The townsfolk sighed in resignation, but a middle-aged woman stepped forward and said with some spirit, “It all seems a bit unfair, my lord, begging your pardon. What could we have done to save the unicorns? We were afraid of the Red Bull. What could we have done?”

“One word might have been enough,” King Lír replied. “You’ll never know now.”

He would have wheeled his horse and left them there, but a feeble, roupy voice called to him, “Lír‌—‌little Lír‌—‌my child, my king!” Molly and Schmendrick recognized the man who came shuffling up with his arms open, wheezing and limping as though he were older than he truly was. It was Drinn.

“Who are you?” the king demanded. “What do you want of me?”

Drinn pawed at his stirrups, nuzzling his boots. “You don’t know me, my boy? No‌—‌how should you? How should I deserve to have you know me? I am your father‌—‌your poor old overjoyed father. I am the one who left you in the marketplace on that winter night long ago, and handed you over to your heroic destiny. How wise I was, and how sad for so long, and how proud I am now! My boy, my little boy!” He could not quite cry real tears, but his nose was running.

Without a word, King Lír tugged at his horse’s reins, backing him out of the crowd. Old Drinn let his outstretched arms drop to his sides. “This is what it is to have children!” he screeched. “Ungrateful son, will you desert your father in the hour of his distress, when a word from your pet wizard would have set everything right again? Despise me if you will, but I have played my part in putting you where you are, and you dare not deny it! Villainy has its rights too.”

Still the king would have turned away, but Schmendrick touched his arm and leaned near. “It’s true, you know,” he whispered. “But for him‌—‌but for them all‌—‌the tale would have worked out quite another way, and who can say that the ending would have been even as happy as this? You must be their king, and you must rule them as kindly as you would a braver and more faithful folk. For they are a part of your fate.”

Then Lír lifted his hand to the people of Hagsgate, and they pushed and elbowed one another for silence. He said, “I must ride with my friends and keep them company for a way. But I will leave my men-at-arms here, and they will help you begin to build your town again. When I return, in a little time, I also will help. I will not begin to build my new castle until I see Hagsgate standing once more.”

They complained bitterly that Schmendrick could do it all in a moment by means of his magic. But he answered them, “I could not, even if I would. There are laws that govern the wizard’s art, as laws command the seasons and the sea. Magic made you wealthy once, when all others in the land were poor; but your days of prosperity are ended, and now you must start over. What was wasteland in Haggard’s time shall grow green and generous again, but Hagsgate will yield a living exactly as miserly as the hearts that dwell there. You may plant your acres again, and raise up your fallen orchards and vineyards, but they will never flourish as they used to, never‌—‌until you learn to take joy in them, for no reason.”