Piers Anthony: Unicorn Point

He continued his effort to place the creature. It had to be something^. It had a body like that of a panther or lion, and a head like that of a bird of prey. It reminded him of the old heraldic devices in the history texts—

“Griffin!” he exclaimed. “That’s a griffin! Head and wings of an eagle, body of a lion!”

Neysa made a musical toot of agreement and continued running at speed. She had known it by the sound and smell. “But there are no griffins in Phaze!” he exclaimed after a moment.

Yet there it was, and gaining on them. A classic heraldic monster. Obviously it did exist here.

Stile’s brain was now racing at almost Neysa’s pace. Sparks were flying up from her heating hooves, and figurative sparks were emanating from his head. There were only a few ways that such a creature could be in Phaze. Was it possible that all the surveys of the wildlife of the frame had been wrong, and had overlooked this creature? He doubted that; those surveys had been competent and conducted magically. The griffin might be an illusion, crafted by another Adept. But he doubted that too, because Neysa had heard it and scented it; it would require an extremely thorough illusion to cover sound, smell and sight in a manner that would convince a unicorn. So it was probably a form assumed by some other creature.

A number of Phaze creatures could change their forms. There were the unicorns, each typically having two forms in addition to the equine one. The werewolves, who changed from wolf to man and back. The vampires, who were bats and men. And the Adepts, who could do almost anything they chose. But though the animals could change forms as many times as they wished, they were limited to those few they had mastered, and Stile knew of none who had elected a non Phaze form. The Adepts could take any form, but only once. Thus it would be necessary to find new variants of the spell to achieve the same alternate form, which seemed like too much trouble.

However, a single appearance in this form might be enough, depending on its purpose. Why should an Adept assume the form of a griffin to chase another Adept? Was one of the Adverse Adepts breaking the truce? Trying to take him out anonymously, using this shape in case Stile escaped and tried to identify the perpetrator? That was possible, for some Adepts had few ethical scruples, but unlikely, because the Adverse Adepts already had the upper hand and were likely to win the complete power they sought, in time. They had succeeded in tilting the balance of power in their favor when they had given Mach and Fleta sanctuary. Now Mach and Bane were both working for them, and their facility with magic in this frame, and with science in the other, was inevitably growing. Stile and his allies were waging little more than a holding action at this point, staving off the reckoning. Why should the enemy try to kill him, when this would only stir up his allies to desperate measures, and change nothing? Yet there was the griffin, closing the gap between them.

“Neysa, I believe I should intercede,” he said. But she remained stubborn; she wanted to pull this out herself. She was angling toward the Lattice, that dread, demon-infested pattern of cracks in the ground. She had done that during their first encounter, trying to shake him loose; could she shake loose a flying predator? Since he wasn’t sure how to proceed, he let her try; if the griffin actually caught them, he would invoke a spell that would set back even an Adept. The truth was that a single Adept could seldom really harm another Adept; their magic tended to cancel out. That was another reason it was easier to abide by the truce; violation was not likely to be effective.

The shadow of the monster was coming close, and the griffin itself was descending, its front talons reaching down. Stile readied his spell, but withheld it; he did not want to affront Neysa by demonstrating a lack of faith in her effort. Now she had reached the Lattice, and her hot hooves were clattering on its pattern of little cracks. Those cracks were widening into crevices, and the crevices to deep clefts, as they penetrated to the center of the region.

Soon Neysa was stepping across enlarging gaps, and then jumping over them. The gaps were now broader than the landing places, and the ratio continued to shift. That was the devastating thing about the Lattice; the farther it went, the worse it got. There was a way across it, but that way was devious, like a route through a maze, and could not be navigated blindly. The griffin hovered above as if uncertain how to proceed; perhaps it was not familiar with this network. Then it folded its wings and dropped down toward them. Neysa leaped down into a channel, surprising Stile. Now the walls of it rose up on either side. In a moment the two of them were below the level of the surface, and the griffin could not follow, because its wingspan was far too broad. Neysa had succeeded in avoiding it!

But at a price. Now the demons of this domain showed, and they were not friendly to man or unicorn. They ducked into cross-passages to avoid the spearing unicorn point, but only just far enough to let Neysa pass; then they closed in behind. She could of course run on through and up and out the far side of the Lattice—but the griffin hovered above, evidently waiting for that. Had they played into its trap? “Maybe if we go on through, I can throw a spell at the griffin as we come out,” Stile suggested. “There has to be Adept involvement, so—“ She sounded a note of agreement. They both knew that they could not afford to dally long here in the Lattice, for the demons would surround them and set up a barrier to stop the plunging unicorn. Then they would have to deal with the demons, and it would be messy, because this was the demons’ home territory. But this intrusion had caught the demons by surprise, so they had not yet massed or organized sufficiently, and would not be able to do so before Neysa galloped on out. They passed the nadir of the Lattice, and began the gradual incline toward the escape at the far side. Stile watched the griffin above, ready to time his spell so as to stun it as their heads came out of the chasm.

Suddenly Neysa faltered. Her stride broke, and she ground to a painful halt. Stile was almost thrown from her back, because he had been watching the sky rather than the Lattice, and had not seen the obstruction. Now his eyes wrenched down—and there was no obstruction.

The demons were advancing, appearing from all the inter locking crevices of the demon warren. This was evidently no surprise to them!

“Neysa—what happened?” he cried, dismounting. He could see that she was in pain.

She changed form, becoming a woman of about his own age, petite and fit and attractive, but graying in the forehead, exactly as in her mare form. “Founder,” she breathed in anguish.

Now he saw that her hands were held awkwardly, the fingers gnarling, the joints swelling. Her feet, also, were swollen. She was in serious trouble. “Change to firefly form,” he urged her. “That will take the weight off your feet.” But demons were closing in, and some had nets; they were prepared for this also.

Stile sighed. He knew better than to try to reason with this type of demon. He would have to back them off with magic. He took a breath.

Abruptly the demons froze in place. Stile gaped; he hadn’t done it! This was very powerful magic; who had interceded? The griffin landed just above. It changed form. Suddenly a young man stood there, hair tousled, handsome. “Bane!” Stile cried, surprised and relieved.

“No, Mach,” the man replied. “I am sorry; I did not mean to drive you into the Lattice. I see Neysa ran afoul of the demons’ founder spell. My fault; I will abate it,”

“Mach!” Stile said. Normally he could tell them apart, though they used the same body; their manners differed. His distraction of the moment had dulled his perception. “Why were you pursuing us?”