Night Mare (22 page)

And if she lost Bink, Imbri thought gloomily, she would be in deep, deep trouble.

They arrived at the gourd patch. “Now get in step and in contact with me,” Imbri sent to the day horse. “Do not heed anything you see within the gourd. If you break contact, you are lost.”

The day horse moved close, but Chameleon’s right leg got in his way. “I’ll ride sidesaddle,” she said, shifting her posture though there was no saddle. She was quicker to catch on to both problem and solution than she would have been before. “And I’ll hold on to a strand of the day horse’s mane, to be sure there’s contact.” She caught his mane, which was conveniently on the left side, while Imbri’s was on the right. “Oh, it’s like silk!” she exclaimed.

This was a gross exaggeration; his mane was more like flexible white wires, beautiful but tough. The mane and tail of a horse were designed by nature to swing about and slap flies stingingly, and were effective in that capacity. But the day horse nickered appreciatively. He had liked Chameleon in her pretty-stupid guise; he seemed to like her better in her neutral state. She was, certainly, a nice if ordinary woman now.

They matched step and plunged into the gourd. Obviously the day horse was no coward about new experiences; it was only strange people he was wary of. The green rind passed by them; then they were in a region of massive wooden gears that turned slowly and ground exceeding fine. Now the day horse snorted with alarm, but maintained contact with Imbri. Together they charged between the gears, Imbri directing their progress through a continuing dreamlet. She showed an image of the gourdscape, with a dotted yellow line marking their route. She ran just to the left of that line, he to the right. It worked well enough, for she was familiar with this region, as she was with all of the gourd.

“What are these wheels for?” Chameleon asked. She had visited the gourd before, so was no longer frightened.

“They measure out the time for every event in every dream,” Imbri explained. “There are hundreds of people and creatures having thousands of dreams every night; if the length and placement of each dream were not precise, there would be overlapping and gaps and fuzziness. Each night mare has a schedule; she must deliver each dream on time. These gears measure out those times more accurately than any living creature could do. Even so, there are many small jumps and discontinuities in dreams, as the timing and placements get slightly out of synch.”

“Thousands of dreams each night,” Chameleon breathed, awed. “I never realized there was such precision behind the few little dreams I have!”

“You have dreams all night,” Imbri returned. “But most of them you forget by morning. Most of them are probably good dreams, for you are a good person; those ones emanate from another source. The true day mares are invisible horses who carry the daydreams and the pleasant night dreams; they don’t keep good accounts and don’t seem to mind if their dreams are misplaced or forgotten. They are happy, careless creatures.” She realized she might be unfairly condemning the day shift, perhaps from ignorance; the day mares were probably quite decent when one knew them. “Still, their time slots have to be allocated, and they must be integrated with the serious dreams we working mares deliver. The coordination is complex.”

“I just never knew there was so much inside the gourd!” Chameleon said.

“Few people do,” Imbri sent. “They assume things just happen coincidentally. There is very little coincidence in Xanth. It is a term used to hide our ignorance of the true causes of things.”

On they went through the labyrinth of grinding gears, leaping over small ones, skirting big ones, and jumping through holes in the hollow ones. The gears were all different colors and turned at different rates, in a bewildering array.

At last they came to a new region. This was watery, and huge fishlike shapes swam through it. Loan sharks and card sharks and poor fish crowded the channels, powering toward the team of horses, then banking off with a great threshing of flukes. No one in the gourd could touch a night mare or her companions; any who did would answer to the Night Stallion, and he was not a forgiving creature. These fish were denizens of the gourd and could be dispatched to inclement assignments, such as desert duty—most unpleasant for a fish. All who molested night mares had long since gone to the most hellish spots, with the hoofprints of the Dark Horse branding their posterior regions forever. Nevertheless, the fish could bluff, and this they were doing now.

The travelers came to a third region. Here coruscating beams of light sliced crisscross in every direction plus one. Some were burning red, scorching what they touched; others were searing white, vaporizing their objects. Black ones turned things frigidly cold; green ones made them sprout leaves.

“Oh, I know what these are for!” Chameleon exclaimed. “They make things hot or cold or bright or dull or clean or dirty or anything!” She was certainly getting smarter.

