Night Mare (29 page)

Imbri now retired to the graveyard for some good grazing. One of the graves began to shake and settle, but she squealed warningly at it and it desisted. Imbri did not take any guff from graves, just grass.

Well before dawn, Xanthside—dawn never came to the World of Night, naturally—she returned to the chamber of Kings. Dor and Irene were there, talking with the others, looking happy. A number of pillows were scattered about; it seemed the pillow fight had spread, as conflicts tended to. Everyone appeared satisfied.

Irene looked up and saw the mare. “Oh, it’s time to go, or Mother will know what mischief I was up to!” she exclaimed. She brushed a pillow feather from her hair, gave King Dor a final kiss, and went to Imbri.

They moved on out, emerging from the gourd before the sun climbed from its own nocturnal hiding place. The sun was afraid of the dark, so never appeared before day came. “Oh, Imbri!” Irene exclaimed. “You’ve made it so nice, considering . . .”

Considering that the Kings were still prisoners and Xanth was still under siege by the Mundanes. Imbri understood. This had been no more than an interlude. “We must rescue the Kings soon,” Imbri sent “Before their bodies suffer too much from hunger.”

“Yes,” Irene agreed. “We have to capture the Horseman—soon.”

They returned to Castle Roogna. King Arnolde was alert. “Are you rested, Imbri?” he inquired.

Imbri replied that she was; the cemetery verdure was marvelously rich, and her hours of quiet grazing and sleep within the familiar gourd had restored her to full vitality. Perhaps, too, her part in facilitating Irene’s reunion with her father and husband had buoyed her half spirit. She was only sorry she had missed the pillow fight.

“Then I must ask you to lead the centaurs to the Mundanes,” the King said. “They are not conversant with the specific route, and we don’t want them to fall prey to avoidable hazards. I would do it myself, or have Chet or Chem do it, but—”

Imbri understood. The Centaur Isle troops still refused to deal directly with the obscenely talented centaurs. She couldn’t approve of their attitude, but knew that there were few creatures as stubborn as centaurs. It was best to accommodate them without raising the issue they were, after all, here to save Xanth from the ravage of the Nextwave. “I will take them there,” she agreed. “Where exactly are the Mundanes now?”

“They are proceeding south, skirting the regions of Fire and Earth, passing the land of the goblins. We sent news to the goblins of the Mundane threat, and they promised to organize for defense, but we’re not sure they’ve gotten beyond the draft-notice stage. We don’t even know whether we can trust them. It is difficult to intimidate goblins, but the Mundanes are extremely tough. In past centuries goblins were a worse menace than Mundanes, but they were more numerous and violent then. Chem says she knows one of them, a female named Goldy who possesses a magic wand—but I prefer caution.”

Imbri went to join the centaurs, who were organizing efficiently for the march. At dawn their tent stables were folded and packed away.

Imbri led them north along the path to the invisible bridge across the Gap. They were amazed; they had no prior knowledge of this immense Chasm, thanks to the forget-spell on it. They trotted in single file across the bridge and soon were able to regroup on the north side.

Guided by her memory of the map Chem had formed for her before she left, Imbri led the centaurs through the land of the flies; they had suitable insect repellent and knew how to cut through the flypaper that marked the border. The flies buzzed angrily, but could not get close; the repellent caused them to bounce away, no matter how determinedly they charged.

The centaurs were able travelers, and progress was swift. Imbri led them to the fringe of the dragons’ territory. “Do not menace the dragons,” she sent in a general dreamlet “I will explain to them.” And when the first dragon came, she sent it an explanatory dream, showing brute human folk fighting half-human folk, both of whom might turn against reptile folk at the slightest pretext. The dragon retreated. Dragons were cautious about armed manlike creatures, especially in this number. They had experienced the depradations of magic-talented men and knew how well centaurs could fight. It was better to be patriotic and let the war party cross in peace.

Still, there were pauses along the way, for centaurs had to eat and lacked the ability to graze. More and more it was apparent to Imbri that any deviation from the straight equine form was a liability. The centaurs had to consume huge amounts of food to maintain their equine bodies, but it all had to be funneled through their inadequate human mouths. Fortunately, they had brought concentrated supplies along, but it remained inefficient business.

