Poul Anderson - The Unicorn Trade

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THE UNICORN TRADE

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and

any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A TOR Book

Published by:

Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

8-10 West 36th Street

New York, New York 10018

First TOR printing, April 1984

ISBN: 812-53-085-3 Can. Ed.: 812-53-086-1

Cover art by: Tom Kidd

Printed in the United States of America

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Our thanks to Dr. Ralph Solecki of Columbia University for permission to quote the abstract of an

article by him in Science.

Previously published material is originally copyrighted as follows:

Press, Inc.

"Ballade of an Artificial Satellite," The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, October 1958, ©

1958 by Mercury Press, Inc.

"The Innocent Arrival" (under the title "The innocent at Large"), Galaxy Science Fiction, July

America.

Publications, Inc.

Mercury Press, Inc.

"Theoretical Progress" and "Investigation of Galactic Ethnology," The Magazine of Fantasy and

Inc.

Press, Inc.

"Cosmic Concepts," Proceedings of the Institute for Twenty-First Century Studies, March 1961, ©

1961 by Poul and Karen Anderson.

Branch Cabell Society.

Press, Inc.

Mercury Press, Inc.

Press, Inc.

New material is copyrighted as follows:

"Haiku for Mars," "Bela Lugosi," "Apollo 1," "Robert A. Heinlein," "Alpha, Beta," "Conjunction,"

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John and Bjo Trimble

THE UNICORN TRADE

They graze at night, the unicorns, upon the fresh-dewed grasses, Molten starlight flying as they

toss their

sapphire horns.

They step with light and dainty hoof below the stony passes,

Shimmer under shadow where the nightingale mourns. The bright manes ripple over dapple

flanks,

Quarter-moon racing past cloudy banks— Now on the warning wind of dawn they flee

night's crimson death;

They sleep in velvet forest shade; they spice it with their breath.

The castle queens it on her hill, the crown of pride and power, Turreted and traceried and carven

like a

gem,

With sunny court and golden hall, with wall and lordly tower

Rich-tapestried with vine and grape, with rose on thorny stem; Rubies, damask, pomanders and

swords— Wild loves, black hates, delights of wine and words—

Let pipe and tabor play! and thus, hand

resting light on hand, With quicker-beating heart we'll foot the

skipping allemande.

There's goodly trade in unicorns, in castles and their treasure. Dragons are much demanded,

endless

caverns, eagly crags,

There's trade in rings of elven work, in songs of striding measure,

Star-smiting curses, aye, and quests, and splendid thumping brags. Come buy, come choose your

heart's

desire of these,

Fable and dream, wondrous commodities. Already yours, these unicorns, as aught you

owned yestre'en,

This castle, real as memory, that none but you have seen.

—KAREN ANDERSON

FAIRY GOLD

Women, weather, and wizardry are alike in this, that their beneficences are apt to be as

astonishing as their betrayals.

—The Aphorisms of Rhoene

It is an old tale, often told: a young man loved a young woman, and she him, but they quarreled,

whereupon he went off in search of desperate adventure while she wept in solitude. However, this

time it was not quite so. Arvel stormed down Hammerhead Street toward the Drum and Trumpet, where

he intended to get drunk. Lona, after a few angry tears, uttered many curses and then returned to

her pottery, where she punished the clay with her fists and pedaled the wheel until it shrieked.

The hour being scarcely past noon, Arvel found none of his cronies in the tavern, only a

The Unicorn Trade

half-dozen sailors. Trade had grown listless throughout Caronne, after much of the kingdom's

treasure bled away abroad during the Dynasts' War. Ships that came to Seilles often lay docked for

weeks before their masters had sold all cargo. The markets at Croy were a little better, but the

Tauran League now held a monopoly of them.

These men were off a vessel that had arrived on the morning's tide. They sat together, drinking

like walruses rescued from a desert, rumbling mirth and brags, pawing at the wench whenever she

came to refill a goblet. Arvel recognized the language of Norren, though he did not speak it. A

couple of them were not of that land, but dark-hued, while the manes and beards of the rest were

sun-bleached nearly white and their skins turned to red leather. Evidently they had been in the

tropics.

Worldfarers! His longing took Arvel by the throat. He flung himself down at a table in a corner,

hard enough to bruise his bottom. A sunbeam struck through a window leaded together out of stained

glass scraps, to shatter in rainbows on the scarred wood. Smoke and kitchen smells lapped around

him.

The wench came through the gloom, her clogs loud on the floor. "Joy to you," she greeted. Surprise

caught her. "Why, Arvel, what a thundercloud in your face. Did a ghost dog bite you today?"