“Yes,” Imbri agreed, discovering new interest in these things that were long familiar to her. “If Xanth dreams were left to themselves, they would be horribly bland. They have to be touched up so that there is good contrast. A great deal of art goes into dreams to make them properly effective.”

“Then why do we forget most of them?” Chameleon asked. “It seems like such a waste!”

“You don’t really forget them,” Imbri qualified. “They remain in your experience, the same as does every tree you see every day, every bug you hear buzzing, and every gust of breeze your body feels. All of these things influence your character, and so do the dreams.”

“It’s amazing!” Chameleon said, shaking her head. “There is so much more to life than I thought. I wonder if the Mundanes have similar things to influence their characters?”

“I doubt it,” Imbri sent. “After all, look at how brutish and bad they are. If they had proper dreams, they wouldn’t degenerate like that.”

Now they reached another rind and burst out of the gourd. They were in the isthmus of Xanth, the narrow corridor of land that led to Mundania. This was where Bink and Arnolde would be arriving, having completed another diplomatic mission. Imbri and the day horse separated; it really was easier to run separately. “You came through that very well,” Imbri complimented him.

“I just concentrated on my running,” he replied tightly in the dream. “I knew if I looked about too much, I’d lose my step and get separated.”

They entered a plain, where the flat, hard ground was illuminated by the faint light of the waning moon and running was excellent. Imbri loved to run and knew the day horse did, too; horses had been created to do most of the quality running in Xanth. She tried to imagine the bad dreams being carried by lumbering dragons, and suffered a titillation of mirth. No, it had to be done by true night mares!

Then a shape appeared in the moonlight, like a lowflying cloud. It was flat on the bottom and lumpy on top. It swooped toward them.

Imbri phased into intangibility, protecting herself and her rider from hostile action. “Hide!” she sent to the day horse.

But a voice from the cloud hailed them. “Imbri! Chameleon! It’s me—Grundy the Golem!”

So it was. Imbri phased back. “Whatever are you doing here?’ she sent indignantly. “You’re supposed to be watching King Humfrey’s castle while the Gorgon is away.”

“Emergency,” he said, coasting down beside them. “I used one of Humfrey’s bottled spells to summon the magic carpet and buzz right over here. You certainly move fast! I tore through the night so swiftly that I’ve got shatters of cloud on me! Glad I caught you in time.”

“In time for what?’ Chameleon asked.

Suddenly the golem was oddly diffident. “Well, you have to know, before—”

“What’s that?” Imbri projected—and as she touched Grundy’s mind, she became aware of a maelstrom within it. The golem was generating his own bad images!

“I had to tell you—about the Good Magician. I activated a magic mirror—all it took was the right anti-glitch spell; it could have been done any time before, and we could have had good communications—I got the spell from a book the Gorgon left for me in case I needed magic for an emergency—and tuned him in, or tried to—”

“Have the Mundanes attacked already?’ Chameleon asked, worried.

“No, not exactly. Yes, I guess so. That is, it’s a matter of definition. He’s gone.”

“What?” Chameleon’s confusion was Imbri’s, too. “You mean the Good Magician left the baobab tree?”

“No, he’s there. But not there.”

“I don’t—”

“Humfrey’s been taken!” Grundy cried.

“No!” Chameleon protested. “It’s too soon!”

“He’s gone, just like the others. Staring into nothing! Bink has to be King right now! That’s why I had to reach you, before the Mundanes get to the baobab tree and wipe out all the bottled spells or use them against us!”

Chameleon put her hand to her eyes, stricken. “Already! I won’t have my husband at all, any more than Irene had Dor!”

“Bink can take the carpet!” Grundy said. “He’s got to get to Castle Roogna right away!”

“No,” Chameleon demurred. “Bink knows nothing about being King. He has to be prepared.”

“There’s no time! The Mundanes will be marching in the morning, and we’re halfway through the night now!”

“Imbri and I will bring him back,” she said firmly. “We’ll prepare him on the way. We’ll catch him up on all the recent details he’s missed by being away. By the time he arrives, he will be ready. I hope.”

Grundy shook his little head dolefully. “You’re the Queen now, you know. But if Xanth has no King when the Mundanes reach Castle Roogna—”

“Xanth will have a King,” Chameleon said.

“On your head be it,” the golem muttered.

