Bearing an Hourglass (25 page)

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Damn those indefinite answers! “Their safety—does it depend on what I do?”

Squeeze.

He was improving his touch! “Can I find them?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Not till I deal personally with the Sorceress?”

Squeeze.

That was what he had suspected. The Evil Sorceress had perceived him as the leader and had separated him from the others, and now intended to test him alone. Divide and conquer. If he prevailed, his companions would be safe; if he did not …

“Then I will deal with her immediately.”

Squeeze.

Norton strode ahead, past the torch, shielding his eyes as he did so, but this one did not flare up. However, as he entered this new hall he discovered a pack of half a dozen grotesque little monsters, gnarled goblin things. They charged.

The fastest one came at him first. It was globular in shape, with tiny legs and arms, its whole torso consisting of a ferocious face dominated by a huge mouth rimmed with inward-pointing teeth. No need to question the little monster’s intent; it would chomp a bite out of any anatomy it reached.

Norton pointed his Sword at it, and the monster gaped its maw to swallow the Sword point first. The blade slid right through the back of its head-body, slitting it into halves. Defeated, the thing puffed into bad-smelling smoke.

But already the next two monsters were on him. Norton slapped at one with the side of his blade, knocking it into the other. The second gaped its maw and took a bite out of the first. In a moment the two had become one—and Norton ran his Sword through that one. These things were easy enough to dispatch, but he was sure he would have been in painful trouble if either of them had gotten through to chomp him.

Soon he had polished off the remaining three, though one did take a piece out of his boot. He walked on down
the hall, turned a corner—and there were five more little monsters and a hovering glow. He dispatched the monsters as they came at him, then stood before the glow. What was this?

Squeeze.

“Safe to touch?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Safe to leave alone?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

So he reached out with his left hand, holding the Sword ready in his right, and touched the glow. It flickered—and became a round bed with a lovely woman draped on it. Her hair was shining silver, her eyes silver too, and so were her long nails. She wore a harem-style outfit that showed off precisely as much flesh as she wished it to, and it seemed she was generous in both anatomy and wish.

She gazed at him from beneath long silver lashes. “Well, now, Hero,” she said huskily, inhaling.

“Uh—I take it you are the Evil Sorceress?”

“The same,” she breathed. She had remarkable breath control.

“And I found you by capturing the glow?”

“Naturally.” She shifted her décolletage.

“You don’t seem so horrendous to me.”

“The legend was doubtless exaggerated.”

“But I must slay you, lest you turn me into slime?”

She nodded, sending a ripple through her flesh. “However, there is no need to rush it, Hero.” She shifted position on the bed, and more flesh showed.

Sning squeezed his finger warningly. Yes, he was supposed to slay her.

“Here, I will bare the target for you,” she said, shrugging partway out of her upper clothing, so that her front was exposed. “The point right here.” She touched a spot between her amazing breasts.

But how
could
he? This was no toothy little monster; this was a living, breathing (!) human being, lovely beyond belief, and he was no murderer.

SQUEEZE!

“I can’t,” Norton said, dropping the Sword.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” the Evil Sorceress murmured as the Sword clattered on the floor. “You are an innocent male fool.” She lifted one sleek arm, her forefinger coming to point at him.

Sning uncurled convulsively and sprang through the air to land on her outstretched hand. The little snake buried his tiny fangs in the Evil Sorceress’ finger.

“Oh, snot!” she exclaimed, jerking her finger aside as she felt the puncture. A silvery flash jumped from it, just missing Norton, and struck the ceiling. Immediately the ceiling turned to slime and began to drool down toward the floor.

“Oooh, you little creep!” she screamed at Sning. “I’ll bite your head off!” And she brought her hand to her mouth, where sharply pointed teeth now showed between the blood-red lips.

But Sning was already wriggling away. He dropped to the bed and thrashed toward Norton. The Evil Sorceress slammed her fist down at the little snake’s body and grabbed for him with her claws. She gouged out chunks of bedding, but Sning squiggled aside and off the bed, landing on the Sword. The Sorceress flopped on her front and grabbed for him again; the Sword glowed menacingly as her hand came near it, and she had to desist. She could not touch the Sword, so Sning was safe.