The route was not straightforward. Between the dragon country and the goblin country there was a jagged mountain range, projecting west into the region of earthquakes; they had to skirt the mountains closely to avoid getting shaken up.

It was there, in the late afternoon, that the Mundanes ambushed them. Imbri cursed herself for not anticipating this—but of course she was not a mind reader, so could not discover their nefarious plots. She only projected dreams and communicated with people by putting herself into those dreams. Had she known the Mundanes were close—but she had not known. She
should
have known, though. She realized this now, for the Mundanes had been marching south; naturally the centaur contingent would encounter them south of the location King Arnolde had described.

The centaurs fought back bravely, but were caught The Mundanes rolled boulders down the near slope of the mountain, forcing the centaurs to retreat into the region of earthquakes. That was disaster, for the ground cracked open with demoniac vigor and swallowed a number of them whole. The carnage was awful. In moments only ten centaurs remained, charging back out of the trap. Most of them had been wiped out before they could even organize for defense.

But as soon as the centaurs were clear, they halted, consulted, and moved slowly back toward the Mundanes. “What are you doing?” Imbri demanded in a dreamlet.

“Now we have sprung the traps, we shall destroy the enemy,” a centaur replied.

“But there are several hundred Mundanes, protected by the terrain! You’ll be slaughtered exactly as your companions were!”

The stubborn creatures ignored her. Weapons ready, they advanced to battle.

“This is folly!” Imbri projected, sending a background image of an army of centaurs being washed away by the tide of a mighty ocean. “At least wait until darkness; then you can set an ambush of your own. At night I will be able to scout out the enemy positions—”

They walked on, stiff-backed, refusing to be dissuaded from their set course by marish logic. Centaurs were supposed to be very intelligent, but they simply did not readily take advice from lesser creatures.

Imbri hung back, knowing she could not afford to throw away her life with theirs. She had to admire the centaurs’ courage in adversity, but also had to disassociate herself from it. She had to return to Castle Roogna to report on the disaster, in case Queen Iris had not picked it up by means of her illusion.

Yet Imbri remained for a while, hoping the centaurs would become sensible. They did not; as the Mundanes gathered and charged to attack the centaur remnant, the ten stalwart creatures exchanged terse commands and brought their bows to bear. There were now twenty times as many enemy warriors on the field as centaurs, and more men in reserve; obviously the Punics believed this was a simple mop-up operation.

It was not. For all their folly, the centaurs were well-trained fighting creatures, with excellent armor and weapons, who now knew exactly what they faced. Their unexcelled archery counted heavily. In a moment ten arrows were launched together, and ten Mundanes were skewered by shafts through their eyes. Even as they fell, another volley of arrows was aloft, and ten more went down. Every single centaur arrow counted; no target was missed or struck by more than a single arrow and no Mundane armor was touched. In the face of marksmanship like this, armor was useless. Imbri was amazed.

The Mundanes, belatedly realizing that they faced real opposition, hastily formed into a phalanx, their shields overlapping protectively. Still, they had to peek between the shields to see their way—and through these crevices passed the uncannily accurate arrows. The leading Mundanes continued to fall, and none who fell rose again. Now Imbri realized that Chet, a young centaur, had not yet fully mastered his marksmanship; otherwise he would have needed no more than a single arrow per Mundane when he had opposed them on the Chasm bridge. What an exhibition this was!

But once committed to this course of battle on the field, the Punics were as stubborn as the centaurs. They maintained their phalanx, stepping over their fallen comrades, and closed on the centaurs. More of them fell, of course, but the rest pressed on. By this time the centaurs’ arrows were running out it was coming to sword conflict—and the Mundanes still outnumbered the centaurs ten to one.

