Brooks, Terry - Landover 2 - The Black Unicorn

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B-——————————————-————"—-———-—B
Prologue
B-———————————.——————.——-—B
The black unicorn stepped from the morning mists, almost
as if born of them, and stared out over the kingdom of
Landover.
Daybreak hovered at the crest of the eastern horizon,
an intruder that peeked from its place of concealment to
catch a glimpse of night's swift departure. The silence
seemed to deepen further with the appearance of the uni-
corn—as if that one small event in that one tiny comer
was sensed somehow throughout the whole of the valley.
Everywhere sleep gave way to waking, dreams to being,
and that moment of transition was as close as time ever
came to being frozen.
The unicorn stood near the summit of the valley's
northern rim, high in the mountains of the Melchor, close
to the edge of the world of fairy. Landover spread away
before it, forested slopes, and bare rock crags dropping
toward foothills and grasslands, rivers and lakes, forests
and scrub. Color glimmered in hazy patches through the
fading dark where streaks of sunlight danced off morning
dew. Castles, towns, and cottages were vague, irregular
shapes against the symmetry, creatures that hunkered
down in rest and breathed smoke from dying embers.
There were tears in the eyes of green fire that swept
2 THE BLACK UNICORN
the valley end to end and glittered with newfound life. It
had been so long!
A stream trickled down and collected in a basin of rocks
a dozen yards from where the unicorn stood. A tiny gath-
ering of forest creatures crouched at the edge of that pool
and stared in awe at the wonder that had materialized
before them—a rabbit, a badger, several squirrels and
voles, an opossum and young, a solitary toad. A cave
wight melted back into the shadows. A bog wump flat-
tened back into its hole. Birds sat motionless upon the
branches of the trees. All were stilled. The only sound
was the ripple of the stream over mountain rock.
The black unicorn nodded its head in recognition of the
homage being paid. Ebony body gleamed in the half light,
mane and fetlocks shimmering like silk thrown in the
wind. Goat's feet shifted and lion's tail swished, restless
movements against the backdrop of the still-life world.
The ridged horn knifed the darkness, shining faintly with
magic. There had never before been a thing of such grace
and beauty in all of creation as the unicorn and never
would be again.
Dawn broke sharply over the valley of Landover, and
the new day was begun. The black unicorn felt the sun's
heat on its face and lifted its head in greeting. But invisible
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chains still bound it, and the cold of their lingering pres-
ence dispelled almost instantly the momentary warmth.
The unicorn shivered. It was immortal and could never
be killed by mortal things. But its life could be stolen away
all the same. Time was the ally of the enemy who had
imprisoned it. And time had begun to move forward again.
The black unicorn slipped like quicksilver through
shadows and light in search of its freedom.
E'
•&
Dreaips...
B.
•a
"I had a dream last night," Ben Holiday announced to
his friends at breakfast that morning.
He might as well have been giving a weather report.
The wizard Questor Thews did not appear to hear him,
his lean, owlish face furrowed in thought, his gaze di-
rected some twenty feet above the breakfast table at an
invisible point in space. The kobolds Bunion and Parsnip
barely looked up from eating. The scribe Abemathy man-
aged a look of polite curiosity, but for a shaggy-faced dog
whose normal look was one of polite curiosity, that was
not particularly difficult.
Only the sylph Willow, just come into the dining hall
of castle Sterling Silver and seated next to him, showed
any real interest—a sudden change of expression that was
oddly disquieting.
"I dreamed about home," he continued, determined to
pursue the matter. "I dreamed about the old world."
"Excuse me?" Questor was looking at him now,
apparently returned from whatever planet he had been
visiting. "Excuse me, but did I hear you say something
about. . . ?"
"Exactly what did you dream about the old world, High
Lord?" Abemathy interrupted impatiently, polite curi-
4 THE BLACK UNICORN
osity become faint disapproval. He looked at Ben mean-
ingfully over the rims of his eyeglasses. He always looked
at him like that when Ben mentioned anything about the
old world.
Ben forged ahead. "I dreamed about Miles Bennett.
You remember my telling you about Miles, don't you—
my old law partner? Well, I dreamed about him. I dreamed
that he was in trouble. It wasn't a complete dream; there
wasn't a true beginning or end. It was as if I came in
halfway through the story. Miles was in his office, work-
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ing, sorting through these papers. There were phone calls
coming in, messages being delivered, people in the shad-
ows where I couldn't see them clearly. But I could see
that Miles was practically frantic. He looked terrible. He
kept asking for me. He kept wondering where I was, why
I wasn't there. I called out to him, but he didn't hear me.
