Centaur Aisle (37 page)

"We've got to get on a path," Irene said. "We'll never make it to Ocna tonight traveling cross-country. But the soldiers will be patrolling the paths."

"Maybe there's a magic seed for this," Grundy suggested.

"Maybe," Irene agreed. "Another tangler would do—except I don't have one. I do have a cherry seed—"

"The kind that grows cherry bombs? That would do it!"

"No," Arnolde said.

"What's the matter, horsetail?" the golem demanded nastily. "You'd rather get your rump riddled with arrows than throw a few cherries at the enemy?"

"Setting aside the ethical and aesthetic considerations—which process I find objectionable—there remain practical ones," the centaur said. "First, we don't want a pitched battle; we do want to elude these people, if possible, leaving them here in a fruitless search while we proceed unchallenged to Ocna. If we fight them, we shall be tied down indefinitely, until their superior numbers overwhelm us."

"There is that," Dor agreed. Centaurs did have fine minds.

"Second, we must keep moving if we are to reach Ocna before dawn. A half-day's march for seasoned travelers by day, familiar with the route, will be twice that for us at night. A cherry tree can't travel; it must be rooted in soil. And since it is magic—"

"We'd have to stay with it," Irene finished. "It'd die the moment we left. Anything magic will be no good away from the magic aisle."

"However," the centaur said after a moment, "it might be possible to grow a plant that would distract them, even if it were dead. Especially if it were dead."

"Cherry bombs won't work," Grundy said. "They don't exist in Mundania. They wouldn't explode outside the aisle."

"Oh, I don't know," Irene said defensively. "Once they are mature and ready to detonate, it seems to me they should be able to explode anywhere. I'd be willing to try them, certainly,"

"Possibly so," the centaur said. "However, I was thinking of resurrection fern, whose impact would extend beyond the demise of the plant itself."

"I do have some," Irene said. "But I don't see how it can stop soldiers."

"Primitives tend to be superstitious," the centaur explained. "Especially, I understand, Mundanes, who profess not to belive in ghosts."

"That's ridiculous!" Dor protested. "Only a fool would not believe in ghosts. Some of my best friends are—"

"I'm not certain all Mundanes are fools," Arnolde said in his cautious way. "But these particular ones may be. So if they encountered resurrection fern—"

"It could be quite something, for people who didn't know about it," Irene agreed.

"And surely these Mundanes don't," Arnolde said. "I admit it is a bit of a dastardly deed, but our situation is desperate."

"Dastardly deed," Dor said. "Are you sure that counter-spell we used with the salve worked?"

The centaur smiled. "Certainly I'm sure! We do not
have
to do such a deed, but we certainly can if we choose to."

Irene dug out the seed. "I can grow it, but you'll have to coordinate it. The wrong suggestion can ruin it."

"These primitives are bound to have suffered lost relatives," the centaur said. "They will have repressed urgings. All we shall have to do is establish pseudo-identities."

"I never talked with resurrection fern," Grundy complained. "What's so special about it? What's this business about lost relatives?"

"Let's find a place on a road," Arnolde said. "We want to intercept the Mundanes, but have easy travel to Ocna. They will pursue us when they penetrate the deception."

"Right," Irene agreed. "I'll need time to get the fern established so it can include all of us."

"Include us all in
what?"
the golem demanded.

"Resurrection fern has the peculiar property of—" the centaur began.

"Near here!" Smash called, pointing. Ogres had excellent night vision.

Sure enough, they had found a path, a rut worn by the tread of peasants' feet and horses' hooves.

"Do you go to Ocna?" Dor asked the path.

"No. I merely show the way," it answered.

"Which way is it?"

"That way," the section of path to their west said. "But you'll have trouble traveling there tonight."

"Why?"

"Because there is something wrong with me. I feel numb, everywhere but here. Maybe there's been a bad storm that washed me out."

"Could the path be aware of itself beyond the region of magic?" Irene asked Dor.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so—but then, it does know it goes to Ocna, so maybe it does have some awareness. I'm not used to dealing with things that straddle magic and nonmagic; I don't know all the rules."

