Castle Roogna (23 page)

       The Zombie Master was there; in his distraction Dor had not been aware of his arrival. "Why did the men torment the spider?"

       "I am alien to this world," Jumper chittered. "I am a natural creature, but in my enchantment in this realm of men I become a thing of horror. Only these friends, who know me-" His cluttering ceased abruptly; he was unconscious.

       "A thing of horror, yet with sentience and courage," the Zombie Master murmured thoughtfully. He looked up. "I will care for this creature as long as he requires it. Egor, carry him to the guest chamber."

       The ogre picked Jumper up again and tromped away.

       "I wish there were some way to cure him faster," Dor said. "Some medicinal spell, like the healing elixir-" He snapped his fingers. "That's it! I know where there's a Healing Spring, within a day's journey of here!"

       Now he had the Magician's attention. "I could use such elixir in my art," the Zombie Master exclaimed. "I will help you fetch it, if you will share the precious fluid with me."

       "There's plenty," Dor agreed. "Only there's one catch. You can't act against the interest of the Healing Spring, or you forfeit its benefit."

       "A fair stipulation." The Zombie Master showed the way to an inner courtyard. A monstrous zombie bird roosted there.

       Dor stared. This was a roc! The largest of all birds, restored to pseudo-life by the talent of this Magician. The entire world of the dead was under the power of this man!

       "Carry this man where he will," the Zombie Master directed the roc. "Return him safely with his burden to this spot."

       "Uh, I'll need a jug or something-" Dor said.

       The Magician produced two jugs: one for each of them. Dor climbed onto the stinking back of the roc, anchored himself by grasping the rotting stubs of two great feathers, and tied the jugs with a length of Jumper's silk left over from his last dragline.

       The roc flapped its monstrous wings. The spread was so great, the tips touched the castle walls on either side of the courtyard. Grimy feathers flew wide, bits of meat sprayed off, and the bony substructure crackled alarmingly. But there was tremendous power remaining in this creature. A roc in its prime could carry an elephant-that was an imaginary creature the size of a small sphinx-and Dor weighed far less than that. So even this animated corpse could perform creditably enough.

       They lumbered into the air, barely clearing the castle roof. There were so many holes in the great wings that Dor marveled that they did not fall apart, let alone have sufficient leverage to make flight possible. But the spell of the Zombie Master was a wondrous thing; no zombie ever quite disintegrated, though all of them seemed perpetually on the verge of doing so.

       They looped above the castle. "Go east!" Dor cried.

       He hoped he knew the terrain well enough by air to locate the spot. He tried to visualize the tapestry to orient himself-was he actually flying above it now?-but this world was too real for that.

       Dor had only been to the Healing Spring once with his father Bink, who had needed elixir for some obscure adult purpose. On that trip Bink had reminisced about his adventures there: how he had met Dor's mother Chameleon, she being then in the guise of Dee, her normal phase, at such and such a spot, and how he had found the soldier Crombie at this other spot, wounded, and used the elixir to restore him to health. Dor and Bink had visited briefly with a dryad, a wood nymph associated with a particular tree, resembling a pretty girl of about Millie's present age. She had tousled Dor's hair and wished him well. Ah, yes, it had been a fine trip! But now, high in the air, Dor could not ask the objects of the ground where the Spring was, and there were no clouds close enough to hail-hail-call, that is, not hail-stone-and his memory seemed fallible.

       Then he spied a channel of especially healthy jungle, obviously benefiting from the flowing water from the Spring. "Down there," he cried. "At the head of that stream."

       The zombie roc dropped like a stone, righted itself, glided in for a landing, tilted a little, and clipped a tree with one far-reaching wing tip. Immediately the wing crumpled, and the roc's whole body swerved out of control. It was a crash landing that sent Dor tumbling from his perch.

       He picked himself up, bruised but intact. The roc was a wreck. Both wings had been broken; there was no way the creature could fly now. How was he to get back in time to do Jumper much good? If he walked, it would take him a day in the best of conditions; carrying two heavy jugs it would be longer. Assuming he didn't get snapped up by a tangle tree, dragon, or other monster along the way.

