Night Mare (5 page)

Imbri checked in with a reassuring dreamlet, then moved back outside to graze on the excellent local grass. She slept while grazing, comfortably, suspecting she would need all her energy the next day.

A tiny golem appeared at the cottage in the morning. “Oh, hello, Grundy,” Chameleon said. “Do you want a cookie?”

“Yes,” the miniature figure said, accepting the proffered delicacy. It was an armful for him, but he chewed bravely into the rim. “But that’s not why I’m here. King Trent says you must ride the night mare to Good Magician Humfrey’s castle and ask his advice for this campaign.”

“But I couldn’t bother the Good Magician!” Chameleon protested. “He’s so old nobody knows!”

“The King says this is important. We have a crisis coming up in the Nextwave and we don’t want to misplay it. He says Humfrey should see this mare. Get going within the hour.”

Imbri snorted. Who was this little nuisance, to order them about?

The golem snorted back—speaking perfect equine. “I’m Grundy the Golem, and I’m on the King’s errand, horse-face.”

“So you can communicate in nonhuman languages!” Imbri neighed. That was quite a talent! She didn’t even have to project a dreamlet at him. Still, she didn’t like the insulting inflection he had applied to the uninsulting “horse-face,” so she sent a brief dream of the fires of hell at him.

The golem blanched. “That’s some talent you have yourself, mare,” he concluded. He departed with dispatch.

Chameleon looked at Imbri. “But I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she said. She seemed very unsure of herself in her stupid phase, but she was certainly an excellent figure of a woman of her age.

“Use a pillow for a cushion, and I will teach you how,” Imbri projected, her dreamlet showing Chameleon seated confidently and somewhat regally on the dream horse’s back, her lovely hair flowing down about her.

Chameleon got a pillow and followed instructions. Soon she was precariously perched, her legs dangling awkwardly, her arms rigid. This was an immense contrast to the evil expertise of the Horseman! But Imbri moved carefully, and the woman gradually relaxed. It really was not hard to ride a horse, if the horse was willing.

They moved east through field and forest, toward the Good Magician’s castle. Because Imbri had been almost everywhere in Xanth in the course of her century and a half of dream duty, she needed no directions to locate it. She stayed clear of dragons, tangle trees, and similar hazards and reached the castle without untoward event late in the day. Imbri could have covered the distance much faster alone, but Chameleon would have taken much longer by herself, so it was a fair compromise. They had paused to eat along the way and had taken turns napping; Imbri carried the woman carefully while she slept, then had shown her how to guide the snoozing mare away from holes in the ground and other nuisances by the pressure of knees on sides. Chameleon was quite surprised that a creature could walk while sleeping. She was stupid, but she had a sweet personality and followed directions well; she was learning to be a helpful rider.

As the castle came into view, both mare and woman were startled. It was a monstrous circle of stones set within a moat. Each stone was too huge to be moved physically and stood upright. On top were set enormous slabs of rock, so that the whole formed a kind of pavilion. There was no sign of the Good Magician.

“I am not very smart, of course,” Chameleon said, “but I don’t understand this at all. That megalith looks many centuries old!”

Imbri was reasonably smart, but she was similarly baffled. She had been by this castle several times in the past, and though it had always looked different, it had never been
this
different “We shall have to go in and look,” she projected. “Maybe there is some sign of what happened to the Good Magician.”

“Maybe he moved,” Chameleon suggested.

They approached the moat. By night Imbri could have hurdled it or trotted across the surface of the water, but now she had to wade and swim, since she did not want to delay unnecessarily.

The moment her hoof touched the water, a fish swam up. It changed into a naked man before them. “Halt! You can’t pass here!”

“Oh, dear,” Chameleon said.

Imbri recognized the type. “You’re a nix,” she projected.

The man shifted form again, partway, adopting the tail of a fish. “Well, mare!” he said. “What else would you expect to find guarding a moat?”

“At Castle Roogna there are nice moat monsters,” Chameleon said.

“I
am
a moat monster!” the nix declared. “And you can’t pass unless you know the password.”

“Password?” Chameleon was plainly perplexed. So was Imbri. Why should they be allowed to pass it they knew a word, if their merit was not otherwise apparent? This did not seem to make sense.

