Isle of View

by Piers Anthony

  He glanced around the group a moment before continuing. All the members of the posse were grim as they received the information. He was speaking in the human language, which many of them did not understand perfectly, so Grundy Golem was translating. First the rocs and griffins listened to the squawks, and ruffed out their feathers and flexed their claws. Then the dragons listened to the growls, and puffed out slow jets of fire, smoke, or steam, depending on their species.

  "I will not attack the mountain at the outset," Cheiron continued as the translations caught up. "I will deliver an ultimatum: they will have a set time in which to deliver Che to me, unharmed. If they do so, we will depart in peace." As the translations reached that point, the creatures showed disappointment. They preferred to fight. It was not that they didn't want to save Che, it was that it was more glorious to wrest him by battle than to have him handed over without struggle.

  "If they do not do so, we will attack," Cheiron said, and at that point there were squawks of approval and fierce jets of fire, smoke, and steam. "We will take out their guards at the surface and smoke out the deeper denizens." Here the smokers exhaled, for a moment disappearing in a cloud of smoke. Some folk thought that smoke was not as effective as fire, but the fact was that in an enclosed space, smoke was more deadly than fire. Those goblins would come out coughing! "But we shall do so in an orderly manner, halting the moment they capitulate. This is a rescue mission, not a destruction mission."

  "But suppose they kill the foal?" the sphinx inquired.

  Cheiron saw Chex flinch. He wished that question had not been asked, but he had to answer it. "Then we destroy that tribe completely," he said grimly.

  They made suitable expressions of regret for the loss of the foal, but were thrilled at the prospect of mayhem on this level. It had been a long time since there had been a prospect like this. Cheiron was privately disgusted, but knew that his posse had to have the capacity to reduce that mountain to rubble; otherwise the goblins would laugh at the ultimatum. They might laugh anyway, until a demonstration of power was made.

  "We expect to arrive at night," Cheiron concluded. "We will rest until morning, and then survey the situation while we negotiate. Remember: we may make a show of force, but we will not actually attack until they either refuse to yield the captive or show bad faith. Discipline is paramount."

  They understood. They did not enjoy discipline, but it was the price of admission into the posse.

  Grundy Golem joined Gloha on Cheiron's back, because he expected to use both of them in the negotiations. Gloha would talk to the goblins, and Grundy would translate for the benefit of the posse.

  They took off. The small creatures hitchhiked rides with the larger ones, so dragonflies kept company with full dragons and the cockatrice rode with a roc. The harpies were relatively clumsy flyers, so they too had to hitch rides, promising not to befoul their steeds.

  They flew in formation, north-northeast. The strongest flyers were the rocs, so they stifled their pace and formed a wedge in front, forging a channel for the others. The posse made swift progress to the Gap Chasm and beyond, as the day waned into dusk and then into night. They skirted the Kingdom of the Flies and the Element of Air, not wanting trouble on the way.

  "I don't think I know you, Gloha," Grundy said. "I know of you, of course; when your parents came together, it almost made for a war. But you've been among the winged monsters, mostly, and not at Castle Roogna."

  "Well, I am a winged monster," she replied.

  "I never saw a prettier monster!" he exclaimed.

  She grew hot, evidently blushing. Cheiron didn't mean to snoop on their dialogue, but there was little way to avoid it. "I wish there were a monster of my kind. But I'm the only one."

  "I'm the only one of my kind, too," Grundy said. "But I found it didn't matter, when I met Rapunzel, the only one of her kind."

  "But you're not a winged monster," she pointed out. "You don't have an obligation to establish a new species, without sacrificing its best properties."

  "You've got a point," Grundy said. "The goblins and the harpies have been fighting so long that there hasn't been any interbreeding in centuries. But I guess there used to be, in the early days. I wonder if there are any winged goblins in the Brain Coral's pool?"

  "The Brain Coral's pool!" she exclaimed. "I never thought of that! Oh, I wonder if it could be so? Maybe there's a man for me in there!"

