Laird Thomas's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Laird Thomas spread six maps across the porch rail and knew none of them would find the oracle before winter took his lovers from him. He had sworn a binding neither church nor crown could grant. Only the wandering oracle could tie three hearts under one vow. He had chased rumor for eleven days. Every rumor pointed a different way. Behind him, the cabin door opened. The ginger princess stepped out with a tray of honeybuns, her red hair still flour-dusted at the ends. She set the tray on the rail without touching his maps. "You haven't slept," she said. Her voice was soft, almost teasing. "You'll ride into a ditch before you ride into a blessing." "I have three roads and no reason to pick one." He pressed his thumb to a river bend. "North says a shepherd saw her. East says a miller fed her. South says a widow shared her fire." The princess touched his wrist. "Pick the one that feeds people." Boots hit the porch behind them. Fancy Pants came around the corner in her golden trousers, curls loose, a bridle hooked over her shoulder. She looked at the maps once. "East," she said. Thomas turned. "You know the miller?" "No." "Then why east?" "Oracles eat." She dropped the bridle on the rail. "Millers have flour." The princess laughed under her breath. Thomas didn't. He watched Fancy Pants, who had already turned toward the paddock behind the cabin. Two shapes moved there under the pines: black horses with folded leather wings and horns that caught the low sun. His lovers had raised them from foals. The dark unicorns would carry a rider farther in a night than any road horse in a week. "You'll take me," Thomas said. "We'll take you," the princess corrected, already untying her apron. He opened his mouth to refuse. Fancy Pants met his eyes. "Your vow. Our ride." He closed his mouth. They flew before the moon rose. The winged unicorns climbed above the pine line and turned east on Fancy Pants's word. Thomas rode the third mount, the maps rolled and forgotten in his saddlebag. Wind pulled at his hair. Below, the mill road unwound like pale thread. They found the mill by the smell of scorched bread. A thin woman sat on the step, eating from a wooden bowl. She looked up before the unicorns touched ground. "You're late," she said. "She left this morning. Went into the Witherfern proper. She said if a knight came asking, tell him the binding costs more than he thinks." Thomas dismounted. His boots hit the yard hard. "How much more?" The woman shrugged and went back to her bowl. "She said you'd have to catch her to find out." The oracle had a name now, a direction, and a price. Thomas swung back into the saddle.