Imbri tried to evoke the word from a dream, but the nix was too canny for that. Dreams were aids to communication and often evoked deep feeling, but were not for mind reading.

“We’ll just have to cross despite him,” Imbri projected privately to Chameleon, with a dream picture of woman and horse forging across the moat while the nix protested helplessly. After all, the creature carried no weapon and was not physically imposing in either its fish or man form. Also, they had the right and the need to cross they were on the King’s business.

“Yes, we must cross,” Chameleon agreed. She hiked up her skirt so that it would not get wet, though of course Imbri was likely to sink low enough in the water to wet the woman’s legs to the thighs anyway. They were excellent limbs, considering her age. Perhaps even not considering her age. Water would hardly hurt them.

This was not lost on the nix. He whistled lewdly. “Look at those gams!” he exclaimed.

“Ignore him,” Imbri said in the dream image, for she saw that the dream girl Chameleon was blushing. It seemed that despite a quarter century of marriage, Chameleon remained fundamentally innocent. That probably accounted for her son’s innocence. Imbri found herself liking the woman even more and felt protective toward her. Chameleon was as esthetic emotionally as she was physically, almost too nice to be true.

They plunged into the water. “Nix, nix!” the nix cried. “You shall not pass without the word! I will freeze your tracks!” He pointed—and the water abruptly congealed about Imbri’s legs.

Imbri stopped, perforce. She stood knee-deep in ice! The nix did have power to stop her progress.

“What do you think of that, nag?” the nix demanded with insolent satisfaction. He was now back in fish form, able to speak that way, too. “No password, no passing. I told you! Did you think the rule was passé?”

Chameleon fidgeted helplessly, but Imbri struggled to draw one foot and then another from its mooring. Ice splintered as her hooves came free. Soon she stood on the frozen surface and began to walk forward.

“Nix! Nix!” the sprite cried, back in man form, pointing again with a finlike arm. The ice melted instantly, and Imbri dropped into deeper water with a splash. The nix chortled.

Well, then she would wade again. One way or another, she would cross this moat

The nix froze the water again—and again Imbri struggled to the top. He melted it, plunging her down. This was awkward, but the continued to make progress. The nix could not actually stop her.

Then she reached the deep where she had to swim. The water came almost to the top of her back. Chameleon hiked her skirt up over her waist “Oh, it tickles!” she protested.

The nix gloated, now faintly resembling a satyr. “Where does it tickle, wench?
I’ll
give you a good tickle, if that’s what you like.” This caused the dream girl to blush furiously again. But she wouldn’t let her dress get wet. Actually, it was a fairly simple outfit in shades of gray, the parts neither matching nor clashing; it was she herself who made it attractive.

“Hey, I never knew a doll could blush that far down,” the nix said evilly.

Imbri nosed a splash of water at him, but continued swimming, If the nix remained distracted by the woman’s exposure and embarrassment long enough, they would be across. That should embarrass
him.
He certainly deserved it.

Alas, the nix was not that foolish. “Nix, nix!” he cried, pointing again.

This time the freezing was incomplete. The water thickened into cold sludge, but Imbri was able to forge through it. It seemed there was too much volume here to freeze enough to immobilize her submerged body, so the effect was diluted.

“Well, then, nox!” the nix cried angrily. “Nix, nox, paddywox, live the frog alone!”

This nonsense thawed the water, then thinned it farther. Suddenly it was too dilute to support the mare’s swimming weight. She sank down over her head.

This was like phasing through solids—with one difference. She could not breathe. The water was now too thin to swim but too thick to breathe, and its composition was wrong.

Imbri’s feet found the bottom. This was solid. She turned hastily about and walked the few paces needed to bring her high enough for her head to break the surface. Now she could breathe.

She projected a dreamlet to Chameleon: centaur filly shaking a spray of water out of her hide. “Are you all right, woman?”

“My dress is soaked—I think,” Chameleon lamented. “The water isn’t very wet.”

That was good enough for Imbri. “Take a deep breath, and I will run all the way across the moat on the bottom. With thin water we can do it.”

“That’s what you think, night nag!” the nix cried, evidently catching part of the dream. He was swimming along, his forepart that of a fish, his hind part that of a man. The water was abruptly fully liquid again. “Try to run through that!”

