Isle Of View (23 page)

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 dragon files 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 the 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.

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 tills.

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.”

“I honored the deal only because it was made by others on my behalf,” Che said. “I am under no obligation to make a new one.”

“Nevertheless, one must be made,” the gobliness said grimly. “Now that Jenny is here, she must become party to it.” She glanced across Che's back to Jenny. “But we must get you some clothing. Just one moment.” She went to the door and rapped on it with a knuckle. “Bring one of Gwendolyn's outfits,” she called.

“Yes, lady,” a goblin answered.

Godiva returned to Che. “I am prepared to offer commitments of my own in return for yours. First, a comfortable mode of life, including the best food, clothing, and entertainment, along with security. In return for your commitment never to tell another person what I am about to tell you now.”

Jenny was astonished. “If you want to keep a secret, don't tell us at all!” she said. “I don't think we're your friends.” But she regretted that, because Godiva had impressed her during their journey here.

“But I think we have seen enough of one another to know that we can trust one another,” Godiva said, “if we give our words. Therefore we can deal.”

“This is true,” Che said. “But I see no reason to give our words.”

“Because if you don't, I can not tell you why I abducted you,” Godiva said evenly. “The entire mission will become pointless, and that will profit none of us.”

“Then perhaps you should let us go,” the centaur said.

“I am not prepared to do that. And I think that you will understand, once I tell you why you are here.”

“I do not care to understand,” Che said, his little jaw setting.

Godiva sighed. “Centaur stubbornness is legendary. But you do not need to agree to fulfill the role I have in mind for you, only to agree to listen—and not to tell others. This is not unreasonable.”

“You abducted me,” Che said, showing that stubbornness she had described. “You have no right to ask anything of me, only to return me to my dam.”

Godiva considered. “Suppose I tell Jenny Elf, and then she can tell you whether to make the deal?”

“Now wait—” Jenny protested.

But Che considered it. “Jenny was not abducted by you. She came here by her choice. She may deal with you if she chooses.”

“Then come with me, Jenny,” Godiva said.

“But I came here to be with Che!” Jenny said. “I don't want to leave him.”

“I promise to return you to him the moment our dialogue is done,” Godiva said. “He will not cooperate with me until he hears what I have to say and until you return, so I have no motive to keep you from him, only to protect the privacy of my statement.”

That seemed to make sense. “I'll do it,” Jenny said. “But I can't promise to tell Che to do anything.”

Godiva rapped on the door again. “Pass in that outfit,” she called.

The door was unbarred. A goblin hand poked in, holding a dress. Godiva took it, then took a pair of slippers and other material. The door closed again.

“Now, Che,” Godiva said firmly. “Face the door and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because we are about to dress Jenny Elf, and this is a process no male is allowed to witness.”

“But—”

“Including panties.”

That did it. He knew about panties. He faced the door and clamped his eyes absolutely shut.

Godiva approached Jenny and held out the panties. They were pretty and pink, much nicer than seemed likely for a goblin stronghold. Jenny put them on. Then another item of apparel that it seemed was even less mentionable, about halfway between the panties and her head. Then the dress, which was also pink, and fit her almost perfectly, and was quite the nicest one she had encountered. Finally the slippers, which were made of stretchy stuff that expanded to fit her feet without pinching. She looked at herself in the stone mirror and was amazed; except for her tangly hair, she looked almost like a princess!

“Where—how did you get—” she started, as she took the brush Godiva presented her and worked on her hair. It would never come within even the thought of a suggestion of anything like Godiva's own glorious hair, but she might as welt get it as unmessy as she could. Her hair had fallen to her waist, before this adventure started, but it had gotten so tangled that it might as well have been cut off.

“The outfit belongs to my daughter, Gwendolyn,” Go-diva explained. “She is about your size.”

Evidently so! And that explained the quality of this apparel, because Gwendolyn was a princess, or the goblin equivalent. The outfit had enabled Jenny to be transformed much as Godiva herself had been by her change of clothing. Jenny had thought that Godiva always wore mainly swirling hair, but apparently that was only outside the mountain.

