it curved and dropped without fair warning.
Soon the soldiers were in pursuit.
But Dor used his talent, making the path call out warnings of hazards, so that they could proceed more rapidly than other strangers might. His midnight sunstone helped, too, casting just enough light to make pitfalls almost visible. But he knew they couldn’t remain on the path long, because the soldiers were more familiar with it, and had their torches, and would surely catch up. They would have to pun off and hide-and that might not be enough, this time. There was too little room for concealment, and the soldiers would be too wary.
Then disaster loomed. “The bridge is out!” the path warned.
“What bridge?” Dor panted.
“The wooden bridge across the cut, dummy!”
“What happened to it?”
“The Onesti soldiers destroyed it when they heard the Khazars were coming.”
So Dor’s party had brought this mischief on itself! “Can we cross the cut some other way?”
“See for yourself. Here it is.”
They halted hastily. There, shrouded by darkness and fog, was a gap in the mountain-a fissure four times the full reach of a man, ex tending from the clifflike face of the peak above down to the deep valley below, shrouded in nocturnal fog. Here the moonlight blazed down, as if eager to show the full extent of the hazard.
“A young, vigorous centaur could hurdle that,” Amolde said. “It is out of the question for me.”
“If we had the rope-“ Irene said. But of course Chet had that, wherever he was now.
Ascent of the peak seemed virtually impossible, and there was no telling what lay beneath the fog. The bridge had been the only practical crossing-and only fragments of that remained. This had become a formidable natural barrier-surely one reason the Khazars had been unable to conquer this tiny Kingdom. Any bridge the enemy built could readily be hacked out or fired.
But now the torches of the garrison of the upper pass were approaching.
That was the other pincer of this trap. A few men could guard that pass, preventing retreat. The slope was steep here, offering little haven above or below the path. If the soldiers didn’t get them, nature would.
“The salve,” Irene said. “See the fog-we’ve got to use the salve!”
“But the curse-we’ve lost the counterspell!” Dor protested. “We’ll have to do some dastardly deed!”
“Those soldiers will do some dastardly deed to us if we don’t get away from here fast,” she pointed out.
Dor looked at her, standing in the moonlight, wearing his jacket, her fine-formed legs braced against the mountain. He thought of the soldiers doing a dastardly deed to her, as they had started to do in the dungeon. “We’ll use the salve,” he decided.
They scrambled down the steep slope to reach the level of the mist. They had to cling to trees and saplings, lest they slide into the cleft involuntarily.
Dor felt in his pocket for the jar-and found the dime he had obtained from Ichabod in Modern Mundania. He had forgotten that; it must have slipped into another crevice if his pocket and been over looked. It was of course of no use now. He fumbled farther and found the jar.
Quickly they applied the salve to their feet. The supply was getting low; this was just about the last time they would be able to use it.
Then they stepped cautiously out onto the fog.
“Stay close to Amolde,’ Dor warned. “And in line. Anyone who goes outside the magic aisle will fall through.”
Now the soldiers reached the cut. They were furious when they discovered no victims there. But almost immediately they spied the fugitives. “Cnvm adknvl” one cried. “Sgdx’qd rim sgd bknto.” Then he did a double take.
For a moment the soldiers stared. “Sgdx can’t do that!” one protested as the rear of the magic aisle swung around to intersect him.
But their leader found the answer. “They’re sorcerers! Spies sent by the Khazars. Shoot them down!”
Numbly responsive to orders, the soldiers nocked arrows to their bowstrings. “Run!” Dor cried. “But stay with Amolde!”
“This time I’ll bring up the rear, just to be sure,” the centaur said. “Lead the way, the rest of you.”
It made sense. The main part of the magic aisle was ahead of the centaur, and this way Amolde could angle his body to keep them all within it. Dor and Irene and Smash charged forward as the first volley of arrows came at them. Grundy rode the centaur; it was the best way to keep him out from underfoot. They crossed the fog-filled cut, coming to the dense forest at the far side.
“Aaahh!” Amolde screamed.
Dor paused to look back. An arrow had struck the centaur in the ramp.
Amolde was crippled, trying to move forward on three legs.
Smash was leading the way. He reached out to grab the branch of a tree that projected through the fog. He ripped that branch out of its trunk and hurled it uphill and across the cut toward the soldiers.
His aim was good; the soldiers screamed and flung themselves flat as the heavy branch landed on them, and one almost fell into the chasm.
Then Smash charged back across the cloud. He ducked down, grabbed the centaur by one foreleg and one hindleg, and hefted him to shoulder height. “Oh, I say!” Amolde exclaimed, amazed despite his pain.
But within the ambience of magic, there was no strength to match that of the ogre. Smash carried Amolde to the slope and set him down carefully where the ground rose out of the fog. This place was sheltered from the view of the soldiers; there would be no more shooting.
“But the arrow,” the centaur said bravely. “We must get it out!”
Smash grabbed the protruding shaft and yanked. Amolde screamed again-but suddenly the arrow was out. It had not been deeply embedded, or the head would have broken off.
“Yes, that was the appropriate way to do it,” the centaur said-and fainted.
Irene was already sprouting a seed. They had lost their healing elixir with Amolde’s bag of spells, but some plants had curative properties. She grew a balm plant and used its substance on the wound. “This won’t cure it all the way,” she said. “But it will deaden the pain and start the hearing process. He should be able to walk.”
Smash paced nervously. “Yet-Chet,” he said. “Mundane, the pain-“
Dor caught on to the ogre’s concern. “We don’t know that a Mundane wound will always become infected the way Chet’s did. That was probably Chet’s bad luck. Also, he was bitten by a wyvern, so there might have been poison, while Amolde was struck by an arrow. This is a different situation-I think.” Still, the coincidence of a second centaur getting wounded bothered Dor. Could it be part of the salve’s curse? The centaurs had had to use twice as much salve, since they had four feet, and perhaps that made them more susceptible to the curse.
Amolde soon woke and agreed that the agony of the wound was much abated. That was a relief, for at least two reasons. Nevertheless, Dor decided to camp there for the remainder of the night.
Their chance of approaching Castle Ocna secretly was gone anyway, and the recovery of their friend was more important. After all, the centaur’s aisle of magic was essential to their welfare in Mundania.
In midday, weary but hopeful, they reached Castle Ocna. This was less imposing than Castle Onesti, but still formidable. The outer wall was far too high for them to scale, “Me bash to trash,” Smash offered confidently.
“No,” Dor said. “That would alert the whole castle and bring a hundred arrows down on us.” He glanced at Amolde, who seemed to be doing all right; no infection was in evidence. But they wanted no more arrows! “We’ll wait until night and operate quietly. They’ll be expecting our attack, but won’t know exactly what form it will take. If we can bring the magic aisle to cover King Trent, hell be able to take it from there.”
“But we don’t know where in the castle he is,” Irene protested anxiously.
“That’s my job,” Grundy said. “I’ll sneak in and scout about and let you know by nightfall. Then we’ll wrap this up without trouble.”
It seemed like a good idea. The others settled themselves for a meal and a rest, while the golem insinuated his way into the castle.
Amolde, perhaps more greatly weakened by his injury than he showed, slept. Smash always conked out when he had nothing physical to do. Dor and Irene were awake and alone again.
It occurred to Dor that bringing the magic aisle to bear on King Trent might not necessarily solve the problem. King Trent could change the jailor to a slug-but the cell would still be locked. Queen Iris might make a
