Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  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 So
rceress?"

  Squeeze.

  "Are the others in immediate danger?"

  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 belo
nging 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.