NIGHTMARE XANTH 06

Chapter 1. To See the Rainbow

The stork glided to a landing before Stunk's

residence and squawked for attention.

"No, it can't be!" the goblin cried in panic. "I'm not

even married!"

" 'Snot that," the stork said through his long bill. "In the

off-season I deliver mail." He produced an official-looking

letter.

"Off-season for what?" the goblin demanded.

"You wouldn't understand. Take the missive. I have

other idiots to bug."

"But I can't read!" Stunk protested, his panic shifting to

embarrassment. Few goblins could read, but like most illit-

erates, they didn't like this advertised.

"I will read it to you, bulbnose." The stork opened the

envelope and oriented an eye on the document inside.

"Greetings."

"Same to you, birdbrain," Stunk said politely. Goblins

had excellent manners, though for some reason other crea-

tures seemed unable to appreciate them.

"Don't answer back, dolt," the stork said. "I'm reading

the letter, not talking to you. Don't you know what 'Greet-

ings' means?"

Stunk didn't answer.

"Hey, stupid, I asked you a question," the stork said,

irritated.

"I thought you were reading the letter, needlebeak, so I

didn't answer back. I'm trying to be polite to one not worth

the effort. Of course I know what it means. It's an ungob-

linish salutation."

"Salutation, ha! You dope, it means you have been

drafted!"

2                         Night Mare

"What? I wasn't aware of any draft. It's a very quiet

day; no breeze at all."

"Abducted into the army, moron! Caught by the offi-

cial press gang. Your happy civilian life is over."

"No!" Stunk cried, appalled. "I don't want to fight. Not

that way, with weapons and rules and things. Tell me it

isn't true!"

"I'll bet you wish you'd had the baby instead, huh, gob-

lin!" the stork gloated, cradling the letter with his wings.

"Why would I be summoned to war? We're at relative

peace with the dragons and the griffins!"

"It's the Mundane invasion, oaf. The Nextwave of con-

quest. The horrible Mundanes are coming to make dragon

stew and goblins too."

"No! No!" Stunk screamed, his horror growing by stum-

bles and lurches and faltering footsteps. "I don't want to be

goblin stew! I'm only a young, ignorant lout! I have my

whole ornery life ahead of me! I won't go!"

"Then you are a draft evader or a deserter," the stork

said, licking his beak with an orange tongue. "Do you

know what they do to deserters?"

"I don't want to know!"

"They feed them to dragons." The stork was gloating;

waves of gloat radiated out from him like ripples on a

greasy puddle. Behind him a dragon loomed, snorting up

little warm-up snorts of purple smoke.

"They'll never get me alive!" Stunk cried, working up to

a superior degree of cowardice. He charged out of his hole

in the wall, fleeing the draft notice. But already the dragon

was pursuing him hungrily, pumping up extra-purple

smoke, the kind that not only roasted goblins, but smelled

pretty bad, too. Salivary smoke.

Stunk fled screaming, feeling the monster's fire hot at

his back. He paid no attention to where his feet were going.

He was beginning to outdistance the dragon, but knew he

was not yet out of its range; that tongue of flame could

reach him any time.

Suddenly he was at the brink of a ledge, unable to stop.

His horror doubled as he fell off. He saw the hard rock of

the bottom of a canyon rushing up at him as his stubby arms

windmilled futilely. Better the dragon than this, and better

Night Mare                          3

the draft than the dragon—but now it was too late for ei-

ther.

It was too much. Bawling out his terror, be woke.

Imbri leaped through the wall, phasing into intangibility.

She had misjudged the client's reaction to the dream and

had almost been caught visible. ,It was very bad form for

any night mare to be seen by a waking person, even one as

insignificant as a goblin. She galloped out into the night,

leaving only a single hoofprint behind as a signature. That

signature was important; Imbri was a perfectionist, and

liked to put her personal stamp on every bad dream she

delivered.

Dawn was threatening. Fortunately, this was her last

call; now she could go home and relax and graze for the

day. She galloped across the land, passing through trees

and bushes, until she came to a patch of hypnogourds.

Without pause she dived into a ripe gourd—a feat that

would have surprised anyone who was not conversant with

magic, as horses were much larger than gourds—and was

instantly in an alternate world.

Soon she was on the dusky plain, with the other mares of

the night mare herd converging, all returning from duty.

Their hoofprints bore maps of the moon, with its green

cheese and holes, and the names of the individual mares

highlighted thereon. MARE HUMERUM, MARE NU-

BIUM, MARE FRIGORIS, MARE NECTARIS, MAKE,

AUSTRALE—all her old immortal friends, all with seas of

the moon named after them, in honor of their nocturnal

performance over the centuries.

Another mare galloped up to intercept Imbri. It was

Crisium, serving as temporary liaison to the Night Stallion.

She projected a dreamlet the moment she came within

range. It was the scene of an elf, waving his arms in ani-

mated speech. "Imbril" the elf exclaimed. "Report to Tro-

jan right away!" The brief dream faded.

A summons from the Dark Horse himself? That was not

to be ignoredl Imbri whirled on a hoof and charged across

the plain, heading for the stable. Her relaxation would have

to wait.

The Night Stallion was awaiting her. He stood huge and

4                         Night Mare

handsome, midnight black of hide and mane and tail and

hoof in the same fashion as all the mares, but on him it

was more impressive. Any male was impressive in the

realm of equus, for the real power lay with the few stal-

lions.

Trojan projected a dream set in a lush human edifice

chamber, in which Imbri took the form of an elegant hu-

man person lady, and he was a gray-haired human creature

King.

"You are not doing well, Mare Imbrium!" the Horse

King said. "You have lost that special spark that truly ter-

rifies. I am dissatisfied."

"But I just drove a goblin to distraction!" Imbri-Lady

protested.

"After hauling in the dragon and the unforeshadowed

cliff," Trojan retorted. "You should have had him terrified

into oblivion before he ever left the house. Dream dragons

must not be brought in promiscuously, or the dreamers will

become acclimated to them and desensitized. That ruins it

for the other mares. You must avoid overexposure of emer-

gency elements."

Imbri realized it was true. The nucleus of the dream had

been the horror of the draft that was supposed to chill the

spine of the client and make him shiver. She had lost her

competitive edge and made clumsy what should have been

precise. "I will try to do better," her lady form said peni-

tently.

"That is not enough," he replied. "The edge is not en-

tirely a matter of trying. It is inherent. Once you lose it, it's

gone. I'm going to have to trade you, Mare Imbrium."

"But this is the only work I know!" she protested,

stricken. She felt as the goblin had when receiving a dread

notice. After more than a century of dream duty, during

which time she bad earned and held her designated moon

sea, she wasn't ready for anything else.

"You can learn new work. There are daydreams—"

"Daydreams!" she repeated with contempt.

"I believe you have the inclination."

"Inclination?" She was stunned. "I never—"

"You were recently caught and ridden by a client," he

said firmly. "No night mare can be caught unless she tac-

,  Night Mare                         5

itiy acquiesces."

"But—"

"Why would you accede to being caught by a client?"

The King held up a hand to forestall her protest. "I will tell

you why. You saw, in the memory of another client long

ago, the image of a rainbow. You were fascinated by this

vision; you wanted to see the reality for yourself. But you

knew you could never do that as a night mare, for the

rainbow shuns the night. It is a phenomenon of day."

"Yes ..." she agreed, realizing it was true. The vision

of the multicolored rainbow had haunted her for years.

But no night mare could go abroad by day; the radiation of

the sun caused her kind to fade rapidly. So it had always

been a futile notion, and she had been quite foolish to let it

distract her.

"As it happens, you possess half a soul," the Stallion

continued. "You carried an ogre out of the fringe of the

Void and accepted in payment half the soul of a centaur,

when all you really wanted was the chance to see a rain-

bow. Logic has never been the strong point of females."

She remembered it well. The ogre had wanted to do her

a return favor, but she had not felt free to converse with

him in dreamlet fashion and had been unable to convey her

interest in the rainbow to him otherwise. He had been a

decent sort, for an ogre and for a male. The two concepts

overlapped significantly.

"As it happens," the Dream King continued, "that soul

has further dulled your edge, interfering with your dream

performance. It is difficult to be truly brutal when you

have a soul; that is contrary to the nature of souls."

"But it's only a half soul," Imbri protested. "A mere fil-

let of soul. I thought it wouldn't hurt."

"Any portion of a soul hurts in this business," he said.

"Are you ready to give it up now?"

"Give up my soul?" she asked, appalled for a reason she

could not define.

"As you know, most mares who earn half souls soon turn

them in to me for storage, so that their edge will not be

dulled, and they receive bonus-credit for extraordinary

service to the cause. Souls are extremely valuable commod-

ities, and we grasp and hold any we can. You alone re-

6                         Night Mare

tained your share of soul, passing up the advantage you

could have had by cashing it in. Why?"

"I don't know," Imbri admitted, ashamed.

"I do know," Trojan said. "You are a nice personality,

and you have grown nicer over the decades. You don't

really enjoy causing people misery. The soul enhances that

liability."

"Yes . . ." she agreed sadly, knowing that she was con-

fessing a guilty secret that could indeed wash her out as a

bearer of bad dreams. "I have drifted along an errant

path."

"This is not necessarily wrong."

Her ears perked forward—an incongruous thing, since

she remained in lady image in the dream. "Not wrong?"

"It relates to your destiny. It will one day enable you to

see the rainbow."

"The rainbow!"

"You are a marked mare, Imbrium, and you will set

your mark on Xanth, That time is near."

Imbri stared at him. The Night Stallion knew more than

any other creature in the World of Night, but seldom told

it. If he perceived a pattern in Imbri's incapacities, he was

surely correct. But she dared not inquire about it, directly.

"Imbrium, I am transferring you to day mare duty. A

more horrendous mare will assume your night duties."

"But I can't go into dayl" she protested with fearful

hope. She knew how brutal and awful some mares were,

with wild eyes and wilder manes; they had absolutely no

mercy on sleepers. It bothered her to think of her clients

being placed in the power of such a creature.

"One of the distinctions between night mares and day

mares is the possession of souls. The creatures of night

have no souls; those of day have no bodies. You will ac-

tually be a halfway creature, with half a soul and a half-

material body. I shall enchant you to be able to withstand

the light of the sun."

"I can go abroad in the real world by day?" The hope

became less fearful, for when the Stallion neighed, all

mares believed.

"You will serve as liaison between the Powers of the

Night and the powers of day during the crisis."

Night Mare                      7

"Crisis?" Imbri thought she was confusing the term with

her friend Mare Crisium.

"It is essential that the enemy not know your nature, or

enormous peril may arise. They must perceive you as a

simple horse."

"Enemy?"

"It was in the dream you delivered. You have become

careless about such details."

Imbri tried to review the details of the last dream, but

before she could make progress, the Dark Horse continued.

"Therefore you will report to Chameleon, to be her steed."

"To whom? To be what?"

"She is the mother of Prince Dor, Xanth's next King.

She is part of the key to Xanth's salvation. She will need

transportation and the kind of guidance and assistance only

a night mare can provide. Guard her, Imbrium; she is

more important than anyone suspects. You will also bear

her this message for King Trent: BEWARE THE

HORSEMAN."

"But I don't understand!" Imbri exclaimed, the dream

background shaking.

"You aren't meant to."

"I don't even know Chameleon or King Trent! I've never

had to take a dream to either of them! How can I deliver a

message?"

"Your present image is that of Chameleon," the Stallion

said, producing a mirror from air so she could look at her-

self in the dream. Imbri was not a phenomenal judge of

human appearance, but the image appeared quite ugly.

Chameleon was an awful crone. "Use your dreamer-locator

sense; it will operate by day as well as by night. And if you

need to meet King Trent directly—he is my present im-

age." The Stallion's dream form was handsome in an aged

sort of way—the very model of a long-reigning King.

"But I understand so littlel" Imbri protested. "This is

like a bad dream."

"Granted," the Stallion said. "War is very like a bad

dream. But it does not pass with the night, and its evil

remains long after the combat has abated. War is no warn-

ing of ill; it is the ill itself."

"War?"

8                          Night Mare

But the Stallion's kingly eyes flashed, and the dream

faded. Imbri found herself standing at the edge of the

broad grazing plain, alone. The interview was over.

Imbri traveled the realm of the night, making her farewells

to its denizens. She went to the City of Brass, threading her

way between the moving buildings, meeting the brass folk.

Brassies were just like human folk, only made of metal.

The males wore brassards and the females wore brassieres.

The brass folk were activated when particular dreams had

to be mass-produced; they were very good at mechanized

manufacturing. Imbri had been here often before to pick

up specialized dreams, and they were always well crafted.

One brassie girl approached Imbri. "You do not know

me, mare," she said. "I understand you are going dayside. I

was dayside once."

Imbri remembered that a brassie had briefly joined the

party of the ogre. "You must be Biyght!" she sent.

"I am Biythe. I changed my name. I envy you, mare; I

wish I could visit dayside again. The light doesn't hurt me,

and some of the people are very nice."

"Yes, they are. If I ever have occasion to bring a brassie

there, it will be you, Biythe," Imbri promised, feeling a

kind of camaraderie with the girl. Perhaps Biythe, too,

wanted to see the rainbow.

Imbri went on to bid farewell to the paper folk and the

ifrits in their bottles and the walking skeletons of the grave-

yard shift and the ghosts of the haunted house. All of them

contributed their special talents to the manufacture of

frightening dreams; it was a community effort.

"Say hello to my friend Jordan," one of the ghosts told

her. "He haunts Castle Roogna now."

Imbri promised to relay the message. She went finally to

mix with her friends, the other mares, with whom she had

worked so closely for so many years. This was the saddest

of her partings.

Now it was time to go. Imbri had used up the day and

grazed the night, preparing for the awful transition. She

did like her work as a bearer of bad dreams, even if she

was no longer good at it. It was exciting to contemplate

going into day, but awful to think of leaving the night. All

her friends were here, not therel

She trotted out toward the rind. No creature could es-

cape the gourd unaided except a night mare. Otherwise

all the bad stuff of dreams would escape and ravage Xanth

uncontrolled—a natural disaster. So the gourd had to be

limited, a separate world of its own, except for those whose

business it was to deliver its product. Some few people fool-

ish enough to attempt to glimpse its secrets by peeking into

the peephole of a gourd found themselves trapped there for

an indefinite period. If one of their friends interfered with

their gaze at the peephole, then they were freed—and sel-

dom peeked again. It was always wisest not to peek at

what concerned one not, lest one see what pleased one not.

The Stallion was right: Imbri had lost her touch with the

dreams. She carried them, she delivered them—but the

goblin's draft notice had not been her first clumsy effort.

She no longer had the necessary will to terrify, and it

showed. It was indeed best that she go into another line of

work, difficult as the transition might be.

She focused on the positive side of it. She would at last

get to see Xanth by day. She would see the rainbow at lasti

That would be the fulfillment of her fondest suppressed

ambition.

And after that, what? Could the sight of the rainbow be

worth the loss of her job and her friends? That seemed a

little thin now.

She came to the rind and plunged through it. She didn't

need to will herself immaterial; that came automatically. In

a moment she was out in the night of Xanth.

The moon was there, exactly like one of her hoofprints,

its sea and craters etched on the surface of its cheese. She

paused to stare at it, spotting her namesake, Mare Im-

brium, the Sea of Rains. Some called it the Sea of Tears;

she had always taken the name as a punnish play on con-

cepts. The Land of Xanth was largely fashioned of puns;

they seemed to be its fundamental building blocks. Now,

with her half soul and her new life ahead, the Sea of

Tears seemed to have more significance.

She backed off and looked at one of her hoofprints. It

10

Night Mare

Night Mare

11

matched the visible moon, as it always did, even to the

phase. The prints of night mares became obscure as the

moon waned, unless a mare made a special effort, as for a

signature. Imbri had never liked dream duty when the

moon was dark; her feet tended to skid, leaving no prints at

all. But there was no such problem tonight; the moon was

full almost to the bursting point.

She trotted on through the Xanthian night, just as if

bearing a fresh load of dreams to sleeping clients. But this

time her only burden was her message: beware the Horse-

man. She didn't know what that meant, but surely the King

would. Meanwhile, her equine heart beat more strongly

with anticipation as the dread dawn gathered itself. Always

before she had fled the rising sun, the scourge of day; this

time she would face the carnage it did to the darkness.

The stars began to fade. They wanted no part of thisi

Day was coming; soon it would be light enough for the sun

to climb safely aloft. The sun hated the night, just as the

moon despised the day; but Imbri understood the moon had

the courage to encroach on the edges of the day, especially

when fully inflated and strong. Perhaps the lady moon was

interested in the male sun, though he gave her scant en-

couragement. As long as the moon was present, a night

mare could travel safely, though perhaps uncomfortably,

even if the edge of day caught her. But why take chances?

Still, Imbri had to brace herself as the light swelled omi-

nously. She knew the spell of the Night Stallion and the

presence of her half soul would enable her to survive the

day—but somehow it was hard to believe absolutely. What

would happen if the spell were faulty? She could be de-

stroyed by the strike of a deadly sunbeam, and her sea on

the moon would fade out, unremembered. She trusted the

Stallion, of course; he was her sire and he ruled the Powers

of the Night Yet surely tfae sun was an aspect of the pow-

ers of the day, and perhaps did not know she was supposed

to be exempt from its mischief. Or if it knew, maybe it

refused to recognize the fact. "Oops, sorry, Horse; you

mean that was the mare I was supposed to spare? Fortu-

nately, you have others ..."

The brightening continued inexorably. Now was the

time; she would have to stand—or break and run home to

the gourd. Her legs trembled; her nostrils dilated. White

showed around the edges of her eyes. Her body was poised

for flight.

Then she remembered the rainbow. She would never see

it—unless she faced the sun. Or faced away from it; it was

always a creature's shadow that pointed to the rainbow, she

understood; that was one of the special aspects of the

magic of Xanth, that secret signal; But the sunlight had to

fall on that person to make the shadow appear—shadows

were reputed to be very strict about that—so the shadow

could perform.

The mare Imbri stood, letting the dread sun ascend,

watching its terrible beams lance their way cruelly through

the mists of morning. One launched itself right toward Im-

bri, amazingly swift, and scored before she could react.

She survived. The only effect was a shine on her coat

where the beam touched. The protective spell had held.

She had withstood the awful light of the sun. She was

now a day mare.

After the tension of the moment, Imbri felt an enormous

relief. Never had she suspected the Night Stallion of seek-

ing to eliminate her by tricking her into braving the sun-

beam, yet she realized now that some such suspicion had

made an attempt to harbor itself deep in her being. How

glad she was that her trust had been justified!

She took a step, feeling the soundness of her legs, the

solidity of the ground, and the springiness of the air she

breathed. Not only did she seem whole, she seemed twice

as real as before. She was now conscious of the weight of

her body, of the touch of weeds against her skin, and of the

riffle in her mane as a teasing breeze sought it out.

OUCH!

She made a squeal of protest and swished her tail, slap-

ping her own flank smartly. A fly buzzed up. The brute

had bitten her!

She had become a creature of tfae day, all right! No fly

could bite a true night mare. Few flies abounded at night,

and the mares were solid only when they willed themselves

so. Now it seemed she was solid and bitable—without ef-

12

Night More

Night Mare

13

fort. She would have to watch that; getting chomped by a

bug wasn't fun. Fortunately, she had a good tail; she could

keep the little monsters clear.

There was a certain joy in solidity. Now the sunbeams

were bathing the whole side of her body, warming it. The

heat felt strangely good. She was more alive than ever.

There was something about being all-the-way solid that was

exhilarating. Who would have believed it!

She walked, then trotted, then pranced. She leaped high

in the air and felt the spring of her legs as they absorbed

her shock of landing. She leaped again, even higher—

Something cracked her down in mid-prance: She

dropped to the ground, bright white stars and planets orbit-

ing her dazed head. Those stellar objects had certainly

found her quicklyl What had happened?

As her equilibrium returned, accompanied by a bruise on

her head, Imbri saw that nothing had struck her. Instead,

she had struck something. She had launched into a pome-

granate tree, cracking headfirst into its pome-trunk, jarring

loose several granate fruits. She was lucky none of those

rocks had hit her on the way downl

Now she understood on a more basic level the liabilities

of being substantial all the time. She had not watched

where she was going, because she usually phased through

objects automatically. As a day mare, she could not do

that. When solid met solid, there was a brutal thump!

She walked more sedately after that, careful not to bang

into any more trees. There was nothing like a good clout on

the noggin to instill cautioni Though muted, her joy re-

mained; it merely found less physical ways to express itself,

deepening and spreading, suffusing her body.

But it was time to go about her business. Imbri ori-

ented—

And discovered she had forgotten what her business was.

That knock on the head must have done it. She knew

she was a night mare turned day mare, and that she had to

go see someone, and deliver a message—but who that per-

son might be, and what the message was, she could not

recollect.

She was lost—not in terms of the geography of Xanth,

which she knew well, but in terms of herself. She did not

know where to go or what to do—though she knew it was

important that she go there and do it promptly, and that

the enemy not discover whatever it was she had to do.

Imbri concentrated. There was something—ah, yes! That

was it! The rainbow! She had come to see the rainbow.

That must be her mission—though where the rainbow was

at the moment, and what she was supposed to say to it, and

why this was important to the welfare of the Land of

Xanth—these things remained opaque.

Well, she would just have to look for it. Eventually she

Would find the rainbow, and perhaps then the meaning in

this mission would become apparent.

Chapter 2. The Day Horse

fflare Imbri was hungry. There had always

been plenty of grazing in the gourd, but she had been too

busy and too immaterial to graze while on dream duty and

evidently had not consumed enough during the past night

to sustain the elevated material pace of the real world.

Now she had to graze—and didn't know where to find a

decent pasture, here in dayside Xanth.

She looked about. She was in the deep jungle forest. Dry

leaves coated the forest floor; there were few blades of

grass, and those that she found were wiregrass, metallic

and inedible. No doubt this was where the brassies bar-

vested some of the wire for their constructions. She was

roughly familiar with this region, of course, since she had

been all over Xanth on dream duty—but by day it looked

14

Night Mare

Night Mare

15

different, and now that she was fixed solid, it felt differ-

ent. She had never paid much attention to the potential

grazing here. Where would there be a decent pasture?

Well, this was not far west of Castle Roogna, the human-

folk capital. She recalled that there was a large clearing

north of here, and that should have plenty of excellent

grazing. The problem was, there was a minor mountain

range between herself and that pasture, and in her present

solid state it would be at best tedious and at worst danger-

ous to climb over that range.

There was good pasturage at the castle, however. But

she had seldom gone there, as the bad dreams for the royal

human personages were generally carried by night mares

with seniority, those who had been in the business for three

centuries or more. Imbri would be likely to blunder in that

vicinity, especially by day, and she didn't want to do that.

But she remembered that there was a pass through the

mountains, little known but adequate. It had a mildly inter-

esting history—

She paused in her thought. There was a nice patch of

grass, superverdant! She could graze right here, after all.

She trotted to it and put her nose down. The grass

reached up and hooked in her tender nostrils and lip.

Imbri vaulted backward, her nose getting scratched as

the awful greenery ripped free. That was carnivorous

grass! She couldn't go near that; instead of being eaten by

her, it would eat her.

No help for it. She would have to cross the mountains.

She set off at a trot, bearing north. She skirted tangle trees

and danglevines and the lairs of dragons, griffins, basilisks,

nickelpedes, and other ilk, knowing they were now danger-

ous to her. She had, after all, illustrated such hazards in

the dreams she delivered to deserving creatures often

enough. Soon she came to the mountains.

Now where was that pass? A little westward, she re-

called. She trotted in that direction. She knew the general

lay of the land, but exact details of placement were vague,

since material things not relating to clients had not had

much importance to her before.

Something was coming toward her. Imbri paused, not

frightened but careful. She realized that she was now vul-

nerable to monsters, though she had confidence she could

outrun most of them. Few things moved faster than a night

mare in a hurry! But there were so many things to remem-

ber when one's body was stuck solid.

The reality was a pleasant surprise. It was a magnificent

white horse, trotting eastward along the range. He had a

fine white mane, a lovely tail, and his appearance was

marred only by a thin brass band about his left foreleg, at

ankle height. Imbri had never heard of a horse wearing a

bracelet—but, of course, the only horses she knew were

those of the gourd.

He halted when he spied Imbri. She became conscious of

the distinction between them: she was a black mare, he a

white stallion. She had understood there were no true

horses in Xanth, only part equines like the sea horses, horse-

flies, and centaurs. Her kind, the night mares, existed

separately in the gourd and did not roam freely when not

on business. There were also the daydream mares, but they

were completely invisible and immaterial, except to others

of their kind. What was this creature doing here?

She decided to ask him. She could have neighed, but

wasn't sure she could define her question well enough that

way. So she stepped forward somewhat diffidently and

projected a small dream. It was technically a daydream,

since this was day—a conscious kind of imagining, much

milder in content and intensity than the night visions she

normally carried. It was also less perfectly structured, since

she had no original text to work from. Anything could hap-

pen in an extemporaneous dream!

In this dream she assumed a talking form, that of a

young human woman garbed in black, with lustrous long

black hair in lieu of a mane and a skirt instead of a tail.

Skirts weren't as useful as tails, since they were no good for

swatting flies, but did serve to render mysterious that por-

tion of the anatomy that profited by such treatment. Hu-

man people almost always wore clothing over their func-

tional parts, as if they were ashamed of such parts; it was

one of a number of oddities about them. "Who are you?"

the dream girl inquired with a fetching smile.

The white horse's ears flattened in dismay and suspicion.

He wheeled and bolted, galloping away back west.

16

Night Mare

Imbri sighed through her nose. He had been such a

handsome creature! But apparently he was afraid of hu-

man people. Had she known, she would have projected

something else, such as a talking bird. If she should en-

counter him again, she would be much more careful.

She proceeded west and in due course located the pass.

And there, standing within it, was a man. He was of good

stature for his kind, with pale hair and skin, with muscle

on his limbs and handsomeness on his face in the humanoid

manner. Naturally no human person was as handsome as

a horse; that was another of the discomforts the human

species seemed to have learned to live with.

"I say, pretty mare," the man called when he saw her.

"Have you seen a runaway white stallion? He is my steed,

but he bolted. He wears my circlet on hissforeleg." And the

man held aloft his left wrist, where there was a similar

short circlet. There could be little doubt he was associated

with the horse.

Imbri projected a dreamlet; herself in woman form,

again garbed in black, her female parts carefully covered.

She did not want to scare off another creature! "I saw him

shortly ago, man, but he bolted from me, too. He ran in

this direction."

The man looked startled. "Is that you in my mind,

mare, or did I imagine it?"

"It is me, man," she said, continuing the daydream for

him. "I am a dream equine. I project dream visions to your

kind, but by day they lack the conviction they have at

night." She had not realized it before, but obviously there

was no qualitative difference between the dreams of night

and those of day. It was just that the conscious minds of

waking people were much less credulous, so the impact was

less. They could readily distinguish fancy from reality. But

the dreams remained excellent for communication.

"Ah. And did you project such a dream to my steed, the

day horse? No wonder he spooked!"

"I fear my visions can frighten creatures who are not

prepared," she projected, her woman image spreading her

hands in the human signal of gentle bewilderment. If only

she had been able to inspire such fright in her bad dream

Night Mare

17

duty! "I am the night mare Imbrium, called Imbri for

brief."

"A night mare!" he exclaimed. "I have often met your

kind in my sleep. But I thought you could not go abroad by

day."

"I am under special disposition to the day," she said.

"But I do not remember my mission, except perhaps to see

the rainbow."

"Ah, the rainbow!" he exclaimed. "And a worthwhile

goal that is, marel I have seen it many times and have

always marveled anew!"

"Where is it?" she asked eagerly, so excited she almost

forgot to project it in dream form; when she did, her dream

girl Was in partial dishabille, like a nymph. Quickly she

patched up the image, for the dream man was beginning to

stare. "I know my shadow points to it, but—"

"There must be sun and rain to summon the rainbow,"

the man said.

"But don't clouds blot out the sun during rainfall? There

can't be both at once."

"There can be, but it is rare. The rainbow formation is

exceedingly choosy about when and where it appears, lest

familiarity make it change from magic to mundane. You

will not see it today; there is not rain nearby."

"Then I shall go and graze," she said, disappointed.

"That is surely what my steed is doing, though I feed

him well," he said. "His appetite is open-ended; sometimes

I think he processes hay into clods without bothering to

digest them in passing. Left to his own devices, he eats

without respite. But he's a good horse. Where could he

have gone? He did not pass by me, and I have been walk-

ing east until I heard your hoof-falls."

Imbri studied the ground. Horseprints curved into the

gap between mountains. "He seems to have gone through

the pass," she projected.

The man looked. "I see his tracks now. That must be it.

Had I been a little swifter, I should have intercepted him."

He paused, looking at Imbri. "Mare, this may be an impo-

sition, but I am not much afoot. Would you give me a lift

through the mountains? I assure you I only want to catch

18                        Night Mare

up to my errant steed. Once I see him and call to him, he

will come to me; he's really an obedient mount and not

used to being on his own. He may even be looking for me,

but have lost his way; he is not as intelligent as you are."

Imbri hesitated. She had been ridden before, but pre-

ferred freedom. Yet she would like to meet the day horse

again, and if she was going this man's way anyway—

"Or if you would like to come home with me," the man

continued persuasively, "I have plentiful grain and hay,

which I keep for my own horse. He is of Mundane

stock, you know; what he lacks in wit he makes up for in

speed and power. But he is very shy and gentle; not a

mean bone in his body. I fear he will come to harm, alone

in this magic land."

Mundane stock. That would explain the presence of the

horse. Some Mundane animals did wander into Xanth, ran-

domly. Of course, it was not safe for such creatures here.

Even Imbri herself, a creature of an aspect of Xanth, could

have trouble here by day; there were perils all about. That

was probably why the true daydream mares were intangi-

ble; it was a survival trait not to be able to materialize by

day. "I will take you through the pass," she projected.

"Excellent," the man said. "And in return, I will show

you a rainbow, the very first chance I get." He ap-

proached, his voice continuing softly, soothingly. She stood

still, with a certain nervousness, for ordinarily no waking

person could touch a night mare. But she reminded herself

firmly that she was now a creature of the day and touch-

able.

The man sprang on her back. His boots hung down on

either side, around her barrel, and his hands gripped her

mane. He had ridden a horse before; if she had not known

the day horse was his steed, she could have told by his

balance and confidence.

She started through the pass, the man riding easily, so

that she was hardly aware of his weight. The ground was

firm and almost level, and she was able to trot.

"This is a strange configuration," the man said as they

passed almost beneath the looming rocky cliffs of the sides

of the pass. "So steep above, so level below."

"This is the Faux Pass," Imbri sent in a dreamlet. "Cen-

turies ago the giant Faux was teamping north, and there

were clouds about his knees, so he did not see the mountain

range. He caught his left foot on it and tripped and almost

took a fall. He was a big giant, and such a fall would have

wreaked enormous destruction in Xanth. But he caught

himself, and his misstep merely kicked out a foot-sized

piece of the range, creating a gap that ordinary creatures

could use to get through. Thus it came to be named after

him, though now people tend to pronounce it rather slop-

pily and just call it 'Fo Pa.'"

"A most delightful story!" the man said, patting Imbri

on the shoulder. She felt good, and felt foolish for the feel-

ing. What did she care for the opinion of a human man?

Perhaps her new solidity made her more susceptible to the

opinions of solid creatures. "This is a fascinating deriva-

tion. Faux Pass—the giant misstep. I suspect that term will

in due course enter the language, for many people make

missteps of one nature or another."

They emerged to the north. The plain spread out, filled

with lush tall grass. Imbri was delighted; here she could

graze her fill.

"I think I see a print," the man said. "Over there." He

made a gesture.

Imbri hesitated, uncertain which way he meant, as his

gesture had been confusing. She did want to find the day

horse; he was such a handsome animal—and he was also

male. She veered to the left.

"No, wrong way," the man said. "There." He gestured

confusingly again.

She veered right. "No, still wrong," he said.

Imbri stopped. "I can't tell where you mean," she pro-

jected, irritated, her dream girl frowning prettily through

strands of mussed-up hair.

"Not your fault," the man said. "I love your little imagi-

nary pictures; you have no trouble communicating. My ver-

bal directions are too nonspecific, and you evidently are

not familiar with my human gestures. But I think I can

clarify them." He jumped down, removing something from

his clothing. It was a little brass stick with cords attached

to each end. "Put this in your mouth, behind your front set

of teeth." He held the stick up to her face, sidewise, nudg-

20                        Night Mare

ing it at her mouth, so that she had either to take it or to

back off. She opened her mouth doubtfully, and set it in,

between her front and back teeth, where there was the nat-

ural equine gap. Human beings did not have such a gap,

which was another one of their problems; they could not

chew nearly as well as horses could, since everything

tended to mush up together in their mouths, unappetiz-

ingly.

"Now I will tug on these reins," he explained. "That will

show you exactly where to go. Here, I'll demonstrate." He

jumped on her back again and got the two cords reaching

from the metal bit to his hands. 'Turn that way," he said,

tugging in the right rein.

The bit pulled back against her hind teeth uncomfort-

ably. To ease the pressure, Imbri turned her head to the

right. "You've got it!" the man cried. "You are a very

smart horse!"

It had not been intelligence; it had been discomfort. "I

don't like this device," Imbri projected.

"You don't? I'm so sorry. Let's turn to the left now." He

tugged at the other rein, sending a twinge to-that side of

her jaw.

But Imbri had had enough. She balked, planting all four

feet firmly on the ground and trying to spit out the brass

bit. It tasted awful, anyway. But the reins held it in place,

annoyingly. She sent a fierce dream at him, of her dream

girl self gesturing in righteous ire, tresses flouncing. "Get

off my back, man!"

"You must address me by my proper tide," the man

said. "I am known as the Horseman."

The Horseman! Suddenly Imbri's misplaced memory re-

turned. Her message was "beware the Horseman"—and

now she had an inkling of its meaning.

"Beware the Horseman, eh?" the man repeated, and Im-

bri realized she had spoken her thought in the dream. An-

grily she exploded her dream girl image into a roil of

smoke, but this did not daunt the man. "So you carry a

message of warning about me! What a fortunate coinci-

dence this is, mare. I certainly can not afford to let you go

now. I must take you home with me and keep you con-

fined so that you can not betray me."

Imbri did not know what to do, so she continued to do

nothing. She had unwittingly put herself in the power of

the one person she should have avoided!

"Time to go home," the Horseman said. "I'll come back

and catch the day horse later; you are too valuable a cap-

tive to let escape. I understand you night mares can pass

through solid rock at night, and even turn invisible. That

means I must get you safely corralled before darkness

comes. Move, move, mare!"

Imbri refused to move. It was true; he could not hold her

at night even if he remained awake and alert. If he slept,

she would send him a dream so bad he would be paralyzed.

Time was on her side. But she had no intention of obliging

him one moment longer than necessary. Her feet would

remain planted here until she figured out how to dump

him.

"I have another little device that may amuse you," the

Horseman said. "It makes horses go." And he banged his

heels into her flanks.

Pain lanced through her. There were knives on his boots!

Imbri was leaping forward before she realized it, jolted by

the shock. A horse's natural response to fright or pain was

to bolt, as running was normally the most effective de-

fense.

"You appreciate my spurs?" the Horseman inquired. He

drew on the left rein, forcing her to curve around that way.

Imbri tried to slow, but the spurs stung her again, mak-

ing her run faster. She tried to veer right, but the bit in her

mouth cut cruelly and she had to go left. The Horseman

had subjected her to his awful will!

No wonder the day horse had fled this terrible man! If

only she had realized the Horseman's nature! If only she

had not foolishly forgotten her warning message!

But these things had come to pass, and she was paying

the price of her neglect. If she ever got out of this fix, she

would be a wiser mare!

The Horseman rode her back through the Faux Pass and

west along the south side of the mountain range. Imbri

stopped fighting her captor and found it amazingly easy to

yield to his directives. The Horseman did not hurt her un-

less she resisted.

22

Night Mare

Night Mare

23

Imbri cursed herself for her inability to resist. But she

was rapidly becoming conditioned to the will of the Horse-

man. When she tried to resist, he punished her; when she

obeyed, he praised her. He seemed so sure of himself, so

reasonable, so consistent, while she seemed, even to herself,

like a poorly mannered animal. For now, until she figured

out an effective course of independence, she had to go

along.

But capitulation was not enough. He wanted informa-

tion, too. "Who gave you that warning to beware of me?"

he asked.

Imbri hesitated. The Horseman touched her sore flanks

with his awful spurs—they weren't actually knives, they

just felt like it—and she decided that there was no harm in

answering. She sent a dreamlet, representing herself in

woman form, in shackles, her side bleeding from abrasions,

and with a brass bar in her mouth. "Ve commands va Pow-

ers of va Night," the woman said around the bit.

"Do not tease me, mare," the Horseman said, touching

her again with the spurs. "Your dreams can speak clearly."

She had to give up that ploy. "He commands the Powers

of the Night," she repeated clearly. "The Night Stallion.

He assigns the dreams to be delivered. He sent the mes-

sage."

"The Night Stallion," the Horseman repeated. "Natu-

rally you equines revert to the herd in the wild state. But

he is confined to the night?"

"To the gourd," she clarified. "It keeps us secure by

day." Now she wished she had never left it!

"Explain," he said. "The only gourd I know is the hyp-

nogourd that has a little peephole. Anyone who sets eye to

that is instantly hypnotized and can not move or speak un-

til someone else breaks the connection."

"That is the same," Imbri's tattered dream girl said,

looking woeful. She hated giving so much information to

the enemy, but didn't see how this particular news would

help this man. He already knew better than to peek into a

gourd, unfortunately. "We night mares are the only crea-

tures who can pass freely in and out of the gourd. All

gourds are the same; all open onto the same World of

Night. When a person looks into any gourd, his body

freezes but his spirit takes form inside and must thread its

Way through our labyrinth of entertainments. Those who

remain too long risk losing their souls; then their bodies will

never be functional again."

"So it's a kind of trap, a prison," he said thoughtfully. "I

suspected some such; I'm glad you are choosing to tell me

the truth, mare. How many spirits can it contain?"

"Any number. The gourd is as large as Xanth in its

fashion. It has to be, to contain dreams for every person in

Xanth, every night, no two dreams the same. To us in the

gourd, the rest of Xanth seems small enough to carry under

one of your arms."

"Yes, I see that now. Very interesting. We can carry

your world around, and you can carry ours around. It's all

relative." After a moment he had a new question. "To

whom were you to deliver your message?"

Now Imbri resisted, being sure this would affect the

conduct of the war. But the Horseman dug in his spurs

again, and the pain became so terrible she had to tell. She

had never had to endure pain before, for it didn't exist in

immaterial form; she couldn't handle it. "I was to go to

Chameleon with the message for the King."

"Who is Chameleon?"

"The mother of Prince Dor, the next King. She is an

ugly woman."

"Why not take the message directly to the King?" The

spurs were poised.

"I don't know!" The dream girl flinched, putting her

hands to her sides.

The spurs touched. Desperately, Imbri amplified. "My

mission was to be secret! Maybe it was a ruse, to report to

the woman, who would relay the message to the King. No

one would suspect I was liaison to the gourd."

"The King is important, then? Nothing can be done

without his directive?"

"The King rules the human concerns of Xanth," Imbri

agreed. "He is like the Night Stallion. His word is law.

Without his word, there would be no law."

"Yes, that makes sense," the Horseman decided, and the

spurs did not strike again. "If you reported directly to the

King, the enemy might catch on, and know the warning

24

Night Mare

Night Mare

25

had been given. That could nullify much of its effect. Still,

I think it better yet to nullify all its effect by preventing

the message from being delivered at all. Because, of

course, it is an apt warning; your Night Stallion evidently

has good intelligence."

"He is the smartest of horses," Imbri agreed in a frag-

mentary dreamlet. "He knows more than he ever says, as

does Good Magician Humfrey."

"Intelligence, as in gathering data about the enemy," the

Horseman clarified. "This is the activity I am currently

engaged in. But, of course, your Stallion has the night

mare network. You mares were peeking into our brains as

we slept, weren't you? No secrets from your kind."

"No, we only deliver the dreams," Imbri protested, her

pride in her former profession overriding her wish to deceive

the Horseman. "We can't tell what's in people's minds. If

we could, I would never have let you put this bit in my

mouth." That brass tasted awful, and not just physically!

"How, then, did you know about me? I know you knew,

because of your message of warning about me."

"/ don't know. The Night Stallion knows. He has a re-

search department, so he can tell where to target the bad

dreams. But he can't usually tell waking people. There's

very little connection between the night world and the day

world."

"So I now understand. Many secrets are buried in the

depths of night! But what of this Good Magician, who you

say also knows a great deal? Why hasn't he warned Xanth

about me?"

"Magician Humfrey only gives information in return for

one year's service by the one who asks," Imbri said, "No-

body asks him anything if he can help it."

"Ah, zealously guarded parameters," the Horseman said,

seeming to like this information. "Or the mercenary mo-

tive. So for the truth about Xanth's situation, a person must

either pay a prohibitive fee or peer into the peephole of a

gourd—whereupon he is confined and can not extricate

himself by his own effort. It is. a most interesting situation.

The people are almost entirely dependent on the King for

information and leadership. If anything were to happen to

King Trent—" He paused a moment. "His successor,

Prince Dor—is he competent?"

"All I know is what I have picked up from people's

dreams," Imbri temporized.

"Certainly. And their dreams reflect their deepest con-

cerns. What about Prince Dor?"

"He has hardly had any experience," she sent unwill-

ingly. "When he was a teenager, about eight years ago,

King Trent went on vacation and left Dor in charge. He

had to get his friends to help, and finally the Zombie Mas-

ter had to come and take over until King Trent returned.

There were a lot of bad dreams then; we mares were over-

loaded with cases and almost ran our tails off. It was not a

very good time for Xanth."

"So Prince Dor is not noted for competence," the Horse-

man said. "And next in the line of succession is the Zombie

Master, whom the people don't feel comfortable with. So

there really is no proper successor to King Trent." He

lapsed into thoughtful silence, guiding Imbri by nudges of

his knees. When he pushed on one side, he wanted her to

turn away from that side. He was not wantonly cruel, she

understood; all he required was the subordination of her

will to his in every little detail.

That was, of course, one thing she couldn't stand. At the

moment she could not escape him, but she would find a

way sometime. He couldn't keep the bit and spurs on her

forever, and the moment he slipped, she would be gone—

with a whole lot more news about him than she had had

originally. Beware the Horseman, indeed!

They came to the Horseman's camp. There were two

men there. Mundane by their look. "Found me a horsel"

the Horseman called jovially.

"Where's the other horse?" one asked.

"He bolted. But I'll get him tomorrow. This one's better.

She's a converted night mare."

"Sure enough," the Mundane agreed uncertainly, eyeing

Imbri. It seemed he thought the reference to night mare

was a joke. Mundanes could be very stupid about magic.

"Better off without the white horse," the other Mundane

said. "For all the riding you get on him and all the feeding

you give him, he's never around when you need him."

26

Night Mare

Night Mare

27

"He's got spirit, that's all," the Horseman said with a tol-

erant gesture. "I like a spirited animal. Now put a hobble

on this one; she's a literal spirit, and she's not tame yet."

One of the henchmen came with a rope. Imbri shied

away nervously, but the Horseman threatened her again

with his awful spurs, and she had to stand still. The hench-

man tied the rope to her two forefeet, with only a short

length between them, so that she could stand or walk care-

fully but could not run. What a humiliating situation!

They put her in a barren pen where there was a grimy

bucket of water. They dumped half-cured bay in for her to

chew. The stuff was foul, but she was so hungry now that

she had to eat it, though she feared it would give her colic.

No wonder the day horse had boltedl

All day she remained confined, while the Mundanes

went about their brutish business elsewhere. Imbri drank

the bad water, finished off the bad hay, and slept on her

feet in the normal manner of her kind, her tail constantly

swishing the bothersome flies away. She had plenty of time

to consider her folly. But she knew the night would free

her, and that buoyed her spirit, her half soul.

Now she meditated on that. Few of her kind possessed

any part of any soul, and those who obtained one generally

didn't keep it, as the Night Stallion had reminded her. Yet

she clung to her soul as if it were most important. Was she

being foolish? Imbri had carried the half-human Smash the

Ogre out of the gourd and out of the Void, but it was not

any part of his soul she had. It was half the soul of a

centaur filly. That soul had changed her outlook, making

her smarter and more sensitive to the needs of others. That

had been bad for her business and had finally cost her her

profession. But as she gradually mastered the qualities of

the soul, she became more satisfied with it. Now she knew

there was more to life than feeding and sleeping and doing

her job. She was not certain what more there was, but it

was well worth searching for. Perhaps the rainbow would

have the answer; one look at the celestial phenomenon

might make her soul comprehensible. Yet that search had

led her into the privation of the moment.

As evening approached, the Horseman and the two.

henchmen appeared and started hauling firewood logs

from the forest. The wood fairly glowed with eagerness to

bum. They threw a flame-vine on the pile, and burn it did.

The fire blazed high, turning the incipient shadows to the

brightness of day.

Suddenly Imbri realized what they were doing. The

Mundanes were keeping the pen too light for her to assume

her nocturnal powers! As long as that fire burned, she

could not escape!

With despair she watched as they hauled more logs.

They had enough wood to carry them through the night.

She would not be able to dematerialize.

The sun tired and dropped at last to the horizon, making

the distant trees blaze momentarily from its own fire. Imbri

wondered whether it descended in the same place each

night, or whether it came down in different locations,

doing more damage to the forest. She had never thought

about this before, since the sun had been no part of her

world, or she would have trotted over there and checked

the burned region directly.

The fire blazed brighter than ever in the pen, malevo-

lently consuming her precious darkness. It sent sparks up

into the sky to rival the stars. Perhaps they were stars;

after all, the little specks of light had to originate some-

where, and new ones would be needed periodically to re-

place the old ones that wore out. The Mundanes took turns

watching Imbri and dumping more wood on the fire as it

waned.

Waned, she thought. That jogged a nagging notion. She

wished it had waned this night, putting out the fire.

Waned? Rained; that was it. If only a good storm would

come and douse everything. But the sky remained distress-

ingly clear.

Slowly the henchman on guard nodded. He was sleeping

on the job, and she was not about to wake him—but it

didn't matter, because the fire was more than bright

enough to keep her hobbled, whether he woke or slept. She

might hurl a bad dream at him, but that would only bestir

him with fright, making him alert again. She would have to

deal with that fire first. But how, when she was hobbled?

Then she realized how to start. She approached the fire

and put her front feet forward, trying to ignite the rope that

28 Night Mare

hobbled her. But the blaze was too fierce; She could not get

close enough to burn the rope without burning herself.

She turned about and tried to scrape dirt onto the blaze

with a hind hoof. But the ground was too solid; she could

not get a good gouge. She seemed helpless.

Then a shape appeared. Some large animal was stomp-

ing beyond the wall of the pen, out of the firelight. A

dragon, come to take advantage of a horse who could only

hobble along?

She sent an exploratory dreamlet. "Who are you?"

"Is it safe?" an equine thought came in the dream.

It was the day horse! Imbri quelled her surprise and

pleasure at his presence and projected another dreamlet.

"Stay clear, stallion! The Horseman is looking for you!"

"I—know," the horse replied slowly. She wasn't certain

whether it was dullness or caution that made him seem less

than smart. She understood that Mundane animals were

not terrifically intelligent, and the Horseman had said as

much.

"He wants to catch you and ride you again," she sent,

making her dream image resemble a centaur, so as to seem

more equine while retaining the ability to speak clearly. Of

course horses had their own language, but overt neighing

and other sounds might wake up the henchman.

"I—hide," the day horse replied, beginning to catch on

to this mode of dialogue. He stepped up to the fence and

looked over, his head bright in the firelight.

