tubular section of iron sprang out, leaving the top of the tree momentarily suspended in air; then it dropped heavily and fell over with a crash that made the ground shake once more. Ironwood was solid stuff! An acrid wisp of smoke wafted up from the stump: the top of it was glowing red with a white fringe, and part of it where the ogre's fist had touched had melted.
Crunch selected a jagged splinter of iron, picked his teeth with it, and wheeled about. His monstrous horny toes gouged a furrow from the path in the process. He tramped thunderously back south, humming a merry tune of bloodshed. In a moment he was gone, but the vibration of the terrain took a long time to quiet. Away in the palace, there was the tinkling crash of a window shattering.
Horsejaw stood looking at the iron stump. His eyes flickered momentarily to Dor, then back to the steaming metal. Then he fainted.
'I don't think the boys will tease you so much any more, Dor,' Grundy remarked gravely.
Chapter 2
Tapestry
Dor was not teased much any more. No one wanted to upset his friend. But this hardly eased his unrest. The teasing had not bothered him as much as it had bothered Grundy; Dor had always known he could use his superior magic to bring others into line, if he really had to. It was his general isolation from others that weighed on him, and his new awareness of Millie the ghost. What a difference there was between a brat like Irene and a woman like Millie! Yet Irene was the one Dor was expected to get along with. It wasn't fair.
He needed to talk with someone. His parents were approachable, but Chameleon varied so much in appearance and intellect that he never could be certain how to approach her, and Bink might not be sympathetic to this particular problem. Besides which, both of them were away on a trip to Mundania, on business for the King. The Land of Xanth was busy establishing diplomatic relations with Mundania, and after the centuries of bad relations this was a touchy matter, requiring the utmost finesse. So Dor's parents were out. Grundy would chat with him anytime-but the former golem was apt to get too cute about other people's problems. Such as calling Irene's green-thumb talent 'stinkfinger.' Dor hardly blamed her for retaliating violently, inconvenient as it had been for him personally. Grundy cared, all right-that was how he had become a real, living person-but he didn't really understand. Anyhow, he knew Dor too well. Dor's grandfather Roland, whose talent was the stun-the ability to freeze people immobile-was a good man to talk to, but he was at his home in the North Village, a good two days' travel across the Gap.
There was only one person Dor could approach who was human, competent, mature, discreet, male, and an equivalent Magician. That was the King. He knew the King was a busy man; it seemed the trade arrangements with Mundania were constantly complex, and of course there were many local problems to be handled. But King Trent always made time for Dor. Perhaps that was one root of Irene's hostility, which had spread to the Queen and the palace personnel in insidious channels. Irene talked to her father less than Dor did. So Dor tried not to abuse his Magician's privilege. But this time he simply had to go.
He picked Grundy up and marched to the palace. The palace was actually Castle Roogna. For many years it had been a castle that was not a palace, deserted and forlorn, but King Trent had changed that. Now it was the seat of government of Xanth, as it had been in its youth.
Crombie the soldier stood guard at the drawbridge across the moat. This was mainly to remind visitors to stay clear of the water, because the moat-monsters were not tame. One would think that was evident, but every few months some fool wandered too close, or tried to swim in the murky water, or even attempted to feed some tidbit to a monster by hand. Such attempts were invariably successful; sometimes the monster got the whole person, sometimes only the hand.
Crombie was asleep on his feet. Grundy took advantage of this to generate some humor at the soldier's expense. 'Hey, there, birdbeak; how's the stinking broad?'
One eye cracked open. Immediately Grundy rephrased his greeting. 'Hello, handsome soldier; how's the sweet wife?'
Both eyes came open, rolling expressively. 'Jewel is well and cute and smelling like a rose and too worn out to go to work today, I daresay. I had a weekend pass.'
So that was why the soldier was so sleepy! Crombie's wife lived in underground caverns south of the Magic Dust village; it was a long way to travel on short notice. But that was not exactly what Crombie meant. He had the royal travel-conjurer zap him to the caverns, and back again when his pass expired, Crombie's fatigue was not from traveling.
'A soldier really knows how to make a pass,' Grundy observed, with a smirk he thought Dor wouldn't understand. Dor understood, more or less; he just didn't see the humor in it.
'That's for sure!' Crombie agreed heartily. 'Women-I can take 'em or leave 'em, but my wife's a Jewel of a nymph.'
That had special meaning too. Nymphs were ideally shaped female creatures of little intellect, useful primarily for man's passing entertainment. It was strange that Crombie had married one. But he had been under an omen of marriage, and Jewel was said to be a very special nymph, with unusual wit for the breed, who had an important job. Dor had asked his father about Jewel once, since none of the local artifacts knew about her, but Bink had answered evasively. That was part of the reason Dor didn't want to ask his father about Millie. Millie was nymphlike at times, and evasions were disquieting. Had there been something between-? No, impossible. Anyway, this sort of information could not be elicited from inanimate objects; they did not understand living feelings at all. They were purely objective. Usually.
'Watch out for the moat-monsters,' Crombie warned dutifully. 'They're not tame.' Slowly his eyelids sank. He was asleep again.
'I'd sure like to watch one of his passes in a magic mirror, Grundy said. 'But it'd break the glass in the pattern of an X.'
They went on into the palace. Suddenly a three-headed wolf stalked out before them, growling fiercely. Dor paused. 'Is that real?' he murmured to the floor.
'No,' the floor responded in an undertone.
Relieved, Dor walked right into the wolf-and through it. The monster was mere illusion, a construct of the Queen. She resented his presence here, and her illusions were so proficient that there was no direct to tell them from reality except by touch-which be dangerous if something happened not to be an illusion. But his magic had nullified hers, as it usually did; she could never fool him long. 'Sorceresses shouldn't mess with Magicians,' Grundy observed snidely, and the wolf growled in anger as it vanished.
It was replaced by an image of the Queen herself, regal in robe and crown. She always enhanced her appearance for company; she was sort of dumpy in real flesh. 'My husband is occupied at the moment,' she said with exaggerated formality. 'Kindly wait in the upstairs drawing room.' Then, under her breath, she added:
