Castle Roogna

by Piers Anthony

  "I'm scared as hell." But Dor remembered what the gorgon had said about courage: that it was a matter of doing what needed to be done despite fear. He was bleakly reassured. Maybe technically he would be a dead hero, instead of a dead coward. "If--if something happens, try to salvage some piece of me, and keep it with you. I think the return spell will orient on it, and carry you home when the time is up. I wouldn't want you to be trapped in this world."

  "It would not be doom," Jumper replied. "This world is a novel experience."

  More of an experience than Dor had bargained for! He took a breath, then slid into the cave's big mouth. The interior was not large enough to permit him to stand, as the throat constricted, but that did not mean the dragon was small. Dragons tended to be long and sinuous.

  The passage curved down and around, so black it was impossible to see. "Warn me of any drops, spikes, or other geographic hazards," Dor said.

  "There are none, other than the dragon," the wall replied. "That's more than enough."

  "I wish there were a little light," Dor muttered. "Too bad I gave away my wishing ring."

  The dragon growled from below. "You want light?" the wall translated. "I'll give you light!" And tongues of bright flame snaked up the passage.

  "Not that much!" Dor cried, cringing from the heat.

  The flames subsided. It was evident that the dragon understood human speech, and was not blasting him indiscriminately. That was both reassuring and alarming. If there was anything more dangerous than a dragon, it was an intelligent dragon. Yet of course the smartest dragon would be most likely to rise to leadership in the complex hierarchy of the wilderness. Provided it also possessed sufficient ferocity.

  Dor emerged at last in the stomach of the cave. This was the dragon's lair. The light waxed and waned, here, as the monster breathed and the flames washed out of his mouth. In the waxing the whole cave glittered, for of course the nest was made of diamonds. Not paltry ones like those of the small flying dragon Crunch the ogre had cowed; huge ones, befitting the status of the lord of the jungle. They refracted the light, reflected it, focused it, and broke it up into rainbow splays. Colors cascaded across the walls and ceiling, and bathed the dragon itself in re-reflected hues. Crunch the ogre would never beard this monster in his den!

  And the dragon himself: his scales were mirror-polished, iridescent, and as supple and overlapping as the best warrior's mail. The great front jaws were burnished brass tapering to needlepoints, and its snout was gold-plated. The eyes were like fall moons, their veins reminiscent of the contours of the green cheese there, and as the light changed the cheese changed flavor.

  "You're beautiful!" Dor exclaimed. "I've never seen such splendor!"

  "You damn me with faint praise," the dragon grumped.

  "Uh, yes, sir, I come to--"

  "What?" the dragon demanded through a blaze of fire.

  "Sir?"

  "That was the word."

  Dor had suspected it was. "Uh, sir, I--"

  "All right already. Now what does a Man-Magician want with the likes of me, a mere monster monarch?"

  "I come to, uh, make a deal. You know how it is not safe, uh, I mean expedient, for you to, uh, eat men, and--"

  The dragon snorted a snort of flame uncomfortably close to Dor's boots. "I eat what I eat! I am lord of the jungle."

  "Yes, sir, of course. But men are not of the jungle. When you eat too many of them, they start making, er, difficulties. They use special magic to--"

  "I don't care to talk about it!" This time the snort was pungent smoke.

  "Uh, yes. Sir. What I'm trying to say is that there are some men who need, er, eating. Mundane men from outside Xanth, who don't have magic. If you and your cohorts cared to, uh--"

  "I begin to absorb your drift," the dragon said. "If we were to indulge in some, shall we say, sport, your Magicians would not object? Your King Whats-his-name-?"

  "King Roogna. No, I don't believe he would object. This time. Provided you ate only Mundanes."

  "It is not always easy to tell at a glance whether a given man is native or Mundane. You all taste alike to us."

  Good point. "Well--we'll wear green sashes," Dor said, thinking of some bedspreads he had seen in the Zombie Master's castle. They could be torn into sashes. "It would be only in this region; don't go near Castle Roogna."

  "Castle Roogna is in the territory of my cousin, who can be touchy about infringements," the dragon said. "There is plenty to eat in this area. Those Mundanes are especially big and juicy. I understand. Is there a time limit?"