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"A pack of them, and the Huntsman himself to egg them on," he snarled. "Wine—the cheapest, because

I'll want a plenty."

She fetched, took his coin, and settled on the

FAIRY GOLD

bench opposite. Pity dwelt in her voice and countenance. "It's about your girl, isn't it?" she

asked low.

He gave her a startled blue glance. "How can you tell?"

"Why, everyone knows you're mad with your wish to go oversea, and never a hope. But that's had you

adrift by day, not at drink before evening. Something hew must have gone awry to bring you in here

so early, and what could it be save what touches your betrothal?"

Arvel swallowed a draught. Sourness burned its way down his gullet. "You're shrewd, Ynis," he

mumbled. "Yes, we're done with each other, Lena Grancy and I."

The wench looked long at him. "I never thought her a fool," she said.

Despite his misery, Arvel preened a trifle. He was, after all, quite young, and various women had

assured him he was handsome—tall, wide-shouldered, lithe, with straight features, slightly freckle-

dusted, framed by fiery hair that curled past his earrings. As a scion of a noble family, albeit

of the lowest rank, he was entitled to bear a sword and generally did, along with his knife; both

were of the finest steel and their handles silver-chased. Otherwise, though, he perforce went

shabby these days. The saffron of his shirt was faded and its lace frayed, his hose were darned,

the leather of jerkin and shoes showed wear, the cloak he had folded beside him was of a cut no

longer modish.

"Well," he said, after a more reasonable gulp of wine than his first, "she wanted to make a

The Unicorn Trade

potter of me. A potter! Told me I must scuttle my dream, settle down, learn a—" he snorted— "an

honest trade—"

"And cease being a parasite," Ynis finished sharply.

Arvel jerked where he sat, flushed, and rapped in answer: "I've never taken more than is my

right."

"Aye, your allowance. Which is meager, for the bastard son of a house that the war ruined. What

use your courtliness any more, Arvel Tarabine, or your horsemanship, swordsmanship, woodsmanship ?

"I guide—"

"Indeed. You garner an argent here and there, taking out parties of fat merchants and rich

foreigners who like to pretend they're born to the chase. If they stand you drink afterward,

you'll brag of what you did in the war, and sing 'em a song or two. And always you babble about

Sir Falcovan and that expedition he's getting up. Is this how you'll spend the rest of your years,

till you're too old and sodden for it and slump into beggary? No, your Lona is not a fool. You

are, who wouldn't listen to her."

He stiffened. "You get above yourself."

Ynis eased and smiled. "I get motherly, I do." She was plump, not uncomely but beginning to fade,

a widow who had three children to nurture and, maybe, a dream or two of her own. "You're a good

fellow, mauger your folly, and besides, I like your girl. Go back, make amends—"

"Hej, pige!" bawled a Norrener from across

FAIRY GOLD

the taproom, so loudly that a mouse fled along a rafter. "Mer vin!"

Ynis sighed, rose, and went to serve him. She had been about to quench the rage that her words had

refuelled in Arvel. Now it flamed up afresh. He could not endure to sit still. He tossed off his

drink, surged from the bench, and went out the door, banging it shut behind him.

To Lona came Jans Orliand, chronicler at the Scholarium of Seilles and friend of her late father.

This was not as strange as it might seem, for Jans was of humble birth himself and had married a

cousin of the potter. Afterward he prospered modestly through his talents, without turning aloof

from old acquaintances, until the hard times struck him too.

Lona had just put a fresh charge of charcoal under her kiln and pumped it akindle with the

bellows. She was returning to her wheel when his gaunt form shadowed the entrance. She kept the

shed open while she worked, even in winter, lest heat and fumes overcome her; and this was an

amiable summer day. Nevertheless she had a healthy smell about her, of the sweat that dampened her

smock. A smudge went across her snub nose. A kerchief covered most of her gold-brown hair.

"Joy to you," Jans hailed. He paused, to squint nearsightedly at her small, sturdy frame and into

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her green-brown eyes, until he said: "Me-thinks you've need of the reality, not the mere ritual."

"Is it that plain to see?" she wondered. "Well—

The Unicorn Trade

whoops!" In an expansive gesture, he had almost thrown a sleeve of his robe around one of the

completed vessels that lined her shelves. She stopped him before he sent it acrash to the floor.

"Here, sit down, do." She offered him a stool. "How may I please you, good sir?"

"Oh, let us not be formal," he urged, while he folded his height downward. She perched on the

workbench and swung her feet in unladylike wise; but then, she was an artisan, in what was

considered a man's occupation. "I require cups, dishes, pots of attractive style; and you, no

doubt, will be glad of the sale."

