Tek gazed up at the summer stars, gradually brightening as evening deepened. Breeze lifted her forelock, and she breathed in the scents of yellowing grass and distant evergreens. The breath became a sigh. She longed for her mate, knew the twins missed him sorely. Where could mad Korr have hidden that Jan must spend moons hunting him? Twice Tek had sent search parties after her mate. Each time they had returned without success.

Night sky grew jet black, its white stars fabulously bright: legend called them Alma’s eyes. The piping cry of a mourning-will sounded, high and sweet, from the Vale’s far slope. Moments later, its mate answered. Tek turned from the night, back into the cave. Luminous mushrooms clung fan-shaped to the grotto’s walls and ceiling, intermingled with phosphorescent lichens. Pale yellow or white, some blue, plum, amber, even rose and brassy green, they cast a glow that was warm and steady.

She did not see the twins and realized they must be in the little alcove at the back of the cave. There a tiny spring welled up. Tek peered around the bend into the dark alcove. Only a scattering of mushrooms here. She spotted the twins. They stood side to side, gazing intently into the black, mirror-smooth water. Their dam moved closer.

“What see you, children,” she whispered. “A cavefish?” Neither took eyes from the water. Tek, too, peered down. Painted Aiony leaned against her.

“Nay, Mother,” Dhattar replied. “We watch for Jan.”

The pied mare laughed. “Watch for Jan—in a cavepool? Your father’s leagues distant, on the Plain.”

Aiony nodded. “We know. But we find him sometimes, when we watch.”

“Water is best,” Dhattar continued, “but we see him in clouds and moving grass as well.”

His sister shrugged against Tek’s chest. “Night is a better time than day, especially when you are wishing for him. That helps us.”

Puzzled, Tek bent to nuzzle her. “How do you mean?”

“Stand between us,” Dhattar was saying. “Then you’ll see him, too.”

Still frowning, Tek shifted to bring herself between her twin filly and foal. They pressed against her.

“Look deep,” Aiony said.

Eerie sensations flitted through Tek. The pool lay far from still, she realized. Currents swirled below its glassy surface, rippling the image of the stone bottom. The reflected glow of the lichens shifted, trembled.

“Think of him,” Dhattar murmured. “He is never far from your mind—or ours—but think of him directly now. School your thoughts.”

The pied mare’s pulse began, slowly, to pound. Her image in the water before her seemed to grow distant and fade. She felt the twins’ warmth, their young heartbeats, more rapid than hers, perfectly synchronized.

“Be at ease,” Aiony soothed. “Naught is to fear.”

A gathering sense of motion. Tek’s heart hammered, then seemed to stop. Time hung suspended as a strong, invisible current began to sweep her more and more swiftly along. She was aware of standing still within the cave beside her young—yet at the same time, some other part of her was galloping free, infinitely swift, like the Mare of the World, who had matched the sun in his race and won her heart’s desire. Images of lichenlight in the dark water brightened and shrank, becoming stars. The Vale lay below. Wind buffeted. The Pan Woods raced by, and then the Plain.

Renegades loped across its grassy, rolling back. Starlit grass pards crouched and sprang. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of one who might have been Korr, dark as shadow, but only a glimpse. More Plainsdwellers thundered by, leaping and prancing in a long, snaking dance such as Tek had never before seen. Drawing closer, she heard their snorts and whinnies, felt the drumming of their hooves, caught the scent of their manes and sweat. They vanished over horizon’s edge.

The Plain lay empty but for starlit grass. Clear, hornlike notes sounded in the distance, from the throats of thickset, square-nosed oncs grazing unseen. A banded pard prowled by, gave its low, coughing cry. Jan lay in a hollow not twenty paces from it, Tek saw with a start. The prince’s eyes were closed. His ears twitched to the sound, but the wind was with him. The pard, never scenting him, padded on.

“Jan,” Tek murmured. “Jan…”

Again he stirred.

“Hist. Don’t wake him,” Dhattar beside her whispered. “Ordeals undreamed of lie ahead.”

Aiony nodded. “To find his sire sooner than he knows.”

Dhattar sighed. “And chase him longer than he need.”

“Ordeals?” the pied mare breathed.

“Fear and anger,” the white foal hissed. “Grief and loss. Loneliness. A wound so great it alters time.”

Tek’s motionless heart started again with a thump. “When will he return…?” she began, baffled.

“Never,” the painted filly replied.

A waft of terror swept over Tek. Dhattar nipped her gently.

“No fear. You will see him again, but not here. He will never return here. In the Hallow Hills will you behold him, when he scours the wyverns’ dens with the fire of the end of the world.”

The cool of morning woke him. Dawn, not far from breaking, barely paled the sky. The thousand thousand summer stars, winding across the dark like a river of milk, were fading. Jan lifted his head, inhaling the scent of earth and grass that was the Plain, a vast rolling veldt that sprawled from the cool south, where the Summer Sea lapped, northward past the Pan Woods and the Vale to the warmer Hallow Hills and beyond. Somewhere to the eastern south, so rumor claimed, rose the Smoking Hills, home to red dragons.

Still couched, Jan stretched his leg, craned his neck and shook himself. He nibbled at the dew-drenched grass. His throat ached with thirst. He had not come upon water since before yesterday. Food, of course, was plentiful. But danger abounded, too. The rolling land hid many hollows where grass pards might lie. Thrice the sandy-colored predators had sprung at him from the haycorn. Each time he had shied, taken to his heels unscathed. More than once, he had found the bones of unicorns. He kept his ears pricked, avoided places above which kites circled, traveled into the wind whenever he could.

Tracking Korr had proved daunting. The mad king meandered and doubled back. At best, Jan found himself forever a day behind the haggard king. Evidence of struggles scattered Korr’s path: two with predators—one in which the pard had lost its life, the other in which the wounded cat had retreated, trailing blood. Worse still were the ambush sites. Jan had found tracks clearly showing where the mad king had charged among small bands of Plainsdwelling unicorns—a stallion and two mares, or a mare with both her half-grown and suckling foals—and scattered them, fencing with those he could catch. Perhaps inflicting other harm which did not show in the tracks.

Sickened, Jan rolled to scrub his back against the loamy ground. He had spent most of the summer chasing Korr all over the Mare’s Back, and not once had he spoken to a free-ranging unicorn of the Plain. Often enough he had seen them in the distance, but one glimpse of him and always they fled. He had given up pursuing them. They were fleet as wind and seemed to regard him with a terror better deserved by Korr.

Jan felt the beat of hooves before he heard them, vibrating up through the earth. Three sets of larger heels: warriors, one of whom sounded lighter than the other two—probably a mare. The fourth set was tiny, doubtless a filly or foal. All four headed in his direction at a trot. Jan rolled to get his limbs under him, but did not rise. The sound of their approach drew nearer and nearer yet. Jan waited until they were almost upon him, before he rose from the long grass, calling, “Peace! I am no enemy, but a stranger seeking water. Can you tell me where I may drink?”

With snorts of alarm, the Plainsdwellers halted. The wind was wrong for them. They had not scented him. One of their number nearly bolted, but Jan called again.