"Well, go hide now, because if that henchman wakes—"

"You—greet me," he said in the dream, awkwardly. "I

run. You—caught by man. My fault. I came—free you."

Imbri was moved. She had pictured him in the dream as

a white centaur, and he seemed to like the form. She had

made sure it was a very muscular and handsome centaur,

.knowing that males tended to be vain about their appear-

ance. Males of any species were foolish in a number of

respects. But what would Xanth be like without them?

"I can't get away as long as that fire bums," her dream

filly image said. "I had hoped there would be a rainstorm,

but—"

"Rainstorm?"

"Water, to douse the fire," she explained. Sure enough,

Night More

29

he was the strong, handsome, amiable, stupid type. Fortu-

nately, stallions didn't need brains; they were attractive as

they were.

"Douse fire!" he said, understanding. "Make water." He

jumped over the pen wall, landing with such a thump that

Imbri had to jam a dream of an earthquake at the sleeping

henchman to prevent him from being alarmed. Of course

he was alarmed, but then she modified the dream to show

that the earthquake had been weak and brief, and had

cracked open the ground in front of him to reveal a trea-

sure chest filled with whatever it was he most desired. The

henchman quickly opened the chest, and out sprang a

lovely nude nymph. He would remain asleep for a long

time!

The day horse walked over to the burning logs, angled

his body, and urinated on the flames. Clouds of steamy

smoke flared up as the fire hissed angrily. It certainly did

not appreciate this treatment!

The new noise disturbed the henchman despite his

dream. He started to awaken. This time Imbri sent a mean

dream at him, showing the merest suggestion of a basilisk

the size of a horse, swinging around to glare at the man.

The Mundane immediately squinched his eyes tightly

closed; he knew what happened when one traded gazes

with a bask! He did not want to wake and see the monster.

Imbri let him drift off again, returning to his treasure-

chest nymph; Imbri was as relieved as he to see him sleep.

In a moment the fire had sizzled down enough to let the

shadows reach out to Imbri. She phased through her hob-

bles and the wall of the pen. The day horse leaped to fol-

low her.

They ran through the forest "Come with me to Castle

Roognal" Imbri projected, her filly image smiling gladly

and swishing her black tail in friendly fashion.

But the day horse faltered. The handsome centaur image

frowned. "Night—tire quickly—creature of day—must

give it up." He stumbled. "By night I sleep."

She saw that it was so. "Then we'll hide, so you can

rest," she sent.

"You go. I came only to free you," he said, speaking

30                        Night Mare

more clearly now. He might be slow, but he did catch on

with practice. "Pretty mare, black like deepest night."

Imbri was flattered and appreciative, though he was

only telling the truth. She was as black as deep night be-

cause she was a night mare. But any notice by a stallion

was a thing to be treasured.

Nonetheless, she did have a mission and had to complete

it without delay. "When will I see you again?"

"Come to the baobab at noon," he said. "Nice tree. If I

am near, I will be there. Do not betray me to the human

kind; I do not wish to be caught and ridden again."

"I'll never betray you, day horse!" she exclaimed in the

dream, shocked. "You freed me! I'll always be grateful!"

"Farewell," his dream image said. He turned and walked

north as the dreamlet faded out, Imbri saw the brass circlet

on his foreleg glint faintly in the moonlight.

"The baobab tree!" Imbri sent after him. She knew of

that growth from her dream duties; sometimes human peo-

ple camped out there, and it was conducive to bad dreams

at night, a little like a haunted house. It was at the edge of

the Castle Roogna estate, out of sight of the castle but im-

possible to overlook. She would certainly be there when she

had the chance.

Chapter 3. Centycore et Cetera

By midnight Imbri reached Castle Roogna. She

skirted it and went to Chameleon's home, which was a

large cottage cheese. Imbri had once delivered a dream

here to Chameleon's husband Bink; it had been a minor

one, for the man did not have much ill on his conscience,

but at least she knew her way around these premises de-

spite lacking the seniority required to bring dreams to

Kings. She phased through the hard rind and made her

way—should that be whey, in this house? she wondered—

to Chameleon's bed.

But a stranger occupied that bed. Chameleon, according

to the image the Night Stallion had formed, was a crone;

this person was a lovely older woman of about fifty. Had

she come to the wrong address?

"Where is Chameleon?" Imbri inquired in a pictureless

dreamlet. Maybe this woman was visiting, and would

know.

"I am Chameleon," the woman replied in the dream.

Imbri stood back and considered. The reply had been

direct and honest. The Night Stallion must have made an

error, forming the image of some other woman. Imbri had

never known him to make an error before, but obviously it

was possible.

Something else bothered her. Chameleon was sleeping

alone, yet she was a family person. Where were her hus-

band and son?

Imbri projected a dream. It was of herself as another

centaur filly, standing beside the bed. "Chameleon, I must

give you a message."

The woman looked up. "Oh, am I to have a bad dream?

Why do they always come when my family's away?"

"No bad dream," Imbri reassured her. "I am the night

mare Imbri, come to be your steed and bear a message for

the King. When you wake, I will remain. I will talk to you

in your sleep, as now, or in daydreamlets."

"No bad dreams?" The woman seemed slow to under-

stand.

"No bad dreams," Imbri repeated. "But a message for

the King."

"The King's not here. You must seek him at Castle

Roogna."

"I know. But I can not go to him. I will give you the

message to relay to him."

"Me? Repeat a dream?"

32

Night Mare

Night Mare

33

"Repeat the message." Imbri was getting impatient; the

woman seemed to have very little wit.

"What message?"

"Beware the Horseman."

"Who?"

"The Horseman."

"Is that a centaur?"

"No, he's a man who rides horses."

"But there are no horses in Xanth!"

"There is one now, the day horse. And there are the

night mares, like me."

"But then people don't need to fear him. Just horses

should fear him."

That might be true; certainly Imbri would never again

be careless about the Horseman. But it was irrelevant; she

had to get the message through. "That is for the King to

decide. You must give him the message."

"What message?"                        »

"Beware the Horsemani" Imbri's image shouted, frus-

trated.

Chameleon's image looked around nervously. "Where is

he?"

What was this? Was the woman a complete idiot? Why

had the Night Stallion sent Imbri to such a creature? "The

Horseman is west of here. He may be hazardous to the

health of Xanth. The King must be warned."

"Oh. When my husband Bink comes home, I'll tell him."

"When will Bink be back?" Imbri inquired patiently.

"Next week. He's up north in Mundania, working out a

new trade agreement with Onesti, or something."

"I certainly hope he works on it with honesty," Imbri

said. "But next week's too long. We must warn the King

tomorrow."

"Oh, I couldn't bother the King! He's seventy years old!"

"But this affects the welfare of Xanth!" Imbri protested,

getting frustrated again.

"Yes, Xanth is very important"

"Then you'U warn the King?"

"Warn the King?"

"About the Horseman," the centaur filly said, keeping

her tail still and her face straight with an effort.

"But me King is seventy years oldl"

Imbri stamped a forefoot angrily, in both her dream

form and her real form. "I don't care if he is a hundred

and seventy years oldl / am! He's still got to be warned!"

Chameleon stared at the filly image. "You certainly

don't look that old!"

"I am a night mare. We are immortal, at least until we

die. I have a soul now, so I can age and breed and die

when I'm material, but I never aged before, once I ma-

tured. Now, about the King—"

"Maybe my son Dor can tell him."

"Where is your son now?" Imbri asked warily.

"He's south at Centaur Isle, getting the centaurs to or-

ganize for possible war. Because Good Magician Humfrey

says there may be a Wave. We don't like it when Waves

are made. But I don't think the centaurs believe it."

"A Wave?" It was Imbri's turn to be confused. She knew

the woman wasn't talking about the ocean.

"The Nextwave," Chameleon clarified unhelpfully.

Imbri let that go. She had seen the Lastwave, but that

had been a long time ago. "When will Dor be back here?"

"Tomorrow night. Just in time for the elopement."

Somehow the woman's ingenuous remarks kept making

Imbri react stupidly, too. "Elopement?"

Chameleon might not be smart, but she had a good

memory. "Dor and Irene—she's King Trent's daughter, a

lovely child with the Green Thumb, only it's really her hair

that's green—have been engaged for eight years now, a

third of their lives. They could never decide on a date. We

think Dor's a little afraid of the responsibility of marriage.

He's really a very nice boy." Obviously "nice" meant "in-

nocent" in this connection. Imbri was surprised to leam

that any innocent males remained in Xanth; perhaps this

was merely the fond fancy of a naive mother. "Irene is

twenty-three now, and she's getting impatient. She never

was a very patient girl." This seemed to mean that the

other woman in Chameleon's son's life was not viewed with

entire favor, but was tolerated as a necessary evil. In this

attitude. Chameleon was absolutely typical of the mothers

of sons. "So she's going to come here at night and take Dor

34                        Night Mare

away and marry him in an uncivil ceremony, and then it

will be done. Everyone will be there!"

So the pleasure of a wedding ceremony overwhelmed the

displeasure of turning her son over to an aggressive girl.

This, too, was normal, except—

"For an elopement?" Imbri felt more stupid than ever.

Was this a human folk custom she had missed? She had

understood that elopements were sneak marriages; cer-

tainly she had delivered a number of bad dreams relating

to that.

"Oh, they'll all be in costume, of course. So Dor won't

know, poor thing. Maybe Irene won't know either. It's all

very secret. Nobody knows except everybody else."

Imbri realized that she bad again been distracted by an

irrelevancy and was getting ever more deeply enmeshed in

the confusions of Chameleon's outlook. "Two days is too

long for my message to wait The Horseman is within

range of Castle Roogna now, spying on the Xanth defenses.

Anyway, it seems that Prince Dor will be too busy to pay

attention to it. You must go to the King first thing tomor-

row morning."

"Oh, I couldn't bother the King. He's—"

"Seventy years old. He still needs to know. The Horse-

man is dangerousl"

The dream Chameleon looked at the dream Imbri with

childlike seriousness. "Why don't you tell him, then?"

"I can't My mission here must be confidential."

Then Imbri paused, startled. Confidential? From whom

was the secret of her nature to be kept? The Horseman

already knew! He had ridden her and intercepted her mes-

sage and forced her to tell him everything!

"I'll go tell him right nowl" Imbri said, cursing her own

foolishness.

"But it's nightl The King's asleep!"

"All the better. I'm a night mare."

"Oh. That's all right then. But don't give him any bad

dreams. He's a good man."

"I won't" Imbri trotted through the rindwall of the cot-

tage, letting Chameleon lapse into more peaceful slumber.

She hurried to Castle Roogna, hurdled the moat with one

prodigious leap, and phased through the massive outer

Night More                        35

wall. This would be no easy castle to take by storm! She

passed through the somber, darkened halls and passages,

until she came to the royal bedchamber.

The King and Queen had separate apartments. Both

were safely asleep. Imbri entered the King's chamber and

stood over him, exactly as if she were on dream duty.

Even at seventy, which was old for a mortal man, he

was a noble figure of his kind. The lines of his face pro-

vided the appearance of wisdom as much as of age. Yet it

was clear he was mortal; she detected infirmities of system

that would in due course bring him to a natural demise. He

had reigned for twenty-five years; perhaps that was

enough. Except that if he lacked a competent replacement

in Prince Dor ...

She entered his mind in dream form, this time assuming

the likeness of a nymph, bare of breast and innocent of

countenance, symbolic of her intention to conceal nothing

from him. "King Trent!" she called.

He had been dreaming he was sleeping; now he dreamed

he woke. "What are you doing in my bedroom, nymph?"

he demanded. "Are you one of my daughter's playmates?

Speak, or I will transform you into a flower."

Startled, Imbri did not speak—and suddenly, in me

dream, she was a tiger lily. She growled, baring her petals

in a grimace.

"All right—I'll give you another chance." King Trent

did not make any gesture, but Imbri was back in nymph

form. Even in dreams, the King's magic was formidable!

"I bring you a message," she said quickly through the

mouth of the nymph. "Beware the Horseman."

"And who is the Horseman—a kind of centaur?"

"No, sir. He is a man who rides horses. He rode me—"

She paused, realizing this statement did not make much

sense while she was in nymph image. "I am a night mare—"

"Ah, then this is, after all, a dream! I mistook it for

reality. My apology."

Imbri was embarrassed that a King should apologize to a

dream image. "But it is real! The dream is only to commu-

nicate—"

"Really? Then I had better wake."

The King made an effort and woke. Imbri was amazed;

36                        Night Mare

in all her one hundred and fifty years' experience in dream

duty, after her youth and apprenticeship, she had not seen

anyone do this so readily.

"So you really are a mare," King Trent said, studying

her in reality. "Not a nymph sent to tempt me into foolish

thoughts."

"Yes. Not a nymph," she agreed, projecting a spot

dreamlet.

"And you do not fade in my waking presence. Interest-

ing."

"I am spelled to perform day duty," she explained. "To

bring my message."

"Which is to beware the Horseman." The King stroked

his beard. "I don't believe I know of him. Is he by chance a

new Magician?"

"No, sir. I think he is a Mundane. But he is clever and

ruthless. He hurt me." She nodded at the scrapes on her

flanks.

"You could not phase away from him, mare?"

"Not by day. I am now mortal by day."

"Would this relate to the invasion the Mundanes are sup-

posed to be mounting?"

"I think so, sir. The Horseman has two Mundane hench-

men and a Mundane horse."

"Where did you encounter this cruel man?"

"Two hours' trot west of here."

"South of the Gap Chasm?"

"Yes, your Majesty. At Faux Pass."

"That's odd. My scouts should have spotted any crossing

of the Chasm, or any sea approach. You are sure of the

location?"

"Quite sure. I made a bad misstep there."

"That happens at Faux Pass."

"Yes." Imbri was embarrassed again.

"Then they must have found a way to sneak in." The

King pondered a moment. "Ah—I have it. A quarter cen-

tury ago, Bink and Chameleon and I entered Xanth below

the Gap when we departed from the region of the isthmus,

far northwest of here. We somenow traversed in perhaps

an hour a distance that should have required a day's gallop

by your kind. Obviously there is a magic channel under

Night Mare                        37

water. The Horseman must have found it and somehow

gotten by the kraken weed that guards it. We shall have to

close that off, devious though it may be. There are merfolk

in that vicinity; I shall notify them to investigate." He

smiled. "Meanwhile, a lone man and two henchmen and a

Mundane horse should not present too much of a threat to

Xanth."

"The horse is not with them any more, your Majesty. He

is the day horse who fled his master and helped me es-

cape."

"Then we must reward that horse. Where is he now?"

"He does not want to meet with human folk," she ex-

plained. "He is wary of being caught and ridden again."

Again the King smiled. "Then we shall ignore him. True

horses are very rare in Xanth, for there is no resident pop-

ulation. He might be regarded as a protected species. That

will help him survive in what might otherwise be a hostile

land."

King Trent had a marvelous way of solving problems!

Imbri was grateful. "I am also to serve as liaison to the

gourd—the realm of the Powers of the Night and to the

folk of Xanth," Imbri said in another dreamlet, maintain-

ing her nymph image for the purpose. "And I am to be the

steed of Chameleon. But I don't know why; she seems not

very smart."

"An excellent assignment!" King Trent said. "Evidently

you do not properly comprehend Chameleon's nature. She

changes day by day, becoming beautiful but stupid, as she

is at the moment, then reversing and turning ugly but intel-

ligent. She is alone because of the exigencies of this pres-

ently developing crisis, and that is unfortunate, because

someone really should be with her at her nadir of intellect.

You can be with her and nudge her from danger. In a few

days she will become smarter, and in two weeks she will be

so smart and ugly you can't stand her. But she is a good

woman, overall, and needs a companion in both phases."

"Oh." Now the Night Stallion's assignment made more

sense. It also explained his seeming error: he had shown an

image of ugly Chameleon, but meanwhile her aspect had

changed.

"Return to her now," King Trent said. "I will have a

new assignment for you both by morning."

How thoroughly the King took over, once he tackled

something! Imbri trotted through the wall and jumped

down to the ground outside. Actually, she landed in the

moat, but it didn't matter because she was immaterial; she

didn't even disturb the moat monsters. Soon she was back

with Chameleon, now understanding this woman better.

Appearance and intelligence that varied in . a monthly

cycle—how like a woman!

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 prof-

fered 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 com-

ing 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!" Im-

bri neighed. That was quite a talent! She didn't even have

to project a dreamlet at him. Still, she didn't like the insult-

ing 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 your-

self, mare," he concluded. He departed with dispatch.

Night Mare                     39

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 fig-

ure 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 awk-

wardly, her arms rigid. This was an immense contrast to

the evil expertise of the Horseman! But Imbri moved care-

fully, 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 haz-

ards 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 car-

ried 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 cen-

turies old!"

Imbri was reasonably smart, but she was similarly baf-

40 Night Mare

fled. She had been by this castle several times in the past,

and though it bad 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," Cha-

meleon said.

"I am a moat monster!" the hix 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 communica-

tion 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

Night Mare                        41

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 re-

mained fundamentally innocent. That probably accounted

for her son's innocence. Imbri found herself liking the

woman even more and felt protective toward her. Chame-

leon was as esthetic emotionally as she was physically, al-

most 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 passe?"

Chameleon fidgeted helplessly, but Imbri struggled to

draw one foot and then another from its mooring. Ice splin-

tered 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 Im-

bri dropped into deeper water with a splash. The nix chor-

tled.

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

she would cross this moat.

The nix froze the water again—and again Imbri strug-

gled to the top. He melted it, plunging her down. This was

awkward, but she 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 pro-

tested.

The nix gloated, now faintly resembling a satyr. "Where

42                        Night Mare

does it ticlde, wench? Fll give you a good tickle, if that's

what you like." This caused the dream girl to blush fu-

riously again. But she wouldn't let her dress get wet. Ac-

tually, 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, nixl" he cried,

pointing again.

This time the freezing was incomplete. The water thick-

ened 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, pad-

dywox, live the frog alone!"

This nonsense thawed the water, then thinned it far-

ther. Suddenly it was too dilute to support the mare's swim-

ming weight. She sank down over her head.

This was like phasing through solids—with one differ-

ence. 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,"

Night Mare                     43

"That's what you think, night nag!" the nix cried, evi-

dently 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 in-

quire.

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 symbol-

ism. 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. 'Til 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 differ-

ent rules. "I'm swimming across now."

"Swimming across," the woman agreed, hiking her skirt

44                        Night Mare

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, swim-

ming 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. "Ifs 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 jubi-

lantly. "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

Night Mare                        45

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 subli-

mation."

"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.

They climbed out of the moat and stood wetly before the

stone structure. It was immense. Each vertical stone was

the height of an ogre, crudely hewn, dauntingly massive.

They had little time to gawk. A monster came charging

along the inner edge of the moat. The creature was horren-

dous. It had horse-hooves, a lion's legs, elephantine ears, a

bear's muzzle, a monstrous mouth, and a branching antler

projecting from the middle of its face. "Ho, intruders!" the

beast bellowed in the voice of a man. "Flee as well as you

can so I may have the pleasure of the hunt!"

Imbri recognized the monster. It was a centycore. This

was a creature without mercy; no use to reason with it.

They would need either to stop it or to escape it.

Imbri ran. She was a night mare; she could outrun any-

thing. She left the centycore behind immediately.

Chameleon screamed and almost fell off. She was still

an inexpert rider, not at all like the cruel Horseman, and

could readily be dislodged by a sudden move. Imbri had

to slow, letting the poor woman get a better hold on her

mane. Then she accelerated again in time to avoid the

monster.

Soon she had circled the region enclosed by the moat,

being confined—and there was the monster again, facing

her from in front. Imbri braked and reversed, angling her

body to prevent Chameleon from being thrown off, and

took off the other way. But she realized that this was no

real escape; she would not be able to concentrate on any-

thing else, such as exploring the megalithic structure and

searching for clues to the whereabouts of the Good Magi-

cian's castle, until she dealt with the centycore.

She slowed, letting the thing gain, though this terrified

Chameleon, who was clinging to Imbri for dear life. Imbri

hurled back a dreamlet picture of herself as a harpy hover-

ing low, calling, "What are you doing here, monster?"

"Chasing you, you delectable equine!" the centycore bel-

lowed back, snapping his teeth as punctuation.

Ask a foolish question! "We only came to seek the Good

Magician," Imbri sent.

"I don't care what you seek; you will still taste exactly

like horsemeat." And the centycore lunged, his antler stab-

bing forward with ten points.

"Oh, I don't like this!" Chameleon wailed. "I wish my

husband Bink were here; nothing too terrible ever happens

to him!"

That was surely an exaggeration, but Imbri understood

her feeling. She accelerated, putting a little more distance

between herself and the predator. How could she nullify

the centycore? She knew she couldn't fight it, as it was a

magic beast, well able to vanquish anything short of a

dragon. Even if she were able to fight it, she could not

safely do so while Chameleon rode her; the woman would

surely be thrown off and fall prey to the monster.

"Run through a walll" Chameleon cried, sensing the

problem.

"I can't phase through solid things by day," Imbri pro-

tested, her dreamlet showing herself as a mare bonking

headfirst into a megalithic column and coming to a bone-

jarring stop. She felt Chameleon's sympathetic hand pres-

sure, though the accident had been only a dream; the

woman tended to take the dreams too literally. "Only at

night—and we have at least an hour of day left." It seemed

like an eternity, with the centycore pursuing.

But the description of the problem suggested the answer.

Suppose they somehow made it prematurely dark? Then

Imbri would be able to phase. For it wasn't night itself,

but darkness, that made her recover her full night mare

properties; otherwise the Horseman's fire would not have

been able to hold her. The Powers of the Night came

to whatever night there was, natural or artificial, whatever

and whenever it Was, for night was nothing but an exten-

sive shadow. Just as day was nothing more than a very

large patch of light.

How could they make it dark? Sometimes, Imbri under-

stood, the moon eclipsed the sun, rudely shoving in front of

it and blocking it out. But the sun always gave the moon

such a scorching on the backside when the cheese did that,

that the moon hardly ever did it again soon. There was

very little chance of it happening right at this moment; the

moon wasn't even near the sun.

Sometimes a big storm blotted out most of the light,

turning day to night. But there was no sign of such a storm

at the moment. Count that out, too.

There was also smoke. A bad, smoldering blaze could

stifle the day for a time. If they could gather the makings

of a fire, then start it going—

"Chameleon," Imbri sent in a dreamlet. "If I let you off

behind a stone, so the monster doesn't see you, could you

make a fire?"

"A fire?" The woman had trouble seeing the relevance,

naturally enough.

"To stop the centycore."

"Oh." Chameleon considered. "I do have a few magic

matches that I use for cooking. All I have to do is rub them

against something rough, and they burst into flame."

"Excellent. Make a big fire—" Imbri projected a se-

quence in pictures: Chameleon hiding behind a stone col-

umn, dashing out when the monster wasn't near, gathering

pieces of wood and dry moss and anything else that might

blaze. "A big, smoky fire. Keep it between you and the

centycore." Actually, the monster could go around the fire to

get at the woman, but that wasn't the point. The fire was

merely the mechanism to generate smoke.

"I can do that," Chameleon agreed. Imbri accelerated,

leaving the centycore puffing behind, veered near a megal-

ithic column, and braked as rapidly as she could without

48 Night Mare

throwing her rider. Why hadn't she tried a fast decelera-

tion, or bucking, when the Horseman had ridden her? Be-

cause she, like a dumb filly, hadn't thought of it. But she

suspected it wouldn't have worked anyway; the man under-

stood horses too well to be deceived or outmaneuvered by

one. Hence his name—the man who had mastered the

horse.

Chameleon dismounted and scurried behind the megalith

while Imbri galloped ostentatiously off, attracting the

monster's baleful attention. It worked; the centycore

snorted after her, never glancing at the woman. It probably

preferred the taste of horsemeat anyway. Imbri was re-

lieved; if the monster had turned immediately on the

woman, there could have been real trouble.

Imbri led the monster a merry chase, keeping tantaliz-

ingly close so as to monopolize its attention. Meanwhile,

Chameleon dashed about, diligently gathering scraps of

wood and armfuls of dry leaves and grass.

In due course the blaze started. A column of smoke

puffed up.

"Ho!" the centycore exclaimed, pausing. "What's this?"

Imbri paused with him, not wanting him to spy the

woman behind the column. "That's a fire, homface," she

projected. "To bum you up."

"It won't bum me up!" the centycore snorted, the dues

of his antler quivering angrily. "I will put it out!"

"You couldn't touch it," Imbri sent, her dreamlet show-

ing the monster yelping as he got toasted on the rump by a

burning brand.

"So you claim," the centycore muttered, glancing at his

posterior to make sure there was no burning brand being

shoved at it. He approached the flame. Imbri skirted it to

the other side and reached Chameleon, who climbed ea-

gerly on her back. The woman evidently had been afraid,

with excellent reason, but had performed well anyway. That

was worth noting; she might not be smart, but she had

reasonable courage.

The centycore kicked at the fire. A piece of wood flew

out, starting a secondary blaze a short distance away. "You

won't put it out that way, bearsnoot," Imbri projected with

a picture of a burning branch falling on the monster's ant-

Night Mare                        49

ler and getting caught in it. The dream centycore shook

his head violently, but the brand only blazed more brightly,

toasting his snoot. In a moment the antler began to burn.

"Stop that!" the monster snapped, shaking his antler as

if it felt hot.

"You'll bum to pieces!" Imbri dreamed, causing the im-

age's antler to blaze more fiercely. Jets of flame shot out

from each point, forming bright patterns in the air as the

monster waved its antler about. The patterns shaped into a

big word: FIRE.

"Enough!" the centycore screamed. He leaped for the

moat and dunked his horn. That doused the dream flame;

reality was too strong for it. But Imbri did manage to

dream up a subdued fizzle where the points entered the

water.

"Hey!" the nix protested, picking up the dream image.

He froze the water around the antler, trapping the centy-

core head-down. The monster roared with a terrible rage

and ripped his head free, sending shards of ice flying out

The nix changed to a fish and scooted away, daunted.

Now the centycore scooped icy water toward the fire

with his antler. But the fire was too big and too far away;

only a few droplets struck it, with furious hissing. Hell had

no anger like that of a wetted fire, as Imbri knew from

experience.

The centycore considered. Then he scooped up a homful

of muck from the edge of the moat and hurled that toward

the fire. There was a tremendous hiss as the blob scored,

and a balloon of steam and smoke went up.

"Ha ha, mare, he's putting it out!" the nix called from a

safe distance across the moat. Apparently he felt that it

was best to join sides with the monster. "I guess that knots

your tail!"

"You shut up!" Imbri projected in a dream that encom-

passed both nix and centycore. "He won't get it all!"

"That's what you think, horsehead!" the nix cried.

Encouraged by this, the monster indulged in a fever of

mudslinging. His aim was good; more gouts of smog bal-

looned out. The fire was furious, but was taking a beating.

"Curses, he's doing it!" Imbri projected with wonderfully

poor grace.

Night Mare

50

Indeed he was. Soon the fire was largely out and smoke

suffused the entire region, making them all cough. The

light of the sun diminished, for sunrays didn't like smelly

smog any better than anyone else did. .

Was it dark enough? Imbri wasn't sure. "If this doesn't

Work, we're finished," she projected privately to Chame-

leon. "Maybe you should dismount."

"I'll stay with you," the woman said loyally. Imbri

chalked up one more point for her character, though she

realized it might be fear of the monster that motivated

Chameleon as much as support for Imbri.

Now the centycore reoriented on them. "You're next,

marefacel" he cried, and charged.

Imbri bolted for the megalith nearest the fire, where the

smoke hovered most thickly. The centycore bounded after

her. He was sure he had her now.

The mare leaped right into the stone column—and

phased through it. Chameleon, in contact with her, did the

same. The darkness was deep enough!

The monster, following too closely, smacked headfirst

into the column. The collision jammed several points of his

antler into the stone, trapping him there. He roared and

yanked, but the stone was tougher than the ice had been,

and he could not get free. That particular menace had been

nullified.

Actually, Imbri now recognized an additional concern

she hadn't quite thought of before. She had not been cer-

tain she could phase a rider with her. She had brought the

ogre out of the gourd, but he had already been in it, his

body separate. She had carried the girl Tandy once, but

that had been in genuine night. When she phased out of the

Horseman's pen, she had left the hobble behind, and it had

certainly been in contact with her body. So the precedents

were mixed. Apparently she could take someone or some-

thing with her if she wanted to, and leave it behind if she

chose. It was good to get such details straight; an error

could be a lot of trouble.

Now they could explore the center of the stone structure.

They moved in cautiously.

1 There was a rumble, as of a column wobbling in its

socket and beginning to crumble. Some sand sifted down

Night Mare                        51

from one of the elevated slabs. Both mare and woman

looked up nervously. What was happening?

The noises subsided as they stood. Apparently it was a

random event, possibly the result of the heat or smoke of

the recent fire.

Imbri took another step forward. There was a long,

moaning groan to the right, causing their heads to snap

about. It was just another massive stone column settling,

doing nothing.

Again Imbri stepped forward. The huge rock slab above

slipped its support and crunched down toward them.

Imbri leaped backward, whipping her head around and

back to catch Chameleon as the woman tried to fall off.

The massive stone swung down where the two of them

had been the moment before, thudding into the ground

with an awesome impact.

"This place is collapsingi" Chameleon cried. "Let's get

out of here!"

But Imbri's memory was jogged by something. "Isn't it

strange that it should collapse the very moment we enter it,

after standing for what seems by the cobwebs and moss to

have been centuries?" Actually, cobwebs could form faster

than that, but Imbri wasn't concerned about minor details.

"This resembles the handiwork of the spriggan," she con-

cluded in the dream.

"Spriggan?"

"Giant ghosts who haunt old castles and megalithic

structures. They are destructive in nature; that's why old

structures eventually collapse. The spriggan keep shoving

at columns and pulling at cross pieces, until there is a col-

lapse."

"But why right now?" Chameleon asked, since Imbri

hadn't directly answered her own question. A creature had

to make things quite clear for this woman.

"To stop us from proceeding farther. Don't you remem-

ber the nature of Magician Humfrey's castle?"

"Oh, yes. I had to ask him a Question once, before I

married Bink, and it was just awful getting in! But not like

this."

"His castle is different each time a person comes to it.

I've seen it on my way to deliver dreams. Never the same."

52

Night Mare

Night More

53

"Yes, I remember," she agreed. "He must spend a lot of

time getting it changed."

"So this is Humfrey's castle now. A megalithic structure.

We have passed two hazards and are encountering the

third—the spriggan. They are preventing us from advanc-

ing by shoving the stones down in our path."

"Oh." Chameleon was not entirely reassured. "But we

don't have a Question. We're on the King's business."

"Yes, I understand the Good Magician is not supposed

to charge for official business. He must not have realized

we were coming."

"But he's supposed to know everything!"

"But he's old and absent-minded and set in his ways,"

Imbri's dream image reminded her. Still, she was not

pleased at having to run this gauntlet. "So we must find

out how to get past the ghosts," Imbri concluded. "Then we

will be able to consult the Magician despite his forgetful-

ness."

"The ghosts at Castle Roogna are friendly," Chameleon

said, evidently not liking the spriggan.

"No doubt. I am supposed to convey greetings from the

ghosts of the haunted house in the gourd to one of the

ghosts of Castle Roogna. I haven't yet had the opportu-

nity."

"Who?"

"One named Jordan. Do you know him?"

"Not well. He keeps mostly to himself. But I do know

Millie, who is not really a ghost any more. They're all

pretty nice, I think, except for the six-year-old ghost, who—"

She hesitated, not wishing to speak evil of the dead.

"Who is a brat?" Imbri supplied helpfully.

"I suppose. But the others are nice."

"Spriggan are not. They are to nice ghosts as ogres are to

elves."

"That's awful!"

Evidently Chameleon was not going to be much help on

this one. Imbri skirted the faUen stone and started forward

once more. There was another groan, this one to the left.

Imbri shied right—and the column there began to crumble

threateningly.

"Oh, I don't like this!" Chameleon cried.

Imbri paused. She didn't like this either. But there had

to be a way through. There always was. This was the na-

ture of the Good Magician's defenses. He did not like to be

bothered by frivolous intrusions, so he set up challenges;

only smart, determined, and lucky petitioners could get

through. Imbri knew King Trent would not have sent them

here if the matter had not been important, so they had to

conquer the challenges. Too bad the smoke had dissipated

so she could no longer phase them through solid obstacles.

That would have made it easy. But already the shadows

were lengthening; soon it would be dusk, and that would

solve her problem. All she had to do was keep from getting

squished under a rock before then. She really would have

been smarter to wait for night before trying to enter the

castle, but now she was in it and would carry through with

marish stubbornness.

She thought about the spriggan. They were distantly re-

lated to night mares, being both material and immaterial.

In their natural forms they were invisible, but they could

solidify their mouths to issue groans, and their hands to

shove stones. They never touched living creatures directly,

however; contact with warm flesh discombobulated them,

and it took them a long time to get recombobulated.

There might be the answer! All Imbri had to do was

make the giants show themselves, then advance on them.

Maybe.

"I'm going to try something risky," Imbri projected to

Chameleon. Her dreamlet showed herself charging directly

at a horrendous ghost. "Would you like me to set you down

outside the megaliths, where it is safe?"

Chameleon was frightened but firm. "It's not safe. The

centycore is there. Maybe he's gotten unstuck from the col-

umn. I will stay with you."

Good enough. "Now we must provoke the ghost-giants

into showing themselves. When they do, you must act terri-

fied."

A touch of humor penetrated the woman's naivete. "I

will."

Imbri nerved herself and took a step forward. There was

an immediate warning groan. She projected a dream to the

vicinity of the sound. "You're pretty bold, hiding behind

54 Night Mare

big stones," her dream image said with an expression of

contempt. "You wouldn't scare anyone if you were visible."

"Oh, yeah?" the sprig she had addressed responded.

"Look at this, mare!"

The ghost took form before her. He was the size of a

man, but his arms were huge and hairy, and his face was

dominated by two upcurving tusks. "Groooaan!" he

groaned.

Chameleon shrieked in presumably simulated terror. But

Imbri moved directly toward the ghost.

The sprig, startled, shrank to the size of a midget. Then,

catching itself, it expanded to the size of a giant. "Booooot"

it boooooed, shoving at a ceiling stone. The stone budged,

sending down a warning shower of sand. Chameleon

screamed again. It seemed she didn't like sand in her hair.

But as the mare neared the ghost, the sprig jumped out

of the way, avoiding contact. They passed right through,

and Imbri knew she and Chameleon had penetrated well in

toward the castle.

There was another invisible groan, from another sprig.

Imbri charged it, though another column was crumbling.

Her ploy worked; the column crashed the other way, not

striking her. The ghosts never pulled columns down upon

themselves; thus where the spriggan stood was the safest

place to be, despite the scary noises they made. All she had

to do was keep charging them, and she would be safe.

It worked. Columns and ceiling stones tumbled all

around her, but Imbri navigated from the groan to groan

and threaded the dangerous maze successfully.

Abruptly they were inside the castle proper.

Chapter 4. Forging the Chain

Well, hello Chameleon!" the Gorgon said. She

was a mature, almost overmature woman, whose impres-

sive proportions were verging on obesity. Life had evidently

been too kind to her. Her face was invisible, so that there

was no danger from her glance. "And the mare Imbrium,

too! Do come in and relax."

"We are here to see Good Magician Humfrey," Chame-

leon said. "King Trent sent us."

"Of course he did, dear," the Gorgon agreed. "We have

been expecting you."

Chameleon blinked. "But you tried to stop us!"

"It's just Humfrey's way. He's such a dear, but he does

have his little foibles. Those creatures wouldn't really have

hurt you."

Imbri snorted. She was not at all sure of-thatt

"You both must be hungry," the Gorgon continued

blithely. "We have milk and honey and alfalfa and oats in

any combination you two may desire."

"Milk and oats," Chameleon said promptly.

"Honey and alfalfa," Imbri projected in a dreamlet

"Ah, so it is true!" the Gorgon said, pleased. "You really

are a night mare! What a cute way of talking!" She led

them to the dining room, where she brought out the prom-

ised staples. Chameleon's oats were cooked over a little

magic flame, then served with the milk and a snitch of

honey from Imbri's soaked alfalfa. It was an excellent din-

ner.

Then they were ushered into the surly presence of Good

Magician Humfrey. He had a tiny, cluttered study upstairs,

stuffed with old tomes, multicolored bottles, magic mirrors,

55

and assorted unclassifiable artifacts. Humfrey himself

hunched over an especially big and ancient volume. He

was gnomelike, with enormous Mundane-type spectacles

and wrinkles all over his face. He looked exactly as old as

he probably just might be. "Well?" he snapped irritably.

"Chameleon and the mare Imbrium are here for advice,"

the Gorgon said deferentially. "You have them on your cal-

endar."

"I never pay attention to that bit of paper!" the Good

Magician grumped. "I'm too busy." But he looked at a

chart on the wall. There, in large letters, was the note

PAIR & MARE. "Oh, yes, certainly," he grumbled. "Well,

let's get on with it."

There was a pause. "The advice," the Gorgon reminded

the Magician gently.

"Have they paid the fee?"

"They're on the King's business. No fee."

"What is Xanth coming to?" he mumbled ungraciously.

"Too many creatures expecting a free lunch."

"That was dinner," Chameleon said brightly.

Again there was a pause. The Gorgon touched Hum-

frey's elbow.

He looked up, startled, almost as if he had been dozing.

"Of course. Beware the Horseman." His old eyes returned

to his book.

"But we've already had that message," Imbri protested

in a dreamlet.

Humfrey's brow corrugated yet farther. Such a thing

would have been impossible without magic. "Oh? Well, it

remains good advice." He cogitated briefly. "Break the

chain." He looked at his tome again.

"I don't understand," Chameleon said.

"It isn't necessary to understand Humfrey's Answers,"

the Gorgon explained. "They are always correct regard-

less."

Imbri wasn't satisfied. "Don't you folk realize there's a

war on?" she projected in an emphatic dream. Her picture

showed brutish Mundanes tromping like ogres through the

brush, frightening small birds and despoiling the land with

sword and fire. The image was taken from her memory of

Night Mare                     57

the Lastwave. "We have to find out how to defend Xanth!"

Humfrey looked up again. "Of course I realize! Look at

my book!"

They crowded closer to peer at his open tome. There was

a map of Xanth with portions marked in color.

"Here is where the Mundanes are invading," Humfrey

said, pointing to the northwestern isthmus. "They have not

yet penetrated far, but they are well organized and tough

and determined, and the auspices are murky. Divination

doesn't work very well on Mundanes, because they are

nonmagical creatures. But it seems the Nextwave of con-

quest is upon us. It will be the end of Xanth as we know it,

unless we take immediate and effective measures to pro-

tect our land."

"Ttie Nextwave!" Chameleon repeated, horrified.

"We knew there would be another Wave sometime," the

Gorgon said. "All through the history of Xanth there have

been periodic Waves of conquest from Mundania. All hu-

man inhabitants derive from one Wave or another, or did

until very recently. But each Wave sets Xanth back im-

measurably, for the Mundanes are barbaric. They slay

whatever they do not understand and they understand very

little. If this Wave succeeds in conquering Xanth, it will be

a century before things return to normal."

"But how do we stop it?" Chameleon asked.

' "I told you," Humfrey snapped. "Break the chain."

Imbri exploded with full night marish ferocity. Storm

clouds roiled in her dream image, booming hollowly as they

fired out fierce jags of lightning. "This is no time for cute

obscurities! We need a straight Answer to a serious prob-

lem! Do you have an Answer or don't you?" A jag struck

near Humfrey.

Humfrey gazed soberly at her, one hand idly swatting

away the jag of lightning, though it was only a dreamlet

image. "There are no simplistic Answers to a complex

problem. We must labor diligently to piece together the best

of all possible courses, or at least the second best, depend-

ing on what is available."

The mare backed off. She did realize that some an-

swers could not be simple or clear. Magic often had pecu-

58

Night Mare

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59

liar applications, and predictive magic was especially

tricky, even when Mundanes weren't involved.

"Night nears," the Gorgon said gently. Indeed, the clut-

tered scrap of a window showed near-blackness outside.

"You will be able to travel more freely then. We must let

Magician Humfrey labor in peace." She led them to an-

other room, where there was a couch. "You will want to

rest first. I will wake you at midnight."

That was good enough. There were sanitary facilities

and a pleasant bed of straw. Imbri lay down and slept. She

could rest perfectly well on her feet, but suspected the Gor-

gon would worry about hoofprints and droppings and such,

so lying down was best. Actually, there was hardly any

place in Xanth that could not be improved by a nice,

fertilizer-rich dropping, but human beings tended not to

understand that.

A night mare visited her, of course. Imbri recognized her

instantly. "Mare Crisium!" she exclaimed in her dream.

"How is everything back home?"

"The Dark Horse is worried," Crises said. She, like Im-

bri, could speak in the human language in the dream state.

"He says the menace advances, and you are the only one

who can abate it, and you have fallen into the power of the

enemy."

"I did, but I escaped," Imbri replied. "I delivered the

message to King Trent. Now I'm on a mission for him."

"It is not enough. The King is about to be betrayed. You

must tell him to beware the Horseman."

"I told you, I told him that!" Imbri flared.

"You must tell him again."

Imbri changed the subject. "Where's Vapors?" She had a

special affinity for both Crises and Vapors, for those two

mares had picked up half souls at the time Imbri got hers.

But the others had not retained them. Their halves had

been replaced by the halves from a demon, cynical and

cruel, which gave them a certain competitive edge: their

bad dreams were real terrors, and they got the most chal-

lenging assignments. Even so, they had not been satisfied

and had finally turned the half souls into the central of-

fice. So Imbri was now the only night mare with any part

of a soul. But still, she felt closer to those other two; they

understood the impact a soul could have.

"Vapors is with Chameleon. In a moment the woman

will wake screaming; then you both must go and warn the

King."

Imbri started to protest, but then Chameleon's scream

sounded, and both woman and mare were jolted rudely

awake. Instantly Vapors and Crises bolted, leaving only

their signature hoofprints. Imbri was saddened; she was

now considered a mortal creature, who was not permitted

to see a night mare in the waking state. That wrenched at

her, for she had spent most of her long life in the profes-

sion. How quickly the prerogatives and perquisites of em-

ployment were lost, once a creature retired! But that was

the price she paid for the chance to see the rainbow.

She went to Chameleon, who clutched at her hysteri-

cally. "Oh, it was awful, Imbril Such a bad dream! Is that

really what you used to do?"

"Not that well," Imbri sent, with a tinge of regret. Ob-

viously Mare Vaporum retained the terrifying touch that

Imbri had lost. "What did you dream?"

"I dreamed King Trent was close to death, or something

almost as awfull We must go right back and warn him!"

She was still breathing raggedly, her lovely hair in disarray.

A simple premonition of danger to another person—and

the client was in shambles. Imbri realized that she had re-

tired none too soon; she would have had to bring in a fire-

breathing sea monster to achieve a similar effect. She was

just too softhearted.

"Get on my back, woman," Imbri projected. "We'll ride

immediately."

The Gorgon appeared, carrying a lighted candle that il-

luminated her empty head oddly, showing the snakelets that

were her hair from the inside surface. "Midnight," she

said. "Time to—oh, I see you're ready. Do come again

soon!"

"We will!" Chameleon called, her mood lightening he-

cause of the contact with the familiar facelessness of a

friend. Then Imbri plunged through the wall and they were

off.

60

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61

This time there was no trouble from the spriggan, centy-

core, or nix, Imbri was in her night mare form, phasing

through everything, and Chameleon phased with her be-

cause that was the nature of night mare magic. They gal-

loped in a straight line toward Castle Roogna, passing

blithely through trees and rocks and even a sleeping 'dragon

without resistance. Chameleon was pleasantly amazed; she

was a good audience for this sort of thing, and that made

Imbri's mood improve.

"Oh, no!" Chameleon exclaimed suddenly. "I forgot the

elopement!"

That was right—this was the scheduled night for the

marriage of Prince Dor. Chameleon was the mother of the

victim; of course she wanted to attend. "We can make it,"

Imbri sent.

"No, we can't," Chameleon said tearfully. "It was to

happen at midnight, and we're hours away, and it's past

midnight now!"

Imbri hated to have this lovely and innocent woman un-

happy. "We can travel faster—but it's a route you may not

like."

"Anything!" Chameleon exclaimed. "If we can even

catch the end of it—my poor baby boy—I know he'll be so

happy!"

Imbri had a certain difficulty following the woman's

thought processes this time, but decided Chameleon had

mixed feelings about her son and his marriage. Mothers

were notorious for that sort of thing. "Then hold on tight

and don't be afraid of anything you see." Imbri galloped

into a patch of hypnogourds and plunged into a gourd.

It was dark as they phased through the rind and became

part of the gourd world. Of course they were not part; they

were alien visitors who normally would have found access

only by looking through a peephole, instead of passing

physically through. This was a gray area of magic, possible

only because of Imbri's special status as an agent of liaison.

Then they were in a graveyard. "Oh, are we there al-

ready?" Chameleon asked. "The zombie cemetery?"

"Not yet," Imbri projected. "Stay on me!" For if the

woman ever set foot inside the world of the gourd alone,

she would not readily get free. That was the nature of the

region of night.

A walking skeleton appeared. It reached for Chameleon,

its hollow eye sockets glinting whitely. "Go away!" the

woman cried, knocking the bony arm away. "You're no

zombie. You're too clean." Startled, the skeleton retreated.

"They are a lot more cautious about visitors since an

ogre passed through and intimidated them," Imbri sent. It

had taken weeks after the ogre's departure for the skeletons

to get themselves properly organized, since their bones had

been hopelessly jumbled together. Probably some of them

were still wearing the wrong parts.

Imbri charged into the haunted house. A resident ghost

loomed, flaring with awesome whiteness at Chameleon.

"Are we back at Castle Roogna already?" she asked. "I

don't recognize this ghost." Disgusted, the ghost faded out,

thinking it had lost its touch. Imbri knew the feeling; there

were few things as humiliating as having one's efforts un-

appreciated when one's business was fear.

Now Imbri shot out the front wall of the house. She gal-

loped along a short walkway, then out through the decora-

tive hedge. She emerged into a bleak moor. The ground

became soggy, opening dark mouths to swallow intruders,

but the night mare hurdled them handily. The terrors of

the World of Night were for others, not herself. She might

be retired, but she was not yet that far out of it.

She passed on to a mountain shaped like a burning ice-

berg, galloping up its slope. Amorphous shapes loomed,

reaching for Chameleon with multiple hands and hungry

snouts. Misshapen eyes glared.

Now the woman was frightened, for she had had no

prior experience with this type of monster. Zombies and

ghosts were familiar, but not amorphous monsters. She

hunched down and hid her face in Imbri's mane. That was

another trait of human folk: they tended to fear the unfa-

miliar or the unknown, though often it was not as threaten-

ing to them as the known.

Then they were out through the rind of another gourd,

their shortcut through the World of Night completed. They

emerged from a gourd patch much nearer Castle Roogna.

62 Night Mare

Night mares could travel almost instantly anywhere in

Xanth, simply by using the proper gourds. This route was

not available to Imbri by day, since she was solid then;

fortunately, it was now night.

Chameleon's fright eased as she saw that she was back in

the real world of Xanth. "Is that really where you live?"

she asked. "Among the horrors?"

"Daytime Xanth seems far more hazardous to me," Im-

bri projected. "Tangle trees and solid boulders and the

Mundanes—those are monsters enough!"

"I suppose so," Chameleon agreed doubtfully. "Are we

near the cemetery?"

"Very near." Imbri veered to head directly toward it.

"Wait!" Chameleon cried. "We must go in costume!"

"Costume?" What was this creature thinking of now?

"We must look like zombies so no one will know."

