Then he saw Shalkan.
Shalkan was pacing them, several hundred yards farther out. The white unicorn was a ghost against the snow, running effortlessly along the top of it. Kellen waved, and Shalkan tossed his head in response.
Then, suddenly, Cilarnen saw Shalkan as well.
He stared, transfixed, at what was obviously the first unicorn he’d ever seen. For one moment, no part of his attention was on Anganil.
And Anganil knew it.
The stallion put on a burst of speed, then leaped into the air. He came down on his forehand, ducked his head, and kicked out hard with his hind legs.
Cilarnen went flying over his head into the snow. Anganil sprang sideways and began to run in good earnest.
—«♦»—
OH,
Kellen had wanted Cilarnen to take a fall—but not that hard a fall!
He checked Firareth and vaulted from the saddle, running to where Cilarnen lay sprawled in the snow. “Are you all right?” he demanded.
But Cilarnen seemed only to be breathless—and indignant.
“He threw me off!” Cilarnen said disgustedly, allowing Kellen to help him to his feet. He looked around, searching for Anganil. “And now he’s bolted.”
“He knew you weren’t paying attention. Those are some of the war moves I told you about.” Kellen helped him up, almost giddy with relief. “Don’t worry. Shalkan will bring him back.”
“That—was a unicorn,” Cilarnen said, once he’d mounted up behind Kellen, and they were riding off in the direction Anganil had gone.
“Yes it was.” Kellen smiled a little at the wonder in Cilarnen’s voice. “His name is Shalkan, and he’s my friend. There’s a dragon here, too. His name is Ancaladar. You’ll probably see him later.”
Shalkan had herded Anganil in a wide circle, and now the destrier was running toward them, the unicorn at his heels. Kellen moved Firareth to block the young destrier’s path. Anganil, sensing that the game was up, stopped and stood quietly, switching his tail innocently.
“You have the oddest ideas of fun,” Shalkan said, coming forward. “I suppose this is Cilarnen?”
“It can talk!” Cilarnen blurted.
Kellen groaned inwardly and closed his eyes. Poor Cilarnen. When Shalkan got done with him—
“Oh, my, yes,” Shalkan said in his archest tones. “Quite as well as a human. Isn’t that surprising? Of course, I’ve had a great deal more practice at talking than you seem to have. Why, I can form complete sentences and say exactly what I mean, for example.”
“But— I mean— I didn’t— That is—” Cilarnen stuttered.
Kellen ignored the byplay. He dismounted, walked over to Anganil, led the young stallion over to Firareth, and tied his reins firmly to Firareth’s saddle. He didn’t intend to spend the rest of the morning chasing Anganil through the snow if Anganil took it into his head to dash off again. Then he walked over to Shalkan.
“He doesn’t know about unicorns because nobody teaches anything about them in the City—anything important, anyway,” Kellen said, in a voice low enough that Cilarnen probably wouldn’t hear. “Which you know already. And I haven’t had time to explain everything to him yet.”
Cilarnen clambered down from Firareth’s back and came over to them. Apparently Shalkan was willing to permit his approach, for the unicorn stayed where he was.
Cilarnen was staring at Shalkan, oblivious to the falling snow. “Can I touch him?” he asked, and the note of raw longing in his voice would have melted a much harder heart than Kellen’s.
