He tried not to pry into what did not rightly concern him, but most people, including his own parents, normally stayed clear of him, without making any issue of it. The people who had traveled with him were different, for their separate reasons; when he thought about it, he appreciated it immensely. Even Irene, who professed to value her privacy, was not truly uncomfortable in Dor’s presence. She really didn’t have to make any great play for him; gratitude would haul him into her orbit any time she wished. He knew she was accustomed to lack of privacy because of the way her mother was, but still found it easier to get along with her than with other girls. Others got unduly upset when their clothing started telling Dor their secrets.
Dor glanced at the large round moon again. It was amazing how that orb stimulated his thoughts along such lines!
Meanwhile, the ground had answered: “None at all. Centaurs don’t do magic.”
Dor sighed. “I guess we’ll have to go in and brace him directly.”
They went in. Amolde had artifacts spread out all over a main table and was attaching tags to them and making notes. There were fragments of stone and crockery and rusted metal. “I wish the archaeologists would get these classified sooner,” he grumbled. “This table is not available by day, so I have to tag them at night.” Then he did a startled double take. “What are you doing here? The guest tour is over.”
Dor considered making a bald statement of purpose and decided against it. He needed to get to know the centaur a little better before broaching so delicate a subject. “I have an important matter to discuss with you. A, uh, private matter. So I didn’t bring it up during the tour.”
Amolde shrugged. “I have no inkling what the King of Xanth would want with me. Just keep your hands off the artifacts, and I will listen to what you have to impart. Mundane items are difficult to come by.”
“I’m sure they are,” Dor agreed. “We came here by air, riding the clouds, and almost went beyond the limit of magic. We were lucky we didn’t fall. Mundania is no place for the creatures of Xanth.”
“Oh?” the centaur said without much interest. “Did you see the southern island?”
“No. We weren’t that far south. We came down in sight of Centaur Isle.”
“There should have been plenty of magic. My raft was powered by a propulsion spell, and it never failed. I was needlessly concerned; evidently that island was Mundane historically, but is now magic.”
The centaur’s hands were busy affixing each tag neatly and making careful entries in a ledger. He evidently liked his work, tedious as it seemed, and was conscientious.
“I think we were north of it, but we certainly had trouble,” Dor said. “But there was a storm; that could have disrupted the magic.”
“Quite possible,” Amolde agreed. “Storms do seem to affect it.”
The centaur seemed sociable enough, now that they were not taking him away from his beloved work. But Dor still did not feel easy.
“Uh, the Elder Gerome mentioned a-some kind of pact the centaurs made with my kind, back at the beginning. Do you have artifacts from that time?”
“Indeed I do,” Amolde said, growing animated. “Bones, arrowheads, the hilt of an iron sword-the record is fragmentary, but documents the legend. The full truth may never be known, sadly, but we do have a fair notion.”
“Uh, if you’re interested-I’m a Magician. I make things talk. If you’d like to question one of those old artifacts-“
Now Amolde grew excited. “I had not thought of that! Magic is all right for you, of course. You’re only human. I pride myself on being reasonably realistic. Yes, I would like to question an artifact. Are you familiar with the legend of centaur origin?”
“No, not really,” Dor said, growing interested himself. “It would help me If I did know it; then I could ask the artifact more specific questions.”
“Back CBP 1800-that’s Circa Before Present one thousand, eight hundred years,” the archivist intoned reverently, “the first man and first horse-you are aware of the nature of that animal? Front of a sea horse merged with the rear of a centaur-“
“Yes, like a nightmare, only in the day,” Dor said.
“Exactly. These two, the first of each kind we know of, reached Xanth from Mundania. Xanth was already magic then; its magic seems to have existed for many thousands of years. The plants were already well evolved-you do know what I mean by evolution?”
“How nickelpedes developed from centipedes.”
“Um, yes. The way individual species change with the times. Ah, yes, the King always has a centaur tutor, so you would have been exposed to such material. Back then the dragons dominated the land-one might term it the Age of Reptiles-and there were no human hybrids and no dwarves, trolls, goblins, or elves. This man saw that the land was good. He was able and clever enough to stay clear of the more predatory plants and to balk the dragons; he was a warrior, with a bow, sword, spear, club, and the ability to use them, and a valiant spirit.
“But though he found Xanth delightful, he was lonely. He had, it seemed, fled his home tribe-we like to think he was an honorable man who had run afoul of an evil King-such things do happen in Mundania, we understand-and could not safely return there. Indeed, in time a detachment of other warriors came after him, intent on his murder. There is an opacity about the manner Mundanes may enter Xanth; normally people from the same Mundane subsociety may enter Xanth only if they are grouped together, not separately, but it seems these ones were, after all, able to follow-I don’t pretend to understand this, but perhaps it is a mere distortion of the legend-at any rate, they were less able than he and fell prey to the natural hazards of Xanth. All but two of them died-and these two, severely wounded, survived only because this first good man-we call him Alpha, for what reason the record does not divulge-rescued them from peril and put healing balm on their wounds. After that they declined to attack him any more; they owed life-debts to him, and swore friendship instead. There was a kind of honor in those days, and we have maintained it since.
“Now they were three men, with three fine mares they had salvaged. None of them could leave Xanth, for news of their betrayal had somehow spread, and enemies lurked just beyond the realm of magic. Or perhaps the Mundane culture had somehow become alien, one variant of the legend has reference to their attempt to return, and discovery of Babel-that they could no longer speak the language or comprehend the culture of the Mundanians. One of them had been a mercenary, a paid soldier, who it seemed spoke a different Mundanian dialect, but he spoke the same language as the others when they met in Xanth. We know this is a property of the magic of Xanth; all cultures and languages become one, including the written language; there is no language barrier between creatures of the same species. For whatever reason-I might wish that the legend was absolutely firm and clear, but must deal with a story line that fragments into mutually incompatible aspects, each of which has elements that are necessary to the continuation of the whole-a most intriguing riddle!-the three men and their mounts were safe, as long as they remained within the realm of magic they had come to understand and use so well-but they longed for the companionship of women of their kind. They wished to colonize the land, but could only live on.
“Then, exploring deep in new territory, they came upon a spring on a lovely offshore island, and all three drank deeply and watered their horses. They did not know it was a spring of love that would compel instant love with the first creature of the opposite sex spied after drinking. And so it happened that each man, in that critical moment, saw first his good mare-and each mare saw her master. And so it was that the species of the centaur began. This is another of the perplexing distinctions between Xanth and Mundania; in the latter Kingdom representatives of different species are unable to interbreed to produce offspring, while in Xanth it is a matter of course, though normally individuals are most attracted to their own species. The offspring of these unions, perceiving that their parents differed from themselves and that the masters were human beings who were possessed of the greater part of the intellect while the mares possessed the greater part of the strength, learned to respect each species for its special properties. The men taught their offspring all the skills they knew so well, both mental and physical, and commanded in return the right to govern this land of Xanth. In time the mares died, after foaling many times, and eventually the men died, too, leaving only the continuing species of centaur on the island. But the tradition remained, and when, centuries later, other men came, and women, too, the centaurs accorded them the dominance of the Kingdom. So it continues to the present day.”