He glanced about-and saw Queen Iris watching her husband and daughter with what appeared to be identical emotion. She, too, was jealous-and unable to express it.
For the first time in his life, Dor felt complete sympathy with the Queen. This was one shame he shared with her.
The King set Irene down and looked about. Suddenly it was incumbent on Dor to make introductions and explanations. He hurried up. “Uh, we’ve come to rescue you, King Trent. This is Amolde the Centaur-he’s the one who made the magic aisle-that’s his talent-and this is Smash the Ogre, and Irene-“
King Trent looked regal even in rags. “I believe I know that last,” he said gravely.
“Uh, yes,” Dor agreed, flustered, knowing he was really fouling it up. “I- uh-“
“Do you know what he did, father?” Irene asked King Trent, indicating Dor.
“I did not!” Dor exclaimed. Teasing the Queen was one thing; teasing the King was another.
“Anyway, Dor and I are-“ Irene’s voice broke off as she spied the third prisoner.
He was a stunningly handsome young man who radiated charisma, though he, too, was dressed in rags. “King Omen,” King Trent said with his customary gravity. “My daughter Irene.”
For the first time Dor saw Irene girlishly flustered. King Omen strode forward, picked up her limp hand, and brought it to his lips.
“Ravishing,” he murmured.
Irene tittered. Dor felt a new surge of jealousy. Obviously the girl, so ardent toward Dor a moment ago, was now smitten by the handsome Mundane King. She was, after all, fifteen years old; constancy was not her nature. Yet it hurt to be so suddenly forgotten.
Dor turned his eyes away-and met the gaze of the Queen. Again there was a flash of understanding.
“Now we have business to accomplish,” King Trent said. “My friend King Omen must be restored to his throne. To make that secure, we must separate the loyal citizens of Onesti from the disloyal.”
Dor forced his mind to focus on this problem. “How can anyone in this castle be loyal? They kept their King prisoner in the dungeon.”
“By no means,” King Omen said resonantly. “Few were aware of my presence. We were brought in manacled and hooded, and the only one who sees us is a mute eunuch who is absolutely loyal to Oary the Usurper. No doubt the castle personnel were told we were Khazar prisoners of war.”
“So only the mute knew your identity?” Dor asked, remembering Grundy’s description of the man’s activities. But the golem sometimes exaggerated for effect. “At least he brought you food.”
“Food!” the Queen cried. “That slop! Irene, grow us a pie tree! We haven’t had a decent meal since this happened.”
Irene wrenched her eyes off King Omen long enough to dig out and sprout a seed. Quickly the plant grew, leafing out in the illusion of daylight and developing big circular buds that burst into assorted fruit pies.
King Omen was amazed. “It’s magic!” he exclaimed. “What an ability!”
Irene flushed, pleased. “It’s my talent. Everyone in Xanth does magic.”
“But I understood no magic would work here in the real world. How is it possible now?”
Evidently Dor’s introduction of Amolde had not been sufficient for one who was completely unused to magic. “That’s the centaur’s talent,” he explained. “He’s a full Magician. He brings magic with him in an aisle. In that aisle, everyone’s talent works. That’s why we were able to come here.”
King Omen faced King Trent as they bit into their pies. “I apologize, sir, for my nagging doubt about your abilities. I have never believed in magic, despite the considerable lore of our superstitious peasants. Now I have seen the proof. Your lovely wife and lovely daughter have marvelous talents.”
Irene flushed again, inordinately thrilled.
“King Omen is really a fine young man,” Queen Iris remarked to no one in general.
Dor felt cold. The Queen’s favor was not lightly gained; she had extremely strict and selfish notions of propriety, and these were focused largely on her daughter. Queen Iris had evidently concluded that King Omen was a suitable match for Irene. Of course the final opinion was King Trent’s; if he decided on King Omen, Dor was lost.
But King Trent had always supported Dor before.
Suddenly a huge fat man burst upon them. His eyes rounded with amazement as he spied the visitors in the dungeon and the pie tree.
Then he drew his sword. He charged upon King Omen.
Irene screamed as the man passed near her father. Then the Mundane turned into a purple toad, his sword clattering to the floor. King Trent had transformed him.
“Who was that?” Dor asked, his startlement subsiding raggedly.
“The mute eunuch guard,” King Omen said, picking up the fallen sword. “We bear him no love.” He considered the toad speculatively. It was covered with green warts. “Yes, your magic is impressive! Will he remain that way?”
“Until I transform him again,” King Trent said. “Or until he leaves the region of magic. Then, I believe, he will slowly revert to his normal state. But that process may take months and be uncomfortable and awkward, if someone does not take him for a monster and kill him before it is complete.”
“A fitting punishment,” King Omen said. “Let him begin it.” He urged the toad on out of the magic aisle by pricking it with the point of the sword.
“Now let’s consider prospects,” King Trent said. “We have achieved a significant breakthrough here, regaining our magic. But very soon the usurper’s picked private troops, comprised largely of Avar mercenaries, will lay siege to us here, and we have no magic that will stop a flight of arrows. We are certain that the general populace will rally gladly to King Omen, once they realize he is alive; but most of the people are outside the castle, and we are in danger of being wiped out before that realization prevails. We must plan our strategy carefully.”
“I must advise you that the magic associated with me is in a fairly narrow aisle,” Amolde said. “It extends perhaps fifteen paces forward, and half that distance back, but only two to either side. Therefore the Queen’s illusion will be limited to that ambience, and any person outside it will be immune.”
“But a lot can be done within the aisle,” Dor said. “When Irene and I lagged outside the aisle, we reappeared-but the rest of you remained invisible to us. We weren’t immune to the illusion, just outside it. So the Queen can keep us all from the perception of the Mundanes. That’s a considerable asset.”
“True.” the centaur agreed. “But now that they know about our magic, we cannot prevent them from firing their arrows into this region in a saturation pattern that is bound to wipe us out. I have already had experience with this tactic.” He rubbed his flank ruefully. The healing had continued nicely, but he still walked slightly stiffly.
“We must take cover, of course,” King Trent agreed. “There is now plenty of rubble to shield us from arrows. But we cannot afford to remain confined here. The problem will be the elimination of the enemy forces.”’
“Maybe we can lure them in here and ambush them,” King Omen suggested. “We now have two swords, and I am impressed with the ogre’s strength.”
“No good,” Grundy said. He had reappeared during their feast on the pies and now took a small pie for himself. “The Avar commander is a tough, experienced son of a blizzard who knows you have magic. He is heating a cauldron of oil. Soon he’ll pour it down the dungeon steps. Anyone hiding here, with or without magic, win be fried in oil.”
“Impossible to fill this chamber with oil,” Queen Iris said. “It would all leak out.”
“But it will cover the whole floor first,” Grundy said. “You’ll all get hotfeet.”
Dor looked down at his sandals nervously. He did not like the notion of splashing through a puddle of boiling oil.
Trent considered. “And an ambush waits outside the dungeon?”
“Sure thing,” Grundy agreed. “You don’t think they let you sit here and gorge on pies just because they like you, do you?”
“Turn us all into birds, father,” Irene suggested. “We’ll fly out before they know it.”
“Two problems, daughter,” King Trent said. “You will have trouble when you fly outside the magic aisle. I’m not sure how you will function, but probably poorly, as you won’t be able to change back, yet the magic will be gone. Also, I cannot transform myself.”
“Oh-I forgot.” She was chagrined, since the rescue of her father had been her whole purpose.
“We have to get you safely out of here, sir,” Dor said. “The Land of Xanth needs you.”