Lena nodded, with less eagerness than she would ordinarily have felt. Feeling his gaze searching

her yet, she forced herself to tease: "What, have you broken that much? And why have you not sent

your maidservant or your son?"

"I felt I had better choose the articles myself," Jans explained. "See you, I have decided on

renting out the new house, but its bareness has seemed to repel what few prospective tenants have

appeared."

"The new house?"

"Have you forgotten? Ah, well, it was years ago. My wife and I bought it, thinking we would move

thither as soon as we could sell the old one. But the war came, and her death, and these lean

days. I can no longer afford the staff so large a place would demand, only my single housekeeper.

The taxes on it are a vampire drain, and no one who wants it can afford to buy it. I've posted my

offer on every market board and

FAIRY GOLD

had it cried aloud through every street—without result. So at last my hopes are reduced to

becoming a landlord."

"Oh, yes, I do recall. Let's pick you out something pretty, then."

Still Lona could not muster any sparkle. Jans stroked his bald pate. "What hurts you, my dear?" he

asked in a most gentle tone.

She snapped after air. "You . .. may as well hear ... now. Soon it will be common knowledge. Arvel

and I ... have parted."

"What? But this is terrible. How? Why?"

"He—he will not be sensible. He cannot confess ... to himself... that Sir Falcovan Roncitar's

fleet is going to sail beyond the sunset without him—" Lona fought her wish to weep, or to smash

something. She stared at her fingers, where they wrestled in her lap. "When that happens ... I

dread what may become of him. We could, could survive together ... in this trade ... and today I

told him we must . .. b-because the father of my children shall not be a drunken idler—And he—O-o-

oh!" She turned her wail into an oath and ended bleakly: "I wish him luck. He'll need it."

In his awkward fashion, Jans went to her and patted her shoulder. "Poor lass, you've never fared

on a smooth road, have you?" he murmured. "A child when you lost your mother; and your father

perforce made you his helper; and when he too wended hence, there was no better inheritance for

you than this."

Lona lifted her head. "It's not a bad little shop. It keeps me alive. It could keep a family."

The Unicorn Trade

Jans winced. She saw, and welcomed the chance to escape from herself. "What pains you?" she

demanded. "It's your turn for telling."

He stood aside from her. His back sagged, while a sad little smile tugged his lips upward. "Oh, an

irony," he replied. "The single form of humor the gods know, I believe."

"I don't understand."

"Quite simple, 'tis. Hark," He confronted her. "When for a time it appeared that Arvel might

indeed sail off to the New Lands, and you with him as his bride, were you not also ablaze? Be

honest; we speak in confidence."

"Well—" She swallowed. "Not in his way. I would have been sorry to forsake this my home for a

wilderness. Nonetheless, I was ready to go for his sake, even if I must sell out at a great loss.

And in truth, I would have welcomed such a chance to better ourselves and bequeath a good life to

our children." She spread her empty hands. "Of course, I knew from the first it was likeliest a

will-o'-the-wisp. He would have had to borrow the sum required, and where, without security? His

father's estate entailed. Nobody who might desire this shop and cottage is able to pay a

reasonable price, wherefore they are just as unmortgageable. After he tried, and failed, I

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besought him to settle down here and at least earn a steady living; but there it was I who

failed."

Jans raised a finger to hush her. "No matter that," he said. "My first point has been made. Id

est, imprimis, you would have left these premises if you could.

FAIRY GOLD

"Secundus, the dowries for my daughters exhausted my savings, and nature has not outfitted my son

for my own sort of career. You know Denn Orliand for a good lad, and good with his hands, who at

present toils as a day laborer, for miserable wages, whenever he can find work. I could buy him a

shop of some kind, as it might be this very one, were my small capital not trapped by that incubus

of a second house."

"We're all trapped," Lona whispered.

"Tertius," the dry voice marched on, "I looked forward to your wedding, for I am fond of you and

Arvel is by no means a bad fellow. I had a: book for a gift, a geography which migrants to the New

Lands should find helpful or at least amusing, as the case may be, and which is in any event a

sumptuous volume—"

"Jans." She took his nearer hand in both of hers.

"Quartus," he ended, "you might have had occasion to send me a wedding gift from oversea in your

turn."

"What?" she exclaimed.

He glanced away and cleared his throat. "Um-m ... a lady in reduced circumstances, forced to work

in a tavern—but a fine person. As a matter of fact, I met her when Arvel once took me to the, m-m,

Drum and Trumpet."

