Night Mare (27 page)

Imbri noted how careful these people were being with titles, in this way affirming the strength and continuity of the Kingship, so vital to the preservation of Xanth.

“Xanth must have a King who is a Magician,” the centaur said. “The definition of the term ‘Magician’ is obscure; I interpret it to mean a person whose magic talent is more potent by an order of magnitude than that of most people. This is, of course, a relative matter; in the absence of the strongest talents, the most potent of the remaining talents must assume the mantle.”

“Agreed,” Roland said.

“Thus, in the present circumstance, your own talent becomes—”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Roland protested vigorously. “I see the need to promote new talents to Magician status for the sake of the continuing succession of Kings, and I endorse that solution. But I am too old to assume the rigors of the crown!”

How very clever, Imbri thought. Of course Xanth would find its remaining Kings by this simple device! What a fine perception Arnolde had, and how well he was applying it to the solution of the crisis. It was certainly important that a person be designated to follow Arnolde as King, since Humfrey’s prophecy indicated four Kings would follow the centaur. If Arnolde lost his position before attending to that matter, there would be chaos.

“Well, then, the talents of younger people. Irene, for example, should now be ranked a Sorceress, since her magic is certainly beyond the average, and our top talents are gone.”

“True,” Roland said. “I have privately felt she should have been diagnosed a Sorceress before; certainly her relative talent qualifies her now. But this will not profit the Kingdom, since she is a woman.”

Queen Irene was upstairs with Chameleon and their unfortunate husbands; otherwise, Imbri knew, she would have been quite interested in the turn this dialogue had taken. Queen Iris, however, was reacting with amazed pleasure.

“In what way is the power of a Sorceress inferior to that of a Magician?” Arnolde inquired rhetorically.

“No way!” Queen Iris put in. This had been a peeve of hers for decades.

“No way,” Roland echoed with a smile.

“Then we agree that the distinction is merely cosmetic,” Arnolde said. “A Sorceress is, in fact, a female Magician.”

“True,” Roland acknowledged. “A Magician. The terminology is inconsequential, a lingering prejudice carrying across from prior times.”

“Prejudice,” Arnolde said. “Now
there
is a problematical concept. My kind is prejudiced against certain forms of magic I have experienced that onus myself. Your kind is prejudiced against women.”

“By no means,” Roland objected. “We value and respect and protect our women.”

“Yet you systematically discriminate against them.”

“We do not—”

“Certainly you do!” Iris put in vehemently under her breath.

“I stand corrected,” the centaur said with an obscure smile. “There is no legal distinction between the human sexes in Xanth.”

“Well—” Roland said. He seemed to have caught on to something that Imbri and the Queen had not.

“Then you see no reason,” Arnolde continued, “why a woman could not, were she in other necessary respects qualified, assume the throne of Xanth?”

Queen Iris stopped breathing. Imbri, now discovering the thrust of the Centaur King’s progression, suffered a dreamlet of a cherry bomb exploding in realization. What an audacious attack on the problem!

Roland squinted at the centaur obliquely. He half chuckled. “You are surely aware that the throne of Xanth is by ancient custom reserved for Kings.”

“I am aware. Yet does that custom anywhere define the term ‘King’ as necessarily male?”

“I have no specific recollection of such a definition,” Roland replied. “I presume custom utilizes the masculine definition or designation for convenience, carrying no further onus. I suppose, technically, an otherwise qualified female could become King.”

“I am so glad your perception concurs with mine,” Arnolde said. Both men understood that they had just played out a charade of convenience, knowing the crisis of Xanth. “Then with the presumed approval of the Elders, I hereby, in my capacity and authority as King of Xanth, designate the line of succession to this office to include henceforth male and female Magicians.” The centaur swung to focus through his spectacles on Queen Iris. “Specifically, the Magician Iris to follow me, and her daughter the Magician Irene to follow her, should new Kings of Xanth be required before this present crisis is resolved.”

Again Roland smiled. “I concur. I believe I speak for the Council of Elders.”

Queen Iris breathed again. Her face was flushed. A small array of fireworks exploded soundlessly in the air around them: her illusion giving vent to her suppressed emotion. She, together with all her sex, had just been at one stroke enfranchised. “One could get to like you, Centaur King.”

