rounding a curve in me path, Dor glanced back-and saw a giant, pretty spider, of the kind that ranged about rather than forming a web. The decorations on its body resembled a greenish face, and it had eight eyes of different sizes.
“Jumper!” he exclaimed-then stifled himself. Jumper had died of old age years ago. He had been Dor’s closest friend, when the two had seemed to be the same size within the historical tapestry of Castle Roogna, but their worlds were different. The spider’s descendants remained by the tapestry, and Dor could talk to them if he arranged for translation, but it wasn’t the same. They seemed like interlopers, taking the place of his marvelous friend. Now he saw Jumper himself.
But of course it was only a resurrection, not the real friend. As Dor reminded himself of that, the image reduced to the standing soldier. How Dor wished it could have been genuine! This new separation, albeit from a phantom, was painfully poignant.
“So the fern resurrects precious memories,” Grundy said as they got clear. “The person looking sees what is deepest-etched in his experience. He really should know better.”
“Oh, what do you know about it?” Irene said irritably. “It’s an awful thing to do to a person, even a Mundane.”
“You looked back, too?” Dor asked.
“I saw my father. I know he isn’t dead, but I saw him.” She sounded choked. “What a torment it would have been if that were all I would ever see of him.”
“We’ll soon find him,” Dor said encouragingly. This, too, he found he liked about her-her human feeling and loyalty to her father, who had always been a large figure in Dor’s own life.
She flashed him a grateful smile in the moonlight. Dor understood her mood; his vision of his long-gone friend had wrenched his emotion. How much worse had it been for the Mundanes, who lacked knowledge of the mechanism? It was indeed a dastardly thing they had done; perhaps the violence of ogre and sword would have been gentler.
Soon, however, they heard the commotion of pursuit. The resurrection fern had perished, or at least had become inactive after the magic aisle left it; there would be no more visions there. The stories of the three affected soldiers would spread alarm, but there would also be many who still followed their orders to capture Dor’s party.
They stepped from the path, hiding in the brush-and the troops rushed on past. A snatch of their dialogue Rung out: “. . . Khazars coming . . .”
It seemed the golem’s information had been taken to heart!
“I think they’ve forgotten us,” Irene said as they stepped back on the path. “The resurrections gave them other things to think about. Now they aren’t even looking for us. So maybe we can travel to Ocna safely.”
“It was a good move we made, strategically,” Dor said. “A dirty one, perhaps, and I wouldn’t want to do it again, but effective.”
“First we must pass Castle Onesti,” Amolde reminded them.
They got past Onesti by following the directions the path gave.
There was a detour around that castle, for peasants had fields to attend to, wood to fetch, and hunting to do well beyond the castle, and the immediate environs were forbidding.
This path angled down below the clifflike western face of the peak the castle stood on, wending its way curvaceously through pastures and forest and slope. Several parties of soldiers passed them, but were easily avoided. It seemed these people took the Khazars seriously!
Beyond the castle the way grew more difficult. This was truly mountainous country, and there was a high pass between the two redoubts. Dor and the ethers were not yet fully rested from their arduous climb to Onesti of a day or so ago; now the stiffness of muscles was aggravated. But the path assured them there was no better route. Perhaps that was its conceit-but they had no ready alterative. So they hauled themselves up and up, until near midnight they came to the highest pass. It was a narrow gap between jags.
It was guarded by a select detachment of soldiers. They could not conveniently circle around it, and knew the soldiers would not let them through unchallenged.
“What now?” Irene asked, too tired even to be properly irritable.
“Maybe I can distract them,” Dor said. “If I succeed, the rest of you hurry through the pass.”
They worked their way as close to the pass as they could without being discovered. Amolde oriented himself so that the magic aisle was where they needed it. Then Dor concentrated, causing the objects to break into speech.
“Ready, Khazars?” an outcropping, of rock cried.
“Ready!” came a chorused response from several loose rocks.
“Sneak up close before firing your arrows,” the outcropping directed. “We want to get them all on the first volley.”
“Save some for our boulder!” the upper face of the cleft called. “We have a perfect drop here!”
The Onesti soldiers, at first uneasy, abruptly vacated the cleft, glancing nervously up at the crags. It seemed impossible for anyone to have a boulder up there, but the voice had certainly been convincing. They charged the rocks, swords drawn. “Move out!” Dor cried.
Amolde and Grundy charged for the pass. Smash and Irene hesitated. “Go on!” Dor snapped. “Get through before the magic ends!”
“But what about you?” Irene asked.
Dor concentrated. “Retreat, men!” the outcropping cried.
“They’re on to us!” There was the sound of scrambling from the rocks.
“I’m not going without you!” Irene said.
“I’ve got to keep them distracted until the rest of you safely clear the pass!” Dor cried, exasperated.
“You can’t keep on after-“
Then the voices stopped. The magic aisle had passed.
“After Amolde gets out of range,” she finished lamely.
The soldiers, baffled by the disappearance of the enemy, were turning about. In a moment they would spy the two; the moonlight remained too bright for effective concealment in the open.
“I grew a pineapple while we waited,” Irene said. “I hate to use it on people, even Mundanes, but they’ll kill us if-“
“How can a magic pineapple operate outside the aisle?” he demanded, knowing this argument was foolish, but afraid if they moved that the soldiers would spy them.
She looked chagrined. “For once you’re right! If cherry bombs are uncertain, so is this!”
Smash was standing in the cleft. “Run!” he cried.
But the soldiers were closing in. Dor knew they couldn’t make it through in time. He drew his sword. Without its magic, it felt heavy and clumsy, but it was the best weapon he had. He would be overwhelmed, of course, but he would die fighting. It wasn’t the end he would have chosen, had he a reasonable choice, but it was better than nothing. “Run to Smash,” he said. “I’ll block them off.”
“You come, too!” she insisted. “I love you!”
“Now she tells me,” he muttered, watching the soldiers close in.
Irene threw the pineapple at them. “Maybe it’ll scare them,” she said.
“It can’t. They don’t know what-“
The pineapple exploded, sending yellow juice everywhere. “It detonated!” Dor exclaimed, amazed.
“Come on!”’ Amolde called, appearing behind the ogre. Suddenly it made sense; the centaur had turned about and come back when they hadn’t followed. That had returned the magic to the vicinity, just in time.
They ran to the cleft. The Mundanes were pawing at their eyes, blinded by pineapple juice. There was no trouble.
“You were so busy trying to be heroes, you forgot common sense,” Amolde reproved them. “All you needed to do was follow me while the Mundanes’ backs were turned. They would never have known of our passage.”
“I never was strong on common sense,” Dor admitted.
“That’s for sure,” Irene agreed. “That juice won’t hold them forever. We’ll have to move far and fast.”
They did just that, their fatigue dissipated by the excitement. Now the path led downhill, facilitating progress somewhat. But it was treacherous in the darkness at this speed, for the mountain crags and trees shadowed it, and