"Ynis!" Lona trilled. "Why, I've met her myself a time or two, but I never suspected—"

"Well, but of course I cannot think of assuming any fresh obligation before I have provided for

the last child that my Iraine gave me, namely, Denn. The, m-hm, the lady in question agrees."

The Unicom Trade

"Does Denn?" Scorn tinged her voice.

"Oh, he has no idea of all this," Jans answered hastily. "Pray do keep silence about it. And bear

in mind, too, that .. . Ynis ... would be most unwise to give up her present position, distasteful

though it often is to her, and marry an aging widower, unless her stepson is able to provide for

her and her children if necessary. Denn is loyal, he would do so, but he must have a foundation

for his own life before he can, must he not? We are being sensible, even as you

are."

Lona swallowed again. "Yes." She jumped down from the bench. "Come," she said, around an uncertain

smile, "let's choose your things."

Natan Sandana the jeweler was visiting Var-drai of Syr the courtesan. The occasion was not the

usual one. The small gray man had always contented himself with his wife, rather than spend money

on the favors of other women, especially when they were as expensive as Vardrai's. His desire was

for a different sort of

joining.

"I tell you, we cannot lose," he urged, while he paced excitedly back and forth. The rug drank

down every footfall. "My guild maintains a farflung web of communication—which stays healthy, sick

though business has otherwise become. I had word of that Norrener ship soon after she had sailed

from Owaio. Scarcely was she moored at the Longline this morning but I was aboard, to speak with

her captain and look into his strongbox. The news was true. Besides

FAIRY GOLD

his cargo of spices and rare woods, he has, for himself, such a store of pearls as I never saw

aforetime. White, rosy, black, all huge, all perfect, oh, I have today let Beauty's embodied being

trickle through these fingers!"

"How did he get them?" asked Vardrai from the couch whereon she had curled her magnificent body.

She continued to stroke a comb through the mahogany sheen of her tresses.

Natan shrugged. "He did not say. But it's known that while they were down among yon islands, the

Norreners lent their aid—ship, cannon, pikes—in a war between two kinglets, for hire. I conjecture

that the good Haako picked up some booty about which he did not inform his royal employer."

"And he'd fain sell the lot?"

"What else? He can get a substantial price at home. However, he understands it will be but a

fraction of the true value. If we, here, outbid it, we shall still have a fantastic bargain."

Vardrai set the comb down and touched the necklace that her throat graced. "Pearls are fine to

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wear," she observed, "but who can eat them? If you can scarcely move what stock you have in your

shop, Master Sandana, how can you realize a profit on such a hoard?"

"Some can be sold quickly," he maintained. "Not everyone suffers in this abominable climate of

trade. Zulio Pandric, for example, waxes fat, and nowadays is my best customer."

She grimaced the least bit. "And mine, or one of them," she murmured, half to herself. "I wish I

could charge some less than others. A lusty

The Unicorn Trade

young man would make up for a bloated old moneylender. But he and his kind seem to have all the

gold, and I dare not risk word leaking out that Vardrai of Syr can be had cheaply,"

"For the most part, the pearls will have to be held for several years, perhaps as much as a

decade, until conditions improve," Natan admitted. "But conditions will. They must. If nothing

else, once Sir Falcovan Roncitar has established his colony overseas, the wealth of the New Lands

will begin flowing back to Caronne, and we know with certainty how lavish the gods were when they

fashioned that part of the world. Gems will not only command their present rightful price, they

will have appreciated enormously. Think, my lady. How would you like a profit of two or three

hundred per centum?"

The woman sighed. Her glance strayed to an open window which, from this upper floor, overlooked

King's Newmarket. The breeze that blew in was soft and quiet, for little of the olden bustle

stirred on the square; dwindled were the very odors of foodstalls and horse droppings. Cultivated

musicality slipped from her voice as she said, in the provincial accent of her childhood, "The

trick is to stay alive till then. How much do you need?"

"I bargained him down to four hundred aure-ates—"

Vardrai whistled.

"—of which I can provide half, if I pledge sufficient property to Master Pandric," Natan said.

"But we must be swift. Unlike so many

FAIRY GOLD

merchant skippers, Haako expects to sell his cargo at a brisk rate, to wholesalers as well as the

rich and the noble. Then he'll be off."

The jeweler halted before Vardrai's couch, "My lady," he pleaded, "I came to you because your

trade is still faring well, and it is general knowledge that you are not extravagant, but put

money aside. What say you to a partnership, share and share alike?"

Slowly, she shook her lovely head. "I say wonderful—but impossible," she told him with regret. "I

have not the likes of such cash, nor could I leave it with you to ripen for ten years or so if I

did."

