Questor beckoned to his companions. Slowly, they made their way down the side of the ravine and through the maze of craters and rocks until they were twenty yards or so from where the dragon reposed. Strabo ignored them, eyes lidded, snout inhaling the fumes and fires of the crater on which he rested.

“You know I hate water, Questor Thews,” he muttered.

“We have come here to learn something about unicorns,” Questor announced, ignoring him.

Strabo belched. “Read a book.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Several. But they lack the information about unicorns that you possess. Everyone knows that unicorns and dragons are the oldest of fairy creatures and the oldest of enemies. Each of you knows more of the other than anyone else, fairy or human. I need to know something of unicorns that no one else would.”

“Whatever for?” Strabo sounded bored again. “Besides, why should I help you? You serve that detestable human who tricked me into inhaling Io Dust and then made me pledge never to hunt the valley or its people so long as he remained King! He is still King, isn’t he? Bah! Of course he is—I would have heard otherwise! Ben Holiday, Landover’s High Lord! I would make a quick meal of him, if he were ever to set foot in the springs again!”

“Well, it is highly unlikely that he will. Besides, we are here about unicorns, not about the High Lord.” Questor thought it prudent not to dwell on the subject of Ben Holiday. Strabo had taken great pleasure in ravaging the crops and livestock of the valley before the High Lord had put a stop to it. It was a pleasure the dragon would dearly love to enjoy again—and well might one day the way Holiday was behaving lately. But there was no reason to give the dragon any encouragement.

He cleared his throat officiously. “I assume that you have heard about the black unicorn?”

The dragon’s eyes snapped open and his head lifted. “The black unicorn? Of course. Is it back again, wizard?”

Questor nodded sagely. “For some time now. I am surprised that you didn’t know. There was quite an effort put forth to capture it.”

“Capture it? A unicorn?” Strabo laughed, a series of rough coughs and hisses. His massive body shook with mirth. “The humans would capture a unicorn? How pitiful! No one captures a unicorn, wizard—even you must know that! Unicorns are untouchable!”

“Some think not.”

The dragon’s lip curled. “Some are fools!”

“Then the unicorn is safe? There is nothing that can ensnare it, nothing that can cause it to be held?”

“Nothing!”

“Not maidens of certain virtue nor silver moonlight captured in a fairy net?”

“Old wives’ tales!”

“Not magic of any sort?”

“Magic? Well …” Strabo seemed to hesitate.

Questor took a chance. “Not bridles of spun gold?”

The dragon stared at the wizard voicelessly. There was, Questor Thews realized in surprise, a look of disbelief on the creature’s face.