Evidently so. Imbri humored her, since it was difficult

to argue with a person of such low intelligence and sweet

personality. They stopped, and the woman found stink-

vines and ink pots, which she used to make each of them

look and smell rotten. Her artistry was reasonably good;

Chameleon did indeed resemble a buxom, flesh-loose zom-

bie more than the lovely older woman she really was. Imbri

looked like a half-dead nag.

Now they continued to the cemetery, where it lurked in

the lee of Castle Roogna. The zombies were up and about

in strength. Not many things stirred them, but marriage

was in certain ways akin to death in its finality and disillu-

sion. "We conspired with the Zombie Master," Chameleon

whispered to one of Imbri's perked furry ears. "He roused

his minions for the occasion, though he could not attend

himself. One of the zombies is a justice of the peace. I

don't know what that is, but it seems he can marry them."

She was all excited with anticipation.

Zombies were loosely formed creatures, so naturally

would have a justice of the piece, Imbri realized. It was not

too great a stretch of the rationale to extend the authority

to restore lost pieces of zombie to the union of full crea-

tures of flesh. Marriage, in Xanth, was whatever one made

of it, anyway; the real test of it would be the acceptance by

Night Mare                       63

the partners in it and by the wider community, rather than

any single ceremony.

As they stepped onto the graveyard grounds, things

changed. Suddenly the zombies were twice as ghastly as

. before, dressed in tuxedos and gowns that concealed much

of their decay but made the parts that showed or fell off

more horrible in contrast. All were standing quietly be-

tween the gravestones, facing the largest and dankest crypt

at the north end, where an especially revolting zombie

stood with a tattered book in his spoiled hands.

' A femal zombie came up. Her eyeballs were sunken, and

parts of her teeth showed through her worm-decimated

cheek. Her low decplletage exposed breasts like rotten mel-

ons. "Are you a centaur?" she inquired in a surprisingly

normal voice.

"I'm Chameleon, your Majesty," Chameleon said, dis-

mounting, evidently recognizing the voice. "And this is the

mare Imbri, who brought me back in time for the wedding.

Have we missed anything?"

"Wonderful, Chameleon!" Queen Iris cried, embracing

her with a sound like funguses squishing. "Take your place

in the front row, by the chancel; you're the mother of the

groom, after all. You haven't missed a thing; these events

always run late."

"And you're the mother of the bride," Chameleon said,

happy at the way this was working out.

The Queen Zombie turned to Imbri, her rotten body ro-

tating at differing velocities. Her illusion was a morbid

work of art! "You really are a mare?" she asked. "Yes, I

see you are. Since you're not related to the principals, you

should stand in back."

"But Imbri's my friend!" Chameleon protested loyally.

"I'll stand in back," Imbri projected quickly. She knew

little about human folk ceremonies and much preferred to

be out of the way.

"Oh, my, that's interesting magic!" the Queen said. "Al-

most like my illusion, only yours is all inside the head, or

do I mean all in the mind? I didn't know animals could do

magic."

"I am a night mare," Imbri clarified.

64

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65

"Oh, that explains it, of course." The Queen turned

away, going to greet other arrivals.

Chameleon went dutifully to the front, while Imbri made

her way back. She came to stand between two zombies. It

seemed the lucky couple for whom this ceremony was wait-

ing had not yet arrived, so there was time to talk.

"Hello," she projected to the one on the left.

The answer was an awful morass of foulness, resembling

a blood pudding riddled with maggots. This was a true

zombie, who might have been dead for centuries; she had

just glimpsed its actual brain. Imbri was not unduly fin-

icky, for every monster was allowed its own style in Xanth,

but she was accustomed to the clean bones of the walking

skeletons in the gourd. She tried not to shy away from this

person, for that would be impolite, but she did not attempt

to communicate with it again.

Imbri tried the figure on the right. "Are you a zombie,

too?" she sent tentatively.

This person was alive but startled. "Did you address me,

or was I dreaming?"

"Yes," Imbri agreed.

He turned to peer more closely at her. "Are you a per-

son or a horse?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I'm not used to this concentration of magic,"

he said. "I may have made a faux pas."

"No, that's west of here," Imbri corrected him.

"It's true! You are a horse, and you did address me!"

"Yes. I am the night mare Imbrium."

"A literal nightmare? How original! One never knows

what to expect next in Xanth! I am Ichabod the Archivist,

from what you term Mundania. My friend the centaur

Amolde—he is currently in Mundania, as that's his office,

liaison to that region—brought me here so I could do re-

search into the fantastic and, ahem, pursue a nymph or

two."

"That is what nymphs are for," Imbri agreed politely.

She knew it was a very popular human entertainment. But

his reference to Mundania alarmed her; was he one of the

enemy?

"Oh, no, I'm no enemy!" Ichabod protested, and Imbri

realized she had forgotten to separate her private thought

from the formal dreamlet. She would have to be more care-

ful about that, now that she was among waking people.

"Mundania is many things—you might say, all things to all

people. It seems Mundania has extremely limited access to

Xanth, while Xanth has virtually unlimited access to Mun-

"dania. This includes all the historical ages of our world.

Therefore Xanth is but an elusive dream to the Mundanes,

most of whom do not believe in it at all, while Mundania is

a prodigious reality to Xanthians, who are very little inter-

ested in it. Am I boring you?"

He was doing that, of course, but Imbri had the equine

wit not to say so. "I deal in dreams, and I am elusive, so I

am certainly a creature of Xanth."

"Really? You mean you are a dream yourself? You're

not really there?" He reached out a hand, tentatively, to

touch her shoulder.

"Not exactly." She phased out, and his hand passed

through her.

"Fabulous!" he exclaimed. "I must put you in my note-

book. You say your name is Imbrium? As in the Sea of

Rains on the visible face of the moon? How very intrigu-

ing!"

He might be Mundane, but she saw that he was not en-

tirely ignorant. "Yes. They named the Sea of Rains after

my grandam, who lived a long time ago. I inherit my signa-

ture from her and the title to that portion of the moon."

She phased back to solid and stamped a forehoof, making a

moonmap imprint with her own name highlighted.

"Oh, marvelous!" Ichabod cried. "I say, would you do

that on a sheet of my notebook? I would love to have a

direct record!"

Imbri obligingly stamped his page. The map showed up

very clearly on the white paper, since of course there was a

coating of good, rich, cemetery dirt on her hoof.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" the Mundane exclaimed,

admiring the print. "I have never before encountered a

genuine nightmare—not in the flesh, so to speak. It is not

every Mundane who receives such an opportunity! If there

is any return favor I might possibly do you—"

66

Night Mare

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67

"Just tell me who is here and how the ceremony is to

proceed. I have never attended an elopement."

"I shall be delighted to, though my own understanding is

far from perfect. It seems that Prince Dor and Princess

Irene—their titles are similar but have different deriva-

tions, as he is the designated heir to the throne, while she is

merely the daughter of the King—both of whom I met

eight years ago in Mundania, are at last to achieve nuptial

bliss, or such reasonable facsimile thereof as is practica-

ble."

Imbri realized that Mundanes had a more complex man-

ner of speaking than did real people; she cocked one ear

politely and tried to make sense of the convolutions.

"But he seems not yet to be aware of this, and she is

supposedly not aware that virtually everyone in Castle

Roogna or associated with it is attending. It is supposed to

be an uncivil ceremony, performed in the dead of night by

a dead man—i.e., a zombie. A most interesting type of

creature, incidentally. Queen Iris has cloaked all visitors

with illusion—she does have the most marvelous facility

for that—so they seem to be zombies, too, and she has

mixed them in with the real zombies so that no one not

conversant with the ruse is likely to penetrate it. Oh, what

a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceivel

That is a Mundane quotation from—"

He broke off, for there was a stir to the south. Just in

time, for he had been about to bore Imbri again. He did

seem to have a formidable propensity for dullness. All the

zombies, real and fake, hushed, waiting.

The pale moonlight showed a young woman of voluptu-

ous proportion stepping through the fringe of the Castle

Roogna orchard, hauling along a handsome young man.

"We'll just cut through the zombie graveyard," she was say-

ing. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" he demanded irritably. "You're being

awfully secretive, Irene. I'm tired; I have just come back

from Centaur Isle, where I couldn't make much of an im-

pression; I've consulted with King Trent about the Next-

wave incursion and how to contain it; and now I just want

to go home and sleep."

"You'll have a good sleep very soon, I promise you,"

Irene said. "A sleep like none before."

A rock chuckled. "It'll be long before you sleep, you

poor sucker!" it said.

"Shut up!" Irene hissed at the rock. Then, to Dor:

"Come on; we're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"Don't trust her!" the ground said. "It's a trap!"

Irene stamped her foot, hard. "Oooo!" the ground

moaned, hurting.

"I wish you'd just tell me what you're so worked up

about," Dor said. "Dragging me out here for no reason—"

"No reason! Hah!" a chunk of deadwood chortled. Irene

•kicked it into the moat, where there was a brief, wild

splashing as a moat monster snapped it up.

"I suppose you do have the right to know," she said as

they entered the graveyard. All the guests had abruptly

faded into invisibility, thanks to Queen Iris's illusion. "It's

an elopement"

"A what?"

"Elopement, idiot!" a tombstone cracked. "Better run

before you're lost!"

Irene rapped the stone on the top, and it went quiet. She

seemed to have had experience dealing with talking objects.

"We're eloping," she said clearly. "I'm taking you secretly

away to get married. Then you'll have something nice in

bed with you."

"Something nice?" Dor asked, bemused. "You mean

you're giving me a pillow?"

This time it was Dor she kicked, as the whole cemetery

guffawed evilly. "Me, you oaf! Stop teasing me; I know

you aren't that stupid. I can be very soft and warm when I

try."

"Oooool" the crypt said in a naughty-naughty voice.

"Not many of that kind hereV

"But we haven't set the date!" Dor protested.

"That's why we're eloping. We'll be married tonight, be-

fore anyone knows. So there won't be any foolishness. The

job will be done."

"But—"

68 Night Mare

She turned and Idssed him emphatically. "You have an

objection?"

Dor, obviously daunted by the kiss, was silent.

"Marvelous, just marvelous, the way she manages him,"

Ichabod murmured beside Imbri.

The couple arrived at the crypt. "Zombie justice, where

are you?" Irene called.

The officiating zombie appeared, holding his book. Also,

slowly, the rest of them phased into dim view, under the

continued glow of the moon.

"We're going to be married by a zombie?" Dor de-

manded weakly. "Won't the union fall apart?"

"Ha. Ha. I have laughed." She shook her head, so that

her green hair flounced darkly in the limited light. "It's the

only person I could get without alerting Mother," Irene ex-

plained. There was a choked snort of mirth from the

depths of the audience. Irene looked around and spied the

crowd. "Well, all you zombies didn't have to rip yourselves

from your graves," she said in a spooks-will-be-spooks

manner. "But I suppose some witnesses are in order."

"I didn't know there were this many zombies buried

here," Dor said.

"There aren't, you poor stiff," the crypt said. "These

are—"

"Quiet!" the Queen Zombie snapped.

Now Irene was suspicious. "That voice is familiar."

"Of course it is, you luscious dummyi" the crypt said.

Then a black cloud roiled out of nowhere and emitted a

roll of thunder that drowned out whatever other informa-

tion the crypt disgorged.

"There's something very funny about this," Dor said,

squinting at the loud cloud.

Irene reverted to first principles. "What's funny about

zombies? They love grim occasions. Let's get on with it."

The zombie magistrate opened his book. A page fell out;

the volume was as decrepit as the zombie.

"Oh, how I hate to see a book mistreated," Ichabod

breathed beside Imbri.

"Wait a moment," Dor protested. "You tricked me out

here, Irene. I didn't agree to get married tonight."

Night Mare                        69

"Oh? Well, I intend to marry someone! Should it be one

of these zombies?"

"Now that's a bluff I can call," Dor said.

Irene stood in silent but almost tangible grief. Her shoul-

ders shook. Tears plopped into the sod at her feet. Dor,

aided by a touch of the Queen's illusion, assumed a form

somewhat like the hinder part of a giant's boot: a first-

class heel. "Ah, well—" he mumbled inadequately.

Irene flung her arms about him and planted another kiss

that made the audience murmur with envy. Even the zom-

bies seemed moved. When she was through. Dor stood as if

numbed, as well he might.

"Classic!" Ichabod whispered. "That girl has absolutely

mastered the art!"

The zombie magistrate mumbled something unintelligi-

ble. He had no tongue, and he was reading from the page-

less book, with empty eyeball sockets.

"I do," Irene said firmly.

The zombie mumbled something else as his nose fell onto

the book.

"He does," Irene said, nudging Dor.

The zombie made a final effort, causing several loose

teeth to dribble out of his mouth.

"I've got it," Irene said. She produced a ring with an

enormous stone that glowed in the moonlight so strongly it

seemed to illuminate the graveyard. "Put it on me. Dor.

No, not that finger, idiot. This one."

Dor fumbled the moonstone onto the designated finger.

"We're married now," Irene said. "Now you can kiss

me."

Dor did so, somewhat uncertainly. The audience broke

into applause.

The remaining illusion faded, revealing the zombies and

people standing throughout the graveyard. Irene's gaze

swept across the crowd. "Mother!" she exclaimed indig-

nantly. "This is your mischief I"

"Refreshments are served in the Castle Roogna ball-

room," Queen Iris said, controlling a catlike smirk. "Come,

dears—mustn't keep the King waiting."

Dor came out of his trance. "You made King Trent

fetch refreshments?"

70

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71

"Of course not. Dor," Queen Iris said. "I supervised that

chore myself yesterday. My husband refused to participate

in this little charade, the spoilsport. But I know he'll want

to congratulate you."

"He should congratulate me," Irene said. "/ landed Dor,

after all these years."

"In the whole castle, one honest person," Dor muttered.

But he did not seem unhappy. "I knew the King would not

betray me."

"Well, you're married now," Queen Iris said. "At last.

Now come on in before the food spoils."

The zombies stirred. They liked the notion of spoiled

food.

Soon all the living people were across the moat, where

sleepy moat monsters made only token growls of protest,

and inside Castle Roogna, where food and drink had been

set out. Imbri found herself near the beverage table. Since

she did not drink human-style drinks, and did not much

care for human-style treats, she was satisfied to watch.

Ichabod, still beside her, felt otherwise. "I love to eat,"

he confided. "It is my inane ambition eventually to become

obese." He took a buttercup filled with a sparkling brown

liquid. "This looks suitably calorific." He tilted it to his

mouth.

As the liquid passed his Ups, Ichabod made a funny little

jump. Brown fluid splashed over his face. "I say!" he sput-

tered. "Why did you do that, mare?"

"Do what?" Imbri projected.

"Kick me!"

"I did not kick you!" she protested.

"I distinctly felt a boot in my posterior!" Then he cocked

his head, looking at her feet. "But you don't wear boots!"

"If I kicked you, you would have a map of the moon on

your rump," Imbri sent

Ichabod nibbed the affected portion. "True. It must

have been an hallucination." He tipped the remaining liq-

uid to his mouth.

Again he jumped. "Someone did kick me!" he ex-

claimed. "But there was no one to do it."

Imbri got a notion. "Let me sniff your drink," she sent.

Ichabod held down the cup for her. Imbri sniffed—and

felt a slight shove at her tail. "I thought so. This is the rare

beverage Boot Rear, distilled from the sap of the shoe-fly

tree. It's the drink that gives you a real kick."

"Boot Rear," Ichabod repeated thoughtfully. "I see." He

.picked up another cup. "Perhaps this differs. It seems ef-

fervescent, but colorless." He put it cautiously to his lips,

paused, and when no suggestion of a kick manifested,

gulped it quickly down.

Shining bars formed about him, enclosing him so tightly

that he yelped with discomfort. "Let me out!" he cried.

Imbri quickly put a hoof on a nether bar and used her

nose to shove the higher bars apart. In a moment Ichabod

was able to squeeze out, his suit torn, abrasions on his body.

"I suppose that was the result of the drink, too?" he asked

irritably.

Imbri sniffed the empty cup. "Yes. That's Injure Jail, a

concoction of incarcerated water," she reported.

"I should have guessed." But the man hadn't given up.

He took a third drink, sipped it with extreme caution,

paused, took a deeper sip, waited, and finally swallowed

the rest. "This is excellent."

Then he fidgeted. He reached inside his jacket and drew

out a card. "Where did this come from?" He found another

up his sleeve, and a third dropped out of his pant leg.

Imbri sniffed the cup. "No wonder. This is Card Hider,"

she reported.

"This begins to grow tiresome," Ichabod said. "Imbri,

would you do me the immense favor of locating me a

safely sedate beverage?"

Imbri obliged, sniffing her way along the table. "Seam

Croda," she sent. "Foot Frunch. June Pruice."      '

"I'll take that last," Ichabod said. "That sounds like my

style. I think it is presently June in my section of Mun-

dania."

Chameleon came to join them. "Wasn't that a wonderful

wedding?" she asked, delicately mopping her eyes. "I cried

real tears." She picked up a drink.

"Wait!" Imbri projected and Ichabod cried together. It

was an unclassified beverage.

But Chameleon was already sipping it. It seemed she

had to replace the fluid lost through her. tears. Then her

72

Night Mare

Night Mare

73

feet sank into the floor. "Oh, my—I'm afraid I took a

Droft Sink!" she exclaimed. "I'm sinking!"

Imbri and Ichabod managed to haul her back to floor

level. "I wouldn't want to seem to criticize the Queen, who

I am sure put a great deal of attention into this spread of

refreshments," Ichabod said. "But in some quarters it

might be considered that certain types of practical jokes

become, shall we say, tiresome."

Now the Queen herself approached. "Have you taken

any of these drinks?" she inquired brightly. She had

clothed herself in a fantastically bejeweled royal robe that

was perhaps illusory. "I trust you find them truly novel

and not to be taken lightly or soon forgotten. I want this

occasion to make a real impression on the guests."

Mutely, the three nodded. The drinks were all that the

Queen described.

Queen Iris picked one up herself and sipped delicately.

Then she spit it out again, indelicately. Her pattern of

illusion faltered, revealing a plain housedress in lieu of her

robe. "What's this?" she demanded.

"A truly novel beverage that makes a real impression

and is not soon forgotten," Ichabod murmured.

"Don't get flip with me. Mundane!" the Queen snapped,

a miniature thundercloud forming over her head. "What's

in this cup?"

Imbri sniffed. "Drapple Ink," she projected.

"Drapple Ink!" the Queen exclaimed, her gems re-

forming and glinting furiously. "That's meant for signing

official documents indelibly! What's it doing on the re-

freshment stand?"

Ichabod picked up another cup of Boot Rear. "Perhaps

this one is better, your Majesty," he suggested, offering it

to her. "It certainly made an impression on me."

The Queen sniffed it. She took a step forward, as if

shoved from behind. "That's not what I ordered!" she

cried, and now her gems shot little lances of fire. "Some

miscreant has switched the drinks! Oh, wait till I get my

claws on that chef!"

So Queen Iris had not been responsible for the joke.

Chameleon looked relieved.

The Queen paused, turning back. "Oh—Chameleon,"

she called. "I really came to ask if you had seen my hus-

band the King. He doesn't seem to be here. Would you look

for him for me, please?"

"Of course, your Majesty," Chameleon agreed. She

turned to Imbri. "Will you help me look, please? He might

be in a dark room, meditating."

"And we have another message to give him," Imbri re-

minded her, remembering. "Beware the Horseman, or

break the chain."

"If only we knew what chain." Chameleon sighed. "I

haven't seen any chains."

"I'll help, too," Ichabod said. "I do love a mystery."

They looked all through the downstairs castle, but could

not find the King. "Could he be upstairs, in the library?"

Ichabod asked. "That's a very nice room, and he is a liter-

ate man."

"Yes, he is often there," Chameleon agreed.

They went upstairs, going to the library. A ghost flitted

across the hall, but was gone before Imbri could send a

dreamlet to it. If she ever had a moment when she wasn't

busy, she would catch up to a ghost and inquire where Jor-

dan was, so she could give him the greeting from the ghosts

of the haunted house in the gourd world.

The library door was closed. Ichabod knocked, then

called, but received no answer. "I fear he is not in," he

opined. "I do not like to enter a private chamber unbidden,

but we should check."

The others agreed. Cautiously they opened the door and

peeked in. The room was dark and quiet.

"There is a magic lantern that turns on from a button

near the door," Chameleon said, fumbling for it. In a mo-

ment the lantern glowed, illuminating the room.

There was King Trent, sitting at the table, an open book

in front of him.

"Your Majesty!" Chameleon cried. "We have to tell

you—"

"Something is wrong," Ichabod said. "He is not moving."

They went to the King. He sat staring ahead, taking no

notice of them. This was odd indeed, for King Trent was

normally the most alert and courteous person, as men of

genuine power tended to be.

74 Night Mare

Imbri projected a dream to the King's mind. But his

mind was blank. "He's gone!" she sent to the others,

alarmed. "He has no mind!"

The three stared at one another with growing dismay.

Xanth had lost its King.

Chapter 5. Sphinx and Triton

By morning the new order had been established.

King Trent had been retired to his bedroom for the dur-

ation of his illness, and Prince Dor had assumed the crown

and mantle of Kingship and sat momentarily on the throne,

making it official. For Dor was the designated heir, and

Xanth had to have a King. He had vaulted in one strange

night from single Prince to married King.

If there was to be a visible transformation in the young

man, it had not yet materialized. He called a meeting of

selected creatures after breakfast. The golden crown

perched somewhat askew on his head, and the royal robes

hung on him awkwardly. These things had been fitted for

King Trent, who was a larger man, and it seemed King

Dor preferred to wear them unaltered, so that they could

be returned when King Trent recovered.

The shadows of Dor's eyes showed that he had not slept

Few of them had; the joy of the elopement had shifted

without pause to the horror of involuntary abdication. In-

deed, King Trent had lost his mind while the others were

celebrating in the zombie graveyard. It was hard not to sus-

pect that the two events were linked in some devious way.

The new Queen Irene evidently thought they were; she had

lost a father while in the process of gaining a husband.

"We have a crisis here at Castle Roogna," King Dor

said, speaking with greater authority than his appearance

Night Mare                        75

suggested. Queen Irene stood at his side, poised as if ready

to catch him if he fell. Her eyes were dark and red, and

not from any artifice of makeup or magic. How well she

knew that it was the misfortune of her father that had cat-

apulted her to replace her mother as Queen; this was

hardly the way she had wanted it. Former Queen Iris was

upstairs with King-emeritus Trent, watching for any trifling

signal of intelligence. No one knew what had happened to

him, but with the Mundane invasion, they could not wait

for his recovery.

The King turned to a blackboard that his ogre friend had

harvested from the jungle. On it was a crudely sketched

map of Xanth, with the several human folk villages

marked, as were Centaur Isle and the great Gap Chasm

that severed the peninsula of Xanth but that few people

remembered. "The Mundanes have crossed me isthmus,"

Dor said, pointing to the northwest. "They are bearing

south and east, wreaking havoc as they progress. But we

don't know what type of Mundanes they are, or how they

are armed, or how many there are. King Trent was devel-

oping that information, but I don't know all of what he

knew. I will consult with the Good Magician Humfrey, but

that will take time, as we don't have a magic mirror con-

necting to his castle at the moment. The one we have is on

the blink. We shall try to get it fixed; meanwhile, we're on

our own."

That reminded Imbri. "Your Majesty," she sent in a

dreamlet "We have Magician Humfrey's message for the

King. In the excitement we forgot—"

"Let's have it," Dor said tiredly.

"It was 'Beware the Horseman'—which we had already

told King Trent. And 'Break the chain.' That was his other

message."

Dor's brow wrinkled. He had a full head of intermediate-

shade hair that was handsome enough when disciplined,

but it was now a careless mop. Were it not for the crown,

he would have been easy to mistake for some weary travel-

er. "I don't understand."

"Maybe my father would have understood," Irene mur-

mured. "He could have had dialogue with the Good Magi-

76 Night Mare

dan. Maybe there's a chain in the armory whose magic will

be released when it is broken."

"Sometimes Humfrey's obscure Answers are more trou-

ble than they are worth," Dor grumbled. "Why can't he

just come out and say what he means?"

"I can perhaps explain that," the Mundane Ichabod said.

"First, he may believe he is speaking plainly, since he

knows so much more than others do. Second, prophecy

tends to negate itself when made too obvious. Therefore it

has to be couched in terms that become comprehensible

only when conditions for fulfillment are proper."

"Maybe so," Dor said. "Or maybe Humfrey is getting too

old to give-relevant Answers any more. If we don't find a

chain in the armory, we'll just have to wage this war our-

selves. The first thing we have to do is get good, recent

information. I'll have to send a party I can trust to scout

the Mundanes—"

"I'll go," Chameleon said.

King Dor smiled. "Even a King does not order his own

mother into danger. Especially when she is as pretty as

mine." Imbri exchanged a glance with Ichabod, aware that

what Dor really meant was that Chameleon was well into

her stupid phase, a probable disaster on a reconnaissance

mission. "At any rate, I doubt you could travel fast enough

to—"

"I mean with Imbri," Chameleon said. "Anyone is safe

with her."

"Ah, the night mare." Dor considered. "Is it true, mare,

that you can move as fast as thought itself?"

"Yes, King," Imbri replied. "When I use the gourd. But

that's only at night."

"And can you keep my mother safe, even by day?"

"I think so."

King Dor paced the floor, the oversized robe dragging.

"I don't like this. But I've got to have better information,

and my mother is one person I trust absolutely. I think I'd

better send Grundy the Golem along, too, to question the

plants and animals. I'd go myself, to question the stones,

if—"

"You must stay here and rule," Irene said, holding his

arm possessively.

Night Mare                        77

"Yes. I really wish we could include an expert in the

party who would know exactly what to look for. It's so

important that we know precisely what we're up against.

Mundanes are not all alike."

Ichabod coughed. "Your Majesty, I fancy myself some-

thing of an expert in Mundane matters, since I am of Mun-

dane persuasion myself. I should be glad to go and identify

the invading force for you."

Dor considered. "Ichabod, I have known you for eight

years, intermittently. You have done excellent research on

the magic of Xanth, and your information has been invalu-

able when we have needed to research Mundania. You en-

abled us to locate and rescue King Trent when he was cap-

tive in Mundania. I do trust you, and value your

information, and know King Trent felt the same. That's

why he gave you free acess to all the things of Xanth and

allowed you to research in the castle library. But you are

Mundane; I can not ask you to spy on your own people."

"My people do not ravage and pillage and slaughter

wantonly!" Ichabod protested. "Do not judge all Mundanes

by the transgressions of a few."

"Those few may be enough to destroy Xanth," King Dor

said. "Yet you make a good case. But you would need a

steed to keep up with the night mare, and I do not think

any of our available creatures are suitable. A centaur might

help, but most of them are down at Centaur Isle, organiz-

ing for the defense of their Isle. I should know; I just re-

turned from there! So—"

"The day horse might help," Imbri projected.

"The day horse?" King Dor asked.

"I met him in the forest. He was Mundane steed for the

Horseman, but he escaped and helped me escape. He

doesn't like the Mundanes. He might be willing to carry

Ichabod, though, if no bit or spurs were used, if he knew

Ichabod was not one of the enemy Mundanes." Imbri

twitched her skin where her own sore flanks were healing.

"I am to meet him at the baobab tree at noon."

King Dor considered briefly. "Very well. I don't like or-

ganizing such an important mission so hastily, but we can't

defend Xanth at all unless we get that information. If you

78                        Night Mare

meet this day horse, and if he agrees to help, Ichabod can

ride him. But you. Mother, will be in charge of the mission.

Only please listen to Grundy—"

Chameleon smiled. "I have been stupid since before you

were born. Dor. I know how to get along. I will listen to

Grundy."

Now the golem appeared. He was as tall as the length of

a normal hand and resembled the wood and rag he had

originally been fashioned from, though now he was alive.

Most people of Xanth had magic talents; he was a talent

that had become a person. "We'll get along fine," he said.

"I care about Chameleon."

"I know you do," King Dor said.

"I was Dor's guide when he wasn't even a Prince,"

Grundy said, asserting himself. "I know Chameleon from

twenty-five years back. Can't say the same for this nag,

though."

Imbri's ears flattened back in ire. She sent a dreamlet of

a thousand-toothed monster chomping the golem.

"Then again," Grundy said, shaken as he had been the

last time they clashed, "maybe I've met her in my dreams."

Chameleon smiled in an inoffensive way. "Night mares

are very scary in dreams, but nice in person."

"Take care of yourselves," King Dor said gravely. He

seemed quite different from his petulance and indecision

of the prior evening, as if the responsibility of leadership

had indeed brought out a new and superior facet of his

character. "There is not one of you I would care to lose."

He smiled, to show there was a modicum of humor there,

though it wasn't really necessary.

"We must say good-bye to Queen Iris," Chameleon said.

She led the way upstairs, and Imbri and Grundy followed,

not knowing what else to do.

The King's bedroom had become an enormous dark

cave, with stony stalactites depending from the domed ceil-

ing and deep shadows shrouding the walls. Muted wailing

sounded in the background. Fallen King Trent had the as-

pect of phenomenal grandeur, while Queen Iris was garbed

in the foulest rags. The setting was illusion, courtesy of the

Queen's talent, but the sentiment was real.

"I just wanted to say, your Majesty, that we miss the

King and will try our best to help," Chameleon said, stand-

ing on a rocky escarpment.

Queen Iris looked up. She saw how lovely Chameleon

was, and knew what it meant. "Thank you. Chameleon.

I'm sure your son will make a good King," she said, speak-

ing slowly and clearly so the woman would understand. Of

course there was no assurance that Dor would be able to

handle the job, let alone the Mundanes, but this was not

the occasion for the expression of such doubts.

"I'm going north now with Mare Imbri and Grundy and

Ichabod maybe, to spy on the Mundanes."

"I'm sure you will spy well." Queen Iris's gaze dropped;

her politeness was almost exhausted.

"Good-bye, your Majesty," Chameleon said.

The Queen nodded. Then the visitors left the gloomy

cave and found the stairs leading down.

They grabbed some supplies, reviewed the map, selected

a promising daytime route, and moved out. Imbri galloped

ahead to the baobab tree, for it was coming on to noon and

she didn't want to miss the day horse. She carried Grundy,

who could talk to any living thing and would not seem like

a human person. Ichabod and Chameleon followed more

slowly on foot.

The baobab was a monstrous tree. It towered above the

jungle, its apex visible from far away. The oddest thing

about it was the fact that it grew upside down. Its foliage

was on the ground, and its tangled roots were in the air. A

space around it was clear, for the baobab didn't like to be

crowded, and used hostile spells to drive away competitive

plants.

Imbri poked her nose in the foliage. Was the day horse

here? He hadn't specified which day; he might be else-

where this noon.

The golem made a windy, whispering sound. The tree

replied similarly. "Bao says the horse's waiting inside,"

Grundy reported.

Imbri nosed her way to the tremendous, bulbous trunk.

There was a split in it wide enough to admit a horse. She

entered cautiously.

80 Night More

Inside it was like a cathedral, with the dome of the tree

rising high above. Wooden walls convoluted down to a tes-

selated wooden floor. From inside, the tree looked right

side up. Perhaps that was illusion.

There in the center stood the handsome day horse, shin-

ing white. His mane and tail were silken silver, and his

hooves gleamed. His small ears perked forward alertly on

either side of his forelock. He was almost the prettiest sight

she had seen.

"Now there's a horse you can call a horse," Grundy

murmured appreciatively. "No fish-tail, no unicom-hom,

no shady colors, no bad dreams. The Mundanes may not be

good for much, but they certainly know how to grow

horses 1"

Imbri could only agree, despite the golem's obliquely de-

rogatory reference to herself—the implication that Xanth

could not grow good horses. The only male of her species

she had known before was the Night Stallion, who was her

sire. The dark horses had been closely interbred for millen-

nia, but now they seldom bred at all because the relation-

ship was too close. New blood was needed—but what was

she thinking of? This was a Mundane horse, not really her

kind. Her new solidity was giving her new sorts of reaction.

The day horse made a nicker. "He says come forward so

he can see you in the light, black mare," Grundy translated

unnecessarily. Of course Imbri understood equine talk!

She stepped forward. She hadn't seen the day horse more

than fleetingly by day before and was now as skitterish as

a colt. The sheer masculinity of him had a terrific impact

on her.

"You are lovely as the night," the day horse nickered.

"You are handsome as the day," Imbri nickered back.

Oh, what a thrill to interact with such a stallion!

"I just hate to interrupt this touching dialogue," Grundy

cut in with a certain zest "But you do have business, you

know."

Imbri sighed. The confounded golem was right. Quickly

she projected a dream of explanation, describing what she

wanted from the day horse.

He considered. "I don't like going near Mundane human

Night Mare                        81

folk," he said in the dream. "They might capture me

again." He stomped his left foot nervously, making the

brass circlet on it glint. "Then I would never get away."

Imbri well understood. Once he was tethered, he would

not be able to phase away by night, as Imbri could, for he

was not magic. Like the Mundane human beings, he was

limited to Mundane devices. This was the terrible curse of

all Mundanes. They could not do magic. Most of them did

not even believe in magic, which might be a large part of

their problem. Fortunately, their offspring in Xanth soon

became magical. That was why the Mundane conquests

never lasted more than a generation or so; the intruders

stopped being Mundane.

"You don't have to go near them," Grundy said in

equine language. "All you have to do is carry Ichabod close

enough so he can look at them. He's Mundane himself, so

he knows—"

"Mundane!" the day horse neighed, his nostril's dilating

and white showing around his eyes.

•"But he's a tame Mundane," the golem continued.

"Loyal to Xanth. He doesn't want to see it despoiled. He

likes the wild nymphs too well."

"What does he do with nymphs?" Imbri asked, curious.

"Mostly he just looks at their legs," the golem explained.

"He's too old to chase them very fast. I'm not sure he would

know what to do with one if he caught her, but he likes to

dream. No offense to you, night mare." Grundy was get-

ting more civil as he became better acquainted with her.

"No offense," she sent. "That's not the kind of dream I

carry, anyway."

The day horse was shaking his head and scuffling the

floor with his hooves. "I don't like Mundane men. I know

about them. They can't be trusted."

"Say, that's right!" Grundy said. "You came with them!

You can tell us all about them. What time and region of

Mundania are they from?"

"Time? Region?" The day horse seemed confused.

"Mundania is all times and all places," Grundy said with

assumed patience. "Thousands of years, and more territory

than in all Xanth. We need to know when and where you

82 Night Mare

come from so Ichabod can look it up in his moldy tomes

and find out bow to fight the men."

"I don't know anything about that," the day horse

neighed. "All I know is how the Horseman put the bit in

my mouth and the spurs to my sides and made me go."

Imbri nickered with sympathy; she understood exactly.

"You've got to know!" the golem cried. "How can you

spend your whole life among the Mundanes and not know

all about them?"

The day horse just looked at him, ears angling back.

Imbri caught on. "Mundane animals are stupid, like

Chameleon," she projected to the golem in a private

dreamlet. "He never noticed the details of the Mundane

society. He was probably kept in a stable and pasture."

"That must be it," Grundy agreed, irked. "He probably

couldn't even talk until he came to Xanth." Then he

brightened, speaking inside the private dreamlet so that the

day horse would not overhear. "At least he can't betray us

to the Mundanes. He won't understand our mission either."

"Yes," Imbri acknowledged sadly. "He's such a fine-

looking animal, but not a creature of Xanth." Not like the

Night Stallion, who was every bit as intelligent as a human

being. It was really too bad.

They returned their attention directly to the mission.

"Somehow we've got to convince you to help," Grundy told

the day horse. "Otherwise the Mundane Wave may wash

right across Xanth. Then you won't have anywhere to es-

cape to; Mundanes will control everything."

That daunted the creature. "I don't want that!"

"Of course, you might hide from them easier if you took

off that brass circlet you wear," the golem said.

The day horse glanced down at his foreleg where the

band clasped it. "Oh, no, I couldn't do thati"

"Why not? As long as you wear it, the Horseman knows

you're his horse. If you took it off, he might think you

were some other horse, especially if you got your coat dyed

black."

The day horse communicated slowly and with difficulty,

but with certainty. "If I take off the circuit and they catch

me, they will know I am a deserter and will butcher me for

Night Mare                        83

horsemeat. If I leave it on, they may think I only got lost

and will not treat me so bad."

Grundy nodded. "Not a bad effort of logic, for you," he

admitted. "So the band represents, ironically—for all that

it's brass, not iron—a kind of insurance. Because they be-

lieve you're too dumb really to try to escape—and the fact

•that you don't remove it confirms that belief."

The day horse nodded back. He was not, indeed, quite as

stupid as he seemed.

"But if you give Ichabod a ride, and then are later

caught by the Mundanes, they will believe that you were

captured by the other side and had no choice. You did not

return to the Mundanes because the enemy wouldn't let

you. That's insurance, too."

The day horse considered. Slowly the sense of it pene-

trated. "Does this renegade Mundane of yours use spurs?"

"No. Ichabod is an old man who has probably never rid-

den a horse before in his life. A centaur, maybe, because

the centaur archivist Amolde is his closest friend, but that's

not the same. You'd have to step carefully to prevent Icha-

bod from falling off."

The day horse digested that. Certainly Ichabod did not

sound like much of a threat. "No bit?"

"We don't use that sort of thing in Xanth. Creatures

carry people only when they choose to. Imbri, here, is giv-

ing me a ride because she knows I can't get about the way

she can. You don't see any bit in her mouth, do you?"

In the end, the day horse was swayed by the golem's

persuasion and agreed to carry Ichabod, on condition that

there be no direct contact between him and the Mundanes.

"I don't even want to see a Mundane," he insisted. "If I

saw them, they might see me, and if they see me, they will

chase me, and they might catch me."

"You could outrun them!" the golem protested.

"Then they would shoot me with arrows. So I don't want

to go near them at all."

"Fair enough," the golem agreed.

They departed the tree, picked up the archivist, and

headed north. Sure enough, Ichabod was unsteady on

horseback and had to hang on to the day horse's mane to

stop from sliding off one side or the other. But gradually

84 Night Mare

he got used to it and relaxed, and the horse relaxed also.

The lack of a bit and reins made all the difference. Soon

they were able to pick up speed.

Imbri became aware of another aspect of group interac-

tion. She picked up Chameleon without thinking, but real-

ized by the reaction of the day horse that the woman had

not been mentioned before. At first the day horse had hesi-

tated; then, when he saw how pretty Chameleon was, he

watched her with interest. If it had been Chameleon who

had needed the ride, it would have been easier to persuade

.this animal!

The day horse was a fine runner, making up in brute

strength what he lacked in intellect, and Imbri found her-

self reacting on two levels to him. She liked his body very

well, but was turned off by his slow mind. Yet, she re-

minded herself, she liked Chameleon well enough despite

her slowness. Maybe it was that Chameleon was not a po-

tential breeding object.

Yes, there it was. The presence of a fine stallion meant

inevitable breeding when Imbri came into season. As a

night mare, she had been immortal and ageless and never

came into season, or at least not seriously. But as a mate-

rial animal, she was subject to the material cycle. She

would age and eventually die, and so there would be no one

to carry on her work and maintain title to her sea of the

moon unless she had a foal. Material creatures had to

breed, just to maintain their position, and she would breed

if she had the opportunity. This was no imposition; she

wanted to do it.

But she also wanted to produce a handsome and smart

foal. The day horse was handsome but not smart. That

boded only half a loaf for the foal. Yet the day horse was

probably the only other possible stallion extant in Xanth, in

or out of the gourd; without him there would be no breed-

ing at all, unless she searched out one of the winged horses

of the mountains. She understood those types hardly ever

deigned to associate with earthbound equines, however.

That kept the options severely limited and made the deci-

sion difficult.

Would there be a decision? When a mare came into sea-

son—and this was a cyclical thing not subject to her volun-

Night Mare                        85

tary control when she was material—any stallion present

would breed her. Nature took it out of the province of indi-

vidual free will, perhaps wisely. Human folk were other-

wise; they could breed at any time, and the complexities of

their individual natures meant that often they bred at the

wrong time, or to the wrong person, or did not breed at all.

That probably explained why horses were so much stronger

and prettier than human beings. But humans were gener-

ally more intelligent, probably because it required a smart

man to outsmart and catch a difficult woman, or a smart

woman to pick out the best man and get him committed to

the burden of a family. The midnight scene in the graveyard

had illustrated that! Prince Dor had no doubt played inno-

cent to avoid getting married, but had this time been outma-

neuvered. And unless Imbri found a way to control her

own breeding, she would have a stupid foal. So if she didn't

want that, she would have to place distance between herself

and the day horse when her season came on. Fortunately,

that would not occur for a couple of weeks; she would have

time.

Soon they arrived at the great Gap Chasm, which sepa-

rated the northern and southern portions of Xanth. Few

people knew about the Gap because of the forget-spell on

it; it didn't even appear on many maps of Xanth. Since

they were on the King's business, they had access to the

invisible bridge that spanned it. Most people forgot about

the bridge along with the Chasm, but it was there for those

who knew how to find it. Imbri, as a night mare, felt very

little effect from the forget-spell, so had no trouble.

The day horse, however, was hesitant. "I don't see any

bridge," he neighed.

"No one can see the bridge," Imbri projected. In her

daydreamlet she made the bridge become visible as a gossa-

mer network of spider-silk cables. In her night dream duty

she had not needed to use the bridge, but had known of it

and the two others, as well as the devious paths down and

through the Gap. She had perfect confidence in all the

bridges, and in the charms that kept monsters off the

paths, though she would be wary of descending into the

Gap when the Gap Dragon was near. No spell ever

stopped that monster; it ruled the Chasm deeps. That was

86 Night Mare

another thing normally forgotten, which meant the dragon

caught a lot of prey that didn't know it existed—until too

late.

"It's all right, day horse," Ichabod said reassuringly. "I

have been across it before. I know magic seems incredible

to Mundane folk, such as are you and I, but here in Xanth

it is every bit as reliable as engineering in our world. I have

no fear in crossing."

Encouraged by that, and by now well aware that Icha-

bod was Mundane yet harmless but not stupid, the day

horse followed Imbri out into midair over the Chasm.

"Don't worry," Gnmdy called back. "You can't fall. It has

rails on both sides. Except for the center, where a stupid

harpy crashed through them and left a blank stretch."

The day horse stumbled, horrified, for he was now ap-

proaching the center. The golem laughed.

"It's not true," Imbri projected immediately. "Don't lis-

ten to the golem. He has an obnoxious sense of humor."

The day horse recovered his balance. He glared at

Grundy, his ears flattening back. He dropped a clod on the

bridge, a symbol of his opinion. Grundy bad made an en-

emy, foolishly. It was one of his talents.

They got across without further event and trotted on

north. They still had a long way to go, and would not reach

the region of the Mundane line this day.

Now the terrain became rougher, for they were traveling

cross-country. Northern Xanth was less populated by hu-

man folk than was'central Xanth, so there were fewer peo-

ple paths. One good trail led directly to the North Village,

where Chameleon's husband Bink had been raised. But

they intended to avoid human settlements, to keep their

mission secret; the Mundanes surely had spies snooping

near the various villages, -Ichabod warned. So they went

east of the North Village, threading the jungle between it

and the vast central zone of Air in the center of northern

Xanth.

The jungle thinned to forest, with clusters of everblues,

everyellows, and evergreens, and then diminished to wash

and scrub. As if to compensate, the ground became

rougher. Their trot slowed to a walk, and the walk became

labored. Both horses shone with sweat and blew hot blasts

Night Mare                        87

from dilated nostrils. Chameleon and Ichabod, unused to

such extended travel, -were tired and sore, and even the

obnoxious golem was quiet, riding in front of Chameleon

where he could hang on to Imbri's mane. The trouble with

travel was that it was wearing.

In addition, it was hungry business. Horses had to eat a

lot, and it was hard to graze while trotting. They would

have to stop at the next suitable field and spring they

found. But there was no suitable spot here; the land was

pretty much barren. Certainly there was no spring on the

hillside, and no river.

"Maybe we should cut west, toward the North Village,"

Grundy said. "Much better terrain there."

"But it would delay us, and perhaps expose our

mission," Ichabod protested. "There must be a better alter-

native."

Imbri reflected. She had not been to this region recently,

because there were very few people in it, and therefore few

calls for bad dreams. "There are some lakes scattered

through this region, with lush vegetation around them, but

I can't place them precisely," she projected to the group.

"The local plants and animals should know where they are,

however." She gave her mane a little shake, waking

Grundy, who, it seemed, had had the indecency to nod off

during her reflection.

"Huh?" the golem said. "Oh, sure, I can check that." He

began questioning the bushes they passed. Soon he found a

fruitfly who had been seeded at a lake to the north. "But

the fly says to beware the sphinx," the golem reported.

"The sphinx got a sunburn and is very irritable this week."

"Beware the sphinx?" Chameleon asked. "I thought we

were to beware the Horseman."

"That's good advicel" the day horse neighed. "How often

have I felt that monster's spurs!"

"You mean like Imbri's flanks?" the golem asked. "I

find it hard to believe anyone would want to poke holes in

the hide of a living horse. What kind of a monster is this

Horseman?"

The day horse did not like Grundy, but this question

mellowed him somewhat. "A human monster."

"Spurs are an indefensible cruelty," Ichabod commented.

88

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89

"The typical horse will perform to the best of his ability

for his rider. Spurs substitute the goad of pain for honest

incentive, to the disadvantage of the animal."

The day horse nodded, evidently getting to like the ar-

chivist better. There was always something attractive about

a well-expressed amplification of one's own opinion. .

Imbri agreed emphatically. "And the bit is almost as

bad," she sent.

"I don't see any scars on your flanks," Grundy said to

the day horse.

"I learned long ago to obey without question," the day

horse replied. "He hasn't used the spurs on me in some

time; the scars are now so faint as to be invisible. But if he

caught me now, after I escaped him, it would be terrible.

There would be blood all over my hide."

Imbri visualized bright red blood on the bright white

hide and flinched. What horror!

"Surely so." Ichabod nodded. "Man has a very poor rec-

ord in his treatment of animals. In Xanth it is not as bad,

for animals are much better able to defend themselves."

"Dragons are!" Grundy agreed, laughing. "And ant lions

and basilisks and harpies."

They were mounting a steep, bald hill that barred their

way north. Aggressive carnivorous vines and nettles to east

and west made this the best route, laborious as it was. But

soon they would be over it and might be able to relax a

little going down the other side, where the sweet lake was

supposed to be. Imbri and the day horse dug their hooves

into the reddish turf, scuffling the sparse dry grass aside.

The slope was spongy and warm from the sun.

Suddenly the bank exploded into a bunch of sticks. Cha-   1|

meleon screamed. Both horses reared and plunged to the   ,

sides, startled.                                                    ;

"Flying snakes!" Grundy cried. "Fend them off! I rec-

ognize this species; they're mean and unreasonable and

some of them are poisonous. No use to try to talk to them;

they only respect a clout on the snoot."

Chameleon and Ichabod had staffs they had harvested

from a forest of general staffs. They had been using these

to brush away clinging vines and such. Now they used

them in earnest as the snakes darted through the air, jaws

gaping. They were not big serpents, but they might be poi-

sonous, as Grundy had warned. Imbri dodged away from

them as well as she could, avoiding a green one and a red

one, but a yellow one got through and bit her on her left

front knee. She reached down with her own teeth and

caught it behind the head and tore it loose, but the punc-

tures hurt. She had never had to worry about this sort of

thing as a full night mare!

A few moments of vigorous action got them away from

the snakes, who could not fly very fast. Air simply was not

as good to push against as ground. They resumed plodding

up the hill.

"It is strange that both the Night Stallion and the Good

Magician provided the same warning,'* Ichabod reflected

aloud. It Was one of his annoying habits. He talked a great

deal about obscure aspects of situations, boring people.

