Castle Roogna

  "Makes sense," Dor agreed. "Stay a short time, trying it out, having a good time--" He thought of the naiad who had tempted him, and of the other naiads in the water with their floating breasts. "Then get caught by the spell, and not remember what else you have to do." He shuddered, partly from the horror of it, and partly from the appeal of it.

  They continued on into the larger bushes, leaving their trail of markers. The fauns and nymphs would not tamper with the markers; they would not remember what they were for. Within a day or so the zombie army should pass this region. Dor judged that they had now marked over half the distance from the Zombie Master's castle to Castle Roogna. The worst was surely over, and by nightfall he and Jumper would be with the King with the good news.

  "These plants disturb me," Jumper chittered.

  "Me too. But they seem harmless, just strange."

  Jumper looked about, as he could do without moving his head or eyes. The direction of his vision was merely a matter of awareness, and Dor had become sensitive to the spider's mannerisms that signaled it. "There seems to be no better channel than this. The ground is level and clear, and there are no hostile creatures. Yet I distrust it."

  "The most promising paths are often the most dangerous. We should distrust this one because there are no hostile creatures," Dor pointed out.

  "Let me survey from another vantage, while you continue as if innocent," Jumper chittered. He jumped over a bush and disappeared.

  Dor walked on. He hardly had to pretend innocence! It was a good system they had. The spider was more agile and could not be caught by sudden drops, thanks to his dragline, while Dor had the solidity of his big Mundane body and the power of his sword. He would distract potential enemies while Jumper observed them from concealment. Any who attacked Dor might find themselves looped and hoisted on a line of silk.

  The bushes now rose taller than his head and seemed to crowd about, though they did not move. The true walking plants seemed not to have evolved in Xanth yet. Dor checked that carefully, however, since there were other ways to move than walking. Tangle trees, for example, snatching prey that passed; predaceous vines that wrapped around anyone foolish enough to touch them, or plants that simply uprooted themselves periodically to find better locations. But these particular plants were definitely stationary; it was his forward progress into their thickening midst that made them seem to swell and crowd closer. They were all so similar that it would be easy to get lost among them--but since he was leaving magic markers, he would not mislay his way, and could always retreat. And of course Jumper was watching.

  What would his venture have been like without Jumper? Dor shuddered to think of it. He was sure the big spider's presence was accidental, not planned or anticipated by Good Magician Humfrey when he arranged this quest. But without that coincidence, could Dor have survived even his first encounter with the goblins? Had he died here in the tapestry, what would have happened to his body back home? Maybe Humfrey had some way to rend the tapestry and reweave it, so that Dor's death would be eliminated and he could return safely--but even so, that would have been a humiliating failure. Far better to survive on his own--and Jumper had enabled him to do that. So far.

  Even more important was the maturity of perspective brought by the big arachnid. Dor was learning constantly from that. The juveniles of any species tended to be happy but careless, like the fauns and nymphs; it was easy to contemplate being locked into such innocence indefinitely. But the longer prospects showed this to be a nightmare. Dor was, as it were, emerging from faun stage to Jumper stage.

  He laughed, finding the mixed image funny. He imagined himself starting with little horns and hooves, then growing four more limbs and six more eyes to resemble the spider. Before this adventure he would not have understood such imagery at all!

  In the midst of his laugh, something chilling happened, causing him to choke it off. He looked around, but saw nothing. Only the plants, which were now half again as tall as he. What had happened to disturb him so? He hadn't quite caught it.

  He shrugged and walked on. After a moment, to demonstrate better his unconcern, and incidentally to make sure his exact location was known to Jumper--just in case!--he began to whistle. He was not a good whistler, but he could carry a fair tune.

  And the subtle thing happened again. Dor stopped in his footprints and looked again. Had he seen Jumper from the corner of his eye? No, he would have recognized his friend without even trying. How he wished for several extra eyes now! But to hell with caution; he had seen something, and he wanted to know what.