"I believe it is reasonably safe to assume the path is animate only within the aisle," Arnolde said. "In any event, this is probably as good a place for our purpose as any. The soldiers are surely using this path, and will circle around here. It is better to meet them in a manner of our choosing than to risk an accidental encounter. Let us begin our preparations."

"Right," Irene said. "Now the fern will grow in the dark, but needs light to activate its magic. The soldiers will have torches, so it should be all right."

"I have the sunstone," Dor reminded her. "That can trigger the fern, if necessary. Or we could clear out some trees to let the moonlight in."

"Good enough," she agreed. She planted several seeds. "Grow."

"But what does it do?" Grundy asked plaintively.

"Well, it relates to the psychology of the ignorant spectator," Arnolde explained. "Anyone who comprehends its properties soon penetrates the illusion. That is why I feel it will be more effective against Mundanes than against citizens of Xanth. Thus we should be able to deceive them and nullify the pursuit without violence, a distinct advantage. All we have to do is respond appropriately to the their overtures, keeping our own expectations out of it."

"What expectations?" the golem demanded, frustrated.

Dor took a hand. "You see, resurrection fern makes figures seem like—"

"Refrain!" Smash whispered thunderingly. "Mundane!" Ogres' hearing was also excellent.

They waited by the growing fern. In a moment three Onesti soldiers came into view, their torches flashing between the trees, casting monstrous shadows. They were peering to either side, alert for their quarry.

Then the three spied the five. The soldiers halted, staring just within the magic aisle. "Grandfather!" one exclaimed, aghast, staring at Smash.

The ogre knew what to do. He roared and made a threatening gesture with one hamfist. The soldier dropped his torch and fled in terror.

One of the remaining soldiers was looking at Irene. "You live!" he gasped. "The fever spared you after all!"

Irene shook her head sadly. "No, friend. I died."

"But I
see
you!" the man cried, in an agony of doubtful hope. "I hear you! Now we can marry—"

"I am dead, love," she said with mournful firmness. "I return only to warn you not to support the usurper."

"But you never cared for politics," the soldier said, bewildered. "You did not even like my profession—"

"I still don't," Irene said. "But at least you worked for Good King Omen. Death has given me pause for thought. Now you work for his betrayer. I will never respect you, even from the grave, if you work for the bad King who seeks to send Good King Omen to his grave."

"I'll renounce King Oary!" the soldier cried eagerly. "I don't like him anyway. I thought Good Omen dead!"

"He lives," Irene said. "He is in the dungeon at Castle Ocna."

"I'll tell everyone! Only return to me!"

"I can not return, love," she said. "I am resurrected only for this moment, only to tell you why I can not rest in peace. I am dead; King Omen lives. Go help the living." She moved back to hide behind the centaur, disappearing from the soldier's view.

"Beautiful," Arnolde whispered.

"I feel unclean," she muttered.

The third man focused on Grundy. "My baby son—returned from the Khazars!" he exclaimed. "I knew they could not hold you long!"

The golem had finally caught on to the nature of resurrection fern: it resurrected the memories of important figures in the viewers' lives. "Only my spirit escaped," he said. "I had to warn you. The Khazars are coming! They will besiege Onesti, slay the men, rape the women, and carry the children away into bondage, as they did me. Warn the King! Fetch all troops into the castle! Barricade the access roads! Don't let more families be ravaged. Don't let my sacrifice be in vain! Fight to the last—"

Dor nudged the golem with his foot. "Don't overdo it," he murmured. "Mundanes are ignorant; they aren't necessarily stupid."

"Let's move out," Irene whispered. "This should hold them for a while."

They moved out cautiously. The two soldiers remained by the fern, absorbed by their thoughts. Before rounding a curve in the path, Dor glanced back—and saw a giant, pretty spider, of the kind that ranged about rather than forming a web. The decorations on its body resembled a greenish face, and it had eight eyes of different sizes.

"Jumper!" he exclaimed—then stifled himself. Jumper had died of old age years ago. He had been Dor's closest friend, when the two had seemed to be the same size within the historical tapestry of Castle Roogna, but their worlds were different. The spider's descendants remained by the tapestry, and Dor could talk to them if he arranged for translation, but it wasn't the same. They seemed like interlopers, taking the place of his marvelous friend. Now he saw Jumper himself.