“Now you may look,” Godiva told Che.

The foal opened his eyes, turned, and looked at Jenny. “You are beautiful,” he remarked.

Jenny blushed hard enough to obscure her freckles. “I am not!” she protested.

Che turned away.

“You should not have said that,” Godiva murmured. “A centaur speaks only the literal truth. You have hurt his feelings.”

Jenny was appalled. “Oh, Che, I'm sorry,” she cried, dropping the brush. “I didn't mean to—I misunderstood! Please forgive me!”

“Of course,” he said, brightening. “I should have realized. I apologize.”

She decided not to argue with that. She just hugged him. Then she turned to Godiva. “I am ready to go with you.”

She glanced down at Sammy, who had not moved since entering the chamber. “Sammy will keep you company, Che, while I am gone. He won't move or speak, but he can understand you, and if you lose something, he can find it.”

“I think I have lost my confidence,” Che said with a weak smile.

Godiva rapped on the door again, and it was unbarred. It opened, and they stepped out into the hall. The goblins barred it again behind them.

Godiva led the way along the passage. Soon she came to another chamber She opened the door and ushered Jenny in.

This chamber was quite different from the last. It had rugs on the floor and carpets on the walls and a painting of the sky on the ceiling. It had soft-looking chairs. It was the kind of chamber that could make a person forget all her problems.

“This will be yours to share with Che, if you wish,” Godiva said. “If you get him to consider my proposal.”

Jenny had heard the demoness Metria struggle to find a word. She felt like that now. There was surely a word that covered this situation, but she didn't know it. The gobliness was offering her something nice to do what she probably should not do. But she had agreed to listen. “I will listen and not tell anyone else except Che, if I decide to,” she said. “That is all I promise.”

“That is enough. I want Che to be companion and steed for my daughter, Gwendolyn. I knew he is not yet of age to be a steed, for his bones are not yet grown, but he can be her companion until they both are of age. That will be some years. How old are you, Jenny Elf?”

Jenny saw no reason not to answer. She showed three hands of four fingers each.

"Twelve, by our reckoning. That is Gwendolyn's age. It is perhaps a fortunate coincidence that you match her so closely. She is a child, like you, but will not remain so much longer. She is my only offspring, and the first heir to the chiefship. It has not before passed to a woman, but this time it shall, for Gwendolyn will have the magic wand.”

Jenny appreciated the difference that made. She had seen that wand in action. “But why should she need a steed, when she has that?”

“She is lame. This is the first aspect of her situation. But with a steed, that need never be a problem. I need her to have that steed by the time Gouty passes, which I fear will be sooner than might ordinarily be the case. His illness is progressive, and when he can no longer walk he will be deposed. This I can not prevent.”

It was evident that goblin politics were as fierce as their natures. They required a fit and active leader. Jenny had seen what happened to her own folk when they became incapacitated. They usually chose not to remain as burdens on the holt.

“But this is perhaps the lesser of Gwendolyn's problems,” Godiva continued. “She is also virtually blind.”

Jenny jumped. “You mean nearsighted, like me? These spectacles have made me see so much better! Maybe if you get her a pair—”

“We may not do that. Her deficiency must not be accommodated in this manner. If others of the mountain discovered that her vision is impaired, they would make her life a short one. So she must conceal her liability. She can see only general shapes, but not well enough to recognize faces or the detail of tapestries. I have kept her isolated so that the others are not aware of this, but it will be far more difficult as she matures and is required to take greater part in the activities of the tribe. The centaur can serve as her eyes, too, advising her of those things she needs to perceive.”

“But surely other goblins will help her!” Jenny said, beginning to feel for the goblin girl. To be lame and nearly sightless—what an awful thing for a princess!

Godiva frowned. “I see you do not understand the way of goblins,” she said.

“Well, I'm not from here,” Jenny admitted. “You call me an elf, but where I come from I'm just a girl. I've never been to Xanth before, and it's strange seeing cookies growing on plants, and having cherries explode. So I guess I don't know much about anything here.”

“But you did see how it was in the Golden Horde.”