Had all fifty centaurs avoided the ambush, Imbri realized, they could have destroyed the entire Mundane army without a loss. Their confidence had not been misplaced. Of course, the Mundanes would not have met them on the open field if they had been aware of the marksmanship they faced, so it might have been more even. As it was, the centaur disaster had been followed by the Punic disaster; forty centaurs and a hundred Mundanes were dead. And there might still be a good fight—but the centaurs would surely lose, for swords were not as distant and clean as arrows. Imbri turned and galloped away, feeling like a coward but knowing this was what she had to do.

A goblin stepped out before her, waving his stubby arms. Imbri screeched to a halt. “Who are you?” she sent.

“I am Stunk,” he said. “You brought me a bad dream once—and then it came true. I got drafted. I should have fled Goblin Land when I had the chance.”

After a moment, Imbri remembered. Her last delivery—the one that had shown her inadequacy for the job. “But the goblins didn’t fight!”

“All we did was guard our mountain holes,” he agreed. “But Goldy, girlfriend of a chief, sent me to intercept you. She says some of her friends are on the human side, so she wants to help—but she’s the only one who will. So if the folk at Castle Roogna need her, come and get her. She does have the magic wand and a lot of courage.”

“I will relay the message,” Imbri sent

Stunk saluted, and Imbri flicked her tail in response. The goblin turned north, while she continued south. Apparently getting drafted was not nearly as bad in life as in a dream. Of course, it was Stunk’s fortune that the goblins had avoided actual combat with the Mundanes.

Night closed. She located a gourd patch and plunged into a peephole. It was too bad she couldn’t use this avenue by day; she might conceivably have been able to fetch help for the centaurs in time to do them some good. But if she could not use the hypnogourds by day, at least they could not harm her as they did other creatures. She was a denizen of the gourd world, immune to its effect; but it was pointless to approach a gourd when she couldn’t use it.

The Horseman, she remembered—he had actually used the gourd to eliminate the Kings. So if he tried to wield his talent on her, he would fail, and she could destroy him
.
That, too, was good to know, because she did want to destroy him.

She galloped through the familiar reaches of the dream world. It occurred to her that she could report to the five prisoned Kings on the way and perhaps receive their advice to relay to King Arnolde. She was supposed to serve as liaison, after all. So she detoured toward that section. She wondered briefly whether it would be possible for her to carry one or more of the Kings out, to rejoin his natural body. She had done that for Smash the Ogre once. But she realized immediately that she could not, because she did not know the specific channel that had brought each King into the gourd. Any King she brought out would continue to exist as a phantom; his body would remain inert. There was nothing but frustration to be gained by that. She had to locate the particular channel that connected the Kings to a particular gourd; only the Horseman knew that key. Naturally he would not give that information simply for the asking.

She entered the chamber of the Kings—and skidded to a halt, appalled.

“Yes, it is I,” Arnolde said. “I, too, have now been taken.”

Imbri projected a flickering dreamlet, stammering out her news of the fate of the centaurs. This was worse even than that, since the Horseman was still taking out the Kings as fast as they could be replaced. She had thought the Horseman was with the Mundane army, but evidently he hadn’t stayed there long.

“It seems that every time a King shows competence,” King Trent said, “the Horseman takes him out. At such time as Xanth enthrones an incompetent King, he will surely be allowed to remain until the enemy is victorious. Meanwhile, Imbri, kindly do us the favor of informing my wife, the Sorceress Iris, that she is now King.”

“Queen . . .” Imbri sent, numbed.

“King,” he repeated firmly. “Xanth has no ruling Queens.”

“With my apologies for misjudging the location of the Horseman,” Arnolde added. “I told Iris to sleep, since there was no present menace to me. Evidently I was mistaken.”

Evidently so, Imbri had to agree. She nodded and trotted on out, feeling heavy-hoofed. When would it end?

Chapter 12. King Queen

S
he reached Castle Roogna, unconscious of the intervening journey. The palace staff was sleeping, including the Queens.

Imbri approached Queen Iris and sent her a significant dream: “King Arnolde has been taken; you must assume the Kingship, your Majesty.”

“What? Arnolde was quite alert a moment ago!” Iris protested.

“You have slept some time, King Iris.”