"But," he protested. "But."

"I know." She gestured at those velvet hangings, ivory-inlaid furnishings, crystal chandeliers,

fragrant incense burners which decorated the room. She ran a palm down the thin silk which draped

her in luster. "I command high prices, because the alternative is to be poor, miserable, and

abused down in Docktown or along the canals. But this means my gentlemen are not many. It also

means that they expect this sort of environs, and much else that is costly; and it must be often

changed, lest they weary of sameness. No, it's true that large monies pass through my hands, but

what remains is scant, hard though I pinch. Besides, as I said, I cannot wait ten years,"

"Why not?"

Vardrai turned her left cheek toward the window and pointed to the corner of that deep-violet eye.

A sunbeam, slanting over a roof

The Unicorn Trade

opposite, brought forth the tiny crow's-feet as shadows. "I am less young than you may think," she

said quietly. "Time gnaws. I have seen what becomes of old whores."

Despite his disappointment, Natan felt a tinge of compassion. "What will you do?"

She smiled. "Why, I hope within that decade to have collected the wherewithal to buy a house and

start an establishment wherein several girls work, paying commissions to me. That will give me my

security and ... and freedom."

Her gaze went outward again, fell on a red-haired youth who was crossing the marketplace with

furious long strides, and followed him. A madam could have whatever lovers she chose, requiring no

more of them than that they please her.

A gong sounded. "Come in," Vardrai called. A maidservant opened the door and announced: "My lady,

there's a patron. Somebody new."

"Indeed?" Interest quickened the courtesan's tone. "Who?"

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"He's a Norrener, my lady, but seems quite decent. Says he's the captain of a ship."

Natan chuckled, a trifle bitterly. "Ah, ha!" he remarked. "I expect you'll find Haako Gray-

fellsson rather a change from Zulio Pandric."

"Let me hope so," Vardrai replied. "Well, go back, Jayinn, and entertain him while I make ready. I

fear you must leave now, Master San-dana; and I am sorry I couldn't help you."

Over the cobblestones, between high, half-timbered walls, through arcades, beneath over-

FAIRY GOLD

hangs, across the plazas and a bridge spanning the Imperial Canal, Arvel Tarabine stalked. Almost,

he ran. Passersby whom he jostled would begin to curse, espy the fury on his brow and the white

knuckles on his fists, and keep silent. A couple of wagoners halted their mules to let him by, as

if otherwise he would have cut a way for himself. Dogs barked at him, but from a safe distance.

Truth to tell, he fled his rage and grief, lest they cause him indeed to harm someone; but they

rode along with him, inside his breast. They kicked his heart, squeezed his lungs, clambered about

on his rib cage, and mouthed at him. Perhaps, he thought, he could exorcise them by wearing his

body down to exhaustion—but how much liefer would he have gotten into a fight!

Out the Eastport he went, and soon left Tholis Way for a trail northward. Seilles had long since

outgrown its old defensive walls, but not far in that direction, because there the land climbed

steeply, in cliff and crag and ravine. Not even shepherds cared to make use of it, nor did

noblemen risk breaking their horses' legs in the chase. Peasants sometimes went afoot after deer,

or set snares for birds and rabbits—yet seldom, for wolves prowled these reaches and, it was

whispered, beings more uncanny than that.

The trail was merely a track winding up hillsides and along ridges, often overgrown by whins.

Strong though he was, after two hours of it Arvel must stop to catch his breath. He looked about

him.

The Unicorn Trade

Stillness and warmth pressed down out of a sky where no clouds were, only a hawk whose wings shone

burnished. The air had a scorched smell. Gorse and scrub trees grew around strewn boulders, save

where the heights plunged sheer. Afar and below was a forest canopy, richly green, and beyond it

the Ilwen estuary gleamed like a drawn blade. He could just discern the city, walls, towers, ruddy-

tiled roofs, temple spire, Scholarium dome, Hall of Worthies and palace of the Lord Mayor,

warehouses and a couple of ships at the Longline, all tiny at this distance and not quite real. It

was as if Lona were a dear dream from which he had been shaken awake.

His glance traveled westward. The sun cast a blaze off the rim of the world yonder—the bay, and

behind it the ocean. Despair lifted overwhelmingly in him. That dream was also lost. Everything

was lost.

How he had implored Sir Falcovan! "I proved myself a good fighting man in the war, one who can

lead other men, did I not? Your colony may well need defenders. It will certainly need explorers,

surveyors, hunters, and you know I can handle such matters too. As for a regular business, well,

I'd be ill at ease on a plantation, but the trade in timber, furs, gold, ores—Take me, my lord!"

