Ben nodded slowly, his reverie broken. “Sometimes we dream the same dream more than once …”

“No, Ben,” she whispered, her voice insistent. Her hand released his. “This dream was like yours—more premonition than dream. I was being warned, my High Lord. A fairy creature is closer to the truth of dreams than others. I was being shown something that I am meant to know—and I have not yet been shown all.”

“There are stories of sightings of a black unicorn in the histories of Landover,” Questor Thews advised suddenly. “I remember reading of them once or twice. They happened long ago, and the reports were vague and unconfirmed. The unicorn was said to be a demon spawn—a thing of such evil that even to gaze once upon it was to become lost …”

The food and drink of their breakfast sat cooling on plates and in cups on the table before them, forgotten. The dining hall was still and empty, yet Ben could sense eyes and ears everywhere. It was an unpleasant feeling. He glanced briefly at Questor’s somber face and then back at Willow’s once more. Had he been told of her dream—and perhaps even of Questor’s as well—and not experienced his own, he might have been inclined to dismiss them. He did not put much stock in dreams. But the memory of Miles Bennett in that darkened office, nearly frantic with worry because Ben was not there when he was needed, hung over him like a cloud. It was as real as his own life. He recognized a similar urgency in the narrative of the dreams of his friends, and their insistence simply reinforced a nagging conviction that dreams as vivid and compelling as theirs should not be dismissed as the byproducts of last night’s dinner or a collection of overactive subconsciousnesses.

“Why are we having these dreams?” he wondered aloud.

“This is a land built on dreams, High Lord,” Questor Thews replied. “This is a land where the dreams of fairy world and mortal world come together and are channeled one to the other. Reality in one is fantasy in the other—except here, where they meet.” He rose, spectral in his patchwork robes. “There have been instances of such dreams before, frequently in scatterings of up to half a dozen. Kings and wizards and men of power have had such dreams throughout the history of Landover.”

“Dreams that are revelations—or even warnings?”

“Dreams that are meant to be acted on, High Lord.”

Ben pursed his lips. “Do you intend to act on yours, Questor? Do you intend to go in search of the missing books of magic—just as your dream has advised?”

Questor hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought.

“And should Willow seek out the golden bridle of her dream? Should I return to Chicago and check out Miles Bennett?”

“High Lord, please—a moment!” Abernathy was on his feet, a decidedly harried look about him. “It might be wise to think this matter through a bit more carefully. It could be a very grave mistake for the lot of you to go running off in search of … of what may very well turn out to be a collection of gastrically induced falsehoods!”