Neysa, of course, had been far more straight-maned about it. It was not the fact of interspecies action that bothered her, for she herself had had an affair with the Adept Stile before he married the Lady Blue. It had been the openness of it, and the insistence that it be legitimized. Fleta had wanted to marry the rovot: a deed virtually unknown among unicorns, and certainly not appropriate miscegenously. That was the difference between Clip and his sister: she was more conservative, and held more closely to the old values, flawed as they might be. It was understood that a stallion would take whatever sexual experience he could get, but that a mare would indulge outside of heat only for extraordinary reason, and then would be discreet. Indeed Neysa had been discreet; among unicorns, only he, her brother, knew for certain how close she had been to Stile.
Fleta, with Stile’s son, had been discreet. But then with the rovot she had been blatant, and that was the essence of her crime. Yet later she had proven that it could be done: that offspring was possible. That had been a shock to all of Phaze, and values were still quivering. Now with Neysa’s change of heart, Fleta was accepted, and applauded for her courage and her achievement. Indeed, the exploits of the colt Flach had charmed them all, as he defied both parents and Adepts and remained hidden despite their worst efforts. There was true unicorn stubbornness.
Now, of course, they were fighting to recover Flach from captivity by the Adepts. Fleta might seem to be the bubbling, cheerful young creature of old, but she was not; the years of her separation from her foal had sobered her. She had wanted him to stay free, knowing how vitally that helped Stile’s cause, but she had also wanted him with her. Such inner conflict was not kind to individuals, even tough unicorns.
They ran into the sunset, eyes on the ground, making what time they could while light remained. Unicorns could see well enough at night, but this was unfamiliar terrain, and when the darkness closed they would have to slow to a safe walk.
Fleta began to play a little duet on her horn, from the sheer exuberance of the sensation of freedom lent by the hour. Her hooves carried the beat. Oh, yes, it was nice music, her panpipes! Each note was simple, but the combination was special. When she played the two very similar notes there was a beat, not of the hooves but of the merging themes. Surely the rovot had been entranced by this, as by her other virtues.
They slowed, proceeding onward toward the west, finding the open regions by sight and sound and smell. The air gradually cooled, and the stars came out. It was surprisingly nice. Clip remembered his travels with Belle, the most beautiful of mares, with the iridescent mane and the sound of ringing bells. She had become his first true love, and remained so as he mastered his Herd. Of course now he had many mares to service, and she was busy with her fourth foal, but the bond between them had never been broken; she would always be his lead mare. In the early years they had had to avoid Herds and travel by night, but it had been no chore. They had played such lovely music together!
So it went, that night, a pleasure of reminiscences, as they approached the Ogre Demesnes. By dawn they were there—and by the smell, nearing an ogre family. They centered on it, tracking the odor, until they came upon it: a ponderous male, a horrendously ugly female, and a homely cub. The male was bashing a dead tree apart, while the female and cub were shaking out the big fragments and catching the vermin in them: roaches, mice, toads and snakes. A fine ogre meal was in the making.
But all three paused the moment the two unicorns came into sight. It took several seconds for the male to come to a conclusion, but it was the expected one. He roared, and lumbered toward this new prey.
Actually, two fit unicorns should have been a match for two grown ogres. But that was not Clip’s purpose in coming here. He stood his ground and played his horn. The mellowness of it spread out almost visibly, touching the ogres. Would they listen?
They paused, cocking their gross ears. Their expressions shifted slowly from rage in the male and surprise in the female and curiosity in the cub to universal perplexity. Beauty of any nature was foreign to ogres; they did not know what to do with it. Perhaps somewhere in their dim ancestry there had been a trace of it, and a suggestion of that awareness remained, a useless vestige that had not yet been properly bred out of the species.
Then the male shook it off, and prepared to roar again, to property renew his attack.
Fleta began to play, accompanying Clip’s melody. Her panpipes augmented his saxophone timbre nicely, and the result was extraordinarily pretty.
