Isle Of View (21 page)

The wand lofted her again, higher and farther. This time it dumped her headfirst in a mud puddle. The mud petrified in the vicinity of her face, and merely curdled farther out. That made it difficult for her to get out. She bellowed, and the petrified mud exploded, sending rocklike chunks far, wide, and deep. The ogress got back to her feet and charged again. Once a thought got into an ogre's head, little short of an earthquake could dislodge it. Nobody in his right mind tangled with an ogre—except another ogre.

Fortunately, she was charging in the wrong direction.

Dolph plodded on, trying to lessen the impacts of his great feet so that the ogress would not catch on to his location. That wasn't hard, because the impacts were more like squishes, as he slogged through the slough.

Dolph slogged south, and soon came to the Region of the Birds. Most of them ignored him, but a roc circled, pondering. The sphinx was the largest landbound creature, and the roc was the largest flying creature, except for the Simurgh, who did not generally involve herself in ordinary matters. But she had when Chex and Cheiron got married; Dolph had been there, and he had agreed with the others to safeguard their foal. He was afraid he wasn't doing that very well now!

The roc decided to attack. Rocs tended to resent the size of sphinxes, and this one's beak was evidently out of joint because a sphinx was invading the kingdom of the birds. Dolph did not like this at all; should he change form, dumping his passengers, so as to avoid a confrontation?

Che Centaur climbed up on Dolph's head and waved his arms. “Get down, Che!” Electra cried, alarmed.

Then the roc shied away, with a deafening squawk. Dolph realized what had happened: the roc had recognized Che. The rocs were winged monsters, and all of them were sworn to protect Che. So when this one saw that the foal was here, and all right, it canceled its charge. There would be no further trouble in the realm of the birds.

But what would happen when some of these same winged monsters came to rescue Che from Goblin Mountain? Dolph wished again that the decision had gone the other way!

He came to the Region of the Griffins as dusk was falling. Every creature here was a winged monster!

Sure enough, in a moment three fierce griffins flew up to challenge the intruders. Che waved to them, and so instead of attacking they formed an honor guard through the region. They assumed that the others riding the sphinx were serving Che's interest. They were, in a way.

Metria reappeared, floating in her regular luscious demon form near one of his eyes. “It should get interesting soon,” she said encouragingly. “Do you really believe those goblins are going to treat the foal well?”

Dolph could speak in this form, but knew better than to answer her. She was just trying to make him think about something he didn't want to think about.

“Of course, once he's inside Goblin Mountain, it will be impossible to get him out again,” she continued blithely. “Because if anything attacked, they'd simply dump him into the pot, and have him cooked and eaten before the defenses were breached. So he'll be their hostage, for sure.”

Dolph plodded on, knowing she was right. Yet what could any of them have done in the situation? Electra had explained it to him: Godiva had played a key part in the rescue of Che from the horde by doing a sexy dance to distract the enemy goblins long enough for the elf's magic to take effect. Godiva had risked her life to rescue Che, and Nada and Electra had to honor the deal they had made with her. And it did seem that she didn't want to hurt Che. That counted for a lot.

But did it count for enough? Ill at ease, Dolph plodded on.

Night fell without much of a crash, as the sun just barely managed to escape getting caught by the darkness. Dolph wondered what would happen if the sun played it too close and got lost in the night. It would probably have a nervous breakdown!

He tromped on through more muck and shallow waters. This was where the loan sharks swam, who were bright pretty colors but would take an arm and a leg if anyone let them. The sphinx was far too big for them to bother, though.

At last he approached Goblin Mountain. He recognized it by the glimmering lights along its surface, outlining it. It had many little goblin caves and paths running between them, so that it looked like a collection of anchored fireflies.

The mountain shook as the huge feet of the sphinx tramped to its base. Goblins erupted and swarmed down to meet the challenge, bristling with sharp sticks, dull clubs, and guttering torches. Now the mountain looked like a lighted anthill.

Godiva stood on Dolph's head and swirled her hair provocatively. “Tell Goldy I have returned with the foal!” she called.

There was a stir. A number of goblins charged up the nearest path and back into the mountain. Dolph waited, not ready to trust such a mass of goblins until he had confirmation that his party was recognized.

A female goblin emerged. She walked regally down the path until she stood before Dolph. “Loft me, Godiva,” she said.

Then she rose into the air and came to land on Dolph's back. Dolph turned his head enough to cast one eye on the proceedings.

The two goblin females embraced, and Dolph saw how much alike they looked, except for age. The newcomer was like an older version of Godiva with shorter hair. "What kept you?” she asked.

“I have brought the foal, Mother. We had complications on the way, so had to improvise.”

“That was because of Murphy's curse,” Electra explained.