Already Sning’s poison was taking effect. Norton had understood that the little snake’s bite would not kill a human being, yet it seemed it was more potent against a truly evil person. The Evil Sorceress’ finger glowed red and swelled like a sausage. But the change in the rest of her was more striking.

Her lovely facial features melted into homely ones. Her breathtaking bare bosom became baggy, her stunning cleavage a wrinkled crevice. Her sleek arms and smooth-fleshed thighs became flabby limbs. Now, stripped of her enchantment, she was revealed as an ugly old crone.

Shocked, Norton watched as she died. This was almost
as bad as the dissolution of the Bem had been during his visit to the space opera of the globular cluster, far away. He marveled at the transformation from beauty to ugliness; how could he ever have found that thing attractive? Another part of him was more cerebral; why, he wondered, was it so much easier to watch an ugly old crone die than a lovely young woman? The two were separated only by age. He knew that goodness and evil could not be judged by appearance, yet his mind felt more comfortable now that he knew the Evil Sorceress was in reality ugly.

The transformation continued. After turning ugly, the Evil Sorceress began to melt. She dissolved into a puddle of slime, exactly as had the Bem.

Then the castle itself melted. Chunks of it dissolved and collapsed. Norton had to dodge a segment that fell from above. The walls thinned and sagged.

Hastily he scooped up Sning and the Enchanted Sword and scrambled to escape the developing ruin. Soon he was able to spot Excelsia and the Elf in their separate chamber; they had been hard pressed by the mouth-monsters, but had survived by diligent exercise of her stiletto and his active boots.

Norton forged across to join them. “Come on—we’ve got to get out of here before the whole thing falls on us!”

“About time you showed up!” the Elf grumped. They scrambled out,
dodging
the slimy chunks. As they made it to the greensward at the rear patio, the entire remainder of the castle fell in with a grotesque sucking sound.

“Ugh!” Excelsia exclaimed expressively.

“Good thing you slew the Evil Sorceress,” the Elf said. “I knew we were going to get slimed if she won.”

“I didn’t slay her, actually,” Norton confessed. “I lacked the nerve. Sning did it.”

The Damsel cocked her head at him. “You are no Hero?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But he’s an honest man,” the Elf said. “The Enchanted Sword goes for that kind, too, in a pinch.”

Unpersuaded, Excelsia turned away. Norton stood diminished in her eyes.

They continued into the estate. The land here was lovely, with pleasant little paths winding along among fruit trees. “Oh, let’s pause for refreshment!” Excelsia said, reaching for a bright red apple.

SQUEEZE, SQUEEZE!

Norton jumped across and dashed the apple from her hand. “Poison!” he cried.

Indeed, the moment the apple touched ground, it smoldered as if being eaten from inside by some horrible acid, then burst into flame. Excelsia stared at it, wide-eyed. “Yes, of course,” she agreed faintly. “Everything belonging to the Evil Sorceress would be poison to ordinary folk. So silly of me to forget.”

“What about the Alicorn?” Norton asked.

“Oh, he does not belong to her,” she said quickly. “He is her captive, not her creature.”

That seemed to make sense. They walked on through the poisonous orchard. Soon the terrain opened out into a circular valley whose center was a mound. On the mound was a palisade—an enclosure surrounded by a tight fence of sharpened stakes that hid whatever was inside. But Excelsia knew. “Therein—the Alicorn!” she breathed rapturously.

There was, however, a more immediate concern. From the far side of the mound galloped a horrendous red Dragon. This was one of the centipede variety; it had fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs and a long spiked tail, while black smoke snorted from its mouth.

Norton stepped forward. “This is my job,” he said. It wasn’t that he relished the prospect of doing battle with the Dragon; it was that he knew it was better to face the thing than to be run down from behind. Gawain had taught him that. “Never let a dragon see your rear,” the ghost had cautioned. “It will either toast it or take a bite out of it, or both.” Also, Norton was sure Excelsia would be easy and delectable prey for the Dragon, and he couldn’t permit her to be hurt. If he got killed here, he would be wafted back to Earth, unharmed—he had the word of the Father of Lies on that. But the Damsel had no such assurance.

The word of the Father of Lies. There was something about that notion that bothered him.