The ogres paused again, their perplexity deepening to virtual wonder. This time the male did not shake it off; two musicians overwhelmed his single mind. It seemed that the tableau would remain as long as the music continued.
Clip decided to test this further. Still playing, he advanced on the male, ready to move quickly if the ogre snapped out of it. Fleta followed, maintaining her harmony.
Clip came right up to the male, and the male did not move.
Slack-jawed, the ogre listened, immobile. This was better than anticipated!
Finally Clip essayed the ultimate: he actually nudged the male ogre with the tip of his horn. The creature did not react.
That sufficed. Music was the key to the control of ogres! If just two players were enough to entrance an ogre family, think what an entire Herd Orchestra could do!
Clip signaled Fleta with a twitch of his horn. They retreated, never breaking off their duet. Then, at a safe distance, they ended the music.
The ogres shook their heads as if coming out of a trance. The male blinked, spied the unicorns, and opened his mouth to roar.
Immediately Clip and Fleta resumed playing. The ogre paused in mid-gape, as before.
They moved away, continuing their playing, until they were well clear of the ogre family. This had been a most successful experiment!
They headed back east. They were tired, but did not want to rest in unfamiliar country, away from the Herd. But they did not hurry; a regular walk was good enough.
After a while, Fleta assumed her hummingbird form and perched on Clip’s head, resting. Three hours later, they exchanged: she resumed ‘corn form while he became a hawk and rode her head. Thus they were able to take turns resting and sleeping, without losing time.
In the afternoon they encountered the Herd. Neysa had kept it moving forward at a leisurely pace, so that any watching Adepts would not notice anything odd. There was even a small bird riding her head, that might be taken for a hummingbird from a distance, while a hawk rode another unicorn. Thus even the absence of the two was tacitly accounted for.
They changed to human form and walked while they told Neysa what had happened. They had a tool to use against the ogres!
Clip went out to meet the chief ogre at the start of the siege. “May the best team win,” Clip said, assuming manform.
“Arrrgh!” the ogre roared, taking a swipe at him.
The formal amenities accomplished, they retreated to their groups. The siege was on.
Clip had divided his forces into three: Fleta was in charge of the defense of the blue flag, with a quarter of the unicorns in a number of guises. Clip was in charge of the attack on the red flag, with another quarter of the Herd. The rest of the ‘corns were scattered between, on their own; they would track individual ogres and try to take them out as opportunity offered.
Clip hoped that there would be no real action. His attack force consisted not of the best fighters, but the best players. They would charm the ogres into stasis, so that they would not defend their flag. With sufficient luck, the siege would be won almost as it began.
His contingent trotted out, in step. From the distance ahead there was a horrendous roar as the ogre attack force commenced its charge.
The two groups came into sight of each other. The ogres hurled a barrage of rocks. The unicorns stepped aside, without breaking step, each one dodging the stone that came for him. The aim of the rocks was good, but the range was such that there was plenty of time to see them coming. They thudded into th
e ground all around the unicorns, hitting none. Then the formation closed up again. The beat had never faltered. The ogres hardly cared; they preferred smashing things with their hamfists anyway.
As ogres and unicorns closed, Clip sounded the signal. There was a pause of four hoofbeats. Then the music started: Clip’s sax, joined by the other “brass” sounds: trombone, trumpet, bugle, French horn and tuba. The “wood” sounds: piccolo, violin, cello, lute, guitar and harp. The “percussions”: cymbals, bells, xylophone, chimes and assorted drums. A few stray types, such as organ, music-box and piano. All of these terms were necessarily crude, because the human tongue lacked proper descriptions, just as the human instruments lacked proper quality of tone. The unicorn variety was more or less infinite, with each individual possessing a sound not quite like any other. A group of ‘corns playing together represented musical expertise unmatched elsewhere.
