The Zombie Master could only acquiesce solemnly. The decision had been made.
“It’s time,” Millie said. “The bride and groom are ready.”
“The bride, perhaps,” the Zombie Master said wryly. “I suspect I will have to coerce the groom.” He turned to Dor. “You go down to the main chamber; the wedding guests are assembling now. They will take their places when you appear.”
“Uh, sure,” Dor agreed. He took the book and made his way down a winding stair. The castle layout differed from what it had been the last time he was here, but that was only to be expected. The outside defenses changed constantly, so it made sense that the inner schematic followed.
But when he reached the main chamber, Dor stood amazed. It was a grand and somber cathedral, seemingly larger than the whole of the castle, with stately columns and ornate arches supporting the domed glass ceiling. At one end was a dais whose floor appeared to be solid silver. It was surrounded by huge stained-glass windows, evidently another inner aspect of the exterior glass mountain. A jeweled chandelier supported the sun, which was a brilliantly golden ball, borrowed for this occasion. Dor had always wondered what happened to the sun when clouds blocked it off; perhaps now he knew. What would happen if they didn’t finish the ceremony before the storm outside abated and the sun needed to be returned?
The guests were even more spectacular. There were hundreds of them, of all types. Some were human, some humanoid, and most were monsters. Dor spied a griffin, a dragon, a small sphinx, several merfolk in a tub of sea water, a manticora, a number of elves, goblins, harpies, and sprites; a score of nickelpedes, a swarm of fruitflies, and a needle cactus. The far door was dwarfed by its guardian Crunch the Ogre, Smash’s father, as horrendous a figure of a monster as anyone cared to imagine.
“What is this?” Dor asked, astonished.
“All the creatures who ever obtained answers from the Good Magician, or interacted significantly with him during the past century,” the nearest window explained.
“But-but why?”
A grotesque bespectacled demon detached himself from conversation with a nymph. “Your Majesty, I am Beauregard, of the Nether Contingent. We are assembled here, in peace, not because we necessarily love the Good Magician, but because not one of us would pass up the chance to see him finally get impressed into bondage himself and to the most fearsome creature known to magic. Come; you must take your place.” And the demon guided Dor down the center aisle toward the dais, past as diversified an assortment of creatures as Dor had ever encountered. One he thought he recognized-Grundy the Golem, somehow spirited here for the unique occasion. How had all these creatures gotten past the castle defenses? No one had been around when Dor himself had braved them.
“Oh, you must be King Dor!” someone cried. Dor turned to discover a handsome woman whose gown was bedecked with a fantastic array of gems.
“You must be Jewel!” he exclaimed, as a diamond in her hair almost blinded him. It was the size of his fist, and cut in what seemed like a million facets. “’The one with the barrel of gems-Crombie’s wife.”
“How did you ever guess?” she agreed, flashing sapphires, garnets, and giant opals. “You favor your father, Dor. So good of you to come in his stead.”
Dor remembered that this woman had loved his father. Perhaps that explained why Bink wasn’t here; a meeting, even after all these years, could be awkward. “Uh, I guess so. Nice to meet you, Jewel.”
“I’m sorry my daughter Tandy couldn’t meet you,” Jewel said. “It would be so nice-“ She broke off, and again Dor suspected he understood why. Jewel had loved Bink; Dor was Bink’s son; Tandy was Jewel’s daughter. It was almost as if Dor and Tandy were related.
But how could that be said?
Jewel pressed a stone into his hand. “I was going to give this to Bink, but I think you deserve it. You will always have light.”
Dor glanced down at the gift. It shone like a miniature sun, almost too bright to gaze at directly. It was a midnight sunstone, the rarest of all gems. “Uh, thanks,” he said lamely. He didn’t know how to deal with this sort of thing. He tucked the gem into a pocket and rejoined Beauregard, who was urging him on. As he reached the dais and mounted it, the hubbub diminished. The ceremony was incipient.
The music started, the familiar theme played only at nuptials. It gave Dor stage fright. He had never officiated at an affair like this before; the opportunities for blundering seemed limitless. The assembled creatures became absolutely quiet, waiting expectantly for the dread denouement. The Good Magician Humfrey was finally going to get his!
There was a scuffle to the side. The groom appeared in a dark suit that looked slightly motheaten; perhaps the guardian moth had not balled it properly. He was somewhat disheveled, and obliquely compelled by the Zombie Master. “I survived it; so can you!” the best man whispered, audible throughout the chamber. Somewhere in the Stygian depth of the audience, a monster chuckled. The expression on Humfrey’s face suggested that he was in serious doubt about survival.
More members of the audience grinned, showing assorted canine teeth; they liked this.
The music got louder. Dor glanced across and saw that the organist was a small tangle tree, its tentacles writhing expertly over the keys. No wonder there was a certain predatory intensity to the music!
The Zombie Master, dourly handsome in his funereal-tailed suit, straightened Humfrey’s details, actually brushing him off with a little whisk broom. Then he put Humfrey in a kind of armlock and marched him forward. The music surged vengefully.
One demon in the front row twitched its tail and leaned toward another. “A creature doesn’t know what happiness is,” he said, “until he gets married.”
“And then it’s too late!” half a dozen others responded from the next row back. There was a smattering of applause.
Magician Humfrey quailed, but the best man’s grip was as firm as death itself. At least he had not brought his zombies to this ceremony! The presence of the walking dead would have been too much even for such a wedding.
Now the music swelled to sublime urgency, and the bridal procession appeared. First came Millie the Ghost, radiant in her maid-of-honor gown, her sex appeal making the monsters drool. Dor had somehow thought that an unmarried person was supposed to fill this office, but of course Millie had been unmarried for eight centuries, so it must be all right.
Then the bride herself stepped out-and if the Gorgon had seemed buxom before, she was amazing now. She wore a veil that shrouded the nothingness of her face, so that there was no way to tell by looking that she was not simply a ravishingly voluptuous woman. Nevertheless, few creatures looked directly at her, wary of her inherent power. Not even the boldest dragon or tangle tree would care to stare the Gorgon in the face.
Behind her trooped two cherubs, a tiny boy and girl. Dor thought at first they were elves, but realized they were children-the three-year-old twins that Millie and the Zombie Master had generated.
They certainly looked cute as they carried the trailing end of the bride’s long train. Dor wondered whether these angelic tots had manifested their magic talents yet. Sometimes a talent showed at birth, as had Dor’s own; sometimes it never showed, as had Dor’s father’s-though he knew his father did have some sort of magic that King Trent himself respected. Most talents were in between, showing up in the course of childhood, some major, some minor.
Slowly the Gorgon swept forward, in the renewed hush of dread and expectation. Dor saw with a small start that she had donned dark glasses, a Mundane import, so that even her eyes behind the gauzy veil seemed real.