Imbri realized that it could be dangerous to try. If she swam and the nix vaporized the water, she would sink without a breath and have to turn back. Chameleon could panic and possibly drown. Imbri wasn’t certain whether Chameleon could swim, and now was not the time to inquire.

She paused to consider. Alone, she could probably forge through despite the mischievous nix. But with Chameleon, it was harder. Too bad the woman was so stupid; Imbri had to do all the thinking. How could she get them both across with minimum risk?

Then she had a notion. She projected a new dream to Chameleon, a scene of herself in mare form and the woman in woman form, exactly as they were in life. But the nix was there, too, eavesdropping. Whatever they tried, he would foil.

The dream mare projected a dream within the dream to Chameleon. This one bypassed the snooping nix, who did not realize the complex levels available in dream symbolism. In that redistilled dream, Imbri was a woman in black and Chameleon a woman in white. “Trust me,” she said to the dream-in-dream girl, who looked slightly startled. “We shall cross—but not the way we seem to. Follow what I say, not what I do. Can you do that?”

The dream-in-dream girl blinked uncertainly. “I’ll try, Imbri,” she agreed. “That
is
you?”

Oh—it was the human guise that confused her. “Yes. I can take any form in dreams, but I usually am black or wear black, because that’s night mare color.”

The Chameleons on the three levels of reality, dream, and dream-dream smiled, getting it straight.

Now they returned to focus on the outer dream. “Hang on, Chameleon,” the mare cried. In real life Imbri could not physically talk human language, but dreams had different rules. “I’m swimming across now.”

“Swimming across,” the woman agreed, hiking her skirt high again. Her limbs were just as shapely in the dream as in reality.

“You’ll get your no-no wet!” the nix cried, evilly teasing her.

Chameleon blushed yet again—she seemed to have an excellent supply of blush, as pretty women did—but held her pose. The dream mare moved into deep water, swimming across. The real mare did likewise.

“Nix! Nix!” the sprite cried, caught halfway between fish and man forms. He vaporized the water.

The real mare and woman sank—but the dream pair continued swimming. “It’s not too deep here,” the dream mare called. ‘We can run along the bottom and still breathe. In just a moment we’ll be across!”

“Hey!” the nix exclaimed angrily. “Nix, nix, I’ll nix you!” And he froze the water.

Now the real mare was able to slog upward through the cold slush and get her head and the woman’s above water so they could breathe again. She plowed clumsily forward.

But the dream mare was stuck. “I can’t move!” that mare cried. ‘We’re frozen in tight!”

“Serves you right, nocturnal nag!” the nix shouted jubilantly. “You can’t cross without the password!”

“We must turn back!” the dream mare said despairingly.

“Yes, turn back,” dream Chameleon agreed, though she did not seem fully convinced.

“You’re doing well,” the dream-in-dream Imbri woman figure reassured her on that level.

Meanwhile, the real mare pulled free of the slush and swam on toward the megaliths. Progress was faster as the water cleared.

“We’ll never get across!” the dream mare wailed.

“Never!” the dream girl agreed enthusiastically.

But the nix was not completely gullible. “Hey—those are your dream images! Real mares can’t talk!” He blinked, orienting on the real-life situation—and discovered how they had tricked him. He had been so busy snooping on the supposedly private dream that he had neglected reality, as Imbri had intended. “Nix! Nix! Nix!” he screamed from a fish mouth set in a human face, hurling a vapor spell. The water thinned about them, dropping them down—but now they were close to the far side, and the moat was becoming shallow.

Imbri galloped up the slope, and her head dipped under water only momentarily. The nix froze the water; the mare scrambled up on top of it, as here in the shallower region the freezing was solid.

“Can I breathe now?” the dream Chameleon pleaded.

“Breathe!” Imbri responded, clambering to shore. They had made it!

Behind them, the nix sank wrathfully into a region of vaporizing ice, his human head set on a fish’s body. “You females tricked me!” he muttered. Then, looking at the forming cloud of ice vapor: “I never did believe in sublimation.”

“It is the nature of males to be gullible,” Imbri agreed in a dreamlet, making a picture of the nix formed as a human being with the head of a fish, wearing a huge dunce cap, while an ice storm swirled about him.