"Since the Horseman is an obvious enemy and perhaps a

leader of the invading Mundanes, naturally loyal Xanth cit-

izens should avoid him. Why waste a prophecy belaboring

the obvious?"

"I fell into his power anyway," Imbri confessed. "I car-

ried the warning, but I did not recognize the Horseman

when I met him. If the day horse hadn't helped me es-

cape—"

"I couldn't stand to see a mare as pretty as you in the

power of a man as cruel as that," the day horse said in the

community dream Imbri was providing. "I was terribly

afraid to come so close to his camp."

"You didn't seem at all afraid," Imbri returned, compli-

menting him.

"Thank you," the day horse said. "I look bolder than I

am, I suppose."

That seemed to be true. The day horse's fear of the in-

vading Mundanes amounted almost to a fetish. Imbri felt

he was overreacting. But outside of that, he did look bold,

with his brilliant white coat and flaring mane and tail and

muscular body. All factors considered, it remained a plea-

sure being with him.

With a final effort, they crested the red knoll. Now the

Land of Xanth spread out around them in a sufficient if

not marvelous panoply, like the clothing of an ill-kempt

90

Night Mare

giant. In the distance to the south was the barely visible

crevice of the Gap Chasm; to the west was a faint tail of

smoke rising from the cookfires of the North Village; to

the north—

"A lake!" Ichabod exclaimed happily. "With rich green

color around it, surely suitable grazing for the equines and

fruits for the unequines. There's our evening campsitel"

So it seemed. "But there's an awful mess of corrugations

between us and it," Grundy said.

"I can travel a straight line to it," Imbri sent. "I am used

to holding a straight course, regardless of the view, once I

know where I'm going."

"Good enough," Grundy said.

Imbri started down the slope, leading the way—and

stumbled. She went down headfirst, and Grundy and Cha-

meleon were thrown ofE. They all went rolling down the

rough slope helplessly, until they fetched up in a gully on'

the side of the knoll.

Grundy picked himself up, shedding red dust and bits of

grass. "What happened, horseface?" he demanded grump-

ily. "Put your foot in it?"

"My knee gave way," Imbri projected, abashed. "That

never happened before."

Chameleon righted herself. Even dirty and disheveled,

she looked lovely. It was not necessarily true that women

grew ugly as they aged; she was the impressive exception.

"Is it hurt?" she asked.

Imbri rolled over, got her forefeet placed, and heaved

herself up front-first in the manner of her kind. But she

immediately collapsed again. The knee would not support

her weight under stress.

Chameleon looked at it as she might inspect the scrape

on the leg of a child. She was not bright, but that sort of

thing did not require intelligence, only motherly concern.

"You were bitten!" she exclaimed. "It's all swollen!"

The day horse arrived, picking his way carefully down

the slope. "Bitten?" he neighed.

"So those snakes were poisonousl" Grundy said. "Why

didn't you tell us one got you? We could have held it for

interrogation and maybe found the antidote."

"Horses don't complain," Imbri sent. She had never been

Night More                        91

bitten before and had not properly appreciated the possible

consequence. Her leg had hurt, but she had assumed the

pain would ease. It had done so—but the extra strain of the

downhill trek had aggravated what she now realized was

not a healing but a numbness. Her knee had no staying

power.

"I will carry all the people," the day horse offered. "I

can handle it."

After a brief consultation, they acceded. The stallion was

tired and sweaty, but still whole and strong; he could bear

the burden. Chameleon and Grundy joined Ichabod on the

day horse's broad back. It was a good thing he was along;

the whole party would have been in trouble had it been

Imbri alone for transportation.

Now it was up to Imbri to get herself on her feet. She set

her good right leg under her and heaved herself up. Now

that she wasn't depending on her left knee, it couldn't be-

tray her.

She tried her left leg, but the numbness remained. It was

better to hold it clear and hop along on the other three. It

was possible to walk, jerkily, slowly, this way.

"Perhaps we could fashion a splint," Ichabod said. "To

keep your knee straight so you can at least put weight on

it."

That was an apt notion. They scouted around and found

a projecting ledge from which several fairly stout poles

sprouted. Ichabod dismounted and took hold of one, but

though it wiggled crazily under his effort, it did not come

loose from the ground.

"Cut it," Grundy said.

Chameleon had a good knife. Where she kept it Imbri

wasn't sure, for it had not been evident before, but this

suggested the lovely woman was not entirely helpless. She

stooped beside the pole, applied her blade, and sawed at the

base.

The ground shook. There was a rumble. Chameleon

paused, looking askance at the others. "No meaning in a

rumble," Grundy said. "Except to get out of here before an

earthquake decides to visit."

"Earthquakes don't decide to visit," Ichabod protested.

"They are natural, inanimate phenomena—merely the re-

Night Mare

92

lease of stresses developing within or between layers of

rock."

There was another nimble, closer and stronger. "Not in

Xanth," the golem said. "Here the inanimate has an ornery

personality, as is evident when King Dor converses with it

Everything has its own individuality, even a quake."

The archivist had to step about to keep his feet during

the second shaking. "There is that," he agreed nervously.

Chameleon sawed again at the pole. Her blade was

sharp, but the pole was tough; progress was slow. A gash

appeared, from which thick red fluid welled.

"I wonder what kind of plant that is?" Grundy said. He

made some noises at it, then shook his head. "It doesn't

answer."

"Maybe we can break it on now," Ichabod said, becom-

ing increasingly uneasy. He wrenched the pole around

more violently than before.

Suddenly the entire horizontal ridge of poles lifted up. A

slit opened in the ground beneath them, revealing a moist,

glassy surface crossed by bands of white, brown, and black.

It was pretty enough for a polished rock formation.

"That's an eye!" Grundy exclaimed.

Ichabod, hanging from the pole, looked into the mon-

strous orb, aghast. "What's a hill doing with an eye?" he

demanded. "And what am I suspended by?"

"An eyelash," the golem said. "I should have realized.

It's alive, but it's not a plant. I was trying to talk to the

eyelash of an animal. Naturally it didn't answer; eyelashes

don't."

Ichabod dropped to the lower eyelid. One foot jammed

accidentally into the eye. The eye blinked; the lid smashed

down like a portcullis. The man wrenched out his foot and

scrambled away.

"Get on the horse!" Grundy cried. "Get out of here!"

The three of them scrambled aboard the day horse, who

moved out rapidly. Imbri hobbled after them.

Suddenly Imbri caught on. "The sphinx!" she broadcast.

"This is the sphinx!"

"We were warned to beware of it," Grundy agreed. "As

usual, we walked right onto the danger without recognizing

Night Mare                        93

The ground shook again and buckled. The monstrous

face of the sphinx was opening its mouth. A tremendous

bellowing roar came forth in a hurricane blast of air.

"When it pains, it roars!" Grundy cried.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Ichabod grumbled. "This is no

time for idiotic puns."

"Xanth is mostly made of puns," the golem told him.

"You have to watch where you put your feet, or you end

up stepping on puns."

"Or something," Chameleon said, noting where some

horse clods had fallen.

Meanwhile, the day horse was galloping off over the

flexing cheek of the monster toward the shoulder. The tre-

mendous sphinx was reclining, its face tilted back, so that

the slope was by no means vertical. The pink knoll they

had climbed was its sunburned pate. Every hoofprmt must

have aggravated the monster, but it had not become truly

aroused until its eyelash had been attacked.

"Imbri!" Chameleon called from far ahead, realizing

that the mare was not maintaining the pace.

"Keep going!" Imbri projected. "I'll follow!"

But die could not follow well on three legs, with the face

of the sphinx shaking all over. She lost her footing and

rolled toward the mouth, which was now sucking in a gale

of breath. She scrambled desperately and managed to avoid

it—but then rolled helplessly across the cheek in the wrong

direction. Now the mouth was between her and her friends.

She fetched up against another projection. It was the

huge, curving outcropping of the ear. Beyond it the face

dropped unkindly far to the cracking and shuddering

ground.

Imbri decided to stay where she was. At least the ear

could not chomp her.

But what about her-friends? They could be caught and

tromped! They were on the dangerous part of the face.

Then she had a notion. She pumped her dream projec-

tion up to maximum strength and sent the sphinx a vision

of absolute peace and contentment. Imbri wasn't expert at

this sort of dream; all her experience had been with the

other kind. But she did have half a soul now, and it was a

gentle soul, and it helped her fashion a gentle dream.

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Night Mare

Night Mare

95

Slowly the irritated sphinx calmed. It submitted to the

dream of soft, sunny pastures with little sphinxes gambol-

ing on the green. Cool mists wafted across its burning pate.

Its eyes closed, broken eyelash and all, and the rumbling

diminished.                                .

Carefully Imbri left the cavern of the ear and hobbled

back along the huge cheek toward real ground. But her

hooves irritated the sunburned skin, resuming the waking

process. The monster was not nearly as deeply asleep as it

had been before; any little thing could disturb it now. A

creature of such mass had considerable inertia, whether

heading into sleep or out of it, and at the moment it was

almost in balance. She had to retreat to the safe ear.

Unable to depart during daylight, Imbri settled down for

a nap herself. She kept the sphinx passive by projecting a

nominal sweet dream, just enough to lull it back to sleep

when it thought about waking. Fortunately, sphinxes liked

to sleep; that was why they were very seldom seen wander-

ing around Xanth. There was a myth about one who had

retreated to Mundania to find a suitably quiet place, and

who had found a nice warm desert and hunkered down for

a nap of several thousand years. The ignorant locals thought

it was a statue and knocked off its nose. There Would be

an awful row when it woke and discovered that . . .

Meanwhile, it was easy for this one to doze off when no

one was trotting on its face or blasting off its nose. This

was just as well, considering the situation of Imbri's party.

When she woke, it was dark. Now she could move

freely. Her bitten leg did not need to support any weight,

now that she was able to dematerialize. She got up and

galloped through the sphinx's head, where sweet dreams

still roamed; her hooves got coated with sugar and honey.

She emerged from the other ear and moved on north to-

ward the lake. Soon she found it, trotted across it, and

found the camp of the others.

Chameleon was the first to spy her. "Mare Imbri!" she

screamed joyfully. "You got away!" She hugged Imbri

fiercely, and the mare remained solid for the occasion. It

was easy to like Chameleon despite her intellectual handi-

cap, especially at a time like this. No creature except a

basilisk would object to being hugged by a person of Cha-

meleon's configuration.

"She wanted to return for you," Gnmdy said, "but we

told her no. All we could have done was get ourselves in

trouble and maybe make things worse for you."

"My son the King told me to listen to the golem," Cha-

meleon said apologetically, her lovely face showing her dis-

taste.

"It was best," Imbri agreed in a general dreamlet. "I hid

in the sphinx's ear until night, then shifted to immaterial

form."

"Your leg seems better," Ichabod observed.

"It isn't. But it's no worse. Maybe it will improve by

morning."

They settled down for the remainder of the night. Cha-

meleon, Gnmdy, and Ichabod slept, while the day horse

and night mare grazed on the rich pasturage and snoozed.

Imbri had to go solid to crop the grass, but she could phase

out while chewing it, and she moved slowly enough so as

not to aggravate her knee. And indeed, as the pleasant noc-

turnal hours passed, the numbness faded and strength re-

turned. She had at last thrown off the lingering effect of

the snake's venom.

In the morning, rested, they all were feeling fit. Chame-

leon stripped and washed in the shallow edge of the lake;

Ichabod turned his back self-consciously, but Grundy

openly goggled. "Age sure comes gracefully to some folk,"

he remarked. "But you should see her in her off-phase."

"I have," Ichabod said stiffly. "She has the most re-

markably penetrating mind I have encountered."

"And the aspect of the most horrendous hag," the golem

said, smirking.

"She merely manifests the properties of all women, with

less ambiguity. They all begin lovely and innocent, and end

ugly and smart."

"I guess that's why you like looking at nymphs," Grundy

retorted. "They don't have minds, so there's nothing to dis-

tract you from their important points."

"Oh, I don't look'at the points," Ichabod protested. "I

look at their legs."

96

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Night Mare

97

"Why don't you look at Chameleon's legs? They're as

good as any and better than most."

"Chameleon is a person and a friend," the archivist said

severely.

"Oh, she wouldn't mind." The golem was enjoying him-

self, needling the man. "Hey, doll, is it all right if Ichabod

looks?"

"Silence!" Ichabod hissed, flushing.

"Certainly," Chameleon called back. "I'm under water."

"She was under water all the timel" Ichabod said, catch-

ing on as the golem rolled on the ground with mirth.

"There was nothing to seel"

Something stirred across the lake. There seemed to be a

cave just below water level. Now several heads showed.

Tritons!" Grundy said. "Stand back from shore; they

can be omery."

Indeed, the mermen approached with elevated tridents.

Chameleon tried to rise, then remembered her nakedness

and settled back in the water, not smart enough to realize

that her modesty could be fatal. Imbri charged back to

guard her, and the day horse joined them.

Three tritons drew up just beyond the kicking range of

the horses. "Hoi What mischief is this?" one cried. "Do

you come to muddy our waters?" His three-pointed spear

was poised menacingly.

Imbri broadcast a pacifying dreamlet. She was getting

better at this with practice. "We only pass by, meaning no

harm," her dream figure of a black mermaid said. "We did

not know this lake was occupied by your kind."

Now the triton peered at Chameleon, whose torso he had

briefly glimpsed when she started to stand. "That one must

have nymphly blood," he remarked appreciatively.

But several mermaids had followed the tritons from the

cave. "That's a human woman," one said. "Leave her

alone."

The triton grimaced. "I suppose these people are all

right. They haven't littered the grounds."

"Say," Grundy asked as the tension eased, "do you folk

know the Siren? She settled in a lake somewhere in this

general region several years back."

"The half-mer? Sure, she comes by here sometimes. She

can split her tail into legs, so she can cross between lakes

when there's no waterway. She married Morris, and

they've got a halfling boy like her, part human- but okay.

Nice people."

"I know the Siren from way back," Grundy said, "And

her sister the Gorgon, who married Good Magician Hum-

frey." He relaxed, seeing the tritons relax. "Where is the

Siren now? Maybe we can pay her a visit."

"They live by the water wing," a mermaid said. "I don't

think your kind could get there safely. You have to swim,

or go through the zone of Fire."

The golem shrugged. "So we can't get there from here. It

was a nice thought, anyway."

"Do you know any special hazards north of here?" Imbri

asked in another dreamlet.

"Dragons on land, river monsters in the water, man-

eating birds in the air—the usual riffraff," the triton said

carelessly. "If you got by the sphinx, you can probably han-

dle them."

"Thank you. We'll try to avoid them," Imbri sent, and

let the dreamlet fade.

The group organized, once Chameleon had gotten

dressed, and trotted north. Imbri had no further trouble

with her knee; the toxin had dissipated, leaving no perma-

nent damage, and she carried woman and golem as before.

They kept alert, avoiding the dragons, river monsters,

and predator birds, and by evening arrived near the Mun-

dane front. The invaders had penetrated well into Xanth,

which shortened the trip; the fleeing animals gave Grundy

horrendous reports of their violence. It seemed the Mun-

danes were using fire and sword to lay waste to anything

they could, and were such deadly warriors that even large

dragons were getting slam. This did not bode well for the

defense of Xanth.

"I think my turn has come," Ichabod said. "I must ac-

tually see the soldiers to identify them specifically; there

should be details of armor and emblem that will enable me

to place them, if not immediately, then when I return to my

references. Already I know they are medieval or earlier,

since they employ no firearms. That's fortunate."

"Firearms?" Chameleon asked, looking at her own slen-

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Night More

99

der limbs as if afraid they would flame up. Her gesture

was touching in its innocence.

"Those are weapons utilizing—something like magic

powder," Ichabod clarified. "Imagine, well, cherry bombs

shot like arrows from tubes. I hope Xanth never encounters

that sort of thing. I wish my world had never encountered

it." He looked around. "Suppose I ride Imbri, while Cha-

meleon rides the day horse? I don't believe King Dor in-

tended his mother to expose herself to extreme danger."

"I'm sure he didn't!" Grundy agreed emphatically. "It

was bad enough when she exposed herself to the tritons.

That's why he sent me along."

"To look at his mother bathing?" Ichabod inquired with

a certain faint malice. Grundy got on everyone's nerves.

"Go with the day horse. Chameleon," Grundy said, ig-

noring the gibe. "We'll spy on the Mundanes and rejoin

you later."

"We?" Ichabod asked, frowning, and the day horse's ears

flattened back. Neither of them was thrilled by the pros-

pect of the golem's company.

"I'm coming with you. I can leam a lot by talking with

the plants and animals—maybe enough to spare you the

natural result of you own heroics."

Ichabod smiled with certain scholarly resignation.

"There is indeed that. I confess to being somewhat of a

Don Quixote at heart"

"Donkey who?" Chameleon asked, blinking.

"Donkey Hotay, to you," the archivist said, smiling ob-

scurely. "It is not spelled the way it sounds, even here in

Xanth. He was an old Don, a Mundane scholar, buried in

his books, exactly as I was before Dor, Irene, Grundy, the

ogre, and Arnolde the Centaur rousted me out of my sine-

cure and opened a literally fantastic new horizon to my

perspective. Don Quixote set himself up as a medieval

knight in armor and rode about the Iberian countryside,

having adventures that were far more significant for him

than for the spectators, just as I am doing now. There was

an encounter with a windmill, a truly classic episode—"

"What kind of bird is that?" Chameleon asked.

"Oh, a windmill is not a bird. It is—"

"We had better get going," Grundy interjected impa-

tiently.

"Yes, indeed," Ichabod agreed. "We shall locate the two

of you by asking the plants your location when we return.

Do stay out of danger, both of you."

The day horse neighed. "You can be sure of that!"

Grundy translated for him.

Chapter 6. The Next Wave

Bmbri carried the golem and the Mundane scholar

toward the terrible Mundane front. Xanth had not suffered

a Wave invasion in a century and a half; this was an awe-

somely significant event.

"I believe I perceive some tension in you, Imbri," Icha-

bod said. "Am I imposing on you?"

"I was thinking how long it has been since the Last-

wave," Imbri sent. "I was young then, only twenty years

old, -but I remember it as if it were last year."

"You were there?" Ichabod asked, surprised. "That's

right—I forgot that you are one hundred and seventy years

old. Since the Lastwave, as I reconstruct it, was one

hundred and fifty years ago—" He paused. "I have, of

course, researched this historically, but have talked with no

eyewitnesses. I would dearly love to have your personal im-

pressions."

"Well, I only saw bits of it at night, on dream duty,"

Imbri demurred. "The big battles were by day, and I could

not go abroad by day then."

"Still, I would be fascinated!" the scholar said. "Your im-

pressions, in the context of historical detail, would help

complete the picture."

"Maybe you had better give that context," Grundy said,

Night Mare

100

getting interested in spite of himself, "so we all know ex-

actly what we're talking about." The golem, of course, had '

not been around for the Lastwave and hated to admit igno-

rance on anything.

"Certainly," Ichabod said. Historical detail was dear to

his old heart. "My friend Arnolde Centaur provided some

considerable information. It seems that the Firstwave of

human colonization occurred over a thousand years ago.

Before that, there were only the animals and hybrids, such

as the centaurs. They have a touching story about the ori-

gin of their species—"

"Get on with the recent stuff," Grundy said.

"Um, yes, of course," Ichabod agreed, irritated. "There

were a number of Waves, perhaps a dozen, most of them

quite brutal, as the Mundanes invaded and ravaged Xanth.

After each Wave conquered the land and settled down, the

children would turn up with magic talents, becoming true

citizens of Xanth. Then in fifty or one hundred years, an-

other Wave would come, destroying much of what the prior

Wave had accomplished. Finally, one hundred and fifty

years ago, the Lastwave was so savage that the people of

Xanth decided to prevent any future invasions. Once things

settled down, in about fifteen years, a Magician King

adapted a magic stone of great potency to project a deadly

shield that destroyed anything crossing through it, and set

that shield entirely around Xanth. The shield kept Xanth

safe from intrusions for one hundred and ten years, until

King Trent, who had spent time in Mundania, assumed

power after the demise of the Storm King and abolished

the shield. It seemed that mankind had been diminishing in

the absence of immigration. So it was better to risk another

invasion than to suffer certain extinction of the human

species in Xanth by stiflement. Thus for the past quarter

century there has been no shield—and now the conse-

quence would seem to be upon us. King Trent refused to

reinstate the magic shield, preferring to fight off the invaders,

and perhaps with his power of transformation he could

have done it. But now—"

"Now King Trent is out of the picture, and King Dor

doesn't know how to set up the shield," Grundy finished.

Night Mare                       101

"Anyway, the Mundanes are already inside Xanth, so

that's no answer."

"I am not certain it ever was an answer," Ichabod said.

"I believe King Trent was correct; there has to be freedom

of the border and commerce between Xanth and Mun-

dania. Unfortunately, not all Mundanes come in peace.

The Lastwavers, as I understand it, were Mongol Mun-

danes, of our thirteenth century A.D., circa 1231, if I do not

misremember my Asiatic history. They believed they were

invading the peninsula of Korea. Today Korea is severed

by a line very like the Gap Chasm, with a major city where

Castle Roogna is, suggesting a most intriguing parallel-

ism—" He noted Grundy's open yawn and broke off that

conjecture. "But that's irrelevant to the present reprise.

The Mongols were truly savage conquerors, and I can well

understand the Xanthians' decision to have no more of

that." He shook his head. "But it was Imbri's impressions I

wanted. How did the Mongols look from this side, mare?"

"In the bad dreams I had to deliver, they were savage,

flat-faced people," Imbri projected. "They killed all who

opposed them, using arrows and swords. They rode

horses—all those horses were killed, after the Wave was

stopped, because of the terror the people of Xanth had for

my kind after that. That was the equine tragedy; horses

never intended mischief for Xanth."

"I am sure they didn't," Ichabod said consolingly. "The

innocent often suffer most from'the rigors of war. That is

one of the appalling things about violence."

Imbri was getting to like this man. "Some of the dreams

I delivered were to the Lastwavers. We night mares have

always been fair and impartial; we deliver our service to all

in need, no matter how undeserving. The Wavers suffered

fears and sorrows, too, especially when their drive began to

falter. They killed animals without compunction or com-

passion, yet they cared about their own families, left be-

hind in Mundania, and about their comrades-in-arms. They

saw Xanth as a terrible magic land, with deadly threats

everywhere—"

"Well, of course it is, to Mundanes," Ichabod said. "Yet

a person of Xanth would have similar difficulty going

102                       Night Mare

about in my own portion of Mundania, particularly if he

did not know the patterns of highway traffic. Had I not

been protected by my friends when first invited here, I would

not have survived long. My first day in Xanth, I almost

walked into a nickelpede nest. I thought the nickelpedes

were units of currency."

"Xanth natives avoid such things routinely," Grundy

said. "But I do remember those metal dragons in your

land, shooting smoke out of their tails and carrying people

around inside them for hours before digesting them. It was

awfull When a person gets into unfamiliar territory, he's in

much danger. We walked right onto that sphinx's head, for

example—and we had been warned to beware the sphinx."

"And to beware the Horseman," Ichabod added. "And to

break the chain. The trouble with these warnings is that we

seldom understand them until it is too late."

"I don't even know where the chain is, let alone how to

break it," Grundy said. "Fortunately, that's not my worry.

King Dor is no doubt pondering that question now. I some-

how doubt there is any chain in the Castle Roogna ar-

mory."

Ichabod returned to the subject. "Are you saying, Imbri,

that you found the Mundane invaders—the Mongols—to

be human beings, that is to say, feeling creatures, like the

rest of us? You know, I'm fascinated to converse with a

person who shared, as it were, the same stage with the

Mongols, who were centuries before my time."

"That was the strangest thing about it," Imbri admitted

in the dream. "Among themselves, they were perfectly de-

cent creatures. But in battle they thought of people as they

did dragons and basilisks and salamanders. They actually

liked slaying them."

"It is an unfortunately familiar pattern in Mundania,"

Ichabod said. "First one group dehumanizes another, then

it destroys it. In Xanth no real line between human and

creature exists; many animals are better companions than

many human folk." He patted Imbri's flank. "And how are

we to define the centaurs, who have aspects of both? But

Mundania has no recognized magic, so all animals are stu-

pid, unable to speak the language of man. This leads to

terrible wrongs. I much prefer Xanth's way."

Night More                       103

"Yes, it is handy for communication," the golem agreed.

"Here the animals and plants speak different languages,

while human folk speak only one. Vice versa in Mundania.

So animals don't really speak the language of men; it's just

that some have learned it, as you have. No one has ever

figured out what enchantment makes all human folk intel-

ligible to each other here, even invading Mundanes. It just

seems that the moment any human type steps into Xanth,

the language matches."

"There is much remaining to leam about the magic of

Xanth," Ichabod said. "I only hope I live long enough to

fathom some significant part of it."

Imbri's ears perked forward. She sniffed the breeze.

"Mundanes!" she projected.

Instantly the others were alert. Soon they all perceived

the smoke of a burning field. "Why do they destroy so

wantonly?" Grundy grumbled. "They can't use burned-out

land any better than we can."

Ichabod sighed. "I'm afraid I can answer that. The point

of such destruction is not to preserve land for one's own

use, but to deprive the opponent of its produce, to diminish

his capacity for war. Starving creatures can't fight effec-

tively. Since there is magic everywhere in Xanth, and the

Mundanes have none, they hurt Xanthians much more

than themselves by ruining the land for everyone. It is an

unkind but effective ploy."

"We have to stop them," Grundy said.

"Of course. But it will not be easy. We must spy out

their nature, then organize to contain them. That is why

our mission is so important. A side can not prevail, militar-

ily, without good information about the enemy."

Imbri continued forward, carefully watching for the

dread Mundanes. There was a slight wind from the north,

whipping the fire south, and small creatures were fleeing

it. But fire was hardly unknown in Xanth; fire-breathing

dragons, fireflies, firebirds, and salamanders started blazes

all the time. So this one would bum out in due course,

since rivers and dense, juicy vegetation were all over Xanth

and did not ignite well. Possibly the fire would be put out

when it irritated a passing storm cloud and got rain

104

Night Mare

Night Mare

105

dumped on it. The Land of Xanth put up with many in-

dignities, but once properly aroused, it could find ways of

. dealing with nuisances. It seemed to Imbri that the Mun-

dane Nextwavers had just about worn out their presumed

welcome.

The trouble was, to remain downwind of the fire was to

suffer the discomfort of heat and smoke. To cross to the

upwind side was to risk discovery by the enemy. This

scouting was awkward in practice, however necessary it

was in theory.

"This will never work," Ichabod said, coughing, as a curl

of smoke teased him. "I fear we are in an untenable situa-

tion. I don't like to counsel delay, but perhaps we should

wait till evening—"

"Waiti" Grundy cut in. "I think I see an errant gust."

Imbri looked. Terns were wheeling to the west, first one

and then another, taking turns in the manner they were

named for. From the way they maneuvered and coasted

and floated in the sky, she could tell the direction of the

wind they rode. It was bearing north. It was indeed an er-

rant gust, going counter to the prevailing wind. Probably it

was a young breeze, not yet ready to settle down and pull

with its elders.

"While the tem is wheeling, I'll not dream of squealing,"

the golem said in singsong. "Know what will happen when

that gust dusts the fire?"

Ichabod, who had been wincing at something he must

have taken as another pun, caught on. "Thick smoke—

back in their faces, blinding them—and can you phase

through it, Imbri?"

"Yes, I can phase through smoke when it's thick

enough," Imbri projected. That was what she had done to

escape the centycore at Magician Humfrey's castle. "But

it's unreliable. When it thins, I'll turn solid again."

"Once we see them clearly, we can depart in utter

haste," Ichabod said. He was now taut with nervousness,

well aware of the danger they faced. "They may have

horses; can you outrun your own kind?"

Imbri considered. "If they're like the day horse, they can

match my pace by day. Not by night."

"Better not risk it," Ichabod said. "We are in no condi-

tion to oppose armed men."

"But with the smoke, we won't have to!" Grundy pro-

tested.

"Why don't we find a region where they have been, one

that has not yet been burned?" Imbri projected. "Grundy

can question the grass there and get a description."

"Excellent notion," Ichabod agreed.

"There is that." The golem liked a job that made him

important.

The errant gust arrived at the fire. The flames swirled

gleefully and reversed their angle, and the smoke poured

north. There was dismay among the ranks of the Mun-

danes as it enveloped them. They coughed and gagged in a

minor cacophony.

Imbri picked her way along the edge of the reversed

fire, looking for a good route north. Suddenly men rushed

out of the smoke, coming south.

"Oops," Grundy said. "A small miscalculation."

Imbri bolted. She ran south—but an arm of the fire had

made its way there, and its smoke now came back toward

her. It was not thick enough for concealment or phasing,

though. She veered east, not wanting to leap through the

flames unless she had to—and came up against the Mun-

danes. They had quickly taken advantage of the change in

the wind to overrun this region. They held spears and

swords at the ready, and some had bows. There were too

many of them to permit escape.

The Mundanes closed on Imbri and her party, carefully.

They were a fairly motley bunch, with different types of

armor and clothing, but they were evidently disciplined.

"This has the aspect of a mercenary force," Ichabod

murmured. "Little better than brigands. Pre-Christian era,

European. Gaul or Iberia, I surmise."

"You a Roman or a Punic?" a soldier demanded.

"Roman or Punic!" Ichabod repeated under his breath.

"That's it! The Romans used citizen-soldiers, at least at

first; later they became, in fact, professional soldiers, land-

holders in name only. But the Punic forces—that's a con-

traction of 'Phoenician'—were known to make open and

106 Night More

extensive use of mercenaries. Carthage—these would likely

be Carthaginian mercenaries, circa 500 to 100 B.C."

"Speak up, old man!" the soldier cried, making a threat-

ening gesture with his sword.

"Oh, I am neither," Ichabod said hastily. Quietly, to

Grundy and Imbri, he murmured: "They assume I'm the

only intelligent person. I think it best to deceive them,

much as I detest the practice of prevarication."

"Yes," Imbri projected. "Grundy can pretend to be a

doll, and I will be a stupid animal."

"You don't look like much," the Mundane said.

"Where'd you steal the fine horse?"

"I did not steal this horse!" Icbabod protested. "I bor-

rowed her from a friend."

"Well, we'll borrow her from you. Dismount."

"We shouldn't be separated," Imbri sent in a worried

dreamlet. She remembered her prior capture by the Horse-

man and did not relish a repetition of that experience.

"This is not a completely tame animal," Ichabod said. "I

ride her without saddle or reins, but she would not behave

for a stranger."

The soldier pondered. Evidently he had had experience

with half-wild horses. He put his hand on Imbri's shoulder,

and she squealed wamingly and stomped a forefoot, acting

like an undisciplined animal. "All right. You ride her for

now. We're taking you to Hasbinbad for interrogation."

Hasbinbad was evidently a leader, for he had a comfort-

able tent to the rear. He emerged fully armed and armored,

with a shaped breastplate, a large, oblong shield, and an

impressive helmet. He was a grumy handsome older man

on the stout side. His face was clean, his beard neatly

trimmed.

"My troops inform me you were lurking south of our

clearance blaze," Hasbinbad remarked. "What were you

doing there?"

"You're a true Carthaginian!" Ichabod exclaimed.

"All my life," Hasbinbad agreed with an ironic smile.

"Are you a native of this region? I am prepared to offer a

fair reward for good information."

Imbri did not trust this urbane Mundane leader. But she

bad to let Ichabod handle the interview.

Night Mare                       107

"I am a visitor to this land, but I have traveled a fair

amount," Ichabod replied carefully. He seemed more in-

trigued than concerned now. Apparently he liked meeting

what were to him historical figures. "I saw your fire and

came to investigate—and your ruffians quickly made me

captive."

"They are instructed to kill all strange animals and take

prisoner any men they encounter," Hasbinbad said.

"Strange things have happened since we crossed the Alps

and entered Southern Gaul. This is much wilder country

than Hispania."

"It certainly is!" Ichabod agreed emphatically. "This

would be about the year 210 or 215 B.C., in the Po valley,

and—" He paused, and Imbri sent a questioning dream.

"You speak strangely," Hasbinbad said. "Where did you

say you were from?"

"Horrors!" Ichabod said to Imbri in the dream. "I am

speaking nonsense! I can't refer to pre-Christian dates;

these people of course have no notion of their future! And

I can't tell him where I'm from, or when I'm from; he

would think me a lunatic."

"Tell him you are a lunatic from Castle Roogna yester-

, day," Imbri suggested, not following all of the man's confu-

sion. She had thought it was only Chameleon who became

convoluted in her thoughts, but perhaps it was a general

human trait.

"From Castle Roogna, in central Xanth," Ichabod said to

the Mundane, following the suggestion.

"You are Roman, then?"

Ichabod laughed. "Not at aU! This isn't Italy!"

Hasbinbad elevated an eyebrow. He was fairly good at

that. "It isn't? Where, then, do you claim it is?"

"Oh, I see. You crossed from Spain to France, then

through the Alps to the Po valley—"

"Bringing twelve hundred men and nine elephants to the

aid of my leader, Hannibal, who is hard-pressed by the ac-

cursed Romans," Hasbinbad finished. "But we have not

yet located Hannibal."

"I should think not," Ichabod agreed. "I fear you have

lost your way. Hannibal was—is—in Italy, during the Sec-

108

Night Mare

ond Punic War, ravaging the Roman Empire. This is, er,

present-day Xanth, the land of magic."

"Xanth?"

"This is Xanth," Ichabod repeated. "A different sort of

land. No Romans here. No Hannibal either."

"You are saying we do not know how to navigate?"

"Not exactly. I'm sure you followed your route exactly.

You must have encountered a discontinuity. It is compli-

cated to explain. Sometimes people step through acciden-

tally and find themselves here. It's generally sheer fluke. It

is much easier to leave Xanth than to find it, unless you

have magic guidance."

The Carthaginian leader puffed out his cheeks, evi-

dently humoring the crazy man. "How should we find

Rome?"

"Turn about, leave Xanth, then turn about again." But

then Ichabod reconsidered. "No, perhaps not. You would

probably be in some other age and place of Mundania if

you went randomly. You have to time it, and that's a

rather precise matter. I suppose if you tried several times,

until you got it just right—"

"I'll think about it," Hasbinbad said. "This is an interest-

ing land, whatever it is."

"What do you think?" Imbri asked Grundy and Ichabod

in a dreamlet. "I distrust this person's motive."

"Yes, he's lying," Grundy said in the dream. In life he

was lying on Imbri's shoulder, playing the part of a lifeless

doll. "He knows this isn't Rome, or wherever he was

going. He's testing you, maybe to see if you're lying to

him."

"If you don't find your way to Italy," Ichabod said aloud

to the Carthaginian, "Hannibal will not have the reinforce-

ments he needs and will be hard-pressed. We could help

you find the way."

"If, as you claim, this is not Italy," Hasbinbad rejoined,

"then perhaps it is still ripe for plunder. My troops have

had a hard journey and need proper reward. Who governs

you?"

"King Trent," Ichabod said. "I mean. King Dor."

"There has been a recent change?" the Mundane asked

alertly.

Night Mare                       109

"Uh, yes. But that is no concern of yours."

"Oh, I think it is my concern. What happened to the old

King?"

Ichabod obviously was not adept at deception. It was

part of the foolish yet endearing nature of the man. "He

suffered a mishap. Perhaps he will recover soon."

"Or perhaps King Dor, if he proves competent, will suf-

fer a similar mishap," Hasbinbad murmured.

"He definitely knows something," Imbri sent. With an

effort, she kept her ears from flattening back so that she

would not give away the fact that she understood the dia-

logue.

"What can you know of our Kings?" Ichabod demanded,

though technically he was not a citizen of Xanth.

Hasbinbad shrugged. "Only that they are mortal, as all

men are." He looked meaningfully at Ichabod. "Now what

should I do with you, spy? I shall retain your horse, of

course, but men are more difficult to manage, and you do

not appear to be very good for hard labor."

"We must get out of here!" Ichabod said to Imbri in the

dream. The man was getting really worried.

"Do you think your King Window would pay a decent

ransom for you?" the Punic leader inquired.

"That's King Dor, not Window," Ichabod muttered.

"Ransom is a Mundane concept; he would not pay."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to sacrifice you to Baal

Hammon, though he prefers the taste of babies. Even our

gods have to go on less succulent rations in the field."

Ichabod tried to run, but Hasbinbad snapped his fingers

and Mundane soldiers charged up. They seized Ichabod

and dragged him away. Imbri tried to follow, but they

threw ropes about her, tying her. Resistance was futile; the

Mundanes bristled with weapons.

Imbri was hustled to a pen and left there. Fortunately,

the Mundanes did not know her nature and did not realize

that the golem was a living creature. The two remained

together, but Ichabod was imprisoned separately. "Maybe

we can rescue him tonight," Imbri sent in a dream.

"I hope so," Grundy replied. "He's a decent old codger,

even if he is Mundane. But that Mundane chief certainly

knows more than he's letting on. He knew King Trent was

110 Night Mare

out of the picture. There's a conspiracy of some nefarious

sort here, and it's not just the Nextwave conquest."

Then a man approached the pen. "Why, it is the dream

horse!" he exclaimed.

Imbri looked at him—and her heart sank down to her

hooves. It was the dread Horseman!

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know me, mare," the

Horseman said. "I don't know how you managed to escape

me before—well, I do know, but don't see how you doused

the fire. I was so angry when in the morning I discovered

you were gone that I almost slew my henchmen, but then I

realized that none of us had really come to terms with the

notion of a horse as smart as a person. My horse certainly

isn't smart! The fool's probably half starving by this time.

So I chalked up my experience with you as a lesson in

underestimating my opposition, and I shall not do that

again." The Horseman grinned with a somewhat feral

edge. "I'll make you a deal, mare: tell me the secret of

your escape, and I will take you for my own now, sparing

you the brutality of the Punics. I'll let you go, once I recap-

ture my regular steed, the day horse. Him I can confine,

once I have possession. Fair enough?"

"I won't deal with you!" Imbri sent tightly.

"You don't believe I have power here? I am second in

command to Hasbinbad and can take what steed I choose. I

am a good deal more than a spy."

"I believe you," Imbri sent. "That's why I will not coop-

erate with you."

"I'm really not such a bad fellow," the man continued

persuasively. "I treat my steeds well, once they know their

place. All I require is absolute obedience."

"Spurs!" Imbri sent in a dream like a blast of dragon-

fire.

"Hotter than the breath of Baal, your thought! But I

don't use the spurs, once my steed is tame," he argued.

"There are no fresh cuts on the hide of the day horse, I'll

warrant, unless he got himself caught in one of those pre-

hensile bramble bushes. The ungrateful animal! He'll per-

ish in that jungle alone; he's not smart enough to survive

long. So he needs me—and I need him. The Punic horses

are lean and tired from their arduous trek over the cold

Night Mare                       111

mountains; the best food was reserved for the elephants. I

had to subdue a centaur to make my way up here, once the

forces of Xanth started closing in on me south of the—I

misremember, but I think there was some kind of barrier—"

"The Gap Chasm," Imbri sent, then cursed herself; she

should have let him forget it entirely.

"Yes, that. You told the King of my presence, didn't

you?"

"Of course I did!" Imbri sent viciously, with the image

of two hind feet kicking him in the face.

The Horseman jerked back involuntarily before control-

ling his reaction to the dreamlet. "So you won't tell me how

you doused the fire? Well, I can conjecture. The guard was

nodding, and you sent a bad dream at him that he was on

fire, so he fetched a bucket of water—something like that?

I deeply regret underestimating your talent there."

Now why hadn't Imbri thought of that? She probably

could have tricked the guard into something like that!

Meanwhile, she refused to implicate the day horse, who, it

seemed, was one or two iotas smarter than his master cred-

ited.

"Still, I can't really fault you for fighting for your side,"

the Horseman continued. "I am fighting for my side, after

all. So let's call it even: I caught you, you escaped, you

betrayed me to the Xanth King. But now you have been

caught again, and because I appreciate your full spirit and

powers, I want you more than ever for my steed. You and

I could go far together, Imbri! On the other hand, my

friends the Punics would be very interested to know exactly

what kind of horse you are, and how to prevent you from

escaping at night. Should I tell them?"

Imbri stiffened. He could make her truly captive! That

would strand Ichabod and Grundy, too, and leave Chame-

leon in a very awkward situation, for she was no smarter

than the day horse. Grundy might escape, since he contin-

ued to play the rag-doll role and the Horseman did not

know about him, but what could the tiny man do alone in

the jungle of Xanth?

She would have to deal with this horrible man, appalling

as the very thought was. She forced her ears up and for-

112 Night Mare

ward, instead of plastered against her neck the way they

wanted to be.

"I see you understand, Imbri," the Horseman said. "You

should, as you are the smartest horse I have ever encoun-

tered. But you refuse to cooperate. Very well, I am a rea-

sonable man. I am prepared to compromise. I will ex-

change information for noninformation: you tell me

exactly how you escaped before, so I know who or what

betrayed me, and I will not provide any part of the infor-

mation to the Punics. It will all be privileged communica-

tion. What will happen will happen."

Imbri was in a quandary. Could she trust the Horseman

to keep his word? Was it fair to betray the day horse? What

should she do?

"You don't trust me, I can see," the man said. "Indeed,

you have no reason to. But trust must begin somewhere,

mustn't it? Try me this time, and if I betray you, you are

no worse off than otherwise. All you are really gambling is

some information that won't change anything now. I simply

want to profit from a past mistake. I try never to make the

same error twice. Since it profits me nothing if the Punics de-

stroy you and your scholarly friend, I am not gambling

much either. We each stand to lose if we do not cooperate,

regardless of our opinion of each other. I'd rather have you

loose and living, so that there is hope to capture you fairly

at some future date. My education for your freedom, no

other obligation. I don't see how I can proffer a more equi-

table deal than that."

"What should I do?" Imbri queried Grundy in a dream-

let.

"This is bad," the golem replied therein. "This character

is insidious! He's trying to get you to trust him. That's the

first step to making you his steed for real, to convert you to

his side and betray Xanth. Think of the damage he could

do if he could phase through walls at night on your back!

So you can't afford to trust him."

"But if he tells Hasbinbad my nature, I'll be trapped and

Ichabod will be sacrificed to Baal Hammon!"

"That's bad, all right," Grundy agreed. "I guess you'll

have to go along with him. Just don't trust him! Beware

the Horseman!"

Night Mare                       113

Imbri decided she would have to accept the deal. She

stood to lose too much otherwise, and her friends would

suffer as well, and her mission would be a failure and

Xanth would pay the consequence. "The day horse freed

me," she sent reluctantly to the Horseman, hating him for

what he was making her do.

"Hal So he was close by all the time? What did he do?"

"He—doused the fire."

"But a horse has no hands! He can't carry water. He—"

The Horseman paused. Then he laughed. "Oh, no! He

didn't!"

"He did."

"That animal is smarter than I thought, for sure! Must

have been the presence of a fine mare that spurred him to

his finest performance. He never paid such attention to

any ordinary mare, I'm sure. So you ran off with him—but

I gather you did not stay with him. Where is he now?"

"I don't have to tell you that!" Imbri sent, simultane-

ously angry at the way the Horseman had made her reveal

a secret and flattered at his assessment of the day horse's

opinion of her. Any female was delighted at the notion that

an attractive male found her interesting. Even if she wasn't

sure she wanted anything to do with him, she still wanted

to be considered worthwhile by him. It gave her a certain

social advantage.

The Horseman frowned. "No, I suppose you don't. That

wasn't part of our deal, this time. But I'm sure that stallion

didn't do such a risky favor just from the equine goodness

of his heart. Women make fools of men, and mares make

fools of stallions! He must have been attracted to you even

then, and surely more so now."

Better and better! But Imbri was careful not to react.

"So if you're here, he can't be far distant. You probably

see each other often, and maybe travel together. That way

you repay him for helping you, and he gets shown where to

graze and how to survive on his own in Xanth. That's why

I wasn't able to find him, and why he didn't return from

sheer hunger and thirst. It was probably just chance that

the Punics caught you instead of him."

The man was uncomfortably sharp! Imbri did not re-

spond.

114 Night Mare

"Very well," the Horseman said. "You have answered

my question, perhaps more completely than you intended,

and I believe you. I will leave you in peace. We shall surely

meet again." He turned and walked away.

Imbri hardly dared relax. "Do you think he will keep his

bargain?" she sent to Grundy.

"We'll find out," the golem replied. "I can see why you

fear him; he's a keen, mean basilisk of a man! But in his

arrogance, he just might be sincere. His perverted standard

of honor may mean more to him than the opinion of one

mare, and he does hope to use you to locate the day horse.

He'll probably try to follow you when you escape. At least

he doesn't know about me. I can untie the ropes and

scramble out of the pen and probably free you even if they

light fires."

"Save that for the last resort," she suggested. "If the

Horseman honors his word, for whatever reason, I won't

need it."

"But I can go scout out where they have Ichabod," the

golem said. "That will facilitate things, so we can act fast

when night comes."

"Yes," she agreed, her confidence beginning to recover

from the bruising the Horseman had given it. "But we

must play dumb until then."

"Oh, sure." But though the golem lay like a limp doll, he

used his special skill to interrogate the plants and creatures

nearby. There was a blade of grass growing at the edge of

the pen that had somehow escaped the attention of what-

ever horse had been penned here before. Grundy told it

that he would have his friend the mare chomp it off flat if

it didn't answer his question, and the grass was intimidated.

Grundy was forcing it to cooperate the same way the

Horseman had used leverage against her. That made her

wonder whether there was really any difference between

them in ethics, and she was distressed but did not protest.

The blade of grass told Grundy all it knew of the Mun-

danes of the Nextwave—which was not very much. They

had camped here two days ago, and called themselves Pun-

ics, though they were mostly recruits from Iberia and Mo-

rocco, wherever those places were. Many of them had

Night Mare                       115

sore feet from their arduous march through the moun-

tains, so were resting now.

Grundy questioned a spider who had a small web against

the wall of the pen. The spider said the Mundanes had

carried Mundane lice and fleas along with them, and that

these parasites were fairly fat and sassy and made pretty

good eating. The spider had made it a point to learn the

language of its prey, so as to be able to lure the bugs into

its web; thus it had picked up some of the Mundane-bug

gossip.

The trek over the mountains had been truly horrendous.

It seemed the Mundane seasons were more rigorous than

those of Xanth, and the high mountain passes were covered

with magic masses of ice called glaciers that made the pas-

sage treacherous. They had started with twelve hundred

men and nine elephants; they had lost a third of the men

and two-thirds of the elephants. Hasbinbad, for payroll rea-

sons (whatever a payroll might be; none of them could

guess)', refused to acknowledge the missing men. They had

also started with two hundred horses, of which only fifty

remained, and some of those had run away when they

came to Xanth.

"The day horse," Imbri projected.

"Yes, one of a number," Grundy agreed. "The spider

doesn't know the horses by name, of course, but that fits

the pattern. The day horse was smart for a Mundane ani-

mal, so must be doing better than the other escapees. Most

of them are probably inside dragons by now."

That saddened Imbri, but she knew it was likely. "What

do the soldiers think of Xanth?"

Grundy questioned the spider. "They grumble a lot," he

reported in due course. 'They have not been paid, so they

must plunder. Paid—hey, that must be what the payroll is!

What Hasbinbad owes the soldiers! Many of them have

died as they blundered into tangle trees, dragon warrens,

and monster-infested waters. Some have been transformed

to fish because they drank from an enchanted river; the

spider got that from a flea who jumped off a man just in

time. Others pursued nymphs into the jungle and were

never seen again. Perhaps two hundred have been lost to

the hazards of Xanth. So now they are proceeding very

116

Night Mare

carefully, and doing better. They have slain several dragons

and griffins and roasted and eaten them. But they are ner-

vous about what else may lie ahead."

