The Neverending Story (38 page)

“It won’t be easy,” said Ilwan, the blue djinn with the eagle beak. “All of us together are no match for those black devils. And even if you, my lord, and Atreyu and his luckdragon were to lead us into battle, it would take us too long to capture Horok Castle. The lives of the three knights are in Xayide’s hands. She will kill them the moment she finds out that we are attacking.”

“Then we mustn’t let her find out,” said Bastian. “We must take her by surprise.”

“How can we do that?” asked the four-quarter troll, putting forward his angry face, which was rather terrifying. “Xayide is crafty. I’m sure she has an answer for anything we can think up.”

“I agree,” said the prince of the gnomes. “There are too many of us. If we move on Horok Castle, she’s sure to know it. Even at night so large a troop movement can’t be kept secret. She has her spies.”

“Good,” said Bastian. “We’ll fool her with the help of her spies.”

“How can we do that, my lord?”

“The rest of you will start off in a different direction, to make her think we’ve given up trying to free the prisoners and we’re running away.”

“And what will become of the prisoners?”

“I’ll attend to that with Atreyu and Falkor.”

“Just the three of you?”

“Yes,” said Bastian. “That is, if Atreyu and Falkor agree to come with me. If not, I’ll go alone.”

The traveling companions looked at him with admiration. Those closest to him passed his words on to those further back in the crowd.

“My lord,” the blue djinn cried out, “regardless of whether you conquer or die, this will go down in the history of Fantastica.”

Bastian turned to Atreyu and Falkor. “Are you coming, or have you got some more of your suggestions?”

“We’re coming,” said Atreyu.

“In that case,” Bastian decreed, “the caravan must start moving while it’s still light. You must hurry—make it look as if you were in flight. We’ll wait here until dark. We’ll join you tomorrow morning—with the three knights or not at all. Go now.”

After taking a respectful leave of Bastian, the traveling companions started out. Bastian, Atreyu, and Falkor hid in a clump of orchid trees and waited for nightfall.

In the late afternoon a faint jangling was heard and five of the black giants approached the abandoned camp. They seemed to be all of black metal, even their faces were like iron masks, and their movements were strangely mechanical. All stopped at once, all looked in the direction where the caravan had gone. Then without a word, all marched off in step.

“My plan seems to be working,” Bastian whispered.

“There were only five,” said Atreyu. “Where are the others?”

“The five are sure to communicate with the rest,” said Bastian.

At length, when it was quite dark, Bastian, Atreyu, and Falkor crept from their hiding place, and Falkor rose soundlessly into the air with his two riders. Flying as low as possible over the orchid forest to avoid being seen, he headed in the direction they had taken that afternoon. The darkness was impenetrable, and they wondered how they would ever find the castle. But a few minutes later Horok appeared before them in a blaze of light. There seemed to be a lamp in every one of its thousand windows. Evidently Xayide wanted her castle to be seen. But that was only reasonable, for she was expecting Bastian’s visit—a different sort of visit, to be sure.

To be on the safe side, Falkor glided to the ground among the orchids, for his pearly-white scales would have reflected the glow of the castle.

Under cover of the trees they approached. Outside the gate, ten of the armored guards were on watch. And at each of the brightly lit windows stood one of them, black, motionless, and menacing.

Horok Castle was situated on a rise from which the orchid trees had been cleared. True enough, it was shaped like an enormous hand. Each finger was a tower, and the thumb was an oriel surmounted by yet another tower. The whole building was many stories high, and the windows were like glittering eyes looking out over the countryside. It was known with good reason as the Seeing Hand.

“The first thing we have to do,” Bastian whispered into Atreyu’s ear, “is locate the prisoners.”

Atreyu nodded and told Bastian to stay there with Falkor. Then he crawled soundlessly away. He was gone a long time.

When he returned, he reported: “I’ve been all around the castle. There’s only this one entrance, and it’s too well guarded. But I’ve discovered a skylight high up at the tip of the middle finger that seems to be unguarded. Falkor could easily take us up there, but we’d be seen. The prisoners are probably in the cellar. At any rate, I heard a long scream of pain that seemed to come from deep down.”

