Piers Anthony - Isle of View (Xanth, No. 13)

Cheiron walked along the rim of Mount Rush-most, ill at ease. The news Chex had brought was horrendously disturbing, but that was only the personal aspect. The political aspect was just about as bad. For he knew the moment he heard the news that this was no ordinary crime; Che would not have been abducted just by chance. No, this had the earmarks of goblin involvement, and that suggested that the war between the monsters of the land and the monsters of the air was about to be resumed.

It had started centuries before, even millennia before, when the goblins and the harpies had their falling out, because the harpy males were attracted by the goblin females' legs. Before it was done, the harpy males had almost disappeared, leaving the harpy females severely out of countenance, and the goblin males were as mean and ugly as the goblin females were nice and pretty. Their wars had involved their allies of land and air, and had contributed to the decline of civilization in Xanth.

Today the centaurs and even the human folk were restoring Xanthly standards, while both harpies and goblins were scarce, at least on land. But the old alignments remained, and there were ancient covenants that had never been vacated. That was where the political element came in: if the goblins had taken Che hostage in order to wrest some advantage from the monsters of the air, then Cheiron would have to negotiate with them on that basis. He had no intention of doing so.

It was night, verging on dawn, but he would not rest. Chex was sleeping, secure in the knowledge that he, Cheiron, would know what to do. He did not care to inform her of his private doubts. But perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked. He could find out before taking action.

He flicked his body and leaped off the rim. In a moment he was flying powerfully to the lair of Hardy Harpy. It happened that Hardy's goblin daughter, Gloha, was visiting the harpies, and she was the one Cheiron wanted to see. The romance between Hardy and beautiful Glory Goblin had nearly ignited the war again; only the discovery that goblins and harpies together had magic talents had eased that crisis. But it could be that the goblins retained resentment, so had taken captive another land-air crossbreed. Gloha, with her goblin connection, might know.

He reached the harpy grove. Whatcha up to, monster? one of them screeched irritably, disturbed from her sleep.

I come to see Gloha, monster, Cheiron replied, using the same courtesy title she had greeted him with. They were all monsters, and proud of it. She settled back, satisfied. As a rule, the harpies hated goblins, but Gloha was different. She was of course a goblin, but she was also a winged monster.

He reached Hardy's tall tree. Gloha could not clamp her feet on a branch the way a harpy could, so Hardy had made for her a fine and private nest, complete with a roof against die weather. Gloha! he called, hovering beside the nest.

In a moment the thatch door opened and a sleepy head poked out. What?

It is Cheiron. I must talk with you,

Oh. Of course. I will fly to ground. She was too polite to point out that it was still before dawn, the very awfullest time to woke a maiden from her slumber.

She stepped out onto the branch, pulling on her robe. She was a lovely little lady goblin with birdlike wings, now fifteen years old. Soon she would have to decide what kind of man to take up with; unfortunately there were no other flying goblins.

They flew to the ground, where Cheiron could stand firmly. Che has been abducted by goblins, he said abruptly. Do you know anything about it?

Her dainty hand went to her mouth. Oh, no, Cheiron! Are you sure?

I am sure he has been abducted, and the operation has the goblin stigma. We have search parties out, of course, but my concern is with the motive. It occurred to me that there might be some residual animosity because of the liaison of your parents and that this is an expression of it.

I know nothing of this, Cheiron, she said. But I will certainly find out! I will fly immediately to Glory's village and ask.

Thank you. Do you need a guard?

She considered. Ordinarily, no. But if this is the start of something serious, perhaps it is better.

Get on my back and I will take you mere.

She nodded. She flew to his back and settled down, as light as a bird. Then he leaped up and spread his great wings, forging into the sky.

As dawn came, they reached the goblin village. Gloha flew off to consult with the chief, while Cheiron planted his feet and waited alertly, on guard against treachery. If the war were being resumed, his trip here could even be part of the plot: to lure him down so that he, too, could be captured. But he had no fear of goblins; he could handle his bow and spear as well as any centaur could, and that meant that fifty goblins would die before he had to retreat.

Soon Gloha returned with the goblin chief. The man was gnarled and ugly in the manner of his kind, but his approach was not menacing. Perhaps this was because of Gloha, who by the dawn's early light was as gorgeous a goblin as this village was likely to see. Her wings, folded, formed a feather cloak covering her backside, so that a stranger would have to look two and a half times to realize that she was a crossbreed instead of a rich gobliness. Even a goblin chief tended to behave halfway politely when in the company of a creature like this.

We know nothing of this abduction, feather-snoot, the chief said halfway politely. Gloha was at your mating ceremony six years ago, and joined the pledge to protect your offspring. We don't give a clod of dung for you, horse-foot, or your flighty mare, but we don't want the Simurgh down on us, so we're leaving all winged man-faced horse-rears alone.

I appreciate your sincerity, clubfoot, Cheiron said in polite goblin protocol. But what about other goblin tribes?

The chief scowled. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many of them you can trust to leave your foal alone, hoof-nose. He held up one dark fist.

But Grandpa Gorbage, Gloha protested, you can't count!

That's not so! the chief retorted gruffly. I can count none-and that's how many tribes.

Agreed, Cheiron said. But there is no goblin wide conspiracy, or you would know about it?

Right, tail-brain. It's probably the Gobi in ate of the Golden Horde. They're closest to you, and worst. Even we don't like them.

Grandpa, you don't like any other tribes, Gloha said.

Right. But we don't like the horde even more than we don't like the others. They're mean gobs!

Cheiron knew of the horde. They certainly were the worst gobs. Princess Ivy had brushed with them more than once and dumped most of them into the Gap Chasm, but they regenerated like weeds and made trouble again. But though they were the most violent, they weren't the smartest of goblin tribes. Che had been abducted by smart goblins, with special magic.

Still, the news that there was no conspiracy was gratifying. That meant that it wasn't a land-air war in the making, but merely a foray by one tribe. He could deal with one tribe. Thank you for your news, chief, he said. I'm glad we have no present quarrel.

Well, if it wasn't for Gloha and the Simurgh, we'd have one, sweat-flank! the chief said defensively.