Bearing an Hourglass (24 page)

Sning’s face was not structured for smiling, but he tried. It would be some squeezing, in his present form! Then he nodded his huge head, once.

“You can lead us to the Enchanted Sword?”

Nod.

“Great! Go to it, then!”

Sning returned his head to the front and commenced motion. Now his coils undulated, so that Norton and Excelsia bobbled up and down as if on merry-go-round steeds—and sideways, too. At the bottom of a loop their feet dragged in the greensward, so Norton hefted his heels to the top of the coil and rode with his knees bent before him. Whatever magic kept him on seemed to have no trouble with that. But when Excelsia tried to lift her own feet higher, her voluminous skirt tended to fall away from her shapely legs, embarrassing her. Norton pretended not to notice; certainly she had no cause to be ashamed of flesh like that, however.

Sning coursed rapidly through the forest, field, and fen, and drew up at a large mud-puddle.

“This?” Norton asked, dismayed. “No shining, still, mysterious, deep water lake?”

Sning pointed his nose firmly at the puddle.

How far reality differed from myth! Norton resigned himself and dismounted. He approached the puddle. His feet sank squishily into its margin, and he worried that it
might be quicksand. “Wait!” he told himself. “I shouldn’t be afraid of sand! It’s the essence of the symbol of my office!”

“Office?” Excelsia inquired, perplexed.

“Never mind.” He brought out his Hourglass and waved it at the sand. Instantly his footing firmed. He put the Hourglass away again and trod on up to the marge of the puddle.

As his toes touched the obscure murk, there was a ripple in the center. Slowly an object pushed up. It was a weed-strewn, filthy old sword with a rusty blade.

Well, he was no King Arthur; he probably didn’t rate a first-class accommodation. Norton leaned forward and grasped the handle of the Sword. The thing seemed stuck, so he had to exert considerable force to lift it clear of the mud.

No wonder! The hand that had brought the weapon up did not let go. As Norton heaved, he drew forth not only the Sword but the mud-soaked little man holding it. The man was garbed in archaic clothing topped by a large, floppy hat. “Who’re you?” Norton asked, surprised, as he swung the Sword over land, dangling the man.

“I’m the Sword Elf, of course,” the man said grumpily. “You sure took your time rescuing me.”

“Was that what I was doing?”

“Sure,” the Elf said, brushing ineffectively at his coating of mud. “I only use the Sword as bait so someone will pull me out of that black hole.”

Myth was taking a further beating! “How long have you been in there?”

“Oh, a century or two. Hard to keep proper track of time in the dark. But they sure don’t make Heroes like they used to.”

“Are you telling me this Sword is a fake? That it’s not enchanted?”

“It’s enchanted, all right,” the Elf said. “Do you think anyone would bother with a fake sword?”

“This will slay the Evil Sorceress?”

“Sure. That’s what it’s for.”

“How is it against dragons?”

“Adequate. Dragons have counterspells, diminishing the effect. Of course, it helps if you know how to use a sword and how to tackle a dragon. The most devastatingly enchanted weapon in the world won’t do much in the hands of an ignoramus.”

“Good enough.” Norton was willing to take things at face value, since this seemed to be a face-value world. He would have to trust in the quality of the training Gawain had provided him and in the potency of the Sword’s enchantment. He walked back to Sning.

The Elf followed, mounting a third coil. It seemed Norton had picked up another companion.

“Well, let’s tackle the Evil Sorceress,” Norton said. There didn’t seem to be much else to do except carry on with the episode, and if he encountered something lethal—well, he would be returned to his mansion in Purgatory so that he could proceed with his job. But he was so constituted that he had to make an honest try to improve things here; he couldn’t simply quit.

Sning got under way, zooming across hill and dale and around mountain and moor. Norton enjoyed the scenery; this was indeed his type of exploration. “This be almost as good a ride as on a normal steed,” Excelsia confessed. She had found out how to tuck her skirt in around her bent knees so that nothing showed, unfortunately.

In due course the Evil Estate hove into view. On it stood a great old stone castle with a few window slits and tall, dark towers. Snow topped its lofty turrets, though the climate was pleasant enough at ground level. It was surrounded by giant, ugly trees. It looked like the bleakest and evilest of places.