Arnolde shrugged. “Your husband has always been kind to me. He provided me with a gratifying position when my own species cast me out. You yourself have always treated me with courtesy. But it is logic that dictates my decision, rather than gratitude. An imbalance has been corrected.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she breathed, her eyes shining. In that moment Queen Iris resembled a beautiful young woman, like her daughter, and Imbri was not certain this was entirely illusion.

Arnolde turned to Imbri. “Now I must have a conference with you, good mare. I realize you are tired—”

“So are you, your Majesty,” Imbri sent

“Then let us handle this expeditiously so we both can rest before my brethren arrive.”

“Of course,” Imbri agreed, wondering what he had in mind. The play of his intellect had already dazzled her, and she knew he would be an excellent King, even though he could perform no magic in Xanth.

They retired to a separate chamber for a private conversation. Imbri wondered why Arnolde should wish to exclude the others, such as Queen Iris, who surely needed to be kept advised of official business.

“Does it strike you as odd that King Bink, who was immune to harm by magic, should nevertheless fall prey to the spell of the Horseman?”

“Yes!” Imbri agreed. “He should have been invulnerable! He believed he was! His talent was working with marvelous subtlety and precision. He wanted the Horseman to approach him, believing that—”

“Yet he evidently was not immune,” Arnolde said. “Why should this be?”

“He was very tired after fighting Hasbinbad and getting wounded and dragging himself almost to the bridge path. Maybe his talent had been weakened.”

“I question that. His talent was one of the strongest known in Xanth, though it
wasn’t
known.”

“Yet it failed to protect him from magical harm—”

“There is my point. Could it be that Bink was not actually harmed?”

Imbri glanced toward the room where the Kings were lying. “I don’t understand. He
was
ensorcelled.”

“You assume the enchantment was harmful. Suppose it was not? In that event, Bink would not be proof against it.”

“But—” Imbri could not continue the thought.

“Let me approach the matter from another perspective,” Arnolde said. “It strikes me that the symptoms of these ensorcelled Kings are very like the trance inspired by the hypnogourd.”

“Yes!” Imbri agreed, surprised. “But there is no gourd.”

“Now suppose the Horseman has the talent to form a line-of-sight connection magically between any two places,” the centaur said. “Such as the eye of a King and the peephole of a gourd. Would that account for the observed effect?”

Imbri was astonished. “Yes, I think it would!”

“Then I suspect we know where to look for the missing Kings,” Arnolde concluded. “Would you be willing to do that?”

“Of course!” Imbri sent, chagrined that she had not seen this obvious connection before.

“Rest, then. When you are ready, you may return to the gourd and investigate. Only you can do this.”

“I must do it now!” Imbri sent “If the Kings are there—”

“We still would not know how to get them out,” the Centaur King finished. “We must be wary of exaggerating the importance of this notion, which perhaps is fallacious. This is why I have not mentioned it to the grieving relatives. I do not wish to deceive them with false expectations.”

Imbri understood. “I shall say nothing to them until we know. Still, I must find out. I can rest after I know and after I report to you.” She started out, using the door so as not to appear too excited to the others.

“That is very nice of you,” Arnolde said.

Imbri almost bumped into the Mundane archivist, Ichabod, who was on his way in. He had evidently been summoned to the King’s presence for another conference. Imbri understood why, Ichabod was Arnolde’s closest friend in Xanth, possessing similar qualities of intellect and personality, together with his comprehensive knowledge of Mundanes. He would be an excellent person to discuss prospects with, since he could be far more objective about Xanth matters than the regular citizens of Xanth could. She sent him a dreamlet of friendly greeting, and Ichabod patted her on the flank in passing.

Imbri found the nearest gourd patch and dived into the World of Night. Because she was alone, there were no special effects. She trotted directly to the pasture of the Night Stallion.

He was waiting for her. “It’s high time you checked in, you idiotic mare!” he snorted in an irate dream, the breeze of his breath causing the lush grass to curl and shrivel. “You were supposed to serve as liaison!”