Bastian thought hard. Then he whispered: “I’ll try to reach that skylight. Meanwhile you and Falkor must keep the guards busy. Make them think we’re trying to get in by the gate. But don’t do any more. Don’t get into a fight. Keep them here as long as you can. Give me a few minutes’ time before you do anything.”

Atreyu pressed his friend’s hand in silence. Then Bastian took off his silver mantle and slipped away through the darkness. He had almost circled the castle when he heard Atreyu shouting:

“Attention! Bastian Balthazar Bux, the Savior of Fantastica, is here. He has come not to beg Xayide for mercy, but to give her a last chance to release the prisoners. If she sets them free, her miserable life will be spared!”

Looking around the corner of the castle, Bastian caught a glimpse of Atreyu, who had put on the silver mantle and coiled his blue-black hair into a kind of turban. To anyone who didn’t know the two boys very well there was a certain resemblance between them.

For a moment the armored giants seemed undecided. Then Bastian could hear in the distance the metallic stamping of their feet as they rushed at Atreyu. The shadows in the windows also began to move as the guards left their posts to see what was going on. And many more of the armored giants poured out through the gate. When the first had almost reached Atreyu, he slipped nimbly away and a moment later appeared over their heads, riding Falkor. The armored giants brandished their swords and leapt high in the air, but they couldn’t reach him.

Bastian started climbing the wall. Here and there he was helped by outcroppings and window ledges, but more often he had to hold fast with his fingertips. Higher and higher he climbed; once the jutting stone he had set his foot on crumbled away and left him hanging by one hand, but he pulled himself up, found a hold for his other hand, and kept climbing. When at last he reached the towers he made better progress, for they were so close together that he could push himself up by bracing himself between them.

At length he reached the skylight and slipped through. True enough, there was no guard in the tower room, heaven knows why. Opening a door, he came to a narrow winding staircase and started down. When he reached the floor below, he saw two black guards standing at a window watching the excitement outside. He managed to pass behind them without attracting their notice.

On he crept, down more stairways, through passages and corridors. One thing was certain. Those armored giants might have been great fighters, but they didn’t amount to much as guards.

At last the cold and the musty smell told him he was in the cellar. Luckily all the guards seemed to have raced upstairs in pursuit of the supposed Bastian Balthazar Bux. Torches along the walls lit the way for him. Lower and lower he went. He had the impression that there were as many floors below the ground as above. Finally he came to the bottommost cellar and soon found the dungeon where Hykrion, Hysbald, and Hydorn were languishing. It was a pitiful sight.

They were hanging by their wrists over what seemed to be a bottomless pit. The

long iron chains that held them were connected by way of overhead rollers with a winch, but the winch was fastened with a great padlock and couldn’t be budged. Bastian stood perplexed.

The three prisoners’ eyes were closed. They seemed to be asleep or unconscious. Then Hydorn the Enduring opened his left eye and sang out: “Hey, friends. Look who’s here!”

The others managed to open their eyes and a smile crossed their lips.

“We knew you wouldn’t leave us in the lurch!” cried Hydorn.

“How can I get you down?” Bastian asked. “The winch is locked.”

“Just take your sword and cut the chains,” said Hysbald.

“And drop us into the pit?” said Hykrion. “That’s not such a good idea.”

“Anyway,” said Bastian, “I can’t draw my sword. I can’t use Sikanda unless it jumps into my hand.”

“That’s the trouble with magic swords,” said Hydorn. “When you need them, they go on strike.”

“Hey!” Hysbald whispered. “The guards had the key to that winch. Where could they have put it?”

“I remember a loose stone,” said Hykrion. “But I couldn’t see very well while they were hoisting me up here.”

Bastian looked and looked. The light was dim and flickering, but after a while he discovered a stone flag that was not quite even with the rest. He lifted it cautiously, and there indeed was the key.

