nature of Millie's talent had never been apparent to him, though it was coming clearer; it included holding and kissing and-
His mind balked. Kissing the Zombie Master? He ran faster yet.
They burst upon the Mundanes. The first thing Dor saw was Jumper: the brutal men had hung him up by four legs, and yanked off the other four. The spider was alive, but in terrible pain after this torture.
Dor went mad. 'Kill!' he screamed, and his sword was in his hand. Almost of its own volition, the blade chopped into the neck of the Mundane nearest Jumper-the one holding the spider leg that had been torn off most recently. Dor was reminded of the centipede legs spat out at the goblin banquet. But this was his friend! The keen edge sliced through the flesh with surprising ease. It passed right through the neck, and the man's head popped off. Dor stared, momentarily numb to the implication; then he looked again at the severed leg, and whirled on the next Mundane.
Meanwhile the zombies were attacking with a will. The Mundanes panicked, becoming aware of the horror that had fallen on them. Dor had heard that Mundanes were a superstitious lot; zombies should play on that propensity. The men scattered, and in a moment there was nothing in the glade except the victors, three bodies, and Jumper.
Dor couldn't let himself relax. 'Carry the spider to the castle,' he ordered the ogre. 'Carefully!' He turned to the other zombies. 'Collect the severed legs and bring them along.' Would it be possible to convert them into usable zombie legs and put them back on the spider?
The ogre picked up the mutilated body. Other zombies found the missing legs, and dragged along the dead Mundanes. The strength of the zombies was surprising-or maybe it was just willpower. They brought their prizes grimly to the castle.
Millie met them at the entrance. She looked all right. Her clothes were still on, and her hair was unmussed. Dor had trouble phrasing his question. 'He-did he-?'
'The Zombie Master was a perfect gentleman,' she said brightly. 'We just talked. He's an educated man. I think he's lonely; no one ever visited with him before.'
And no wonder! Dor's attention returned to Jumper. 'He's alive, but in terrible pain. They-they pulled off four legs!'
'The brutes!' she exclaimed with feeling. She had seemed a rather innocent, helpless maid before, but now she was reacting to stress and horror with increasing personality. 'How can we help him?'
Jumper revived enough to chitter weakly. 'Only time will help me. Time to regrow my lost limbs. A month or so.'
'But I must return to the King in mere days!' Dor cried. 'And to my own land-'
'Return without me. Perhaps I can render some service to the Zombie Master in return for his hospitality.'
'But I must take the Zombie Master with me, to help the King!' Yet that, too, was an impasse; the Magician had already refused to get involved in politics.
The Zombie Master was there; in his distraction Dor had not been aware of his arrival. 'Why did the men torment the spider?'
'I am alien to this world,' Jumper chittered. 'I am a natural creature, but in my enchantment in this realm of men I become a thing of horror. Only these friends, who know me-' His cluttering ceased abruptly; he was unconscious.
'A thing of horror, yet with sentience and courage,' the Zombie Master murmured thoughtfully. He looked up. 'I will care for this creature as long as he requires it. Egor, carry him to the guest chamber.'
The ogre picked Jumper up again and tromped away.
'I wish there were some way to cure him faster,' Dor said. 'Some medicinal spell, like the healing elixir-' He snapped his fingers. 'That's it! I know where there's a Healing Spring, within a day's journey of here!'
Now he had the Magician's attention. 'I could use such elixir in my art,' the Zombie Master exclaimed. 'I will help you fetch it, if you will share the precious fluid with me.'
'There's plenty,' Dor agreed. 'Only there's one catch. You can't act against the interest of the Healing Spring, or you forfeit its benefit.'
'A fair stipulation.' The Zombie Master showed the way to an inner courtyard. A monstrous zombie bird roosted there.
Dor stared. This was a roc! The largest of all birds, restored to pseudo-life by the talent of this Magician. The entire world of the dead was under the power of this man!
'Carry this man where he will,' the Zombie Master directed the roc. 'Return him safely with his burden to this spot.'
'Uh, I'll need a jug or something-' Dor said.
The Magician produced two jugs: one for each of them. Dor climbed onto the stinking back of the roc, anchored himself by grasping the rotting stubs of two great feathers, and tied the jugs with a length of Jumper's silk left over from his last dragline.
The roc flapped its monstrous wings. The spread was so great, the tips touched the castle walls on either side of the courtyard. Grimy feathers flew wide, bits of meat sprayed off, and the bony substructure crackled alarmingly. But there was tremendous power remaining in this creature. A roc in its prime could carry an elephant-that was an imaginary creature the size of a small sphinx-and Dor weighed far less than that. So even this animated corpse could perform creditably enough.
They lumbered into the air, barely clearing the castle roof. There were so many holes in the great wings that Dor marveled that they did not fall apart, let alone have sufficient leverage to make flight possible. But the spell of the Zombie Master was a wondrous thing; no zombie ever quite disintegrated, though all of them seemed perpetually on the verge of doing so.