The great adventurer twirled his mustachios. "Most gladly, son," he answered, "if you can outfit

yourself and engage whatever underlings you require, as well as help pay our mutual costs. Two

hundred and fifty aureates is the price of a share in the enterprise. The Company

FAIRY GOLD

cannot take less, not in justice to those who've already bought in. And you'll need another

hundred or so for your own expenses."

That much money would keep a family in comfort for some years, or buy a large house or a small

shop here at home. "My lord, I—I'll have to borrow."

"Against prospective earnings?" Sir Falcovan raised his brows. "Well, you can try. But don't

dawdle. The ships have begun loading at Croy. We must sail before autumn."

"My ... my wife, the wife I'll have, she's strong and willing the same as I," Arvel begged. "We've

talked about it. We'll go indentured if we can't find the money." Lona had resisted that idea

violently before she gave in, and he misliked it himself, but passage to the New Lands, to a

reborn hope for the future, would be worth seven years of bondage.

The knight shook his head. "No, we've no dearth of such help—nigh more than we can find use for,

to be frank. It's capital we still need: that, and qualities of leadership." His weathered visage

softened. "I understand your feelings, lad. I was your age once. May the gods smile on you."

They had not done so.

Abruptly Arvel could no longer stand in place. He spun about on his heel and resumed his flight.

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The weariness that he sought, he won after a few more hours. He staggered up Cromlech Hill and

flopped to the ground, his back against the warm side of a megalith. A forgotten tribe had

The Unicorn Trade

raised this circle on the brow of this tor, unknown millennia ago, and practiced their rites,

whatever those were, at the altar in the middle. Now the pillars stood alone, gray, worn, lich-

enous, in grass that the waning summer had turned to hay, and held their stony memories to

themselves. People shunned them. Arvel cared nothing. He thought that he'd welcome a bogle or a

werewolf, anything he could rightfully kill. The heat, the redolence, a drowsy buzzing of insects,

all entered him. He slept.

Chill awakened him. He sat up with a gasp and saw that the sun was down. Deep blue in the west,

where the evenstar glowed lamplike, heaven darkened to purple overhead. It lightened again in the

east, ahead of a full moon that would shortly rise, but murk already laired among the megaliths.

"Good fortune, mortal." The voice, male, sang rather than spoke.

Arvel gaped. The form that loomed before him was tall, and huge slanty eyes caught what luminance

there was and gave it back as the eyes of a cat do. Otherwise it was indistinct, more than this

dimness could reasonably have caused. He thought he saw a cloak, its flaring collar suggestive of

bat wings, and silvery hair around a narrow face; but he could not be sure.

He scrambled to his feet. "Joy to you, sir," he said in haste while he stepped backward, hand on

sword. His heart, that would have exulted to meet an avowed enemy, rattled, and his gullet

tightened.

FAIRY GOLD

Yet the stranger made no threatening move, but remained as quiet in the dusk as the cromlech.

"Have no fear of me, Arvel Tarabine," he -^enjoined. "Right welcome you are."

The man wet his lips. "You have the advantage of me, sir," he croaked. "I do not think I have had

the pleasure of meeting you erenow."

"No; for who remembers those who came to their cradles by night and drew runes in the air above

them?" A fluid shrug. "Names are for mortals and for gods, not for the Fair Folk. But call me

Irrendal if you wish."

Arvel stiffened. His pulse roared in his ears. "No! Can't be!"

Laughter purled. "Ah, you think Irrendal and his elves are mere figures in nursery tales? Well,

you have forgotten this too; but know afresh, from me, that the culture of children is older than

history and the lore which its tales preserve goes very deep."

Arvel gathered nerve. "Forgive me, sir, but I have simply your word for that."

"Granted. Nor will I offer you immediate evidence, because it must needs be of a nature harmful to

you." The other paused. "However," he proposed slowly, "if you will follow me, you shall perceive

evidence enough, aye, and receive it, too."

"Why—what, what—?—" stammered Arvel. He felt giddy. The evenstar danced in his vision, above the

stranger's head.

Graveness responded: "You are perhaps he for whom the elvenfolk have yearned, working what poor

small magics are ours in these iron

The Unicorn Trade

centuries, in hopes that the time-flow would guide him hither. You can perhaps release us from

misery. Take heed: the enterprise is perilous. You could be killed, and the kites and foxes pick

your bones." A second quicksilver laugh. "Ah, what difference between them and the worms? We

believe you can prevail, else I would not have appeared to you. And if you do, we will grant you

your heart's desire."