Then there was a distortion of some sort, a darkness, a
twisting of what I was seeing. Miles kept calling, asking
for me. Then something came between us, and I woke
up."
He glanced briefly at the faces about him. They all were
listening now. "But that doesn't really tell you every-
thing," he added quickly. "There was a sense of... some
impending disaster lurking behind the whole series of im-
ages. There was an intensity that was frightening. It was
so ... real."
"Some dreams are like that, High Lord," Abemathy
observed, shrugging. He pushed the eyeglasses back on
his nose and folded his forelegs primly across his vested
chest. He was a fastidious dog. "Dreams are frequently
manifestations of our subconscious fears, I've read."
"Not this dream," Ben insisted. "This was more than
your average, garden-variety dream. This was like a
premonition."
Abemathy sniffed. "And I suppose the next thing you
are going to tell me is that on the strength of this emo-
tionally distressing, but rationally unfounded, dream you
Terry Brooks 5
feel compelled to return to your old world?" The scribe
was making no effort to conceal his distress now, his
worst fears about to be realized.
Ben hesitated. It had been more than a year since he
had passed into the mists of the fairy world somewhere
deep in the forests of the Blue Ridge Mountains twenty
miles southwest ofWaynesboro, Virginia, and entered the
kingdom of Landover. He had paid a million dollars for
the privilege, answering an advertisement in a department
store catalogue, acting more out of desperation than out
of reason. He had come into Landover as King, but his
acceptance as such by the land's inhabitants had not come
easily. Attacks on his claim to the throne had come from
every quarter. Creatures whose very existence he had
once believed impossible had nearly destroyed him.
Magic, the power that governed everything in this
strangely compelling world, was the two-edged sword he
had been forced to master in order to survive. Reality had
been redefined for him since he had made his decision to
enter the mists, and the life he had known as a trial lawyer
in Chicago, Illinois, seemed far removed from his present
existence. Still, that old life was not completely forgotten,
and he thought now and then of going back.
His eyes met those of his scribe. He didn't know what
answer to give. "I admit that I am worried about Miles,"
he said finally.
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The dining hall was very quiet. The kobolds had
stopped eating, their monkey faces frozen in those fright-
ening half grins that showed all their considerable teeth.
Abemathy was rigid in his seat. Willow had gone pale,
and it appeared that she was about to speak.
But it was Questor Thews who spoke first.' 'A moment,
High Lord," he advised thoughtfully, one bony finger
placed to his lips.
He rose from the table, dismissed from the room the
serving boys who stood surreptitiously on either side, and
closed the doors tightly behind them. The six friends were
6 THE BLACK UNICORN
alone in the cavernous dining hall. That apparently wasn't
enough for Questor. The great arched entry at the far end
of the room opened through a foyer to the remainder of
the castle. Questor walked silently to its mouth and
peered about.
Ben watched curiously, wondering why Questor was
being so cautious. Admittedly, it wasn't like the old days
when there were only the six of them living at Sterling
Silver. Now there were retainers of all ages and ranks,
soldiers and guardsmen, emissaries and envoys, messen-
gers and assorted others that comprised his court, all
stumbling over one another and into his private life when
it was least convenient. But it wasn't as if the subject of
his going back to the old world hadn't been discussed
openly before—and by practically everyone. It wasn't as
if the people of Landover didn't know by this time that
he wasn't a native Landoverian.
He smiled ruefully. Ah, well—there was no harm in
being cautious.
He stretched, loosening muscles still tightened from
sleep. He was a man of ordinary appearance, his height
and build medium, his weight evenly distributed. His
movements were quick and precise; he had been a boxer
in his youth and still retained much of his old skill. His
face was brown from sun and wind with high cheekbones
and forehead, a hawk nose, and a hairline that receded
slightly at the comers. Age lines were beginning to show
at the comers of his eyes, but the eyes themselves were
brilliant blue and icy.
His gaze shifted ceilingward. Morning sunlight
streamed through high glass windows and danced off pol-
ished wood and stone. The warmth of the castle seeped
through him, and he could feel her stir restlessly. She was
always listening. He knew that she had heard him speak
of the dream and was responding with a measure of dis-
content. She was the mother who worried for her brash,
incautious child. She was the mother who sought always
Terry Brooks 7
to keep that child safe beside her. She didn't like it when
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he talked of leaving.
