Roger Zelazny - Wizard World 1 - Changeling

...Gesturing frantically, Mark tried to inform him as to what had occurred. Suddenly, a dragon appeared above the skyline, Pol mounted upon its back, headed in their direction....

"...Oh, him," the shadowy figure at his side was saying. "He is a troublemaker. I cast him out long ago. He comes seeking to destroy you. Be strong. ..."

...Mark stared as the figure grew larger and larger, until finally it was crashing soundlessly, through the wall, reaching for him. Then there came a knocking sound, growing louder as it was repeated. Everything began to come apart about him, and he was falling....

He sat up in his bed, drenched with perspiration. The knocking continued. He rose and turned on the light, despite the fact that his left eye saw clearly. Throwing his robe about his shoulders, he moved to the door and opened it. The small man drew back, extending a piece of paper. "You asked to see this as soon as it came in, sir." He glanced at it and lowered it.

"We have Nora, and Pol got away with the magical device," he stated.

"Yes, sir. They're already in the air, bringing her here."

"Good. Notify the force at Rondoval that he may be on his way back there." He looked out, past his new flier, into the night. "I'd better check on the status of our mobilization. Return to duty."

"Yes, sir."

When he had finished dressing, he withdrew the photograph from his night table and stared at it for a time.

"We'll see," he said, "who falls."

Mouseglove was at the controls as they neared Rondoval.

"I don't see how you can seem so rested," he remarked, "after such a short nap. Mine didn't do me that much good--not after that damned shortcut of yours."

He looked about the messy cabin and wrinkled his nose.

"I seem to be drawing some sort of energy from the scepter," Pol answered. "It feels as though I have an extra heart or lung or both. That--"

A puff of smoke appeared above the battlements.

"What was that?" Mouseglove asked, as two more appeared.

"It almost seems as if it could be gunfire. Veer off. I don't want to take--" The ship shuddered, as if from a heavy blow, "--any chances," Pol finished, bracing himself and seizing the rod with his right hand.

A moment later they were falling, smoke coming into the cabin.

"Is it out of control?" Pol shouted,

"Not completely," Mouseglove replied, "but I can't pull it up. I'm trying to miss the rocks, at least. Maybe those trees over there ... Can you do anything?"

"I don't know."

Pol raised the scepter and strands were drawn to it through all the walls. To his eyes, it seemed again as if he sat at the center of an enormous, three-dimensional spiderweb. All of the strands began pulsing in time with the throbbing that rose in his wrist. The ship seemed to slow.

"We're going to miss the rocks!" Mouseglove shouted.

Perspiration sprang forth on Pol's brow. The lines between his eyes deepened.

"We're going to crash!"

A final burst of power fled from the scepter along the strands. Then there were treetops before them, upthrust branches reaching, then breaking. Abruptly, they came up against one which did not yield and they were pitched forward at the impact. The ship was torn open about them, but they were not aware of it.

Pol came awake with his hands tied behind him and did not open his eyes, as all his recent memories were immediately present within his throbbing head. He heard voices and smelled horses. There followed a sound of retreating hoofbeats. If whoever had shot at them had ridden down from the castle, the fact that they had not killed him immediately seemed to offer some sort of chance. He tested his bonds and found them very secure. He wondered how long he had been unconscious, and he wondered whether Mouseglove had survived the crash. And the scepter... Where was it?

He opened his eyes to the barest of slits and began turning his head, slowly.

He flinched, just slightly. But that was sufficient. He had not expected to see a centaur.

"Aha! You are awake!" cried the horse-man, who had apparently been scrutinizing him.

The well-muscled human torso towered above the sorrel horse-body, long, black hair pulled back from the dark-eyed, heavy-featured, masculine face and tied behind the head in something, Pol almost giggled, that he had once known as a pony tail.

"I am awake," he acknowledged, heaving himself toward a sitting position.

He succeeded on the second try. He saw Mouseglove lying on his side, hands similarly bound, still apparently unconscious, perhaps four meters away, beneath a large tree. The guitar case, apparently unscathed, rested against the tree's trunk. Pieces of wreckage lay between them, and when he looked upward, he saw the balance of the flier hanging like a giant, squashed fruit among the branches.

"Why have you tied us up?" he asked. "We've done nothing to you."

"Ha!" snorted his captor, executing a small prancing maneuver. "You call murder nothing?"

"In this case, yes," Pol replied, "since I've no idea what you are talking about."

The centaur stepped nearer, as if considering abusing him. Behind him, Pol saw Mouseglove stir. There seemed to be no other centaurs about, though the ground bore a great number of hoofmarks.

"Is it not possible that you could be mistaken?" Pol continued. "I know of no deaths hereabout--unless a piece of our ship fell on someone--"

"Liar," said the centaur, leaning forward and glaring directly into his eyes. "You came in your ships and slaughtered my people." He gestured toward the wreckage in the treetop. "You even kidnapped one of them. You deny this?"

The hoofs were darting and dancing uncomfortably near him as Pol shook his head.

"I do," he said, staring back, "but I would like to know more about what happened, if I'm to be blamed for it."

The centaur wheeled and paced away from him, kicking dust into his face. Pol shook his head, which had begun aching more severely, and he automatically called for healing strands to wrap it, as he had for his neck wound. They came and attached themselves to his brow, draining away some of the pain. He thought of his wrist then, but it was partly numbed by the pressure of the cord. He wondered whether he could manipulate strands in more complicated patterns without seeing what he was about, or whether there might be some other way to gain control over his captor.

"The others have gone to fetch a warrior to decide what to do with you," the centaur stated. "She may wish to talk about these things. I don't. It should not be long though. I believe that I hear them approaching now."

Pol listened but heard nothing. A purple strand settled near him, its farther end passing across the centaur's shoulder. He willed that it come into contact with his fingertips. It passed behind him, and shortly he felt a tingling in his left hand. His fingers twisted. There came a familiar sensation of power.

"Look at me," he said.

The centaur turned.

"What do you want?"

Pol caught his gaze with his own. From his left hand, he felt the power move.

"You are so tired that you are almost asleep on your feet," he said. "Now you are, but don't bother closing your eyes. You can hear only my voice."

The centaur's gaze grew distant. His breathing slowed. He began to sway.

"...But you can move about just as if you were awake, when I tell you to. My hands have been tied by mistake. Come over here and free them."

He rose to his feet and turned. The centaur came up behind him and began fumbling at the knots. Pol recalled seeing a knife at the creature's side.

"Cut the bonds," he ordered. "Quickly!"

A moment later, he was rubbing his wrists.

"Give me the knife."

He accepted the blade, crossed to where Mouseglove lay beneath the tree, watching him.