The tune was wailing and mournful, almost flagrantly so, and the total effect was of a heartbroken piccolo being parted forever from its bagpipe lover.

I know how to live here, I know how everything smells, and tastes, and is. What could I ever search for in the world, except this again?

Beyond the town, darker than dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts.

Then what is magic for?" Prince Lír demanded wildly. "What use is wizardry if it cannot save a unicorn?" He gripped the magician's shoulder hard, to keep from falling. Schmedrick did not turn his head. With a touch of sad mockery in his voice, he said, "That's what heroes are for.

Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.

The magician was studying her face with his green eyes. "Your face is wet," he said worriedly. "I hope that's spray. If you've become human enough to cry, then no magic in the world — oh, it must be spray. Come with me. It had better be spray.

We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.