"Justifiably," Imbri sent. "They have antagonized all

creatures of Xanth by their carnage. They should march

back out of Xanth before they do any more damage."

"They won't as long as there is plunder to be had,"

Grundy said. "The spider confirms what we have seen our-

selves: these are tough creatures, dragons in human guise,

with a cunning and omery leader. Only force will stop

them. That's the way Mundanes are."

"Except for Ichabod," Imbri qualified.

"He's not a real Mundane," the golem said, irked at hav-

ing been caught in an unwarranted generalization. "He's

greedy for information, and his head always was full of

fantasy, and he has an eye out for nymphs, too."

A Mundane guard came and dumped an armful of

fresh-cut hay into Imbri's pen. Hay was best when properly

cured, but naturally the ignorant Mundanes didn't know

that, and this was better than nothing. She munched away,

like the stupid animal she was supposed to be. Then she

snoozed on her feet, patiently awaiting the fall of night.

At dusk, when deepening shadows offered concealment,

Grundy the Golem slipped out to scout the region. His abil-

ity to converse with all living things enabled him to get

information wherever he went.

By the time it was dark enough for Imbri to phase

through her confinement and free herself, Grundy was

back. "I've found him," he whispered. "I'll show you

where." He jumped onto her back—and fell right through

her to the ground.

Oops. She was insubstantial. She phased back to solidity,

let him mount, then phased out again, taking him with her.

Then she followed his directions to find Ichabod. '

The scholar was in a separate pen, guarded by an alert

swordsman. The area was lighted; Imbri could not safely

go in.

"I'll distract the guard," Grundy said. "You go in solid,

pick him up, and charge out. It'll be chancy, and they'll be

after us—but they can't do a thing when you're phased

out."

Night More                       117

Imbri was not sanguine about this, but saw no better

course. Soon they would discover her absence from her

own pen and be after her anyway, so she had to hurry. "Go

ahead," she projected. The golem jumped down, turning

solid as he left her ambience, and made his way behind the

guard.

"Hey, roachface!" Grundy called from a region not far

back. His tone was exquisitely insulting.

The man glanced about, but could not spy the hidden

golem. "Who's there? Show yourself."

"Go show your own self, snakenose," Grundy replied.

Cheap insults were his forte; -he was surely enjoying this.

The soldier put his hand on his sword. "Come out, mis-

creant, or 111 bring you out!"

"You can hardly bring out your own sloppy dank

tongue, monstersnoot!" Grundy retorted.

The man whipped out his sword and stalked the sound.

He was as vain about his appearance as any true monster,

with as little justification. The moment his back was

turned, Imbri walked quietly into the pen. "Get ready!" she

sent to Ichabod in a dream.

The scholar had been snoozing uncomfortably. Now, in

his dream, he reacted with startled gladness. "My hands

are tied," he said. "I can't mount."

Imbri applied her teeth to the rope binding his hands

and chewed. She had good teeth, and soon crunched

through it. But the delay was fatal; the guard turned

around and spied them.

"Ho!" he bellowed, charging forward with sword ele-

vated. "Prison break!"

Ichabod jumped onto Imbri's back. She leaped away,

avoiding the descending sword. But she remained in the

lighted enclosure, still solid, and therefore vulnerable.

Grundy ran up. "Move out, mare!" he cried, leaping to

her neck and clutching her mane.

The soldier swung his sword again, clipping a few hairs

from her tail. Imbri leaped over the wall of the pen, escap-

ing him.

But the Mundane's cry had roused the camp. Hundreds

of torches were converging, lighting the area, preventing

118 Night More

Imbri from phasing out. She had to gallop in the one direc-

tion that remained open: east.

"Shoot them downl" a voice commanded. It sounded like

Hasbinbad himself.

Arrows sailed toward them. Ichabod jumped and

groaned. "I'm hit!"

"Keep going!" Grundy cried. "We're doomed if we stop

now!"

Imbri kept going. The torches fell behind. Those soldiers

were afoot, not having had time to get to their own horses,

so they could not keep the pace. But the pattern of lights

was such that she still could not veer south to rejoin Cha-

meleon and the day horse. So she raced on east. As she got

beyond the torchlight, she phased into unsolid form, so that

the arrows could no longer hurt them, and became invisible

to the Mundanes. But they retained a fair notion where she

was, and the pursuit continued. Since she was pure black,

she tended to disappear in darkness anyway, and they

probably assumed this was why they couldn't actually see

her. Some of them were now on horses and could keep the

equine pace.

But a night mare in dream form could outrun any ordi-

nary equine. Imbri left them behind and ran on into the

night, through trees and small hills, getting as far clear as

she could.

"How are you doing?" she sent to Ichabod.

There was no answer. She phased back to solid and

queried him again, in case he hadn't heard her in the

phased-out state. Now she felt the warm blood on her back.

The man was losing blood and was unconscious; only the

fact that he had no more mass in the phased-out state than

Imbri herself did enabled him to remain mounted. He had

sunk so far he no longer dreamed. This was worse than she

had feared!

"We've got to get magical help for him," the golem said,

worried. "Fast, before he sinks entirely. Some healing

elixir."

"We don't have any," Imbri sent.

"I know that, mareface!" he snapped. "We'll have to

take him to a spring, or to Castle Roogna, where they have

some stored."

Night Mare                    119

"Too far. He may be dead before we get there."

"Find a closer place, then!"

"Maybe the Siren has some," Imbri suggested. "She lives

in the water wing, and we're not far from it"

"Move!" Grundy said. "Get him there before it's too

late! He's no young squirt, you know."

She knew. She moved. She came to the wall that con-

fined the water wing and plunged through. Beyond it was

water, a sea of it, with a storm raining thickly down to add

to the total. It was one of the seven natural wonders of

Xanth, though creatures could not agree just which the

seven were. But the water passed through them as Imbri

galloped along the surface. She wished there had been a

gourd patch handy so that she could use the gourd network

in this emergency. But of course there were no gourds in

the lake. The water wing was all water.

Fortunately, she was able to travel at maximum velocity

across the sea. In a much shorter time than any ordinary

horse could manage, she reached the home region of the

Siren.

It was night, but the merfolk colony was awake, night-

fishing. Several of them had strings of nightflsh already.

"Where is the Siren?" Imbri sent in a broadband dreamlet.

A mermaid swam up. "Hello, Grundy," she called.

"Why do you seek me?"

The golem jumped off Imbri's back, taming solid and

splashing into the water, where the buxom creature picked

him up. "My friend Ichabod is wounded and dying. My

friend the night mare brought him here. Have you any

healing elixir?"

"We do," the Siren said. "Carry him to land at the edge

of the wing; Morris will bring the elixir."

Imbri trotted to the shore. The Siren got the elixir from

her husband, then emerged from the water, her tail split-

ting into two well-fleshed legs. She sprinkled a few drops

on Ichabod.

To Imbri's dismay, there was no immediate effect. "It's

not working!" she projected.

"This is a dilute elixir," the Siren explained. "We don't

have any really potent springs here in the water wing.

They're under the water, you see, so it's hard to capture

120 Night Mare

the essence. But this will work in a few hours—faster, if he

can drink some."

They set the unconscious man up and poured a few

drops in his mouth. Then Ichabod stirred. His eyes opened

and he groaned.

"He lives!" Grundy exclaimed joyfully. "I was really

worried about the old codger."

"Get that arrow out ofhis back!" Morris called from the

lake. He was a full merman, so could not go on land. "The

healing can't be complete with the arrow in him!"

That was obvious; they had been so concerned about the

bleeding that they had not paid attention to the wound. But

this remained a problem. The arrow was barbed, and they

could not dislodge it without inflicting terrible new pain

and damage that might kill the man despite the elixir.

Magic did have its limits.

"Maybe if you phase it out—" Grundy suggested.

Imbri tried this. She ;took the shaft of the arrow in her

teeth, then phased into insubstantiality and backed away.

The arrow phased with her, and the spaced-out head of it

moved without resistance through the man's body until it

was free. She hurled the arrow away, gratified; she had

removed it without hurting Ichabod at all!

Now the gaping wound started visibly healing. All they

had to do was wait.

In half an hour, Ichabod was whole once more. "I hope I

never have to go through that particular experience again!"

he said. "Thank you, lovely maiden, for your timely help."

The Siren smiled, pleased. She was middle-aged, and ev-

idently appreciated being called a maiden.

"She's no maiden," Grundy said, with his customary eti-

quette. "She's the Siren."

"The Siren?" Ichabod asked, growing if anything more

interested. "But does she lure sailors to their doom?"

"Not any more," the Siren said with a frown. "A centaur

smashed my magic dulcimer, and that depleted my power."

"Oh." Ichabod pondered. "You know, if you had your

power again, you could do a lot of good for Xanth. You

could lure the Mundanes—"

"I really don't want to harm people, not even Mun-

danes," she said. "I'm a family woman now. Here is my

Night More

121

son Cyrus." She introduced a small boy who smiled shyly,

then dived into the lake, his legs changing in mid-dive to

the tail of a triton.

"Nobody likes killing, of course," Ichabod said. "But

- perhaps you could lure them to some isolated island in wa-

ters infested by sea monsters so that they could not do any-

one any harm."

"Yes, that would be all right," she agreed. "Or lure them

to my sister the Gorgon, who could change them to stone.

Such statues can be restored with the right magic, or when

returned to Mundania, where the spell would be broken, so

it's not quite the same as death." She shrugged. "But I fear

my power is gone forever, as only the Good Magician

knows how to restore the instrument, and he wouldn't do it

even if I were willing to pay his fee of one year's service.

So it really doesn't matter. I think I'm much happier now

than I ever was when I had my power, frankly." But she

looked pensive, as if aware of the enormous ability she had

lost.

Ichabod spread his hands. "One can never tell. I am on

good terms with Good Magician Humfrey, having provided

him with a number of excellent Mundane research tomes,

and perhaps I can broach the matter. I suspect you have

just saved me at least a year of life by your assistance. At

any rate, I certainly appreciate what you did for me." He

turned to Imbri. "And you and Grundy, of course. Now we

really must rejoin Chameleon."

He was right. The night was passing entirely too rapidly.

They bade farewell to the Siren and the friendly merfolk

and headed southwest. They had to get out of the water

wing before Imbri turned solid again, for she could not gal-

lop across the water by day.

They made it through the perpetual storm at the edge of

the water wing and out into normal Xanth terrain before

the sun rose. Imbri invoked her person-locating sense,

which she had used during her decades of dream duty to

find the sleepers on her list, and oriented on Chameleon.

The Night Stallion had always provided the addresses of

the sleepers as part of the labeling on their dreams, but she

could tune in on people she knew well and who were think-

122

Night Mare

ing of her. At least she hoped so; she had not tried it when

the location of the person was unknown.

It worked. In this manner they caught up to Chameleon

and the day horse. The woman was sleeping in a cushion

bush, while the horse grazed nearby. Apparently they had

scouted the area and made sure it was safe. Chameleon

seemed to have a good sense for safety, despite her stupid-

ity. Of course, while no place in Xanth was completely

safe, many were safe enough for those who understood

them. A Mundane in this area would probably have fallen

prey to a patch of carnivorous grass or a tangle tree or the

small water dragon in the nearby river; Xanth natives

avoided these things without even thinking about them.

Perhaps it was the complex of dangers here that made it

safe from Mundanes.

Chameleon woke as they approached. "Oh, I'm so glad

you're safe!" she exclaimed. "I had a night mare visit—I

thought at first it was you, Imbri, but it wasn't—with a

horrible dream about Ichabod getting badly wounded. I'm

so glad to see it wasn't true!"

"It was true," Ichabod said. "That's why our return was

delayed."

"We got caught by the Mundanes," Grundy said.

"Oh, now I remember; that was in the dream, too. How

perfectly awful!"

The day horse approached, ears perking up. "How glad I

am to have had this horse near," Chameleon said, patting

him on a muscular shoulder, and the day horse nickered.

Obviously he liked Chameleon, as did all people who knew

her in her lovely phase.

"We were using the smoke of that brush fire for cover,

but the wind shifted," the golem continued. "They sur-

rounded us. We talked to their leader, Hasbinbad the

Punic. Then the Horseman came—"

The day horse snorted.

"I tell you he was there," Grundy insisted. "Said he

forced a centaur to carry him north, since things got hot

near Castle Roogna. We don't know what happened to the

henchmen Imbri told us about; maybe a dragon got them.

Good riddance! He wanted to know how Imbri escaped

from him before—"

Night Mare                       123

"And I had to tell him," Imbri sent apologetically. "He

promised to let us go, and I think he kept his word."

"If he kept his word, it was only because he had no rea-

son to keep you there!" the day horse insisted in the dream

Imbri provided. "I know that man! He never does anything

for anyone unless he stands to gain!"

"Well, he did let us go," Grundy said. "Maybe it was a

plot to follow us back to you. But we foiled that! We went

through the water wing to see the Siren and get Ichabod

healed, and the Mundanes couldn't follow. So maybe we

outsmarted the Horseman after all."

"I doubt it," the day horse said in the dream. "He has

levels and levels of cunning. He probably wanted to let you

go, for some devious reason of his own. Maybe he knew the

Mundanes wouldn't let him have Imbri for himself, so he

saw to it they couldn't keep her either. He's like that. He

spites people in subtle ways so the mischief can't be traced

to him. He wants everything his own way. But he surely

knows just about where we are now. We must flee south

immediately."

"That's for sure," Grundy agreed. "We've got our infor-

mation; we know who the Mundanes are. Now we have to

get it to King Dor as fast as we can, so he can figure out

how to break up the Wave."

That made sense. Imbri was amazed at the expressive-

ness of the day horse, who hardly seemed stupid at all now.

His points about the Horseman were well taken. But if the

man had wanted them free, knowing they would go

straight to King Dor, what was his rationale? He was an

enemy who would only suffer if the King organized a good

defense. Something important was missing, and it made her

uneasy.

They set off south. Chameleon was satisified to continue

riding the day horse, so they left it the way it was. All day

they galloped, avoiding the problems of the journey up, and

made such good progress that by nightfall they had crossed

the invisible bridge and were back at Castle Roogna.

The day horse, wary of populated places, begged off en-

tering the castle itself. "People tend to want to catch me

and pen me," he explained in equine language that Grundy

translated for the nonequines.

124 Night Mare

Chameleon was sympathetic. "I understand," she said.

"The Mundanes penned Imbri." She dismounted, then

threw her arms about the horse's sweaty neck, giving him

an affectionate hug. "Thank you so much, day horse!" She

kissed his right ear.

Horses did not blush, but this one tried. He wiggled his

ear, snorted, and scuffled the ground with a forefoot. He

flicked his tail violently, though there were no flies near.

Then he turned on two hooves and trotted away, seeking

his own place to graze and rest.

"It's easy to like a pretty woman," Grundy remarked

somewhat wistfully. "Even if you are a horse."

And easy for a mare to like such a horse, Imbri thought

to herself. He was such a beautiful, nice, helpful animal. If

only he were smarteri

Chapter 7. The First Battle

Ring Dor was waiting for them. He listened

gravely to their report, making careful note of the numbers

and armament of the enemy as Ichabod reported them. Im-

bri was amazed to discover how observant the Mundane

scholar had been; he had noted everything relevant, and

was able to fill in from his wide background information.

It seemed Xanth now knew more about the Mundanes than

the Mundanes knew about Xanth.

"The Carthaginian mercenaries were—are—redoubtable

fighters," Ichabod concluded. "They had excellent leader-

ship, and were accustomed to carrying on on their own

with very little support from the home city. They domi-

nated the western half of the Mediterranean Sea, and even

the Romans were unable, generally, to match them in bat-

tle." He broke off. "But I wander too far afield, as is my

Night Mara                       125

wont. My point is that these are formidable foemen who

are prone to feed captives to their bloodthirsty god Baal

Hammon. You must not give them any quarter. I dislike

advocating violence, but I see no peaceful way to abate this

.particular menace. Fortunately, they have no weapons with

which you are unfamiliar, except perhaps that of treach-

ery."

Dor shook his head heavily. He seemed to have aged in

the three days Imbri's party had been away, though he had

caught up on his sleep. "I had hoped it would be otherwise,

but a Wave is a Wave. We shall fight with what resources

we have. So there are about six hundred Nextwavers re-

maining, armed with swords, spears, and bows. This is too

great a number for us to handle by ordinary means. I have

marshaled the old troops of King Trent's former army, but

I am skeptical about their combat readiness. What we

really need is the help of some of Xanth's more ferocious

animals, such as the dragons. In Xanth's past they have

been known to help us out of bad situations. But so far,

this time, they have rejected my overtures. I think they

might have been more positive toward King Trent, as his

power is more compelling than mine. The dragons seem to

feel that if men wish to kill men, this will make things

easier for dragons."

"Wait till the Nextwavers ravage Dragon Land,"

Grundy muttered. "Then the beasts will take notice."

"That may be too late for us," Dor said. "In any event, it

is not just the dragons. The goblins, who really are more

manlike than beastlike, told our messenger to go soak his

snoot."

"The goblins don't want to get drafted for war," Imbri

sent, remembering the last bad dream she had processed.

King Dor concentrated on a map of Xanth before him.

"We expect the Mundanes to drive for Castle Roogna first.

That is where the Mundane city of Rome is in the land

they thought they were invading, so naturally they see it as

the target. Unfortunately, they are correct; if they conquer

or destroy Castle Roogna, Xanth will have no central focus

for resistance. Dragon land and Goblin land are in central

Xanth; if the Nextwave flows down the west coast, it will

126

Night Mare

miss those regions. So the dragons and goblins are not

worrying. Since the main human regions are in the west,

we must bear the brunt." He ran a hand over his hair,

which seemed already to be thinning. "I wish King Trent

were well; he has the tactical ability to handle this sort of

thing."

There it was again. Even King Dor lacked confidence in

his ability. The loss of King Trent had been a terrible blow

to Xanth—as it seemed the enemy leader Hasbinbad was

well aware. The, Horseman had done a good reconnais-

sance.

"The Gap Chasm will stop them," Grundy said.

"It may, if we take down the magic bridges. I don't

want to do that except as a last resort. Those bridges are

hard to restore. Good Magician Humfrey supervised the

installation of the main one, and he's not young any more."

"He never was young," Grundy said. "I think he was

born a wrinkled, hairless gnome. But you do have a point.

I think the Gorgon pretty well runs his castle now. I'm not

sure I'd trust a bridge whose construction he supervised

today."

"So I shall lead King Trent's old army to intercept the

Mundanes north of the Gap—"

"Not you. Dor!" Chameleon exclaimed, alarmed.

"But, Mother, I'm the Kingi" he protested somewhat

querulously. "It's my job to lead the troops."

"It's your job to govern Xanth," Grundy said. "If you go

foolishly out to battle and get yourself killed, where is

Xanth then?"

"But—"

"Listen to them, your Majesty," a voice said from the

doorway. It was Queen Iris, garbed in black. "I know what

it is like to be halfway widowed; I don't want my daughter

to learn."

Dor smiled wanly. "I'll try to hang on to my life. I'll stay

out of the actual battle. But I must be there with the

troops. I can not do less than that."

As anticipated, the Nextwave flowed down the western

side of Xanth, avoiding the deadly central region and the

Night Mare                       127

monsteriferous coastal region. The Horseman, obviously,

had scouted out their best route—the enchanted path that

trade parties used to reach the isthmus that was the only

access to Mundania. Now that enchantment was helping

the enemy force to drive directly for Castle Roogna.

Most creatures of Xanth thought of the historic Waves

as sheer ravening hordes of Mundanes, and the current

Wave resembled that notion closely enough. But it was evi-

dent that this force had considerable expertise supporting

its violence. The Mundanes were quickly learning how to

handle the hazards of Xanth and how to use beneficial

magic.

The quiet North Village had to be evacuated hastily be-

fore the Wave swamped it, and the centaur village south of

it was similarly abandoned. These local centaurs were less

prudish about magic talents than were those of distant Cen-

taur Isle and were quite helpful to the human Villagers,

carrying the aged and infirm. In return, the human folk

used their magic talents to facilitate the travel of the cen-

taurs, conjuring food and tools as needed. It was a fine

cooperative effort. Imbri knew that Dor's paternal grand-

parents lived in the North Village, and the sire and dam of

Chet and Chem Centaur lived in the centaur settlement, so

this effort was important to those who were at Castle

Roogna in a personal as well as a tactical sense. Faces were

turning grim at the notion of handing these areas over to

the enemy, but it was a necessary evil.

Queen Iris was deputized by King Dor to supervise the

evacuation of those regions. She spent day and night in the

bedroom with unconscious King Trent, using her enormous

powers of illusion on behalf of the welfare of Xanth in the

manner King Trent would have asked her to. She projected

her image to every household of the Village, warning each

person of the danger and making sure that person left. Iris

could actually perceive these people, and they could per-

ceive her; to that extent her illusory images were real. It

was indeed difficult to ascertain exactly where illusion left

off and reality began. She spoke calmly but certainly, mak-

ing sure that important belongings were taken and that noth-

ing of possible advantage to the Mundanes was left behind.

128

Night Mare

Because she could also perceive the progress of the Wave,

though this was at the fringe of her range, the people had

the confidence to evacuate in an orderly manner, not rush-

ing wastefully, while also not delaying overiong.

But the Queen was working too hard. Her use of illusion

at such range was like a horse galloping cross-country; it

required a lot of concentration and energy. Iris would not

rest herself at night, insisting on checking and rechecking

every detail. Her illusion-figures were blurring. Iris was no

longer in the flush of youth; she was as old as King Trent.

This enormous effort without respite was apt to put her

into a state no better than that of Trent.

Finally King Dor sent Imbri in to her, carrying a basket

of food and drink, with instructions to make the Queen

take a needed break. King Dor did not feel right about

giving orders to his mother-in-law, which was why he

asked Imbri to handle it. His reason for choosing her was

seemingly superficial—her ability to project dreams resem-

bled the Queen's ability to project illusions. Perhaps there

would be rapport. Imbri was glad to try.

Imbri entered the bedroom and set the basket down, re-

leasing the strap she had held in her teeth. "Queen Iris, I

have brought refreshment," she sent. "You must eat and

drink."

Iris paused in her labor of illusion. "Don't try to fool me,

mare," she snapped. "There's sleep potion in that bever-

age."

"So there is," Imbri agreed. "Your daughter put it in.

But she says she will watch her father while you rest, if

you are willing."

"Her place is with her husband, the new King," Iris said,

softening. "I know she loves her father. She doesn't have to

prove it to me."

"Please—take the rest. The Villagers can travel now

without you, and your talent may be needed later. There

are people in charge like Dor's grandfather Roland, of the

Council of Elders, and Chester and.Cherie Centaur, who

tutored King Dor in literacy and martial art. They can

handle it now."

"In fact, Irene loves Trent more than she loves me," Iris

grumbled. But she ate the cake and drank the coconut milk

Night Mare

129

provided, and allowed herself to get sleepy. "You watch

the King," she said. "And don't send me any bad dreams! I

have more than enough already."

"No bad dreams," Imbri agreed.

But she did send the Queen a good dream, of the Villag-

ers and centaurs arriving safely south of the Gap Chasm

and finding temporary homes in other villages and on

other ranges.

"Don't try to fool me!" Queen Iris said in her sleep,

catching on. "I deliver illusions to others; I prefer reality

for myself."

"You are brave," Imbri sent.

"I'll have none of your false flattery either!" the Queen

retorted, threatening to wake up.

"I didn't say you were nice," Imbri said in the dream,

taking the form of an older woman, one with whom the

Queen might be comfortable. "I said you were brave."

"It takes no courage to project pictures to others; you

should know that."

"To seek reality," Imbri clarified. "I send my images

inside the minds of others, rather than outside, as you do,

but I, too, prefer to know the truth, which may not be at all

like a dream. Many people do prefer illusion, however."

"I appreciate your effort," the Queen said. "You're

trying to keep me asleep, and I suppose I do need it. I can't

serve Xanth well if I am overtired." Then she brought her-

self up short. "Xanth? Whom am I fooling? I said I sought

reality, but this is illusion! I never cared for the welfare of

Xanth! I always wanted to rule it, which is an entirely dif-

ferent matter. But no Queen is permitted to rule Xanth, no

matter what her talent."

"Ichabod says Xanth is a medieval Kingdom," Imbri's

image said. "He thinks that eventually it will progress to

equal rights for women."

"Is the King all right?"

Was this a deliberate shifting of subject, or merely the

meandering of an overtired mind? Imbri checked King

Trent. "He is unchanged."

"Do you know, I only married him so I could be Queen.

If one can not rule, the next best thing is to be married to

130

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Night Mare

131

the one who does. It was a marriage of convenience; we

never fooled each other that there was love between us. He

had to marry because the Council of Elders who made him

King required it; he married me so as to eliminate

Magician-level dissension."

"But surely—" Imbri started to protest.

"I have my faults, and they are gross ones, but I was

never a hypocrite," the Queen insisted. "I craved power

more than anything else," and Trent craved power, too. But

he did not want to remarry, and when he saw he had to, he

refused to marry for love. So he made the deal with me, as

I was unlovable. That was perhaps almost as potent an as-

set as my magic; if his dead Mundane wife was watching,

she would have known I was not capable of replacing her

in his esteem. He was, in fact, punishing himself. I knew

it—but the truth is, I wasn't looking for love either. So I

was happy to prostitute myself for the appearance of power

and distinction—though it wasn't prostitution in any literal

sense. He had no physical desire for me."

Imbri was embarrassed by these revelations, but knew

the Queen was unwinding in her sleep. Long-buried truths

were bubbling to the surface. It was best not to interfere.

"Horses don't look for love either," she said. "Just compan-

ionship and offspring and good pasturage."

The Queen laughed. "How well you define it» night

mare! That was what I sought, in addition-to power. And

King Trent gave me all those things, in his fashion; I can

not complain. He was known in his youth as the.'Evil Magi-

cian, but he was in fact a good man. Is a good man."

"And a good King," Imbri agreed. "I understand this is

the best age of Xanth since King Roogna's time."

"True. King Roogna fought off the Fourth or Fifth

Wave, I misremember which, and ushered in the golden

age of Xanth. He built this fine castle. We call the present

the silver age, but I suspect it is as gold as the other was."

She paused reflectively. "It is strange how things work out.

I married Trent from contempt, thinking to use him to

achieve subtle power for myself. But he was stronger and

better than I thought, and instead of dominating him, I was

dominated by him. And strangest of all, I discovered I

liked it. I could have loved him . . . but the one love of

his life died before he returned to Xanth. He had had a

son, too. Some alien disease took them both; he never spoke

about it. He would have felt guilty if he ever loved again.

So he was true to his design, while I was not. How I envied

that unknown, deceased Mundane woman!"

"But you have a child by him!" Imbri protested.

"That signifies less than it might," the Queen said.

"Xanth needed an heir, in case there should be no Magi-

cian when Trent died. Someone to fill in, to occupy Castle

Roogna until a Magician showed up. So Trent had to come

to me. He was so disturbed by it that I had to invoke my

illusion to make it appear to be two other people, not him

and me. That was how we conceived Irene."

Imbri was shocked. "A mating of convenience?"

"Again you phrase it aptly. It was real for me, but not

for him; he was only doing his duty. But after Irene

came—pot even a Sorceress, and not male, a double fail-

ure—I think there was no conflict there. He could love

another child, for it is possible for a man. to have several

children without denying any of them. The girl was no

threat to his memory of his son. He loved Irene. And some-

times, I think, he almost loved the mother of Irene."

"Surely so!"

"And now he is gone, or temporarily incapacitated—that

is one illusion I must cling to!—and I can play the role I

am supposed to: that of the grieving, loyal wife. Because it

is true. A marriage of convenience turned secretly real—

for me, at least. And I can do what I can for the good of

Xanth, because that is what he would be doing, and now I

can only realize myself through him." She grimaced. "I,

the original feminist! How utter was my fall, the worse be-

cause it is unrecognized."

"I don't see that as a fall," Imbri said.

"You are a mare." But the Queen smiled, accepting the

comfort. "I would give anything to have him back, on any

basis, or to join him in his ensorcellment. But it seems that

is not my decision to make, any more than any of the other

crucial decisions of my life have been."

Queen Iris sank then into a deeper sleep, and Imbri let

her descend below the threshold of dreams, gaining her

precious rest. Imbri had not suspected the depth and nature

132

Night Mare

of Iris's feeling and had not sought such knowledge, but was

glad she had learned of it. Truly, human folk were more

complex than equine folkl

In the same period of a few days. King Dor's hastily

marshaled and outfitted army prepared to meet the enemy

onslaught. Everyone knew that King Trent could have or-

ganized an effective campaign—but King Trent was sadly

out of it. People lacked confidence in Dor—but he was the

only King Xanth had. Was he enough?

Dor accompanied the army north, along with his private

bodyguard composed of long-term boyhood friends. He

rode Chet Centaur, who was armed with a fine bow, spear,

and sword, and who could magically convert boulders to

pebbles, a process he called calculus. Chefs sister Chem

was along, too, for her magic talent of map projection was

invaluable for charting the positions of Xanth and Next- .

wave troops. Chem carried Grundy the Golem, whose

ability to converse with living creatures complemented

King Dor's ability to talk with inanimate things; together

they could amass a lot of information in a hurry. Smash

the Ogre also came. He now resembled a large, somewhat

brutish man, for he was half man by birth. But when the

occasion required, he could stffl manifest as the most fear-

some of ogres. Since he could not readily keep pace with

the centaurs afoot in man form, Imbri served as his steed.

She knew Smash from the time he had visited the world of

the gourd. He had terrorized the walking skeletons, but had

been gentle with her, and in a devious manner she owed her

half soul to him.

Of course, Imbri knew Chem in an even closer manner.

It was half of the centaur filly's soul she had. This was the

first time Imbri had encountered her since that exchange.

They trotted side by side, following King Dor and Chet.

Chem was a pretty brown creature with flowing hair and

tail and a slender, well-formed human upper torso. Imbri

liked her, of course, but felt guilty about the soul. So as

they moved, she conversed by dream privately with the

filly.

"Do you remember me, Chem? I have half your soul."

"I remember. You helped us escape the Void. Without

Night Mare                       133

you, we would have been doomed, for nothing except night

mares can travel out of that awful hole. Now you are help-

ing Chameleon, aren't you?"

"She doesn't like battle, but wants to safeguard her son

Dor, so she delegated me to carry the ogre. I think that

makes sense, in her fashion."

"Yes, I know. My folks wanted me to stay at Castle

Roogna with the wives—Queen Iris, Queen Irene, Chame-

leon, and Smash's wife Tandy, who is as nice a girl as I

know. But I'm not married, and I don't feel quite at home

with the wifely types. They live mostly for their males."

Imbri remembered her conversation with Queen Iris.

"They Seem to like it that way."

"I can't see it. So I persuaded King Dor he needed me at

the front."

Imbri's mental image of another female centaur laughed.

She liked this creature better than ever! "Now that I'm a

day mare, I suppose I should return your soul—"

"No, it was a fair exchange, as these things go," Chem

said. "As I said, without your help, and the help of those

other two night mares. Crises and Vapors—without them,

Smash, Tandy, and I would not have been able to resume

our normal lives. My half soul is regenerating nicely now,

and I hope your half soul is doing the same."

"It may be," Imbri said. "I don't know how to judge. I

was always a soulless creature before."

"Some of the best creatures are soulless," Chem said. "I

don't know why souls should be limited to human and part-

human creatures. Some dragons are more worthy than

some Mundanes." Her gaze flicked to Imbri's rider. "And

even some ogres are good people."

"I caught that!" Grundy exclaimed. "They're talking

about you. Smash, in dreams."

"And why not?" Smash inquired mildly. "They're

friends of mine."

"Aw, you don't even think like an ogre any more. You're

no fun," the golem complained. The others laughed.

"And there may be some reason for you to have that

half soul," Chem concluded privately in Imbri's dream.

"Often these things turn out to have greater meaning or

direction than we at first appreciate. I like to think that

134 Night Mare

someday my shared soul will help you as greatly as your

assistance helped me. Obviously it won't rescue you from

the Void, but—"

They spied a harpy sitting on a branch of a pepper tree.

The marching troops had skirted this tree generously, so as

not to catch the sneezes. The harpy seemed to be immune,

perhaps because she was already fouled up with dirt. "Hey,

birdbrain!" Grundy called in his usual winning manner.

"How about doing some aerial reconnaissance for us?"

"For you?" the harpy screeched indignantly. She had the

head and breasts of a woman and the wings and body of a

buzzard. This one was fairly young; were it not for the

caked grime, her face and form might have been tolerable.

"Why should I do anything for your ilk, you blankety

blank?"

Imbri and Chem stiffened, the latter's delicate shell-pink

ears reddening, and Smash turned his head, for the blanks

had not been exactly blank. Harpies were as foul of mouth

as they were of body, and that was about the limit of foul-

ness in Xanth.

"For the greater good of Xanth, fowlmouth," Grundy

called back, being the fastest to recover from the verbal

horror that had spewed like festering garbage from the har-

py's mouth. Indeed, he seemed to be mentally filing the

terms for future use, though there were few if any occa-

sions where he might safely do so. "To help stop the invad-

ing Mundanes from ravaging everything."

"The greater good of Xanth can go blank up a blankety

blank, sidewise," the harpy retorted. "It's no blankety

doubleblank to me."

Again it took a moment for the terminology to clear.

Even the pepper tree was turning red. If there was one

thing harpies were good at, it was bad language.

"There will also be a lot of carrion after the battle,"

Grundy said. "Gooey, gooky corpses steaming in the sun,

swelling and popping open, guts strewn about—"

The harpy's eyes lighted with dismal fires. "Oh, slurp!"

she exclaimed. "It makes me unbearably hungry!"

"I thought it might," Grundy said smugly. Strangely

enough, no one else looked hungry. "All you have to do is

Night Mare                       135

fly by the enemy positions and report where they are and

how many—"

"That's too much blank blank worki"

"Spiked eyeballs, chopped livers, severed feet—"

"I'll do it!" the harpy screeched, licking her dirty lips.

She launched from the tree, stirring up a huge cloud of

pepper, and flapped heavily north.

"But the Mundanes may shoot her down with an ar-

row," Chem protested without much conviction.

"The smell will keep them beyond arrow range,"

Grundy said facetiously. It occurred to Imbri, however,

that he might be right; it took some time to get used to

harpy scent.

Now they came to the Gap Chasm and proceeded

across. This was the only visible two-way bridge, so was the

most used; it would have to be the first to go if the Mun-

dane Wave got this far.

The Gap Dragon was present; it raged and reached up-

ward, but the Gap was too deep to make this a serious

threat. "Go choke on your own tail, steamsnoot!" Grundy

called down to it, and dropped a cherry bomb he had

plucked carefully from the Castle Roogna orchard tree.

The dragon snapped at it and swallowed it whole. There

was a muffled boom as the bomb detonated, and smoke

shot out of the dragon's ears. But it seemed to make no

difference; the monster still raged and pursued them. The

Gap Dragon was tough; no doubt about it!

By the time they were across, the harpy was back.

"There are about three hundred of them," she reported.

'They're headed toward the nickelpede crevices. I don't

like that; the nickels don't leave anything behind worth eat-

ing."

Chem concentrated, and her magic map formed. It

showed the nickelpede crevices, a minor network of cracks

in the ground. "Where exactly are the Mundanes?" she

asked.

The harpy gave her the specifics, and Chem plotted

them on her map. Then the harpy flew off, explaining that

she had trouble with the smell of the human folk. Now

they had a clear notion of the disposition of the enemy

troops. "But there are only three hundred of them here,"

136

Night Mare

Night Mare

137

Chem remarked. "That suggests they are holding back half

their force, perhaps as a reserve."

They drew abreast of King Dor to advise him. "Yes,

we'll try to drive them into the nickelpede crevices," he

agreed. "If they take cover there, they'll regret it."

But Dor's troops were out of condition and not young;

their average age was near fifty. Progress was slow. They

would not reach the Mundane Wave before it cleared the

nickelpede region. Such a fine opportunity lost!

"We shall have to establish our position and wait for

them," King Dor decided. "As I recall, there's a love spring

north of the Gap—"

"There is," Chem agreed, projecting her map. "Right

here." She pointed to the spot. "We're already past it, and

the path by it is one-way; we can't reach it from here."

"That's fine; I don't want to reach it. I want to avoid it.

I don't want my troops drinking from it."

Grundy laughed. "That's for sure! But maybe if we

fetched some of that water for the Mundanes, they'd im-

mediately breed with any female creature they saw—"

"No," Dor said. "That's not funny, Grundy. We won't

fight that way."

The golem scowled. "You can be sure the Mundanes

would fight that way! They have no civilized scruples.

That's what makes them so tough."

"But we do have civilized scruples," King Dor said.

"Perhaps that is what distinguishes us from the Mundanes.

We shall maintain that distinction."

"Yes, your Majesty," the golem agreed with disgust.

"What other difficult aspects are there between us and

the Nextwave?" King Dor asked Chem.

"There's a river that changes anyone who drinks from it

into a fish," she answered, pointing it out on the map.

"From what Ichabod said, I think they've encountered an

arm of that river farther north, but they may not realize it's

the same. And over here is the Peace Forest, where people

become so peaceful they simply lie down and sleep for-

ever—"

"That won't give the Mundanes any trouble," Grundy

said. "They're not peaceful at all!"

"But we should keep our troops clear of it," King Dor

said. "And the river. We'll have to find a safe supply of

water. Anything else?"

"Just the nickelpedes," Chem answered. "But the Mun-

danes will be past that region and the peace pines. The

river is probably where we'll meet them."

King Dor sighed. "So be it. I hope we can stop them

without too much bloodshed."

No one replied. Imbri knew they shared one major con-

cern: did this young, untried King have what it took to

halt the devastating incursion of a Mundane Wave of con-

quest? They would know the answer all too soon.

To the gratified surprise of all. King Dor did seem to

know what he was doing. He ranged his troops along the

river, having them dig trenches and throw up embank-

ments with brush piled up in front so that the archers could

sight on the enemy without exposing themselves. He had

the spearmen ranged in front of the archers, to protect them

from charging enemy troops, and the swordsmen in front of

the spearmen. "Do not break formation until your captains

give the order," King Dor concluded. "They outnumber us;

they may try a false retreat, to draw us out, so they can fall

on us in the open. Beware! Do not assume that those who

lack magic are not dangerous."

The men chuckled. They were all former Mundanes and

lacked magic themselves. The King had paid them a kind

of compliment.

Now they just had to wait for the arrival of the enemy.

The harpy, eager for the spoils of battle, continued her spy

overflights, so everyone knew the Mundanes were not

trying anything fancy. They were marching straight down

the main path, without any attempt at secrecy. They had

no advance scouts and sent no detachments out to flank a

potential enemy force. In this respect they were indeed

merely a horde charging down the route of least resistance,

at greatest speed. Their progress was marked by flame and

smoke; they left mainly ashes in their path. The North Vil-

lage was gone, and it would be long before the centaur

range was green again.

Imbri hurt, thinking of all that wanton destruction of

excellent pasture. Yet she could understand the Mundanes'

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138

rationale; the fire destroyed the unknown threats of magic

and routed hiding magic creatures, making the Mundanes

feel more secure.

"I don't trust this," Chet Centaur said. "Either they're

criminally careless or they have no respect at all for the

opposition. Or it's a ruse of some sort. Where are the rest

of their troops?"

"Maybe they plan to take Castle Roogna before we know

they're coming," King Dor said, perplexed. "Mundanes are

unsubtle folk, but we can't afford to underestimate them.

All I want is to stop them today. If they have to forage in

their own burned-out territory, they'll soon be hungry."

"And thirsty," Grundy added, eyeing the river.

"I suppose transformation is kinder than slaughter,"

King Dor agreed with a sigh. "Certainly King Trent be-

lieved that it was."

It was late in the afternoon when the Nextwave arrived.

The motley crew forged up to the river, not even noticing

the embankments beyond it. There was no action by Dor's

army; his captains would give the attack order only on his

signal. Imbri was much impressed; the young King had

amazing grasp of the strategy of battle. It was almost as

if he had fought Mundanes before—and of course that was

impossible, as there had been no Wave in his lifetime, or in

the lifetimes of his parents or grandparents. Only Imbri

herself had ever seen a Wave surge into Xanth, as far as

she knew, though maybe Good Magician Humfrey was old

enough. Well, there were the zombies and ghosts, who had

existed in their ageless manner for centuries, but they

didn't really count.

The first Mundanes threw themselves down beside the

river and slurped up the sparkling water. They converted

instantly to fish, who leaped and flipped with amazement

and discomfort until they splashed into the water and dis-

appeared.

The standing Wavers stared. But they were not com-

pletely dull; very soon they caught on to the nature of the

enchantment, realizing that this was the same river they

had encountered before. Immediately they cried the alarm

to their companions.

Some of these were skeptical. They had not seen the

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139

transformations of their leading comrades, and suspected

some crude Mundane practical joke was being played to

aggravate their thirst. So one dropped down to guzzle wa-

ter—and turned into another fish while all were watching.

That did it. Guards were posted along the river to warn

the others, and the Mundane losses were cut. Perhaps a

dozen had become fish; the great majority remained.

The Mundanes pushed on past the river, obviously want-

ing to find a better place to camp for the night. Then they

spied the barricades.

"We should give them fair warning," King Dor said.

"Fair warning!" Grundy expostulated. "You're crazy!"

Then the golem looked abashed, remembering to whom he

was talking. "Figuratively speaking, your Majesty."

"Opinion noted," King Dor remarked dryly, and in that

moment he reminded Imbri of King Trent. "Imbri, can you

project a warning dream that far?"

"It would have to be very diffuse and weak," she sent

"They would probably shrug it off as of no consequence."

King Dor nodded. He spoke to the leader of the Xanth

army. "Ask for a volunteer to stand up and warn the Mun-

danes not to proceed farther."

"I'll do it myself, sir," the man said, saluting. He was a

balding, fattening, middle-aged man, but he had done good

work organizing the troops and handling the logistics of

feeding and moving so large a force—one hundred men—

on such short notice.

The man lumbered down the back slope of the hill on

which King Dor was situated, so as not to give away the

King's location. He circled to the rear of the barricade and

mounted a convenient boulder. Then he cupped his mouth

with his hands and shouted with excellent military volume:

"Mundanes! Halt!"

The leading Mundanes looked up, then shrugged and

marched on, ignoring him.

"Halt, or we attack!" the Xanth leader cried.

The leading Mundane brought his bow about, whipped

an arrow out of his quiver, and shot it at the Xanth gen-

eral. The other Mundanes charged toward him.

"Well, we tried," King Dor said regretfully. He signaled

Night Mare

140

the general, who had dodged the first arrow and now was

taking cover behind the boulder.

The general gave the order. The Xanth archers sent their

first shafts flying. Most of them missed, either because the

archers were long out of practice or because their hearts

weren't in it. For over two decades they had opposed mon-

sters, not men, or indulged in elaborate war games whose

relation to actual warfare was questionable. One arrow did

strike a Mundane, more or less by accident.

"Blood!" the harpy screeched hungrily.

The Mundanes finally realized they were under attack.

They retreated across the river, protecting their bodies with

their shields. A couple of them tripped as they stepped

backward through the water, fell, gulped, and became fish.

Now the Mundanes were angry, as perhaps they had

reason to be. They lined up along the river and shot off a

volley of arrows. But these did not have much effect, be-

cause of the embankments and brush that protected the

Xanth troops.

Then Hasbinbad, the Carthaginian leader, appeared at

the front, splendidly armed and armored in the grand

Punic tradition. He was a considerable contrast to the mot-

ley assortment of archers and spearmen he commanded.

Imbri could not overhear his words, but the effect on the

Mundanes was immediate. They formed into a phalanx,

shields overlapping, and marched back across the river.

The Xanth defenders were astonished, but a few of them

knew of this type of formation, and word quickly spread.

The Mundanes were now virtually impervious to arrows.

But the Xanth commander knew about this sort of thing.

At his orders, crews of strong men heaved at boulders that

had been scouted and loosened earlier, starting them rolling

grandly down the slope. One crunched directly toward the

phalanx. The Mundanes saw it coming and scattered, their

formation broken. That threat had been abated.

Maybe the Nextwave would be contained, Imbri thought.

They had to pass this spot to get to Castle Roogna, and

they weren't making headway yet. Soon night would fall,

and the nocturnal creatures would emerge, forcing the en-

emy to seek cover.

But the Mundanes who remained beyond the river had

Night More                       141

been busy. They had a big fire going—they certainly liked

to burn things!—and now were poking their arrows into it.

Were they destroying their weapons? That did not seem to

make much sense 1

Then they stood and fired their burning arrows at the

brush barriers of the defenders. Trouble!" Chet Centaur

muttered. "We should have anticipated this."

Trouble indeed! The dry brush blazed up quickly, de-

stroying the cover. Men ran to push out the burning sec-

tions, but during this distraction the entire Mundane army

charged in a mass. The Xanth archers sent their arrows

more seriously now, bringing down a number of the enemy,

but this was only a token. Soon the Mundanes were storm-

ing the barricades, brandishing their weapons, and the

Xanth troops were fleeing in terror. A rout was in the

making.

"I won't put up with this!" King Dor cried. 'Take me

there, Chetl"

"But you could be killed!" the centaur protested.

"I have faced death before," the King said seriously. "If

you don't carry me, I'll go afoot."

Chet grimaced, then drew his sword and galloped for-

ward. "Idiocy!" Chem muttered, taking her coil of rope

and pacing her brother, carrying the golem. Imbri agreed

with her—and bore Smash right behind them. One thing

was certain, there were no cowards in the King's body-

guard, but plenty of fools.

They charged to the burning barricades, where the Mufl-

danes were making their way through. Suddenly the flames

began talking, as the King exerted his talent. "I'm going to

destroy you, Mundane!" one cried as it licked close. "I'll

really bum you up!"

A number of Mundanes whirled, startled. "Yes, you, ar-

morface!" the flame taunted. "I'll scorch the skin off your

rear and boil you in your own fat! Beware my heat!"

Some Mundanes hastily retreated, but others leaped out

the near side. They closed on the King's party. "Get him!"

one cried. "That's their King!"

But now Smash the Ogre went into action. He swelled

up monstrously, bursting out of his human trousers, until

he was twice the height and six times the mass of a man.

142 Night Mare

He no longer sat astride Imbri; he stood over her. He

roared, and the blast of his breath blew the leaves off the

nearest trees and bushes and shook the clouds in their or-

bits. He ripped a small tree from the ground and swung it

in a great arc that wiped a swath clear of enemy personnel.

It seemed the Mundanes had not before encountered an

angry ogre; they would be more careful in the future.

King Dor and Chet trotted on, and where they went the

ground yelled threats at the Mundanes, and the stones

made crunching noises as if a giant were tromping near,

and dry sticks rattled as if poisonous. The Mundanes were

continuously distracted, and more of them retreated in dis-

array. Any who sought to attack Dor were balked by the

sword and rope of the two centaurs, and many of the rest

were terrified by the charging ogre. The Punics seemed

daunted as much by the strangeness of this new opposition

as by its ferocity.

The Xanth troops rallied and came back into the fray.

Blood had been shed; now they knew for certain that this

was serious business. Long-neglected skills returned in

strength. Soon the Mundanes were routed, fleeing across

the river and north as dusk came. King Dor called off the

chase, not wanting to risk combat at night.

The harpy had her heart's desire: there were some fifty

Mundane corpses left on the battlefield. But there were

also twenty Xanth dead and twice that number wounded.

The brief action had been mutually devastating. This was ev-

ery bit as bad as the terrible dreams Imbri had delivered

during the campaign of the Lastwave! Still, it was a techni-

cal victory for the home team, and the pain of the losses

was overbalanced by the satisfaction of successfully turning

back the Nextwave.

"This is internecine warfare," Chet said. "It does great

harm to both sides. I wish there were some more amicable

Way to deal with this problem."

