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“All of you-shoot your ettqyu!” the Avar leader called as the magic aisle passed by him. “Vjg oqpuvgtu etg lwuy knnwukqpu!”

But his men hesitated, for two of their number had been stunned by something that was more than illusion. The cherry bombs did indeed detonate outside the ambience of magic; maybe there were, after all, such things in Mundania.

Amolde continued to turn, and the stones continued to betray the Avars. The lofted cherries commanded respect among the Avars that King Omen did not. The ogre’s bat prevented their arrows from scoring, and the Queen’s illusions kept them confused. For the flying dragon became a giant armored man with a flashing sword, and the man became a pouncing sphinx, and the sphinx became a swarm of green wasps. Thunder sounded about the dais, the illusion of sound, punctuating King Omen’s speech. Soon all the remaining Avars had been cowed or nullified.

“Now the enemy troops are gone,” King Omen said, his size increased subtly by illusion. “Loyal citizens of the Kingdom of Onesti need have no fear. Come before me; renew your allegiance.” Stars and streamers floated down around him.

Hesitantly, the castle personnel came forward. “They’re afraid of the images,” Grundy said.

The Queen nodded. Abruptly the monsters vanished, and the hall became a region of pastel lighting and gentle music-at least within the rotating aisle. Heartened, the people stepped up more boldly. “Is it really you, Your Majesty Good Omen?” an old retainer asked. “We thought you dead, and when the monsters came-“

“Hold!” a voice called from the archway nearest the castle’s main entrance.

All turned. There stood King Oary, just within the aisle. Dor realized the man must have ridden to Castle Ocna by another route, avoiding the path with the bridge out. Oary had figured out where Dor’s party was heading, had known it meant trouble, and hastened to deal with the situation before it got out of control. Oary had cunning and courage.

“There is the usurper!” King Omen cried. “Take him captive!”

But Oary was backed by another contingent of Avar mercenaries, brought with him from the other castle. The ordinary servitors could not readily approach him. He stood just at the fringe of the magic aisle, so that his words were translated; he had ascertained its width.

He could step out of it at any moment.

“Fools!” Oary cried, his voice resounding throughout the hall. “You are being deluded by illusion. Along to me and destroy these alien intruders.”

“Alien intruders!” King Omen cried, outraged. The stars exploded around him, and gloriously indignant music swelled in the background. “You, who drugged me and threw me into the dungeon and usurped my throne-you dare call me this?”

The people of the castle hesitated, looking from one King to another, uncertain where their loyalty should lie. Each King was imposing; Oary had taken time to garb himself in full regalia, his royal cloak, crown, and sword rendering his fat body elegant. King Omen was enhanced by Queen Iris’ magic to similar splendor. It was obviously hard for the ordinary people to choose between them, on the basis of appearance.