The woman frowned. Dolph now understood that she was Goldy Goblin, who had first gained power here by the use of the wand. He had seen her in the Tapestry, when he replayed the story of Smash Ogre. But then she had been young and beautiful; now she was old and grim. “I see. What is the status of these others?”

“We made a deal to bring the foal here. They will leave in peace.”

“Very well. Loft me down, then the foal.”

“And me,” Jenny Elf said.

“Now wait!” Nada protested. “Jenny shouldn't be made prisoner!”

“Che is my friend,” Jenny said “I want to be with him.”

Godiva looked at Che. “This was not part of the deal.”

“She is my friend,” Che said. “I would much prefer to have her with me.”

No one else looked particularly pleased, but they understood that the elf belonged to none of their parties, and could choose as she wished. “We'll have to let her go,” Nada said at last, and Electra agreed.

“We'll have to take her,” Godiva said grimly. “She did enable us to save the foal.”

Goldy faced the elf. “Do you understand that once you enter our mountain, you may not be allowed to leave?”

“Yes,” Jenny said. She was evidently quite nervous about the prospect, but she wasn't going to leave Che. “I'll bring Sammy too.” She picked up her cat.

“Then so be it.” Goldy signaled Godiva and abruptly was floating up, across, and down to the ground.

Then Che Centaur floated similarly down, followed by Jenny Elf and Sammy Cat. Then Moron, Idiot, and Imbecile.

After that Godiva threw the wand down to her mother, who caught it neatly and used it to loft Godiva herself down.

The party filed into Goblin Mountain, walking between lines of armed goblins.

“Oh, I don't like this!” Nada exclaimed, her eyes overflowing. She spoke for all of them.

Dolph backed away from the mountain, then slowly walked around it, proceeding on south. There was nothing else to do.

Cheiron walked along the rim of Mount Rush-most, ill at ease. The news Chex had brought was horrendously disturbing, but that was only the personal aspect. The political aspect was just about as bad. For he knew the moment he heard the news that this was no ordinary crime; Che would not have been abducted just by chance. No, this had the earmarks of goblin involvement, and that suggested that the war between the monsters of the land and the monsters of the air was about to be resumed.

It had started centuries before, even millennia before, when the goblins and the harpies had their falling out, because the harpy males were attracted by the goblin females' legs. Before it was done, the harpy males had almost disappeared, leaving the harpy females severely out of countenance, and the goblin males were as mean and ugly as the goblin females were nice and pretty. Their wars had involved their allies of land and air, and had contributed to the decline of civilization in Xanth.

Today the centaurs and even the human folk were restoring Xanthly standards, while both harpies and goblins were scarce, at least on land. But the old alignments remained, and there were ancient covenants that had never been vacated. That was where the political element came in: if the goblins had taken Che hostage in order to wrest some advantage from the monsters of the air, then Cheiron would have to negotiate with them on that basis. He had no intention of doing so.

It was night, verging on dawn, but he would not rest. Chex was sleeping, secure in the knowledge that he, Cheiron, would know what to do. He did not care to inform her of his private doubts. But perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked. He could find out before taking action.

He flicked his body and leaped off the rim. In a moment he was flying powerfully to the lair of Hardy Harpy. It happened that Hardy's goblin daughter, Gloha, was visiting the harpies, and she was the one Cheiron wanted to see. The romance between Hardy and beautiful Glory Goblin had nearly ignited the war again; only the discovery that goblins and harpies together had magic talents had eased that crisis. But it could be that the goblins retained resentment, so had taken captive another land-air crossbreed. Gloha, with her goblin connection, might know.

He reached the harpy grove. “Whatcha up to, monster?” one of them screeched irritably, disturbed from her sleep.

“I come to see Gloha, monster,” Cheiron replied, using the same courtesy title she had greeted him with. They were all monsters, and proud of it. She settled back, satisfied. As a rule, the harpies hated goblins, but Gloha was different. She was of course a goblin, but she was also a winged monster.

He reached Hardy's tall tree. Gloha could not clamp her feet on a branch the way a harpy could, so Hardy had made for her a fine and private nest, complete with a roof against the weather. “Gloha!” he called, hovering beside the nest.

In a moment the thatch door opened and a sleepy head poked out. “What?”

“It is Cheiron. I must talk with you,”

“Oh. Of course. I will fly to ground.” She was too polite to point out that it was still before dawn, the very awfullest time to woke a maiden from her slumber.

She stepped out onto the branch, pulling on her robe. She was a lovely little lady goblin with birdlike wings, now fifteen years old. Soon she would have to decide what kind of man to take up with; unfortunately there were no other flying goblins.

They flew to the ground, where Cheiron could stand firmly. “Che has been abducted by goblins,” he said abruptly. “Do you know anything about it?”