The Dragon swerved to meet him head-on. It was therefore a stupid creature; the smart ones were more careful, taking time to scout and sniff, for scarce was the man who braved such a monster without the benefit of some potent enchantment. All the background Gawain had drilled into him was coming to the fore now, and for the first time he really appreciated it. So much of dragon fighting was tactics! One had to grasp the nature of the beast and exploit its weaknesses; a man was smarter than a reptile, usually, and that could count.

The Dragon was indeed large, as the Damsel had warned him. Its mass was elephantine. It blew out a tongue of orange flame—and Norton jumped aside. Gawain had prepared him for this, too; fire-breathers always blasted first, hoping to toast their prey conveniently before coming within range of the prey’s defenses. This was virtually instinctive; they were not smart enough to reason it out. But they had to inhale deeply first—and so Norton had watched for the expansion of the torso and had moved the moment the contraction occurred. It was as if he had been in this business all his life, thanks to the ghost.

An instant after the fireshot, the Dragon was beside him, snapping at the spot where Norton had stood. Naturally Norton had dodged aside again, avoiding the teeth. It was amazing how easy it was. Of course, he had the benefit of much smaller mass, so could move much less predictably than the behemoth could. He knew what to do now; he rammed the point of the Sword into the monster’s passing ear. This was intended to penetrate to the creature’s token brain and kill it.

Unfortunately, Norton’s reflexes weren’t as good as his knowledge. He failed to allow sufficiently for the Dragon’s velocity, and the Sword struck behind the ear and sliced away several scales and severed a neck muscle or two. Blood gouted as the Sword jerked clear of the wound.

Pain-maddened, the Dragon braked all fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs and screeched to a halt. Norton knew
he was in for it; a careless man seldom got a chance for a second stroke. The Dragon whirled, becoming unconscionably agile for its mass, and brought its head about to snap at Norton’s tasty rear.

Norton whirled himself, slicing desperately at the Dragon’s nose. He scored, but not perfectly; the blade lopped off the tip. But that didn’t stop the creature, which thrust the bloody snout at him and knocked him down.

On his back, Norton made one more attempt. He whipped the Sword up to stab at the monster’s eye. This time his aim was good, for the Dragon was almost stationary. The point sank into the huge orb and found the tiny brain behind. One ordinary blade could not have done it, for the orb was surrounded by bony armor, but this one’s enchantment sliced through the bone.

The Dragon went crazy. Its brain wasn’t much, but it did need the thing to work its jaws and similar sundry tasks. It yanked its head up, blood jetting from the eye socket and splattering Norton. The great body threshed. Norton rolled out of the way. The creature flopped over onto its back and lay there, with all fourteen or sixteen pairs of legs twitching in the air. The Dragon was in its death throes—but its blind reflexes could still kill Norton.

“Oh, you’re so brave, after all!” Excelsia exclaimed, clapping her hands. She approached Norton, evidently thinking to embrace him; then she saw the gore on him and desisted, wrinkling her pert nose distastefully. “Couldn’t you have done it a little more neatly?” she asked plaintively.

Norton brushed himself off as well as he could and slid the blade of the Sword along the greensward to clean it. Now it shone more brightly than ever, and he wasn’t sure it was only the cleaning that accounted for this. It certainly was an excellent weapon.

“Well, one hurdle to go,” the Elf said briskly. “Let’s get on with it.”

Norton, battered, tired, and gunked with gore, would have preferred a rest break. Heroism wasn’t an ideal life!

The final challenge—the steed no one could tame! He
hoped the Damsel wasn’t headed for disappointment. Women liked horses—but a unicorn was no ordinary horse, and the Alicorn was no ordinary unicorn. This creature could be more dangerous than the Dragon.

They marched up the mound to the palisade. There was no gate in it; the wall of stakes formed a tight enclosure. Inside was grim silence.

“Sirrah, use your blade to open a gate,” Excelsia told Norton. “I shall not be barred from my steed!”

Norton put his hand on the hilt of the Sword, then hesitated. “A gate that let us in would also let the Alicorn out,” he said. “Maybe we should peek over the top first.”

“That’s using your noggin,” the Elf agreed. “In fact, let’s poke up a hat.”