"It isn't ended," King Dor said. "They'll return tomor-

row, and they still outnumber us. We have barely forty

men in fighting condition. We must set up new boulders

and make a rampart that is impervious to fire. We'll haul

Up supplies of river water, which no one must drink, and

drill on .targets for bow and arrow accuracy. We can hold

Night Mare                       143

them if we work at it, but it still will not be easy."

"And if we hold them for another day or so," Chem

added, "they should lose interest in fighting and gain inter-

est in feeding themselves. Then it may be possible to nego-

tiate an end to hostilities, and the Wave will be over."

Imbri hoped it would be that easy. She had a deep dis-

trust of the Mundanes and knew how devious they could

be.

The troops were allowed to eat and sleep in shifts, while

others labored all night on the defenses. The walking

wounded were encouraged to walk south, back across the

bridge over the Gap, as this was safer than remaining for

tomorrow's renewed battle. If the Mundanes were hurting

as badly as the Xanthians, they would not renew the at-

tack, but that was uncertain.

The two centaurs, the golem, the ogre, and Imbri ranged

themselves about King Dor's tent and slept by turns also.

There was no trouble; evidently the Mundanes were no

more eager to fight by night than were the Xanthians.

"Did you notice," Chet said at one point, apparently hav-

ing cogitated on the events of the day, "there are no Mun-

dane horses here? They must all be with their reserves."

Imbri hadn't noticed, but realized it was true. She should

have been the first to make that observation! If the Punics

had wanted to move rapidly, why hadn't they used their

horses? "Maybe they did not have enough horses for every

man," she sent, "and could not take time to let the horses

graze, so could not use them here. An all-horse mounted

party would have been too small to capture Castle Roogna.

But surely those horses will be used later."

"Quite possible," Chet agreed. "But I also wonder

whether the missing horses and the missing men can be

doing an encirclement, planning to attack where we least

expect, while our attention and all our troops are concen-

trated here."

"We had better tell the King in the morning," Imbri

sent. "He will want to set a special guard about Castle

Roogna in case the Mundanes do try thati Fifty horses and

riders could take Castle Roogna if our forces were else-

where."

144 Night Mare

Reassured that they had anticipated the Mundane ploy,

they relaxed.

The Mundanes, amazingly, attacked again at dawn.

They formed another phalanx, this time maneuvering skill-

fully to avoid the rolling boulders.

"Your Majestyl" Grundy called. "The enemy is attack-

ing!"

There was no response from the tent. Chet swept the

flap aside and they all peered in.

King Dor lay still, his eyes staring upward. But he was

not awake.

Chet drew the King to a sitting posture. Dor breathed,

but did not respond. His eyes continued staring.

Imbri nicked a dream at him and encountered only

blankness.

"He has gone the way of King Trent!" Chem exclaimed,

horrified.

After that, it was disaster. The Mundanes rapidly over-

ran the Xanth defenses. The surviving home troops fled,

and this time there was no one to rally them. The centaurs

tied the King to Imbri's back, then guarded her as she car-

ried their fallen leader back to Castle Roogna. Seeming vic-

tory had become disaster.

And what would they tell Queen Irene, Dor's brand-new

wife and widow?

Chapter 8. The Zombie Master

"c

rfomehow I knew it," Irene said. "A night-

mare told me Dor would not come back." She was dressed

in black. "I blotted the dream from my mind, thinking to

escape the prophecy, but when I saw your party coming, I

remembered." She looked at King Dor, suppressing her ex-

pression of grief for the moment.- "Take him to the King's

chamber."

They took King Dor up to join King Trent, and Irene

remained there. There was nothing more to say to her at

the moment.

"Who is the next King?" Grundy asked. "It has to be a

Magician."

"That would be the Zombie Master," Chet said. "Magi-

cian Humfrey is too old, and he doesn't participate in con-

temporary politics. When King Trent was lost in Mundania

eight years ago and King Dor had to go look for him, the

Zombie Master reigned for a couple of weeks quite compe-

tently. When there was a quarrel, he would send a zombie

to break it up; pretty soon there were very few quarrels."

Chet smiled knowingly.

"But the Zombie Master is off in the southern unex-

plored territory," Chem protested. "He likes his privacy. I

don't even have him on my map."

"And the magic mirror's still out of commission,"

Grundy said. "We can't call him."

"We should have had that mirror fixed long ago," Chem

muttered. "But it seemed like such a chore when we didn't

have any emergency."

"Life is ever thus," Chet said. "We've got to reach him.

He's got to be King again, at least until King Dor gets

145

146 Night Mars

better, and hell have to stop the Nextwave from crossing

the Gap Chasm."

"Dor's not getting better," Grundy said. "Queen Iris

tried everything to bring King Trent around, but the healer

says it's an ensorcellment, not an illness, and we don't

know the counterspell."

"I can reach the Zombie Master," Imbri projected. "I

have been to his castle before, delivering dreams to his

wife."

"His wife is Millie the Ghost!" Chet protested. "Surely

she doesn't have bad dreams!"

"She worries about the mischief her children may get

into," Imbri sent.

"Now that's worth worrying about!" Chem agreed.

"They visited Castle Roogna some years back, and I'm not

sure the place has recovered yet. Those twins must drive

even the zombies to distraction!"

"We have to get news to the Magician that the onus has

fallen on him again," Grundy said. "He won't believe Im-

bri alone. He doesn't know her, and will think it's just an-

other bad dream."

"He'll believe Irene," Chet said. "But I don't know

whether she—"

"She's all broken up right now," Chem said. "I don't

think she can handle it."

"There's Chameleon," Chet said. "But she's lost her

son—"

Chem shook her head. "There's more to Chameleon than

shows. But she's not yet out of her pretty phase. That

means—"

"We all know what that means!" Grundy cut in. "But

maybe it's better for her to be busy while her husband is

away in Mundania."

"Cynically put," Chem said. "Still, we could ask her.

The need is pressing."

They asked her. Chameleon, pale from reaction to her

son's sudden fate, nevertheless did not hesitate. "I'll go."

Just like that, Imbri and Chameleon were traveling

again, this time without other companions. They had de-

layed three hours until nightfall, for that was the night

Night Mare                       147

mare's best traveling time, and with the gourds, the dis-

tance did not matter. Imbri filled up on hay and oats, and

Chameleon forced herself to eat, too, preparing herself for

the excursion.

At dusk they went out, going to the nearest patch of

hypnogourds. As darkness thickened, Imbri phased through

the peephole and galloped across another segment of the

gourd world. She regretted she couldn't stop to check in

with the Night Stallion and report on her recent activi-

ties. But he surely knew, and he could send another night

mare to contact her any time he needed to.

The gourds ushered any ordinary peeper into a continu-

ing tour, locked to the particular person. If someone broke

eye contact, he reverted immediately to the world of

Xanth, but if he looked into any gourd again, he would

find himself exactly where he left off. Imbri was not

bound by that; she was passing strictly from one gourd to

another, and the terrain was incidental. But she was carry-

ing Chameleon, and this influenced the landscape; they

were in the region they had left before—the burning ice-

berg.

But the amorphous entities that reached for Chameleon

no longer frightened her. "I have lost my son," she said

simply. "What worse can the likes of you do to me?"

Imbri realized that the woman was smarter than she had

been. She was also less lovely, though still quite good-

looking for her age. Every day made a difference with her,

and several days had passed since their last journey to-

gether.

The amorphous shapes gaped and grabbed, but were

helpless against the woman's disdain. Also, Imbri and her

rider were not completely solid here; nothing in the gourd

could touch them physically.

Imbri galloped on over the iceberg and down the far

slope. Now they came to the stonemasons' region. The stone-

masons were made of stone, and worked with wood and

metal and flesh, as was reasonable. Some were fashioning a

fancy backdrop set painted with horrendous fleshly mon-

sters, the stage scenery for some of the worst dreams. There

was, of course, no sense wasting effort bringing in real

148

Night Mare

Night Mare

149

monsters when they weren't going to be used; the pictures

were just as good in this case.

Chameleon stared at these with dull curiosity. "Why do

they work so hard to make dreams people don't like?" she

asked.

"If people didn't suffer bad dreams, they would never

improve their ways or prepare for emergencies," Imbri ex-

plained. "The dreams scare them into behaving better and

warn them about possible calamities. There's a lot of evil in

people, waiting to take over unless they are always on

guard against it."

"Oh. Like not fixing the magic mirror."

Well, that was close enough. Probably a warning dream

should have been sent about that, but of course it was hard

for the Night Stallion to keep up with every minor detail of

a crisis. People did have to do some things on their own

initiative, after all.

They moved on past the stonemasons and into a region

of boiling mud. Green and purple masses of it burst out in

messy bubbles, and bilious yellow currents flowed between

them. Imbri's hooves didn't even splash, however; she

didn't need a mud bath. "What's this for?"

"This is the very best throwing-mud," Imbri explained.

"It is impossible to hurl a glob of it without getting almost

as much on yourself as on your target. Most people, after a

messy experience with this, start to mend their ways."

"Most?"

"A few are addicted to mud. They wallow in it con-

stantly."

"They can't have many friends."

"That's the funny thing! They have almost as many

friends as the clean people. The trouble is, the friends are

all the same kind of people."

"But who would want that kind of friend?"

"Nobody. That's the beauty of it."

Chameleon smiled. She was definitely getting smarter.

They raced on through a tangle of carnivorous vines and

out another peephole. They were back in Xanth proper, in

sight of the Zombie Master's new castle.

It looked just about the way an edifice constructed by

zombies should look. The stones were slimy green and

crumbling; the wood was wormy and rotten. The hinges on

the door and the bars on the windows were so badly rusted

and corroded they were hardly useful or even recognizable.

.The moat was a putrid pool of gray gunk.

"This is certainly the place," Chameleon remarked.

Imbri picked her way through the surrounding gravesites

and across the bedraggled drawbridge. She remained

phased out, so that she had virtually no weight; otherwise it

could have been a risky crossing.

A zombie guard met them at the main entrance.

"Halsh!" it cried, losing part of its decayed epiglottis in the

effort of breath and speech.

"Oh, I never liked zombies very well," Chameleon said.

But she nerved herself to respond to the thing. "We came

to see the Zombie Master. It's urgent."

"Thish waa," the zombie said. It turned, dropping a

piece of its arm on the ground. Zombies had the ability to

lose material continually without losing mass; it was part of

their magic.

They followed it into the castle. Once they got past the

decrepit outer wall, an amazing change occurred. The

stone became firm and clear and the wood solid and pol-

ished. Healthy curtains draped the hall. There was no fur-

ther sign of rot.

"Millie must have laid down the law," Chameleon mur-

mured. "He has his way outside, she has it her way inside.

A good compromise, the kind men and women often arrive

at."

"Eh?" something inquired.

They both looked. A huge human ear had sprouted from

the wall, and a mouth opened to the side.

Chameleon laughed. 'Tell your mother she has visitors,

Hi," she said.

Imbri remembered now: the Zombie Master had twin

children, eleven years old, named Hiatus and Lacuna.

"Then sign in, dummy," the lips said.

There ahead of them was a big guest book. Chameleon

dismounted, going to the book. "Oh, see who has signed in

before!" she exclaimed. "Satan, Lucifer, Gabriel, Jack the

Ripper, King Roogna—"

150

Night Mare

"Lacky's talent is changing print," Imbri reminded her

in a dreamlet.

"Oh, of course; I remember," Chameleon said. She

signed the book, watching to make sure her signature didn't

change to something awful. Then Imbri set her right fore-

hoof on the page, imprinting her signature-map of the

moon, with MARE IMBRIUM highlighted.

"Chameleon! I'm so glad to see you again!" It was Mil-

lie, no longer a ghost. Her talent was sex appeal, and, like

Chameleon, she remained true to her nature as she ma-

tured. She was now about eight hundred and forty years

old, with only the forty really counting, and looked as

pretty as her visitor.

The two women hugged each other. "It's been so long!"

Chameleon exclaimed. "Hasn't it been eight years since

you visited Castle Roogna?"

"And then only because Jonathan had to be King for a

while. That was simply awful! He doesn't like indulging in

politics."

Chameleon sobered. "I have bad news for you, Millie."

Millie looked at her, quickly turnmg serious herself.

"You came on business!"

"Terrible business. I apologize."

"The King—"

"Is ill. Too ill to rule."

"Your son Dor—"

"Is similarly iU."

"Chameleon, that's horrible! But—"

"The Zombie Master must be King now, as he was be-

fore, until the crisis is past."

Millie looked stricken. "King Trent—he was getting

old—we knew that sometime he would—but your son is in

his prime—"

"He was ensorcelled."

Millie stared at her for a long moment. Then her face

began losing its cohesion, as if she were becoming a ghost

again. "I was Dor's governess! I always liked him—and he

rescued Jonathan for me. He fetched the elixir that made

Jonathan whole. And in doing that, he gave me back my

happiness. I really owe him everything. How could some-

thing like that happen to him?"

Night Mare

151

"He got married. Then he was King. Then he won a

battle against the Nextwave. Then he—"

"Oh, Chameleon!" Millie cried, horror-stricken.

Now at last Chameleon collapsed, her burden shared.

"My son! What will I do without my son? I was ready to,

to let him be married, but this—he's almost dead!" She was

crying openly now.

Millie embraced her again, joining her in tears. "Oh, I

know what it is to be almost dead! Oh, Chameleon, I'm so

sorry!"

Imbri did not wish sorrow on anyone; that was part of

what had made her lose her effectiveness on dream duty.

It seemed she had been thrust into a reality with horrors

worse than those of dreams. She had worried about Chame-

leon's lack of reaction to Dor's loss. Now she realized that

Chameleon had come to the right place; Millie the Ghost

had known Dor almost as closely as his mother had. Shared

grief was easier to bear than isolated grief.

A man appeared in the far doorway. He was of middle

age, dourly handsome, and wearing a black suit. He was

the Zombie Master, the Magician from Xanth's past.

"You are a night mare," the Zombie Master said to Im-

bri. "I am familiar with your kind. Speak to me in your

fashion."

Imbri realized that it would be some time before the

women were able to communicate intelligibly. Quickly she

sent a dream that summarized the situation, showing pic-

tures of Kings Trent and Dor lying mindlessly on beds in

Castle Roogna, with the grieving widows sitting beside

them. Xanth needed a new King.

"I had hoped this type of crisis would not come again,"

the Zombie Master said gravely. "I have seen prior Waves,

in life and death. This one must be abated. I will go with

you to Castle Roogna tonight. Chameleon can remain here

with my family."

"But you must bring your zombies!" Imbri sent.

"I fear there is no time for that. At any rate, most of

them are already at Castle Roogna. They will have to do

the.job."

"But how will Chameleon get home, when—?"

"We have Magician Humfrey's magic carpet here, on

1S2 Night Mare

loan but never returned. She can use that when she is

ready. But she will be more comfortable here for the time

being, I believe."

"I don't know—" Imbri demurred.

"If what you tell me is true, I am now King Pro Tern.

Balk me not, mare."

That was the truth. King Jonathan the Zombie Master

bade farewell to his wife and children, then mounted Im-

bri, who trotted out into the night. She returned to the

gourd patch, warned the Zombie Master not to be alarmed

at what he might perceive, and dived in.

This time they entered Phantom Land. The phantoms

swooped in, howling.

"Say, haven't I seen you before?" the Zombie Master

asked, looking directly at one phantom. The thing paused,

startled.

"They are trying to scare you," Imbri sent.

"Naturally. I am in the same business." He concentrated

on the phantom. "Beside Specter Lake, about seven

hundred years ago. I was the zombie Jonathan, keeping

company with a ghost. You—"

The phantom brightened, literally. It remembered.

"But that was in Xanth," the Zombie Master continued.

"How did you get in here?"

The phantom made a gesture of holding an object and of

looking closely at it.

"Oh—you peeped into a gourd," the Zombie Master

said. "And got trapped inside."

The phantom nodded.

"But I suppose one place is as good as another for your

kind," the Zombie Master concluded. "You can operate

here as readily as in Xanth, and you, have companions of

your own kind. And the useful occupation of acting in cau-

tionary dreams."

The phantom made a gesture of appreciative agreement.

Someone understood! Then it moved on, evidently having

business elsewhere. Dreams were too important to be de-

layed by social meetings.

Imbri moved on also. She should have known that the

Magician would not be frightened by routine horrors!

Night Mare

153

They passed through a region of spinning nebulae,

avoiding the brightest and hottest of them. Then on into a

forest so thick with giant spiders that Imbri had to weave

between their legs to get through. Then on out the peephole

of a gourd near Castle Roogna, and to the castle itself.

"You certainly have an efficient mode of travel," the

Zombie Master remarked.

The two widows were grieving by the two Kings, dry-

eyed and sleepless, exactly as Imbri had shown them in her

dream for the new King. Imbri brought the Zombie Master

right into the bedroom where both Kings lay like corpses,

side by side.

The Zombie Master dismounted and approached. "This

ascension is not of my choosing," he said to the women.

"Allow me to verify their condition. Perhaps they can be

revived."

He put his hand on Dor's forehead. "He does not re-

spond to my power. He is not dead."

"No, not dead," Irene agreed in a whisper. "Ensorcelled."

"Of course. We shall track down the source of that en-

sorcellment," the Zombie Master said. "Magician Humfrey

surely can do that. But at the moment we must stop the

advance of the Nextwave, about which the good mare Im-

bri has kindly informed me. I have fought a Wave before,

in my prior life; my zombies alone are not sufficient, but,

abetted by a formidable natural barrier such as—what is it,

something that crosses Xanth—"

"The Gap Chasm," Irene said. "You moved too far from

it, so have almost forgotten it because of the forget-spell on

it."

"Just so. The Gap Chasm. My zombies can guard the

bridges and destroy them if necessary. I shall need a lieu-

tenant who is familiar with Castle Roogna and the recent

events. I can not afford to waste time updating myself

about recent changes in the castle."

"Grundy the Golem," Irene said. "And Ichabod the,

Mundane; he knows all about the enemy. And Chet and

Chem Centaur. And, of course, Mare Imbri."

"Indeed," the Magician agreed dourly, and left the

room. Imbri followed.

154 Night Mare

Soon there was another council of war. Grundy and Ich-

abod reported all relevant details of their spy mission, and

Chet Centaur gave the details of the battle with the Punics

and the manner in which King Dor had been enchanted.

The Zombie Master pondered. "There seems to be a pat-

tern here," he remarked. "In each case the King was alone,

though seemingly well guarded. In each case the enchant-

ment occurred by night. I suspect we have a nocturnal

enemy who can strike at a moderate distance, or who is able

to pass guards unobserved. Whom do we know who could do

that?"

"A night mare," Imbri said in a general dreamlet. "My

kind can become insubstantial and invisible by night and

can project dreams from a small distance. But we can't

ensorcell."

"A night mare," the King repeated, removing the crown.

It fitted him well enough, but he evidently was not com-

fortable with such trappings and preferred to dispense with

them. "Could there be a renegade, one with special pow-

ers?"

"I know of no renegade among residents of the gourd,"

Imbri sent. "The Night Stallion has special powers—but he

is loyal to Xanth and never leaves the gourd. All other dark

horses lack mental powers, other than dream projection,

and regular horses lack even that. There are only the Mun-

dane horses anyway, completely unmagical."

"There's the day horse," Grundy said. "But he's stupid."

"Not completely stupid," Imbri sent. "He seems smarter

as he becomes accustomed to our ways. Still, I don't see

how he could be the sorcerer, even if he had night power.

Twice he helped us against the Mundanes. He freed me

from the Horseman and carried Chameleon on the spy mis-

sion."

"I did not mean to implicate horses," the Zombie Master

said. "Could some other creature develop similar powers?"

Chet shrugged. The gesture started at his human shoul-

ders and rippled down along his equine forepart. "Any-

thing is possible. Perhaps a variant of a basilisk, who stuns

instead of kills. Or a groupie-fish, stealing souls. Obviously

some creature or person can destroy Kings."

Night More                       155

"One smart enough to recognize a King, since they're

the only ones taken," Grundy put in.

"Precisely," the Zombie Master said. "And I am surely

the next target. There is one thing you should know about

me: I was a zombie for eight hundred years. I was restored

to life by a special elixir Dor obtained, and I owe him an

eternal debt of gratitude. I retain the power to animate my-

self as a zombie, should I suffer an untimely demise. So if

the mysterious enemy should strike me down and I die, you

must locate my zombie and question it. Perhaps the iden-

tity of the mysterious enchanter will be revealed."

They all nodded sober agreement. What a grim way to

locate an enemy!

"Now I must rouse the Castle Roogna guardian zombies

and march them tonight to the Chasm. It is surely our only

chance to get there before the Nextwave does. Tuning is

critical."

"The zombies are already mostly roused," Grundy said.

"Dor and Irene got married less than a week ago in the

zombie graveyard."

"That would rouse them," the Zombie Master agreed

with a gaunt smile. "Zombies love weddings and similar

morbidities. Now I must go organize them into an army.

The rest of you get some sleep. Report to the Chasm at

dawn, armed. I may need some of you living folk to be

captains, as zombies do not think too well." He left the

room, going to gather his forces.

"Captain of a zombie troop!" Grundy said. "Well, why

not? Zombies aren't bad people, once you get used to the

smell."

Imbri remembered the brief dream contact she had had

with one zombie at the wedding: maggoty blood pudding.

Zombies might not be bad people, but they were hardly

pleasant companions. Still, as warriors against the Mun-

danes, the zombies had definite promise.

At dawn, imperfectly rested, they reported as directed.

The King had already ranged his zombies along the Chasm

and behind trees. The Mundanes could cross only where

the bridges were, and since one bridge was one-way from

156 Night More

south to north and another was invisible, the third was the

obvious choice. It was visible and solid, with a well-worn

path to it.

The Mundanes had had a full intervening day to regroup

and travel, and they had not wasted it. At midmoming

they arrived at the Gap Chasm, following the main path.

They had evidently learned that straying from the path was

to invite assorted and awful hazards. The wilderness of

Xanth had ways to enforce its strictures.

Immediately the zombies closed on them, throwing

chunks of rotting flesh and fragments of bone in lieu of

missiles.

The Nextwavers reacted exactly as they were supposed

to. They screamed and retreated in confusion. Mundanes

were prejudiced against zombies, as they were against ghosts,

ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and similarly innocent crea-

tures, and tended to avoid physical contact with them.

Then Hasbinbad appeared, gesticulating. Again he ral-

lied his errant army. The potency of a good leader was

manifest; the motley crew became a determined force.

The Mundanes began attacking the zombies, shooting ar-

rows into them. Naturally the arrows had no effect; they

could not kill what was already dead. Other Mundanes

hacked at the zombies with their swords. This was more

effective, for Zombies could not function well without

limbs or heads.

But the Mundane's aversion to the zombies handicapped

them, and many living men were brought down by the

walking dead. Soon the ground was littered with bones and

flesh, fresh-dead mixed with un-dead.

Now Hasbinbad led a charge to the main bridge. His

surviving men followed in a hastily formed phalanx, their

overlapping shields brushing aside the zombies. The Mun-

danes were winning the battle.

"We have to deal with that leader," the Zombie Master

muttered. "Without him, they are nothing; with him, they

will prevail."

Imbri had to agree: leadership made all the difference.

Had King Trent remained active, the Wave would not have

gotten this far. King Dor, too, had been winning. How

Night Mare                      157

could Xanth defend itself when it kept losing its leaders

just as they got the hang of it?

A picked squad of zombies guarded the bridge. These

were zombie animals, more formidable than zombie people.

Hasbinbad came up against a zombie wyvem. The small

dragon was in bad condition, even for its kind, and shed

scales and flesh with every motion. The Mundane chief

hacked at its snout with his sword. The snout exploded like

a rotten log; teeth, tongue, nostrils, and eyeballs showered

down around the Mundanes. Then the wyvem fought back,

exhaling a belch of fire. The fire was as decrepit as the

creature, drooling out greenishly and licking at Hasbinbad's

feet. It was hot, though; the Mundane danced back out of

the way with a green hotfoot.

When the gasp of fire faded, the Nextwaver advanced

again. He lopped off the rest of the wyvem's head. Ears,

brains, and tonsils flew up in slices, showering the Mun-

danes again. But the bare neck thrust forward, jamming

into Hasbinbad's face, squirting candy-striped pus, forcing

him to retreat a second time.

Again the man struck. Vertebrae, muscles, and stringy

nerves flung out, festooning the Waver's sword arm. But

still the man pressed forward—and received a faceful of

watery blood that pumped Out of the truncated torso. He

shook himself off as if not quite believing this was happen-

ing, wiped the gook out of his eyes with the back of his left

fist, then slashed some more, heedless of the guts and tat-

ters of skin that burst out and wrapped about his body. He

now resembled a zombie himself.

"That Mundane is determined," the Zombie Master re-

marked.

"He's the one who brought them through the snow-

covered Mundane mountains of Halp," Grundy said.

"From Ghoul to Hitaly. He's one smart, ruthless cuss."

A zombie ant lion pounced at the Mundane leader. This

was a relatively new zombie, not very far decayed. The

lion-head roared, showing excellent teeth, and the ant-body

had six healthy legs and a stinger. The creature was alert to

the strikes of the sword, dodging out of the way. Few zom-

bies had any sense of self-preservation; even Hasbinbad

recognized this as unusual.

158                       Night Mare

Another Mundane emerged from the phalanx, aiming an

arrow at the ant lion. But three zombie goblins charged at

him, grabbing for his legs.

Then the other Mundanes got into the action. Soon they

had dispatched the ant lion and goblins, together with zom-

bie frogs, rabbits, and a watery-eyed hydraulic ram. As the

ram fell into the Gap, the gore- and rot-strewn men stood

at the very edge of the bridge.

On the bridge, however, was a zombie python, buttressed

by zombie roaches, a zombie flying fish, and a zombie

cockatrice. The Mundanes concentrated on the python, ap-

parently not recognizing the genuinely dangerous monster,

the cock. Hasbinbad tackled the snake's head, distracting it

so that two other Mundanes could skirt it and start across

the bridge.

"That chief's valor has just preserved his life," the Zom-

bie Master murmured.

The two Wavers on the bridge trod diligently on the

roaches, which popped and squished with assorted ghastly

sounds, depending on their state of preservation. The Wav-

ers swished their swords at the flying fish, who darted

around their heads, squirting mouthfuls of stagnant water.

Then the first Mundane came face to snoot with the cocka-

trice.

There was a moment's pause before the Mundane dis-

solved into green goop and slurped off the bridge. A living

cockatrice could convert a living creature to a corpse by

the mere force of its gaze, but a zombie cockatrice lacked

full power. Instead it halfway melted creatures to muscle

rot.

The second Mundane charged the little monster—and he,

too, melted into putrescence and plopped Into the Chasm.

There was a choking sound from below; the Gap Dragon

had arrived on the scene and snapped up the gob. Now the

poor dragon had mild indigestion.

"Avert your gaze! Use your shields!" Hasbinbad bawled,

so loudly that Imbri heard it all the way across the Chasm.

One brave Nextwaver obliged. The man pulled his hel-

met over his eyes, raised his shield, and edged out onto the

bridge, guided by the guardrails. Listening to yelled in-

structions from his leader, he oriented on the cockatrice

Night Mare                       159

and finally used the bottom edge of his shield to sweep the

little monster off the bridge.

The cockatrice fell, and the Gap Dragon had recovered

enough to snap it up. There was a gulp, then a kind of

stifled belch. Now the dragon had a real pain in the gut.

"I don't like this at all," the Zombie Master muttered.

"Those Nextwavers are too strong for us. We may be

forced to destroy the bridge."

"I can bring them down singly as they cross," Chet said,

holding his bow ready.

The Zombie Master considered. "It seems worth a try,

though I am skeptical of its eventual success. There are

quite a number of Mundanes who have not yet seen battle;

the bridge is too small a compass. We have held them so

far only because they can not bring their full force to bear,

but they will surely overwhelm us before long."

Hasbinbad had by now dispatched the zombie serpent.

Now the Nextwave started across the bridge, single file.

Chet nocked an arrow, aimed, and let fly. The shaft

arced across the gulf, then thunked into the face of the

leading Mundane. The man collapsed and fell into the

Chasm.

The second Nextwaver elevated his shield to protect his

face. The centaur's second arrow struck him on the ex-

posed thigh. The man screamed, lost his balance, and fell.

The third Nextwaver held his shield low, but waited un-

til the centaur aimed, watching closely. When the arrow

flew at his head, he used his shield to intercept it—and got

caught by Chefs second arrow, aimed at his leg.

In this manner, Chet methodically dispatched six Mun-

danes, using as many arrows on each as were necessary to

do the job. Then he ran out of arrows.

Now the Mundanes double-timed across the bridge, one

after the other. They had taken the unavoidable losses and

finally were charging to victory. Their depth of numbers,

so feared by the Zombie Master, was taking effect.

"The bridge!" the Zombie Master snapped.

Chet brought out his sword and hacked at the cables that

supported the bridge. They severed, but the walk held, so

he chopped into that, too.

"Hold!" the first Mundane bawled, seeing what was hap-

160 Night Mare

pening. Of course Chet continued desperately chopping.

Chem swung her rope, looping the first Mundane just be-

fore he reached solid ground, and yanked him off the

walkway.

Still the tough planks of the bridge resisted Chefs sword.

This was a job for an axe, and they had none. Imbri wished

that Smash the Ogre were here—but he had been delegated

to defend Castle Roogna itself, in case of complete disaster,

since the palace guard of zombies was no longer there. The

Zombie Master had been warned about the missing reserve

force of Mundanes, which might even now be circling to

take Castle Roogna from the rear. The ogre was also on

the lookout for who ever or whatever lurked in the vicinity,

enchanting the Kings. So it was a necessary post, and

Smash could not be spared for action farther afield.

The next Nextwaver leaped across the opening crevice in

the bridge—only to be met by the Zombie Master's own

sword. Stabbed neatly through the heart, he died, falling

headlong on the ground.

The Zombie Master bent to touch the dead man—and

this Mundane revived. He stood up, blood dripping from

his chest. "Master!" he rasped.

"Guard this bridge," the Zombie Master ordered him.

"Let no living creature pass."

The new zombie faced the Chasm, sword in hand, while

Chet continued chopping. As the next Mundane came

across, the zombie drove fiercely at him with that sword.

"Hey!" the next one. cried. "You're on our side!"

"No more," the zombie Mundane grunted, and slashed

again. The other warrior danced aside, startled—and

stepped off the bridge.

Now at last Chet got through the final board. The

weight of the crossing soldiers snapped the remaining tie.

The bridge pulled away from its mooring and flopped

down into the Gap Chasm. Screaming, a dozen Mundanes

fell with it.

Hasbinbad stood at the far side. "That won't stop me!"

he bawled. "I'll cross anyway and wipe you out! You're

finished. King Zombie!"

Imbri swished her tail in fury, but the Zombie Master

turned away. "My proper business is reanimating the dead,

Night Mare                       161

not killing the living," he said. "I have been responsible for

destroying more lives this day than ever elsewhere in my

life. I concede the necessity but detest the reality. Pray that

the Chasm holds them back, sparing us further malice."

"We'll have to watch them, though," Grundy said. "To

be sure. I don't trust Hasbinbad."

"My minions will watch." The Zombie Master walked

away from the Chasm. "But we shall be near to reinforce

them, until we know the Nextwavers have given up."

Imbri looked back. Hasbinbad the Carthaginian still

stood at the brink of the Chasm, yelling and shaking his

fist. ". . . take you out, too, Zombie King!" his voice

came faintly. "Just like the Transformer and Firetalk

Kings . . ."

So the attacks on the Kings were definitely connected to

the Mundane invasion! But how7 Until they had the an-

swer, they could not even take reasonable precautions

against it.

They found a tent in the forest near the Chasm that a

large tent caterpillar had left. This was the very best natu-

ral shelter available, fashioned of the finest silk; tent cater-

pillars made themselves very comfortable before they magi-

cally transformed themselves to winged form and took off.

The King retired for necessary sleep, as he had not rested

the prior night. Chet and Grundy stood guard by the tent,

beating a path around it in a circle, watching for any possi-

ble sign of intrusion, while Chem galloped back toward

Castle Roogna with hews of the battle.

Imbri found a forest glade close by that had good pastur-

age. She grazed and slept, for it had been long since she

had eaten and rested properly, and this constant physical

existence was wearing. No wonder the material creatures

soon aged and died; they simply wore out!

After an hour's munching and cogitation—grazing was

always the best time to chew on concepts, between

snoozes—Imbri became aware of the approach of another

animal. It was the day horse. She nickered to him gladly,

discovering that she had missed him these past two hectic

days. "Where have you been?" she projected.

"Staying well away from the Mundanes," he replied in

162

Night Mare

the dream. "They have been coming south, frightening me;

I think they are chasing me down."

"You're beautiful, but not bold," she informed him. "We

had two battles with them, and have halted them only at

the Gap Chasm."

"I know. I heard the clamor. Have you really stopped

them?"

"I think so. We cut the main bridge across the Chasm,

and they don't know about the invisible bridge to the east.

If they try to climb down through the Gap, the Gap

Dragon will get them. They've already lost about forty

more men today."

"Xanth won't be safe until all of them are gone, espe-

cially the Horseman."

Imbri remembered the double warning to beware the

Horseman, and understood the horse's personal concern.

She had felt those spurs herself! Still, she wasn't sure he

was the worst threat. For one thing, there had been no sign

of him among the Mundanes recently; he must be with the

reserve force, way up in northern Xanth, so was no present

threat. "Especially Hasbinbad, too," she amended.

"He's just a brute man. He drives straight ahead and

hacks away at anything. But the Horseman is devious and

clever; he is the true leader and your real enemy."

The day horse certainly was hung up on that! "But we

haven't seen him since we escaped the Punics."

"That means he's up to something. Until you nullify

him, you'll never sleep securely."

Imbri didn't argue further. If the Night Stallion and

Good Magician Humfrey both felt the Horseman was the

real danger, he probably was. But in what way? That

wasn't clear at all. What could even the smartest, least

scrupulous Mundane do to harm a Kingdom of magic?

They grazed together for an hour. Then, as night came

on, the day horse departed, traveling south, away from the

Mundanes, seeking his safe haven. Imbri snorted indul-

gently to herself. He was excellent company, but he had his

idiosyncracies. The Mundanes couldn't get him as long as

they were north of the Chasm. And if they came south of it

by some infernal miracle, all he had to do was run; no man

Night Mare                      163

afoot could gain on a healthy horse, and the trees of the

jungle would block an attack by bows and arrows.

Imbri returned to the Zombie Master's tent at night,

phasing through trees and hillocks. She found Grundy

alert; he spotted her the moment she returned to material

form. "You don't catch me sleeping on the job, mare!" he

said, smirking. "Though if you stayed invisible, I'd have a

problem. I'll admit that much."

"Perhaps I should maintain invisible guard," Imbri sent.

"No, you have to graze and rest yourself," the golem

said, perhaps not wanting to share the honor of guarding

the King.

"I could check invisibly every hour or so."

"Well—" Then Grundy had a notion. "Could I go with

you when you do?"

"Certainly. You would be invisible, too."

"Goody! Let's check now."

Imbri let him jump on her back. Then she phased out of

sight and walked through the tent wall. The Zombie Master

was sleeping peacefully. Imbri sent a dream into his mind.

"Hello, your Majesty," she said in her dream form, this

time a reasonably well-preserved female zombie. "It's only

Mare Imbrium. Are you comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable, thank you, mare," the King replied.

"Except that I miss my family. Do you think you could put

them in this dream?"

"Certainly," Imbri said, her zombie image shedding a

hank of moldy hair in approved fashion. She concentrated,

and in a moment Millie the Ghost appeared, somewhat

faintly, but quite beautiful, radiating sex appeal.

"Oh, Jonathan!" Millie said. "I love you so much!" She

opened her arms to him.

"Now this is what I call a good dream!" the Zombie

Master exclaimed, encompassing her. Their love had en-

dured the eight hundred years while he was a zombie and

she a ghost; evidently the flesh had not weakened it. Imbri,

having recently made the transition to mortality herself,

could understand this better than she might have before

she left dream duty. There was a special intensity to physi-

cal existence that insubstantial creatures could not experi-

ence.

164 Night Mare

Then an eye popped open in the nearby wall. Print ap-

peared beside it. MUSH! MUSH! YUCK1

"Go to your room, children!" the Zombie Master

snapped. "Go make your own dreams!"

Cowed, the eye and print faded. The Zombie Master

kissed his wife, who responded passionately. If there was

one thing Millie was really good at, it was passion.

Then the Magician's eyes went blank. He froze in place.

"Jonathan," Millie asked, alarmed, "what's the matter?"

But the Zombie Master did not respond. He simply stood

there, staring through her.

Imbri was abruptly out of the dream—for there was no

longer a mind to receive it. "He's been taken!" she sent to

Grundy. "Right while he was dreaming!"

"But no one's here but us!" the golem protested. "Imbri,

you didn't—?"

"No! I don't do that to people! I can't. And wouldn't if I

could. This was not the work of any night mare. I would

have recognized any who came, and none came, anyway!"

"I'll investigate this," Grundy said. "Make us solid,

quickly."

She materialized, there in the tent. Grundy jumped

down. He made a whispering, rustling sound, talking to a

patch of grass within the tent. "The grass didn't see any-

thing," he said.

"Maybe outside the tent—"

Grundy lifted up the flap and scrambled out. Imbri

phased through the wall and trotted to Chet. "The King's

been ensorcelled!" she sent to the centaur. "Just now!"

"But Grundy was on guard!" he cried, snapping alert.

"So was I. But the King went from right under my

nose—in the middle of a dream I sent!"

"Hey, I've got it!" Grundy cried from the tent area.

"This tree says there was a man here a moment ago. He

climbed in the tree, then jumped down and ran away."

Chet galloped over to the golem. "Who was it? Anyone

we know?"

"The tree can't identify him," Grundy said. "All men

look alike to trees. Anyway, it was dark, and he seems to

be a stranger to this glade. He could be anyone, Xanthian

or Mundane."

Night Mare                       165

"He must be Xanthian," Imbri sent. "Obviously he has

magic: he threw a spell to blank out the King, then ran

away."

"Why didn't it blank us out, too?" Grundy asked.

"We weren't material. The spell must have passed right

through us."

"Or it was aimed specifically at the King, as the other

spells were," Chet said. "I agree; it has to be Xanthian.

Someone with the power to cloud men's minds. A traitor

among us, taking out our Kings in the midst of a crisis so

we can't organize a good defense against the Nextwave."

"Exactly as Hasbinbad threatened," Imbri sent. 'This is

no coincidence; this is enemy action."

Grundy was pursuing the trail, questioning grass, bushes,

and trees. But soon the path crossed a rocky region that led

into a river, and was lost. "King Dor could have handled

this; he talks to the inanimate. But—"

"But King Dor has already been taken," Chet finished.

"Oh, we're in terrible trouble! What will we say to the oth-

ers?"

"The truth," Grundy said. "We were watching the King,

instead of the surroundings, and we got skunked. We need

a new King—again."

"I'll go!" Imbri sent. "I can reach Castle Roogna

quickly. The Queens must be told."

"Take me with you," Grundy said, leaping onto her

back. "Chet, you notify the zombies. They'll have to defend

the Gap Chasm as well as they can without their master."

"Yes," the centaur agreed. "I fear the Punics will pass

the Chasm. But we should have a few days to prepare for

their next onslaught." He looked at the fallen King. "And

I'll carry him back to Castle Roogna."

This was becoming almost commonplace, this disposition

of the Kings of Xanth! Imbri felt the shock, but not as

hard as it had been when King Trent and King Dor were

taken.

Imbri phased out and charged through the night toward

the nearest gourd patch. She knew the location of most of

the hypnogourds of Xanth, since the night mares used

them for exits. "Brace yourself for a strange environment,"

she warned the golem.

166

Night More

"It can't be worse than what we know now in Xanth,"

Grundy muttered.

Imbri feared he was right. The Kings were being taken

faster now; where would it end? How could the loyal de-

fenders of Xanth stop it, when the sorcery could happen

right while they were watching?

Chapter 9. Good King Humfrey

Queen Iris met them at Castle Roogna. "Some-

how I knew it," she said. "Every time we get our de-

fense going well, we lose our King. I have been mourning

for my husband when I should have been protecting his

successors. You two go directly to Good Magician Hum-

frey; he must be the next King. Don't let him put you off;

the old curmudgeon can't refuse this time! I'll send word to

Millie the Ghost, if a regular night mare hasn't beaten me

to it, and will organize things here at the castle. Tell Hum-

frey this is pre-emptive; he's the last male Magician of

Xanth and must assume the office immediately, and no

gnomish grumbling."

Imbri realized that the old Queen still had considerable

spirit and competence. Now that the crisis was deepening,

she was putting aside her personal grief and shock to do

what needed to be done. She was providing some leader-

ship during the vacuum. Grundy had commented with in-

nocent malice on the uselessness of the Queen, whom King

Trent had married mainly out of courtesy; now Imbri knew

directly that there was much more to it than that. Queen

Iris's grief was genuine, but so was her mettle.

Fortunately, Imbri's century and a half of night labors

had inured her somewhat to busy nights. The golem re-

mounted and they galloped for the Good Magician's castle.

Night Mare

She used the same gourd patches she had taken with Cha-

meleon, but her rider was different and so the gourd ter-

rain differed. This time they charged through a region of

carnivorous clouds that reached for them with funnel-

shaped, whirling, sucking snouts and turbulent gusts. They

whistled with rage when unable to consume this seeming

prey. Clouds tended to be vocally expressive.

Then there was a forest of animate trees whose branches

clutched at them and whose leaves slurped hungrily, but

these, too, failed. Finally they threaded through a field of

striking weapons—swords, clubs, and spears moving with

random viciousness, nooses tightening, and metallic magic

tubes belching fire, noise, and fragments. Yet again they

passed through safely, for Imbri was long familiar with

this region. The world of the gourd had to supply every-

thing that was required for bad dreams, and weapons were

prominent.

"This is a fun scene you have in your gourd," Grundy

remarked, relaxing once he realized they were safely

through.

They emerged near the Good Magician's castle and

charged through its walls and into its halls. Humfrey was

in his study, as usual poring over a huge tome. He looked

up glumly as Imbri and Grundy materialized. "So it has

come at last to this," he muttered. "For a century I have

avoided the onerous aspect of politics, and now you folk

have bungled me into a comer."

"Yes, sir," Grundy said. The golem was halfway respect-

ful, for Humfrey had enabled him to become real, long ago

when he had been unreal. Also, Humfrey was about to

come into considerably more power. "You have to bite the

bullet and be King."

"Xanth has no bullets," Humfrey grumped. "That's a

Mundane anachronism." He scowled as his old eyes

scanned a shelf on which sat a row of magic bullets, giving

him the lie. "I'm not the last Magician of Xanth, you

know."

"Amolde Centaur doesn't count," Grundy said. "His tal-

ent only works outside Xanth, and anyway, he's not hu-

man."

168                       Night Mare

"Both arguments are specious. His turn will come. But

first must come Bink; he will be King after me."

"Bink?" the golem cried incredulously. "Dor's father?

He has no magic at alll King Trent had to cancel the rule

of magic for citizenship, just so Bink could stay in Xanth."

"Bink is a Magician," Humfrey insisted. "Possibly the

most potent one alive. For the first quarter century of his

life, no one knew it; for the second quarter, only a select

few knew it. Now all Xanth must know it, for Xanth needs

him. Bear that in your ugly little mind, golem, for you will

have to pass the word. Perhaps Bink will break the chain."

"Breaking the chain!" Imbri sent. "That's your advice

for saving Xanth from the Nextwavel"

"Yes, indeed," Humfrey agreed. "But it is proving hard

to do. I shall not succeed, and I am unable to prophesy

beyond my own doom. But I think Bink is the one most

likely to break it—or perhaps his wife will."

Golem and mare exchanged a glance. Had the Good

Magician lost what few wits remained to him?

The Gorgon appeared in the doorway. A heavy opaque

veil covered her face completely. "I have packed your

spells and your lunch, my love," she murmured.

"And my socks?" Humfrey snapped. "What about my

spare socks?"

"Those, too," she said. "I might forget a spell, but never

something as important as your spare socks." She smiled

wryly under the veil and set a tied bag before him on the

desk.

"Not on the open tome!" he exclaimed. "You'll muss

the pagesi"

The Gorgon moved the bag to the side of the book. Then

she dropped to her knees before Humfrey. "Oh, my lord,

must you go into this thing? Can't you rule from here?"

"What's this 'my love, my lord' business?" Grundy de-

manded. "The Gorgon kneels to no one!"

Humfrey picked up the bag. "What must be must be,"

he said. "So it is written—there." He jammed a gnarled

finger on the open page of the tome.

Imbri looked. The book said: IT IS NOT FOR THE

GOOD MAGICIAN TO BREAK THE CHAIN.

Night Mare                       169

The Gorgon's veil was darkening as moisture soaked

through it. Imbri was amazed; could this fearsome creature

be crying? "My lord, I implore you—at least let me come

with you, to petrify your enemies!"

Grundy looked at her with sudden, horrified understand-

ing. "To petrify—and she wears a concealing veil she

wouldn't need for an invisible face. The Gorgon's been

loosed!"

"Her power must not be loosed prematurely," Humfrey

said. "Not till the King of Xanth so directs, or it will be

wasted and Xanth will fall. She must fetch her sister for

the time when the two of them are needed."

"But how will we know?" the Gorgon demanded. "You

restored the Siren's dulcimer and have it waiting for her

here. But we may not even have a King of Xanth, let alone

one who knows what to direct!"

"Someone will know," Humfrey said. "Mare Imbrium, I

must borrow you until I recover my flying carpet. Golem,

you must baby-sit this castle until the girls return."

"Me? But—"

"Or until need calls you elsewhere."

"What need?" the golem asked, baffled.

"You will know when it manifests." Humfrey cocked a

forefinger at the miniature man. "Do not diddle with my

books. And leave my spells bottled."

"But suppose I'm thirsty?"

"Some of those bottled spells would turn you into a

giant—"

"A giant!" the golem exclaimed happily.

"—purple bugbear," the Gorgon concluded, and the go-

lem's excitement faded.

The Magician climbed onto Imbri, using a comer of his

desk as a stepping block. He was small, old, and infirm,

and Imbri was afraid he would fall. Then he hauled up the

heavy bag of spells and almost did fall as it overbalanced

him. "I'd better use a fixative spell," he muttered. He

opened the bag and rummaged in it. He brought out a bot-

tle, worked out the cork, and spilled a plaid drop.

A plaid banshee formed and sailed out through the ceil-

ing with a trailing wail.

Night Mare

no

"Wrong bottle," the Gorgon said, standing. "Here, let me

get it." She reached into the bag and drew forth a white

bottle. She popped the cork and spilled out a drop. Immedi-

ately it expanded into a white bubble that floated toward

Imbri and the Magician, overlapped them, and shrank sud-

denly about them, cementing Humfrey and his bag firmly

to the mare's back.

"You see, you do need me," the Gorgon said. "I know

where every spell is packed."

"Stay," Humfrey said, as if addressing a puppy. "Move

out, mare."

Imbri moved out, phasing through the wall and leaping

down to the ground beyond the moat. In her insubstantial

state, such leaps were safe.

They were on their way to Castle Roogna, but Imbri was

dissatisfied. "Why didn't you let her be with you?" she sent

reprovingly to the Magician. "The Gorgon really seems to

care for you."

"Of course she cares for me, the idiot!" Humfrey

snapped. "She's a better wife than I deserve. Always was."

"But then—"

"Because I don't want her to see me wash out," he said.

"A man my age has few points of pride, and my doom will

be ignominious."

That seemed to cover it. Humfrey loved the Gorgon; his

way of showing it was subtle. Still, Imbri had a question.

"If you know you will fail, and are only going to your

doom, why do you go at all?"

