"Say, yes-I could do that!" the Spring said excitedly. "It would take a while, maybe a few centuries, to build that extra spell, but since it's just a refinement of the original magic, a termination clause as it were-yes, it will work. Oh, thank you, thank you, stranger!"
"I told you I would repay you," Dor said, gratified. Then he thought of something else. "Uh-I'm only a visitor to this land, and what I do may fade out after I leave. So you'd better get right on that spell, so you don't lose it once I'm gone."
"How long do I have?"
Dor did a quick calculation. "Maybe ten days."
"I'll fix it in my mind," the Spring said. "I'll memorize it so hard that nothing can shake it loose."
"That's good," Dor said. "Farewell!"
"I'm not a well, I'm a spring!" But it was a good-natured correction.
"Maybe you're a wellspring," Dor suggested. "Because you make creatures well again."
"Bye," the Spring said, dismissing him.
Dor returned to the roc and sprinkled elixir from his jar on its wings. Immediately they healed; in fact, they were better than they had been. But they remained zombie wings, dead flesh. There were, after all, limits; the elixir could not restore the dead to life.
Which was why he was on this quest. Only the Zombie Master could do what needed to be done. Meanwhile, he had to get back to Jumper soon, lest the spider also require restoration from the dead.
Dor boarded, tied the jugs, and hung on. "Home, roc!" he cried.
The roc taxied about to face the channel forged by its crash landing, worked its legs to accelerate, flapped its wings, and launched violently into the air. This takeoff was far more precipitous than the first one had been; it was all Dor could do to hang on. The elixir had given the wings new power. Fortunately there were a few droplets remaining on his hands, and these healed the feathers to which he clung. Now they were great long fluffy colorful puffs of plumage suitable for ladies' hats, easy to grasp.
The roc wheeled in the sky, then stroked powerfully for the Zombie Master's castle. The landscape fairly whizzed by below. They reached their destination in half the time it had taken to make the outbound trip. No wonder the Magician wanted the elixir; his zombies would be twice as good now!
But a new problem manifested. From above, Dor could see that the Mundanes had rallied, and now were laying siege to the castle. There were many of them; their whole advance army must have gathered for this effort. They evidently were not cowards; they had been panicked by the ferocity of the zombies' attack, but now they were angry at the three deaths and sought revenge. Also, they probably thought that any castle so well guarded must conceal enormous riches, so their greed had been invoked. In helping his friend Jumper, Dor had brought serious mischief to the Zombie Master. Dor was sure his father would have had more sense than that; it was yet another reminder of his own youth and inexperience and thoughtlessness. When, oh when, would he ever grow up and be adult?
The roc dived, hawklike, banked, and plopped into place in the courtyard. The landing was heavy, for the bird's feet had not been healed; the sound carried throughout the castle.
The Zombie Master and Millie rushed up. "You got it!" Millie cried, clapping her hands.
"I got it," Dor agreed. He handed one jug to the Magician, keeping the other for himself. "Take me to Jumper."
Millie guided him to the guest room. The big spider lay there, ichor leaking from his stumps. The variegated fur face on the back of his abdomen seemed to be making a grimace of distress. His eyes, always open, were filmed with pain. He was conscious again, but so weak he could chitter only faintly. "Good to see you again, friend! I fear the injuries have been too extensive. Legs can be regrown, but internal organs have been crushed too. I cannot-"
"Yes you can, friend!" Dor cried. "Take that!" And he poured a liberal dose of elixir over Jumper's shuddering body.
Like magic-unsurprisingly-the spider was whole again. As the liquid coursed over the fur-face, the green and white and black brightened until they shone. As it touched each stump, the legs sprouted out, long and hairy and strong. As it was absorbed, the internal organs were restored, and the body firmed out. In a moment there was no sign that Jumper had ever been injured.
"It is amazing!" he chittered. "I did not even need to have my original legs returned! I have not felt so good since I was hatched! What is this medicine?"
"Healing elixir," Dor explained. "I knew where there was a Spring of it-" He broke off, overcome by emotion. "Oh, Jumper! If you had died-" And he embraced the spider as well as he could, the tears once more overflowing his eyes. To hell with being adult!
"I think it was worth the torture," Jumper chittered, one mandible moving against Dor's ear. "Watch I don't nip your antenna off."
"Go ahead! I have plenty more healing elixir to use to grow a new ear!"
"Besides which," Millie added, "human flesh tastes awful. Maybe even worse than goblin meat."
The Zombie Master had followed them. "You are human, yet you hold this alien creature in such esteem you cry for him," he remarked.
"And what's wrong with that?" Millie demanded.
"Nothing," the Magician said wanly. "Absolutely nothing. No one ever cried for me."
Even in the height of his relief, Dor perceived the meaning of the Zombie Master's words. The man had been alienated from his own kind by the nature of his magic, rendered a pariah. He identified with Jumper, another alien. That was why he had agreed to take care of Jumper. More than anything else, the Magician must want people to care for him the way Dor and Millie cared for Jumper.
"Will you help King Roogna?" Dor asked, disengaging from his friend.
"I do not indulge in politics," the Zombie Master said, the coldness returning.
Because the King was no pariah. This Magician might assist those who showed him some human compassion, but King Roogna had not done that. "Would you at least come to meet the King, to talk with him? If you helped him, he would see that you received due honor-"
"Honor by fiat? Never!"
Dor found he could not argue with that. He would not have wanted that sort of honor either. If there were such a thing as dishonorable honor, that would be it. He had made another stupid error of approach, and squelched his chances-again. Some emissary he was proving to be!
But there was another problem. "You know the Mundanes of the Fifth Wave are getting ready to attack this castle?"
"I do know," the Zombie Master agreed. "My zombie eye-flies report there are hundreds of them. Too many to overcome with my present force. I have sent the roc out to round up more bodies, to shore up my defenses. To facilitate this, the roc will not even land here at the castle; it will drop the bodies in the courtyard and proceed immediately for more."
"The Mundanes are mad at us," Dor said, "because we killed three of them. Maybe if we leave-"
"My zombies helped you," the Zombie Master pointed out. "You can gain nothing other than your own demises by departing now. The Mundanes have this castle surrounded. To them, it is a repository of unguessable riches; no reasonable demurral will change their fixed minds."
"Maybe if they saw us leave," Dor said. "The roc could carry us out. Oh-the roc's away for the duration."
"It seems we must remain, at least for a time,"