He glanced covertly at his friends: Questor Thews, the
wizard whose magic frequently misfired, a ragtag scare-
crow of patchwork robes and tangled gestures; Aber-
nathy, the court scribe become a soft-coated Wheaten
Terrier through Questor's magic and left that way when
the magic couldn't be found to change him back again, a
dog in gentleman's clothing; Willow, the beautiful sylph
who was half woman, half tree, a creature of the fairy
world with magic of her own; and Bunion and Parsnip,
the kobolds who looked like big-eared monkeys in knick-
ers, a messenger and a cook. He had found them all so
strange in the beginning. A year later, he found them com-
fortable and reassuring and felt protected in then-
presence.
He shook his head. He lived in a world of dragons and
witches, of gnomes, trolls, and other strange creatures,
of living castles and fairy magic. He lived in a fantasy
kingdom in which he was King. He was what he had once
only dreamed of being. The old world was long past, the
old life gone. Odd, then, that he still thought of that world
and life so frequently, of Miles Bennett and Chicago, of
the law practice, of the responsibilities and obligations he
had left behind. Threads from the tapestry of last night's
dream entwined within his memory and tugged relent-
lessly at him. He could not forget easily, it seemed, what
had comprised so many years of his life ...
Questor Thews cleared his throat.
"I had a dream last night as well, High Lord," the
wizard declared, returned from his reconnaissance. Ben's
eyes snapped up. The tall, robed figure hunched down
over his high-backed chair, green eyes clear and distant.
The bony fingers of one hand scratched the bearded chin,
and the voice was a wary hiss. "My dream was of the
missing books of magic!"
Ben understood the other's caution now. Few within
8 THE BLACK UNICORN
Landover knew of the books of magic. The books had
belonged to Questor's half-brother, the former court wiz-
ard of Landover, a fellow Ben had known in the old world
as Meeks. It was Meeks, in league with a disgruntled heir
to the throne, who had sold Ben the kingship of Landover
for one million dollars—certain that Ben would fall victim
to one of any number of traps set to destroy him, certain
that when Ben was finally dispatched the kingship would
become his to sell again. Meeks had thought to make
Questor his ally, the promise of knowledge from the hid-
den books of magic the carrot used to entice his half-
brother to his cause. But Questor and Ben had become
allies instead, eluding all the traps that Meeks had set and
severing the old wizard's ties with Landover for good.
Ben's eyes fixed Questor's. Yes, Meeks was gone—
but the books of magic still remained concealed some-
where within the valley . . .
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"Did you hear what I said. High Lord?" Questor's eyes
sparkled with excitement. "The missing books—magic
gleaned by wizards of Landover since the dawn of her
creation! I think I know where they are! I saw where they
were in my dream!" The eyes danced. The voice dropped
to a whisper. "They are hidden in the catacombs of the
ruined fortress of Mirwouk, high in the Melchor! In my
dream, I followed after a torch that no hand carried, fol-
lowed it through the dark, through tunnels and stairways
to a door marked with scroll and runes. The door opened;
there were blocks of stone flooring and one marked with
a special sign. It gave at my touch and the books were
there! I remember it all... as if it really happened!"
Now it was Ben's turn to look dubious. He started to
say something in reply and stopped, not knowing what to
say. He felt Willow stir uneasily beside him.
"I did not know whether to speak of my dream or not,
to be honest with you," the wizard confided, his words
coming in a rush. "I thought maybe I should wait until
I was able to discover if the dream was false or true be-
Terry Brooks 9
fore I said anything. But then you spoke of your dream,
and I ..." He hesitated. "Mine was like yours, High
Lord. It was not so much a dream as a premonition.
It was strangely intense, compelling in its vividness. It
was not frightening like yours; it was . . . exhilarating!"
Abernathy, at least, was not impressed. "All this could
be the result of something you ate, wizard," he suggested
rather unkindly.
Questor seemed not to hear him. "Do you realize what
it would mean if I were to have the books of magic in my
possession?" he asked eagerly, hawk face intense. "Do
you have any idea of the magic I would command?"
"It seems to me you command quite enough already!"
Abernathy snapped. "I would remind you that it was your
command—or lack thereof—over magic that reduced me
to my present state some years back! There is no telling
what damage you might cause if your powers were en-
hanced further!"
"Damage? What of the good I might accomplish?"
Questor wheeled on the other, bending close. "What if I
were to find a way to change you back again!"
Abernathy went still. It was one thing to be skeptical—
another to be foolishly so. He wanted nothing more in all
the world than to be human again.
"Questor, are you sure about this?" Ben asked finally.
"As sure as you. High Lord," the wizard replied. He
hesitated. "Odd, though, that on a single night there
should be two dreams ..."
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"Three," Willow said suddenly.