There being no clear and present menace to him, a measure of calm descended upon Arvel. Beneath

it, excitement thrummed. "What would you of me?" he asked with care.

"Twelve years and a twelvemonth ago," related he who used the name Irrendal, "an ogre came into

these parts. We think hunger drove him from the North, after men had cleared and plowed his

forest. For him, our country is well-nigh as barren; unicorn, lindworm, jack-o'-dance, all such

game has become rare. Thus he turned on us, not only our orchards and livestock but our very

selves. Male and female elf has he seized and devoured. Worse, he has taken of our all too few and

precious children. His strength is monstrous: gates has he torn from their hinges, walls has he

battered down, and entered ravening. Warriors who sought him out never came back, save when he has

thrown a gnawed skull into a camp of ours while his guffaws rolled like thunder in the dark.

Spells have we cast, but they touched him no deeper than would a springtime rain. To the gods have

we appealed, but they answered not and we wonder if those philosophers may be right who declare

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that the gods

FAIRY GOLD

are withdrawing from a world where, ever more, men exalt Reason. Sure it is that the Fair Folk

must abide, or perish, in whatever countrysides they have been the tutelaries; we cannot flee.

Hushed are our mirth and music. O mortal, save us!"

A tingle went along Arvel's backbone. The hair stirred on his head. "Why do you suppose I can do

aught, when you are helpless?" he forced forth.

"For the same reason that the ogre has not troubled your race," Irrendal told him. "You have

powers denied those of the Halfworld— power to be abroad by daylight and to wield cold iron. Uha,

so named by the Northerners, knows better than to provoke a human hunt after him. We elves have

already tried to get aid from men, but too much iron is in their homes, we cannot go near; and in

these wilds we found none but stray peasants, who fled in terror at first sight of one like me.

You do not. Moreover, you are a fighting man, and bear steel."

His voice rang: "Follow me to Una's lair. Slay him. You shall have glory among us, and the richest

of rewards."

"Unless he slays me," Arvel demurred.

"Aye, that could happen." Scorn flickered. "If you are afraid, I will not detain you further. Go

back to your safe little life."

The rage, that had smoldered low in the man, flared anew, high and white-hot. An ogre? Had he,

Arvel, not wished for something to attack? "Have done!" he shouted. "Let's away!"

The Unicom Trade

"Oh, wonder of wonders," Irrendal exulted. And the moon rose.

Its radiance dimmed the stars that were blinking forth, turned grass and gorse hoar, frosted the

starkness of stones. It did not make the elf any more clear in the man's sight. "Follow me, follow

me," Irrendal called and slipped off, shadow-silent.

Arvel came after. He saw well enough by the icy light to trot without stumbling; but the hillscape

seemed unreal, a mirage through which he passed. Only his footfalls and smoke-white breath made

any sound. The chill grew ever deeper. Now and then he thought he glimpsed strangenesses flitting

by, but they were never there when he looked closer.

Once Irrendal showed him a spring, where he quenched his thirst, and once a silvery tree whereon

glowed golden fruit; he ate thereof, and an intoxicating sweetness removed all hunger from him.

Otherwise he followed his half-seen guide while the moon climbed higher and the constellations

trekked westward. The time seemed endless and the time seemed like naught until he came to the

cave of the ogre.

It yawned jagged-edged in a cliff, like a mouth full of rotten teeth. Despite the cold, a

graveyard stench billowed from it, to make Arvel gag. The bones, tatters of clothing, bronze

trappings that lay scattered around declared that Irrendal had spoken truth.

Or had he? Sudden doubt assailed Arvel. Fragmentary recollections of the nursery tales floated up

into his mind. Did they not say the elves

FAIRY GOLD

were a tricksy lot, light-willed and double-tongued, whose choicest jape was to outwit a mortal?

Was it not the case that nothing of theirs could have enduring value to a man? Irrendal had

promised Arvel his heart's desire, but what might that actually prove to be?

Doubt became dread. Arvel was on the point of bolting. Then Irrendal winded a horn he had brought

forth from somewhere, and it was too late. Cruelly beautiful, the notes were a challenge and a

mockery; and they had no echoes, even as the bugler had no shadow.

Hu-hu, hu-hu, attend your doom!

The ogre appeared in the cave mouth. Monstrous he was, broad and thick as a horse, taller than a

man despite a stoop that brought his knuckles near the ground. Eyes like a swine's glittered

beneath a shelf of brow, above noseless nostrils and a jaw where fangs sprouted. The moon grizzled

his coarse pelt. Earth quivered to each shambling step he took. Hatred rumbled from His throat as

he saw the elf, and he gathered himself to charge.

