Unicorn Point

Начало книги

Stile took the Lady Blue in his arms. “Thou dost know what we are about,” he said.

The Lady was fifty years old now, and her face was lined, but she remained beautiful to him. Her hair still fell to her waist, fair but seeming tinted with blue because of her blue gown and slippers. She stood slightly taller than he, because of his diminutive stature; it had never been an issue between them.

After a pause, she murmured, “I know, my love.”

“I will return in a few days,” he continued gravely. “Thou shallst have company.”

“True.” But there was a tear on her cheek.  He kissed her, then went outside the castle. There was Neysa, her head turning white, her socks falling down about her hooves but her hide glossy black between, and her muscles still firm. She remained a fine figure of a unicorn; as her kind put it, her horn retained its point. Stile mounted her bareback, and she trotted across the drawbridge over the moat.  Neysa paused without being asked, so that Stile could turn and wave to the castle. A blue kerchief waved back from the window. Stile felt a pang, because all three of them knew that much more was afoot than this simple excursion.  Then Neysa turned away, and trotted from the Blue Demesnes. They were on their way.

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