It had been over fourteen hours since Mike had lost his last bit of humanity, and completely transformed into a Belgian filly. Christine was certain that Mika the stableboy was human again, the wizard's revenge complete. Mike had transformed the stableboy who had gelded him when he was a stallion into a Belgian filly, and then as a centaur had mounted the former stableboy. At first she thought that Mike was becoming the same filly, but now she could see that he was a different filly. The stableboy had made a smaller, shorter, fatter filly. Mike was a taller, leaner version of a Belgian filly. His mane and tail seemed longer, and his coat shinier.
She had commented on this in a whisper to Brian. The poor elf was so dejected at his circumstance, he answered in monotone as a sleepwalker might, "Breeding will tell."
Perhaps because he was less adept at magic than she, thought Christine, the magic manacles bound his mind more too. The others all seemed to hopelessly accept their predicament, but Christine knew that if she could get free of the manacles her magic could free them all. To that end, she had contrived to stumble at the cross roads where a shiny object glistened in the sunlight. As she forced herself to stand, she palmed the shiny bent horseshoe nail that had lain on the road. Whenever the guards would look away, Christine would use her makeshift lock pick on the nonmagical locks that fastened her magic manacles. Once she was free, then...
They crested the hill, and the horror of Burytown spread out before them. It was like the scene in the Lord of the Rings trilogy where Saruman takes over the Shire. The sky over Burytown was filled with billowing black smoke. The landscape was barren and blighted where centuries old trees had been felled for the dark furnaces that blotted the landscape. Mike whinied and shied as the scent of roasting horseflesh wafted toward them from Burytown.
"She knows she's heading to the slaughterhouse, ha!" joked the Orc Leader. His crew joined in with the laughter, and rushed forward to help subdue the now rearing filly. It was Christine's chance.
First, the left then the right manacle locks clicked open, she pretended to stumble and fall again, concealing with her naked body and long hair, that her shackles were unfettered. In her hunched position, she made quick work of the crude leg irons locks. She was free.