       He reconnoitered. They had missed the Spring, but there was a handsome tree nearby on the hillside. And-he recognized it. "Dryad!" he cried, running toward it. "Remember me, Dor?"

       There was no response. Suddenly he realized: this was eight hundred years earlier! The dryad would not remember him-in fact there probably was no dryad here yet, and this was probably not the same tree. Even if the time had been correct, the nymph still would hardly have recognized him in his present body. He had been boyishly foolish. Yet again.

       Disconsolately he trekked down the slope. Of course this was not the same tree! The real one had been some distance from the Spring, not right beside it. And an average tree of today would be an extraordinary tree by Dor's own time; even plants aged considerably in eight centuries. His hopes had really fouled up his thinking! He would have to find his own way out of this mess, without help from any dryad.

       Well, not entirely without help. "What is the best route out of here?" he asked the nearest stone.

       "Ride that roc bird out," the rock replied.

       "But the roc's wings are broken!"

       "So sprinkle it with some elixir, idiot!"

       Dor stopped dead in his tracks. So obvious! "I am an idiot!" he exclaimed.

       "That's what I said," the stone agreed smugly.

       Dor ran up to the roc, got his jugs, and ran to the Spring. "Mind if I take some of your elixir?" he inquired rhetorically.

       "Yes, I mind!" the Spring replied. "All you creatures come and steal my substance, that I labor so hard to enchant, and what recompense do I get for it?"

       "What recompense!" Dor retorted. "You demand the stiffest price of all!"

       "What are you talking about? I never made any demands!"

       Something was wrong. Then Dor caught on. Again, that eight-hundred-year factor. The Spring had not yet developed its compensatory enchantment. Well, maybe Dor could do it a favor. "Look, Spring, I intend to pay you for your substance. Give me these two jugs full of elixir, and I will tell you how to get fair recompense from all other takers."

       "Done!" the Spring cried.

       Dor dipped the jugs full, noting how the bruises vanished from his body as he touched the water. This was the Spring, all right! "All you need is a supplementary enchantment, requiring that anyone who benefits from your elixir cannot thereafter act against your interests. The more your water is used, the more your power will grow."

       "But suppose someone calls my bluff?"

       "It will be no bluff. You will take back your magic. It will be as if he never was healed by you."

       "Say, yes-I could do that!" the Spring said excitedly. "It would take a while, maybe a few centuries, to build that extra spell, but since it's just a refinement of the original magic, a termination clause as it were-yes, it will work. Oh, thank you, thank you, stranger!"

       "I told you I would repay you," Dor said, gratified. Then he thought of something else. "Uh-I'm only a visitor to this land, and what I do may fade out after I leave. So you'd better get right on that spell, so you don't lose it once I'm gone."

       "How long do I have?"

       Dor did a quick calculation. "Maybe ten days."

       "I'll fix it in my mind," the Spring said. "I'll memorize it so hard that nothing can shake it loose."

       "That's good," Dor said. "Farewell!"

       "I'm not a well, I'm a spring!" But it was a good-natured correction.

       "Maybe you're a wellspring," Dor suggested. "Because you make creatures well again."

       "Bye," the Spring said, dismissing him.

       Dor returned to the roc and sprinkled elixir from his jar on its wings. Immediately they healed; in fact, they were better than they had been. But they remained zombie wings, dead flesh. There were, after all, limits; the elixir could not restore the dead to life.

       Which was why he was on this quest. Only the Zombie Master could do what needed to be done. Meanwhile, he had to get back to Jumper soon, lest the spider also require restoration from the dead.

       Dor boarded, tied the jugs, and hung on. "Home, roc!" he cried.

       The roc taxied about to face the channel forged by its crash landing, worked its legs to accelerate, flapped its wings, and launched violently into the air. This takeoff was far more precipitous than the first one had been; it was all Dor could do to hang on. The elixir had given the wings new power. Fortunately there were a few droplets remaining on his hands, and these healed the feathers to which he clung. Now they were great long fluffy colorful puffs of plumage suitable for ladies' hats, easy to grasp.

