“I might, if I were not so sure of my courage,” Stegoman replied, “but you know as well as I, Matthew, that I have fought in several battles and never shrunk from the fray. I know my courage well and feel no need to prove it again, especially not upon so frail a female.”
Dimetrolas looked about as frail as a bulldozer to Matt, but he did have to admit that next to Stegoman, she looked fragile. “Even so, she meant to hurt enough to anger you, and stings like that are more painful coming from a female. I'm amazed you were able to stay calm.”
“She surely will not anger me by questioning the one virtue of which I am certain. If she insulted me for being cruel or petty, I might indeed respond with anger, for I know myself to be a selfish bully.”
“You could fool me,” Matt said. “In fact, you have—I would have said you always put your friends' welfare before your own, and I don't think you've ever attacked anyone who wasn't a real danger, not even an ant. As to being cruel, the term ‘soft-hearted’ comes to mind.”
“I thank you.” Stegoman inclined his head. “She did not accuse me of cruelty, though, but of being prudent and careful, which is only true, and anyone who thinks it an insult is obviously someone with whom I desire no further acquaintance.”
But Matt heard pain beneath those words and the fire of anger rumbling deep below, and knew that the last thought, at least, had held nothing of truth.
Anthony and Balkis came to a halt, even though it was only mid-morning. They stared at the gloom of the forest before them for several minutes. Then Anthony said, “I have never seen so many trees together. Is it not threatening somehow?”
“Not a bit.” Balkis' eyes shone. “It is much like the great forest in which I grew up. I am sorry if it bothers you, Anthony, but it will be like coming home to me.”
“Well… if you see no threat, I shall hold myself foolish,” Anthony said. He went ahead again.
As they came under the first boughs, Balkis breathed a sigh of pleasure. “It is so cool after that sizzling sun of the desert! So moist, so fragrant!”
“So dark, and the air so oppressive.” Anthony glanced around him warily. “Is the air always so thick in these lowlands?”
“Yes, my poor friend.” Balkis turned and caught his hands. “I fear this journey will be a sore trial to you, who are used to the brisk, dry air of your mountains.”
“Well, I wanted adventure “Anthony sighed, “and I shall not complain if it becomes somewhat… inconvenient. Still, I think I begin to understand the trader who told me that, after years of travel, the most important thing he had learned was that the best place in the world was the village of his childhood.”
Balkis tried to smother feelings of alarm, telling herself once again that Anthony was a friend and not a possession. She turned away, saying, “Come, then! Before you fare back to your mountains, see a little of my forests!”
After a quarter of an hour, though, even Balkis began to feel that there was a presence about them that did not like them. She looked at Anthony anxiously and saw his lips pressed tight with the determination to ignore his own fears. “I shall recite a spell to protect us,” she told him.
Anthony nodded, obviously relieved that she seemed to feel the danger, too. “Wise.”
Balkis thought a moment, then recited.
“ 'Gainst forest sprites who'd mean us harm We shall raise a warding arm Of unseen shields that all make good This dark impenetrable wood, Deflecting as a buckler should…”
As usual, she ground to a halt, and Anthony said, “I have the final line in mind.”
“I should have known.” Balkis flashed him a smile. “Hold it there until we've need.”
“I shall.” Anthony smiled in answer.
They went on together, feeling the menace grow. Then they saw grass at the bough-arch ahead and a minute later stepped into a sunlit meadow.
Balkis caught her breath and squeezed Anthony's arm, pointing with her other hand. Looking, he froze, staring in wonder.
A unicorn stepped into the meadow from the other end of the path, stepping daintily over a fallen log and lowering its head to graze. Its coat was white, its mane and tail golden, but its horn was black.
Balkis and Anthony gazed, spellbound by the creature's beauty and rarity.
The unicorn looked up toward the side, then bleated.
Balkis and Anthony looked and saw another unicorn entering the meadow. This one's coat was also white, but its mane and tail were silver and its horn green. It came trotting over to the first unicorn and nuzzled it briefly, bleating in greeting; then both turned to graze side by side.
Balkis squeezed Anthony's arm again, wanting to exclaim, to marvel aloud, but not daring to make the slightest noise.
Another bleat sounded. Both unicorns looked toward the west; so did Anthony and Balkis. There came a third unicorn, its coat golden, its mane and tail silver, and its horn white. The first two lowed in greeting; the third joined them, rubbing noses with them. Finally they turned to cropping grass, all three side by side.
Balkis let her breath out in a whispering sigh and glanced up at Anthony, to find him smiling at her with bright eyes. She smiled back; they might not exclaim, but both proclaimed their wonder silently.
A guttural roar broke the stillness, and a lion paced out of the wood, mane a tawny glory, tail lashing.
All three unicorns whirled to face the beast, heads down and horns leveled, neighing warnings—and two lionesses sprang from the trees to either side, bounding in silence toward the backs of the unicorns.
Balkis couldn't help herself; she cried out, and the white-horned unicorn whirled, saw the danger, and bleated warning.
The male lion roared in anger at the spoiling of his ambush and paced toward the trio, but the black-horn charged and the lion swung aside. The unicorn turned its horn, though, and raked a trail in the lion's side as it passed. The beast roared in pain, but the other two whirled to surround it, thrusting with their horns, one skewering the lion in a foreleg, one catching it in a ham. Baffled and outraged, the lion leaped back in among the trees. One of the unicorns stayed on guard against him while the other two turned to meet the lionesses' charge.
Faced with two long, sharp horns, the lionesses aborted their attack, leaping aside and roaring in frustration. Then followed a few minutes of standoff with lioness and unicorn circling one another, watching for an opening. A unicorn saw one and charged, horn lancing the lioness' flank. She tried to leap aside, and certainly saved her heart, but the tip of the horn came away reddened as the unicorn sprang back out of reach.
The other lioness roared with anger and charged the unicorn who dared stab her sister—but the unicorn whirled to attack from the side and the other unicorn stabbed. The wounded lioness leaped in to join the fray, but the third unicorn left sentry duty long enough to stab at her eyes, and she leaped away, coughing in confusion. The other lioness leaped away, too, both limping back in among the trees.
The unicorns shied away from the woods, too wise to venture in where a lion could spring from a branch, and came together again in a ring, hindquarters in, horns out, watching and waiting.
“They are wondrous!” Balkis breathed. “Who would have thought a unicorn could best a lion?”
“I would not want to go up against one of those horns,” Anthony whispered back.
Quiet though they were, they still made enough sound for the unicorns to notice; the beasts looked up, horns half lowered, but when the humans made no threatening moves—no movement at all, really—the unicorns slowly lowered their heads to graze again. The companions watched, spellbound, until the grass-eaters had filled their stomachs. Two of them sauntered off into the woods, side by side, wary and watchful. The third lay down about ten feet from the trunk of a huge spreading oak, under the shade of its broad canopy, curled its head into its forelegs and fell asleep.