  "Uh, would two days be enough?"

  "More than enough. Shall we say it commences at dawn tomorrow?"

  "That's fine."

  "How can I be sure you speak for your King?"

  "Well, I--" Dor paused, uncertain. "I suppose it would be best to verify it. Do you have a swift messenger?"

  The dragon snapped his tail. It was out of sight, far down the bowels of the cave, but the report was authoritative. It was answered by a squawk, and in a moment a chickenlike bird fluttered into the main chamber. It was a woolly hen, with curly fleece instead of feathers. Dor knew little about this breed, except that it was shy, and could move quite rapidly.

  "Uh, yes," he said. "Uh, have you anything to write with?" He had certainly come unprepared.

  The dragon jetted smoke toward a wall. Dor looked. There was a niche. In the niche were several paper-shell pecans and an inkwood branch. "I have a secretary-bird," the dragon growled in explanation. "She likes to write to her cousin across the Gap. Then she carries the letter herself, because she trusts no one else to do it. Why she doesn't simply chatter out her gossip directly I don't know. But she's good at keeping track of things around here such as which monster needs a chomping and which a scorching, and when the next rainstorm is due, so I keep her on. She's across the Gap now; she'll set up an unholy squawk when she finds her stuff's been used, but go ahead and use it."

  Dor unfolded a length of paper from a shell, took a splinter of inkwood, and somewhat laboriously wrote: KING ROOGNA: PLEASE AUTHENTICATE PERMISSION FOR MONSTERS TO SLAY MUNDANES FOR TWO DAYS WITHOUT PENALTY. NECESSARY TO LIFT MUNDANE SIEGE OF CASTLE OF ZOMBIE MASTER, WHO WILL COME TO YOU THEREAFTER. ALL XANTH CITIZENS IN VICINITY TO WEAR GREEN SASHES TO DISTINGUISH THEM FROM MUNDANES. SIGNED, MAGICIAN DOR.

  He folded the note and gave it to the woolly hen. "Take this to the King, and return immediately with his answer."

  The bird took the note in her beak and took off. She was gone in a puff of wool dust, so quickly that he never saw her move.

  "I must admit this prospect pleases me," the dragon king remarked, idly stirring up a mound of diamonds with one glistening claw. "If it should fall through, I might recall how you disturbed my sleep. Don't count on your spider friend to draw you out; my flame would burn up his line instantly."

  The nature of the threat was absolutely clear to Dor. He felt like screaming and kicking his feet, certain that would relieve some tension; it always seemed to work for Millie. But he wore the guise of a man; he had to act like a man. "I was aware of the hazard when I committed myself to your lair."

  "You do not attempt to beg, or to threaten me with vague retribution," the dragon said. "I like that. The fact is, it is impolitic to toast Magicians, and I especially do not want to aggravate the Zombie Master. That roc of his has been scouring the area for bodies. I would not care to tangle with that big bird for esthetic reasons. So I do not intend to toast you--unless you attempt to do me mischief."

  "I thought that might be your attitude. Sir."

  The woolly hen returned in another cloud of dust, bearing another note. Dor took it and read it aloud: PERMISSION AUTHENTICATED. GO TO IT. SIGNED, THE KING.

  He showed it to the dragon.

  "That would seem to be it," the dragon said, puffing out a satisfied torus of smoke. "Hen, go out to my subjects and summon them for a rampage. Tell them to get their tails swinging or I'll burn them off. I will instruct them in one hour.
" He angled his snout toward Dor. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir."

  But Dor was wary. He remembered Magician Murphy's curse on Castle Roogna: anything that could go wrong, would. This message had related to that project Why hadn't the curse operated? This had been too easy.

  "You had better depart before my cohorts arrive," the dragon said. "Until I instruct them, they will consider you and the spider fair game."

  "Uh, I--" Then Dor had an idea. "Let me just check something, sir. A mere formality, but..." He addressed the paper he held. "Did you come from the King?"

  "I did," the paper replied.

  "And the message you bear really is his message?"

  "It is."

  "Your magic seems to endorse the message," the dragon said. "I am satisfied. Why question it?"

