Sri Lhasan: The Gift
(a Heroes of Tharsis post-campaign scene)
by Dru Pagliassotti

The autumn chill of evening settled slowly over the house. In the fireplace a log loudly snapped. Quesse jerked awake, her heart pounding wildly.

The worst part, she thought with a trace of irritation, is that I'm not even the one who's jumpy. At least, she admitted, most of my nervousness is Tocair's. The raven-haired elf wrapped her fingers around the now-cold mug of imported chocolate before her and let the fire's heat ease her tense muscles. Tocair had been as jumpy as ... well, as a cat ... for the past two weeks. When she tried to probe his mind to discover the cause, she was always gently but firmly halted by a barrier that obscured his thoughts. And, as always, his inscrutable slit-pupilled eyes had revealed nothing when she questioned him.

"I'm in the middle of a delicate experiment," he explained briefly, ears slanted at an agitated angle. "You have no need to worry."

But he avoided her touch and hadn't taken his accustomed place curled protectively around her in bed for weeks. It wasn't that she wasn't used to that. His travels had often taken him away for months on end. But, somehow, it disturbed Quesse to hear him moving about in the house while she was in bed, and not feel his warmth beside her.

She sighed and stood, taking the mug into the kitchen and rinsing it. Triss was gone in pursuit of some piece of bardic lore or another, leaving the house to her for the time being. Although nobody in Tharsis would dream of breaking in, Quesse dutifully locked the doors and closed the windows against the cold night air. Twenty-one years had passed since the 'Heroes of Tharsis' had disbanded - but some of their enemies had long lives, and it was prudent to take simple precautions. The only window she left open was her own, in case Tocair changed his mind.

He wasn't in the house now, although she sensed that he wasn't far. In his laboratory outside town, she suspected. When Tocair had finally gathered enough equipment to fill the house's small attic, he had moved to a small stone ruin in the forest. She understood his caution in fortifying the new lab and clearing trees from the area around it, for she, too, had awakened in terror from his nightmares of the explosion that had destroyed his ancient mountain workplace and nearly killed him.

She hadn't been to his new lab for several years, although she knew he kept several horses there as part of his experiments - and as a source of the blood he needed to survive, she guessed. Although the idea of raising horses as food animals slightly disgusted her, it was preferable to his taking nourishment from humans. The lands around Tharsis had long since been cleared of bandits and similar ruffians; such people spoke of a vampire who lived there, and Quesse knew how those stories had begun. But once such rabble began leaving the area alone, Tocair had begun his horse breeding project, and she was satisfied that here, at least, he didn't indulge his darker appetites. On his long trips, though ... Quesse shook her head and climbed into bed. There was no use trying to guess what he did when he was away from her. His actions were beyond her control. She stifled a yawn and pulled the covers close, falling quickly asleep.

Shouting awoke her, and it took her a moment of sitting up and blinking to realize that the voice she heard was in her head. Just as she made that discovery, Tocair leaped through the window, landing on all fours and quickly standing to grab her hands.

"Quickly!" he hissed, pulling her from bed. Quesse shivered as the warm covers fell back and the cold air struck her.

"Tocair, wait!" She pushed his mind away but let him pull her toward the bedroom door. He clamped down on his excitement and the roar in her mind mercifully quieted. "What's wrong?"

"There's no time. You must come now! Herata, purusha, melao sita!" His ears were flat against his skull as he struggled to control himself. "Come!"

Infected with his urgency despite her block against the unusual surge of emotion that pushed against her mind, Quesse followed him to outside, barely having time to snatch a warm cloak from the peg by the door before he was leading her into darkness. The stones were hard against her bare feet, but Quesse ignored the discomfort as she followed her ancient companion out of town and into the forest. Tocair hissed softly in impatience as she carefully moved down the forest path, her infravision dimly but unreliably revealing obstacles before her.

At last they came to the clearing where his lab sat, light streaming through the new window she had installed. The kevalin suddenly turned on her, teeth bared and ears flattened in a snarl that made her draw back a moment in alarm. He grabbed her shoulders and stared into her eyes.

"I wouldn't have done this," he said fiercely, "but I know what you want. And I can wait. I have to wait."

Quesse bit her lip, looking away from eyes that reflected the lamplight like yellow flames. Suddenly she was very aware of the cold that made her breath as white as the dragon's she'd once faced, and of the cuts and scratches on her bare feet. Under Tocair's words there was the same tumult of confused emotion she always sensed in him when he spoke of matters between the two of them.

He released her and turned.

"I have a gift for you." She heard an odd mixture of pride and sadness in his tone as she quietly followed him to the stables behind the small laboratory.

A lantern had been hung by the door, and in its golden light she saw a mare lying in clean straw, clearly in labor. Quesse quickly moved nearer, studying the animal carefully for wounds or signs of miscarriage, but her trained eye saw nothing unnatural. She frowned in puzzlement and turned to Tocair. He crouched several feet away, absolutely calm, with one of those abrupt emotional shifts that were just one more sign of his alien heritage.

"A gift? Tocair, what is this about? Are you giving me a colt?"

Tocair smiled obscurely, eyes fixed on the mare.

"Wait," he said.

She turned, and waited as the mare's sides heaved and, slowly, the foal's head showed, the rest of its body quickly following in a smooth delivery. The newborn foal was beautiful, she had to admit. Under the water and blood of the birthing she could see its white coat shine. The mother nuzzled her child softly.

"Is it a male or female?" Quesse asked, unable to tell immediately. Tocair stood and walked over to crouch by her side.

"A mare," he said softly. "I thought that would make things easier for you in the future. Have you guessed? Look closely."

Feeling a chill like an electric shock go through her, Quesse turned to examine the newborn more carefully.

Just between and over its eyes was a small nub of ivory.

"A unicorn?" Quesse whispered, amazed.

"Genetically exact," Tocair said complacently. "This one is perfect." He reached out to stroke her hair, eyes reflecting the light again in a brilliant flash. "She'll need you to teach her as she grows, of course. She'll be as smart as any elf, and you'll have to give her a lot of attention and care. It'll be hard for her, not being raised by her kind - she'll always be an outsider to her people. But I know you two will make each other happy." There was just a trace of wistfulness in his voice. "She's my first success in over seven hundred years."

"Tocair...." Quesse let her voice trail off, enraptured by the delicate creature before her. The kevalin smiled, hearing the thoughts that filled her head.

"She'll keep you company a hundred years," he said softly. "And I will be gone after the next few, so you will need her protection. There are things awakening that have long been asleep, purushashi, and I have a duty that calls." At Quesse's alarmed look, he ran his fingers down her face, stroking her cheek. She smelled the warm cinnamon of his silken fur. "Not now, not now. I will stay long enough to see if you appreciate my gift to you, at least." He stood. "Be sure to douse the lantern before you leave. I've been without sleep for a long time, now, and I need to rest." He strode softly out of the stables. "Good night, Quesse."