They stared at her—Que,stor, his sentence unfinished;
Ben, still trying to grasp the significance of Questor's rev-
elation; Abernathy and the kobolds speechless. Had she
said . . . ?
"Three," she repeated. "I, too, had a dream—and it
was strange and disturbing and perhaps more vivid than
either of yours."
Ben saw the disquieting expression again, more pro-
10
THE BLACK UNICORN
nounced, more intense. He had been preoccupied before
and had not paid close attention. Willow was not given
to exaggeration. Something had shaken her. He saw a
worry in her eyes that bordered on fear.
"What was it that you dreamed?" he asked.
She did not speak immediately. She seemed to be
remembering. "I was on a journey through lands that
were both familiar and at the same time foreign. I was in
Landover and yet I was somewhere else. I was seeking
something. My people were there, dim shadows that whis-
pered urgently to me. There was a need for haste, but I
did not understand why. I simply went on, searching."
She paused. "Then daylight passed away into dark-
ness, and moonlight flooded a woods that rose all about
me like a wall. I was alone now. I was so frightened I
could not call for help even though I felt I must. There
was a mist that stirred. Shadows crowded so close that
they threatened to smother me." Her hand crept over
Ben's and tightened. "I needed you, Ben. I needed you
so badly I could not stand the thought of not having you
there. A voice seemed to whisper within me that if I did
not complete my journey quickly, I would lose you.
Forever."
Something in the way Willow spoke that single word
chilled Ben Holiday to the bone.
"Then suddenly a creature appeared before me, a
wraith come from the mists of the predawn night." The
sylph's green eyes glittered. "It was a unicorn, Ben, so
dark that it seemed to absorb the white moon's light as a
sponge would absorb water. It was a unicorn, but some-
thing more. It was not white as the unicorns of old, but
ink black. It barred my passage, its hom lowered, hooves
pawing at the earth. Its slender body seemed to twist and
change shape, and I saw it was more demon than unicorn,
more devil than fairy. It was blind in the manner of the
great marsh bulls, and it had their fury. It came for me,
and I ran. I knew, somehow, that I must not let it touch
Terry Brooks
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me—that if it were to touch me I was lost. I was quick,
but the black unicorn followed close behind. It wanted
me. It meant to have me."
Her breath came quickly, her slender body tense with
the emotions that raged within. The room was deathly
still. "And then I saw that I held in my hands a bridle of
spun gold—real gold threads drawn and woven by the
fairies of the old life. I didn't know how I had come to
possess that bridle; I only knew that I mustn't lose it. I
knew that it was the only thing in the world that could
harness the black unicorn."
The hand tightened further. "I ran looking for Ben. The
bridle must be taken to him, I sensed, and if I did not
reach him with it quickly, the black unicorn would catch
me and I would be . . ."
She trailed off, her eyes fastened on Ben's. For an in-
stant, he forgot everything she had just told him, lost in
those eyes, in the touch of her hand. For an instant, she
was the impossibly beautiful woman he had come upon
bathing naked in the waters of the Irrylyn almost a year
ago, siren and fairy child both. The vision never left him.
He recaptured it each time he saw her, the memory be-
come life all over again.
There was an awkward silence. Abemathy cleared his
throat. "It seems to have been quite a night for dreams,"
he remarked archly. "Everyone in the room but me ap-
pears to have had one. Bunion, how about you? Did you
dream about friends in trouble or books of magic or black
unicorns? Parsnip?"
The kobolds hissed softly and shook their heads in un-
ison. But there was a wary look to their sharp eyes that
suggested they did not wish to treat the matter of these
dreams as lightly as Abemathy did.
"There was one thing more," Willow said, still looking
only at Ben. "I came awake while I ran from the thing
that hunted me—black unicorn or devil. I came awake,
12
THE BLACK UNICORN
but I felt certain the dream had not ended—that there was
still something more to come."
Ben nodded slowly, his reverie broken. "Sometimes
we dream the same dream more than once ..."
"No, Ben," she whispered, her voice insistent. Her
hand released his. "This dream was like yours—more
premonition than dream. I was being warned, my High
Lord. A fairy creature is closer to the truth of dreams
than others. I was being shown something that I am meant
to know—and I have not yet been shown all."
"There are stories of sightings of a black unicorn in the
histories of Landover," Questor Thews advised sud-
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denly. "I remember reading of them once or twice. They
happened long ago, and the reports were vague and un-
confirmed. The unicorn was said to be a demon spawn—
a thing of such evil that even to gaze once upon it was to
become lost..."
The food and drink of their breakfast sat cooling on
plates and in cups on the table before them, forgotten.