“King Iris!” the Queen exclaimed, wrenching herself awake. She lurched to her feet and stumbled to the King’s apartment “King Centaur, I just had a bad dream—”

She stopped. Arnolde stood there, staring blankly.

“It’s true!” Iris whispered, appalled. “Oh, we should have guarded him more closely!”

“I met him in the gourd,” Imbri sent “He agreed you must be King now. King Trent said it, too. And I have bad news to report to the King.”

Iris leaned against the wall as if feeling faint. She was no young Woman, and recent events had not improved her health. Only her iron will to carry on as a Queen should had kept her going. “All my life I have longed to rule Xanth. Now that it is upon me, I dread it. Always before I had the security of knowing that no matter how strong my desire, it would never be fulfilled. Women don’t really want all the things they long for. All they really want is to long and be longed for. Oh, whatever will I do, Imbri? I’m too old and set in my ways to handle a dream turned so horribly real!”

“You will fight the Mundanes, King Iris,” Imbri sent, feeling sympathy for the woman’s predicament.

The King’s feminine visage hardened. “How right you are, mare! If there’s one thing I am good at, it is tormenting men. Those Mundanes will rue the day they invaded Xanth! And the Horseman—when I find him—”

“Stay away from him, your Majesty!” Imbri pleaded. “Until we unriddle the secret avenue of his power, no King dare approach him.”

“But I don’t need to do it physically! I can use my illlusion on him.”

Imbri was doubtful, but let that aspect rest. “He may be close to Castle Roogna,” she sent. “We thought he was up in Goblin Land . . .”

“He
was
in Goblin Land!” King Iris cried. “I saw him myself only yesterday!”

“But he must have been here to take out King Arnolde.”

“Then he found a way to travel quickly. He’s probably back with his army by now. I can verify that soon enough.” She took a deep breath. “Meanwhile, let’s have your full report on the war situation. If I am to do this job, I’ll do it properly. After it is over, I shall be womanishly weak, my foolish hunger for power having been expiated, but I can’t afford that at the moment.”

Imbri gave the report to her, then retired to the garden pasture on the King’s order and grazed and rested. She liked running all over Xanth, but it did fatigue her, and she wished it wasn’t always because of a new crisis.

In the morning King Iris had her program ready. She had devised a very large array of illusory monsters, which she set in ambush within the dragons’ terrain, awaiting the Mundanes’ southward progress. The real dragons took one look at the VLA and retreated to their burrows, wanting none of it.

In midmorning the Punic army appeared, still two hundred strong, marching in disciplined formations. Imbri saw that a number of the soldiers were ones who had not participated in the battle with the centaurs; apparently about fifty had held back or been on boulder-rolling duty; these had filled in for the additional fifty the centaurs had wiped out in the final hand-to-hand struggle. An army of three hundred fifty—slightly larger than the Xanth intelligence estimate had thought—had been reduced to somewhat better than half its original size in the course of that single encounter. If only she, Imbri, had been alert to the ambush, so that all fifty centaurs could have fought effectively! But major errors were the basic stuff of war.

King Iris had somehow gotten the magic mirror to work again, perhaps by enhancing its illusion with her own, and focused it on the Mundane army, so Imbri and the others were able to watch the next engagement. An audience was very important for Iris; her sorcery of illusion operated only for the perceiver.

First to pounce were two braces of sphinxes. Each had the head and breast of a man or woman, the body and tail of a lion, and the wings of a giant bird. The females were five times the height of a normal man, the males larger. All four monsters spread their wings as they leaped into the air and uttered harsh screams of aggression.

The Mundanes scattered, understandably. A number of them charged into the bordering zone of Air and were blown away by the perpetual winds there. Some took refuge in the burrow of a local dragon; there was a loud gulping sound, followed by the smacking of lips and a satisfied plume of smoke. Then there was a windy burp, and pieces of Mundane armor flew out of the burrow. Most of the remaining soldiers simply backed up, shields elevated, awaiting the onslaught. They certainly weren’t cowards.

