Night Mare (21 page)

The Good Magician’s talent for information was manifesting, Imbri realized. Humfrey had an excellent grasp of the tactical situation. Why, then, was he so certain he would not survive the encounter? Why was he so carefully explaining things to her? She knew this was not his nature. Normally the Good Magician was very tight with his information. It was as if he thought
she
would have to invoke many of these spells, or show someone else how to do it. That belief of his, if such it was, was unnerving.

The Spy I balls showed the Nextwavers making camp and foraging for food and drink. They were catching on to the bounties of Xanth and now, instead of burning out the region, they were hammering out chocolate chips from an outcropping of chocolithic rock and tapping beer-barrel trees for flagons of foaming natural brew, to which they seemed to be quite partial.

“The nymphs travel slower than the I balls,” Humfrey remarked. “I had thought they would lead the Wavers here tonight, but it will be noon tomorrow before they arrive. My error; I misread my prophecy.” He frowned. “I’m not quite as young as I used to be. I’m making foolish mistakes. That must be why I’m doomed to ignoble failure.”

“But, your Majesty!” Imbri protested in a dreamlet. “You have an excellent program of defense! When you bring the Punics here and loose your spells against them—”

Humfrey shook his head. “Don’t try to flatter an old curmudgeon, mare! You’re a few years older than I am! Certainly my program is good; I researched it years ago from a tome describing how best to wash out Waves. But I am about to make a single colossal, egregious, flagrant, and appalling oversight whose disastrousness is exceeded only by its irony.”

“What oversight?” Imbri asked, concerned.

“I am going to overlook the single most phenomenal flaw in my plan—the one that completely nullifies all the rest. It is ironic because it is a flaw that I would readily have perceived in my younger years, when I was more alert than I am now.”

“But surely if you know there is a flaw—”

“I’m too dull and corroded to find it now,” he said. “I have cudgeled my ailing brain, but I can not detect it. The thing is so obvious any fool could see it—except me. That is my undoing. That is why I forbade my wife, the lovely Gorgon, to accompany me. I am ashamed to have any human being witness my final folly. And I charge you, you animals, not to embarrass me after my failure by blabbing the truth in this respect. Just tell the world that I did my best and it wasn’t sufficient.”

“But
I
can’t see the flaw either!” Imbri protested.

“Because you are blinded by your own marish folly,” he said. “At least you will have a chance to redeem yours, at the cost of great heartbreak.”

“What folly is this?” she asked, curiosity warring with distress.

“If I knew that, it would provide the key to my own folly,” he said. “Swear to me now that you will protect my guilty secret when finally you fathom it.”

Disturbed, Imbri yielded to his entreaty. “I so swear,” she sent. Then she put it to the day horse, in a separate dreamlet.

He, too, swore. “No one shall know his folly from me.”

Humfrey smiled grimly. “At least I salvage that foolish fragment from the yawning abyss of my indignity.” He lifted a small bag. “Here is another potent weapon—the bag of wind. Loose it when only enemy troops are near, for it is dangerous to all. Brace yourself well, lest you, too, be blown away.” Then he looked at the magic sundial on his wrist, which showed him the time even when no sun was shining. “Ooops—it is time for you to go pick up Chameleon. Then you will have to teach your stallion friend how to remain in contact with you while you phase through the World of Night, lest he get lost forever in the gourd. Go to it, hoofmates.”

“Hoofmates!” Imbri was startled and embarrassed by the appellation. But the fact was, she did like the day horse, and knew that it showed, and soon she would be coming into season. If she did not wish to mate with him, she would have to come to a decision and take action soon. Human females could be choosy and difficult about mating and usually were; mares had no such option. If she were near the stallion at the key time, she would mate. The day horse, obviously, was aware of that, which was one reason he was indulging her by assisting in activities of little interest to him, such as the Good Magician’s setting up of spells.

The day horse was looking at her curiously. Imbri fought back her half-guilty thoughts, perked her ears up straight, and formed a dream for him to step into, one with innocent open pasture for a background and absolutely clear of any suggestion of mating. She doubted she was fooling him, but had to maintain the pretense.

But his curiosity was unrelated. “Phase through the night?” he asked in the dreamlet.

“Oh, I forgot to ask you,” she sent, relieved. “Will you come with me again, to carry Ambassador Bink home from the Isthmus? He is to be the next King of Xanth, so must be brought safely past the Mundanes.”