The dining hall was still and empty, yet Ben could sense
eyes and ears everywhere. It was an unpleasant feeling.
He glanced briefly at Questor's somber face and then back
at Willow's once more. Had he been told of her dream—
and perhaps even of Questor's as well—and not experi-
enced his own, he might have been inclined to dismiss
them. He did not put much stock in dreams. But the mem-
ory of Miles Bennett in that darkened office, nearly frantic
with worry because Ben was not there when he was
needed, hung over him like a cloud. It was as real as his
own life. He recognized a similar urgency in the narrative
of the dreams of his friends, and their insistence simply
reinforced a nagging conviction that dreams as vivid and
compelling as theirs should not be dismissed as the by-
products of last night's dinner or a collection of overactive
subconsciousnesses.
"Why are we having these dreams?" he wondered
aloud.
Terry Brooks
"This is a land built on dreams. High Lord," Questor
Thews replied. "This is a land where the dreams of fairy
world and mortal world come together and are channeled
one to the other. Reality in one is fantasy in the other—
except here, where they meet." He rose, spectral in his
patchwork robes. "There have been instances of such
dreams before, frequently in scatterings of up to half a
dozen. Kings and wizards and men of power have had
such dreams throughout the history of Landover."
"Dreams that are revelations—or even warnings?"
"Dreams that are meant to be acted on, High Lord."
Ben pursed his lips. "Do you intend to act on yours,
Questor? Do you intend to go in search of the missing
books of magic—just as your dream has advised?"
Questor hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought.
"And should Willow seek out the golden bridle of her
dream? Should I return to Chicago and check out Miles
Bennett?"
"High Lord, please—a moment!" Abemathy was on
his feet, a decidedly harried look about him. "It might be
wise to think this matter through a bit more carefully. It
could be a very grave mistake for the lot of you to go
running off in search of... of what may very well turn
out to be a collection ofgastrically induced falsehoods!"
He faced Ben squarely. "High Lord, you must remem-
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ber that the wizard Meeks is still your greatest enemy.
He cannot reach you as long as you stay in Landover, but
I am certain he lives for the day you are foolish enough
to venture back into the very world in which you left him
trapped! What if he discovers that you have returned?
What if the danger that threatens your friend is Meeks
himself?"
"There is that chance," Ben agreed.
"Yes, there most certainly is!" Abemathy pushed his
glasses firmly back on his nose, his point made.
He glanced now at Questor. "And you should be wise
enough to appreciate the dangers inherent in any attempt
14
THE BLACK UNICOKN
to harness the power of the missing books of magic—
power that was the tool of wizards such as Meeks! There
were rumors long before you and I came into being that
the books of magic were cast in demon iron and conjured
for evil use. How can you be certain that such power will
not consume you as quickly as fire would a piece of dried
parchment? Such magic is dangerous, Questor Thews!
"As for you—" He turned quickly to Willow, cutting
short Questor's attempts at protest. "—yours is the
dream that frightens me most. The legend of a black uni-
corn is a legend of evil—even your dream tells you that
much! Questor Thews failed to advise in his recitation of
the histories of Landover that all those who claimed to
have seen this creature came to a sudden and unpleasant
demise. If there is a black unicorn, it is likely a demon
strayed from Abaddon—and best left alone!"
He finished with a snap of his jaws, rigid with the
strength of his conviction. His friends stared at him. "We
are only surmising," Ben said, attempting to sooth his
agitated scribe. "We are only considering possible alter-
natives ..."
He felt Willow's hand close again about his own. "No,
Ben. Abernathy's instincts are correct. We are past con-
sidering alternatives."
Ben fell silent. She was right, he knew. Not one of the
three had said so, but the decision had been made all the
same. They were going on their separate journeys in pur-
suit of their separate quests. They were resolved to test
the truth of their dreams.
"At least one of you is being honest!" Abemathy
huffed. "Honest about going if not about the danger of
doing so!"
"There are always dangers . . ." Questor began.
"Yes, yes, wizard!" Abemathy cut him short and fo-
cused his attention on Ben. "Have you forgotten the
projects presently underway, High Lord?" he asked.
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Terry%20Brooks/Brooks,%20Terry%20-%20Landover%202%20The%2Black%20Unicorn.txtB-——————————————-————"—-———-—BPrologueB-———————————.——————.——-—BTheblackunicornsteppedfromthemorningmists,almostasifbornofthem,andstaredoutoverthekingdomofLandover.Daybreakhoveredatthecrestoftheeasternhori...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：224 页 大小：511.68KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-07

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