Sheila knew that Mardock intended her to walk into the fire. The flames were beckoning her. She would simply walk into the fire, she thought with a strange sense of calm. That was all she was meant to do. She moved forward blindly, as if in a trance, until she heard Darian give a low moan behind her. And with that small sound, all her fury returned.
Mardock could only be fought with magic, and Sheila knew her own magic wasn't strong enough to challenge him.
But that didn't mean she couldn't call on someone whose was.  She stared straight into the high yellow flames, and now she saw them leaping and dancing, devouring the wood, waiting for her. "Let my anger burn as you do," she began silently. "Fire and flame, I call on you and give you whatever strength is still within me. Burn through this night. Send a calling to the sorceress Micula and summon her to me now!"
A white heat shot through her, and for a moment Sheila lost track of everything—of Darian and Mardock and her own slow progression toward the flames. There was only a thin line of fire burning hot and white within her. It hurt, but Sheila knew at once that it would do her no harm. There was strength in the fire, pulling her away from the hearth and turning her unafraid to face Mardock.
Sheila began to tremble as she understood what was hap­pening. The sorceress had not appeared at her summoning, but she had sent her power, and it was Micula's magic that was now racing through Sheila's body like a hot, white fire.
The power of Micula felt nothing like the brief flashes of magic Sheila had experienced on her own. Sure and strong, it made everything around her luminously clear. She saw the mist clinging to Darian. Everywhere it touched him, he was scored with wire-thin red lines of pain. And as she saw it, she called it from him and returned it to the fire, its true source. I didn't even have to think about that, Sheila realized in amaze­ment. I just did it.
Darian breathed out a long sigh of relief and Sheila turned back to Mardock.
"You have help now," he said calmly. "But how long do you think it will last?"
"Long enough," Sheila assured him. She chanted a string of words in a tongue that only Micula would have known, and the fire began pulling Mardock toward it. This was not the slow, relentless tug that Sheila had felt. It was as if the wizard were being sucked into the flames by a giant vacuum.
Howling with rage, he fought against Micula's power, but the magic was overwhelming. "Girl," he panted, "for this you will—“ But he never finished the threat. In his only chance to escape Micula's wrath, he called out an incantation of his own, and a sheet of dark red light materialized and wrapped itself around him. Sheila fell back as if she had been struck. There was no sound, no movement, and yet she knew that somehow everything was shattering.
It seemed an eternity before it was over. Then Sheila slowly sat up. Her eyes went first to Darian, who looked stunned but otherwise unhurt. Thank you, Micula, she said silently. Without you, we wouldn't have survived. The white fire that had burned within her was gone. As was Mardock and the house. Dawn was just breaking, and she and Darian were sitting on the damp forest floor just a short distance away from the banks of the Caolin River.


12 After the Storm

There was only one night left before the full moon, and nei­ther Sheila nor Darian had any idea of how far it was to Ryudain. Before them the Caolin River cut a wide blue swath along the side of the mountain. Turning and twisting back on itself, the river opened up the deep, dark forest; sunlight played on the water and streamed through the branches of the tall pines that bordered it. In the aftermath of the storm, birds were calling and squirrels were racing each other up and down the trees. Sheila thought she could almost forget the night's encounter with Mardock. In the bright sunshine it seemed surreal, just one more nightmare.
Darian, however, did not seem willing to forget. Except to note that there was a good deal of white water and that the river’s current was getting stronger, he barely spoke.
They followed the river from early morning until the sun was high overhead. The farther they went, the steeper their trail became. How much higher does it go? Sheila wondered. She heard what she thought might be the sound of falls up ahead, but when she mentioned it to Darian, he only grunted something unintelligible. The riverbank soon became strewn with large white boulders that necessitated a great deal of leaping, climbing, balancing, and general scrambling around.
For Sheila, this made conversation impossible and left her to deal with what was really on her mind—the fate of Morning Star.
Again and again she found herself wondering how far the unicorn was from Ryudain. She couldn't bear to think she might not reach it safely. Almost as bad was the thought that Morning Star might reach Ryudain but never return from the wild. Morning Star had carried Sheila through more adven­tures than she could count and saved her life on more than one occasion. They were friends, and Sheila couldn't imagine life without her.