Her dainty hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no, Cheiron! Are you sure?”

“I am sure he has been abducted, and the operation has the goblin stigma. We have search parties out, of course, but my concern is with the motive. It occurred to me that there might be some residual animosity because of the liaison of your parents and that this is an expression of it.”

“I know nothing of this, Cheiron,” she said. “But I will certainly find out! I will fly immediately to Glory's village and ask.”

“Thank you. Do you need a guard?”

She considered. “Ordinarily, no. But if this is the start of something serious, perhaps it is better.”

“Get on my back and I will take you there.”

She nodded. She flew to his back and settled down, as light as a bird. Then he leaped up and spread his great wings, forging into the sky.

As dawn came, they reached the goblin village. Gloha flew off to consult with the chief, while Cheiron planted his feet and waited alertly, on guard against treachery. If the war were being resumed, his trip here could even be part of the plot: to lure him down so that he, too, could be captured. But he had no fear of goblins; he could handle his bow and spear as well as any centaur could, and that meant that fifty goblins would die before he had to retreat.

Soon Gloha returned with the goblin chief. The man was gnarled and ugly in the manner of his kind, but his approach was not menacing. Perhaps this was because of Gloha, who by the dawn's early light was as gorgeous a goblin as this village was likely to see. Her wings, folded, formed a feather cloak covering her backside, so that a stranger would have to look two and a half times to realize that she was a crossbreed instead of a rich gobliness. Even a goblin chief tended to behave halfway politely when in the company of a creature like this.

“We know nothing of this abduction, feather-snoot,” the chief said halfway politely. “Gloha was at your mating ceremony six years ago, and joined the pledge to protect your offspring. We don't give a clod of dung for you, horse-foot, or your flighty mare, but we don't want the Simurgh down on us, so we're leaving all winged man-faced horse-rears alone.”

“I appreciate your sincerity, clubfoot,” Cheiron said in polite goblin protocol. “But what about other goblin tribes?”

The chief scowled. “I can count on the fingers of one hand how many of them you can trust to leave your foal alone, hoof-nose.” He held up one dark fist.

“But Grandpa Gorbage,” Gloha protested, “you can't count!”

“That's not so!” the chief retorted gruffly. “I can count none—and that's how many tribes.”

“Agreed,” Cheiron said. “But there is no goblin wide conspiracy, or you would know about it?”

“Right, tail-brain. It's probably the Goblinate of the Golden Horde. They're closest to you, and worst. Even we don't like them.”

“Grandpa, you don't like any other tribes,” Gloha said.

“Right. But we don't like the horde even more than we don't like the others. They're mean gobs!”

Cheiron knew of the horde. They certainly were the worst gobs. Princess Ivy had brushed with them more than once and dumped most of them into the Gap Chasm, but they regenerated like weeds and made trouble again. But though they were the most violent, they weren't the smartest of goblin tribes. Che had been abducted by smart goblins, with special magic.

Still, the news that there was no conspiracy was gratifying. That meant that it wasn't a land-air war in the making, but merely a foray by one tribe. He could deal with one tribe. “Thank you for your news, chief,” he said. “I'm glad we have no present quarrel.”

“Well, if it wasn't for Gloha and the Simurgh, we'd have one, sweat-flank!” the chief said defensively.

“To be sure,” Cheiron agreed, placating him. “Perhaps some day that will change.”

“Yeah,” the chief breathed, forming his first smile.

“Bye-bye, Grandpa,” Gloha said, kissing him on the cheek. The goblin glowered, but could not quite hide his ungoblinish pleasure.

Then Gloha flew to Cheiron's back, and he leaped into the air, flicked himself, and spread his wings. The downdraft blasted a cloud of sand into the chief's face. Cheiron pretended not to notice. After all, sandblasting would probably improve the gob's complexion.

“Don't take me home,” Gloha said. “I'll go with you to Mount Rushmost.”

“But you should not be involved in ugly business like this,” he protested.

“Yes I should. If another goblin tribe did this, you will need someone to negotiate who they won't attack right away.”

"But that would be risky for you, Gloha. You know that regular centaurs don't like crossbreeds; some goblins may not like them either.”

“That may be,” she argued, “but I run a worse risk if I don't get out and meet folk.”

“A worse risk?”

“Old maidism.”

Now more of her motive came clear. She was fifteen, and just about ready for romance. Her own tribe might be tolerant of a winged goblin, but goblins were generally exogamous, preferring to marry outside their home tribes. This could serve as an excellent pretext to meet many males from many tribes, and discover who was tolerant and who was not. Her decision to check the goblin tribes rather than the harpy flocks was sensible; there were still so few male harpies that she would make vicious enemies just by trying.