He opened the big padlock and removed it from the winch. Then slowly he began to turn. It creaked and groaned so loud that the armored giants must have heard it by then if they weren’t totally deaf. Even so, there was nothing to be gained by stopping. Bastian went on turning until the three knights were level with the floor, though still over the pit. Then, after swinging them to and fro until their feet touched the ground, he let them down. They stretched out exhausted and showed no inclination to move. Besides, they still had the heavy chains on their wrists.

Bastian had little time to think, for metallic steps came clanking down the stone stairs. The guards! Their armor glittered in the torchlight like the carapaces of giant insects. All with the same movement, they drew their swords and rushed at Bastian.

Then at last Sikanda leapt from the rusty sheath and into his hand. With the speed of lightning the blade attacked the first of the armored giants and hacked him to pieces before Bastian himself knew what was happening. It was then that he saw what the giants were made of. They were hollow shells of armor. There was nothing inside! He had no time to wonder what made them move.

Bastian was in a good position, for only one giant at a time could squeeze through the narrow doorway of the dungeon, and one at a time Sikanda chopped them to bits. Soon their remains lay piled up on the floor like enormous black eggshells. After some twenty of them had been disposed of, the rest withdrew, evidently in the hope of waylaying Bastian in a position more favorable to themselves.

Taking advantage of the breathing spell, Bastian let Sikanda cut the shackles from the knights’ wrists. Hykrion and Hydorn dragged themselves to their feet and tried to draw their swords, which strangely enough had not been taken away from them, but their hands were numb from the long hanging and refused to obey them. Hysbald, the most delicate of the three, wasn’t even able to stand by himself. His two friends had to hold him up.

“Never mind,” said Bastian. “Sikanda needs no help. Just stay behind me and don’t get in my way.”

They left the dungeon, slowly climbed the stairs, and came to a large hall. Suddenly all the torches went out. But Sikanda shone bright.

Again they heard the heavy metallic tread of many armored giants.

“Quick!” cried Bastian. “Back to the stairs! This is where I’m going to fight!”

He couldn’t see whether the three knights obeyed his order and there was no time to find out, because Sikanda was already dancing in his hand. The entire hall was ablaze with its sharp white light. The assailants managed to push Bastian back from the top of the stairs and to attack him from all sides, yet not one of their mighty blows touched him. Sikanda whirled around him so fast that it looked like hundreds of swords. And a few moments later he was surrounded by a heap of shattered black armor in which nothing stirred.

“Come on up!” Bastian cried to his companions.

The three knights stood gaping on the stairs. Hykrion’s moustache was trembling. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” he cried.

“Something to tell my grandchildren!” Hysbald stammered.

“The only trouble,” said Hydorn mournfully, “is that they won’t believe you.”

Bastian stood there with sword in hand, wondering what to do next. Suddenly it sprang back into its sheath.

“The danger seems to be over,” he said.

“At least the part that calls for a sword,” said Hydorn. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” said Bastian, “I want to make this Xayide’s acquaintance. I’ve got a bone to pick with her.”

After climbing several more flights of stairs, Bastian and the knights reached the ground floor, where Atreyu and Falkor were waiting for them in a kind of lobby.

“Well done, you two!” cried Bastian, slapping Atreyu on the back.

“What’s become of the armored giants?” asked Atreyu.

“Hollow shells!” said Bastian contemptuously. “Where’s Xayide?”

“Up in her magic throne room,” answered Atreyu.

“Come along,” said Bastian, taking the silver mantle which Atreyu held out to him. And all together, including Falkor, they climbed the broad stairway leading to the upper floors.

When Bastian, followed by his companions, entered the magic throne room, Xayide arose from her red-coral throne. She was wearing a long gown of violet silk, and her flaming red hair was coiled and braided into a fantastic edifice. Her face and her long, thin hands were as pale as marble. There was something strangely disturbing about her eyes. It took Bastian a few moments to figure out what it was—they were of different colors, one green, one red. She was trembling, evidently in fear of Bastian. He looked her straight in the face and she lowered her long lashes.