  "I'm just...cautious. I fear something could have gone wrong."

  The dragon considered. "Obviously you are not experienced with conspiracies and bureaucratic entanglements of the sort we encounter in the wilderness. Ask it which King."

  "Which King?" Dor repeated blankly.

  "The Goblin King," the paper answered.

  Dor exchanged a dismayed glance with the dragon. "The Goblin King! Not King Roogna?"

  "Not," the paper agreed.

  "That idiotic bird!" the dragon exploded, almost singeing Dor with his fiery breath. "You sent it to the King, without specifying which King, and the Goblin King must have been closer. I should have realized the response came too fast!"

  "And naturally the Goblin King sought to mess us up," Dor concluded. "Murphy's curse did operate. A misunderstanding was possible, so--"

  "Does this mean we have no deal?" the dragon inquired ominously through a ring of smoke.

  "It means our deal has not been authenticated by King Roogna," Dor said. "I'm sure the King would agree to it, but if we can't get a message through--"

  "Why would the Goblin King authenticate it? I have had some experience with goblins, and they are not nice creatures. They don't even taste good. Surely the goblins should be more pleased to foul up our deal than to facilitate it. The goblins have no love for men, and not much for dragons."

  "That is strange," Dor agreed. "He should have sent a note saying 'deal denied,' so we couldn't cooperate. Or else just held it without answering, so we would be stuck wailing."

  "Instead he gave exactly the response we wanted from the Human King, so we would not delay," the dragon said. He puffed some more smoke, thoughtfully. "What mischief would occur if beasts started slaying men in great numbers, without approval?"

  Dor considered that. "A great deal of mischief," he decided. "It would become a matter of principle. The King can't allow unauthorized slaying; he is opposed to anarchy. Such an act could possibly lead to war between the monsters and all the King's men."

  "Which could result in internecine slaughter, leaving the goblins dominant on land," the dragon concluded. "They already have considerable force. Those netherworld goblins are tough little brutes! I think your kind would have real trouble, were it not for the distraction the harpies pose to the goblins. The one thing those creatures do well is breed. There are now a great many of them."

  "Well, one man can slay five goblins," Dor said. "And one dragon can slay fifty. But there are more than that number per man or dragon."

  "Urn," Dor agreed pensively.

  "Do you know, I would have been fooled by that note, if you had not questioned the paper," the dragon remarked. "I do not like being fooled." This time it was not smoke but a ring of fire that he puffed. The thing wafted up the tunnel entrance, rotating, glimmering like a malignant eye.

  "Neither do I," Dor agreed, wishing he could puff fire.

  "Would your King have any objection if a few goblins got incidentally chomped during the rampage?"

  "I think not. But we'd better get another message to King Roogna."

  "While we allow the goblins to think they have fooled us into an act of interspecies war."

  Dor smiled grimly. "Have you another messenger--a more reliable one?"

  "I have other messengers--but let us use your talent this time. We shall send a diamond from my nest to your King, along with the paper; he must return the diamond with his spoken reply. No lesser man would give up such a jewel, and no other but you could make it speak."

  "Terrific!" Dor exclaimed. "It is hard to imagine any goblin faking that message! You are a genius!"

  "You praise me with faint damns," the dragon growled,

  It was almost dawn by the time Dor rejoined Jumper. Quickly they returned to the castle with their news.

  Millie and the Zombie Master greeted them with joyed relief. "You must be the first to have our news," the Magician said. "Millie the maid has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife."

  "So the commitment has been made," Jumper chittered.

  "Congratulations," Dor said, with highly mixed emotions. He was glad for the Zombie Master, who was a worthy Magician and a decent man. But what of himself?

  Millie made green sashes for them all, including the spider, who settled for an envelope covering his abdomen. Then she fed them a breakfast of hominy from another plant she had discovered in the courtyard. The Zombie Master had worked all night making new zombies from the corpses the roc had found, so that the castle defenses were back to full strength.

  The Zombie Master radiated a mood of restrained joy. He knew Millie would not live long, but at least he had snatched his meager share of paradise from what was available.