  There was nothing. The tall bushes merely sat there, basically mundane, their leaves rippling periodically in the breeze. At the base they were full, their foliage so dense that their trunks could hardly be seen. At the top they thinned, their leaves sparser and smaller, until at the apex they were bare. Some had the central stem projecting straight up for several feet, with several bare cross branches. A strange design, for a plant, but not a threatening one. Maybe they were sensors for the sun or wind, conveying information to the plant's main body. Many plants liked to know what was going on, for small changes in the weather could spell great changes in vegetable welfare.

  Dor gave it up. There was simply nothing here he could detect. He could ask one of the sticks that lay on the ground, of course. But again he balked at that. Something about the naivete of the fauns and nymphs made him resist that device. The fauns and nymphs depended foolishly on their ignorance, their mountain, trees, and lake--instead of on their own intelligence, alertness, and initiative. If he depended on his magic instead of his powers of observation and reasoning, he would never become the man he should be. He recalled how little King Trent used his transforming power; now that made some sense to him. Magic was always there as a last resort; it was the other qualities of existence that needed to be strengthened. So he held off, avoiding the easy way, determined to solve this one himself.

  Maybe what he sought was invisible. In his own day there were said to be invisible giants, though no one had ever seen one. How could they? He chuckled.

  Again it happened, as if triggered by his noise. And this time he caught it. The top of one of the plants had moved! Not swaying in the wind; it had moved. It had turned deliberately, rotating on its trunk--axle to orient on him.

  Dor considered this. He took several steps forward, whistling, watching--and the antenna swiveled to follow his progress. No doubt about it now. The thing was focusing on him.

  Well, plants were also wise to keep track of mobile creatures, for the approach of monster or man could signal instant destruction--especially if it were a salamander in a bad mood, or a man looking for wood to build a house. What better way to keep informed than a rotary antenna! So this was probably harmless. Dor had been concerned because he had seen the movement without an object. He had been thinking in terms of animals or tangle trees, not simple wooden rotation.

  He walked on with renewed confidence, still whistling. More of the antenna-plants were evident now; this seemed to be the mature stage of the bush. The little ones at the fringe had no antennae; the medium ones had antennae but couldn't rotate them; the grown ones were fully operative.

  Just so long as they did nothing but watch...Assuming they could watch without eyes. Probably they could; Dor knew there were other senses than man's, some just as effective. Maybe the plants resonated to sounds, hence reacted to his laughter, which must seem strange indeed to them. Or to the heat of his body. Or the smell of his sweat. How would they react to the zombies? He smiled privately; the zombies might make quite a stir wherever they passed!

  The forest--for such it had become--opened into a grassy glade. In the center there was a depression, and there was a mound in it. The mound appeared to be made of wood, yet had no branches or leaves. What was it?

  The antenna-trees merely looked; they did not act. That would not protect this forest from threats unless there was something else. Something that could act, once the trees had pinpointed the threat. Co
uld this be an action device?

  Dor would ordinarily have left it alone, for it could be folly to mess with things not understood. But he was scouting a path for the zombie army, and he did not want to lead it into some devious trap. Probably this growth was harmless, as it seemed to be immobile. But he had to be sure.

  He was not so foolish as to step on it, of course. He cast about for deadwood, found an old dry branch, and used it to poke the object. He could just reach it, this way, standing on the rim of the depression. He would not have been surprised if water poured forth in a fountain, filling the bowl, or if the knob had sunk into an awesome hole. This whole woods could be carnivorous, luring animals to the center, dumping them into its maw--

  But nothing happened. His speculations had been foolish. Why should trees go to so much trouble, when it was so much easier simply to grab passing prey, as tanglers did, or to repel intrusions by brambles or forget spells or bad odors? There had been no lure, either; he had come here only because he needed a good route through.

  Well, whatever it was did seem to be inert, therefore probably harmless. The zombies could pass safely. Dor turned about and saw Jumper.

