Piers Anthony - Unicorn Point

“Give me six foul hens and false, and there be naught to stand in our way!” Sabreclaw screeched boldly. “We’ll smear those bats into spatters o’ blood!” There was a raucous chorus of agreement. How these birds loved blood! This was of course the root of the traditional enmity between harpies and vampires: competition for blood.

“Nay,” Phoebe screeched, quelling the commotion. “This be a secret attack, avoiding mayhem.”

There was disgust, horror and outrage. “What kind o’ attack be that?” Sabreclaw demanded righteously. “An attack without blood be no mission for a harpy!”

“Blood with no victory be no mission for us,” Phoebe countered. “Dost want to hangfeather in shame for losing the siege to mere bats?”

They had to admit, grudgingly, that she had a point, albeit a technicality. They wanted blood and victory, not one or the other.

A nasty thought pushed into Phoebe’s consciousness, like a tapeworm in the gut of an otherwise edible morsel. Was she assigning the most ferocious hen of the Flock to this mission in the hope that Sabreclaw would be unable to control her lust for bloodshed, and would go on a rampage and mess up her mission, so that they would lose the siege? That would bring no direct shame to Phoebe, if it was clear that her strategy would have been effective. Yet if it were also clear that she could have assigned a hen who would have obeyed orders . . .

She had to do this right. “Thou willst commit to doing this right, or needs I must appoint an other squad leader,” Phoebe told Sabreclaw firmly. “The success o’ the siege depends on this, and the shame be mine if there be not discipline in the ranks.”

Sabreclaw had to commit to doing it right, lest she be sum marily removed from the action. “But an there be no other way, then—”

“Then blood,” Phoebe agreed. “Likely once thou dost put thy claw on the flag, and before thou canst rise beyond the range o’ their weapons, there be action. But before then, thou and thine be the meekest o’ sparrows.”

“Aye, and dragons after!” They were coming to terms with it, realizing that the blood would likely be only delayed, not aborted. “But how do we get close? That flag be in plain view, and the bats be not batty enough to leave it unguarded!”

“Precisely,” Phoebe agreed. “That be exactly why the sneak-snatch be necessary. Another squad will mount the overt attack, distracting the bats, whilst thou dost lead thy squad down under cover o’ the trees and through the chap arral—“ Here she paused to scratch a diagram in the dirt below her perch. “Needs must scurry like rats, wings furled, to pass this thicket, but the bats, assured we will not be there, will leave it unguarded or lightly guarded. Take out the guard silently and ferry through single file. Here there be water, an inlet o’ the Eastern Sea. Find the old tree fallen into it, and grasp the trunk o’ it and climb down into the water—”

“What?!”

“And under the water,” Phoebe continued relentlessly. “It be a well-known fact that most creatures believe that harpies hate water—”

“We do hate water!” Sabreclaw screeched.

“And lack the gumption to go near it. But the truth be that though harpies may have a strong and justified aversion to water, they be not afraid o’ it, and can handle it when the dictates o’ courage demand. Dost disagree?”

There were evidently a number in the Flock who wanted to disagree, but none did, oddly.

“By going under the water, canst pass where no bat expects,” Phoebe explained. “The inlet be narrow here, and the water fresh, so no saltsea predators be there. Hold breath, set claws in sunken tree, pull along, and the farthest branch be at a clutch o’ reeds the other side, concealment for emer gence. Crawl out unobserved, seek cover o’ nearby forest arm, and continue on toward the mountain bearing their flag. Take ne’er to the air, and hide whene’er a bat shows, making no disturbance. Then, when there be no chance to get closer unobserved, make a mass rush for the flag, taking out all bats in range, and snatch it and wing for the sky and bring it back to join ours.” Phoebe fixed Sabreclaw with a steely gaze. “Canst do?”

Sabreclaw hesitated, but realized that this was the way it had to be. “Can do,” she agreed. It was obvious that she dreaded the crawl under water, but saw the merit of the plan, and knew she had to prove that harpies weren’t afraid of anything.

“Then pick thy squad,” Phoebe said. “When the siege starts, take thy time, go down out o’ sight when none be watching, and let none see thee advance. The success o’ this siege be in thy claws, and the glory be thine an ye succeed.”

Sabreclaw set about selecting her squad of tough hens, and Phoebe went on to more routine matters. The remaining hens were assigned to offense and defense, and there was one sui cide squad who would make a determined raid on the enemy flag at about the time Sabreclaw’s squad was passing under the water, to draw the attention of the bats. It was all intended to seem conventional enough, as if harpies lacked the wit for innovation or subtlety, and with luck the bats would under estimate the opposition.

The siege began at noon, and would continue until settle ment. The harpies knew they had to win it by day, because the bats were supreme by night. But Phoebe figured to do it in the first hour; if her sneak ploy failed, they would be in deep droppings. She had rehearsed all the squads in their tasks; in addition to the flag defense and the flag offense, there were the mock oflense and the general defense to be seen to. Phoebe herself would hover above and go where needed to buttress a problem area.

She went forward with her lieutenants Hawktooth and Sa breclaw, to meet the bat leader Vodlevile, his son Vidselud, and a female bat. When the bats assumed their manforms, Phoebe was amazed. “Suchevane!” she screeched, recognizing the loveliest of all the vamps. “How earnest thou to be here? Methought thou wedded to the Red Adept!” For the alien from Proton-frame, Agape, had exchanged bodies with the unicorn Fleta eight years prior, and come to Phoebe for help, then gone on to the Red Adept, who had finally solved her problem. In the process Suchevane had gotten to know the Adept; she was beautiful and lonely, and he was powerful and lonely, and one thing had led to another, and now they had their mixedbreed son, Al. In the old days such a union would have been impossible, but the rovot and the ‘corn had shown the way.

“The Flock be short a member, so I returned,” Suchevane replied.

“But this be a siege!” Phoebe protested. “It be very like war. We dirty birds thrive on it, but thou dost be too delicate for aught like this.”

“Delicate? I raised the child o’ a troll!”

She had a point. “Well, the mayhem be but mock,” Phoebe said. “ ‘Twere else a shame to mangle thy pretty features.”

“Aye,” Suchevane agreed, smiling. Such was her beauty, despite her advancing age and state of motherhood, that the harpy minions were nauseated.

“Thou knowest the Adepts, human folk, and animals be watching,” Vodlevile said. “E’en as their magic nulls our weapons, it sends the image o’ this activity out. This be why none o’ us may contact other beyond the demarked region, lest they learn things illicitly.”

“Aye,” Phoebe screeched moderately. “We mean to win, an all will see how we do it. There be no rules o’ conduct here.”

“Save touching not thine own flag,” he said. “Then let us part now, and next we meet as combatants.”

“Aye,” she repeated. Then she and her minions flew back toward their flag, and he and his minions turned bat and returned to theirs.

“Easy pickings!” Sabreclaw screeched.