Centaur Aisle (34 page)

The language! Dor cursed himself for overlooking that detail. Of course that had given away their secret! King Trent would have used an interpreter—probably this same man—and the ability of Dor's party to converse directly would have alerted cunning King Oary immediately. He had known they had operative magic and now wanted to discover the mechanism of it.

"Well, if you bring me some seeds, thug, maybe I can find out," Irene said. "I'm sure I can grow plants, if I just find the right place."

Bless her! She was still trying to get to the stable, where she really could perform.

But the Mundanes thought they knew better, "If the King says you lie, you lie, strumpet," the guard said. "Again I ask: what is your real magic? Can you speak in tongues, and cause others to do the same?"

"Of course not, villain!" she said. "Otherwise we wouldn't need you to translate to His Lowness King Puddingbelly here, would we? Plants are all I can enchant."

"Rgd vhkk mns sdkk," the guard said to the King.

"Vd rgzkk lzjd
ghl
sdkk," the King responded. "Snqstqd gdq hm eqnms ne ghl."

The other two guards grabbed Irene's arms and hauled her a few steps down the hall until they were directly in front of Dor's cell. "Prince Dor," the translator called. "You will answer our questions or see what we shall do."

Dor was silent, uncertain what to do.

"Qho nee gdq bknsgdr," the King ordered.

The two guards wrestled Irene's jacket and silver-lined fur off her body, while she struggled and cursed them roundly. Then the translator put his hand on her neckline and brutally ripped downward. The blouse tore down the front, exposing her fine bosom. Irene, shocked at this sudden physical violence, heaved with her arms, but the two men held her securely.

"Vdkk, knnj zs sgzs!" the King exclaimed admiringly. "H sgntfgs nmkx gdq kdfr vdqd fnnc!"

Dor could not understand a word of the language, but he grasped the essence readily enough. King, translator, and both guards were all gawking at Irene's revealed body. So was Dor. He had thought Irene did not match the Gorgon in general architecture, but Irene had filled out somewhat since he had last looked. He had had the chance to see during the quarrel in the moat, but there had been other distractions then. During the journey south to Centaur Isle, Irene had kept herself fairly private, and perhaps her excellent legs had led his attention away from her other attributes. Now he saw that she was no longer reaching for bodily maturity, she had achieved it.

At the same time, he was furious with the King and his henchmen for exposing Irene in this involuntary manner. He determined not to tell them anything.

"Gd khjdr gdq, xnt snkc ld," the King said. "H bzm rdd vgx! Sgqdzsdm gdq zmc gd'kk szkj."

The King was plotting something dastardly! Dor hardly dared imagine what he might do to Irene. He couldn't stand to have her hurt!

The translator stood in front of Irene and formed a fist. He drew back his arm, aiming at her belly.

"Stop!" Dor cried. "I'll tell—"

"Shut up!" Irene snapped at him. One of her knees jerked up, catching the translator in the groin. The man doubled over, and the surprised guards allowed Irene to tear herself free, leaving shreds of cloth in their hands. Bare-breasted as any nymph, she ran a few steps, stooped to pick up the door-opening bar, and whirled to apply it to Dor's door.

"Run!" Dor cried. "Don't waste time on me!"

But it was already too late. Both guards had drawn their flat swords and were closing on Irene. She turned, raising the bar defensively, determined to fight.

"No!" Dor screamed, his voice breaking. "They'll kill you!"

But now there was a new distraction. Smash, snoozing before, had become aware of the situation. He rattled his door angrily. "Kill!" he bellowed.

Both guards and the King blanched. They believed the ogre's fantastic strength stemmed from his anger. If they hurt Irene while Smash watched—

The translator was beginning to recover from his injury; it probably had been a glancing blow. "Gdqc gdq hmsn gdq bdkk," he gasped to the other two guards. Then, to Irene: "Girl—go quickly to your cell and they won't hurt you."

Irene, realizing that she could not hope to escape the two swordsmen and knowing that the bluff of Smash's strength should not be called, edged toward her cell. The two guards followed cautiously. Smash watched, still angry, but with the sense not to protest as long as the guards were holding off. Then Irene stepped into her cell, the guards slammed the door shut and barred it, and the crisis was over.

