Blue Adept
Piers Anthony
Contents
CHAPTER 1 - Unicorn
CHAPTER 2 - Lady
CHAPTER 3 - Proton
CHAPTER 4 - The Little People
CHAPTER 5 - Riddles
CHAPTER 6 - Unolympic
CHAPTER 7 - Hulk
CHAPTER 8 - Quest
CHAPTER 9 - Music
CHAPTER 10 - Red
CHAPTER 11 - Trap
CHAPTER 12 - Dance
CHAPTER 1 - Unicorn
A lone unicorn galloped across the field toward the Blue Castle. It was a male, with a glossy dark blue coat and red socks on his hind feet and a handsomely spiraled horn. As he moved he played a melody through that hollow horn, sounding like a mellow saxophone. The notes floated across the field ahead of him.
Stile walked to a parapet and looked down. He was an extremely small but fit man, a former jockey who remained in shape. He was dressed in a blue shirt and blue jeans, though there were those who felt that neither became his station. His station was such, however, that he could ignore it with impunity—to a degree.
“Clip!” he exclaimed, recognizing the visitor. “Hey, Neysa—your brother’s here!” But Neysa already knew it. Her hearing was better than his. She trotted out of the castle and met Clip at the front gate, crossing horns briefly in greeting. Then the two went into their more extended ritual of reunion, prancing out side by side in unison as they played a duet. Neysa’s horn had the sound of a harmonica, and it blended beautifully with the music of the saxophone.
Stile watched and listened, entranced, and not by magic. He had always been fond of horses, and he liked unicorns even better. He was of course biased; Neysa was his best friend in this frame. Still—
The two equines intensified the beat, their hooves striking the turf precisely. Now they went into the syncopation of the five-beat gait, the Unicorn Strut, their music matching it. Stile, unable to resist, brought out his good harmonica and matched the tune, tapping the beat with his heel as well as he could. He had a natural flair for music, and had sharpened his skill recently because it related so intimately to his magic. When he played, intangible magic formed around him. But he refused to let that inhibit him; the magic only became tangible when he invoked it in his special fashion.
When the unicorns finished their dance of delight, they trotted back to the castle. As they approached the gate they shifted to human-form, becoming a handsome young man and an elfishly small but also quite pretty woman. Stile hurried down to meet them in the courtyard. “A greeting. Adept, and a message from the Herd Stallion,” Clip said. He was holding hands with his sister, somewhat to her mute embarrassment; he was more expressive than she. Both wore the garb of archaic Earth as interpreted by nonhuman viewpoint, more or less matching their natural equine colors.
“Thy greeting is welcome. Clip,” Stile said. “And thy message too, be it in peace.”
“It is. Adept. The Stallion is pleased to summon Neysa the Mare this season to be bred.” He paused, then appended his own remark: “At long last.”
“That’s great!” Stile exclaimed. “After three seasons denied, she will finally get her foal!”
Then he saw that Neysa was not reacting with the de-light expected. Stile looked at her with concern. “Dost this not please thee, oath-friend? I thought it was thy fondest ambition to—“ Clip, too, was glancing at her with perplexity. “Sibling, methought I bore great tidings.”
Neysa averted her gaze. She was a well-formed girl an inch or so shorter than Stile—a stature that appealed to him though he knew this was foolish. She was the smallest of mares, barely fourteen hands; any shorter and she would have been classified as a pony: a member of the equine Little Folk. Her human-form merely reflected this, with only the tiny button-hom in her forehead signifying her true nature.
Stile had long since learned to live with the fact that most women and all men were taller than he, and of course Neysa was not human at all. That did not prevent her from being his closest companion in ways both human and equine. Though she could speak, she was not much on verbal communication. Vivacity was not her way, though she had a certain filly humor that manifested subtly on occasion.
Clip and Stile exchanged glances. What did this mean?
“Would a female know?” Clip asked.
Stile nodded. “One would.” He raised his voice only slightly. “Lady.”
In a moment the Lady Blue appeared. She was, as always, garbed in variants of blue: blue corduroy skirt, pale blue blouse, dark blue slippers and star-blue tiara. And, as always, her beauty struck Stile with special force. “Master,” she murmured.
Stile wished she wouldn’t do that. In no way was he her master, and she knew that well. But he was unable to take effective issue with the conventions of this frame—or with the half-subtle reminders she gave him. She considered him to be an imposter in the Blue Demesnes, a necessary evil. She had cause.