The sphinxes sheered off as if deciding the odds were not proper. Of course the real reason was that the illusion would lose effect if the Mundanes ascertained its nature. No illusion could harm a person directly; he had to hurt himself by his reaction to it. If the sphinxes charged through the soldiers and revealed themselves as nothing, the game would be over.

After the sphinxes came the big birds, the rocs. The sky darkened as six of these monsters glided down, casting monstrous shadows. The two remaining Mundane elephants spooked and fled headlong back north, trumpeting in terror; they knew the sort of prey rocs liked to carry off. That set off most of the remaining horses, who stampeded north, too. It would be long before many of these were recovered, if any could be rounded up unscathed.

“Now that’s the way illusion should operate,” Queen Irene murmured appreciatively. “They’ll make slower progress with most of their animals gone.”

Each roc held a big bag, and as they passed over the Mundanes they dropped these bags. The bags burst as they struck the ground, releasing yellow vapor that looked poisonous. Bushes and trees within its ambience seemed to shrivel and wilt and turn black, and phantom figures in the likeness of Mundanes gagged and staggered and fell in twisted fashion to the ground.

Imbri made a whinny of admiration for the sheer versatility of the King’s performance; she would have been terrified if she faced that apparent threat. She heard someone cough, as if breathing the awful gas. If the illusion had that effect on these viewers, who knew it for what it was and who were not even in it, how much worse it must be for the superstitious Mundanes in the thick of it! Maybe it was possible after all, to wipe out the enemy without touching it physically.

The Punics reeled back, afraid to let the yellow vapor overtake them. Their leader came forward—the Horseman, riding a fine brown horse. Naturally that man had prevented his steed from spooking. Imbri was startled; this meant he was with this army and not lurking around Castle Roogna. How had he traveled so fast? He had to have magical means—a carpet, perhaps, or some renegade person of Xanth who enabled him to do it. Someone who could make him fly—but that did not seem likely. The mystery deepened unpleasantly.

The Horseman yelled at the troops, then strode forward into the fog. It did not hurt him. They rallied and stood up to it—and of course it did not hurt them either. The bluff had been called.

After that, the Mundanes ignored the splendid illusions King Iris threw at them. They marched south, toward the Gap Chasm, and it seemed nothing she could do would stop them. But Imbri knew the King wasn’t finished. “There’s more than one type of illusion,” Iris said grimly.

By late afternoon the Punic army was approaching the Gap. It was making excellent time, because no creature of Xanth opposed it and the Horseman obviously had mapped out a good route. But King Iris made the Chasm appear to be farther south than it was. Then she sent a herd of raindeer trotting across the spot where the real Chasm had been blocked out, bringing a small rainstorm with them. Illusion worked both ways: to make something nonexistent take form, and to make something that was there disappear. This combination was marvelously effective. Little bolts of lightning speared out from the rainstorm, and there were boomlets of thunder. Iris was a real artist in her fashion. One might disbelieve the storm—but overlook the nonexistence of the ground it rained on. Water from that storm was coursing over that ground, beginning to flood it. There were even reflections in that water.

The Mundanes, jaded by the displays of the day, charged past the nonexistent deer, right on into the nonexistent storm, across the nonexistent ground—and fell, screaming, into the very real Gap Chasm. The Horseman had forgotten about it, naturally enough, and the Mundanes had never known of it.

The Horseman quickly called a halt and regrouped the Mundanes—but he had lost another thirty men. He was down to a hundred and fifty now, and obviously not at all pleased. He reined his horse before the illusion and shook his braceleted fist.

Imbri was privately glad to see the man had not caught the day horse. He must have pre-empted this one from a lesser officer. Could he have ridden the brown horse to Castle Roogna and back in the night? It seemed unlikely; the horse was too fresh. But since the Mundanes had retained a number of horses, before the Queen spooked them away, he certainly might have used one of those for his purpose, though the best routes for hoofed creatures were not necessarily the shortest ones and certainly not the safest. The best shortcuts were ones only something like a man could take. So there still seemed to be no perfect answer. Yet the major mystery was not how he traveled, but how to abate the enchantment on the six Kings.