They slid up to the ring of trees. Immediately a great, gnarled branch swung down menacingly. Norton swung his Sword up to intercept it—and the blade sliced through the wood as if it were soft cheese.

The tree made a groan as of bending in a cruel gale wind and whipped its stump away. Reddish sap dripped from the wound. Norton looked at the Sword with new
respect. Where the contact with the wood had cleaned away the mud and rust, the blade virtually gleamed. This was, indeed, an excellent weapon!

They slithered on past the trees without further challenge. “Serves ya right, woodhenge!” the Elf called back, and the trees shuddered woodenly with impotent rage.

But now they faced the gloomy Evil Castle itself. A chill draft seemed to issue from it. Norton wondered whether he really wanted to do this. By the look of it, this was no pleasant resort and no pleasant deed he had to perform. He might get trapped in there, unable either to complete or to terminate his mission, so he couldn’t return to Earth. Could the Alicorn really be worth it?

But already Sning was drawing up to the somber front portal. Then the snake shrank to his former size, forcing them to dismount. Norton put down his hand, and Sning slithered up and curled around his finger again. “We have to go inside?” Norton asked with resignation.

Squeeze.

“We can’t simply go around the castle and tackle the Dragon directly?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

Norton sighed. Probably there were guards in the castle who could riddle passers-by with arrows or spells. “I don’t much like this business.”

“But you are a Hero!” Excelsia protested brightly. “Onward and Upward!”

“Suppose the Evil Sorceress turns us all to slime?”

“She can’t do that while you hold the Enchanted Sword,” the Elf said. “First she must disarm you.”

That was good to know. Norton braced himself and led the way to the front portcullis.

It lifted as he approached. “Oh, it seems we’re expected,” he said. That did not encourage him.

He stepped forward—but Sning squeezed his finger twice, rapidly, and he paused. “A trap?”

Squeeze.

He glanced up at the gleaming spikes of the portcullis. “What goes up can come down, I’m sure.”

Squeeze.

“Very well. I’ll spring the trap.” He stepped up to the trough in the stone floor where the deadly iron spikes of the portcullis normally rested. Then he leaped across.

The spikes slammed down with horrible force. A cloud of rock dust billowed up. This was exactly what Norton had expected, but the sheer ferocity of it unnerved and angered him.

He turned and struck at the portcullis with his Sword, adrenaline giving him strength. Again the blade cut through as if touching only cooked noodles. In a moment he hacked out an opening, so the others could step through. Now more of his blade was clean and shining. His supposed Heroism was being recorded by the brilliance of the blade. The castle shuddered and groaned; its fangs had been cut.

They entered a dark and unpleasant hall. Light flickered from a guttering torch at the far end.

“Any more traps here?” Norton asked Sning.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Any immediate threat to life or limb?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

He decided to chance it. “Keep close together,” he told the others.

Excelsia and the Elf were happy to oblige. They crowded in so close to him that he worried about insufficient elbow room if he had to use the Sword. He didn’t want to cut any of his companions! On the other hand, Excelsia was an extremely attractive woman, pleasant to be this close to. Now that he had given up on Orlene, he was becoming more aware of that sort of thing—not that he had ever been
unaware
.

Then they heard the tromp, tromp, tromp of a giant. Damsel and Elf crowded in even closer. “Sning, are you
sure …?”

Squeeze.

The tromping came to the intersection of halls at the torch. Norton braced himself to face the giant—and saw nothing. The tromping continued toward them. No giant, just the noise of one.

No, not quite true. The boots of the giant were there. They were tromping along by themselves.

The three of them stared at the marching, empty boots. Was that footwear animated by magic or did it contain an invisible giant? It did make a difference. Mere shoes they could probably ignore, but an invisible giant was likely to be troublesome.

The boots halted immediately before them. The noise stopped. Now the boots looked exactly like discarded apparel.

Norton set himself and poked the point of his Sword toward the knee of the theoretical giant. He encountered no opposition. He sliced across the tops of both boots. Nothing. It seemed they were, after all, only boots.