  "There seems to be no threat," Jumper chittered. "Have you determined the nature of this formation?"

  Dor froze. The spider had come up quietly behind him, sneaking up, intent on mischief. Only by chance had Dor turned in time. Now the sinister creature was pretending to be innocuous, until he could get close enough to bite off Dor's head with his gruesome chelicerae.

  "Is there something the matter?" Jumper chittered, his ugly huge green front orbs glinting evilly. "You look unwell. May I rendder assistance?" And the monster took a step toward Dor with his hairy long legs. Dor whipped out his sword. "Back, traitor!" he cried. "Come not near me!"

  The spider stepped artfully back, as if confused, only far enough to remain beyond slash range. "Friend, what is the meaning of this? I seek only to help."

  Goaded beyond endurance by the thing's duplicity, Dor lunged. The sword sped forward with a precision that would have been unattainable by his own body. But the hairy arachnid jumped right over his head, out of the way.

  Dor whirled. Jumper had landed on the wooden knob. Even in his righteous rage, Dor had some caution; he did not wish to step into that mysterious depression. So he stood at the rim, on guard, watching the enemy spider.

  Jumper's attitude had changed. He balanced neatly on six legs, his long front two legs stroking the air softly. Dor recognized this as a fighting stance. "So you attack me without provocation?" the creature demanded, and there was a harsh edge to his chitter. "I should have known better than to trust an alien thing."

  The stick Dor had used to poke the knob lay at his feet. He picked it up awkwardly with his left hand, keeping his sword ready with his right. "You were the one who betrayed trust!" he cried, poking at the spider.

  It was a tactical mistake. Jumper threw a line around the end of the pole and jerked it to him. Dor was almost hauled into the depression before he let go. He staggered back.

  The spider seized his opening. He jumped across the depression, landing beside Dor. He threw another loop, catching Dor's sword arm, drawing him off balance. But Dor reacted with the fighting reflexes of his powerful body. He jerked the arm back. Such was the strength and weight of his body that it was the gross arachnid who was now hauled off balance. No single leg of the spider's could match Dor's arm; the muscle tissue simply wasn't there. Jumper came forward, not falling because it was just about impossible for a thing with eight legs to fall, but lurching toward Dor. Dor reversed his motion and slashed viciously with his sword.

  The spider shot straight up, barely avoiding the cut. There was no overhanging branch here, so what went up had to come down. Dor stood below with his point straight up, waiting for the spider to skewer himself on it.

  But he had reckoned without the creature's monstrous agility. Jumper landed on the sword--feet first, all eight of them closing about the tip of the blade, supporting him. His weight carried blade and arm down, and Dor collapsed under it. Immediately the spider's sickening strands of web were all about him, entangling him.

  Dor closed his left fist and rammed it into the spider's soft abdomen. The flesh gave way disgustingly, and strands of silk stretched and snapped. Then Dor put both hands on the sword and hauled it up, half-carrying the spider with it. He kicked with one foot to dislodge his antagonist--but this was another error. The spider looped that leg, drew his line in tight, and Dor had two hands and the leg tied together. Those spindly spider legs were savagely swift!

  Dor fell on his back, fighting to free his limbs. But now the spider was all over him, throwing strand after strand around him, drawing them in tight. Dor heaved mightily, snapping more strands, but his strength was giving out. Soon he was hopelessly bound.

  The monster brought his head close to Dor's head. The horrible hairy green chelicerae parted, ready to crush Dor's helpless face into a pulp. The sharp fangs were extended. The two largest green front eyes glared.

  Dor screamed and kicked his bound feet and flung his head about as uselessly as Millie ever had. How had he come to this? Yet even in this moment of annihilation he retained some human perspective. "Why did you ever pretend to be my friend?" he demanded.

  Jumper folded his jaws closed. "That is an excellent question," he chittered. Then he backed off, adjusted his lines, and dragged Dor over the ground toward a large tree. The antenna at the tree's top rotated to cover him, but could do nothing. The spider jumped to a stout branch, fastened a line, then hauled Dor laboriously into the air to dangle helplessly. Then he descended his own dragline to land beside Dor.