       The roc wheeled in the sky, then stroked powerfully for the Zombie Master's castle. The landscape fairly whizzed by below. They reached their destination in half the time it had taken to make the outbound trip. No wonder the Magician wanted the elixir; his zombies would be twice as good now!

       But a new problem manifested. From above, Dor could see that the Mundanes had rallied, and now were laying siege to the castle. There were many of them; their whole advance army must have gathered for this effort. They evidently were not cowards; they had been panicked by the ferocity of the zombies' attack, but now they were angry at the three deaths and sought revenge. Also, they probably thought that any castle so well guarded must conceal enormous riches, so their greed had been invoked. In helping his friend Jumper, Dor had brought serious mischief to the Zombie Master. Dor was sure his father would have had more sense than that; it was yet another reminder of his own youth and inexperience and thoughtlessness. When, oh when, would he ever grow up and be adult?

       The roc dived, hawklike, banked, and plopped into place in the courtyard. The landing was heavy, for the bird's feet had not been healed; the sound carried throughout the castle.

       The Zombie Master and Millie rushed up. "You got it!" Millie cried, clapping her hands.

       "I got it," Dor agreed. He handed one jug to the Magician, keeping the other for himself. "Take me to Jumper."

       Millie guided him to the guest room. The big spider lay there, ichor leaking from his stumps. The variegated fur face on the back of his abdomen seemed to be making a grimace of distress. His eyes, always open, were filmed with pain. He was conscious again, but so weak he could chitter only faintly. "Good to see you again, friend! I fear the injuries have been too extensive. Legs can be regrown, but internal organs have been crushed too. I cannot-"

       "Yes you can, friend!" Dor cried. "Take that!" And he poured a liberal dose of elixir over Jumper's shuddering body.

       Like magic-unsurprisingly-the spider was whole again. As the liquid coursed over the fur-face, the green and white and black brightened until they shone. As it touched each stump, the legs sprouted out, long and hairy and strong. As it was absorbed, the internal organs were restored, and the body firmed out. In a moment there was no sign that Jumper had ever been injured.

       "It is amazing!" he chittered. "I did not even need to have my original legs returned! I have not felt so good since I was hatched! What is this medicine?"

       "Healing elixir," Dor explained. "I knew where there was a Spring of it-" He broke off, overcome by emotion. "Oh, Jumper! If you had died-" And he embraced the spider as well as he could, the tears once more overflowing his eyes. To hell with being adult!

       "I think it was worth the torture," Jumper chittered, one mandible moving against Dor's ear. "Watch I don't nip your antenna off."

       "Go ahead! I have plenty more healing elixir to use to grow a new ear!"

       "Besides which," Millie added, "human flesh tastes awful. Maybe even worse than goblin meat."

       The Zombie Master had followed them. "You are human, yet you hold this alien creature in such esteem you cry for him," he remarked.

       "And what's wrong with that?" Millie demanded.

       "Nothing," the Magician said wanly. "Absolutely nothing. No one ever cried for me."

       Even in the height of his relief, Dor perceived the meaning of the Zombie Master's words. The man had been alienated from his own kind by the nature of his magic, rendered a pariah. He identified with Jumper, another alien. That was why he had agreed to take care of Jumper. More than anything else, the Magician must want people to care for him the way Dor and Millie cared for Jumper.

       "Will you help King Roogna?" Dor asked, disengaging from his friend.

       "I do not indulge in politics," the Zombie Master said, the coldness returning.

       Because the King was no pariah. This Magician might assist those who showed him some human compassion, but King Roogna had not done that. "Would you at least come to meet the King, to talk with him? If you helped him, he would see that you received due honor-"

       "Honor by fiat? Never!"

       Dor found he could not argue with that. He would not have wanted that sort of honor either. If there were such a thing as dishonorable honor, that would be it. He had made another stupid error of approach, and squelched his chances-again. Some emissary he was proving to be!

       But there was another problem. "You know the Mundanes of the Fifth Wave are getting ready to attack this castle?"