Sheila knew that Darian could sometimes sense Wildwing's whereabouts, and she wondered if it would be possible for her to sense Morning Star now. Working her way mechanically from rock to rock, she closed her eyes for a second, trying to make herself feel the unicorn's presence. But her timing was off, and her eyes flew open in alarm as she found herself sliding off one very large rock and straight toward the river.
Darian's hand closed firmly on her wrist, stopping her in mid-slide and yanking her safely back onto the rock.
"Are you falling asleep?'' he demanded.
"No," Sheila admitted sheepishly. ''I closed my eyes be­cause I was trying to sense Morning Star."
"If that's what you want to do, you ought to have enough sense to wait until you're on solid ground," he snapped, and began to make his way upriver again. Like anything that in­volved physical action, climbing came easily to Darian. He moved from rock to rock with a careless, easy grace that left Sheila a good ways behind.
She watched him dart up the side of a particularly steep rock that seemed to have no footholds at all, and was surprised when he turned and waited for her, offering a hand up. She scrambled to his side and would have leapt to the next rock, but he held her back. "I think we should go inland for a while," he said, nodding toward the forest.
"No," said Sheila. "I'm not getting lost in there again. Look, I promise I won't fall off any more rocks."
"It's not that," Darian said with a trace of a smile. "I just have this feeling that we ought to be moving back into the woods now.
"How come you always have these feelings?" Sheila mut­tered, although she already knew the answer. It wasn't any­thing mystical. Like Illyria and Kara and Zanara-Ki, Darian had a warrior's sixth sense. Through long hours of practice he had developed a special sensitivity to sound and movement and scent.
"We won't go too far from the river," Darian promised. Then, without waiting for an answer, he leapt off the rock.
Sheila rolled her eyes but followed him into the forest, starting nervously when a bird flew too close. She didn't think she could take another encounter with a giant owl. But she relaxed a bit when she realized Darian was keeping his word. They were traveling in a line that was roughly parallel to the river, and they remained within earshot of the water.
For what seemed like hours, they traipsed through the dense green undergrowth. Sheila wanted to call for a break, but there was an urgency in Darian's movements that kept her going without complaint. She was surprised when it was he who finally stopped.
"Up there," Darian said, pointing overhead.
Sheila followed the line of his hand and was filled with sudden hope at the sight of an eagle soaring high above. Mo­tionlessly, she watched it wing through the sky as if it owned the heavens. "Do you think that's one of Laric's men?" she asked excitedly.
"No,'' Darian said. ''It's too small."
Sheila felt her heart drop. "Well, do you think they'll come to Ryudain?" she persisted.
"Who knows?" Darian snapped, setting of at another killer pace. "At this rate I'm not even sure we'll get there."

Darkness fell just as they came to the top of another ridge. Below it the land dipped into a shallow valley before ascend­ing the mountain again. Sheila took a deep breath, hearing the wind whip through the trees. Like the ones before, this night would be a wild one.
"Now, let's not have any complaints about me making you walk through the woods," Darian said, pointing down into the valley.
"What?" she said indignantly, ready to argue that she hadn't complained at all. But what she saw turned her protest into a shout of pure joy. There, nested against the hollow of the mountain, a small group of women were gathered around a fire. And on the outskirts of the camp, dancing in and out of the firelight only to disappear again into the night, were the unicorns.
Sheila turned to Darian and threw her arms around him. "We found them, we found them, we found them!" she chanted, jumping up and down with excitement.
"Unless you want whoever else might be on this mountain to find us, you'd better calm down," he said, but he was laugh­ing, and Sheila knew he was as happy as she was. With an­other shriek of joy, she grabbed his hand and began running down the side of the mountain.
Darian let himself be pulled along for a while, but slowed as they neared the outskirts of the camp. "Hold on a minute," he said breathlessly.
"What is it?" she asked, barely able to contain her im­patience.
"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," he said, his voice serious. Gently his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. "A long time ago I called you a sorceress.”
Sheila felt herself redden with embarrassment.
"You proved it last night," he went on.
"No," Sheila said. "I don't know what you saw, but that wasn't me, Darian. It was Micula's power that stopped Mardock. I never could have done it."
"But you summoned her," he said. "That's magic. And you've got to know," –for the first time his voice faltered— “that you are magic, Sheila McCarthy. Always.”