“Is that so, you Mundane oaf!” King Iris demanded, in response to the Horseman’s fist-shaking gesture. “You can’t threaten me, horsehead! I’ll use my illusion to chip away your entire army before it reaches Castle Roogna!” And she formed the image of a raspberry bush, which made a rude noise at him.

Contemptuously, the Horseman guided his horse right through the illusion—and smacked into the ironwood tree that Iris had covered up by the raspberry. His horse stumbled, and the Horseman was thrown headlong. He took a rolling breakfall in the dirt and came to rest unhurt but disheveled and furious.

“Oh, Mother, that wasn’t nice!” Irene chortled.

King Iris formed the image of her own face there before the fallen man, smirking at him. She could see him through the eyes of her illusion.

The Horseman saw her. He made a swooping gesture with his two hands—and suddenly the illusion vanished.

Queen Irene glanced at her mother, alarmed. “What’s the—” Then she screamed.

Now it was evident to them all: King Iris had taunted the dread enemy—and had been taken by his magic.

After a shocked pause, Imbri sent a dreamlet to the girl: “What is your program, King Irene?”

Irene spluttered. “I’m not—I can’t—”

“King Arnolde decreed you a Sorceress, therefore a Magician, therefore in the line of succession, and he named you to be the eighth King of Xanth. You must now assume the office and carry on during this crisis. Xanth needs you, your Majesty. At least we know your mother is safe in the gourd.”

The girl’s wavering chin firmed. “Yes, she is with my father now, perhaps for the first time. As long as we protect her body. But the moment those Mundanes get inside this castle, all is lost. They will slay the bodies of our Kings, and then our people will be forever in the gourd, or worse. Our situation is desperate, for we no longer have magic that can strike down the enemy from a distance.” She paused, glancing around the room. “Who will be King after me?”

“Humfrey said there would be ten Kings during this siege,” Imbri reminded her. “But you are the last Magician. We can’t let the Horseman claim the throne by default. I think you’ll have to designate your successor from among the lesser talents, just in case.”

King Irene nodded. She turned herself about, surveying the people in the room a second time. Chameleon was helping Crombie the old soldier move King Iris to the chamber where the six previous Kings were kept; she would be the seventh.

“Chameleon,” Irene said.

The woman paused. Imbri had to do another mental adjustment, for Chameleon was now far removed from her prettiness of the past. It would have been unkind to call her ugly, but that was the direction in which she was going. “Yes, your Majesty?” Even her words had harshened.

“You will be King Number Nine,” Irene said clearly.

“What?” Chameleon used her free hand to brush a straggle of hair back from an ear that should have remained covered.

“You are the mother of a King and the wife of a King and you’re just coming into your smart phase. We are out of Magicians; now we have to go with intelligence. King Arnolde showed what could be done with intelligence; he clarified the line of succession and located the lost Kings. He did more to help Xanth than any magic could have done. You will be smarter yet. Maybe you will be able to solve the riddle of the Horseman before—” She shrugged.

“Before he becomes the tenth King,” Chameleon said. She was much faster to pick up on other people’s thoughts now, after her initial surprise at being designated a prospective King.

Imbri found this steady progression a remarkable thing. She knew Chameleon was the same woman, but most of the identifying traits of the one she had carried north to spy on the Mundanes were now gone. She liked the other Chameleon better.

Tandy went to take Chameleon’s place, helping Crombie conduct the former female King to the resting chamber. Chameleon returned to talk with Irene. “I see your logic,” Chameleon said. “I am no Sorceress, and there are many people in Xanth with stronger magic than mine, but I believe you are correct. What we most require is not magic, but intelligence—and that, for a time, I can provide.” She smiled lopsidedly, knowing better than anyone that if she retained the office of King too long, Xanth would be in an extremely sad state. She would have to wrap up the job during the nadir of her appearance, for there was no intellect to match hers then. “I shall see that the Horseman is not the tenth King, whatever else I do or do not accomplish.” She did not bother to argue the unlikelihood of Irene’s getting taken; they both knew that this was inevitable as the prophesied chain continued to its end. “But in case you face the Horseman directly, King Irene—”