The ogres ground to a halt, their maws gaping in idiotic wonder. Their remaining rocks dropped from flaccid hamfingers. They listened to the serenade.
The unicorns marched in step, keeping perfect beat, playing their intricate melody. They guided around the standing ogres and went on toward the red flag, unchallenged.
Then Neysa changed to her firefly form and flew up and ahead, going straight for the high tree from which the flag fluttered. Clip had decided not to risk a larger flying form, lest it distract the ogres from the music. Indeed, once Neysa was safely aloft, her tiny body lost to view in the distance, he brought the party to a halt. They marched in place, serenading the ogres. The idea was to hold the ogres’ attention until the flag was safely away.
Neysa reached the flag. It was of course too heavy for her to carry in that form. She lighted on the trunk of the tree below it and changed to human form. Then, clinging with one hand, she reached up with the other to grasp the flag.
It didn’t come. Clip, watching while he stepped and played, realized what the problem was: an ogre had tied it in place, and the knot was too tight for a womanform to free one-handed. She would have to break off the top of the tree to get it loose.
She tried, but the trunk was too strong. That was understandable; not far below, it was supporting her human weight. She would just have to keep working at the knot; eventually it should come loose.
They continued playing, holding the ogres spellbound. The effect evidently included the ogres farther away, because there was no sound of crashing or roaring anywhere. There was only the serenade.
Neysa managed to climb up a bit farther, and to hold on with her legs. She got her teeth on the knot. Now, reluctantly, it was loosening. Soon she would have it!
Suddenly there was the roar of a dragon, horribly loud. For a moment it overrode the music.
The ogres recovered. Their leader roared. Then all of them were roaring, following his example—and the unicorns were drowned out.
Disaster! The ogres, finding the unicorns behind them, wheeled and charged, roaring continuously. The music was no longer effective, because it could not be heard. The unicorns had to get away—and they were almost surrounded.
Fortunately Clip had drilled them on a fallback procedure. They formed a compact group, their rears together, their horns pointing outward. The ogres could not readily attack this group without getting horned.
Meanwhile the members of the Herd who were farther back saw the problem. They assumed their manforms and brought out their bows. Soon arrows were annoying the ogres from behind them.
These ogres turned and charged the manforms. They picked their dropped rocks and hurled them, forcing the ‘corns to take cover behind trees. Then, realizing that there was a flag to fetch, the ogres tramped onward, gathering in their forces as they went, becoming a seemingly invincible force.
Clip knew that this was no good. His grand ploy had failed and his ‘corns were in danger. Neysa had disappeared; she must have changed back to firefly form when the ogres resumed action, because any who spied her in the tree could knock her out with a single hurled stone. It was time to look to their own flag!
He set the example. He changed to hawkform and flew quickly up and away. The others did the same; he had had the caution to include in this group only those who had flying forms. The ogres oriented and threw rocks, but the change was so quick that they were too late; few if any escaping ‘corns were caught.
Now they were in for it. The ogres, freed of distraction, were forging toward the blue flag. Fleta had imaginatively set some traps, just in case; when the ogres tramped straight forward, they blundered into a giant pitfall. They promptly proceeded to bash their way out of it, but this brought down a great deal of dirt, halfway burying them, and served to slow them down. Thereafter the ogres made long poles and poked them at the ground ahead, feeling out a safe path. This also slowed them, but not enough.
Manform ‘corns hid behind trees and emerged only to throw spears at the advancing horde. The ogres hurled rocks back, but took losses. Thereafter they kept their hairy arms cocked, ready to throw a rock at any living thing that showed, and the ‘corns had to desist. The ogres advanced.
What were they to do? Clip’s best play had failed, and it was clear that the ogres would in time reach the flag and take it down. Was there no stopping them?
It occurred to him, in this hour of desolation, that there had been something funny about that dragon roar that had ruined his ploy of music. There were supposed to be no dragons here! How could one have roared so loud and close as to drown out the massed unicorns? Where was that dragon? It had never shown up.