"You should have run out of the dungeon!" Dor said with angry relief.

"I couldn't leave you," she replied. "Where would I find another like you?" Dor wasn't certain quite how to take that; was it a compliment or a deprecation?

King Oary himself seemed shaken. "Sgzs fhqk'r mns nmkx adztshetk, rgd gzr ehfgshmf rohqhs," he said. "Cnm's gtqs gdq; H ltrs ehmc z trd enq gdq." He turned about and marched out of the dungeon, followed by his henchmen. The translator, though still uncomfortable, had to remain where he thought he was just out of sight, to eavesdrop some more. The dungeon settled back into its normal gloom.

They were plotting something worse, Dor knew, but at least Irene had escaped unhurt, and the secret of their magic had been preserved, at least in part. The Mundanes knew the prisoners had magic, but still had not fathomed its mechanism. It was a temporary respite, but much better than nothing.

"I think we'd better get out of here soon," Irene said as the Mundanes departed. "Give me your hand."

What was she contemplating this time? Dor passed his hand through the crevice.

She took it in her own and kissed it. That was nice enough, though he found himself obscurely disappointed. She had lost her jacket and blouse—

She took his wrist in her hand and had him spread his fingers. Then she put something into his hand. Dor almost exclaimed with surprise, for it was hard and cold and heavy.

It was the iron bar.

Of course! In their confusion, the guards had forgotten that Irene retained the bar she had picked up. Now Dor had this useful tool or weapon. Maybe he could lever open his door from the inside.

But a guard was in the hall, probably the translator, though there could have been a change. Dor didn't dare try the door now; he would have to wait. In fact, he could not risk prying at any other part of the cell, for the noise would alert the guard and call attention to his possession of the bar. So, for now, they had to wait—and there were things he wanted to tell Irene.

"You were awfully brave," he said. "You faced up to those thugs—"

"I was scared almost speechless," she confessed. That was surely an overstatement; she had traded gibes with the translator quite neatly. "But I knew they'd hurt you if—"

"Hurt me! It was
you
they—"

"Well, I worry about you, Dor. You wouldn't be able to manage without me."

She was teasing him—maybe. "I like your new outfit," he said. "But maybe you'd better take my jacket."

"Maybe so," she agreed. "It's cool here."

Dor removed his centaur jacket and squeezed it through the crevice. She donned it, and was quite fetching in it, though it tended to fall open in front. Or perhaps that was why he found it so fetching. At least the jacket would protect her from the cold and from the attack of instruments like swords or spears, because it was designed to resist penetration. And it wouldn't hurt to have her body concealed from the lecherous eyes of the King and his henchmen; Dor's jealousy of such things remained in force.

Grundy reappeared. "I got a seed," he said. "The bag's in the King's chamber, along with the magic sword. I knew it was safe to sneak in there, because the King was down here. But I couldn't carry the whole bag. Couldn't find the magic compass at all; they must have thrown that away. So I picked out what looked like a good seed."

"Give it here," Irene said eagerly. "Yes—this is a tangler. If I could start it and drop it in the hall—"

"But you can't," Dor said. "Not without—" He caught himself, for the eavesdropper was surely eavesdropping.

"I have an idea," Dor said. "Suppose we brought a part of you-know-who here—would it have a little magic, enough to start one seed?"

Irene considered. "A piece of hoof, maybe. I don't know. It's worth a try."

"I'm on my way," Grundy said.

"I always thought girls were supposed to be timid and sweet and to scream helplessly at the mere sight of trouble," Dor said. "But you—those guards—"

"You saw too much of Millie the Ghost. Real girls aren't like that, except when they want to be."

"You certainly aren't! But I never thought you'd risk your life like that."

"Are you disappointed?"

Dor considered. "No. You're a lot more girl—more woman than I thought. I guess I do need you. If I didn't love you before, I do now. And not because of your looks though when it comes to that—"

"Really?" she asked, sounding like an excited child.

"Well, I could be overreacting because of our imprisonment."

"I liked it better unqualified," she said.

"Oh, sure. Uh, I think you're beautiful. But—"

"Then we'd better check again after we get out of this, to see if we feel the same. No sense being hasty."