He tucked the Sword in his belt and reached for a boot. He put his two hands on it and tried to pick it up. The thing would not budge; it was as if a giant did indeed have his foot in it.

Norton stood and turned back to the others. “I suppose—”

He was interrupted by a swift kick in the rear. He was boosted into the air and moved a yard down the hall. One of the boots had booted him!

He caught his balance and rubbed his bruised posterior. The Elf was trying without complete success to restrain a smirk, and even innocent Excelsia seemed amused. Norton himself didn’t happen to find it very funny, but realized that it would not profit him much to lose his temper. “Let’s just go around these.”

The Elf obliged, walking to the side. The boots came to life again, walking swiftly to get in front of the little man. The Elf stopped, not wanting to get kicked himself. Getting kicked oneself was never a laughing matter.

“Maybe if we jumped over,” Norton suggested.

“Sure,” the Elf agreed. “You first.”

Norton considered where he would get kicked if caught in the act of jumping over the boot and decided not to risk it.

Excelsia tried another approach. She walked to the
left, where no boot was. But suddenly a pair of giant gloves or gauntlets arrived, hovering in mid-air about head height. The right one closed in a fist before Excelsia’s face, then extended its massive forefinger and waggled it warningly. She emitted a frightened squeak and stepped back.

Now the boots were before the Elf, to the right, and the gloves before the Damsel, to the left. Norton strode up the center—and the right boot and left glove moved to close the gap. He, too, was blocked.

Well, at least it was clear what Sning had meant about there being no immediate threat or trap in the hall. The disembodied boots and gloves were neither—but they were effectively blocking progress. There would be no problem if the party simply retreated.

But retreat meant failure, and Norton had had enough of that. He became ornery. He drew his Sword again. “Out of my way, objects, or pay the penalty!”

Nothing moved. He stepped forward—and the right boot swung up in a kick. Norton sliced down with the Sword and cut it in half. The two fragments fell to the floor and lay there, twisting about like a dismembered reptile.

“Ooo,” Excelsia said with sympathetic horror. “You killed it!”

“I gave it fair warning,” Norton said. He stepped forward again and cut the fingers off the glove that grabbed for him. It, too, fell writhing to the floor. Excelsia twisted her own fair fingers as if afraid they would separate, but did not protest again. Even delicate Damsels had to yield to practicality on occasion.

The other boot and glove attacked. Norton got the boot, but the glove caught him in a stinging slap to the side of the head that sent him careening into a wall. The glove came at him again, forming a fist that aimed at his nose; this time he got the blade up, and the glove split itself against the Sword and plopped to the floor.

It took Norton a moment to recover his equilibrium, for that blow had had giant force! Next time he encountered something like this, he would act more ruthlessly.

“Ooo, you’re hurt!” Excelsia said, dabbing at his face with a dainty handkerchief. The dabbing did not do much good for his face, but her attention uplifted his spirit.

They proceeded on to the torch. As they reached it, Sning squeezed Norton’s finger three times: warning.

He paused. How he wished Sning could speak directly! “Danger, maybe,” he said.

Elf and Damsel looked around. “Where?” Excelsia asked.

Norton shrugged. “Sning warned me. There’s something.”

“Listen, Mac, we can’t dawdle here forever,” the Elf said.

“You dawdled for a century in that mud-puddle,” Norton pointed out. “What’s the hurry now?”

“A critter can build up a lot of impatience in a century,” the Elf said. “I’m going ahead.” He marched past the torch, into the cross-passage.

The torch flared monstrously, sending out blinding brilliance. Norton covered his eyes as he stumbled back, but the damage was done; for the moment he couldn’t see a thing.

Gradually his sight cleared. He looked about—and found himself alone in the passage. Excelsia and the Elf were gone.

Alarmed, he looked for them—but they remained lost. The fragments of the boots and gloves were gone, too. That gave him a notion. “Sning, am I in the same hall I was in before?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“I blundered into another passage while blinded?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“I got moved to a new passage, or got closed off from the other passage?”

Squeeze.

“By the action of the Evil Sorceress?”

Squeeze.

“Are the others in immediate danger?”