"To buy time and allow my successor to return from

Mundania," Humfrey replied. "Xanth must have a King, a

Magician King, and Bink is the next. But he is in Mun-

dania. Without a King, Xanth will fall to the Nextwave."

"But to go to your death—"

"It is not death, precisely," Humfrey said. "But since I

can not be sure it will not in due course become death, I do

not care to temporize. My wife will perform better if not

handicapped by hope. I have locked up hope."

"That is a cruel mechanism," Imbri sent, shuddering as

they entered the eye of a gourd.

"No more cruel than the dreams of night mares," he

retorted.

Night Mare                       171

The raw material of those bad dreams now surrounded

them. Mirrors loomed before them, distorting their reflec-

tions, so that Humfrey resembled now a goblin, now a

squat ghoul, now an imp, while Imbri passed through

stages of bovine, ursine, and caprine resemblances. They

entered a region of paper, where nothing existed that was

not formed of painted paper, and the birds and animals

were folded paper.

"This is fascinating," Humfrey said. "But I have more

immediate business. Mare, I mean to unriddle the identity

of the hidden enemy before he takes me out. I will record

his name on a magic slate and hide it in a bottle he can not

find. You must salvage that bottle and recover that Answer

so that my successor may have it."

"You are the Magician of Information," Imbri sent

"How is it you do not know the Answer?"

"Some knowledge is self-destructive," Humfrey replied.

"Some Answers I could fathom, but my fathoming would

cause the situation to change, perhaps creating uglier Ques-

tions than the ones answered. But mainly, I can not accu-

rately foretell a future of which I am an integral part, and

the discovery of the identity of the ensorceller is in that

future. Answers might seem valid but be false, because of

my conflict of interest."

Imbri could not quite understand that, but decided it

probably made humanish sense. After all, the Good Magi-

cian was supposed to know.

They emerged from the gourd in the patch nearest to

Castle Roogna and trotted toward the castle. Dawn was

threatening, for Imbri's travels did take a certain amount

of time. But she phased through the stone ramparts and

delivered the Good Magician to the throne room, where

Queen Iris awaited him.

"Excellent," she said. "The resources of this castle and

of Xanth are at your disposal, Good King Humfrey."

"Naturally," Humfrey grumped. "Just let me dismount."

But he was unable to dismount, for the adhesion spell

held him securely on Imbri's back. He had to fish in his

bag for an antidote. He did not get it right the first time,

instead releasing a flock of green doves, then a fat book

172

Night Mare

Night Mare

173

titled Mundane Fatuities; remarking that that had been lost

for some years and would now be useful for entertainment

reading, which was probably why the Gorgon had packed

it, he then brought out a rolled pair of polka-dot socks. The

Gorgon had indeed remembered! Finally he found the anti-

dote and was free to return to his own two feet.

"Now let's review the situation," King Humfrey said.

"We've lost five Kings, with five to go—"

"What?" Queen Iris asked, startled.

"Five Kings," he repeated, irritated.

"What five?"

"Bink, Humfrey, Jonathan—"

"You're counting backward," Queen Iris said. "And you

and Bink haven't been lost yet—" She paused. "Bink?"

"I just told you. Iris!" Humfrey snapped.

"It was me you told, Magician," Imbri sent hastily.

"Bink is to succeed you as King."

"Same thing. You're both females. How can I remember

you apart? Now, the essential thing is to beware the Horse-

man and break the chain. Bink is the one most likely to—"

"But Bink has no magic!" Queen Iris protested.

"Stop interrupting, woman!" Humfrey snapped.

The Queen's notorious ire rose. Her standard evocation

of temper, black thunderclouds, boiled in the background,

split by jags of lightning. This was impressive, since they

were inside the castle. Imbri liked to generate similar

storms when she herself was angry, but hers remained

within the dreamer's mind. "Whom do you suppose you are

addressing, gnome?"

"King Gnome," Humfrey corrected, reaching into his

bag. He withdrew a vial, removed the cork, and shook out

a drop that scintillated at the lip of the container. As it fell,

the drop exploded in heat and light. The Queen's storm

cloud sizzled and shrank as if being fried in a hot pan, and

the lightning jags drooped limply. The Queen's display of

temper subsided. The Magician had made his point. He

had destroyed illusion.

"King Gnome," she repeated sullenly.

"The nature of Bink's talent is this," Humfrey said. "He

can not be harmed by magic. Since the Mundanes represent

a nonmagical menace, he may not be able to stop them—

but he may be able to break the chain of lost Kings—"

"The chain of lost Kingsl" Queen Iris exclaimed. "That

was what you meant!"

"And thereby provide essential continuity of government

for Xanth. Given that, the Mundane menace can be con-

tained."

The Good Magician paused. When Queen Iris saw that

he had finished, she ventured another question. "Why

wasn't Bink's magic known before? He should have been

King by now—"

"If it had been generally known that he was secure from

the threats of magic, his enemies would have turned to

nonmagical means to harm him," Humfrey explained.

"Therefore his magic would betray him after all. So it pro-

tected him by protecting itself from revelation, making his

immunity from magical harm seem coincidental. Only

King Trent knew the secret, and he protected it rigorously,

lest Bink's talent turn against him as a magical enemy. For

Bink's magic is powerful indeed, however subtle its mani-

festation; in fifty years of his life, nothing magical has ever

harmed him, though often it seemed to, or was aborted

only by apparent coincidence. I myself was unable to fath-

om his secret"

"But obviously you know it now!" the Queen protested.

"I was able to penetrate it when he went to Mundania,"

Humfrey said smugly. "That temporarily nullified his

power. I knew he had magic all along; I simply had not

known its nature. But even after I ascertained this, I

couldn't tell anyone. Until now, when he is away again—

and must be recognized as the legitimate heir to the throne

of Xanth."

"He shall be recognized," Queen Iris said grimly. "But

how can there be five more Kings after him if he is to

break the chain of Kings?"

"That detail is unclear to me," the Good Magician con-

fessed. "Yet my references suggest it is so."

"How can there be five more Kings when there are no

more Magicians in Xanth?" the Queen persisted.

"There is one more—Magician Arnolde," Humfrey said.

"But he's a centaur!"

174

Night Mare

Night Mare

175

"Still a Magician."

"But his magic operates only beyond Xanth. Inside

Xanth he has no power!"

"The law of Xanth does not specify what type of magic

a Magician must have or where it should operate," Hum-

frey reminded her. "After Bink, Amolde will be King."

"And after Arnolde?"

Humfrey spread his hands. "I would like to know that

myself, but my references were opaque. If the full chain of

future Kings were known, our hidden enemy might nullify

them in advance; paradox preserves the secret."

Queen Iris shrugged. She evidently suspected Humfrey

was getting senile, but didn't want to say it. "What can I do

to help save Xanth, your Majesty?"

"Bide your time, woman. Acclaim each King as he

comes. When the chain is broken, you will have your re-

ward. The single thing you most desire."

"I've been biding my time while three Kings have been

lost!" she exclaimed. Then, as an afterthought: "What sin-

gle thing?"

"You don't know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"I don't remember. Whatever it is, youll get it. Maybe

before the chain breaks. Meanwhile, these are difficult

times." Humfrey yawned. "Now let me sleep; later in the

day I must bait my trap." He sighed. "Too bad it won't be

effective." He reached into his bag again, brought out a

small, folded wallet, and unfolded it lengthwise and

breadthwise again and again, until it became a small fold-

ing cot. He lay down on this and commenced snoring.

Queen Iris shook her head. "Difficult times indeed!" she

repeated. "They don't make Kings the way they used to.

Humfrey always was the most annoying man."

There was a noise outside as the sun came up. Queen

Iris walked to the largest window and opened it. The magic

carpet sailed in and landed neatly on the floor. Chameleon

was on it, slightly less pretty than before. "I just had to

come," she said apologetically. "My husband is due home

from Mundania tonight, and I have to be here to meet

him."

Queen Iris greeted her with open arms. Imbri noted that

human women did a lot more hugging than did other crea-

tures. "My dear, I have a lot to tell you, not much of it

good." They moved into another room.

Imbri went down and out to the deserted zombie grave-

yard to graze and sleep on her feet. The best grazing was

always around graves. She knew Magician King Humfrey

would summon her when he needed her.

At noon Good King Humfrey summoned her back to the

castle. "Carry me to the baobab tree," he said. "I shall set

my trap there."

The baobab! That was where she had gone to meet the

day horse! Would he be there today?

Chameleon appeared. "Your Majesty—may I go now to

meet my husband? I want to be sure he does not blunder

into the Mundanes, who are between him and here."

"He's due in the isthmus tonight," Humfrey said. Now

that he was King, he did not seem at all vague or confused,

though he remained stooped by age. "Imbri will fetch him

then, when she can travel swiftly and safely."

"But I want to go with her," Chameleon said. "I've lost

my King, my son, and my friend the Zombie Master; I

must see to my husband myself."

Humfrey considered. "Perhaps this is wise. The Night

Stallion believes you are important in coming events. There

will be much to prepare Bink for, in the short time re-

maining to him. But you will need another steed. Arnolde

will be with him, but the centaur will be tired; he is almost

as old as I am, you know."

Imbri, of course, was older than either. But night mares

were eternal. "The day horse!" she sent. "He helped be-

fore. He meets me at the baobab tree. He can be the second

steed."

Humfre/s brow wrinkled even more than normal. "The

day horse? I have not researched that one. Is he magic?"

"No, he's an escaped Mundane horse," Chameleon ex-

plained. "He is very nice. He would be an excellent com-

panion."

The Magician shrugged. "As you wish." He loaded him-

self and his bag of tricks onto Imbri and spelled the works

into place. ,

176                       Night Mare

"We'll be back for you tonight!" Imbri sent in a dreamlet

to Chameleon. Then she headed off, carefully using the

doors and stairs, since this was solid day.

She trotted out to the baobab. She did not see the day

horse—but of course he would hide from the Magician,

being very shy of strangers. "Day horse!" Imbri sent. "It is

all right! This is Good Magician King Humfrey."

The day horse came out from behind the upside-down

tree. "He's not Mundane?" he asked within the dreamlet.

"Far from it! He's a great Magician. He knows every-

thing."

The day horse stepped back, alarmed.

"Not everything," Humfrey grumped. "Only what I

choose to research—and I haven't researched Mundane

horses and don't have time now. Come on—we have to set

up my spells."

The day horse hesitantly followed them inside. Humfrey

spelled himself free of Imbri's back, then began setting out

his devices. Bottles and vials and packages and books

emerged from his bag in bewildering number and variety,

until the volume of them was obviously more than the bag

could have enclosed. Naturally the Magician used a magic

bag that held an impossible amount.

"What are these things for?" Imbri asked in a dreamlet,

her equine curiosity getting the better of her. She wasn't

sure the Magician would deign to answer.

"It's best that you know," he said, surprising her. "First,

I need to keep informed of the progress of the Nextwavers.

Therefore I shall release these Spy I's." He opened a metal-

lic container by rolling up its top on a kind of key. This

seemed like an absolutely senseless way to package any-

thing, but of course the Good Magician had his own ways

of doing things. Inside were packed a score of white eye-

balls. He shook the can, and several popped out and hov-

ered in the air uncertainly.

"Go peek at the Gap Chasm," he directed them. "Snoop

on the Mundanes. Set up a regular schedule of reports."

The balls flew off in a line. "Eye Spy!" they whistled as

they departed.

Now Humfrey brought out a bundle of paper-thin doll

cutouts. "I must also lure them to this spot so as not to

Night Mare                       177

endanger Castle Roogna," he said. He untied the string

binding the cutouts, and the first ones began peeling off.

As they did, they expanded and filled out. Hair unstuck

itself and billowed about the head-sections; breasts popped

forward from the upper torso-frames, and legs rounded

from the lower portions. The dolls became floating, air-

filled nymphs, lovely in the manner of their kind, but fun-

damentally empty. They hovered, bounced, and jiggled ex-

pectantly.

"Follow the Spy I's," Humfrey directed them. "Put on

your airs on the return trip, staying just ahead of those who

pursue you. Any of you who get caught are apt to get

punctured." He smiled obscurely.

Silently the nymph shapes flew away.

"But if the Mundanes come here, they'll attack you!"

Imbri sent protestingly.

"Naturally," Humfrey agreed. "And I shall destroy them

with my remaining spells." He seemed to have forgotten

his earlier remark about his plans being doomed to failure.

He reached in the bag again and drew forth a wet-looking

loop of substance. "Now pay attention, mare, in case I need

your help, though obviously I won't need it." He held up

the loop. "This is the River Elba, conveniently coiled." He

hung it on his right arm, demonstrating its convenience. "It

says 'Able was I ere I saw elbow,' close enough. If you

untie the cord binding it, Elba will be unbound and will

flood out the region. Do not free the river unless you have

the enemy in a floodable region."

The day horse snorted. Humfrey's nose wrinkled. "You

doubt me, horse? Note this." He took hold of a single

strand of the loop and broke it where it passed under the

binding cord. This enabled him to separate the strand from

the main loop. He tossed it at the day horse.

The loop-strand expanded in midair, becoming a torrent

of water. The day horse was soaked. The water splashed

down his legs to his hooves and flowed on out of the

baobab tree, tapering off as its volume diminished. It was

indeed part of a fairly substantial river.

"Well, you did snort!" Imbri sent mirthfully. The day

horse shook himself, not particularly pleased. He did not

snort again.

178 Night Mare

Humfrey brought out a box. Lettering across the top

spelled PANDORA. "My secret weapon, more potent than

any other. Pandora was a charming girl who really didn't

want to give this up," he said, smiling with an ancient

memory. "But I knew she'd open it if I didn't get it out of

her hands." He set the box down.

Imbri wondered what the Good Magician's relationship

with Pandora had been, and what had happened to the girl.

Probably she had died of old age long ago. What was in

that box? Imbri experienced an intense female curiosity,

but decided not to inquire. She would surely find out in

due course.

"Box of quarterpedes," the Magician said, setting out

another item.

"Quarterpedes?" Imbri sent inquiringly.

"Very rare cousins of the nickelpedes," Humfrey ex-

plained. "They are five times as bad. They gouge out two

bits at a time."

Imbri had no further curiosity about that. Nickelpedes

were ferocious little creatures, five times as fierce as cen-

tipedes. Anything worse than that was too dangerous to

loose upon Xanth. It was a doomsday weapon.

"Dirty looks," Humfrey said, setting out a biliously

swirling bottle. "Jumping beans. Enormous squash." Other

items appeared.

"Isn't a squash something to eat?"'the day horse ven-

tured within the dream Imbri maintained for him on

standby.

"This one is to your Mundane vegetables as a hypno-

gourd is to a pumpkin," the Good Magician said with a

certain relish. "Which is not to say that the pumpkin does

not have its place. I remember a pumpkin carriage a young

woman used—or was that a glass slipper? At any rate, this

particular vegetable is not edible. It likes to squash things."

The day horse twitched his white ears, obviously im-

pressed.

"Now here is the higher power armament," Humfrey

said, bringing out a small book. "Herein are listed selected

Words of Power. Anyone can use them to excellent effect.

Of course, it is necessary to pronounce them correctly." He

continued setting out items, humming to himself.

Night Mare                       179

"What do you think?" Imbri asked the day horse in the

dream. "Can Magician Humfrey stop the Mundanes?"

"Yes," the animal answered, awed.

"Can he stop the Horseman?" she persisted, though she

was not yet clear what threat the Horseman represented,

aside from his position as second in command to Hasbin-

bad.

The day horse backed up a few steps, skitterishly. "No, I

don't think so."

"But the Horseman can't put spurs to the Good Magi-

cian!"

"Stay clear of the Horseman!" the day horse insisted,

breathing harder.

Obviously some element of this puzzle was missing. Im-

bri had glimpsed only a part of the Good Magician's array

of spells, but was satisfied that they could quickly ruin an

army. Humfrey, like the preceding Kings, was stronger

than anticipated. Yet the day horse thought the Horseman

could prevail.

The first Spy I returned. "What have you glimpsed?"

Humfrey asked it.

The seeing eyeball hovered before a wall. It projected a

beam of light. Where the light struck the wall, a magic

picture appeared. It showed the Mundanes using ropes to

lower themselves down the wall of the Chasm. Some men

were already down; these were using drawn swords and

spears to fend off the Gap Dragon. A number of them

were lying in blood on the ground of the Chasm floor, but

the dragon was suffering, too. Some of its scales were miss-

ing, and it was limping. As more Mundanes joined the first

ones, the dragon would suffer more.

Humfrey, Imbri, and the day horse watched, fascinated,

as the procession of Spy I balls constantly updated the

newsreel report. The tough Mundanes drove the Gap

Dragon back until at last the poor thing turned a battered

tail and fled. Imbri had known of the activities of the Gap

Dragon and its predecessors for all her life; it was a merci-

less monster who destroyed all those creatures misfortunate

enough to blunder into the Chasm. But now she felt sorry

for the monster. The Mundanes were worse.

As the afternoon declined, the Mundanes crossed the

180                       Night More

bottom of the Chasm and set their ropes for climbing the

south wall. A few zombies remained to guard the Chasm;

they flung down the ropes, preventing any anchorage from

being achieved. Mundane archers ranged along the north

side to shoot arrows at the zombies. These scored, but of

course did not have any significant effect. But the arrows

trailed cords that dangled down into the Chasm. The Wav-

ers below grabbed the ends and yanked the zombies down.

Then they chopped the zombies into pieces too small to

continue fighting. The Punics had certainly gotten over

their initial horror of the un-deadi

Now the Mundanes flung anchors up and, when the

ropes were firmly caught, hauled themselves up hand over

hand. The process was time-consuming but inevitable. By

nightfall the entire Punic army, as much as remained of it,

would be on the south bank of the Gap. Xanth's greatest

natural barrier had been conquered by the enemy.

Humfrey made a note. "Two hundred and five surviving

Mundanes," he said. "A number of those are wounded. No

horses or elephants. More than enough to swamp Castle

Roogna. But my bag of tricks can accommodate them. The

problem will be the other band of Nextwavers who remain

in northern Xanth—the reserves. We have no such re-

serves."

"The other band remains north?" Imbri asked. She had

been afraid they were circling south.

"You did not suppose that six hundred troops could

dwindle to two hundred merely by marching down the

length of Xanth?" the Magician inquired curtly, missing

the point. "Hasbinbad wisely divided his forces. The Horse-

man commands the reserve contingent, though he seems to

have delegated the routine to a lieutenant. That is the force

we must fear, for it is whole and fresh, while our defense

has been decimated. They have been using their horses to

carry messengers back and forth, so the second force

knows what happens to the first, and where and of what

nature the hazards of Xanth are. These are experienced

troops, tough and cunning."

The Good Magician's talent for information was mani-

festing, Imbri realized. Humfrey had an excellent grasp of

the tactical situation. Why, then, was he so certain he

Night More

181

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 infor-

mation. 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 dreamier.

"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 hu-

182 Night Mare

man 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 telf the world that I did my

best and it wasn't sufficient."

"But / can't see the flaw eitheri" 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 mat-

ing 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 lit-

tle interest to him, such as the Good Magician's setting up

of spells.

Night Mare                       183

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 Mundanesi" 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 mel" 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 strid-

ing 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 re-

solved 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

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Night More

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, parad-

ing 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 equinesi

"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 en-

able 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 con-

sciously. Of course she had a certain leverage of her own!

Any normal mares in Xanth were in the hands of the Mun-

danes, 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,

Night Mare                       185

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 busi-

ness 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 cam-

paign 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 be-

come two, as one front hoof and one rear hoof struck the

ground together for each of them. BEAT-BEAT, BEAT-

BEAT! There was something very fulfilling about such a

Night Mare

186

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. Cha-

meleon 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 corre-

spondingly smarter. Maybe she wanted to meet Bink be-

fore 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 clos-

ing, but still his white hide showed up clearly.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, day horse!" Chameleon ex-

claimed 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 per-

suaded. His ears perked forward. Chameleon stroked his

nose. Now he was sure of her. He nickered.

"But I am different in my fashion," Chameleon ac-

Night More                       187

knowledged. "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. Chameleon was standing up well;

perhaps Millie the Ghost had talked with her and put

things in perspective. Millie had eight hundred years' per-

spective! 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. Chame-

leon 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 peo-

ple, 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 mar-

ried 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

188

Night Mare

Night Mare

189

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."

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 con-

tact, 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 capac-

ity. 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. Ob-

viously the day horse was no coward about new experi-

ences; 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 main-

tained contact with Imbri. Together they charged between

the gears, Imbri directing their progress through a continu-

ing 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 ema-

nate 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 un-

fairly condemning the day shift, perhaps from ignorance;

the day mares were probably quite decent when one knew

them. "Still, then- 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 differ-

ent 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

190

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Night Mare

191

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 dis-

patched 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 re-

gions 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; oth-

ers 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 char-

acters?"

"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 cor-

ridor of land that led to Mundania. This was where Bink

and Amolde 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 run-

ning 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 low-

flying 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! Chame-

leon! 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 watch-

ing 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

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Night More

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 emer-

gency—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

I 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 Amolde 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.

Amolde was an old, bespectacled centaur who seemed

out of place in the forest. He was by training and tempera-

ment 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 re-

spect he resembled Bink, and the two males seemed to en-

joy each other's company.

"Might I inquire the reason for this welcoming party?"

Amolde asked. "We expected to sleep the rest of the night

193

194

Night Mare

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 himi" Grundy protested

competitively.

The centaur interceded benignly. "May I suggest a com-

promise? Let the golem make one statement; then Chame-

leon 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 Xanthi"

"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 peo-

ple; 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, show-

Night Mare                       195

ing 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 gal-

lantry. 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 Amolde and keep him out of mis-

chief."

"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

196 Night Mare Night Mare 197

probably accounted for that. Bink had traveled to Mun-

dania 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 carry-

ing the golem, and the magnificent white stallion bearing

the sad woman. Yet it was true that Amolde, too, needed

to be updated in detail for when he would be King. If noth-

ing 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 graveyardr She followed that with

their discovery of the fate of King Trent. The dream be-

came 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 ex-

pected. Bink had been a kind of nonperson in Xanth, con-

sidered to be a man without magic and therefore held in a

certain veiled contempt; that contempt had been unde-

served. 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 strik-

ing 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 en-

sorcelled." She choked off, her eyes flicking toward her

supine husband.

"Somehow we'll find the counterspell," Bink said reas-

suringly.

"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 awk-

ward magical investigations. But I am not invulnerable; the

Mundanes represent as much of a threat to me as to any-

one else. But perhaps I can deal with this mysterious en-

emy who has enchanted these four Kings. I shall go imme-

diately to the baobab tree and try to use Humfrey's bag of

tricks to stop the Nextwave."

"You seem remarkably well informed," Queen Iris re-

marked.

"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 ensor-

celled before he could use them. / 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 enchant-

ments—if I can prevent the Mundanes from taking me out

physically."

198

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Night Mare

199

"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 enchant-

ment, 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." Bmk's hand touched

the hilt of the sword he wore with a certain ominous signif-

icance. Imbri had not thought of him as a man of violence,

but she realized now that he would not hesitate to do what-

ever 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 Magi-

cian'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 dream-

let. "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 sur-

roundings. She's certainly a fine-looking filly now!" He

turned to Imbri. "I said I would be atone, 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 Bang 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 con-

-sidered talents at all." He shook his head. "Magic is funny

stuff; I have never been certain of its ramifications. When-

ever I understand it, some new aspect appears, and I real-

ize that I don't understand it at all."

200 Night Mare

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 hon-

esty. "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 mag-

ical. 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 defi-

nition also. If we assume you are natural horses who pos-

sess magic talent, we run afoul of the double-talent prob-

lem, 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—"

"I see the problem," she agreed. "All night mares can

phase out and project dreams. Maybe a creature can have

two talents."

"Or a magical creature, who phases through objects at

night, can have the single talent of sending dreams," he

said. "We can make it fit our present definitions—barely—

but the suspicion remains that someday we will discover

some form of magic that does not. Consider this Horse-

man: he's obviously a man with the ability to ensorcell

other men. That's not remarkable in itself; my father Ro-

land can stun people, and, of course. King Trent trans-

formed them. But how does the Horseman get around so

handily without being observed? Does he have a second tal-

ent, perhaps similar to yours of the night? We don't know,

but must be prepared for that possibility."

"Now I understand your doubt," she said. "Magic is

more complicated than I thought."

"I would like you to review your knowledge of the where-

abouts of the Horseman each time a King was enchanted,"

Bink continued. "Obviously he was there to do his foul

deed, but he has also been associated with the Mun-

danes when they were far distant. The manner of his

Night Mare                      201

travel may give us some hint how to balk him. He must be

a man of Xanth, helping the Mundanes for personal advan-

tage. Evidently they made him second in command in ex-

change for his help, but he does not help them too much.

He let you escape them, knowing you were helping Xanth,

and that would have the effect of evening the contest and

making his service more valuable."

"The rogue!" Imbri sent emphatically, with the image of

the moon colliding violently with the sun and showering

Xanth with fragments of burning cheese. "If the Mundanes

and Xanthians destroy each other, he can take over him-

self!"

"Such is the way of rogues," King Bink agreed. "His

power is to banish the minds of people, but it may not be

inherent in him. Perhaps he has a bottle full of minds, the

same way Good Magician Humfrey has bottles of every-

thing else. Maybe it is the bottle that does the magic, suck-

ing in the Kings. But surely he had to approach his victims

to do this. We must not assume we know the precise nature

of his magic."      ^

Imbri concentrated. She had actually met the Horseman

only twice—once near Castle Roogna, just before King

Trent was taken, and once in Hasbinbad's camp in north-

ern Xanth. She had not seen him when King Dor was

taken, or when the Zombie Master went, though it was ob-

vious in retrospect that he had been the man in the tree.

"So he could have been there with the Mundane army,

then," Bink said. "The Mundanes were not far away, just

across the river, while King Dor slept. You did not see the

Horseman because he was hiding, skulking around, waiting

for his chance."

Imbri had to agree. In the confused situation of the bat-

flefield, it would have been easy to sneak up close to the

King's tent at night.

"And the next time, the Zombie Master was in the field,

too," King Bink persisted.

Imbri reviewed the scene for him, showing how the

Zombie Master had been sleeping, enjoying a dream Imbri

had brought him. How Grundy had tracked a man to a

river and lost him, after the King had been taken.

"So we know he does not have to touch his victim physi-

202

Night Mare

Night Mare

203

cally," Bink concluded. "He can be a short distance away,

perhaps out of sight. That's an important point—no direct

visual contact needed. He could have come here to this tree

and hidden in a recess; perhaps he was here when you

were and simply waited until Magician Humfrey was

alone. It could have happened soon after you departed.

How many more of Humfrey's spells have been set out

since then?"

This was a most methodical approach! Imbri studied the

bottles and boxes, trying to remember how many had been

out of the bag before. "Not many more," she said.

"The Horseman wouldn't have had reason to travel far

in the night," Bink continued. "Though I doubt he re-

mained here in the tree. For one thing, he did not disturb

Humfrey's spells. Not even the bottle that named him—

surely a prime target! He must have been nervous about

discovery and not delayed one moment after doing his

deed. That suggests he can not enchant someone who is on

guard, or perhaps can take only one person at a time, so

must catch his victim alone and may be vulnerable for a

period thereafter. So he left quickly, lest someone else ar-

rive on the scene. Smash the Ogre's little wife Tandy is like

that; once she stuns someone with a tantrum, she can not

do so again for some time."

Again Imbri had to agree. It made her nervous to think

that the dread Horseman lurked close by. By daylight she

could not dematerialize, and that increased her nervous-

ness.

"You surely need to rest and graze, Imbri," Bink said.

"Go out and relax, but check on me every hour or so. The

pseudonymphs aren't due to bring the Mundanes here until

noon. I think the Horseman will try to strike before then,

for, he surely knows these spells of Humfrey's are danger-

ous to his allies, the Mundanes. If I have miscalculated in

any way, I'll need you to carry the message to Castle

Roogna."

Imbri nodded, both reassured and worried. King Bink

was several times the man she had first taken him for—-but

it seemed that the Horseman was similarly more devious.

She went out to graze, but the grass didn't taste very good.

She watched for the possible approach of the Horseman,

fearing that he would somehow sneak past unobserved, as

it seemed he had done before. The Horseman had been

making fools of them all so far!

Every hour she checked, but King Bink was all right.

Noon came, and all remained well. Imbri was almost disap-

pointed; she certainly wished no ill to the King, but she

hated this tension of waiting. Suppose Bink were not invul-

nerable to the enchantment? Or suppose the Horseman

wanted to reduce the force of Mundanes some more, keep-

ing the sides even, so planned to let King Bink fight a

while, using the spells, before taking him out? Or had the

Horseman already tried and failed, unbeknownst to them?

Where did things really stand?

Right on schedule, the first of the floating nymphs ar-

rived, hotly pursued by a slavering Mundane.

Imbri had relayed all she had learned about the Good

Magician's spells. Now Bink picked up one of the unidenti-

fied ones. "Stand well clear, Imbri," he warned. "This spell

will not hurt me, but it might hurt you. I'm going to experi-

ment while I'm not hard-pressed. I can still use my sword

if a single Mundane comes at me. When too many come,

I'll draw on the heavy stuff."

Imbri stood back. It seemed to her he was taking a con-

siderable risk—but she realized that he was immune to

magical danger and knew it, so could afford to gamble in a

way no other person dared. This was safer for him than

trying to take on all the Mundanes physically! Perhaps that

was another reason Good Magician Humfrey had publi-

cized Bink's secret talent. Bink was the only one who could

safely play with unknown killer-spells, so had to be the one

to succeed Humfrey himself and had to use those spells

when no friends were close enough to be hurt by them. It

was amazing how carefully Humfrey had planned every

detail, his own failure included.

The nymph floated up, looking devastatingly winsome

by human standards. Imbri had seen the creatures as they

were first inflating, dead white and bulging. The night air

must have done them good, for now there was color and

bounce to match the buoyancy, and intricate little jiggles in

private places as they moved. No wonder the Mundane was

in sweaty pursuiti

Night Mare

204

Now the Mundane spied King Bink. "Oh, no, you don't!

She's mine!" he cried, drawing his sword. "I chased that

divine dream half the night and day!"

"In all fairness, I must tell you two things," Bink said.

"First, the nymph is not real. She is a shape from a spell,

with no mind at all—"

"I don't care where she's from or how smart she is!" the

Mundane said, licking his brute lips. "I'm going to give her

the time of my life—right after I get rid of you." He ad-

vanced, sword poised.

"Second, I am holding the spell of a Magician," Bink

continued, backing off. "It may hurt you or even kill you,

if—"

The Mundane leaped, his sword swinging viciously. Bink

popped the cork on the vial, pointing the opening at him.

A green fireball shot out, expanding as it moved. It was

head-sized as it struck the Mundane in the chest.

The man screamed. The fire burned into his chest with

terrible ferocity, consuming it. In a moment the Mundane

fell, his chest mostly missing.

Bink stared, looking faint. "Humfrey wasn't playing idle

games," he whispered. "He was set to destroy the enemy

army!"

Imbri agreed. That had been one deadly weapon! "But it

was a choice between the enemy or you," she sent in a

supportive dreamlet, glad she had taken the advice to stand

well clear. "He tried to kill you when you tried to be rea-

sonable with him."

"Yes. I have steeled myself to that," Bink said. "Still,

the stomach is weak. I have seldom killed before, and most

Mundanes are not like him. They can be quite civilized

. . . though I admit this one wasn't."

Already a second pseudonymph was coming, leading an-

other brute Mundane. Bink snatched up another vial. "Halt,

Mundane!" he cried. "I have slain your companion!"

"Then I'll slay you!" the Mundane cried. He carried a

bow; now he brought out an arrow and nocked it, taking

aim.

Bink opened and pointed the vial, as he had the first.

Something sailed out of it as the arrow flew toward him.

The arrow struck the object and went astray, missing Bink's

Night Mare                       205

head by the span of a hand and plunking into the wall

behind him.

Imbri looked at the thing skewered on the shaft of the

arrow. It was a bean sandwich. The Mundane had just shot

Humfrey's lunch.

The Mundane stared for a moment. Then he emitted a

great bellow of a laugh. "You're fulla beans!"

Bink took a third vial. As the Mundane drew another

arrow and aimed, Bink pointed and opened it.

This time smoke issued from the container. It shaped

into a huge face. The face laughed. "Ho ho hoi" it roared.

It was laughing gas.

But the Mundane's sense of humor was limited to laugh-

ter at others, not at himself. He shot an arrow through the

face at Bink, barely missing. He drew a third. Imbri grew

more nervous; these spells were not doing the job reliably.

Bink gave up on the spells for the moment. He ducked

through the smoke, drawing his sword, and charged at the

Mundane.

The Mundane, realizing that his bow was useless at close

quarters, hastily drew his own sword. The two met in per-

sonal combat—but the Mundane was much younger and

faster.

Imbri stepped forward, knowing she could not stand by

and let the King be killed. But as the laughing gas dissi-

pated, a third Mundane appeared, carrying a spear. He

closed on the other two people, seeking an opening to dis-

patch the King.

Imbri charged across, spun about, and flung out a kick

with her two hind legs. This caught the spearman in the

chest and smashed him back. Imbri knew she had either

killed the man or hurt him so badly he would not fight

again for a long time. She now had blood on her hooves.

She turned again to help Bink, but he had dispatched his

opponent. It seemed he knew how to handle a sword; his

skill had bested the Mundane speed.

But already three more Mundanes were entering the

tree, weapons drawn. Now the Punic army was arriving in

force! Pseudonymphs floated all about, dancing just out of

the grasp of the men, jiggling remarkably, causing the Pun-

ics to become more aggressive than ever.

206 Night Mare

"I have to return to magic," King Bink said. "I can't

take on the whole Nextwave with my lone sword!" He

glanced at the one Imbri had dispatched. "And I can't ask

you to risk your hide, either. But it's no longer safe for you

to stand away from me; soon there'll be many more Mun-

danes. So you had better stay close to me; that way the

magic is less likely to backlash against you, and may pro-

tect you exactly as it protects me."

Imbri did not see that the magic had helped the King

much. Protection against being harmed by magic was not

the same as being protected by magic. But she agreed; she

would be better able to help him if she were close. She

could carry him out of the tree if the Mundanes became

overwhelming.

Bink picked up a package and tore it open. A score of

large rubber bands fell out. Now at last he showed some

ire. "What good are these?"

Imbri touched one with her hoof. Instantly it climbed up

her foot and tightened about her ankle. It hurt; she had to

lift her foot to her teeth to rip it off. Then it tried to clasp

her nose.

"Oho!" Bink exclaimed. He stooped to pick one up. It

writhed in his hand, but could not manage to close on his

wrist. He nipped it at the nearest Mundane.

The band slid over the man's head and constricted about

his neck. Suddenly he was choking, turning purple in the

face.

"A weapon indeed!" Bink said. He flipped two more

chokers at the other Mundanes. One looped about a man's

arms, binding him awkwardly; the other caught its man

around the waist, squeezing his gut. The bands might be

small and harmless when Bink handled them, but were

savage when they touched any other flesh!

More Mundanes appeared. Bink tossed the rest of the

chokers, then picked up another vial. A knife flew from it,

transfixing the Punic. But more was needed, so Bink

opened a large, wide-mouthed bottle.

The bottle did not eject anything. Instead it expanded

rapidly, until it was big enough to admit a man standing

upright. On its side were printed the mystic words CAVE

Night Mare                      207

CANEM. Imbri wasn't sure what that signified, but it

seemed vaguely threatening.

"So it's a cave," Bink said. "Maybe it will serve. Hey,

nymphs—fly in here!" He pointed to the opaque glass

cave.

Obligingly, the buoyant nymphs flew inside. The Mun-

danes who were able charged in after them. Six men disap-

peared into the cave.

There was a horrendous growling deep inside, and a

medley of screams. Imbri, startled, projected in an inquir-

ing dreamlet—and discovered that the minds of the Mun-

danes had become truly animalistic, like those of vicious

dogs.

"The cave of canines," Bink said. "Remarkable device!"

"Beware of the cave!" Imbri agreed. She didn't like ca-

nines; they tended to nip at equine heels and were difficult

to tag with swift kicks.

Before long, the glass cave overflowed. Mundanes

spilled back out, doggedly running on four feet, yelping.

Their faces looked more canine than human, though Imbri

wasn't sure this was very much of a change. The dogfaces

scrambled out of the tree, tails between their legs.

Tails? Imbri looked again—but too late. The creatures

were gone.

Still the Mundane menace grew. The rest of their army

seemed to have arrived in more or less of a mass, and indi-

vidual vials were not enough. Some men were distracted by

the fleeing canines, and some appeared to have been bitten

by those, but there were too many intact Mundanes to stop.

"Time for the ultimate measures," King Bink said.

"Stand by to carry me to safety, Imbri; this may be worse

than we anticipated."

Imbri stood by. Bink lifted the bag of winds and started

to untie it.

A huge Mundane charged at the King, slashing down-

ward with his sword. He missed Bink, who had alertly

dodged, but scored on the bound river. The tie was severed

cleanly.

Instantly the coil sprang outward as the water was re-

leased. The floor flooded, the liquid getting deeper mo-

ment by moment. There was a lot of fluid in a river! The

208 Night Mare

Mundanes cursed as their feet were washed out from under

them. The one trying to attack the King was dumped and

carried away by the torrent.

Then the string tying the mouth of the windbag came

loose. The winds roared out of confinement. They swirled

around the chamber of the baobab tree and whipped the

surface of the rising water into froth. It became hard to

stand, and not much fun to breathe.

Imbri tried to find King Bink, but he had been swept by

the swirl, along with the Mundanes. Apparently the river,

once released, had become a nonmagical force, so could act

on him. Perhaps it was merely moving him without hurting

him. No two-footed creature could keep on his feet in this!

That was yet another, inherent human liability—lack of a

sufficient number of feet on the ground. Imbri did not care

to gamble that Bink would not drown.

No—as she reviewed what she had been told of his tal-

ent, she decided he would not drown, because that fate

would have been set up by magic—after all, the river had

been magically bound—and therefore his drowning forbid-

den. But there were Mundanes mixed in that soup with

him, and one of them certainly might hurt him, since they

had been trying to do that regardless of magic. So her help

was definitely needed.

She forged through the frothing water, squinting her

eyes against the whirling wind. She did not know in what

direction the wind wanted to go, because here in the tree it

was still looking for the exit. She found the King. He was

holding on to the edge of the Canem Cave. She nudged

him, and he shifted his grip to her. He was carrying some-

thing that hampered him, but Imbri floated up under him

and got him halfway clear of the violent torrent.

Now she half swam, half drifted with the current, mov-

ing out of the tree. Mundanes were also being carried

along, burdened by their weapons and armor, gasping and

drowning in the River Elba. Humfrey had prophesied cor-

rectly; able were they ere they saw Elba. She wasn't sure

she had the phrasing quite right, but certainly the elements

from coil and bag were devastating an army.

Outside the tree, the tide diminished. Imbri found her

footing and forged toward higher ground. A few Mundanes

Night Mare

209

were doing likewise. At last Imbri stood on an elevated

ridge overgrown with quaking aspen; the timid trees were

fluttering with apprehension as the water surged toward

their roots. "Are you all right?" she sent to King Bink.

"Tired and waterlogged," he replied. "But whole. How-

ever, the battle is not yet over." For more Mundanes were

straggling up to the ridge.

"We can outrun them," Imbri sent.

"No. They would only reorganize and march on Castle

Roogna, where the women are. It has neither human nor

zombie defenses any more. The ogre is there, but he can

not be in all places at once. I don't want our loved ones

subject to the will of the Punics, treated like pseudo-

nymphs. I must deal with the enemy here, now; I shall not

return to Castle Roogna until the threat has been entirely

abated."

Imbri could appreciate his sentiment and admire his

courage. But Bink was only one man against what ap-

peared to be about twenty surviving Mundanes. He was

fifty years old, which was getting along, physically, for a

male of his species. He was likely to get himself killed—

and his prospective successor, Amolde Centaur, was still

.far away. Yet Bink was the King, and his decision counted.

"I see you have doubts," he said, smiling grimly. "You

are a sensible mare. But I am not yet entirely dependent on

my own resources. I salvaged the Good Magician's book of

Words of Power."

"I hope they are good ones," she sent. "Here come two

Mundanes!"

King Bink opened the book as the Mundanes ap-

proached him, spears poised. He fixed on the first one.

"Oops—I don't know how to pronounce it," he said.

"Try several ways!" Imbri sent, for behind the two

spearmen other Mundanes were coming, just as ugly and

determined. One thing about these Punic mercenaries—

they never gave up! If the King didn't use magic to protect

himself, the nonmagical assault of the enemy would quickly

finish him.

"SCHNEZL!" Bink read aloud, with a short E.

Nothing happened. The Mundanes drew nigh.

"SCHNEZL!" he repeated, this time using a long E.

210

Night More

Night Mare

211

The two Mundanes broke into uncontrollable sneezing.

Their eyes watered, their breath got short, and they dou-

bled over in nasal convulsions, trying vainly to blow their

lungs out through their noses. Their buttons popped off,

their belts snapped, and their eyes bugged in and out. They

dropped their spears and staggered into the murky water,

still firing out achoos. The other Mundanes paused in won-

der and admiration at the cannonade. It seemed the King

had pronounced the Word correctly the second time. Even

Imbri felt an urge to sneeze, but she hastily suppressed it

and stood closer to Bink. That helped; he did seem to have

an ambience of immunity.

"Odd," Bink remarked. "The print has faded from the

page. That Word is no longer written there."

"It must be a one-shot spell," Imbri sent. "How many

more do you have?"

Bink flipped through the pages of the book. "There

must be hundreds here."

"That should be enough." She was relieved.

Another Waver was charging up, sword swinging. Bink

read the next Word. "AmnSHA!" he cried, accenting the

second syllable.

The Mundane did not sneeze. He continued charging.

"AMNsha!" Bink repeated, this time accenting the first

syllable.

Still the Mundane came, seemingly unaffected.

"AMNSHA!" Bink cried, with no accenting and hardly

more than one syllable. And ducked as the man's sword

whistled at his head. The blow missed.

The Mundane stopped and turned. He looked perplexed.

"What am I doing here?" he asked. "Who are you? Who

am I?"

"The Word made him lose his memory!" Imbri sent in a

pleased dreamlet. "Too bad all the remaining Mundanes

weren't within range of it!"

"Good thing you were in contact with me so it didn't

catch you," King Bink responded. "Humfrey would have

made better use of it and harmlessly abated the entire

Mundane threat. My son Dor reported a similar use of a

forget-spell eight hundred years ago at the Gap Chasm."

That was another mystic reference to something Dor ob-

viously could not have been involved in. Maybe it was a

memory of a dream. "We had better deal with the Mun-

dane," Imbri reminded him in a dreamlet.

King Bink addressed the soldier. "You are an immigrant

to the Land of Xanth. You will find a good homestead and

a willing nymph, and will settle down to be a productive

citizen. Congratulations."

"Yeah, sure," the man said, dazed. He lumbered off in

search of his homestead.

But three more Mundanes were coming, and these did

not look at all forgetful. The last Word had faded from the

page. Bink turned the leaf and read the next one.

"SKONK!"

There was a sudden terrible odor. The stench spread out

from the sound of the Word, forming a bilious cloud that

drifted in the path of the enemy soldiers. Unheeding, they

charged into it. They had learned to be concerned about

tangible magic, but to ignore mists and apparitions.

Immediately they scattered, coughing and holding their

noses. They had received the brunt of the stench, though

the peripheral wash was enough to make Imbri gag. That

was bad, because horses were unable to regurgitate. A coin-

cidental drift of wind had carried the mist away from the

King, so he did not suffer. Coincidental?

The three Mundanes plunged into the water, trying to

wash away the smell. A murk of pollution spread out from

them, and small fish fled the region. It seemed it would

take a long time for the men to cleanse themselves.

Yet another Mundane was attacking as the fog dissi-

pated. This one paused just beyond it, fitting an arrow to

his bow.

The King consulted the book. "KROKK1" he yelled at

the bowman.

The Mundane changed form. His jaw extended into a

greenish snout bulging with teeth. His limbs shrank into

squat, clawed extremities. His torso sprouted scales. Unable

to hold on to his bow or maintain his balance, he fell for-

ward, belly-flopping on the ground with a loud whomp. He

scrambled to the water and paddled away, propelling him-

self with increasing efficiency by means of a massive green

tail that sprouted from his hind part.

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213

"He turned into a gator," Bink remarked, impressed. "I

didn't know the Good Magician had any transformation

spells."

"He collected all kinds of information," Imbri sent.

"Many people owed him favors for his services, and he

knew exactly where to find useful bits of magic. He's been

accumulating things for over a century. Once I brought

him a bad dream about a box of quarterpedes, and he

promptly woke and fetched it from the place the dream

identified it. I didn't even know what they were and had

forgotten the matter until (hat box turned up in his collec-

tion of spells in the baobab tree. He never missed a trick."

"I should have rescued that box," Bink said regretfully.

"Maybe when the water subsides—"

Another Mundane charged. He swung a battle-axe with

hideous intent. Bink quickly glanced at the book again.

"BANSH!" he cried.

The Mundane disappeared, axe and all. These were cer-

tainly useful spells, when they worked!

But about a dozen Punics remained on the ridge. They

now formed into an organized company and advanced

slowly on the King. This was a more serious threat.

Bink leafed through the book, looking for a suitable

Word. "If only there were definitions giveni" he com-

plained.

A spear sailed at the King. "Dodge!" Imbri sent.

Bink dodged. But the spear caught the open book and

knocked it out of his hand. He regained his balance and

dived for it, but the volume fell in the water. The crocka-

gator forged up and snapped the book into its big mouth

with an evil chuckle, carrying it away. The King had been

abruptly deprived of his magic defense by nonmagical

means. True, the crock had been magically transformed—

but an untransformed Mundane could have done the same

thing.

"But see!" he cried, stooping to pick up a floating bottle.

It was yellow and warty and somewhat misshapen. "Isn't

this the one containing the enormous squash?"

,  "I believe it is," Imbri agreed. It seemed Bink's talent

was helping him compensate for the loss of the remaining

Words. Maybe he wasn't being harmed, but just shifted to

a more profitable mode, as the Words were highly variable

in effect.

"I'll use this; you check the water for any other bottles."

King Bink popped the cork, then hurled the bottle at the

Mundane formation. The thing grew enormously, as was its

nature, until it popped down on top of several Mundanes

and squashed them flat.

Imbri found another bottle and fished it out with her

teeth. She got some water in her mouth, and it still reeked

ofSkonk, but that was a necessary penalty. She brought the

bottle, to the King as the remaining Mundanes skirted the

squash and advanced. He opened the bottle immediately

and pointed it at the enemy.

A series of specks floated out from it. These expanded,

becoming balls. On each ball a face formed, scowling aw-

fully. One directed its glare at Imbri—and suddenly she

was coated with grime.

"Oh, I see," the King said. "This is a bottle of dirty

looks. Let's get them aimed properly." He reached out and

turned each ball so that it faced the Mundanes.

The results were less than devastating, but more than

inconvenient. The Punics tamed dirty, their clothing badly

soiled, their faces and arms gunked with grease and mud

and sand. But they had been pretty dirty to begin with, so

this was only an acceleration of a natural trend. They

hacked and spit, trying to clear filth from their mouths. One

aimed an arrow at King Bink, but the slime on his bow

was such that the weapon twisted in his hand, fouling his

shot. Another tried to draw a knife, but it was stuck in its

holster, fastened by dirt and corrosion.

Imbri found two more bottles. One turned out to contain

jumping beans. They bounded all over, peppering the Mun-

danes annoyingly; one man was blinded as the beans hap-

pened to score on his eyes, while another got one up his

nose. That put him in immediate difficulty, since his nose

hobbled about in response to the bean's continued jumping.

