Free Question Quest by Piers Anthony

have to interview the Maenads, the wild women who roved its slopes? I feared I would, for it was not safe to assume that they had no magic other than blood lust. Then we were over the Ever-Glades, which stretched on forever, as it was their intent to lose anyone who ventured into them. It was wise never to underestimate the perversity of the inanimate. Finally we came to the coast, and flew beyond it to Centaur Isle.
    We landed in the central square of the main centaur city. An elder of the centaurs trotted out to meet us. He was a powerful figure of man and horse. “Part-breeds are not welcome here,” he said gruffly.
    “But I'm doing a survey,” I said.
    "We don't care what you're doing. Two of you are human and two of you are winged horses. You are all partbreeds, and we prefer to keep our isle pure. Please depart at your earliest convenience.”
    I was baffled by this attitude. The centaurs I had encountered on the mainland were reasonably sociable creatures if treated with respect. “I'm doing it for the King of Xanth,” I said. “He wants to know the magic talent of every person in the peninsula.”
    “Centaurs have no magic,” the centaur said coldly. I saw that I had inadvertently added insult to ignorance.
    Fortunately MareAnn had quicker wits than I. “We know that, sir. But we thought that there may be among you some inferior humans, and if we can survey them quickly, we can soon begone, and the King will be satisfied and no one will bother you again.”
    The elder turned an appraising eye on her. MareAnn smiled at him. I mentioned illusion: when she smiled, she seemed to become twice as pretty as she was. It is an effect I have since noticed in others, too: incidental magic, independent of their particular talents. Seated on the winged horse as she was, in that moment she rather resembled a fetching lady centaur. Had I been the object of that smile, I would have melted halfway into the ground. The elder was too haughty to go to that extreme, but he couldn't help softening somewhat at the edges. After all, he was part equine, and she had power over equines, making them want to do her will. “There are a few servants among us,” he conceded. “Very well: I shall assign Chrissy to guide you during your brief stay here.”
    Chrissy Centaur trotted up at the elder's signal. She was a lovely creature of about our own age, with hair that trailed back from her head and merged seamlessly with her mane. Her full bare breasts were impressive in the human manner, and her brown hide was nice in the equine manner. I could see that the winged horses were admiring her flanks in much the same manner I was admiring her forepart. Centaurs wore no unfunctional clothing, and they considered modesty unfunctional. “Hello,” she said shyly.
    “Hello,” MareAnn and I said together.
    “Show them our humans,” the elder said, and trotted off.
    “Oh, how nice to have someone visit our humans!” Chrissy said. “I'm sure they get lonely sometimes here.”
    Thus my survey commenced. The few men and women on the isle were indeed servants, and their talents were minimal: what are called the spot-on-a-wall variety. Some magic is truly potent, such as the ability to shatter a big rock into a thousand parts. Some is next to nothing, such as making a faint discoloration appear on a wall. Most human beings have magic, but few have strong magic, and the folk here were evidently the ones who had nothing better to do than serve centaurs. They cleaned out stalls and swept off roofs and did the other things that were beneath the dignity of centaurs, and seemed as satisfied as might be expected.
    But in the way of servants, they knew secret things, and one thing they said gave me a peculiar doubt. “You know, the centaurs say they have no magic,” a scullery maid confided when Chrissy Centaur was off rounding up another human. “But I think they do; they just won't admit it. They think that the possession of a magic talent is