“This material,” Irene said. “There’s something magic about it.”
Gerome smiled. “As you know, we centaurs frown on personal magic talents. But we do work with magic. The apparel is woven by our artisans from iron curtain thread, and is strongly resistant to penetration by foreign objects. We use it for vests during combat, to minimize injuries.”
“But this must be very precious stuff!” Dor said.
“Your welfare is important to us, Your Majesty. Had you and Chet been wearing this clothing, the wyvern’s teeth would not have penetrated his shoulder.”
Dor appreciated the rationale. It would be a big embarrassment to the centaurs if anything happened to the temporary King of Xanth or his friends during their stay here. “Thank you very much.”
They entered a larger room, whose tall ceiling was supported by ornate white columns. Huge windows let in the slanting morning sunlight, lending a pleasant warmth and brilliance. On an enormous banquet table in the center were goblets of striped sardonyx and white alabaster, doubly pretty in the sun. The plates were of green jadeite. “A King’s ransom,” Irene whispered. “I think they trotted out the royal crockery for you, Dor.”
“I wish they hadn’t,” he whispered back. “Suppose something gets broken?”
“Keep an eye on Smash,” she said. That made Dor more nervous than ever.
How would the ogre handle the delicate tableware?
They were given high chairs, for the table was too tall for them.
Several more centaurs joined them, male and female, introduced as the other Elders of the Isle. They stood at the table; centaurs had no way to use chairs, and the table was crafted to their height.
The food was excellent. Dor had been halfway fearful that it would be whole oats and cracked corn with silage on the side, but the glitch of the stable-housing was not repeated. There was a course of yellow cornmeal mush, from cornmeal bushes, and fine chocolate milk from cocoa-nuts. For sweetening there was an unusual delicacy called honey, said to be manufactured by a rare species of bees imported from Mundania. Dor had encountered sneeze-bees and the spelling bee, but it was odd indeed to think of honey-bees!
Smash, to Dor’s surprise and relief, turned out to be a connoisseur of delicate stone. His kind, he informed them happily in rhyme, had developed their power by smashing and shaping different kinds of minerals. They could not turn out goblets as nice as these, but did produce pretty fair marble and granite blocks for walls and buildings.
“Indeed,” Gerome agreed. “Some fine cornerstones here were traded from ogres. Those corners stand up to anything.”
Smash tossed down another couple mugs of milk, pleased. Few other creatures recognized the artistic propensities of ogres.
Chet was there, looking somewhat wan and eating very little, which showed that his injury was paining him somewhat. There was nothing Dor could do except politely ignore it, as his friend obviously wanted no attention drawn to his weakness. Chet would not be traveling with them again for some time.
After the meal they were treated to a guided tour of the Isle. Dor was conscious of King Trent’s reference to isle or aisle in the vision.
If it were the only way Dor could reach him, he must be alert for the mechanism. Somewhere here, perhaps, was the key he needed.
The outside streets were broad, paved with packed dirt suitable for hooves, and were banked on the curves for greatest galloping comfort.
At intervals were low wooden props that the centaurs could use to knock the dottle from their feet. The buildings were mixed; some were stables, while others were more like human residences.
“I see you are perplexed by our premises,” Gerome said. “Our architecture derives from our origin; in due course you shall see our historical museum, where this will be made clear.”
During their walk, Dor surreptitiously looked at the magic compass Good Magician Humfrey had sent him. He had believed he had figured out its application. “Compass-do you point to the nearest and strongest Magician who is not actually using you?” he asked.
“Sure.” the compass replied. “Any fool knows that.”
So it was now pointing to the centaur Magician. Once Dor got free of these formalities, he would follow that needle to the object of his quest.
They stopped at the extensive metalworking section of town. Here were blacksmiths and silversmiths and coppersmiths, fashioning the strange shoes that important centaurs used, and the unusual instruments they employed for eating, and the beautiful pots they cooked with. “They had no trouble harvesting plenty of silver linings,” Irene commented enviously.
“Ah-you appreciate a silver lining?” Gerome inquired. He showed the way to another craftshop, where hundreds of silver linings were being fashioned as the fringes of jackets and such. “This is for you.” And the centaur gave her a fresh fur with a fine silver lining sewn in, which gleamed with the splendor of sunlight after storm.
“Ooooh,” Irene breathed, melting into it. “It’s soft as cloud!” Dor had to admit, privately, that the decorative apparel did enhance her appearance.
One centaur was working with a new Mundane import, a strong light metal called aluminum. “King Trent’s encouragement of trade with Mundania has benefited us,” Gerome remarked. “We have no natural aluminum in Xanth. But the supply is erratic, because we never seem to be able to trade with the same aspect of Mundania twice in succession. If that problem could be ameliorated, it would be a great new day for commerce.”
“He’s working on it,” Irene said. But she had to stop there; they had agreed not to spread the word about King Trent’s situation.
They saw the weaving section, where great looms integrated the threads garnered from assorted sources. The centaurs were expert spinners and weavers, and their products varied from silkenly fine cloth to heavy ruglike mats. Dor was amazed; it had never occurred to him that the products of blanket trees could be duplicated artificially. How wonderful it would be to be able to make anything one needed, instead of having to wait for a plant to grow it!
Another section was devoted to weapons. Centaurs were superlative bowmen and spearmen, and here the fine bows and spears were fashioned, along with swords, clubs, and ropes. A subsection was devoted to armor, which included woven metal clothing as well as helmets, greaves, and gauntlets. Smash tried on a huge gauntlet and flexed it into a massive fist. “Me see?” he inquired hopefully.
“By all means,” Gerome said. “There is a boulder of quartz we mean to grind into sand. Practice on it.”
Smash marched to the boulder, lifted his fist high, and smashed it down upon the boulder. There was a crack of sound like thunder, and a cloud of dust and sand erupted from the point of contact, enveloping him. When it settled, they saw the ogre standing knee-deep in a mound of sand, a blissful smile cracking his ugly face. “Love glove,” he grunted, reluctantly removing it. Wisps of smoke rose from its fingertips.
“Then it is yours, together with its mate,” Gerome said. “You have saved us much labor, reducing that boulder so efficiently.”
Smash was thrilled with the gift, but Dor was silent. He knew ogres were strong, but Smash was not yet grown. The metal gauntlet must have enhanced his power by protecting his hand. As an adult, Smash would be a truly formidable creature, with almost too much power. That could get him exiled from the vicinity of Castle Roogna.
But more than that, Dor was disquieted by something more subtle.
The centaurs were evidently giving choice gifts to each member of Dor’s party-fine protective clothing, plus whatever else offered, such as Irene’s silver lining and Smash’s gauntlets. This might be a fine gesture of friendship-but Dor distrusted such largesse. What was the purpose in it? King Trent had warned him once to beware strangers bearing gifts. Did the centaurs suspect Dor’s mission, and were they trying to affect the manner he pursued it? Why? He had no ready answer.
They viewed the centaur communal kitchen, where foodstuffs from a wide area were cleaned and prepared. Obviously the centaurs ate very well. In fact, in most respects they seemed to be more advanced and to have more creature comforts than the human folk of the Castle Roogna area. Dor found this unsettling; he had somehow expected to find Centaur Isle inhabited by a few primitives galloping around and fighting each other with clubs. Now that he was here, Centaur Isle seemed more like the center of culture, when Castle Roogna appeared to be the hinterland.
The power of magic was surely weaker here near the fringe, which helped explain why most centaurs
