Piers Anthony - Castle Roogna (Xanth Novels)

In the morning, early but not bright, they set off for Castle Roogna. It would have been easiest to have the roc carry them singly to the Castle, but two things argued against this. First, there was an army of about two hundred and fifty zombies to transport, and for this number marching seemed to be the only way. Second, the skies were now being patrolled by aerial sentinels, harbingers of the harpies. The roc, huge as it was, would be torn apart in midair by the vicious creatures, if they decided it was an enemy. As perhaps it was.

The Zombie Master had lived as a recluse so long that he was only vaguely familiar with the terrain, and Dor had not viewed the scenery with an eye to zombie travel when he rode in. The zombies tended to shuffle, and then: feet snagged on roots and vines, tripping them or even ripping off their feet. The majority were Mundane zombies, sounder of body than the older ones; but these were as yet inexperienced and prone to accidents. So it was necessary to scout ahead for a suitable route: one more or less level, avoiding dangerous magic, and reasonably direct.

Dor and Jumper did the scouting, with the man checking the lay of the ground and the spider reviewing the threats lurking in the trees. They worked together to flush out anything uncertain, to determine whether it should be ignored, eliminated, or avoided.

When they had determined a suitable portion of the route, they set magic markers along it for the zombie army to follow. All they had to do was stay well ahead, so that they had time to backtrack and change the route if necessary.

The wilderness of Xanth was not as sophisticated now as it would be in Dor's own time; the magic had not had as much time to achieve the devastating little refinements and variations that made unprotected paths so hazardous. But there was plenty of raw magic here, and no enchanted paths to follow. Overall, Dor judged the jungle to be as dangerous for him as anything he had known-if he allowed himself to get careless.

One of the first things they ran afoul of was dog fennel. The plants had evidently been taking a canine nap, noses tucked under tails, but woke ugly when Dor blundered into them. First they barked; then, gathering courage, they started nipping. Angered, Dor laid about him with his sword, clearing a circle. Then he suffered regret as the creatures yiped and whined, for they really were no threat to him. Each dog grew on a stem, rooted in the turf, and could not move beyond its tether. Its teeth were too small to do much harm.

Jumper had jumped right out of the pooch-patch, unnipped. The dogs were whimpering now, cowed by the sight of their dead packmates. It was a sad sight. Dor strode out of the patch, bared blade held warningly before him, feeling low. Why did he always react first and think last?

Yet an animal plant who bites strangers must suffer the consequence, Jumper cluttered consolingly. I fell among aphids once, and their ant-guardians attacked me and I was forced to kill a number of them before the rest gave over. Had they any wit, they would have realized that my presence was accidental. I had been fleeing a deadly wasp. Spiders prefer consuming flies, not aphids. Aphids are too sickly sweet.

I guess ants aren't very bright, Dor said, comforted by the analogy.

Correct. They have excellent inherent responses, and can function in societies far better than spiders can, but as individuals they tend to be rigid thinkers. What was good enough for their grand-ants remains sufficient for them.

Dor felt much better now. Somehow Jumper always came through, rescuing him from physical or intellectual mishap. You know, Jumper, when this quest is over, and we return to our own worlds

It will be a sad parting, Jumper chittered. Yet you have your life to pursue, and I have mine.

Yes, of course. But if we could somehow stay in touch

Dor broke off, for they had suddenly come upon the biggest fennel of them all. It was as massive as Dor himself, with a stem like a tree trunk, reaching its horned head down to graze in the nearby grass.

That more closely resembles a herbivorous animal, Jumper chittered. See, its teeth are grazers, not flesh renders.

Oh, a vegetable lamb, Dor said. A historical creature, extinct in our day. It grows wool to make blankets from. In my time we cultivate blanket trees directly.

But what happens when it grazes everything within its tether range? Jumper inquired.

I don't know. Dor saw that the grass had been mowed quite low in the disk the lamb could reach; little was left. Maybe that's why they became extinct.

They went on. The terrain was fairly even here; the zombies would have no problems. Dor set his markers as they went, certain this route would be all right. They approached a wooded section, the trees bearing large multicolored blooms whose fragrance was pleasant but not overwhelming. Be on guard against intoxicating fumes, Dor warned.

I doubt the same chemicals would intoxicate me, the spider chittered.

But the scents were innocent. Bees buzzed around the flowers, harvesting their pollen. Dor passed under the trees without molestation, and Jumper scrambled through them. Beyond the trees was an attractive glade.

There was a shapely young woman, brushing her hair, Oh, pardon me, Dor said. She smiled. You are a man!

Well

Are you lonely? She stepped forward. Jumper dropped down from the trees, a little to one side.

What Dor had first taken as clothing turned out on closer inspection to be overlapping green leaves, like the scales of a dragon. She was a soft, sweet-smelling creature, with a pretty face.

I-uh-we're just on our way to

I live for lonely men, she said, opening her arms to embrace him. Dor, uncertain what to do in this case, did nothing; therefore she succeeded in enfolding him. Her body was cool and firm, her lips sweet; they resembled the petals of roses. His body began to react, as it had with Millie; it wanted to

Friend, Jumper chittered, standing behind the green-leafed woman. Is this customary?

I-don't know, Dor admitted, as her lips reached hungrily for his.

I refer to the shape of the female, the spider chittered. It is very strange.

Maybe it was, to a spider! It-seems to be- Dor paused, for her lips had caught up to his. Oh, she was intriguing! To be a good shape, he concluded after a moment. Those breasts, that slim waist, those fleshy thighs

I hesitate to interrupt your ritual of greeting. But if you would examine her backside

Uh, sure. Her frontside was fully interesting enough, but he did not object to seeing the rest. His body well knew that an attractive woman was interesting from any side. Dor drew back a bit and gently turned the woman around.

From behind, she was hollow. Like a plaster cast made of some object, or a pottery bowl shaped on a rock. She was a mere solidified shell. She had no functioning internal organs at all, no guts. Cracks of light showed through the apertures where her eyes, nostrils, and mouth were in the front.

What are you? Dor demanded, turning her about again. From the front she remained extremely womanly.

I am a woodwife, she replied. I thought you knew. I comfort lonely men.

A facade covering absolute vacuity! A man who made love to such a creature

I-uh, guess I don't need that kind of comfort, Dor said.

Oh. She looked disappointed. Then she dissolved into vapor, and drifted away.