'This oaf was asleep when the spell was cast, but I wasn't. I never sleep.'
'How can you sleep when you're not alive?' Cedric demanded, some of his natural belligerence returning.
'Who cast that spell?' But the harness did not answer him. 'Was it my rival Fancyface? I'll boot his tail through his snout!'
'Who cast it?' Dor asked.
'Celeste did it,' the harness replied smugly.
'That's my filly!' Cedric cried. 'Why would she-' He paused, his unhandsome face working. 'Why that little bitch of an equine! No wonder she was so understanding! No wonder she always made such a point of being true to me! She knew why I couldn't-'
'I'm sorry I can't discover the cure,' Dor said.
'Don't bother about that, Magician!' Cedric said. 'Centaurs don't work magic; she had to have gotten the spell from some human witch. All I need to do is go to a shyster warlock and buy a counterspell. But I won't tell Celeste-' He smiled with grim lust. 'Oh, no, I won't tell her! I'll just let her lead me on as usual, teasing me, and I'll fake it until-oh, is she going to get a surprise!'
They returned to the crew. 'How's the bug lover doing?' one of the other centaurs called, neighing.
Cedric turned to fix the other with a steely stare. 'I'm doing just great,' he said. 'So is the Magician. We're going to help him all we can, and do just exactly what he says, aren't we.' It was not a question.
Dor affected not to notice the chagrin of the other centaurs. They had been brought in line, without doubt! 'Where is there a harpy flight, within catapult range?' he asked.
A centaur at the parapet cocked his head. 'That way,' he said, pointing north.
'That way, sir!' Cedric corrected him, delivering a swift cuff on the flank. 'You address the Magician with proper respect.'
'Uh, just call me Dor,' Dor said. He had made an issue of respect, but now was disinclined.
'They're coming in from the Gap, Sir Dor,' the parapet centaur said.
'Can you drop a shot to the southwest of them?'
'I can drop a shot down the leader's beakface, Dor!' Cedric said. 'Right in her craw.'
'Well, I really want it to their southwest.'
Cedric shrugged 'Colt's play.' The centaurs gathered about the catapult, cranking it back and fastening its boom and lifting a hefty rock into its sling. They oriented the device toward the northeast and adjusted the elevation.
'Now repeat after me, until you strike ground,' Dor said to the stone. 'Harpies are birdbraincd stinkers!'
'Harpies are birdbrained stinkers!' the rock repeated gleefully.
'Fire,' Dor said.
Cedric fired. The arm of the catapult sprang up. The missile arced over the forest, and the rock cried out: 'Harpies are birrr-' and was lost to Dor's hearing.
'Now we want to lob the next one southeast of that,' Dor said. 'Until we have a chain of them leading the harpies to our due east, near the antenna forest.'
'I understand, Magician,' Cedric said. 'Then what?'
'Then they'll encounter the goblin band in that region.'
The centaur smiled. 'I hope they wipe each other out!'
Dor hoped so too. If there were too few harpies, the goblins would still block the zombies' route; but if there were too many harpies, they would block the zombies' route. And the ploy might be too late. Already reports were coming in of tremendous goblin armies advancing from the south, and the harpy flights from the north were swelling voluminously. Castle Roogna was still the focus of the war, thanks to the continuing and dire power of Murphy's curse.
'Magician,' a dulcet voice said behind Dor. He turned to find a mature woman standing on the ramparts. 'I am neo-Sorceress Vadne, come to assist the defense of this wall. How may I be of service?'
'Neo-Sorceress?' Dor asked with undiplomatic blankness. He remembered Murphy saying something about a Sorceress who was helping the King, but the details had fogged out.
'My talent is judged to be shy of Sorceress level,' she said, her mouth quirking.
'What is your talent?' Dor realized he was being too direct, but he simply had not yet mastered the social graces of adults.
'Topology.'
'What?'
'Topology. Shape-changing.'
'You can change your shape? Like a werewolf?'
'Not my own shape,' she said. 'Other shapes.'
'Like making rocks into pancakes?'