"Draw blade, man, or die!" Irrendal cried.

Arvel's weapon snaked forth. Moonlight poured along it. Fear fled before battle joy. His left hand

took his knife, and thus armed, he advanced.

The ogre grew aware of him, bawled dismay, and sought to scuttle off. Faster on his feet, Arvel

barred escape, forced his enemy back against the cliff, and sprang in for the kill.

Uha was as brave as any cornered beast. An

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The Unicom Trade

arm swept in an arc that would have smeared Arvel's brains over the tatons had it made connection.

The human barely skipped aside. He had accomplished only a shallow slash of sword. But where the

steel had been, ogre-flesh charred and smoked.

Uha lumbered after him. Arvel bounded in and out. His sword whistled. When a hand clutched close,

he seared it with his knife. Uha bellowed, clattered his teeth, flailed and kicked. Irrendal stood

apart, impassive.

The fight lasted long. Afterward Arvel recalled but little of it. Finally Uha won back into his

den. The man pursued—altogether recklessly, for in there he was blind. Yet that was where the

nightmare combat ended.

Arvel reeled out, fell prone upon the blessed sane earth, and let darkness whirl over him.

He regained strength after some while, sat painfully up, and beheld Irrendal. "You have conquered,

you have freed us," the elf sang. "Hero, go home."

"Will ... we meet . . . again?" Arvel mumbled with mummy-parched tongue.

"Indeed we shall, a single time," Irrendal vowed, "for have I not promised you reward? Await me

tomorrow dusk beneath the Dragon Tower. Meanwhile—" he paused—"leave your steel that slew the

ogre, for henceforth it is unlucky."

The thought passed through Arvel's exhaustion that thus far his pay was the loss of two good,

costly blades. However, he dared not disobey.

FAIRY GOLD

"Farewell, warrior," Irrendal bade him, "until next twilight," and was gone.

Slowly, Arvel observed that the moon had passed its height. Before the western ridges hid it from

him, he had best be in familiar territory; nor did he wish to linger here another minute.

He crawled to his feet and limped away.

Entering Seilles at dawn, he sought the sleazy lodging house where he had a room, fell into bed,

and slept until late afternoon. Having clea'nsed off grime and dried sweat with a sponge and a

basin of cold water, and having donned fresh albeit threadbare garments, he proceeded to the Drum

and Trumpet, benched himself, and called for bread, meat, and ale.

Ynis regarded him closely. "You seem awea-ried," she remarked. "What's happened?"

"You'd not believe it if I told you," he answered, "nor would I."

In truth, he was unsure whether he remembered more than a wild dream on Cromlech Hill. Nothing

spoke for its reality save aches, bruises, and the absence of his edged metal. The loss of Lona

was more comprehensible, and hurt worse.

Eating and drinking, he wondered if his wits had left him. That was a thought to shudder at,

madness. But life as a hale man would be dreary at best. What could he do?

Not creep back to Lona, whine for forgiveness, and seek to become a potter. She would despise him

for that, after the hard words he

The Unicorn Trade

had uttered yesterday, as much as he would himself. Besides, he'd never make a worthwhile partner

in the shop. His hands lacked the deftness of hers and his tongue the unction of a seller—not that

she ever truckled to anybody.

If he stayed on in Seilles, he had no prospect other than a continuation of his present miserable,

cadging existence. Opportunities elsewhere—for instance, going to sea—were niggardly. But at least

he would be making his own way in the world.

As he had wished to do, and been sure he could do magnificently, in the New Lands. Well-a-day, how

many mortals ever win to their heart's desire?

Arvel sat bolt upright. Ale splashed from the goblet in his grasp.

"What is it that's wrong, dearie?" Ynis asked.

"Nothing ... or everything.... I know not," he muttered.

The sun had gone behind the houses across the street. Soon it would go behind the horizon.

Irrendal had said to meet him at the Dragon Tower.

What was there to lose? Simply time, if last night's business had been delirium after all, and

time was a burden on Arvel.

Granted, legend maintained that the elves were a shifty folk, and their powers among men weak and

evanescent. He must not let any hopes fly upward. But did it do harm if his blood surged and he

forgot his pains?

Swallowing the last of his meal, Arvel has-

FAIRY GOLD

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file:///F|/rah/Poul%20Anderson/Anderson,%20Poul%20-%20The%20Unicorn%20Trade.txtTHEUNICORNTRADEThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright©1984byPoulandKarenAndersonAllrightsreserved,includingth...

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Poul Anderson - The Unicorn Trade

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