Dor was shaken. "You have doubts?"

"Well, I might meet a handsomer man—"

"Uh, yes," Dor said unhappily.

She laughed. "I'm teasing you. Girls are smarter about appearances than boys are. We go for quality rather than packaging. I have no doubt at all. I love you, Dor. I never intended to marry anyone else. But I refuse to take advantage of you when you're unsettled. Maybe when you get older you'll change your mind."

"You're younger than I am!"

"Girls mature faster. Hadn't you noticed?"

Now Dor laughed. "Just today, I noticed!"

She kissed his hand again. "Well, it's all yours, when."

When. Dor considered the ramification of that, and felt warm all over. She had a body, true—but what pleased him most was the loyalty implied. She would be with him, she would support him, whatever happened. Dor realized he needed that support; he really would foul up on his own. Irene was strong, when not jarred by an acute crisis; she had nerve he lacked. Her personality complemented his, shoring up his weakness. She was the one who had gotten them going on this rescue mission; her determination to rescue her father had never relented. With her at his side, he could indeed be King.

His reflections were interrupted by the return of the golem. "I got three hairs from his tail," he whispered. "He's very vain about his tail, like all his breed; it's his best feature. Maybe they'll be enough."

Did some magic adhere to portions of the centaur that were removed from his body? Dor brought out his midnight sunstone gem and held it close to the hairs. Almost, he thought, he saw a gleam of light, deep within the crystal. But maybe that was a reflection from the wan illumination of the cell.

"Take them in to Irene," Dor said, hardly allowing himself to hope.

Grundy did so. Irene set the seed down on the tail hairs and leaned close. "Grow," she breathed.

They were disappointed. The seed seemed to try, to swell expectantly, but could not grow. There was not enough magic.

"Maybe if I took it back to Arnolde," Grundy said.

Irene was silent, and Dor realized she was stifling her tears. She had really hoped her magic would work.

"Yes, try that," Dor told the golem. "Maybe the seed has been started. Maybe it just needs more magic now."

Grundy took the seed and the tail hairs and departed again. Dor reached through the crevice to pat Irene on the shoulder. "It was worth the try," he said.

She clutched his hand. "I need you, Dor. When I collapse, you just keep on going."

There was that complementary aspect again. She would soon recover her determination and nerve, but in the interim she needed to be steadied.

They remained that way for what seemed like a long time, and despite the despair they both felt, Dor would not have traded it. Somehow this privation enhanced their personal liaison, making their love burn more fiercely and reach deeper. What would happen after this day he could not know, but he was certain he had been changed by this experience of emotion. His age of innocence, in a fundamental and positive sense, had passed.

Then a commotion began in the distance. The sound electrified them. Was it possible—?

Grundy burst in on them. "It worked!" he cried. "That seed started growing. The moment I got it in the magic aisle, it heaved right out of its shell. It must have been primed by your command, in that bit of magic with the tail hairs. I had to throw it down outside the stall—"

"It worked!" Irene cried jubilantly. "I always knew it would!"

"I told Arnolde where we are, just in case," Grundy continued excitedly. "That tangler will zip apart his stall!"

"But can he get through all the locked doors?" Irene asked, turning worried. Her moods were swinging back and forth now. "He can't
do
magic himself, and there's no one with him to—"

"I'm way ahead of you, doll," the golem said. "I scouted all around. He can't get through those doors, but he can get out the main gate that Smash ripped off, 'cause they haven't fixed that yet, and there's a small channel outside the castle wall, and these cells are against the wall. Unless the outside wall is over his aisle-depth—"

"And if it is?" she prompted, as if uncertain whether to go into a scream of jubilation or of despair.

"I'm sure the wall isn't," Grundy said. "It's not more than six of your paces thick, and his aisle reaches twice that far forward. But we'll soon find out, because he'll soon be on his way."

The clamor continued. "I hope Arnolde doesn't get hurt," Dor said. "King Oary took our supply of healing elixir, too."

"Probably dumped it down a sump," Grundy said. "Make all the sick maggots healthy."

"Stand by the outer wall," Irene told him. "When you can talk to it, Dor, we'll know the centaur's here."

"I'll go check on his progress," Grundy said, and scurried away again.