“The Mundanes!” he reacted, alarmed.

“They won’t see us in the night,” she sent reassuringly. “I want to carry his wife Chameleon there to meet him, so we need another steed.”

“Chameleon!” he said gladly. “She is a nice woman.”

“You seem to like her better than me!” Imbri snorted, her dream mare turning green with jealousy.

“Well, she
is
human, therefore a creature of power—”

He really had an obsession about human beings, whether negative or positive! In the dream, Imbri shifted to human form—jet-black skin, a firm, high bosom, and with a regal flow of hair from her head. “How do you like me now?” she demanded.

He snorted with mirth. “I like you better equine. I can’t touch a dream girl.”

“That’s what you think!” she said, her dream form striding lithely forward.

“You’re wasting time,” Humfrey snapped. “Save your flirtations for the journey. There’s a war on.”

The dreamlet puffed into confused vapor. Imbri was glad horses couldn’t blush; otherwise she would now be solid red. She had indeed been flirting, when she had resolved not to; the presence of a handsome male brought out this aspect of her nature.

She walked somewhat stiffly out of the baobab tree. There was a small spring beside it she went to it and drank deeply, knowing it might be long before she drank again. Water was very important to horses! Especially when they were burning with embarrassment. Also, she was giving the day horse time to come join her. She was sure he would, though his own equine dignity required that he not seem eager. After all, he was a stallion, and stallions did not leap to the bidding of mere mares.

In a moment, to her relief, he did emerge. He, too, took a long drink. In this subtle way he had committed himself to the journey; he had taken the first step.

She set off for Castle Roogna, and the day horse paced her. He was truly magnificent in the lessening light, his white coat standing out bravely, while her black coat made her almost invisible. Truly, they were like day and night! It was as if he epitomized the male of any species, bright and bold, while she was the essence of the female, dark and hidden.

He glanced sidelong at her, perking his ears forward, and she knew he was giving her the horselaugh inside. She had certainly been making a foolish filly of herself, parading in the dream as a woman! She was indeed somewhat smitten with the stallion, the first she had known who was not her sire, and knew she would not flee him when the season came upon her and would not retreat to some far, inaccessible region before that time to avoid the compulsion of nature. Far region? She had only to step into any gourd! But would not. He knew it, too, and knew she knew. No artifice for equines!

“The World of Night?” he inquired in neightalk, for she had shut down the dreams.

She relented and opened her dream to him. “I can enable creatures in direct contact with me to phase through objects at night and to use the gourd bypass for rapid travel. But it is dangerous, for there are spooky things within the world of the gourd. You may not want to risk it.”

“And if I don’t,” he asked cannily, “where will you be when you come in season?”

She hadn’t thought of it quite that way, at least not consciously. Of course she had a certain leverage of her own! Any normal mares in Xanth were in the hands of the Mundanes, so he couldn’t chance that, and no other night mare was accessible. He was the only male—but she was the only female. Stallions did not govern the times for mating, but they were always interested. Naturally he would seek to please her, even at some inconvenience to himself. He did not know her cycle; for all he knew, she might come into season tomorrow. He had to stay close to her when opportunity came, lest he miss it.

So she could be difficult and choosy, too, in the manner of the human women! She could turn her favor on and off capriciously, driving the male to distraction. That promised to be fun—except that she really did have important business to attend to. She had to fetch Bink to Castle Roogna before Good King Humfrey made his abysmal blooper and wiped out, so Bink could be King and take over the campaign before the Nextwave swamped the last bastion of Xanth. How important her participation had become!

“My season is not yet,” she returned. Of course that did not answer his question; she was not about to yield her newfound advantage by committing herself prematurely. “I must train you in continuous contact now, while some light remains. Then we’ll use the gourds to go to the isthmus with Chameleon during darkness.”

“I like the sound of this,” he nickered.

So did she, actually. Horses were not as free about bodily contact as human beings were, but they did indulge in it. “You must remain touching me continuously, for my phase-magic extends only to those in contact with me. We must match strides exactly so we can run together without separating.”

“Like this?” he asked in the dream, and in the flesh he moved over until his side squeezed against her. His flesh was soft and warm and firm; he had a nice, smooth coat and excellent musculature that made contact a pleasure.