"Oh," Sheila said, stunned, She really didn't know what to say to that, but something in his eyes gave her the courage to tell him what was really in her heart. "I'm not sure about this magic stuff," she confessed, her voice trembling. "There's only one thing I'm sure about, and that's how I feel about you.”
Darian gave a soft, low laugh and drew her into his arms. "Don't you know?" he chided her gently, "that's magic, too," And then, even though they were only a short distance from the camp, he kissed her until she was breathless.
An indignant snort behind them finally broke the mood. "I think we have company," Darian murmured, releasing Sheila and turning toward the source of the noise. When he saw that it was Wildwing, he threw himself at the unicorn with a happy shout. But although the unicorn was obviously glad to see his rider, he skittered nervously out of reach when Darian tried to touch him, "He's almost completely wild again," Darian said sadly. "I wonder if they're all like that now."
Sheila felt a sharp pang at the thought that Morning Star might not let her touch her, and a sharper one at the thought that Morning Star might not even be here. Determined to face the truth, she set off into the camp. "We'll see," she said. ''We'll just see."

13 The Renewal

Sheila and Darian emerged from the line of trees that bordered the camp. The riders were all there, and so were the unicorns. Sheila felt herself go weak with relief when she caught sight of Morning Star prancing around the line of trees that marked the far edge of the camp. But as her eyes roamed the clearing, hoping to see Illyria, her heart began to pound. Pelu and Nanine could clearly be seen tending the fire, with most of the riders gathered round them. And ringing the fire, each the size of a Great Dane, were the wolves. They were a dusky gray, so dark they were barely recognizable in the eve­ning shadows. It was their eyes that gave them away— yellow glittering eyes.
A low growl rippled through the pack, and Sheila's hand went to the hilt of her sword. Darian's blade was already drawn. But the wolves, seeing two intruders, were already be­ginning to advance.
Sheila would never know what might have happened had Illyria not stepped through the circle of wolves. "They are welcome here," the Unicorn Queen told the animals, and one by one they fell back. "It's all right," she said to Sheila and Darian, motioning for them to sheath their swords. "As ani­mals of the moon, the wolves are here to protect the unicorns. They have given us escort all along." She kept her eyes on the animals until the growling stopped and they had once more settled around the fire looking reasonably peaceful. Then she turned to the two teenagers and said, "Every night I have wished for your return. The moon has been kind.
"We've been wanting to come back, too," Darian said a little awkwardly. As Darian and Illyria embraced, Micula stepped forward. The sorceress looked much as she always had, but Sheila couldn't take her eyes off her. For a brief time Sheila had known what it felt like to have Micula's command of magic, and she was still awed. "I—" Sheila began lamely, wondering how she could adequately thank Micula.
She needn't have wondered, As usual, the sorceress read her. "No thanks are necessary,” she said coolly, with an ap­praising look at Sheila. "You provided a strong entryway for me. I couldn't have acted against Mardock had you not sum­moned me and given me a channel in which to work. You did well, Sheila. One day you will have strong magic of your own.”
Sheila couldn't believe her ears. She had never expected to hear Micula's praise.
"Tomorrow is full moon," the sorceress went on, not lin­gering over sentiment. "We need only protect the unicorns for one more night."

The last night with the unicorns passed uneventfully. Sheila and Darian were welcomed back by the riders and fed a hearty dinner while everyone plied them with questions. Sheila tried to visit with Morning Star, but the unicorn wouldn't even let her approach. The wolves were friendlier, Sheila thought with a sinking heart as she got ready to sleep. Tomorrow might be the last time she would ever see Morning Star, and already the mare was treating her like a stranger.
Still worrying about the unicorn, Sheila felt her eyes grow heavy. She slept long and deeply—so deeply that she didn't hear the arrival of Laric and his eagle warriors, who sometime near dawn appeared from out of the sky. She slept so deeply that when she finally did wake, the wolves had disappeared, the eagles had transformed into men again, the riders were packing up the camp, and the unicorns were gone.
She stumbled out of the blankets, trying to figure out what was going on. "What happened to the unicorns?" Sheila de­manded.
"The same thing that's been happening to them for the last two weeks," Nanine answered. "They're on their way to Ryudain. Only now they're almost there. We'll catch up with them"—she gave Sheila's disheveled state an amused look— "if certain people around here will get ready."