“King Arnolde sent me,” she replied, intimidated. “A lot has happened recently, and he—”

“Out with it, mare! Ask!”

“Have the lost Kings of Xanth—?”

“Right this way.” The Stallion walked through a wall that abruptly appeared in the pasture, and she followed.

They came into a palatial, human-style chamber. There were all the Kings. King Trent was playing poker with Good Magician Humfrey and the Zombie Master. King Dor was chatting with the furniture, and King Bink, a recent arrival, was asleep on a couch.

“They’re all right!” Imbri projected, gratified. “Right here in the gourd! Why didn’t you send another night mare out to advise us?”

“It is not permitted,” the Stallion replied. “To tell the future is apt to negate it, likewise to divulge what can not be known through natural channels. You were the designated channel; it had to flow through you. There was no other way to handle this situation without supernatural interference, so I had to stand aside and let it proceed undisturbed. All I could safely do was try to warn Xanth about the Horseman.”

Imbri snorted. “That didn’t make much difference!”

“Precisely. The future was not spoiled, because people seldom believe the truth about it. It shall not be spoiled, though critical revelations remain to be unveiled. Now that a King of Xanth has figured out the riddle of the Kings, that information is no longer privileged. Perhaps he will figure out the rest in time to save Xanth. I leave you to it.” He paused, giving Imbri a meaningful stare. “Still, beware the Horseman.”

“I
am
wary of him!” Imbri protested. But the Night Stallion walked back through the wall and was gone, leaving her with the uncomfortable feeling that she was missing something vital, as she had done before. Yet what more could she do except watch out for the Horseman and not trust him at all?

The three Kings quickly concluded their poker game—the Magician of Information, naturally, seemed to be well ahead, and had a pile of oysters, bucksaws, and wilting lettuce to show for it—and turned to Imbri. “How goes it Xanthside?” King Trent inquired politely, as if this were a routine social call.

“Your Majesty,” Imbri sent, still halfway overwhelmed by this discovery of the lost Kings. “Do you want the whole story?”

“No. Only since Bink was taken. We know it to that point.”

Imbri sent out a dream that showed her search for King Bink, their return to Castle Roogna, the ascension of Arnolde Centaur, and his solution of the riddle of Kings and designation of Queen Iris and Queen Irene as the next Kings.

“Marvelous!” the Zombie Master exclaimed. “That is one sensible centaur!”

“That accounts for two Kings to follow him,” Humfrey said. “But there is supposed to be a line of ten. Who are the other two?”

King Dor joined them. “The Dark Horse knows,” he said. “But he won’t tell.”

“He is right not to tell,” the Zombie Master said. “We must figure it out for ourselves. Only then can we break the chain and finally save Xanth.”

“Is there no way to get you back to Xanth?” Imbri asked.

“Not while the Horseman is free,” Humfrey answered. “I believe the only way to stop him from enchanting people is to end his life—but even he may not be able to reverse a line of sight he has made. It seems to be a limited talent, one-way, like the one-way bridge across the Chasm. He is not Magician caliber.”

“Yet what mischief he causes!” the Zombie Master exclaimed. “As long as a single gourd exists, his power remains. Perhaps we are lucky he did not strike years ago.”

“He probably did not know about the gourds,” Humfrey said. “Many people don’t.”

“The gourds!” Imbri sent, appalled. “
I
told him about the gourds, or at least about the World of Night. He thought the gourd was merely an oddity, but after he knew its nature—
I
showed him how to imprison the Kings!”

“This is the nature of prophecy,” King Trent said philosophically. “You carried the message, but did not understand the nature of the threat. None of us did. You are no more culpable than the rest of us. You have certainly done good work since, and your Night Stallion seems to feel that you hold the key to the final salvation of Xanth.”

“Me!” Imbri sent, astonished.

“But we do not know in what way,” Good Magician Humfrey said. “This is an aspect of information that has been denied to me, along with the specific nature of my own colossal folly. Perhaps it is simply in your position as liaison. I dare say the wives will be pleased to know we remember them.”

Dor laughed. “Mine may say good riddance! I certainly didn’t pay her much attention after we married.”