How Not to Poach a Unicorn

Thirty

It had been a hard flight from the castle in Caneria for the young sorcerer. His brother was amazing, he thought. He never tired and the mage was sure that he had only stopped to sleep because Kish had told him to, and she was only stopping because her stolen horse needed rest. 

They had run straight through the jungle to the open plains of Desidan in less than four days. He himself was exhausted from flying, which was a new experience for him. He'd never been pushed so hard in his life. He had even tried running for a while, but having never done it before, he fell behind rather quickly and had to give up and return to flying.

Now he sat alone on a fur blanket in a barbarian war camp on the western edge of Desidor. He was rolling the stolen mask of Lord Cailo in his fingers. He contemplated a name. He had always wanted a name. Mercutian had never named either of them. The old wizard thought it unseemly to give laboratory animals proper titles. At best he was called "boy"; at worst he was called 'slave'. Never a name.

He turned the mask over in his hands thoughtfully and felt the smooth white features. He didn't even really know why he had taken it with him, nor the cloak for that matter. He certainly didn't need them. He wasn't even sure that he wanted them, but they were now his. And they were his first and only possessions. He looked into its slightly smiling eyes as if it might offer inspiration. Instead, the hollow sockets justreminded him how much he didn't belong here.

All around him there was noise and bustle and the accoutrements of a nation at war. Elk were being painted and barbs tied to their antlers. Blades were being sharpened. Chiefs were arguing loudly in the king's tent as to who would lead what charge. He could hear jackals snarling and arguing over the meat that they'd been tossed. Beside him, his brother slept peacefully, snoring slightly, oblivious to the cacophony all around him.

It was strange to see him like this: peaceful, happy, childlike. Only a few months ago, he had been begging for death. His whole life he'd been cursed with an insatiable hunger and Mercutian had fed him all manner of things from bizarre sea creatures to human bodies just to observe the results. It was a life of pain and guilt. 

Delizah, Mercutian's daughter, would make things even worse. She would leave food just out of his reach and watch him struggle against his chains to get it. She would take away whatever magical source Mercutian had left for him and watch him writhe and choke as his body tried to consume its own life force before returning it. He had wanted to die since before he could walk and now he was running free, having completely forgotten his tortured past.

The young sorcerer was a little envious of his brother. He would never be able to forget the years of enslavement; the monstrous things that he'd had to watch himself do at Mercutian's bidding; the people that cried for help and mercy from the old wizard while he sat unable to lift a finger in their defence. He was damaged, he knew, and he'd never really fit in anywhere. But at least he'd be free.

He fidgeted with his shimmering cloak as he watched a pack of Sun Jackals, their coats glowing like fire in the daylight, give him a wide berth. They'd had a bit of a scuffle when he first showed up wearing the starcloth robe. He put them in their place pretty quickly and after some heated words, they came to accept that there was nothing that they could do to break the cloak and he was more than capable of defending himself. Again he questioned his attachment to it. He didn't even like it. It was tacky, too big for him, excessively bright and despite clearly being very old, it still stank of dog when it got wet. Despite all that, he clung to it and fought for it when the jackals tried to strip it from him.

Now the jackals prowled around uncertainly. They had been tricked into joining this war by Mercutian in disguise. They had been promised their own lands like the wolves of the north. Though the deal still stood by word of the young king, the fact that they were only enlisted so that the crafty old mage could shave their dead made their allegiance uneasy.