Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

To be on the safe side, Falkor glided to the ground among the orchids, for his pearly-white scales would have reflected the glow of the castle.

Under cover of the trees they approached. Outside the gate, ten of the armored guards were on watch. And at each of the brightly lit windows stood one of them, black, motionless, and menacing.

Horok Castle was situated on a rise from which the orchid trees had been cleared. True enough, it was shaped like an enormous hand. Each finger was a tower, and the thumb was an oriel surmounted by yet another tower. The whole building was many stories high, and the windows were like glittering eyes looking out over the countryside. It was known with good reason as the Seeing Hand.

“The first thing we have to do,” Bastian whispered into Atreyu’s ear, “is locate the prisoners.”

Atreyu nodded and told Bastian to stay there with Falkor. Then he crawled soundlessly away. He was gone a long time.

When he returned, he reported: “I’ve been all around the castle. There’s only this one entrance, and it’s too well guarded. But I’ve discovered a skylight high up at the tip of the middle finger that seems to be unguarded. Falkor could easily take us up there, but we’d be seen. The prisoners are probably in the cellar. At any rate, I heard a long scream of pain that seemed to come from deep down.”

Bastian thought hard. Then he whispered: “I’ll try to reach that skylight. Meanwhile you and Falkor must keep the guards busy. Make them think we’re trying to get in by the gate. But don’t do any more. Don’t get into a fight. Keep them here as long as you can. Give me a few minutes’ time before you do anything.”

Atreyu pressed his friend’s hand in silence. Then Bastian took off his silver mantle and slipped away through the darkness. He had almost circled the castle when he heard Atreyu shouting:

“Attention! Bastian Balthazar Bux, the Savior of Fantastica, is here. He has come not to beg Xayide for mercy, but to give her a last chance to release the prisoners. If she sets them free, her miserable life will be spared!”

Looking around the corner of the castle, Bastian caught a glimpse of Atreyu, who had put on the silver mantle and coiled his blue-black hair into a kind of turban. To anyone who didn’t know the two boys very well there was a certain resemblance between them.

For a moment the armored giants seemed undecided. Then Bastian could hear in the distance the metallic stamping of their feet as they rushed at Atreyu. The shadows in the windows also began to move as the guards left their posts to see what was going on. And many more of the armored giants poured out through the gate. When the first had almost reached Atreyu, he slipped nimbly away and a moment later appeared over their heads, riding Falkor. The armored giants brandished their swords and leapt high in the air, but they couldn’t reach him.

Bastian started climbing the wall. Here and there he was helped by outcroppings and window ledges, but more often he had to hold fast with his fingertips. Higher and higher he climbed; once the jutting stone he had set his foot on crumbled away and left him hanging by one hand, but he pulled himself up, found a hold for his other hand, and kept climbing. When at last he reached the towers he made better progress, for they were so close together that he could push himself up by bracing himself between them.

At length he reached the skylight and slipped through. True enough, there was no guard in the tower room, heaven knows why. Opening a door, he came to a narrow winding staircase and started down. When he reached the floor below, he saw two black guards standing at a window watching the excitement outside. He managed to pass behind them without attracting their notice.

On he crept, down more stairways, through passages and corridors. One thing was certain. Those armored giants might have been great fighters, but they didn’t amount to much as guards.

At last the cold and the musty smell told him he was in the cellar. Luckily all the guards seemed to have raced upstairs in pursuit of the supposed Bastian Balthazar Bux. Torches along the walls lit the way for him. Lower and lower he went. He had the impression that there were as many floors below the ground as above. Finally he came to the bottommost cellar and soon found the dungeon where Hykrion, Hysbald, and Hydorn were languishing. It was a pitiful sight.

They were hanging by their wrists over what seemed to be a bottomless pit. The

long iron chains that held them were connected by way of overhead rollers with a winch, but the winch was fastened with a great padlock and couldn’t be budged. Bastian stood perplexed.

The three prisoners’ eyes were closed. They seemed to be asleep or unconscious. Then Hydorn the Enduring opened his left eye and sang out: “Hey, friends. Look who’s here!”

The others managed to open their eyes and a smile crossed their lips.

“We knew you wouldn’t leave us in the lurch!” cried Hydorn.

“How can I get you down?” Bastian asked. “The winch is locked.”

“Just take your sword and cut the chains,” said Hysbald.

“And drop us into the pit?” said Hykrion. “That’s not such a good idea.”

“Anyway,” said Bastian, “I can’t draw my sword. I can’t use Sikanda unless it jumps into my hand.”

“That’s the trouble with magic swords,” said Hydorn. “When you need them, they go on strike.”

“Hey!” Hysbald whispered. “The guards had the key to that winch. Where could they have put it?”

“I remember a loose stone,” said Hykrion. “But I couldn’t see very well while they were hoisting me up here.”

Bastian looked and looked. The light was dim and flickering, but after a while he discovered a stone flag that was not quite even with the rest. He lifted it cautiously, and there indeed was the key.

He opened the big padlock and removed it from the winch. Then slowly he began to turn. It creaked and groaned so loud that the armored giants must have heard it by then if they weren’t totally deaf. Even so, there was nothing to be gained by stopping. Bastian went on turning until the three knights were level with the floor, though still over the pit. Then, after swinging them to and fro until their feet touched the ground, he let them down. They stretched out exhausted and showed no inclination to move. Besides, they still had the heavy chains on their wrists.

Bastian had little time to think, for metallic steps came clanking down the stone stairs. The guards! Their armor glittered in the torchlight like the carapaces of giant insects. All with the same movement, they drew their swords and rushed at Bastian.

Then at last Sikanda leapt from the rusty sheath and into his hand. With the speed of lightning the blade attacked the first of the armored giants and hacked him to pieces before Bastian himself knew what was happening. It was then that he saw what the giants were made of. They were hollow shells of armor. There was nothing inside! He had no time to wonder what made them move.

Bastian was in a good position, for only one giant at a time could squeeze through the narrow doorway of the dungeon, and one at a time Sikanda chopped them to bits. Soon their remains lay piled up on the floor like enormous black eggshells. After some twenty of them had been disposed of, the rest withdrew, evidently in the hope of waylaying Bastian in a position more favorable to themselves.

Taking advantage of the breathing spell, Bastian let Sikanda cut the shackles from the knights’ wrists. Hykrion and Hydorn dragged themselves to their feet and tried to draw their swords, which strangely enough had not been taken away from them, but their hands were numb from the long hanging and refused to obey them. Hysbald, the most delicate of the three, wasn’t even able to stand by himself. His two friends had to hold him up.