“Like this,” she agreed, feeling guilty again for enjoying the sensation so much. What was there about pleasure that so readily inspired guilt? She had associated with human beings so much, recently, that she was starting to react in the same confused way they did!

Imbri and the day horse walked in contact, then shifted together to a trot. Now the beats of their eight hooves become two, as one front hoof and one rear hoof struck the ground together for each of them. BEAT-BEAT, BEATBEAT! There was something very fulfilling about such a cadence, and even more pleasant about matching cadences; the measured fall of hooves was the very essence of equine nature.

Then, all too soon, Castle Roogna hove into view. The day horse sheered away, breaking contact. “I’ll not go there!” he snorted, his abiding fear of human places taking over.

Imbri sighed, but understood. “I will bring her out. You wait here.” It was a good place for a horse to wait, for the castle orchards had extremely lush grass.

She left him grazing and trotted on into the castle. Chameleon was waiting, eager to join her husband. It was a feeling Imbri was coming to understand much better, now that she had a male interest of her own.

Chameleon seemed to have become less pretty, even in the few hours of this day, and now was hardly out of the ordinary in appearance. But Imbri knew she was correspondingly smarter. Maybe she wanted to meet Bink before she lost too much of her charm; it was a natural enough concern. A human woman without charm was the least fortunate of creatures.

The woman mounted and they moved out. The day horse was waiting, grazing dangerously near a pinapple tree that he evidently didn’t recognize. Darkness was closing, but still his white hide showed up clearly.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, day horse!” Chameleon exclaimed with girlish enthusiasm.

The horse lifted his head, startled. He breathed hard, half snorting.

Imbri caught on. “This is Chameleon,” she sent to him. “She changes each day, getting less pretty, more intelligent. You saw her several days ago, in her most beautiful stage—but she really is the same woman.”

“Of course I am the same woman,” Chameleon said. “You and I stayed in the forest while Imbri and Grundy and Ichabod encountered the Nextwavers and Hasbinbad and the Horseman. We had such a nice time together.”

The day horse softened, allowing himself to be persuaded. His ears perked forward. Chameleon stroked his nose. Now he was sure of her. He nickered.

“But I am different in my fashion,” Chameleon acknowledged. “Not as pretty—and I will become less pretty yet, until you can’t stand me at all. I also have a sharp tongue when I’m smart, as women do; nobody can stand me then.”

The day horse snorted. He would not be that fickle, surely, he thought.

“You’ll see,” Chameleon said sadly. “The stupidest thing a woman can do is to be too smart. Give it another week, maybe less. If you can tolerate me then, I’ll gladly ride with you again.”

They trotted toward the nearest gourd patch. Chameleon became nervous. “Will we be passing the place where . . . ?” She trailed off, unable to finish.

“We will not pass the place where your son was taken,” Imbri sent in a gentle dream that could not entirely eschew the horror connection. Chame-leon was standing up well; perhaps Millie the Ghost had talked with her and put things in perspective. Millie had eight hundred years’ perspective! But as Chameleon became more intelligent, Dor’s loss would strike her more profoundly. That was probably another reason she wanted to rejoin her husband—especially since he was now in line to become King himself. She was not going to be absent when the second of the two men in her life was in peril.

As if to distract herself from the looming grief, Chameleon chatted innocently enough to the day horse. “Back when I was young, I lived in a village on the north edge of the Gap Chasm, and I had a separate name for each phase of my cycle. I was Wynn when I was pretty, and Dee when I was normal, and Fanchon when I was ugly. The villagers knew how it was and treated me like three different people, and that made it easier. But though they all liked Wynn—especially the young men!—and half of them liked Dee, nobody could stand Fanchon. Since anyone who married me would get all three, I was doomed to spinsterhood. Then I met Bink, who seemed like such a nice man, though he lacked magic, and I thought that if I didn’t let him find out my nature . . . I was foolish, but I had an excuse, as I was stupid at the time. Wynn was the first me he encountered. So I thought maybe I could find a spell to make me normal all the time. Good Magician Humfrey told me no spell would do it, but that all I had to do was go to Mundania, and when my magic faded I would be Dee, permanently. So I tried, but somehow things got tangled up, and in the end Bink liked me as I was, so he unspinstered me.” She laughed. “No spell for Chameleon! I didn’t need magic, just the right man.”