Chapter 10. Magic Tricks

T
he Good Magician’s prophecy of the moment of Bink’s arrival in Xanth was accurate. In the early wee hours of the morning, Bink and Arnolde walked out of drear Mundania. Chameleon ran to embrace her husband, while Imbri and the day horse exchanged diffident glances with the centaur. Grundy performed introductions.

“You’re just the way I like you, Dee,” Bink remarked after their kiss. He was a fairly solid, graying man who had been physically powerful in his youth. Imbri remembered him now; she had on occasion brought him bad dreams.

“Dee?” Grundy asked.

Bink smiled, confirming what Chameleon had already told the others. “My changeable wife has a private name for each phase. Dee is ordinary, not too much of anything. I don’t know why I pay attention to her.” He kissed her again.

Arnolde was an old, bespectacled centaur who seemed out of place in the forest. He was by training and temperament an archivist, like his friend Ichabod, one who filed books and papers in obscure chambers, for what purpose no one understood. But he was also a Magician, his talent being the formation of an aisle of magic wherever he went, even in the most alien reaches of Mundania. This greatly facilitated contact and trade with that backward region. He had no apparent magic in Xanth itself, which was why his status had been unknown for most of his life. In this respect he resembled Bink, and the two males seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

“Might I inquire the reason for this welcoming party?” Arnolde asked. “We expected to sleep the rest of the night here at the fringe of Xanth, then take two more days to travel south to the North Village.”

“Ha!” Grundy said. “There
is
no—”

“Please,” Chameleon said, interrupting the golem. “I must tell him in my own way.”

“But Humfrey told
me
to tell him!” Grundy protested competitively.

The centaur interceded benignly. “May I suggest a compromise? Let the golem make one statement then Chameleon can tell the rest in her own manner.”

Chameleon smiled fleetingly. “That seems fair.”

“Okay,” Grundy grudged. “Bink, you’re King. You have to get back to Castle Roogna right away. You can use the magic carpet; it will get you there in an hour.”

“King!” Bink exclaimed. “What happened to King Trent? I’m not in line to be King of Xanth!”

“King Trent is ill,” Chameleon said.

“Then our son Dor should take over.”

“Dor is ill, too,” she said very gently.

Bink paused, his face freezing. “How ill?”

“Too ill to be King,” she replied. “It is an enchantment. We have not yet found the countercharm.”

“Surely Good Magician Humfrey can—” Bink saw her grave expression. “Him, too? The same enchantment?”

“And the Zombie Master. But Humfrey told us that you are, in fact, a Magician who can not be harmed by magic, and that you have the best chance to break the chain of lost Kings, though he feared you would not. You must be King and stop the Mundanes—”

“The Mundanes! What’s this?”

“The Nextwave invasion,” Grundy put in.

Bink laughed mirthlessly. “I see there is indeed much for me to catch up on. Is the magic carpet big enough for two? You and I, Chameleon, could—”

“No,” Grundy said. “It won’t support two full-sized people; it’s a single-seater model. And you can’t take two days riding south. You’d get there after Castle Roogna falls to the Mundanes, and anyway, the main bridge across the Gap is down, and Wavers are all over the place, and—”

“I won’t let you go alone!” Chameleon protested, showing some fire. She was not nearly as accommodating to the notions of others as she had been in her lovely stage. “I’ve lost my son, so soon after he was married. I won’t let it happen to you!”

“But Xanth must have a King,” Bink said. “Though I’m incompetent in any such activity, I must try to do my duty. How else can I get there in time?”

“Imbri can take you,” Chameleon declared with sudden inspiration. “She’s a night mare; she can get you there by morning—and she can tell you everything you need to know and help you manage. That way you’ll be properly prepared.”

“I find this mostly incomprehensible,” Bink said. “But I’m sure you know best, Dee. I had had another kind of meeting with you in mind—”

“So did I,” she said bravely. “By the time I catch up with you, I’ll be well on toward ugly.”

“You are never ugly to me,” he said with a certain gallantry. But he could not quite conceal his disappointment. He had been some time away from her, and obviously she was a woman who needed to be appreciated at the right time.

“Go with Imbri,” she said. “The rest of us will follow at our own pace.”

They embraced again. “Can the rest of you travel safely?” Bink asked as he went to Imbri.