Clip ground his teeth. Was it possible that there had been no dragon? That the Adepts had made that sound to ruin his ploy? If so, they had cheated—but how could it be proven?
A hummingbird came to him. It became Fleta. “Uncle, I have a plan, a ruse—willst let me try?”
“An thou hast a way, mare, try it!” he agreed.
“But methinks I will need thy help. I will lead an ogre, and thou must dispatch it only when I say. Canst do that?”
Just like that: dispatch an ogre! But if the monster were distracted, it was possible. “Aye.”
“Remember, only when I say, else all be lost. This be one odd ploy.”
Clip became cautious. “Must needs I know more o’ this.”
“I mean to lead it to our flag—”
“That be no problem! They be going there anyway!”
“Ahead o’ the others,” she continued. “And let it take the flag—”
“What?”
“Shortly before thou dost dispatch it.”
Oh. Now that he thought about it, he realized that this would make it easier to eliminate the ogre, because it would be thinking only of the flag. Still, it was chancy. “Better to dispatch it before it gets the flag,” he said.
“Nay, Uncle! It must be after! Only after, when I tell thee!”
Why did she want it this way? He decided to do it her way. It wouldn’t hurt, as long as he did stop the ogre. But he did not see how this would stop the overall thrust of the remaining ogres. There would not be time to lead each of them up alone, so soon the region of the flag would be swamped with the monsters. “Aye,” he said.
She changed to ‘corn form and trotted out and around until she spied an especially big and ugly ogre, poking his way along a bit to the side of the others. She changed to girlform, while Clip assumed hawkform and perched in a tree, watching.
“Hey, lady-snout!” Fleta called to the ogre. “Dost put thy hair in curlers and paint thy face to make it so pretty?”
Irony was of course lost on the creature. It took her words literally—and was furious, because no ogre could afford to be considered pretty. It roared and stepped toward her, but hesitated, because of the fear for pitfalls and ambushes. Its beady eyes searched the forest, and it hefted a giant stone menacingly.
“Slow, too!” Fleta taunted. “Why, I could outrun thee in this form!”
That was another potent insult, for she was a mere slip of a creature compared to him. Th
e ogre watched for ambushes, but was just barely smart enough to realize that if he pursued her along the exact route she took, there would be no pitfalls she did not fall into first. He took off after her.
Fleta ran, and now Clip saw reason for her name: she was buxom and pretty (for those who might like the human type), but also fleet of foot. Her black hair-mane flung out behind as she moved, and her buttocks twinkled in a manner that made the ogre’s mouth water. Ogres loved to eat humanform flesh, and girlform flesh was acknowledged to be the tastiest. She was the best possible lure, to make the ogre forget what little caution it might possess and pursue blindly. It would be easy to trap or waylay this ogre!
Yet she had demanded that this wait until after the ogre got the flag. Clip flew after, flitting from tree to tree so as to minimize his exposure to thrown rocks, and hoped this was not as crazy as it seemed.
Fleta, remaining just ahead of the monster, led it safely to the flag. “See, there’s our flag, and you can’t get it because then you’d lose me!” Fleta called. “What a fool thou dost be!”
The ogre grinned, pleased at the compliment. But her words did serve to remind him of his original mission. Quickly he hauled himself hamfist over hamfist up the tree, until he grabbed the flag, then slid down. Fleta, in supposed astonishment, had not moved. “Thou didst take our flag,” she exclaimed. “Be I not tasty enough?”
The ogre stuffed the flag in his ear for safekeeping and lurched after her. Fleta screamed as if in horror and ran again. She led the ogre to the side, some distance from the original flag site, then dived under a giant spruce tree. “I be safe here!” she cried.
But one of her dainty feet poked out. She had not gotten completely out of sight! The ogre grabbed—just as the foot was pulled out of the way. The ogre grabbed again, plunging under the tree, until it too was lost in the maze of branches.