  "The answer is, I did not pretend to be your friend," Jumper chittered. "I made a truce with you and treated you fairly, believing that you would honor that truce in the same fashion I did. Then, suddenly, without warning, you attacked me with your sword, and I had to defend myself. You were the one who pretended."

  "I did not!" Dor cried, struggling vainly against his bonds. "You sneaked up on me!"

  "I suppose it could be interpreted that way. But you attacked me, not I you."

  "You jumped right at me, snagging my sword. That was an attack!"

  "That was after you took your blade to me, and prodded me with the stick. Then I recognized your hostile nature, and took appropriate action." But the spider paused, considering. "I felt no hostility to you until that moment. Why should a stick provoke me when a sword did not?"

  "Don't you understand your own alien nature?" Dor demanded.

  "Something incomplete here. When did you become antagonistic toward me?"

  "When you tried to sneak up on me and kill me, of course!"

  "And when did that happen?"

  "What fool game are you trying to play?" Dor demanded. "You know I was looking at the wooden knob."

  "The wooden knob," the spider repeated thoughtfully. "My own realization of antipathy came when I landed on that knob. Can that be coincidence?"

  "Who cares!" Dor cried. "You sneaked up on me first!"

  "Consider: you poked that knob; you touched it, indirectly, and became hostile to me. Then I touched it and became hostile to you. That knob must have something to do with it."

  The logic began to penetrate Dor's emotion. He had poked the knob, just before...what happened. He knew the spider was his enemy, yet--

  "Magic can do many things," Jumper continued. "Can it change friendship to enmity?"

  "It can make strangers love each other," Dor said unwillingly. "I suppose it could do the opposite."

  "The antenna-plants were tracking our approach. Had we been hostile to this forest, how would it have defended itself?"

  "It would have thrown some spell, of course, since the trees aren't active the way tanglers are. Make us fall asleep, or get itchy, or something."

  "Or get angry with each other?"

  "Yes, that too. Anything is possible-" Dor paused. "Our fight--a spell?"

  "The antennae o
bserved us. Had we passed through without stopping, perhaps nothing would have happened. But we remained too long, poking into things--so the forest struck back. Setting us against each other. Reversing our feeling for each other. Would that not be an excellent defense?"

  "Reversing emotion! That would mean the stronger the friendship, the worse the--"

  "I am extremely angry with you," Jumper chittered.

  "I am absolutely furious with you."

  "Are we both as angry as it is possible to be? That would indicate a very strong friendship."

  "Yes!" Dor cried, and it was as if a band about his heart had burst. "This spell--it could set whole armies against each other!" he exclaimed, seeing it. "The moment anyone jogs the knob, he activates it." The logic had now penetrated to his core; he had no further doubt they were the victims of a malignant spell. His hate for his friend was dissipating. It simply was not reasonable in the circumstance. Jumper's approach had not really been sneaky; the spider normally moved silently, and Dor's attention had been taken by the knob. Dor had assumed Jumper was his enemy for no good reason--except enchantment.

  "May I release you now?" Jumper chittered.

  "Yes. I realize what happened. It was a temporary spell, losing power with time."

  "Reason abates much magic," Jumper agreed. He swung across, and with a few deft motions freed Dor. "I regret this happened," he chittered.

  "So do I! Oh, I'm sorry, Jumper! I should have realized--"

  "I was caught too. Emotion overcame reason--almost."

  "But tell me--why didn't you bite my head off? I thought you were about to."

  "The temptation was great. But one does not ordinarily kill a defenseless enemy unless one is hungry. One stores the meat alive until needed. And I do not like the taste of your type of flesh. So it was counter to logic to slay you, and that bothered me. I prefer to be governed by logic. I try to understand the complete situation, to achieve perspective at all times. To get all eight eyes on it, as we arachnids chitter."