“Oh, sure,” Grundy said. “The day horse knows how to stay clear of Mundanes, and I’ve got the flying carpet for emergencies. I’ll ride Arnolde and keep him out of mischief.”

“Indubitably,” the centaur said, smiling wryly.

“I’ve got to fill you in on everything before I fly back to Humfrey’s castle,” Grundy continued. “You’ll be King after Bink, Arnolde.”

Chameleon frowned. “Grundy, you are a perfect marvel of diplomacy,” she said with gentle irony.

“I know it,” the golem agreed smugly.

Bink mounted Imbri and waved farewell to his wife. Imbri could tell by the way he sat that he had had some experience riding animals, unlike his wife. The centaurs probably accounted for that. Bink had traveled to Mundania many times, and perhaps had encountered Mundane horses there, too.

Imbri sent a dream of sad parting to the others, seeing them as a pretty picture—the old centaur appaloosa carrying the golem, and the magnificent white stallion bearing the sad woman. Yet it was true that Arnolde, too, needed to be updated in detail for when he would be King. If nothing else, he would need time to ponder whom to designate as his successor, since things tended to move too rapidly for the Council of Elders to deliberate and decide.

Imbri set off for the nearest gourd patch. “What’s this about my son Dor getting married?” Bink asked her.

Imbri sent him a small dream showing the elopement wedding in the zombie graveyard. She followed that with their discovery of the fate of King Trent. The dream became a full-fledged narrative, so that Bink hardly noticed when they plunged into the gourd and charged through the maelstrom of the raw stuff of real dreams. By the time they emerged from the gourd near Castle Roogna, Bink had become acquainted with everything relevant that Imbri knew.

“You are some mare, Imbri!” he said as the castle came into sight They were just in time; dawn was threatening; had it arrived while they were in the gourd, they would have been trapped within the World of Night for the day. Imbri’s night powers existed only at night, as always.

They entered the castle. Queen Iris met them. “Thank fate you’re here, Bink we just discovered King Humfrey has been taken. You—”

“I am King,” Bink said with surprising certainty. He had assimilated Imbri’s information readily and now was taking hold in a much firmer fashion than Imbri had expected. Bink had been a kind of nonperson in Xanth, considered to be a man without magic and therefore held in a certain veiled contempt; that contempt had been undeserved. Imbri suspected that even Grundy and Chameleon and the day horse expected little of Bink; already it was evident that he would surprise them. Xanth’s recent Kings had not lasted long, but each had shown competence and courage in the crisis. Yet how long could this continue, in the face of the terrible enchantment that persisted in striking each King down?

They went to the room where the enchanted Kings were laid out. The Zombie Master and Good Magician Humfrey had been added to the collection. Chet and Chem Centaur had evidently been out to the baobab tree and carried in the latest victim.

Irene remained by her husband. She looked up. “Bink!” she said, rising and going to him. “Did you know that he—we—”

Bink put his arm around her. “The mare Imbri told me everything. Congratulations! I’m only sorry you did not have more time together.”

“We had no time at all!” she complained, making a moue. “The Kingship monopolized him. Then he was ensorcelled.” She choked off, her eyes flicking toward her supine husband.

“Somehow we’ll find the counterspell,” Bink said reassuringly.

“They say you—that it can’t happen to you—”

“It seems my secret is out at last. Your father knew it always. That is why he sent me on some of the most awkward magical investigations. But I am not invulnerable; the Mundanes represent as much of a threat to me as to anyone else. But perhaps I can deal with this mysterious enemy who has enchanted these four Kings. I shall go immediately to the baobab tree and try to use Humfrey’s bag of tricks to stop the Nextwave.”

“You seem remarkably well informed,” Queen Iris remarked.

“Yes. Only a man of my talent can safely use Humfrey’s spells. Only those spells can stop the Mundanes at this point—which, of course, is the reason Humfrey was ensorcelled before he could use them.
I
will use them, and I want that enchanter to come to me. His magic won’t work—and then I’ll be able to identify him. That’s why Humfrey thought I might break the chain of enchantments—if I can prevent the Mundanes from taking me out physically.”

“Then it is victory or real death for you,” Irene said.

“Yes, of course. This is why Magician Humfrey could not foresee my future; my talent prevents him, and neither he nor I can handle the Mundane element as a matter of divination.” He paused. “It is odd, however, that he, the most knowledgeable of men, was taken out by enchantment, not by a Mundane weapon.”