"Right," Sheila said, adjusting her tunic, which had some­how gotten twisted and now seemed to be about two inches shorter on one side.
Nanine, who even in a dirty tunic managed to look regal, clucked her tongue and laughed. "We'll have to do something about that when we get you back to Campora."
Sheila looked at her hopefully. "Then you think that after tonight we'll be going back and everything will be the same as it was?''
"I think we'll be going back," Nanine answered slowly, "but nothing ever really stays the same."

All that day Illyria led the riders out of the valley and up the mountain. For Sheila it seemed very strange to be traveling with all of the riders—and all of them on foot. It was even stranger because no one really knew where they were going or what would happen when they finally got there.
As Illyria led them farther up the mountain, she also led them closer to the river; it wasn't in sight, but Sheila could definitely hear it. The riders kept climbing. The evergreens were growing thinner, the air cooler, and the land steeper. Sheila couldn't even imagine what the elevation might be, but it felt like the top of the world was in that forest. And still they climbed. Laric's men helped pass the time with stories and gossip from Campora.
Late in the afternoon they reached what seemed to be yet another ridge. Sheila was at the tail end of the group who stumbled wearily to the top, and so she was the last to see it.
On the other side of the ridge the mountain fell away into a sheer, breathtakingly deep gorge. Its sides were carved of a jet-black rock that seemed to fall to the bottom in sheer ver­tical drops. It made Sheila dizzy just to look down, and yet she couldn't take her eyes away. For pouring down into an emerald green pool at the bottom of the gorge was the highest waterfall she had ever seen. White water crashed down and sprayed into the air with an uncontrollable force that could be felt clear across the ridge. And with a surety that mountain goats might envy, the unicorns were calmly making their way down the sheer side of the gorge to the base of the falls. Sheila didn't need to ask. This was Ryudain.

The riders and Laric's warriors all gathered around Micula, who was explaining that their mission would not be over until the renewal was completed. "Tonight we shall join the uni­corns at the falls,'' she finished. "We must offer them our protection until the end."
Sheila chose not to concentrate on what "the end" might mean. Instead, she shot another quick look into the gorge, and muttered to whoever might be listening, "How are we ever going to get down there?" She was relatively sure that unless you happened to be a unicorn, there was no way down.
Illyria, apparently, was concerned about the same thing. She held a hurried conference with Laric and Micula, then turned to the riders. "Prince Laric and his men have gra­ciously offered to take us to the base of the fails,'' she an­nounced.
"How?" Dian asked.
"On our backs," Laric said matter-of-factly.  Sheila had a terrible vision of each of the riders piggyback on one of Laric's men, and all of them falling through space into the emerald-green pool.
"As eagles," he added with a smile, and she relaxed.
"The final part of our journey wilt begin at moonrise," Micula said. "Until then I suggest you all try to rest.”
But no one could rest. For an endless afternoon Sheila and the other riders prowled the top of the ridge, helpless to do anything but watch the unicorns descend to the base of the falls. Occasionally one of the beasts would lose its footing; and while the unicorns always managed to right themselves, Sheila found it almost painful to follow Morning Star's prog­ress down the treacherous path.
At last dusk fell, and as the sky turned a smoky lavender, Laric and his men began their transformation. Sheila had seen it happen more than once before, and it always left her amazed and somehow shaken; there was something seriously weird about men turning into gigantic golden eagles. The air around them stirred so that it seemed as if each were caught in his own whirlwind. Then the air cleared again, and where there had been a man, there was an eagle.
Sheila saw that there would be one eagle for each of the riders save one. Micula stepped forward at once. "I don't need to be carried," she said. And as they all watched in wonder, she disappeared before their eyes only to reappear seconds later at the bottom of the gorge. Her magic, as always, seemed effortless.
Illyria watched with a smile and then said softly, "It's time we joined her."
The eagle closest to Sheila spread its wings. Hesitantly, she climbed on its back. She knew it would be able to carry her—as eagles, each of Laric's men had at least an eight-foot wing span. Still, she had never ridden an eagle before. She wasn’t even sure where to hold on until she saw Pelu clasp her hands around her eagle's neck, Sheila did the same, and as soon as the eagle felt her securely on his back, he lifted into the air and spiraled out over the falls.
