mettle in the crunch, and so do you.”
Dor appreciated her compliment, but regretted that her modification of attitude had come too late. Irene had focused on King Omen.
He tried to stop himself from glancing across to where Irene was working on the Mundane King, but could not help himself.
The Queen caught the glance. “You love her,” she said. “You did not before, but you do now. That’s nice.”
Was she taunting him? “But you endorse King Omen,” Dor said, his emotion warring within himself.
“No. Omen is a fine young man, but not right for Irene, nor she for him. I support your suit, Dor; I always did.”
“But you said-“
She smiled sadly. “Never in her life did my daughter do what I wished her to. Sometimes subtlety is necessary.”
Dor stared at her. He tried to speak, but the thoughts stumbled over themselves before reaching his tongue. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“Let’s get you on your feet,” the Queen said, helping him up. Dot found that he could stand, though he felt dizzy; the wound was not as critical as it had seemed, and already was magically healing.
King Trent appeared. “You did good work, men. Thanks to your diversion, I was able to get close to the majority of the Avar soldiers. I turned them into bats.”
So that was the origin of the bats Dor had seen! One bat had tried to warn the remaining Avars, without success.
“But the Avars are not the only enemies,” King Omen said. “We need to weed out the other collaborators, lest assassins remain among us.”
“Magic will help there,” Ying Trent said. “Iris and Dor will see to it.”
“We will?” Dor asked, surprised.
“Of course,” the Queen said. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know,” Dor said. His feelings about Irene’s mother had just been severely shaken up, and it would take some time for them to settle into a new pattern. He stepped forward experimentally, and she gripped his arm and steadied him. He half wished it were Irene lending him support.
The Avars, however, had discovered that the dragon did not follow beyond the dungeon. They were not yet aware that their backup contingent had been eliminated. Now they charged back into the chamber.
“They’re catching on to the illusion,” Grundy said. “We’d better get out of here.”
True enough. The Avars were stopping just outside the magic aisle and nocking arrows to strings. They had found the way to fight magic.
Smash went back into action. He ripped a boulder out of the foundation and hurled it at the Avars. His strength existed only within the aisle, but the boulder, once hurled, was just as effective beyond it as the arrows were within it. The troops dived out of the way.
The party moved back up the tunnel, Dor limping. Dragons flew ahead and behind, a ferocious honor guard.
In due course they reached the main hall of Castle Ocna. A number of the castle personnel were there, huddled nervously at one end.
The Avars had spread out and used other routes, and now were ranged all around the hall. The castle staff were afraid of the Avars, and did not yet know King Omen lived. Thus the castle remained in King Oary’s power despite King Omen’s release.
“The ogre and I will guard King Omen,’ King Trent said. “Irene, grow a cherry tree; you and the golem win be in charge of defensive artillery. Magician Centaur, if you please, stand in the center of the hall and turn rapidly in place several times as soon as I give the signal. Iris and Dor, your powers reach farther than mine; you will rout out the lurking Avars.”
“You see, I know how my husband’s mind works,” Queen Iris murmured. “He’s a genius at tactics.”
“But the Avars are beyond the magic aisle!” Dor protested. “And they know about your illusions. They’re pretty smart, in their fashion. We can’t fool them much longer.”
“We don’t need to,” Iris said. “All you have to do is have any stones in the magic aisle call out the position of any lurking Avars. The rest of us will take it from there.”
“Ready, Irene?” Trent inquired.
Irene’s tree had grown rapidly, and now had a number of bright red cherries ripening. “Ready, father,” she said grimly.
Dor was glad King Trent was a good tactician, for he, Dor, had only the haziest notion what was developing. When Amolde turned, it might bring some Avars within the magic aisle, but most would remain outside. How could those others be stopped before they used their bows?
“Now it gets nervy,” King Trent said. “Be ready, ogre. King Omen, it’s your show.”
King Omen mounted a dais in the center of the hall. He was pale from loss of blood, and carried his left arm awkwardly, but still radiated an aura of Kingliness. Irene picked several of the ripe cherries, giving some to Grundy, who stood beside a pile of them. Smash lifted a solid wooden post to his shoulder.
Amolde, in response to Trent’s signal, began turning himself about in place. Dor concentrated, willing the stones in the hall to cry out if any Avars were hiding near them. Queen Iris fashioned an illusion of extraordinary grandeur; the dais became a solid gold pedestal, and King Omen was clothed in splendid royal robes, with a halo of light about his body.
“Hearken to me, minions of Castle Ocna and loyal citizens of the Kingdom of Onesti,” the King declaimed, and his voice resonated throughout the chamber. “I am King Omen, your rightful monarch, betrayed and imprisoned by the usurper Oary. Now my friends from the magic Land of Xanth have freed me, and I call upon you to renounce Oary and resume your rightful homage to me.”
“Mknn jkol” the Avar leader cried in his own language. “Ujqqy jko fqyp!”
An arrow flew toward King Omen. Smash batted it out of the air with his stake. “Ow!” the arrow complained. Dor’s talent was operating too effectively. “I was only doing my duty.”
As Amolde turned, the magic aisle rotated, reaching to the farthest extent of the hall. “Here’s an Avar!” a stone cried as the magic engaged it. “He shot that arrow!”
“Shut up, you invisible tattletaler!” the Avar snapped, slapping at what he assumed was there.
Now a winged dragon launched toward the Avar, belching forth fire. “You, too, you fake monster!” the man cried. He drew his sword and slashed at the dragon.
Irene threw a cherry. It struck the floor at the Avar’s feet and exploded. The man was knocked back against the watt, stunned and soaked with red cherry juice.
Amolde had hesitated, facing the action. Now he resumed his turning. Another stone cried out: “There’s one behind me!” The dragon, flying in the moving aisle, sent out another column of flame, rich and red. This time Irene timed her throw to coincide, and the cherry bomb detonated as the dragon’s apparent flame struck. That made the dragon seem real, Dor realized.
“All of you-shoot your ettqyu!” the Avar leader called as the magic aisle passed by him. “Vjg oqpuvgtu etg lwuy knnwukqpu!”
But his men hesitated, for two of their number had been stunned by something that was more than illusion. The cherry bombs did indeed detonate outside the ambience of magic; maybe there were, after all, such things in Mundania.
Amolde continued to turn, and the stones continued to betray the Avars. The lofted cherries commanded respect among the Avars that King Omen did not. The ogre’s bat prevented their arrows from scoring, and the Queen’s illusions kept them confused. For the flying dragon became a giant armored man with a flashing sword, and the man became a pouncing sphinx, and the sphinx became a swarm of green wasps. Thunder sounded about the dais, the illusion of sound, punctuating King Omen’s speech. Soon all the remaining Avars had been cowed or nullified.
“Now the enemy troops are gone,” King Omen said, his size increased subtly by illusion. “Loyal citizens of the Kingdom of Onesti need have no fear. Come before me; renew your allegiance.” Stars and streamers floated down around him.