“Very well, if your father approves.”

“He'll approve,” she said confidently.

No doubt. Like most teenage girls, she could twist her father around her littlest finger, just as she did with her grandfather on the goblin side. Cheiron had to admit that she could indeed be useful, because most goblins were surly and guilty ones would be worse. How surly would they be when they encountered her? Several rungs, grades, and degrees less than otherwise, surely, especially if there were young, young males who were interested in pretty young females. That was to say, all of them.

They flew on to Mount Rushmost. Cheiron felt marginally better, because the scope of the plot had been reduced. But the matter was still desperately serious.

A harpy flew up as he landed. “News, horse-bird!” she screeched. “I saw your foal!”

“Where?” Cheiron asked, excited.

“Trudging south with a funny big elf, captive of the Golden Horde.”

Cheiron felt a terrible chill. “The horde? Are you sure?”

“Sure I'm sure!” she screeched. “That's my home territory. I snatch their leavings. That's why I watch them. When their spies reported fresh meat on the river, they hustled up there and nabbed it, with help from Fracto the cloud. I'll bet they're going to cook them both!”

Cheiron was seldom speechless, but for some reason he was this time. So Gloha filled in for him. “Thank you, harpy. We appreciate your information, and will go there immediately to rescue Che.” Then she reconsidered. “Did you say an elf?”

“Yes, an odd one,” the harpy screeched. “Pointed ears and four-fingered hands. A girl, bigger than any other.”

“She must have gotten very weak, so far from her elm.”

“She was tired but not weak,” the harpy screeched. “She was helping the foal when he stumbled. They looked like friends.” She laughed raucously. “Can you imagine! Friends!” She spread her wings and took off, her backdraft smelling awful, in the typical harpy way.

Cheiron remembered something Chex had said, as she had babbled out her message: she had briefly encountered an odd elf girl, and her orange cat. Could this be the same elf? How did this relate to the abduction of Che? And how could they be friends? Che had no elf friends; the elves generally kept to their own business, and there was no elm near the home glade. They were good enough folk and a bulwark against goblins in their territory. But Che must have met her since the abduction. Friends? Che was more choosy than that!

But the elf was captive too, evidently. Maybe she had been traveling alone and the goblins had captured her on the same foray, so had lumped the two together. That would not be friendship, but common misery. That made more sense. Nevertheless, he could afford to take nothing for granted. “We shall have to rescue that elf, too,” he said.

“Oh, good!” Gloha exclaimed. “I'd love to meet her. I get along well with odd creatures.”

He knew what she meant. There were a number of one-of-a-kind or few-of-a-kind creatures, often the results of crossbreeding. In addition to the winged centaurs there was Grundy the Golem, and his wife Rapunzel, who was a human-elven crossbreed who could change sizes and had the most marvelous hair in Xanth. There was Gloha herself. Naturally she related well; she knew what it was like to be unique in species.

But right now he had to take action. With Che the captive of the Goblinate of the Golden Horde—the very worst place to be—he had to take necessary steps immediately. He did not acknowledge that it might already be too late, that the goblins could have boiled the foal at dawn; that simply was not a viable option. He had to assume that the goblins would play with their victims a while, torturing them psychologically before proceeding to physical mistreatment and finally the boiling. He had to assume that he had at least this day to organize for the recovery.

For this was not a mission that could be simply accomplished. The horde was vicious, with its horrible hate spring, and any ill-planned effort would result in disaster. Oh, the winged monsters would gladly exterminate the entire horde, but that would be useless if Che died in the process. So Cheiron schooled himself to do what was most difficult at the moment: nothing. He had to get more information before he acted, and then act with extreme dispatch.

“Gloha, may I ask a favor of you?” he asked.

“Of course, Cheiron,” she said. “I want to help.”

“Go to Dragon Net and tell him I wish to organize a posse to rescue my foal,” he said. “But not only must it be capable of handling the goblins of the Golden Horde, it must be highly disciplined and not strike until we are ready. Ask him to have it ready by day's end, if possible.”

She considered, evidently worried about the delay, but deferred to his judgment. “I will tell him,” she said, and flew away across the flat surface of the mountain.

Cheiron walked across to where Chex was sleeping, with Grundy Golem on her back, similarly asleep. What a wonderful thing it had been when Chex came into his life! He had been the only winged centaur in Xanth, then had heard of a young female. But a centaur did not develop an association with another centaur merely because the other existed. The situation and the other centaur had to be right. The female was young and inexperienced and had not yet figured out how to fly. She was a fine looking specimen, healthy and resolute, but inexperienced. The fact that she was beautiful and winged was not enough; did she have the character required of the species as he foresaw it? He would have to test her and find out.