Sheila was dizzy and terrified and thrilled. Beneath her the eagle soared and glided on the air currents, carrying her in a smooth, whirling pattern. It seemed to Sheila that the sides of the gorge were rising up around her, when in fact she was being taken down into the very heart of Ryudain. When the eagle finally touched gently down on the riverbank, she was giddy with the joy of it. No wonder Laric's men had not wanted to completely give up the transformation. How could anyone who had known the exaltation of flight bear to give it up? For the first time since she started working with Micula, it occurred to Sheila that there were some aspects of magic she might actually enjoy.
There was a bit of commotion as the riders assembled and the eagles transformed themselves back into men. The uni­corns were gathered together farther up the gorge, keeping their distance from the humans. Sheila stepped back and gazed up the falls. This was true power— torrents of white water cas­cading down over rock. Something that couldn't be stopped, that would carry everything with it, that would go on forever.
Micula's voice rang out above the roar of the rapids. "The moon is in her zenith. The unicorns have returned to Ryudain. We give praise."
Sheila saw with astonishment that the full moon was shin­ing directly into the center of the pool beneath the falls. It was as if Ryudain were drawing the moon and all its power down into itself.
The unicorns began to call, sounding a note Sheila had never heard from them before. First it seemed as if they were calling to each other, then to the riders to bear witness, and at last as if they were calling to the moon itself. And then, faster than the eye could follow, they burst from the place where they had gathered, exploding in one last race to the falls.
"Get back!" someone beside her hissed, and Sheila was pulled out of the way as the unicorns thundered past. They would have run her down, she saw, for they now belonged completely to the wild. Sheila felt her heart begin to hammer as she realized where they were going. In what she was sure was a mass suicide, the herd ran straight into the river beneath the falls. Sheila caught a quick glimpse of Morning Star's black mane before it disappeared behind the white water. She'll ei­ther be battered to death or swept downriver, Sheila thought, fighting nausea. Had they really come all this way to watch the unicorns destroy themselves?
She clenched her fists tightly and was surprised to feel a warm hand close over hers. It was Darian. "Look," he said, his voice filled with awe. Bathed in a silver wash of moonlight and mist, the unicorns stood beneath the falls, neither bat­tered nor swept away. One by one, each of the unicorns stood on its hind legs, suspended in moonlight and magic as the waters of Ryudain washed over them. For a second Sheila could have sworn she saw a line of silver energy flowing di­rectly from the moon to the unicorns.
The line of silver was gone almost as soon as it had ap­peared, and after a moment the unicorns dropped to four legs again and worked their way out from beneath the falls. They were still caught in the swirling white water, and they were still calling to the night, but the moment of renewal was past.
"It is done," Micula said, her voice floating eerily above the roar of the falls. As if to confirm her words, the unicorns began to leave the river. "Do not try to get close to them yet," the sorceress warned. "For a while they will be filled with the wild magic.”
Sheila found she was still holding her breath when Morning Star finally emerged on the bank, She wanted more than anything to call to her and might have, had Darian not cried out at that very moment.
"That's my cub!" he said in astonishment.
Sheila looked down, and indeed there on the moonlit bank was the little lion cub that had kept them company in the cave, "What's it doing here?" she asked.
"Never mind that," Darian said. "I've got to get it away from the unicorns." Sheila understood his concern. Uni­corns and lions were natural enemies, and while a full-grown unicorn normally wouldn't bother with a cub, tonight they were filled with the wild magic, and nothing about them was normal. Which meant it might be very dangerous for Darian to interfere. Still, he started forward, intent on rescuing the cub.
Half afraid to look, Sheila watched the tawny little lion, still wondering how it could have found its way to Ryudain. Had it followed them from the cave? After managing to poison me, she thought bitterly. What kind of cub could have kept up with Morning Star's run? And suddenly she knew exactly what it was.
"Darian, stop!" she screamed. "That's no cub!"
It was not Sheila's cry that made Darian stop, but the cub itself. Before their wondering eyes it transformed itself from a small, clumsy cub to a full-grown lion nearly equal in size to Quiet Storm, the largest of the unicorn stallions. With a roar that seemed to drown out the thunder of the falls, the lion called a challenge.
And Quiet Storm stepped into the moonlight to meet it.
