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The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was gold. Not the light
gold of a palomino but a pure metallic gold like the color of a coin or ring,
except for white patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have risen
from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly see that the color
was true, down to the shortest hair.
In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped at Jon-Tom's feet.
Then it nodded meaningfully toward the still groaning mongoose. Jon-Tom now
recognized the marks on the mongoose's pants. They were hoofprints.
Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the unicorn. "Who the
hell are you, four-foot? And who asked you to interfere? This is none of your
business."
The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly, 226
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"1 am making it my business." He smiled at Jon-Tom.
"My name's Drom. I was grazing back in the woods when
I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, as I
ignored your presence." He nodded toward the mongoose, who was trying to crawl
back to its comrades while avoiding Hathcar.
"However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm as he was aiming his little
toy at your back." Drom raised a hoof, brought it down on the crossbow. There
was a splintering sound. "The unpleasant one there," and he nodded toward
Hathcar, "was right. This was none of my business. I don't trouble to involve
myself in the affairs of you social types. But I can't stand to see anyone
backshot." He turned his magnificent head, the thin golden goatee fluttering,
and glared back at
Hathcar.
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"Yo ah a true gentlemale, suh," said Roseroar approvingly.
"You should have stayed out of this, fool." Hathcar moved quickly to join his
gang. "Anyway, he lies. No doubt this insect," and he kicked at the miserable
Faset, "was trying to put a bolt through you. But that has nothing to do with
me."
"You called him by name," Jon-Tom said accusingly.
"A casual acquaintance." Hathcar continued to retreat.
His backers muttered uneasily.
"Glad you don't know 'im, friend." Mudge's arrow followed the cuscus's
backpedaling. "I'd 'ate to think you
'ad anything to do with 'is little ambushcade."
"What about your invitation?" Hathcar wanted to know.
"I think we'd rather dine alone," Jon-Tom smiled thinly. "At least until we
can sort things out."
"That's not very friendly of you. It's not polite to withdraw an invitation
once extended."
"My back," the mongoose blubbered. "I think my back is broken."
"Shut up, asshole." Hathcar kicked him in the mouth and blood squirted. The
cuscus tried to grin at the tall man. "Really, this thing has nothing to do
with me." His band was beginning to melt into the forest. "Always hanging
around, looking for sympathy. Sorry our visit upset you. I understand." Then
he too was gone, swallowed by the vegetation.
Roseroar's ears were cocked forward. "They're still movin' about," she
murmured warily.
"Where?" Jon-Tom asked her.
"Back among the trees."
"They are spreading out in an attempt to encircle you,"
said the one-horned stallion.
"Permit me to congratulate you on your timely arrival, mate." Mudge's eyes
searched the woods as he spoke. "I
never sensed 'im."
"Nor did I," said Roseroar, sparing a glance for the remains of the crossbow.
"I don't understand," Jon-Tom murmured. "We offered them all the food they
could eat."
"It wasn't just your food they were after." Drom kicked the crossbow fragments
aside. "I know that bunch by reputation. They were after your weapons and
armor, your
Fine clothes and your money."
Mudge let out a barking laugh. "Our money! Now mat's amusin'. We haven't a
copper to our names," he lied.
"Ah, but they thought you did." The unicorn nodded toward the forest. "Small
comfort that would have been to
you if they had learned that afterwards."
"You're right there."
Roseroar was turning a slow circle, keeping the roasting carcass at her back
as much as possible. "They're still out theah. Probably they think we can't
heah them, but ah can." She growled deep in her throat, a blood chilling
sound. "Our friend here is right. They're trying to get behind us."
"And to surprise you. Hathcar did not show his full
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strength. Many more of his band remained concealed while he spoke to you."
Jon-Tom eyed the silent trees in alarm. "How many more?' *
"A large number, though, of course, I am only guessing based on what I could
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observe during my approach."
"We appreciate your help. You might as well take off now. Our problems aren't
yours."
"They are now," the unicorn to!d him. "These are indifferent murderers, full
of false pride. I have embarrassed their leader in front of his band. Now he
must kill me or lose face and possibly his status as leader."
Roseroar strode toward the back of the clearing. "Move in heah, where theah's
some covah."
The unicorn shook his head, the mane of gold rippling in the filtered tight.
"It will not be good enough, tigress. I
can see that you are powerful as well as well-versed in war, but there are too
many of them, and you will be fighting in very close quarters. If they come at
you from all directions simultaneously you won't have a chance.
You require a more defensible position."
"You know of one?" Jon-Tom asked him.
"It is not far from here. I think if we can get there we will be able to stand
them off."
"Then let's get the hell out of here," he muttered as he shouldered his pack.
Mudge held back, torn between common sense and the effort he'd put into their
supper. Roseroar saw his hesitation.
"A full belly's small consolation to someone with his guts hangin' out. Ah
declah, short-whiskahs, sometimes ah wondah about yo priorities."
"Sometimes I wonder meself, lass." He looked longingly back at the lost roast
as they hurried through the woods, following the stallion's lead.
Drom maintained a steady but slow pace to enable his newfound friends to keep
up with him. Everyone watched the surrounding woods. But it was Roseroar's
ears they relied on most.
"Stayin' carefully upwind of us, but I can heah them movin' faster. They're
still behind us, though. Must think we're still in the camp."
"Wait a minute!" Jon-Tom called a halt. "Where's
Mudge?"
Roseroar cursed under her breath. "Damn that ottah! Ah knew ah should've kept
a closer watch on him. He's gone back fo some of that meat. Yoah friend is a
creature of base instincts."
"Yes, but he's not stupid. Here he comes."
Mudge appeared, laboring beneath a section of roast nearly as big as himself.
"Sorry, mates. I worked all day on this bloody banquet, and I'm damned if I
was goin' to leave it all for those bastards."
"You're damned anyway," snapped Jon-Tom. "How are you going to keep up,
hauling that on your back?"
The otter swung the heavy, pungent load off his shoulders.
"Roseroar?"
"Not me, ottah. Yo stew in yoah own stew."
"We're wasting time," said Drom. "Here." He dipped his head forward. "Hold it
still."
A quick jab and the roast was impaled on the spiral horn. "Now let's be away
from here before they discover ourflight." He turned and resumed his walk.
"Disgusting."
"What is?" Jon-Tom asked as he jogged alongside.
"The smell of cooked flesh, the odiferous thought of consuming the body of
another living creature, the miasma of carbonized protein, what else?"
Suddenly Jon-Tom wasn't so hungry anymore.
Creepers and vines strangled the entrance to the ancient structure. Roseroar
was reluctant to enter. The strangely slitted windows and triangular doorways
bespoke a time and people who had ruled the world long before the warmblooded.
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