“All that silver lining,” Irene said. “And I can’t have any of it!”
The swirl of wind grew stronger. They were thrown about by the buffets and drawn into the central vortex- but it now had only a fraction of its former strength and could not fling them about as it had the wyvern. They spiraled down through it as the magic continued to dissipate. Dor hung on to the others, hoping the magic would hold out long enough to enable them to land softly. But If they splashed into deep water After an interminably brief descent, they did indeed splash into deep water. The rain pelted down on them and monstrous waves surged around them. Dor had to let go of the hands he held, in order to swim and let the others swim. He held his breath, stroked for the surface of the current wave and, when his head broke into the troubled air, he cried, “Help! Spread the word!”
Did any magic remain? Yes-a trifle. “Help!” the wave echoed faintly. “Help!” the next wave repeated. “Help! Help! Help!” the other waves chorused.
A raft appeared. “Someone’s drowning!” a voice cried. “Where are you?”
“Here!” Dor gasped. “Five of us-“ Then a cruel wash of water smacked into his face, and he was choking. After that, all his waning energies were taken trying to stay afloat in the turbulence, and he was not quite succeeding.
Then strong hands caught him and hauled him onto a broad wooden raft.
“The others!” Dor gasped. “Four others-“
“We’ve got them, King Dor,” his rescuer said. “Water-logged but safe.”
“Chet-my friend the centaur-he’s wounded-needs healing.”
The rescuer smiled. “He has it, of course. Do you suppose we would neglect our own?”
Dor’s vision cleared enough to take in the nature of his rescuer. It was an adult centaur! “We-we made it-“
“Welcome to the waters of the coast of Centaur Isle, Your Majesty.”
“But-“ Dor spluttered. “You aren’t supposed to know who I am!”
“The Good Magician Humfrey ascertained that you were in trouble and would require assistance when you touched water. The Zombie Master asked us to establish a watch for you in this locale. You are a most important person in your own land, King Dor! It is fortunate we honored their request; we do not ordinarily put to sea during a funnel-storm.”
“Oh.” Dor was abashed. “Uh, did they tell you what my mission was?”
“Only that you were traveling the Land of Xanth and making a survey of the magic therein. Is there something else we should know?”
“Uh, no, thanks,” Dor said. At least that much had been salvaged.
The centaurs would not have taken kindly to the notion of a Magician among them-a centaur Magician. Dor did not like deceit, but felt this much was necessary.
Irene appeared, soaked through, bedraggled, and unkempt, but still quite pretty. Somehow she always seemed prettiest to him when she was messed up; perhaps it was because then the artifice was gone. “I guess you did it again, Dor,” she said, taking his hand. “You got us down alive.”
“But you didn’t get your silver lining,” he reminded her.
She laughed. “Some other time! After the way that storm treated us, I don’t want any of its substance anyway.”
Then the centaurs led them into the dry cabin of the raft. Irene continued to hold his hand, and that pleased Dor.
It was dark by the time the centaurs’ raft reached port. Chet was taken to a vet for treatment, as the wyvern’s bite seemed to be resisting the healing elixir. Dor and his companions were given a good meal of blues and oranges and greens and conducted to a handsome stable for the night. It commanded a fine view of a succulent pasture, was adequately ventilated, and was well stocked with a water trough, hay, and a block of salt.
They stared at the accommodations for a moment; then Smash stepped inside. “Say, hay!” he exclaimed, and plunked himself down into it with a crash that shook the building.
“Good idea,” Grundy said, and did likewise, only the shaking of the building was somewhat less. After another moment, Dor and Irene settled down, too. The hay was comfortable and sweetly scented, conducive to relaxation and thoughts of pleasant outdoors.
Irene held Dor’s hand, and they slept well.
In the morning a stately elder centaur male entered the stable. He seemed oddly diffident. “I am Gerome, the Elder of the Isle. King Dor, I am here to apologize for the error. You were not supposed to be bedded here.”
Dor got hastily to his feet, brushing hay off his crumpled clothing while Irene straightened out her skirt and brushed brown hay out of her green hair. “Elder, we’re so glad to be rescued from the ocean, and fed and housed, that these accommodations seem wonderful. We’ll be happy to complete our business and go home; this was never intended as an official occasion. The stable was just fine.”
The centaur relaxed. “You are gracious, Your Majesty. We maintain assorted types of housing for assorted types of guests. I fear a glitch got into the program; we try to fence them out, but they keep sneaking in.”
“They infest Castle Roogna also,” Dor said. “We catch them in humane glitch traps and deport them to the far forests, but they breed faster than we can catch them.”
“Come,” the centaur said. “We have attire and food for you.” He paused. “One other thing. Some of our number attended the Good Magician’s wedding. They report you performed splendidly in trying circumstances. Magician Humfrey had intended to give you an item; it seems the distractions of the occasion caused it to slip his mind.”
The centaur almost smiled.
“He does tend to be forgetful,” Dor said, remembering the lapse about notifying the human Elders about King Trent’s excursion to Mundania.
“Accordingly, the Gorgon asked one of our representatives to convey the item to you here.” Gerome held out a small object.
Dor accepted it. “Thank you, Elder. Uh, what is it?”
“I believe it is a magic compass. Note that the indicator points directly to you-the one Magician on the Isle.”
Dor studied the compass. It was a disk within which a needle of light showed. “This isn’t pointing to me.”
Gerome looked. “Why, so it isn’t. But I’m sure it was until a moment ago; that is how I was certain it had reached its proper destination. Perhaps I misunderstood its application; it may have pointed to you only to guide us to you. Certainly it assisted our search for you yesterday afternoon.”
“That must be it!” Dor agreed. The Good Magician might have anticipated the problem with the storm and sent down the one thing that would bring help to him unerringly. Humfrey was funny that way, doing things anachronistically. Dor tucked the compass in a pocket with the diamonds and sunstone and changed the subject.
“Chet-how is he doing this morning?”
Gerome frowned. “I regret to report that he is not fully recovered. Apparently he was bitten near the fringe of magic-”
“He was,” Dor agreed.
“And a Mundane infection got in. This is resistive to magic healing. Perhaps, on the other hand, it was merely the delay in applying the elixir. We cannot be certain. Odd things do happen at the fringe of magic. He is in no danger of demise, but I fear it will be some time before his arm is again at full strength.”
“Maybe we can help him back at Castle Roogna,” Dor said, uncomfortable. “He is our friend; without him, we could not have made it down here. I feel responsible.”
“He must not indulge in any further violence until he recovers completely,” Gerome said gravely. “It is not at all wise to take a magic-resistive illness lightly. Come-he awaits you at breakfast.”
On the way there, Gerome insisted they pause at the centaur clothier. Dor was outfitted with bright new trousers, shirt, and jacket, all intricately woven and comfortable. Irene got a dress set that set her off quite fetchingly, though it was not her normal shade of green.
Even Smash and Grundy got handsome jackets. The ogre had never worn clothing before, but his jacket was so nice he accepted it with pride.