  "Who knows?" Grundy agreed. "Maybe you should go and ask the Good Magician."

  "Maybe I should! After we rescue Che."

  "You know, Che faces the same problem," Grundy said. "He's another winged monster, with no other of his kind. You might go together, and maybe one Question would answer you both."

  "Maybe it would! Oh, Grundy, you've given me something to look forward to!"

  The same applied to Cheiron. He had worried about the fate of his foal, knowing that there were none for him to mate with; even if there were one year a sister-foal, she would not do. If the species was to become established, they needed to find other winged centaurs—and as far as he knew, there were none in Xanth. He had looked for years, before Chex appeared. Only if there were other cross-breedings would there be others, and centaurs as a class were too conservative to permit that. Cheiron's own genesis had been because of a chance meeting of a centaur and a winged horse, both of whom had come unwittingly to drink at a love spring. They had mated involuntarily, then remained together long enough to see to the survival of the offspring. The equine element had been retained, and the other aspects had manifested, so that a winged centaur had resulted. The mare had suckled it until it could be weaned, then departed forever. The centaur had taught it in the centaur fashion, until it could pursue its own further education, and similarly departed. Thus Cheiron had been alone, more so than a normal orphan. Short of tricking centaurs and winged horses into drinking love potions together, he saw no way to bring others of his kind into being. Chex was unique in that her parents had not taken love elixir. But the normal centaurs shunned her and her mother, for bearing her.

  But if there had been similar breedings in past centuries, as there well might have been, and the foals had been hidden away in the Brain Coral's pool—that was something that ought to be checked. Maybe that chaos that threatened the dawning species of winged centaur could be abated.

  So Cheiron flew on, his thoughts drowning out the dialogue between the golem and the goblin. Rescuing Che was the immediate thing, but promoting the continuation of the species was the long-range thing. How wonderful if a feasible way was found to do that!

  Draco took the lead in the darkness, his head, tail, and the tips of his wings lighted by fireflies so that the others could readily follow him. He brought them to the base of Goblin Mountain, at the east fringe of the Element of Earth. They landed safely in nearby forest, avoiding the treacherous swamp where the loan sharks lurked. It was about midnight.

  Then fireflies brought a report: Prince Dolph, Princess Nada, and Electra were camped nearby. They were coming in for a rendezvous.

  Soon Cheiron and Chex saw the huge sphinx loom out of the darkness. The girls dismounted, and Dolph resumed human form. There were satisfied greetings all around.

  Now at last they were able to get the full story. There had indeed been a deal, and it had been necessary to save Che. The surprise was the part the elf had played: her magic talent was singing in such a way that anyone within hearing range but who was not paying attention got caught up in a communal daydream in the mind of the elf and lost interest in other things until that dream was interrupted or someone jogged he listener's attention back to reality. It was a bit like the hypnogourd, only more pleasant and less compulsive, and difficult to get into deliberately. So the elf had made the goblins pause long enough to enable the captives to escape. That was two favors the elf had done for Che.

  "But where is that elf?" Chex asked.

  "She went with Che," Electra explained. "She said he was her friend, and she wanted to stay with
him. So she went, with Sammy."

  "Who?"

  "Her cat. He—"

  "Oh, yes," Chex said. "He finds things."

  "He sure does!" Prince Dolph said. "He found their party for me, so I could carry them away before the horde got them again. Otherwise it could have taken me too long, because that complaint Metria was bugging me."

  "That what?" Cheiron asked.

  "Carp, fuss, gripe—"

  "Oh, you mean bi—"

  "Wolfmate," Chex said, knocking his fore hoof with one of her own. He realized that Dolph was still below the age of consent, so was not supposed to know the proper term.

  "Whatever," Dolph said, evidently disgruntled. "I couldn't be sure when she was telling the truth."

  "Agreed," Cheiron said. "Metria came to tell me about your deal with the goblins of the mountain. But I had a way to verify her accuracy." He turned to Chex. "I think we owe even more to that elf than we thought. She helped Che in three ways, counting the activity of her cat, and chose to remain with him in captivity. That is one more way. We shall have to rescue her too."

  "Of course," Chex said. "And that cat."

  "So they will become part of the package," he said. "The ultimatum will cover the three of them."

  That decided, they settled down to sleep for the remainder of the night.

  In the morning, as the creatures of the posse saw about foraging for food, Cheiron advanced with Grundy and Gloha to the main entry of Goblin Mountain.

  "Send someone out here!" he called.

  "Go soak your tail in sludge, man-rear!" a goblin guard yelled, brandishing his spear.

  Gloha flew down to face the guard. "What was that?" she inquired sweetly.

  Few things could put a goblin's loud mouth out of gear, but the sudden sight of a beautiful winged gobliness turned out to be one of them. "Get the chief," he muttered to a lesser guard.

  Satisfied, Gloha flew back to Cheiron. It was evident that "man-rear" simply did not fit her description.

  In due course a fat middle-aged goblin waddled out. "What the dung do you want, crossbreed?"

  "I am Cheiron Centaur. Who are you?"

  "I am Gouty Goblin, Chief of Goblin Mountain. Now speak your piece, fur-nose."

  "You have captives, Gouty?"

  "What if I do, Charnel?"

  "That's Cheiron, Pouty!" Grundy called.

  "What business is this of yours, string-face?" the chief demanded.

  "I'm a friend to one of your captives, bulge-foot! And we're here to roast you in spit if you don't give him back."

  Evidently deciding that it was a losing game to trade insults with the golem, the chief addressed Cheiron. "Why don't you just state your business, centaur?"

  Cheiron was glad to oblige. "You have until noon to release your captives: Che Centaur, Jenny Elf, and Sammy Cat. If you do not, I shall demolish your mountain and destroy your tribe."

  "Yeah?" Gouty demanded. "You and who else, hoof-head?"

  Cheiron raised his right hand. Immediately several winged monsters showed themselves, eager to get to work. They looked very close, big, and fierce.

  "I'll think about it." Gouty turned around and waddled back up the path. It was evident that his swollen legs were not good for walking.

  "I don't think you should have given him until noon," Grundy said as Cheiron turned away. "It will just give him more time to work up mischief."

  "I want the monsters to be at full strength," Cheiron said. "They flew a long way here, and rested, and now they need to eat plenty. Noon is the earliest we can mount a truly effective attack."

  "Oh. That makes sense. But suppose they summon allies?"

  "Then we'll do the same," Cheiron said. "I'm hoping that once Gouty thinks about it, he will realize that there is no profit in holding out and will deliver up the captives without a struggle. This is after all our objective."

  They waited, gathering their strength. The rocs carried in boulders to drop on the mountain; the griffins sharpened their talons; and the dragons ate prodigiously, their bodies converting the food to internal fuel for their fire, smoke, and steam. They were all hoping that the goblins would try to tough it out.

  Noon came, and the captives were not delivered. Instead, the tunnel openings were abruptly closed by rocks and doors from within. The goblins had chosen to tough it out.

  Cheiron's heart sank. How he had hoped it would not come to this! It was not that his posse lacked the ability to demolish the mountain; it was that this enormously increased the risk to the captives. Probably the goblin chief thought that the winged monsters would not dare to press their attack too hard, because of that risk.

  Well, there was no help for it now. They would have to proceed to the first stage of the siege of Goblin Mountain. The weird aspect of this was that he still did not know why the goblins had chosen to abduct his foal and what resources they thought they could call on to make it stick. For they had to have known that it would come to this. That unknown rendered Cheiron's confidence into chaos.