“He knew it was coming,” Imbri sent “He said he was overlooking something important, perhaps because he couldn’t foresee his own future.” That was as much as she could impart without abridging her promise not to reveal the ignominious nature of the Good Magician’s fall—though it did not seem ignominious to her. Obviously the enemy enchanter had waited till Humfrey was alone, then struck stealthily. The shame should attach to the enchanter, not to Humfrey.

“Take me there,” Bink told her. “And the rest of you—let it be known that I am alone at the baobab tree. I want the enemy enchanter to get the news.” He looked down at his enchanted son. “I will set things right for you, Dor. I promise. And for the others who so bravely served. The enchanter shall undo his mischief.” Bink’s hand touched the hilt of the sword he wore with a certain ominous significance. Imbri had not thought of him as a man of violence, but she realized now that he would not hesitate to do whatever he felt was required to accomplish his purpose.

Imbri took him to the baobab. Chem Centaur was there, guarding the Good Magician’s spells. Everything seemed undisturbed.

“How was he found?” King Bink asked.

“He was sitting on the floor here, holding this bottle,” Chem said, picking up a small red one. “He must have been setting it up with the others when—”

“Thank you,” Bink said, taking the bottle. “You may trot back to Castle Roogna—no, just one moment.” He popped the cork.

Red vapor swirled out. “Horseman!” the Good Magician’s voice whispered. Then the vapor dissipated, leaving silence.

“He bottled his own voice!” Chem exclaimed.

“Now we know who enchanted him,” Bink said. “The Horseman. Humfrey promised to tell us who, and he did—just before he was taken himself.”

“Beware the Horseman!” Imbri sent in a nervous dreamlet. “That was his earlier warning!”

“It suggests the Horseman is near,” Bink said. “That is what I want. He will come to me when I am alone.” He waved Chem away. “Humfrey was true to his promise. He has produced the key information. Go inform the others. I think we are on the way to breaking the chain. At least we now know the meaning of the two prophecies. We know whom to stop and why.”

“I don’t like this,” Chem said, but she trotted obediently out of the tree.

“I remember when she was a foal,” Bink remarked. “Cute little thing, always making mental maps of the surroundings. She’s certainly a fine-looking filly now!” He turned to Imbri. “I said I would be alone, but I wasn’t thinking of you. I hope you don’t mind remaining, though I know you fear the Horseman.”

“I don’t fear the Horseman,” Imbri protested. “It’s the day horse who fears him. If that horrible man comes near me, I’ll put a hind hoof in his face and leave my signature on the inside of his skull”

“Good enough,” the King agreed with a grim smile. “But it may be better to leave him to me, as he is obviously no Mundane, and you may be vulnerable to his magic. What does he look like?”

Imbri projected a dream picture of the Horseman. She was shaking with abrupt rage. Of course the man was no Mundane! He had deliberately deceived her so she would not know in what manner he was a threat to Xanth. And she had allowed herself to be fooled! This was the sort of indignity Humfrey must have felt, overlooking the obvious.

“That’s very good, Imbri. You have a nice talent there. If you weren’t a night mare, it would be a double talent—dream projection and the ability to dematerialize at night. But I suppose both are really part of your nature, not considered talents at all.” He shook his head. “Magic is funny stuff; I have never been certain of its ramifications. Whenever I understand it, some new aspect appears, and I realize that I don’t understand it at all.”

Imbri found herself liking this man in much the way she liked his wife Chameleon. He was a nice person, no snob, intelligent and practical, with a certain unpretentious honesty. “Magic seems natural enough to me,” she ventured. “What is so hard to understand about it?”

“For one thing, the distribution and definition of magic talents,” he said. “For centuries we men believed that all creatures either had magic talents or were themselves magical. Thus men
did
magic, while dragons
were
magic. Then we discovered that some centaurs could do magic, too. So we have a magical species performing magic, fudging the definition. Now we have you night mares bridging the definition also. If we assume you are natural horses who possess magic talent, we run afoul of the double-talent problem, for only one talent goes to any one person. We had thought every talent was different, but then we discovered the curse fiends, who all have the same talent—but at least that does not violate the one-talent-per-person limit. But you—”