At the northern gates, day-to-day folk and refugees alike were crowding out of the way, forming huddles to the left and right. They were keeping clear of a stream of guardsmen, many of whom looked rather hastily armed and dishevelled as they ran through the gates.
Samakarantha followed at a hurried but respectable stride. The man who had come with, started calling out and waving his arms. “Stand aside. Allow space. A magician! Stand away.”
There was a raised ring of halberds and pikes, forming a circle. They looked for all the world like steely-headed bullrushes around a little pond, with their brown-tan hafts and polished blades. Above the mass of sunlit points rose a horse-like head, presumably attached to a horse-like body that was out of view behind rows of guards. On the creature’s back was a boy whom Samakarantha did not recognise.
“Stand aside,” said the magician, and his voice carried within it an air of authority born of an expectation of obedience. He put no charms into his words though. For one, he was exhausted almost to the point of collapse. Even had the Winter King himself arrived at the gate, Samakarantha could not have raised a spell against him. Not at least for some hours, possibly days. For another thing, it was indeed Dapplegrim. There was no mistaking the skullish face and the dull, deep red of the eyes, aglow. Although the boy kept trying to be heard over the yell and clamour of the guards, Dapplegrim himself seemed to be saying nothing at all. He was standing still and his expression looked more exasperated than angry or afraid.
“Be still your blades and lower your arms. This is no enemy.” A few faces looked at Samakarantha, moon-shaped in surprise, mouths open. “Stand aside. Make a path.”
As much from confusion as anything else, the halberders did part, though just enough to allow Samakarantha to slip between them. They did not make a wide enough opening for the horse-creature to move in the other direction.
One of the men, a captain by the look of his cloak and gilt-touched helm, said, “Who’s this then?” It was not addressed at Samakarantha, but more generally.
It was the guard from the fortress who replied. “A magician, Captain Thraem. From beyond the seas.”
“I can see that, but by what authority does he tell me and my men to stand aside?”
The fortress guard just shrugged. He had not been in the audience chamber, and even if he had, he would have been able to say only that Samakarantha had the king’s leave to go about, but not his authority. At that moment, a more wild and louder noise rose from somewhere up along the cobbled high street. A clattering of hooves was approached. War horns were blasting. Horses could be heard snorting. A loud wailing instrument was playing too, rousing and eerie.
Samakarantha was able to guess who was approaching. The situation needed calming, and swiftly. He broke through the ring of steel and old, sweaty leather, then stood before the horse-creature and the boy atop him.
“Who are you?” said the boy, confused.
“I might ask the same. Where is Caewen?
“Eastwards,” answered Dapplegrim. “Hur. Off on a fool of an errand.”
“It talks!” screamed a man. The spears were all of a sudden lowering again.
“Of course I talk. Hurm. I just haven’t had anyone sensible to talk to.” A swish of the tail. “Until now.”
Samakarantha fixed Dapplegrim with a firm expression and took some steps towards him. He experienced a slight falter in his steps, but steadied himself. He then spread his arms, let a beaming smile play on his face and gave out a heartfelt bellyful laugh. “My friend. It is good to see you.”
Dapplegrim looked at him askance. The boy stared in incredulity. More quietly, and close to Dapplegrim’s ear, he said, “The city is on edge. Please do not be saying anything more. I will bring you safely within.”
At that point the circle of guards split apart more roughly as a mass of bloodied, armed knights and scouts broke through them, shoving aside anyone who would not get out of their way. The king’s uncle, Redthorn, at their head.
“Yield, beast!”
Samakarantha turned to him. “There is no need, my good lord of swords and horses. This is a friend, not foe. He is no threat.” He heard a slight tremor in his own voice. His exhaustion was getting the better of him.
But the men spread out, weapons ready. Redthorn did not lower the great sword he carried. “I’ll believe that thing is no threat when it’s in chains and irons. It’s a foul thing out of the night-lands, or I’m a hairy arsed mimic-dog.”
But Samakarantha laughed, gently. He moved directly to stand in front of the man, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “My friend. What else would you expect one of my wandering spies to look like? He must pass for a northern beast. There are seemings upon him. That is all.”
“Hurm,” said Dapplegrim. “Quite right.” he flicked an ear. “I’m actually,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “and you can’t tell anyone this–I’m actually a unicorn.”
“No you’re not.” Redthorn narrowed his eyes. “I’ve hunted unicorns in mountain glen and dell. They don’t talk. Or leastways, not in the tongues of menkind-folk.”
“Ah, well, you see,” said Samakarantha, “desert unicorns do. I will present my friend at the court in his true appearance in good time. But it takes life, blood and effort to remove the charms, and I do not have any left of which to avail myself, for a day or two at least. I stuck the spells so close to the skin they might as well be glue. There could be no risk of any enemy seeing through the illusion.”
“And who’s this then,” said Redthorn, still wary, but nodding towards the boy. “A Fane king? A great warrior-wizard from the jungles of the south? Or some boy slipped away from a farmyard where he ought to be mucking out a cowshed?”
“Ah,” said Samakarantha, opting for honesty. “That I do not know. I presume my friend has rescued some waif of a child.”
“I am Ode,” said the boy. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but Caewen did say we might find friends here. Dapplegrim seems to know you, and that is good enough for me.”
“Ah yes.”
Redthorn flicked him another suspicious glance. “Caewen?”
“Just another of my spies. Where is Caewen? You said, east-aways.”
“Best spoken of in more privacy,” replied Dapplegrim. “Hurm. Her journey is more desperate than ours was and is not to be spoken of where gossips might hear.”
“I see.” Samakaranta readjusted his cloak. “If you will permit me, Lord Redthorn?”
“Eorl.”
“Eorl Redthorn. Yes. If you will permit me, I will take my friend and his charge to my residence.”
“Hissocking Sprent? I heard what you did there.” He finally lowered his sword and let it lean gently by its tip upon the dirt of the road. The blade was nearly as tall as he was. “If you forgive my suspicions, you may take this beastie into your house, but not without me and mine going along with you. Captain!”
“Aye, Eorl Redthorn?”
“I want six of your men. They will stand guard outside and be sure that this… er… ‘unicorn’ does not leave the house of the sorcerer.” Then, turning to Samakarantha, he added, “Do you understand?”
“Perfectly. For all your seeming rancour, you are no fool.”
“I am not. And for all your fancy gold-dipped words, you are no idle courtier.”
“We understand one another, then.”
“Good. Let us go. The gate should not be blocked for such a length of time. Folks need to come. Folks need to go.” More quietly, he gave out a harsh whisper to the magician. “That is no unicorn, desert of otherwise. Now, I don’t care what tales you spin to all and sundry–if a lie soothes the frightened mob, then so be it. But you will not lie to me again, warlock.” He turned then to address his soldiers. “Men. With me. Form two lines. Do not let our dear visitors out of sight. Now, let us be going.”
And so they did.