  Chapter 10. Jenny's Jam

  Jenny followed Che down into Goblin Mountain, carrying Sammy. She had done what she felt she had to, but there was no doubt it frightened her. She was a creature of the woodland and of the holt; she hated the forbidding depths of caves. This was like a giant anthill, with passages branching out everywhere, all leading farther down. At every intersection was another goblin guard, glowering with his spear as if he'd like nothing better than to poke a hole in someone to see how much he hurt before his blood welled out. She felt as if she couldn't breathe.

  But how could she have let poor Che go in here alone? She had known the foal only less than two days, but already she understood that he hated captivity and would be horribly tormented if there were not someone to shield him from it. So she had to remain with him so she could sing to him and make him feel better when his eyes started getting wild. There just wasn't any other way.

  The goblins carried guttering torches, whose grudging flames seemed to issue more smoke than light. The smoke bumbled up along the ceiling, searching blindly for some way out. Jenny knew how it felt.

  At last, when it seemed they couldn't go any deeper, they were rudely shoved into an empty chamber. The door was slammed behind them. They were alone.

  At least they had light: a goblin had jammed a torch into a notch in the wall. Otherwise it would have been pitch black, for not only was it night, there were no windows. This was an ant nest, where sight wasn't all that important to the denizens.

  Jenny wanted to collapse into a huddle of fear, but she didn't dare do that because of Che. So she pretended to be unconcerned. "Well, at least we have a room to ourselves," she said brightly. She set Sammy down, and he promptly settled by the wall and went into an orange snooze. If he was bothered by any recent developments, he did not deign to show it. "Let's see what's in it." She walked around the room, though she expected to find nothing.

  She was surprised. There was an alcove with shiny stone that served as a mirror, and there was a crock full of clear water, a basin, and a sponge. "Why this is a washing chamber!" she exclaimed. "We can get cleaned up and look nice!" She did not bring up the subject of the seeming pointlessness of washing, in an awful covered pit like this.

  She poured some water into the basin and dipped the sponge into it. "Would you like to be first, Che?" she asked. "I can sponge you off, if you like. Your hide is pretty dirty."

  "Yes, thank you," he said, evidently distracted by her positive attitude. It was hard to believe that anything was really wrong, when a person was doing something as routine as cleaning up.

  She sponged him off, and indeed his hide was dirty, through no fault of his own. Their trek through the jungle and that night in the horde village had coated them with layers of grime. She had to rinse out the sponge repeatedly, and the water in the basin turned brown, then black, before she was done. In fact, she had to empty it into the drain trench and fill it again with clean water from the crock.

 
After she had him pretty well clean, she used the remaining water to sponge herself. Her clothing was a total loss, so she got out of it and dumped it into the basin. She couldn't get it all the way clean, but it would be better than before. She hung it up on snags on the wall, hoping it would dry before she had to put it on again.

  There was a sound at the door. Someone was unbarring it. Jenny, having noted that the human and similar folk always were clothed, was alarmed. She didn't want to dive into her wet clothing, but if she didn't, she would be exposed. So she hurried to stand behind Che, so that whoever came in would not see the central part of her body.

  The door squeaked open. A woman stood there, outlined by the glow of the torch behind her. She was lovely, her slender body garbed in a perfect dress, her face shrouded by the darkness.

  She stepped inside, and the door closed. There was the sound of the plank falling into place; the visitor was locked in with them. Was she another prisoner? Surely she was a princess, for her raiment was elegant.

  "Hello, Che," the woman said. "Hello, Jenny."

  It was Godiva! "I didn't recognize you!" Jenny exclaimed. "Are you prisoner too?"

  Godiva laughed. "No, dear. I had them lock me in with you so we could be assured of absolute privacy. I know you wish to rest, but there is something I must explain to you, which I could not before, and a commitment I must have from you."

  "We honored the Betrothees' deal with you and came here," Che said. "I believe that expiates our obligation."

  "Yes, it does, Che," she agreed. "Indeed, Jenny had no obligation to me, and she is here by her own choice. Now we must forge a new deal."