But of course it was only a resurrection, not the real friend. As Dor reminded himself of that, the image reduced to the standing soldier. How Dor wished it could have been genuine! This new separation, albeit from a phantom, was painfully poignant.

"So the fern resurrects precious memories," Grundy said as they got clear. "The person looking sees what is deepest-etched in his experience. He really should know better."

"Oh, what do you know about it?" Irene said irritably. "It's an awful thing to do to a person, even a Mundane."

"You looked back, too?" Dor asked.

"I saw my father. I know he isn't dead, but I saw him." She sounded choked. "What a torment it would have been if that were all I would ever see of him."

"We'll soon find him," Dor said encouragingly. This, too, he found he liked about her—her human feeling and loyalty to her father, who had always been a large figure in Dor's own life.

She flashed him a grateful smile in the moonlight. Dor understood her mood; his vision of his long-gone friend had wrenched his emotion. How much worse had it been for the Mundanes, who lacked knowledge of the mechanism? It was indeed a dastardly thing they had done; perhaps the violence of ogre and sword would have been gentler.

Soon, however, they heard the commotion of pursuit. The resurrection fern had perished, or at least had become inactive after the magic aisle left it; there would be no more visions there. The stories of the three affected soldiers would spread alarm, but there would also be many who still followed their orders to capture Dor's party.

They stepped from the path, hiding in the brush—and the troops rushed on past. A snatch of their dialogue flung out: ". . . Khazars coming . . ." It seemed the golem's information had been taken to heart!

"I think they've forgotten us," Irene said as they stepped back on the path. "The resurrections gave them other things to think about. Now they aren't even looking for us. So maybe we can travel to Ocna safely."

"It was a good move we made, strategically," Dor said. "A dirty one, perhaps, and I wouldn't want to do it again, but effective."

"First we must pass Castle Onesti," Arnolde reminded them.

They got past Onesti by following the directions the path gave. There was a detour around that castle, for peasants had fields to attend to, wood to fetch, and hunting to do well beyond the castle, and the immediate environs were forbidding.

This path angled down below the clifflike western face of the peak the castle stood on, wending its way curvaceously through pastures and forest and slope. Several parties of soldiers passed them, but were easily avoided. It seemed these people took the Khazars seriously!

Beyond the castle the way grew more difficult. This was truly mountainous country, and there was a high pass between the two redoubts. Dor and the others were not yet fully rested from their arduous climb to Onesti of a day or so ago; now the stiffness of muscles was aggravated. But the path assured them there was no better route. Perhaps that was its conceit— but they had no ready alternative. So they hauled themselves up and up, until near midnight they came to the highest pass. It was a narrow gap between jags.

It was guarded by a select detachment of soldiers. They could not conveniently circle around it, and knew the soldiers would not let them through unchallenged.

"What now?" Irene asked, too tired even to be properly irritable.

"Maybe I can distract them," Dor said. "If I succeed, the rest of you hurry through the pass."

They worked their way as close to the pass as they could without being discovered. Arnolde oriented himself so that the magic aisle was where they needed it. Then Dor concentrated, causing the objects to break into speech.

"Ready, Khazar?" an outcropping of rock cried.

"Ready!" came a chorused response from several loose rocks.

"Sneak up close before firing your arrows," the outcropping directed. "We want to get them all on the first volley."

"Save some for our boulder!" the upper face of the cleft called. "We have a perfect drop here!"

The Onesti soldiers, at first uneasy, abruptly vacated the cleft, glancing nervously up at the crags. It seemed impossible for anyone to have a boulder up there, but the voice had certainly been convincing. They charged the rocks, swords drawn. "Move out!" Dor cried.

Arnolde and Grundy charged for the pass. Smash and Irene hesitated. "Go on!" Dor snapped. "Get through before the magic ends!"

"But what about you?" Irene asked.

Dor concentrated. "Retreat, men!" the outcropping cried. "They're on to us!" There was the sound of scrambling from the rocks.