  Millie seemed less elated, yet hardly upset. It was evident that she liked the Magician, and liked the life he offered her, and was being practical--yet there was the restraint born of Dor's presence, and of his rejection of her. They all understood the situation, except for a couple of elements. Millie did not know how soon she would perish; neither Dor nor the Zombie Master knew how she would die, for she had never spoken of that to Dor in his own world. Also, none of them were certain how the coming campaign would turn out; maybe the aid of the zombies would not be enough to bring victory to King Roogna. Yet overall, Dor felt this was the best contentment they could achieve with what they had. He tried not to look at Millie's delightful figure, because his body was too apt to respond.

  I wish I were a man, he thought fiercely. As it was, how much difference was there between him and a zombie? His mind animated an otherwise largely defunct body. The Magician's magic animated the zombies. But of course zombies did not notice the figures of women. They had no interest in sex.

  Then what about Jonathan Zombie, in his own time? Why did he cleave to Millie, instead of resting quietly in some nice grave? If Millie's sex appeal did not turn him on, what else motivated him? Did some zombies, after all, get lonely?

  Well, if Dor got back to that world, and managed to restore Jonathan, he would inquire. There had to be something different about Jonathan, or Millie would have fled him centuries before, while she remained a ghost.

  So many little mysteries, once he got on that tack! Maybe what Dor needed was not more answers, but fewer questions.

  The Mundanes attacked again at dawn, this time rolling a huge wagon up to the moat. It had a projecting boom, tall enough to match the height of the outer wall and long enough to reach right across the moat. They could march their soldiers right across this to the castle! They must have worked all night, building it, and it was quite a threat.

  Then the monsters struck. The lord of the jungle had really produced! He led the charge, galumphing from the deepest forest with a horrendous roar and a belch of flame that enveloped the wooden tower. Behind him came a griffin, a wyvern, a four-footed whale, several carnivorous rabbits, a pair of trolls, a thunderbird, a sliver cat, a hippogriff, a satyr, a winged horse, three hoopsnakes, a pantheon, a firedrake, a monoceros, a double-headed eagle, a cyclops, a flight of barnacle geese, a chimera, and a number of creatures of less ordinary aspect that Dor could not identify in the rush. This seemed to be the age of monsters; in Dor's own day,
the dragons were more common and the others less so. Probably the fittest had survived the centuries better, and the dragons were the fittest of monsters, just as men were the fittest of humanoids and the tanglers were the fittest of predatory plants. Right now the Land of Xanth was still experimenting, producing many bizarre forms.

  The Mundanes were no cowards, however, and they outnumbered the assorted monsters. They formed a new battle array to meet this onslaught, swordsmen to the fore, archers behind. Dor, Millie, Jumper, and the Zombie Master watched from the ramparts with gratified amazement as the battle swirled around the castle, leaving them out of it. Now and then a flying monster buzzed them, but sheered off when it spied their green sashes. The Dragon King seemed to have excellent discipline in his army! Dor was glad once more that he had been brought up to understand the importance of cooperation; the monsters were an invaluable asset

  Yet was this not the result of his own action, rather than Millie's? Would it turn out to be invalid in the end? Millie had persuaded the Zombie Master to help King Roogna, so that was valid--but if this help could only arrive in time through Dor's agency, did it become invalid? It was so hard to know!

  Right now, however, all he could do was hope Murphy was mistaken, meanwhile enjoying the battle. The Dragon King completed his charge to the burning wooden wagon tower, and chomped the boom in half with a single rearing bite. There was nothing quite like a dragon in combat! The Mundane archers rained arrows upon the polished scales, but the missiles bounced away without visible effect. The swordsmen slashed at the armored hide, but only blunted their blades. The dragon swept his great glittering tail about, knocking men off their feet and piling them in a brutal tangle of arms and legs. He swung his snout around the other way, burning another swath. Dor was glad he was not out there himself, trying to fight that dragon. There were wild stories about single men slaying large dragons in fair combat, but that was folklore. The fact was no single man was a match for even a small dragon, and no twenty men could match a large one. Anyone who doubted this had just to watch an engagement like this one, where fifty armed men in battle formation could not even wound the King of Dragons.