Sheila knew that no one could interfere in this battle, and that it would be to the death. Laric had once told her, "When the lion and the unicorn meet, only one survives." The lion rushed in at once, but the silver unicorn met the charge with lowered horn, and the lion backed off warily, a low growl rising from its throat. They stalked each other then, each trying to prod the other into exposing its weakness.
Sheila looked over at Illyria and saw fear written all over her face. The opponents were far too evenly matched.
With a furious growl the lion attacked again, raking a bloody path down the unicorn's flank. But the attack only served to strengthen Quiet Storm's will to fight. The unicorn answered the charge, rearing up on his hind legs and catching the lion in the side as it came down. Ears flattened, the lion went for Quiet Storm's throat— And then, with a scream of fury, the unicorn caught the lion on his horn, goring it badly.
It's got to be over, Sheila thought frantically. It's just got to be over.
The silver unicorn stood over the wounded lion, ready to deliver the death blow. And that's when the lion, desperate to survive, shape-shifted yet again, this time returning to its true form. Only Sheila was not surprised when Mardock, hag­gard and bleeding, stood before them.
"I am not done," he promised, gasping for breath. "There's more magic in me yet.”
"Don't be a fool!" Micula cried. "You have ventured into a place of power far greater than your own. It is the moon itself you oppose now. You cannot cross her and win.”
"No, sorceress. I will work one more magic," he vowed. "I cannot be stopped by you or the unicorns or even the moon." He cast around as if looking for a likely victim, but the riders and Laric's men and even the other unicorns had all fallen back during Quiet Storm's battle. Mardock stood quite alone, a pathetic figure in the moonlight. "You see me bleeding and yet none of you will come near?" he taunted. "That is proof of my power.”
"Please stop now!" Micula cried again.
The wizard only reached into his robe and pulled out a small, rectangular box that looked a lot like a TV remote control.
The Tracker, Sheila thought with terror. He's still got the Tracker, and he's figured out how to use it.
Mardock confirmed her theory as he pushed a button, and seconds later Sheila saw the ghostlike shimmering that meant Dr. Reit was about to appear.
"For my last magic," Mardock panted, "the girl will watch her friend die."
No Sheila thought wildly as Dr. Reit slowly materialized muttering, "What a tremendous waterfall!" He doesn't even know what's happening.
Without stopping to think or even ground herself, Sheila called on the moonlight and hurled one last spell of her own, a silver circle of protection that shot out from her body and encircled Dr. Reit.
The last thing she saw before the power circled back to her was the wizard—spent, broken, and babbling wildly. Mardock had gone insane. Moon madness, some would call it, Sheila saw it for what it was—the punishment for anyone who crossed the powers of the moon.

14 The Last Magic

Sheila never felt the power of the magic when the circle of protection returned to her. This time there was no becoming a part of the elements, and there was no burning white fire within her. She was simply knocked unconscious.
She awoke dazed, unable to make sense of the smooth white floor beneath her. Mardock and the waterfall and the riders and the unicorns all seemed to be gone. This was not Ryudain at all.
Dr. Reit, however, had not vanished. He was sitting up beside her, looking every bit as dazed as she felt. The Tracker lay on the floor almost exactly between them. "Oh, my dear girl!" Dr. Reit exclaimed. "You're looking a bit peaked again."
Sheila shut her eyes, then opened them again. She knew this room. She knew exactly where she was.
''Dr. Reit,'' she said, struggling to sit up, ''it's your labo­ratory. We're back in our world! In your lab!"
"So we are," the scientist said, looking around him with delight. "Sheila, I must say— whatever you did to get us back here has completely blown the roof off all my theories of time travel. It was most remarkable. And I suppose this can wait until later, but I'd dearly love to know how you did it."
"I cast a spell of protection," Sheila said slowly. "And it protected us so well that it carried us back into this world."
"More magic?" Dr. Reit asked with a frown.	
Sheila nodded wearily. She had wanted to protect Dr. Reit, but she hadn't been ready to leave the land of the Unicorn Queen. She hadn't even had a chance to say good-bye.
"Well," the scientist said briskly, "magic or not, whatever you did is most remarkable."
"Thanks,” Sheila said weakly.
The scientist stood up, put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, and gave Sheila a searching glance. "You look tired," he said. "I think it's best you go home right now and get some sleep."
