'What kind?' Stile asked tightly.
'He is alive.' She shifted back to mare-form.
Stile vaulted to her back, and she trotted him over to the herd. He embraced the Lady Blue briefly.
The Herd Stallion awaited him in man-form. 'Under the White Mountains , prisoner of the goblins. We must strike by night - tonight, ere they suspect.'
'Yes,' Stile agreed. 'Thou and I alone, surgically.'
'They will be alert for Adept magic, and will kill Clip the moment they detect it. Thou canst not employ thy power until he is safe.'
'How am I to save him, then?' Stile asked, frustrated.
'I will save him. Then thou canst get us all out of danger.'
Stile was uncertain about this procedure, but had to agree. There was no use going on a rescue mission if his mere presence precipitated Clip's murder.
'We start now,' the Stallion said. 'It will be night ere we reach the mountains. I know an entrance to the goblin demesnes - but once underground, I will know the way no better than thou.'
Stile had an idea. 'Suppose I make a spell to show the way? Will that continuing magic alert the goblins?'
The Stallion considered. 'I know not, but think not. It is new magic that makes alarm; there are many ancient spells in the background, ignored.'
'I'd better risk it,' Stile said. He considered a moment, then played his harmonica and sang: 'A star institute, to illumine our route.'
A pinpoint glow appeared to their north, shedding faint light on the ground.
'But the goblins will see it too!' the Stallion protested.
'See what?' the Lady Blue asked.
The Stallion smiled. 'Ah - others see it not!'
'Others see it not,' Stile agreed. 'I am not quite as foolish as I look.'
'Not quite,' the Stallion agreed, and shifted back to his natural form, pawing the ground. Stile took the hint and leaped to his back. This was much more of a challenge than it had been with Neysa, for the Herd Stallion stood four hands higher than she and massed twice as much. He was a lot of animal. Had they not had a clear understanding, Stile's touch on his back would have precipitated an instant death struggle. It was a sign of the passions involved and the seriousness of the situation that the untamable Stallion submitted to this indignity.
Immediately they were off. Stile, the most skilled rider in this frame, suddenly had to hang on, lest he be dumped like a novice. Evidently some spirit of rivalry remained; the Stallion wanted him to know that he kept his perch only by sufferance. Stile had never been on a steed like this before; the Stallion was the mass of a huge work horse, but had the velocity of a racer. Stile had originally tamed Neysa by riding her against her will; he knew he could never have done it with this steed.
The scenery raced by. Wind tore at Stile's clothing. The Stallion's hooves pounded on the doubled drumbeat of a full gallop, and sparks flew up where the hard hooves struck, but the ride was smooth. The Stallion was not wasting energy in extra up-and-down motion; he was sailing straight ahead.
The pinpoint star remained fixed at about head-height, its spot of light brightening to a patch of ground. It slid to one side sometimes, guiding them around obstructions and bad footing, so that the Stallion never had to slow to scout the way. He was able to maintain cruising speed, faster than that of any horse, and he seemed tireless. As he warmed up, jets of flame blasted from his nostrils. This was the way that unicorns cooled themselves, since they did not sweat; the heat was dissipated from their breath and hooves.
After a time the ride became routine, then dull. Stile had nothing to do, since the Stallion knew the way even without the help of the little star. Stile could have slept, but was too keyed up; he wanted to rescue and restore Clip. He could do it, he was sure; his magic could cement the severed horn and heal the scars of its cutting. The only problem was getting to the unicorn without triggering the murder. And getting them all out, thereafter. Meanwhile, he just had to wait.
'I've been thinking,' he remarked. 'Art thou amenable to conversation?'
The Stallion blew an affirmative accordion note. He, too, was bored by this stretch.
'Thou art a powerful creature,' Stile said. 'Surely the goblins will recognize thee as readily as me. I can be taken for an elf, but thou canst only be a unicorn, even in man-form. The snub-horn gives thee away.'
The Stallion blew another note of agreement. Unicorns could change form but retained vestigial horns in all forms. This was because the horn was the seat of the unicorn's magic; without it the creature was no more than a horse, unable to play music or change form. If an alternate form lacked the horn, the unicorn would not be able to change back to equine form. This was plainly unacceptable; the human form was not one any self-respecting unicorn would care to be stuck in for long.
'Thy dragon-form is no better than thy man-form for concealment,' Stile continued. 'True, it could penetrate the goblin demesnes - but would create great alarm, for no one ignores a dragon! When thou didst approach Clip, the little monsters would surely realize thy nature and intent.'
'Um,' the unicorn noted with a thoughtful chord.
'The thing is, thou art in all thy forms a mighty creature. Now this is no bad thing and ordinarily is altogether proper.' The phrasing of a suggestion was sometimes more important than the suggestion itself, particularly when addressed to a creature of pride. 'But this time I wish thou didst possess an insignificant form, like Neysa's firefly, that I could carry in unobserved.'
The unicorn ran on, considering. After a time he blew a new note. 'Could.' The notes were not really words, but pitch and inflection conveyed definite meaning, and Stile could usually interpret them when he put his mind to it.
'Thou hast a fourth form?' he asked, surprised. 'I thought three was the limit, and only one or two for some.'
Now came a proud blast. This was no ordinary unicorn; the Stallion could master a fourth form, if he chose.
'That's great!' Stile exclaimed. 'Couldst thou work it up in time for tonight? I know it takes a considerable act of discipline to implement a new form, and there is so little time-'
The Stallion was not foolishly optimistic. Any form was a challenge the first time, and a fourth one was special. But he thought he could manage it.
They discussed it as the miles and leagues rushed by. It developed that some forms were easier than others. Difficulty varied according to the necessary specialization and the change of size. Thus a unicorn could convert to a massive bear fairly readily, because the size was about the same. A man-form was harder, because the mass was less and because of the necessary specialization of the hands and voice. A man-form that could not tie a knot in string would not be very good, and one who could not talk would be worse. These things had to be done properly, or were not worth doing at all. Neysa's firefly-form was a greater achievement than Clip's hawk-form, because the fly was only a fraction of the mass. Neysa weighed about 850 pounds in her natural form, about 85 in her girl-form, and less than 85-hundredths of an ounce in firefly-form. It would be more than twice as hard for the Herd Stallion to get down to that size.
'But such size would be beyond suspicion,' Stile remarked. 'No one would believe that a beast as noble as thou couldst hide in a form so small.' That accented the magnitude of the challenge, rather than the insignificance of the form.
Then there was the problem of flying, the unicorn explained in concerned notes. Flying was a specialization that had to be mastered by tedious practice, after the physical form had been achieved. The Stallion had learned it for his dragon-form, but would have to start all over for an insect-form, since insects employed a different mode of flight. That could take days.
'Oh, I did not mean thou must fly,' Stile said. 'It is the insignificance I am after, that none may suspect thee. Thou couldst go from dragon to roach, for that.'
But Stile was struck by something else. Dragon - roach. His poem: the one he had used to win the Tourney in Proton. Had this provided him with a prophetic key?
Now he thought back, discovering parallels. He had referred to Gabriel's horn - but there was also the unicorn's horn. Clip's horn had precipitated this venture. He had also referred to trying to cheat fate; but he had
