“Oh. Of course.” As the unicorn, she could of course range far more widely before it got dark.
She vanished — but the black unicorn did not appear. Mach blinked.
There was a hummingbird, hovering in place. Just like the one who had helped him cross the river at the Harpy Demesnes.
“Fleta!” he exclaimed. “Another form!”
The hummingbird buzzed one loop around his head, then took off to the north.
Mach shook his head, bemused. He had never made the connection! Fleta had three forms, not two, and the bird was the third. She had assumed the flying form when that was needed to draw the thread across for the rope ladder over the river, then returned to her human form. Of course she hadn’t told him, because she was doubtful about his reaction to shape-changing women. But now that he knew her nature, she changed freely and openly.
And now that he knew her nature, he discovered that he liked it. In Proton he had associated with human beings, and with robots, and cyborgs and androids of either sex, thinking nothing of it. Even, briefly, an alien creature. All had looked human, but their internal operation had been entirely different, and he had known that and accepted it. Fleta’s overt forms differed widely, but she was the same person — and it was the person that counted. Was she called an animal? If so, he liked the animal better than the pseudopeople he had known in the other frame!
What, after all, was he? A machine! Who was he to quibble at whether a person was technically human, when he himself was not? At the moment he occupied a human body, and its chemistry was wreaking havoc with his emotional control, but in essence he knew he remained a robot. If Fleta could accept that, he could accept her.
He plucked fruit from the tree they had stopped at. He didn’t recognize the type, but it seemed to be juicy and sweet, and his living appetite thrived on that sort of thing.
What did Fleta prefer to eat, really? Since her natural form was equine, did she usually graze? If so, she must be getting hungry by now. He would have to ask.
The hummingbird returned. Suddenly Fleta stood before him. “Mach, I fear trouble,” she said breathlessly!
“More trouble?” He knew she wasn’t joking.
“There be goblins lying in ambush to the north.”
“Goblins? Little men?”
She frowned. “The Little Folk be decent; they mostly mine and work their crafts. Goblins be something else.’
“Why would they be lurking in ambush?”
“Methought it coincidence that the rope ladder was wrong. And that the demons were roused. Now do I wonder.”
“You mean those were traps laid for us? But why?”
She shook her head. “I know not why. But I fear it.”
“Maybe they’re just three types of mean creatures who like to eat human flesh?”
“They knew my nature.”
“Then they must have known they couldn’t possibly catch you! That you could change form and fly away.”
“Aye,” she agreed pensively.
His logical mind began to work. “Then it must have been me they were after.”
“Aye.”
“Yet you helped me escape—and they must have known that you would.”
“Not in human form.”
“They wanted to force you to reveal your nature to me?” He smiled. “In that they were successful—but what did they gain?”
“Mayhap they hoped thou wouldst revile me, when thou knew, so that I would leave thee.”
“And then they could trap me without hindrance!” he concluded. “Yet they couldn’t know I am not Bane. Surely they could not attack him with impunity!”
She laughed. “Goblins attack an Adept? That be so funny it be no longer funny.”
“So what could they expect to gain? As far as they know, we’re both poison.”
“That be what dost bother me. It makes not sense.”
“Unless,” he continued slowly, “they somehow know my nature. That I am no magician.”
“Adept,” she corrected him. “Bane be an apprentice Adept.”
“Whatever. My status makes me vulnerable. But how would they know? And why would they go to all that effort for one morsel?”
“Methinks they tried not to slaughter thee, but to capture thee,” she said. “The talons o’ the harpies be poison, but they scratched thee not. And the demons grabbed but did not bite.”
“And why would three different types of creatures try it? They can’t be working together, can they?”
“Nay. Not unless . . .” She trailed off.
“Unless what? I think we had better explore this.”
“Unless there be Adept involvement,” she said reluctantly.
“Aren’t we going to see an Adept?”
“Stile be but one Adept. There be others, less friendly.”
“What would an Adept want with me? I’m of no value to anyone here, and of not much value to myself.”
“To me, thou dost have value.”
“That, too, I must question. You are a lovely creature, in whatever form, and you know the ways of Phaze. But I am an impostor without much talent here. I don’t see how I can be worth much to you.”
She shrugged. “Fain would I have been closer to Bane, but ne’er could that be. Now hast thou his likeness, and— O, I know I be a foolish creature, but I be smitten with thee.”
Mach did not care to argue with that. “So there is something we don’t yet understand, here. Unless they realize that I don’t have Bane’s proper powers, so they want to eliminate me, and then he could never return. If there are other Adepts who don’t like Stile, this could be a good way to get back at him.”
She nodded. “To strike when the enemy be weak.”
“But if another Adept is behind it, why bring in the monsters? Why not just take me out with a spell?”
“Methinks that would be too open. If Stile knew an Adept had done it—“ She shuddered. “If Stile be not the strongest Adept in Phaze, it be Red—and Red be friend to Stile.”
“But if a harpy or a demon or a goblin did it, Stile might not suspect. If one of those groups took me captive and hid me somewhere, or delivered me secretly to an Adept, perhaps as a hostage—“ Mach nodded. “I think we have it, now. They have been ambushing us along the route to Stile’s demesnes.”
“O, Mach!” she cried. “If there be Adepts behind this, we be in trouble indeed! No creature can withstand the power of an Adept except another Adept.”
Mach nodded. “I think we can’t afford to continue heading for the Blue Demesnes; they’ll catch us for sure. But where else can we go?”
Fleta pondered. “If they be Adepts ‘gainst us, must we gain the protection of an Adept. But surely they will watch, and if we head for the Red Adept—“
“They will trap us on the way,” Mach finished. “Anyone else—whom they might not suspect?”
“There be the Brown Adept, she of the golems. She might understand thee better than some.”
“But if the others spied us heading for her—“
“Another ambush,” she agreed.
“Suppose we took a circuitous route—one no one with any sense would take?”
“Such as through the Dragon Demesnes?”
Mach swallowed. “Yes.”
“That would fool friend and foe alike.”
They looked at each other, and nodded. Then they hugged each other, with joy or grief or something in between.
“I suppose we can’t rest now,” Mach said regretfully. “They’ll be coming down the path to check on us, when we don’t arrive on schedule.”
“I can carry thee.”
“And tire yourself further? No, I’ll walk. Maybe we can hide somewhere unexpected.”
She nodded. Silently she pointed west.
“But that’s right toward the—!” he exclaimed. But then he understood: that was the least likely direction for them to go. Toward the site of their last ambush.
They walked, this time stepping carefully so as to avoid leaving a trail. When darkness finally made progress impossible, they cast about for a suitable camping spot. The best that offered was a tree with thick foliage and a large fork some distance up that seemed to be well shrouded by the leaves. ‘There,” Fleta said, pointing to it.