"No!" said Sheila, with more force than she had intended. "You can't just send me home. I mean, I never got to find out if the unicorns are going to be okay and everything. You've got to let me go back," she said frantically. "Just for a little while."
The scientist drew himself up angrily. "Sheila, are you asking me to reactivate the Molecular Acceleration Transport Device? After the Tracker was lost and I spent who knows how long subject to that madman Mardock? Surely, you must realize this is not a toy to be played with.''
"I never thought of it as a toy, Sheila tried once more. "Please, Dr. Reit, just send me back for a little while. An afternoon maybe."
The scientist ran his hand through his frizzy white hair, and for a moment Sheila thought he might give in. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "It's simply too dangerous. Now I must thank you for an extraordinary rescue and ask you to go home and get some sleep. You'll feel differently about this in the morning.''
"All right," Sheila said, knowing he wouldn't give in. She also knew she wouldn't feel at all differently in the morning.

As Dr. Reit had once explained, time was not necessarily par­allel in parallel worlds. So even though Sheila had been in the world of the Unicorn Queen for months, in the "real" world only a few hours had passed. In fact, the note she had left on the refrigerator explaining she'd gone to a movie was still there. Her parents hadn't even returned from their eve­ning out. Sheila pulled her note down and wadded it up before dropping it into the wastebasket. Absently she opened the refrigerator door only to shut it at once. The very thought of food made her suddenly feel sick. The only thing she wanted to think about was the world she had left behind.
Slowly Sheila climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She was still wearing the ivory wool tunic that had come from Mardock's house. Mardock's creation.
Her room, cozy and welcoming as it had always seemed, was no comfort now. Feeling weary and heartsick, Sheila sank down onto the bed and closed her eyes. A montage of images filled her mind— Illyria riding proudly on Quiet Storm, Zanara-­Ki teaching her to fight, Micula in the tower room, and Darian, that last time on the mountain, when he kissed her. Back in Campora he had told her things would change after Ryudain; she wondered if somehow he had known even then that she would be leaving. Maybe the kiss had been his good-bye.
Restlessly Sheila pushed herself off the bed and began pac­ing the room. Not long ago, she had ridden a unicorn, fought an evil wizard, and actually cast a magic spell. How was any­one supposed to settle for softball games and algebra class after that? She had returned to a half-life, and she couldn't bear the thought that this was where she would stay.
Sheila's pacing brought her around to her bedroom win­dow. She stopped a moment and looked out, surprised to dis­cover that in this world, too, the moon was full. What had Illyria said? Something about the full moon "pulling things."
"Oh, pull me back across time," Sheila prayed.
Nothing happened; but then she hadn't expected it would. After all, magic didn't work in this world… Or did it? Sheila stared at the moon intently. It couldn't hurt to try, she fig­ured.
In an effort to do justice to Micula's lessons, Sheila began the process of grounding. This time she let herself feel the moon—its light, its pull, its power. And only when she felt truly grounded did she call out the words for one final sum­moning: "Moon above," she began, "please call Illyria the Unicorn Queen to me." Her voice shook as she said, "I only want to say good-bye properly, but please let me see her one more time."
"Good-bye…?”
Sheila couldn't see anything, but Illyria's voice was so clear that she nearly fell to the floor.
"I never say good-bye to any of my riders," Illyria went on with a laugh. "We are friends for all time, Sheila, never doubt it."
"Are the unicorns okay now?" Sheila asked. "Please tell Morning Star I miss her. I miss you all."
"They're fine," Illyria assured her. "And you mustn’t he so sad. After all, you've summoned me. Don't you know what that means?"
But Illyria never answered her own question. Her voice was gone as suddenly as it had come.
Sheila slumped down on the bed, bereft. She was working hard to fight the tears when another voice entered the room. As Micula had once told her, magic is unpredictable. And so it was Darian who answered Illyria's question.
"What that means, Sheila," he said, half-teasing, half-serious, exactly the way she remembered him, "is that you've taken the magic with you."
"Are you sure?" Sheila asked, her voice trembling with joy.
"As sure as the moon rules the night sky." Darian sounded fainter now, and Sheila knew the summoning wouldn't last, but still his last words were clear and steady. ''I don't know when or how, but you will find a way to reach us again. Of that, I have no doubt."