But six determined' Punics remained, closing in on the

King. The odds were still moderately prohibitive.

Bink opened the last bottle. A host of spooks sailed out.

"Go get 'em!" the King ordered, and the spooks went after

the Punics.

214 Night Mare

There ensued a fierce little battle. The spooks were su-

pernatural creatures with vaporously trailing nether sec-

tions but strong clawed hands and grotesque faces. They

pounced on the Mundanes, biting off noses, gouging for

livers, and wringing necks'. This was a reasonably pointless

exercise, as spooks could not digest these tidbits, but old

instincts died hard, and the Mundanes did find the ap-

proach somewhat disquieting. They fought back with

swords and spears, lopping off limbs and transfixing faces.

Blood flowed, ichor oozed, and bodies soon littered the

ground.

As the sun dippecfclow, getting clear of the sky before

night caught it, the melee subsided. All the spooks were

gone; one Mundane remained standing.

It was Hasbinbad, the Punic leader, the toughest cus-

tomer of them all

"So you are me King of Xanth," Hasbinbad said.

"You're a better Magician than I took you for. I knew the

Transformer King was deadly dangerous, and I discovered

the Thing-Talking King was tough, too; I certainly wanted

no further part of the Zombie King, who turned my own

dead against me, and the Information King knew entirely

too much. But you had the reputation of possessing no

magic, so I figured you'd be safe." He shrugged with grim

good nature. "We all do make mistakes. I should have

taken you out, too, to promote the Centaur King, who I

know has no magic power in Xanth."

"You appear to know a great deal about Xanth and the

nature of our government," King Bink said.

"And you know a great deal about Mundania, as you

term the real world," Hasbinbad rejoined. "Men of age and

experience do master the essentials rapidly. It is essential to

survival in this business. When we first entered Xanth, I

thought it was Italy, but when a roc-bird carried away one

of my precious remaining elephants, I realized that some-

thing unusual was afoot. So I sent out my spies and in due

course learned much of what I needed. I realized very soon

that we would have to have magic to fight magic, so the

deal we made with the Horseman was fortuitous. This is a

better empire than Rome, and I intend to conquer it and

become the eleventh King of this siege."

Night Mare                       215

"You will have to deal with the fifth King first," Bink

said.

"I intend to. All my committed army is gone, but so is

all your magic. Now you must meet me my way, man to

man, Mundane fashion. After I dispatch you, I shall return

to my reserve force and conquer Xanth without further sig-

nificant resistance." He advanced, sword ready.

Imbri moved to intercept the Mundane. One swift kick

would—'

"No," King Bink said. "This is my responsibility. I have

borrowed Humfrey's bag of tricks; now it is time I do my

own work. You stand clear." He drew his sword.

"Well spoken," Hasbinbad said, unimpressed. He held

his own sword casually, obviously not unduly alarmed by

the caliber of the opposition. He was, after all, well ar-

mored, while King Bink was not, and the Punic was sure

of his own skill with the weapon. He was a man of war,

while the man of Xanth was a recently drafted King, no

warrior.

"There remains one detail you may have overlooked,"

Bink said, and now his expression was anything but amia-

ble. "One of those Kings you had eliminated by the Horse-

man was my son." The sword glinted as he stalked the

Mundane.

"Ah, your son," the Punic said, taken aback. "Then you

have a blood motive," He scowled. "Yet it remains to be

seen how much that counts against skill."

The two came together. Hasbinbad swung his blade;

Bink countered expertly. "Ah, I see you have learned your

craft after all," the Mundane said, becoming impressed. He

made a feint, but failed to draw the King out of position.

Then Bink attacked, slicing at the Punic's left arm

where the armor did not cover it. Hasbinbad countered, but

still got nicked. "First blood!" he exclaimed, and parried

with a vicious stroke of his own that did not score.

Bink's lack of armor now showed as an advantage, for

there was no extra weight on him to tire him, and his skill

was great enough to make armor unnecessary. He pressed

Hasbinbad methodically, forcing the man to take defensive

measures.

Then the Mundane drew back. "It grows dark," he

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217

panted. "I do not like to fight at night. I call for tmce till

dawn."

Imbri was alarmed. The Mundane was trying to gain

time to recover his strength!

Bink shrugged. He had been among Mundanes, so was

familiar with their odd customs. "Truce till dawn," he

agreed.

Imbri swished her tail in frustration. This was surely

follyl

Hasbinbad sheathed his sword and looked about. "I'm

hungry," he said. "Want to trade some Mundane travel ra-

tions for some good grog? You natives know how to find

free-growing juice without getting zapped by a tree, don't

you?"

"Yes," Bink agreed.

"I don't like this," Imbri sent in a dreamlet. "That man

is not to be trusted. The tide is receding; you can get away

from him for the night."

"And risk losing track of him?" King Bink asked in the

dream. "He still has half an army up north, and we have

no means to stop it if it is competently led. I must deal

with the leader now and not let him get away."

"You are honest; he is not. You must not trust him,"

Imbri urged.

"I know his nature," Bink returned gently.

"Are you conversing with the dream mare?" Hasbinbad

inquired. 'Td like to have a steed like that myself. When

we captured her up north, I did not know her nature; I'll

not make that error again."

"This man knows entirely too much!" Imbri sent ur-

gently. "Your Majesty, he is dangerous!"

"I will keep an eye on him," Bink promised. "You can

travel readily at night; go inform the ladies at Castle

Roogna of the developments of this day. This war is not

over; we must raise new forces to deal with the second

Mundane army."

He was the King; she had to obey. With severe misgiv-

ings, Imbri phased into nonmateriality and trotted across

the ebbing water toward Castle Roogna. As she left, she

heard Hasbinbad inquire: "Just who is to be King after the

centaur? I thought you were out of Magicians. I inquire

purely as a matter of professional curiosity."

"I am not in a position to know," Bink replied. "If I live,

there will be no other Kings; if I die, I will not find out.

How is it you know as much as we do about these mat-

ters?"

Hasbinbad laughed. If he answered, the words were lost

in the distance as Imbri moved away. But both questions

bothered her: how did the Punic know and, after Arnolde,

who would be King? It seemed that both Xanth and Mun-

dane forces accepted the prophecy that there would be ten

Kings before the siege ended. But as was often the case,

the specific unfolding of that prophecy was shrouded in

alarming mystery.

Chapter 11. Centaur Input

Imbri reached Castle Roogna quickly, for the

baobab tree was not far from it. She could readily have

brought the King back here, had he been willing to come.

But he was determined to finish the action his way and

maybe he was right. Hasbinbad would be much more dan-

gerous at the head of his second army than he was alone.

The women were alert and worried. Tandy, the ogre's

wife, had moved into the castle, as it seemed she did not

like being left alone while Smash guarded it. Now that Im-

bri had seen first hand—technically, it was first hoof, but

the human folk would not understand that—the determina-

tion and savagery of the Mundanes, she was sure that one

ogre was not enough to stop a siege of the castle. Quickly

Imbri projected a broad dream that summarized the events

of the day, so that they all understood it.

Irene shook her head with sad resignation. Like her

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219

mother, she had recovered equilibrium after initial grief.

This did not mean that she missed her husband and father

less, but that she realized she had to do what she could to

prevent the Kingdom of Xanth from being entirely de-

stroyed. Her grief would keep; now was the time to fight.

"Bink will not come back," she said. "He is too good a

man; that's his fatal fault. I love him as I love my father,

but I know him. He has never yielded to reasonable odds;

he always follows his course, no matter what it costs. There

is something of that quality in Dor, too . . ."

"And a great deal of it in Smash!" Tandy added. She

was a girlishly small young woman, dark-haired and cute,

hardly the type Imbri would have thought would be at-

tracted to an ogre. But Imbri had interacted with her pass-

ingly before, and knew that she needed a really strong hus-

band to protect her from the attentions of a demon.

Certainly Smash was strong.

"Do you think we should prepare for the next King?"

Queen Iris asked gently.

Imbri did not answer.

"I think so," Queen Irene agreed.

"Then we must impose on Imbri yet again to contact the

centaurs," Iris said. She turned back to the mare. "Bink

should have come back to organize things; since he did not,

we women are forced to do what we can. If a centaur is to

be our next King, the folk of Centaur Isle must be advised.

They have resisted active participation in this campaign—

foolishly, I think. Maybe they'll support one of their own in

a way they declined to do for a human King." She sounded

bitter.

"Not necessarily," Irene said. "They frown on magic tal-

ents in sapient species. They exiled Arnolde when his talent

became known. They might treat him worse than a man."

"They exiled a centaur with magic. A centaur King of

Xanth could be another matter. If we make the situation

quite clear, they should come around. We know they are

organized and ready; all they have to do is march."

"Make it clear?" Imbri sent in a query.

"That if they do not support us now, with all our faults

as they perceive them, they will have to deal with our suc-

cessors, the Punics. They have run afoul of Mundanes be-

fore, historically; I doubt they will relish the prospect."

"I'll go," Imbri sent. "I'll tell them tonight."

She set off, galloping south. She worried about King

Bink, but knew he did not want her to return till morning;

his peculiar sense of honor required him to win or lose his

battle alone. So the best thing she could do was this, to help

prepare Xanth for the next King. This was the stuff of

which bad dreams were made; her duties had not changed

as much as she had supposed!

The southern wilds of Xanth raced by, replete with

garden-variety monsters and monstrous gardens. She had

seldom been here because it was thinly populated, and thus

few people needed dreams delivered. Now she was passing

near the castle of the Zombie Master—

On an impulse she swerved. Millie the Ghost and her

two children would be there alone, perhaps not even know-

ing the Zombie Master was ensorcelled. She had to stop by

and say something, though there was little she could do.

She reached the castle, hurdled the gooky moat, pene-

trated the decrepit wall, and trotted into the clean main

hall, where Millie was reading from a book titled Weird

Mundane Tales to the children by the eerie glow of a

magic lantern. All looked up as she entered.

"Imbril" Millie exclaimed gladly.

"I just wanted to be sure you knew—" Imbri projected,

but could not continue.

"We know," Millie said. "No one told us, but we knew

when Chameleon left that it would soon be our turn. The

chain has not yet been broken."

"You are taking it very well," Imbri sent.

"I was a ghost and Jonathan a zombie for eight hundred

years," Millie said. "We have had a lot of experience with

death and have learned to be patient. Jonathan has not re-

turned as a zombie, so I know he isn't really dead. When

the chain is broken, he will return." She had excellent per-

spective!

"Bink is King now, and after him will come Arnolde

Centaur. Then there may be four more Kings before the

chain is finally broken—but we don't know who they may

be, for Xanth is out of Magicians."

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221

"Who enchanted the Kings?" Millie asked. "Do you

know yet?"

"The Horseman. King Humfrey named him, before he

. . . The Punic Hasbinbad pretty much confirmed it."

"Is the Horseman a Magician?"

That made Imbri pause, horrified. "If he's a Magician,

he might claim the throne of Xanth!"

"That was my thought," Millie said. "He helps the Mun-

danes conquer Xanth, then assumes the throne as the last

Magician, ending the chain. By Xanth law, we would have

to accept him."

"This is terrible!" Imbri projected. "He may be encour-

aging us to fight the Mundanes; then if he becomes King,

he'll start ensorcelling the Mundane leaders so they can't

fight any more. He is playing both sides against each other

so that he can take over in the end. Beware the Horse-

man—the chain leads to him!"

"Unless we somehow break it before then," Millie said.

She hugged her two children close to her, preventing them

from becoming too frightened.

"I am going to Centaur Isle to ask them to support Ar-

nolde when he is King," Imbri sent. "Maybe this will help

convince them."

"Let's hope so," Millie said. "Don't let me detain you,

Imbri; this is too important. But I do thank you for stop-

ping by."

Imbri turned to go—and discovered an eye in the floor

looking up at her, and a print where her hind feet had

been, reading: THIS IS A HORSE'S REAR. The children

were up to their usual tricks. She stepped over the eye and

print and walked on through the wall.

She raced on south, glad she had made the side trip. As

it happened, she had gained a valuable if horrible new in-

sight in the process. She had known before that the Horse-

man was playing bis own game, but had not thought of the

consequence of his being recognized as Xanth's only sur-

viving Magician. He could accomplish his fell purpose—if

they didn't break that chain first. Reality was becoming

-even more like a bad dream.

It was a long way to the southern tip of Xanth. She had

forgotten how much time it would take. It was midnight by

the time she arrived. Then she remembered: she should

have used the gourds! Her distraction had been such that

she had never thought of the obviousl

That reminded her of Good King Humfrey's shame.

What obvious thing had he overlooked that should so mor-

tify him before the fact? The Horseman had sneaked up on

him, true—but that had happened to every King of Xanth

so far.

The centaurs of the Isle were mostly asleep. Imbri had to

locate their leader quickly. She projected a dream to the

mind of the first sleeper she encountered, a middle-aged

female. "Who is your leader?"

"Why, everyone knows that," the centauress said. "Ge-

rcime. Elder of the Isle."

"Thank you."

"Since when does a dream thank a person?"

"Anything can happen in a dream."

Now Imbri used her night mare person-locating sense

and homed in on Gerome. This centaur was old, his hair

and coat beginning to turn gray. She shaped her dream

carefully and sent it in to him.

In this dream, she was a female centaur, of middle age

and dark of hide. "Elder Gerome, I bring important news,"

she began.

"Ah, you would be the night mare from Castle Roogna,"

he said, unsurprised. "We have been expecting you."

Obviously the centaur community had its own sources of

information. Centaurs did employ magic; they just didn't

like to recognize it in themselves. Those centaurs who de-

veloped magic talents were exiled; thus all the ones around

Castle Roogna were not welcome here at the Isle. Yet this

Was the principal bastion of the species and this was where

the real help had to come from. "Do you know, then, that

Xanth is under attack by the Nextwave of Mundanes?"

"Of course."

"And that one of the human folk called the Horseman

has been taking the minds of our Kings—Trent, Dor, the

Zombie Master, Humfrey, and maybe Bink?" Imbri didn't

really believe that last, but preferred to think of it that way

rather than of death at the foul hands of Hasbinbad.

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Night Mare

"Bink?"

"He is a human Magician whose talent has been con-

cealed until recently."

"That is in order, then."

"But after him, the King of Xanth will have to be Ar-

nolde Centaur."

"Now that is problematical," Gerome said. "We do not

accept—"

"If we do not stop the Nextwave, it will conquer us, as

have Waves of the past. You centaurs know what it is like

when a new Wave rules Xanth."

Gerome sighed. "We do indeed! Better the obscenity we

know than the one we may experience. Very well; we shall

treat Amolde as we might a human King, and answer his

call if it comes."

"The Mundanes could overwhelm Castle Roogna before

your force arrives," Imbri pointed out. "It would be better

to march to Castle Roogna now, to be there at need."

Gerome shook his head. "We dislike this, but acknowl-

edge the merit of the notion. We shall dispatch a contin-

gent by raft in the morning. It will take two days for us to

make port near Castle Roogna, and half a day to march

inland. Will your forces be able to fend off the Wave until

then?"

"Probably," Imbri replied in the dream. "Half the Mun-

dane army has been destroyed; the*other half should take

two or three days to reach Castle Roogna."

"Very well. You have our guarantee. But there is a

price."

"A price?"

"We have de facto local autonomy. We want it to be-

come openly recognized by the government of Xanth,

henceforth and for all time."

"If Amolde becomes King, I'm sure he will grant you

that."

"See that he does," Gerome said sternly.

That was that. Centaurs were creatures of honor, so she

knew they would act as promised. Imbri withdrew from the

centaur Elder's dream and let him sleep in peace. But she

set a hoofprint in the dirt of his doorway so that he would

remember her when he woke.

Night Mare                       223

She trotted out, looking for a gourd patch. But there

turned out to be none on the Isle; it seemed the centaurs

had methodically stamped them out because of their devas-

tating hypnotic magic. That was understandable but incon-

venient. She would have known about this, had this been

her beat for dream duty. Now she had either to spend time

looking for a gourd on the wild mainland or to race for

home directly.

She decided on the latter course. It took more time, but

was less frustrating. She raced straight north, through trees

and mountains, over lakes and bogs, under low-hanging

clouds and the nose of a sleeping dragon, and up to Cas-

tle Roogna just as dawn sleepily cracked open an eye. It

was good to race flatout for this distance; it made her feel

young again.

Inside the castle, she gave her report. "They are sending

a detachment, but they want autonomy."

"We can't make that decision," Queen Irene said. She

Was on duty while her mother slept, awaiting Chameleon's

return. "Only the King can do that."

"It's time for me to rejoin King Bink anyway," Imbri

sent. If he still lives, she thought nervously.

"Yes. He is my husband's father," Irene said. "Bring

him back here, however you find him." She had aged rap-

idly in the past few days and looked more like her mother.

Her eyes were deeply shadowed and there were lines form-

ing about her face. She had the reputation of being a beau-

tiful and well-developed girl; both qualities were waning

now. Continued crisis was not being kind to her.

Imbri was tired, but she couldn't take time to rest. She

trotted on out toward the baobab tree.

King Bink was not there, of course; he had left when the

river flooded it out. Now there were only scattered Mun-

dane bodies, forest debris, drying layers of mud, and occa-

sional bottles. Imbri checked one of these, but found it was

open, the cork lost, whatever had resided in it wasted, the

penalty of the flood. The water was gone, but it would be

long before the region recovered.

She made her way to the ridge that had been an island

yesterday evening. She found the remnants of a camfire,

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Night Mare

with two empty T-cups from a T-tree and pots from a pot

pie. Bink and Hasbinbad had eaten together. Then what?

Imbri checked for footprints. She sniffed the ground.

She listened. She had acute equine senses. She picked up a

trail of sorts.

King Bink had located a pillow bush and slept there.

But Hasbinbad's traces came there, too. They were fresher;

he had come later. The footprints were not straightforward,

not those of one who came openly; they were depressed too

much on the toes, scuffling too little sand. A sneak ap-

proach.

A sneak attack at night, before dawn. Both men gone.

Imbri did not like this. Had the Punic leader treacher-

ously . . . ?

But there was no blood. No sign of violence. Hasbinbad

had sneaked up—but Bink had not been caught. He had

moved away from his bed before that time, perhaps leaving

a mock-up of himself behind.

Hasbinbad, it seemed, had attempted treachery, but

Bink had anticipated him. The King had indeed been alert

and understood the nature of his opponent. Imbri, working

it out, was relieved. But what had happened then?

She quested and found two trails in the night. Bink fol-

lowing Hasbinbad. The wronged pursuing the guilty. The

truce had been violated, relieving the King of any further

need to be trusting, and now the fight had resumed in ear-

nest. Bink had shown himself to be stronger in direct com-

bat, yet had held back for what he deemed to be ethical

reasons, without being naive. Hasbinbad had blundered

tactically as well as ethically, and sacrificed any respite he

might otherwise have claimed.

Imbri followed the trail with difficulty, knowing that she

was losing headway. Bink and Hasbinbad had evidently

moved rapidly in the predawn hour; Imbri was moving

slowly, lest she lose the subtle traces. This was not ideal

tracking terrain; there were rocky patches and boggy

patches and the crisscrossing tracks of foraging animals,

obscuring the human prints.

Her eye caught something in a hollow to the side. Imbri

detoured briefly to investigate. It was a corked vial, con-

Night Mare

225

taining yellowish vapor or fluid. Another of Magician

Humfrey's spells, borne here by the transient tide, unbro-

ken. What should she do with it? She did not want to leave

it, but would have to carry it in her mouth. That would be

awkward, especially if she happened to chew on it and

break the glass. Suppose it was an ifrit? Still, there were

many dangers in Xanth, and she might need the help of a

spell. So she picked it up and carried it carefully with her

lips.

The trail seemed interminable. Hours passed as the two

men's traces bore north. Imbri was sure now; Hasbinbad

wanted to get away, having found King Bink too much for

him. The Punic was trying to rejoin his other army, the one

nominally commanded by the Horseman, so he could lead

another and more devastating thrust at Castle Roogna. The

first army had eliminated the opposition; the second would

complete the conquest.

There was a hiss. A flying snake was orienting on Imbri,

feeling that its territory had been invaded. This was one of

the wingless kind that levitated by pure magic, wriggling

through the invisible columns of the air. It was a large one,

twice Imbri's own length, and poisonous saliva glistened on

its fangs. Probably Hasbinbad's passage had roused it, but

Bink's presence had balked it. If magic could not harm the

King, how could a magical creature? Bink could go any-

where in Xanth with perfect safety as long as he remained

careful about nonmagical hazards. Perhaps, ironically, Has-

binbad had been protected by Bink's ambience, as Imbri

herself had been protected when she stood close to him.

Now it was her misfortune to encounter the serpent fully

roused and by day, when she was vulnerable. Yet she could

not detour around its territory; she would never be able to

locate the fading trail again in time to do any good.

She hesitated, but the snake did not. It hissed and

launched itself at her, jaws gaping. Involuntarily, Imbri

bared her teeth, bracing for battle—and cracked the vial

she had forgotten she held. Immediately she spit it out—

but a trickle of fluid fell on her tongue. It was not yel-

low—that turned out to be the color of the glass—but col-

orless, and also tasteless. Plain water?

226

Night Mare

The snake struck, burying its fangs in her neck. Disas-

ter! Imbri felt the poison numbing her, spreading outward

much faster than had been the case when she had been

bitten on the knee before. This was a larger, more deadly

snake. How she hated snakes!

Imbri flung her head and lifted a forehoof, lashing at

the snake's body, knocking it to the ground. The reptile

hissed and struck at her again, but she stomped its head

into the ground, killing it. The thing had been foolish to

attack a fighting mare; horses knew how to deal with ser-

pents. But Imbri herself had been critically slow, owing to

fatigue and the distraction of the breaking bottle; otherwise

the fangs would not have scored.

Now she assessed her situation. She had been bitten, but

she was massive enough so that the poison might dilute to a

nonfatal level by the time it spread through her body. If it

happened to be a poor bite, and if this happened to be a

mildly toxic variety of snake instead of a supertoxic one,

she would survive. But she would certainly suffer, and

would probably lose the trail.

Yet she didn't feel too bad. The numbness was constrict-

ing, retreating back around the puncture. Was her body

fighting it off? How was that possible? She had no special

immunity; in fact, her condition should have been aggra-

vated by the weapon released from the vial. Too bad it

hadn't destroyed the snakel

Weapon? Imbri licked her lips, detecting a faint after-

taste. That was no weapon; that was healing elixir! No

wonder she was not suffering; she had blundered into the

universal restorative, the one thing that could counter the

snake's bite and restore her waning energy. She had had

the luck of King Bink!

Luck? In Bink's case it wasn't luck; it was his magic

talent. She knew now that it had operated in some ex-

tremely devious ways to protect both his health and his an-

onymity all the prior years of his life. It could not be lim-

ited to his direct personal experiences; it had to extend

back to affect whatever magic threatened him indirectly,

Suppose he was in trouble, and magic was responsible—

how would his talent counter the danger by seeming coinci-

dence?

Night Mare                       227

It could arrange to have the vial of elixir float conve-

niently near, for him to discover when the snake attacked.

But the snake had not attacked him; it couldn't, because

his magic prevented it more directly. So why the elixir,

unused?

This could be operating on a more subtle level. Bink was

threatened by a Mundane person—yet in the ambience of

magic that was Xanth, Hasbinbad almost had to have had

the benefit of some magic, because no one could avoid it

here. So in a devious fashion, the threat against Bink was

also magical, and therefore his talent would act to protect

him against it. But extremely subtly, for this was a border-

line case.

His talent just might arrange to have magical help come

to him, to protect him from the Mundane. Maybe he would

need healing elixir to abate a wound inflicted by Hasbin-

bad, so here it was. Imbri herself had become a tool of the

King's magic, and was being deviously protected by that

magic so she could fulfill her mission.

She checked the ground. By an amazing chance, the bot-

tom section of the vial bad dropped upright and nestled in

the grass, containing some fluid.

Chance?

Imbri found the loose cork, picked it up delicately with

her teeth, and set it in the ragged new neck of the vial. She

tamped it carefully with her nose. It just fit, sealing in the

precious fluid. There was no room remaining inside the

truncated container for more than a few drops, but that

didn't matter. The amount would be sufficient for its pur-

pose, whatever and whenever that was. She had what King

Bink would need.

She moved on, carrying the vial again, feeling more con-

fident. She made better progress, and the trail began to

warm. Still, she had a fair amount of time to make up.

It was midaftemoon by the time she followed the trail to

the Gap Chasm. Here there was a change. There were

signs of a scuffle, and some blood soaked the ground, but

there were no people.

She sniffed, explored, and formulated a scenario: Has-

binbad had, naturally enough, forgotten the Gap Chasm.

Most people did. He had been suddenly balked, and King

Night Mare

228

Bink had caught up. There had been a desperate fight,

with one of them wounded—and one of them had fallen

into the Chasm.

Anxiously she sniffed in widening half-spirals, since the

Chasm was too deep at this point to show any sign of the

victim within it, assuming the Gap Dragon had not already

cleaned up the mess. Which man had survived? It should

be the King, according to her revised theory of his magic—

but she was not sure her theory was correct.

She found a trail leading away. Joy! It had the smell of

Bink! There was blood on it, and the prints dragged, but

the King had won the final contest. He was the lone survi-

vor of this encounter with the Wave.

She followed it on to the west. Bink must be going to

intersect the path to the invisible bridge across the Chasm

so he could follow it safely back the other way to Castle

Roogna. The path was charmed against monsters; Bink

might not need that protection, but still, a path was easier

to follow than the untracked wilderness, especially when a

person was tired and hurt.

Imbri speeded up, no longer sniffing out the specific

traces. Now she knew where he was going; she would catch

up, administer the healing elixir, and give him a swift ride

home. Maybe there had been yet another level to his

power: it had preserved her from the flying snake so she

could come and help him now, apart from the elixir, by

becoming his steed. All would be well; King Bink had sur-

vived his campaign and should have centaur support for

the next one. The centaurs were excellent archers; if they

lined up on the south edge of the Gap, the Mundanes

would never get across!

As she neared the invisible bridge, in the last hour of the

day, she spied a figure. It was the King, resting on the

ground. She neighed a greeting.

But as she came to him, her joy turned to horror. Bint

was sitting unmoving, staring at the ground, in a puddle of

blood from a wound in his chest. Was he dead?

Quickly she crunched through the piece of vial and

smeared the dripping elixir across his wound with her nose.

Instantly the gash healed and turned healthy, and the

King's color improved. But still he did not respond to her

Night Mar«                       229

presence, and when she sent him a dreamlet, she found his

mind blank.

"But it can't happen to you!" she wailed protestingly in

the dream, assuming the image of a weeping willow tree in

deep distress. "You are the one person who can not be

harmed by magic!"

Yet the fact belied the logic. King Bink had defeated

one enemy physically, only to fall prey to the other magi-

cally. He had, after all, been taken by the Horseman.

It was night by the time she got him to Castle Roogna,

draped across her back. A man might mount an uncon-

scious horse, but it was another matter for a horse to cause

an unconscious man to mount.

Amolde and Chameleon had arrived fortuitously within

the hour. The centaur had given her a ride, after the day

horse had tired from the night's hard travel. Day horses

were not night mares; they had to proceed carefully

through darkness, instead of phasing through the vagaries

of the terrain. The stallion had stopped at the brink of the

Gap Chasm, too nervous to trust the one-way bridge.

"The one-way bridge?" Imbri sent, perplexed. "It is one-

way north; how could you use it south?"

,. "We had to," Amolde explained. "We knew the main

bridge was out."

The answer was simple: Queen Iris had seen them com-

ing, using an illusory magic mirror, and had sent old

Crombie the soldier and his visiting daughter Tandy out to

meet them. Tandy's husband the ogre had offered to go

and hurl the folk across the Chasm, but they declined his

helpful notion by pointing out that he was needed to guard

Castle Roogna from surprise attack. Tandy had crossed

first, making the bridge real before her, stopping just shy

of the north anchor. Crombie bad stopped just off the

south end, keeping the bridge real between himself and his

daughter. Arnolde and Chameleon had crossed safely while

it was thus anchored. Had Grundy remained with them,

they could have used the magic carpet to ferry across, one

by one, but the golem had long since flown back to the

Good Magician's castle to keep watch until the Gorgon re-

turned with her sister the Siren. Actually, Arnolde con-

230 Night Mare

fessed, he would hardly have trusted his mass to a carpet

designed for human weight. Once the travelers had crossed,

Crombie and Tandy had jumped to land at either end, let-

ting the bridge fade. Tandy would walk around to the in-

visible bridge and return to Castle Roogna later in the

night. The day horse, professing to be too tired to go far-

ther, had settled in place to graze and sleep. They had not

argued with him; Mundane creatures did tend to be ner-

vous about things they could not see, and he had not

wanted to admit his fear of the bridge.

"But Xanth isn't safe at night!" Imbri protested. She was

displeased at the day horse's recalcitrance; he was a big,

strong animal who should have been able to carry Tandy to

the other bridge before retiring. He would have done so for

Chameleon, or if Imbri herself had been along. But, of

course, Mundane animals were neither the magical nor the

social equals of Xanth animals; this was a reminder of that

fact. It was useless to be angry at a Mundane creature for

not being Xanthian.

"She is the wife of an ogre, and the path is enchanted;

even a tangle tree would hesitate to bother her," Queen Iris

said, a trine grimly.

Imbri remembered how Smash the Ogre had torn up the

Mundanes in combat. No one with any sense would antago-

nize an ogre! The Mundanes who had penetrated to this

region had all been dispatched. So it was true: Tandy

should be safe enough.

But that was the only light note. King Bink had been

taken, and Xanth had a new King. Chameleon now had

both a son and a husband to mourn. The grief that the

Horseman had brought to Xanth in the name of his ambi-

tion for poweri

"This development was not, unfortunately, unantici-

pated," Amolde Centaur said in his didactic way as Queen

Iris broached the matter of the crown. "As an archivist, I

am conversant with the protocols. Xanth must have a Ma-

gician King. It is not specified that the King must be a

man."

"He can be a centaur," Queen Iris agreed. "The rramers

of Xanth law did not anticipate a centaur Magician."

"Perhaps not," King Amolde agreed. "They may also

Night Mare                      231

have overlooked the mischief wrought by the Horseman.

That was not precisely my meaning, however. Where is the

Council of Elders of human Xanth?"

"Roland is here," Queen Iris said. "Bink's father, Dor's

grandfather. He is old and failing, but retains his mind. He

was rousted from Us home at the North Village when the

Mundanes pillaged it. He can speak for the Elders, I'm

sure."

"I must talk to him immediately."

They brought Roland, for the King had spoken. Roland

was King Trent's age, still sturdy and erect, but he moved

slowly and his sight was fading. In the years of relative

calm during King Trent's rule, the Council of Elders had

had little to do and had become pretty much ceremonial.

Roland retained his magic, however; he could freeze a per-

son in place.

"Roland, I have in mind a certain interpretation or series

of interpretations of Xanth law," Amolde said. "I would

like your endorsement of these."

"Interpretations of lawl" Queen Iris protested. "Why

waste your time on such nonsense when there is a crisis

that may topple Xanth?"

Amolde merely gazed at her, flicking his tail tolerantly.

". . . your Majesty," she amended, embarrassed. "I apol-

ogize for my intemperate outburst."

"You shall have an answer in due course," the Centaur

King said gently. "Roland?"

The old man's eyes brightened. This sounded like a chal-

lenge! "What is your interpretation. King Amolde?"

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 cen-

taur said. "The definition of the term 'Magician' is ob-

scure; 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.

232 Night More

"Thus, in the present circumstance, your own talent be-

comes—"

"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

crownl"

How very clever, Imbri thought. Of course Xanth would

find its remaining Kings by this simple device! What a fine

perception Amolde 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 Amolde as King, since

Humfrey's prophecy indicated four Kings would follow the

centaur. If Amolde lost his position before attending to that

matter, there would be chaos.

"Well, then, the talents of younger people. Irene, for ex-

ample, 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 rela-

tive talent qualifies her now. But this will not profit the

Kingdom, since she is a woman."

Queen Irene was upstairs with Chameleon and their un-

fortunate 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?" Amolde 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,"

Amolde said. "A Sorceress is, in fact, a female Magician."

"True," Roland acknowledged. "A Magician. The termi-

nology is inconsequential, a lingering prejudice carrying

across from prior times."

"Prejudice," Amolde 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."

Night Mare                       233

"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," Amolde 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 chuck-

led. "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 fur-

ther onus. I suppose, technically, an otherwise qualified

female could become King."

"I am so glad your perception concurs with mine," Ar-

nolde 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 Ma-

gician 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."

234                       Night Mare

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. Cen-

taur King."

Amolde 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 confer-

ence 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 conver-

sation. Imbri wondered why Amolde should wish to ex-

clude 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 im-

mune to harm by magic, should nevertheless fall prey to

the spell of the Horseman?"

"Yes!" Imbri agreed. "He should have been invulnera-

ble! He believed he was! His talent was working with mar-

velous subtlety and precision. He wanted the Horseman to

approach him, believing that—"

"Yet he evidently was not immune," Amolde 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."

Night Mare

235

"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 ac-

tually harmed?"

Imbri glanced toward the room where the Kings were

lyng. "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,"

Amolde 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 peep-

hole of a gourd. Would that account for the observed ef-

fect?"

Imbri was astonished. "Yes, I think it would!"

"Then I suspect we know where to look for the missing

Kings," Amolde 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 Cen-

taur 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, Icha-

bod, who was on his way in. He had evidently been sum-

236 Night Mare

moned to the King's presence for another conference. Im-

bri understood why; Ichabod was Amolde's closest friend

in Xanth, possessing similar qualities of intellect and per-

sonality, 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 spe-

cial 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 re-

cent 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 desig-

nated channel; it had to flow through you. There was no

other way to handle this situation without supernatural in-

terference, so I had to stand aside and let it proceed undis-

turbed. All I could safely do was try to warn Xanth about

the Horseman."

Imbri snorted. "That didn't make much difference!"

Night Mare

237

"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, leav-

ing 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 Ar-

nolde 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."

238

Night Mare

Night Mare

239

"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 ex-

claimed. "As long as a single gourd exists, his power re-

mains. 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. "7 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 philo-

sophically. "You carried the message, but did not under-

stand 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."

"She won't sulk long," King Trent said. "My daughter is

a creature of femalishly mercurial temperament, like my

wife." Then he did a double take. "My wife! I referred to

Queen Iris!"

Humfrey elevated an eyebrow. "After a quarter century,

it's about time, Trent. You can't live in the past forever."

Imbri remembered how King Trent had loved his Mun-

dane wife, not the Queen, and the sorrow this had brought

to Iris.

"It may be a bit late for such a revelation, but yes, it is

true. It is time to relate to the present, without renouncing

the past. Iris has been worthy." King Trent returned his

attention to Imbri. "Please convey that message. Mare Im-

bri."

Imbri was happy to agree. Then she turned to Humfrey.

"How did the Horseman get you and Bink?" she asked the

Good Magician. "You recognized him, so should have

known how to stop him, and Bink is supposed to be im-

mune from hostile magic."

"That was perhaps part of my blunder," Humfrey said.

"I paid so much attention to setting up my spells that I did

not see him enter the tree. Suddenly he was standing there.

I only had time to whisper his identity before he zapped

me. Had I been alert, as I should have been, I could have

had a Word of Power ready—" He shook his head,

ashamed.

"When did he come?" Imbri asked.

"As I said, I was not paying attention, but I would guess

very soon after you and the day horse left. He must have

been lurking in hiding, waiting his chance to catch me

alone. The cunning knave!"

"And Bink—how did he—?"

"Bink was not harmed by the magic>" Humfrey replied,

confirming the centaur's diagnosis. "He was only sent to a

new awareness, as were the rest of us. We find our present

company quite compatible. Therefore his talent was not op-

erative."

Except to the extent of preserving her to rescue Bink's

body, Imbri realized. The protective talent had a narrow

definition of Bink's welfare; he was in actual physical dan-

ger while he was King, and in none thereafter. So it did

make sense, though Xanth itself suffered. At least his ban-

ishment to the gourd had enabled his successor Amolde to

solve the riddle.

"How can I help?" Imbri asked.

"Just what you plan," the Zombie Master told her. "Liai-

son. Bear news to the wives. Perhaps we shall have useful

advice on the conduct of the war. Tell whatever King is

current to request our input if he desires it."

"Or she," Imbri sent. "Queen Iris will be the next King."

240

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241

The Kings exchanged glances. "We are no longer in di-

rect touch with the situation," Humfrey said. "Perhaps it is

best to leave the matter of governance to the centaur; he

seems remarkably competent."

"Send my love to my mother and my wife," Dor said

sadly. He formed a wan smile. "I'll convey the message to

my father myself," he added, glancing at the sleeping

Bink.

Imbri bade farewell to the five Kings and set off again

for the real world.

She arrived at Castle Roogna near midnight. Some of the

people were awake, some asleep. It made no practical dif-

ference; she broadcast her glad dream to all. "The Kings

are all in the gourd! They are welll They send their lovel"

Those who were awake crowded close; those who were

asleep woke abruptly. In a moment Imbri was the center of

attention. She dispensed all the messages, including King

Trent's to the Queen.

Iris seemed stricken. "He said that?" she asked, unbe-

lieving.

"That it is time to live in the present, and you are his

wife," Imbri repeated.

"Oh, Mother!" Irene cried, going to Queen Iris and em-

bracing her. "You have become part of the family!" It

seemed a strange comment, but Imbri understood its mean-

ing. The tragedy of Xanth was bringing its incidental bene-

fits. Imbri retreated to the castle gardens, where she re-

laxed, grazed, and slept, catching up on about two days'

activity.

Tandy returned safely in the night and was reunited

with her ogre husband, who had been pacing the grounds

worriedly, idly tearing weed-trees out of the ground and

squeezing them into balls of pressed wood. It was a nervous

mannerism of his. But all seemed reasonably well for the

moment.

In due course the centaur contingent landed, having

made excellent time, and Imbri went to lead them in to

Castle Roogna. She had thought Chem or Chet would pre-

fer to do it, since they were centaurs, but this was not the

case. Chet and Chem were magic-talented centaurs, and

the conventional centaurs would not associate voluntarily

with their ilk. Chet had actually visited Centaur Isle once;

but though he had been treated with courtesy, he had soon

gotten the underlying message and had never visited again.

In certain respects the separation between magic and non-

magic centaurs was greater than that between Xanth hu-

man beings and Mundanes. Thus Imbri, no centaur at all,

was a better choice; she could keep the pace, she knew the

way, and they didn't care if she had magic. In fact, they

held her kind in a certain muted awe, since a mare had

been the dam of their species. They revered true horses,

while not being unrealistic about their properties.

She met them at the beach. The centaurs used magic-

propelled rafts that were seaworthy and quite stout. They

certainly weren't shy about the use of magic in its proper

place. There were exactly fifty of them, all fine, healthy

warriors with shining weapons and armor. Imbri wondered

whether fifty were enough to handle three hundred Mun-

danes, however.

"We are centaurs," their leader said proudly, as if that

made the question irrelevant. He did not deign to introduce

himself. The arrogance of these warriors was unconscious,

and she did not allow it to disturb her. She led the contin-

gent to Castle Roogna by nightfall.

"Thanks to the very kind and competent assistance of

Ichabod and Queen Iris," Amolde reported, "we have lo-

cated the second Mundane army. He analyzed their likely

course, and her illusion can project her image briefly to

almost any region of Xanth, so that she can see the en-

emy." It seemed that Queen Iris was going all-out to help

the Centaur King, being quite grateful to him on more than

one count. "The Horseman is with them, south of the Ogre-

f en-Ogre Fen. We do not know how he reached them so

rapidly. He did have two days to travel, which would be

enough for a healthy and able man who knew the route—

but he must have crossed some of the wildest terrain of

Xanth to get there. I checked it on Chem's map; there are

flies, dragons, goblins, griffins, and ogres, as well as vir-

tually impassable natural regions. I must confess I am at a

loss even to conjecture how he managed it."

Imbri shared his confusion. She had been to those re-

242 Night Mare

gions of Xanth and knew how difficult they were. The

Lord of the Flies took his office seriously and was apt to

have intruders stung to death, and the other creatures were

no less militant. "He must have used his talent to stop any

hostile creatures, and maybe to cow a griffin into trans-

porting him. He is a very efficient rider; he can tame any-

thing with his reins and spurs." Oh, yes, she knewl

"That must be it. At least he is no present threat to us

here." Amolde did not comment on the implication that

the Horseman believed the Centaur King would be ineffec-

tive, therefore was not worth sending to the gourd. Imbri

suspected the Horseman had made a bad mistake there.

The centaurs of the Isle contingent declined to enter

Castle Roogna. They camped in the gardens, foraging for

fruit from the orchard and pitching small tents. They did

not need these for themselves so much as for their supplies.

'Tell us where the Mundanes are," their leader said coldly.

"We shall march there in the morning and dispatch them."

Imbri showed him the enemy location in a dreamlet

map, since Chem was not encouraged to approach with her

more detailed magic map. The prejudice of the Centaur

Isle centaurs against their talented brethren was implaca-

ble.

"They are in ogre territory?" he asked, surprised. "The

ogres of the fen are wild and hostile; how could mere Mun-

danes have bested them?"

"These are very tough Mundanes," Imbri explained.

"They beat back the Gap Dragon in the Chasm."

"The what in the where?"

It was that forget-spell operating again. "A ferocious

monster in a crevice," she sent.

The centaur was unimpressed. "Any of us could do that

More likely the Mundanes made a deal with the ogres,

promising them plunder if they joined the invasion."

"Such deals occur," Imbri agreed, determined not to be

antagonized. "Such as the promise of autonomy—"

"Are you attempting humor, mare?" he demanded

coldly. It seemed the centaurs' reverence for horses had

limits. King Amolde had immediately granted the Isle cen-

taurs local autonomy, remarking that it made no practical

Night Mare                       243

difference, but they did not express overt appreciation.

Certainly this particular centaur remained prickly!

"Of course not," Imbri demurred, keeping her ears for-

ward and her tail still. She was getting better at such dis-

cipline. Social politics made her master new things. "I

merely fear that we may be up against more than Mun-

danes. When the human King of Xanth sought help from

the other creatures, most expressed indifference, feeling

that it was a human-folk war, not theirs. So there could be

a tacit understanding with the Mundanes, in which the

Punic army is allowed to pass through monster territory

without impediment, provided no damage is done in pass-

ing. It is also possible that some animals chose to ally them-

selves with the Mundanes. In fact, their current leader, the

Horseman, did that; he is a Xanthian turncoat."

The centaur spat to the side, contemptuous of any kind

of turncoat. "We'll handle it," he decided, with what she

hoped was not an unwarranted confidence. "Now leave us;

we shall march at dawn."

Imbri retreated to the castle. Chameleon was up and

alert now, less pretty and more potent mentally, restored

from her grief by the news that her husband and son were

well, if enchanted. "Imbri—do you think you could carry a

person into the gourd to visit the Kings?"

Imbri paused, considering. "I suppose I could. I hadn't

thought of it. Mostly it is only the spirit of a person that

goes into the gourd, but I have been carrying people

through on the way to far places. I could take you to see

your family."

"Oh, I don't mean me, though I certainly would have

been tempted in my other phase. I mean Irene."

"Irene?"

"She and Dor were married just before he became King

and had to master the rigors of Kingship and take over the

campaign against the Mundanes and go to battle. He never

had a moment to himself unless he was sleeping. So she

was widowed, as it were, almost before she was married."

Oh, Imbri had a little trouble getting adapted to the

woman's more intelligent thought processes, for she had

been acclimated to the slow, pretty version. But it was true.

There had been no wedding night. Imbri knew that sort of

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245

thing was important to human people. It was like coming

into season and being walled off from the stallion. "I will

take her to him," Imbri agreed. "Tonight, before anything

else happens."

Chameleon fetched Irene. "Dear, Imbri has somewhere

to take you."

The girl shook her head. "I can't leave Dor. You know

that. If anything happened to his body, he would never be

able to return."

She didn't know! It was to be a surprise.

"I really think you should go, Irene," Chameleon said.

"It will do you good to leave the castle for a while. Things

may get harder later. I will watch Dor for you."

Irene sighed. She could not refuse Dor's mother the

chance to sit by his body. "You're probably right. Very

well, I'll take a ride. This time." She mounted Imbri, and

they set off.

It was not yet dark, so Imbri took her time, circling the

centaur camp and going to the gourd patch indirectly. She

could not safely enter the gourd until night.

"Do you know, it is good to get out," Irene confessed,

looking about. "I haven't ridden a night mare before. Do

you really phase through trees and boulders?"

"I really do, at night," Imbri sent, but did not amplify.

"I've been meaning to thank you for all you have done,"

Irene continued, brightening as the mood of the evening

infused her. "You have taken Chameleon everywhere and

made things so much easier for Dor."

"We all must do what we can." This reminded Imbri

that she was supposed in some way to hold the key to the

salvation of Xanth. If only her role were clearer! All she

could do now was continue from hour to hour, trying to

improve things in little ways. Was that enough? She

doubted it.

"Yes," the girl agreed. "All I've been able to do is sit and

wait. I curse myself for a fool; I had so many years I could

have married Dor and I just waited, thinking it was a sort

of game. Now that it's too late, I realize—" She stopped,

and Imbri knew she was stifling tears.

There was no point in deception. "I am taking you to

him now," Imbri sent.

"Now? But—"

"Inside the gourd. With your father and the other Kings.

A visit. But you must return with me before dawn, or you,

too, will be trapped in the world of the gourd."

"I can go there? For a few hours?" Comprehension was

coming.

"For a few hours," Imbri agreed.

"And I will be real? I mean, I'll seem solid, or the Kings

will? Not just diffuse spirits?"

"Yes. Some creatures are there in spirit, some in body.

When I enter the gourd, my magic accommodates; it is all

right. No one except a night mare can travel physically in

and out of the gourd—except those in contact with a

phased-out night mare."

"Then by all means, let's go!" Irene exclaimed, gladden-

ing.

Now it was dark. Imbri came to the gourd patch and

plunged into the nearest ripe peephole. The rind passed be-

hind them; they then phased through another wall and into

the graveyard, where skeletons roamed. One skeleton

waved to Imbri in greeting; then she trotted on into the

chamber the Night Stallion had reserved for the visiting

Kings.

The Kings were alert and waiting, having somehow an-

ticipated this visit. "Irene!" King Dor cried happily.

Irene greeted her father and Dor's father, then turned to

Dor. She frowned attractively. "You can't skip out this

time!" she said. "We started our marriage in a graveyard,

and well consummate it in a graveyard."

"The skeletons wouldn't like that," he murmured.

"The skeletons don't have to participate." But she

yielded to the extent of allowing Imbri to show them to a

private chamber filled with pillows. As Imbri left, they had

a full-scale pillow fight going.

Imbri now retired to the graveyard for some good graz-

ing. One of the graves began to shake and settle, but she

squealed wamingly 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,

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247

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 ex-

claimed. 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 under-

stood. 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 Horse-

man—soon."

They returned to Castle Roogna. King Amolde 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 Mun-

danes," 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 accom-

modate 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 be-

yond 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 gob-

lins 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 ef-

ficiently 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 bor-

der. The flies buzzed angrily, but could not get close; the

repellent caused them to bounce away, no matter how de-

terminedly 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, es-

pecially in this number. They had experienced the deprada-

tions 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

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249

huge amounts of food to maintain their equine bodies, but

it all had to be tunneled through their inadequate human

mouths. Fortunately, they had brought concentrated sup-

plies along, but it remained inefficient business.

The route was not straightforward. Between the dragon

country and the goblin country there was a jagged moun-

tain range, projecting west into the region of earthquakes;

they had to skirt the mountains closely to avoid getting

shaken up.

It was there, in tfae 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 march-

ing south; naturally the centaur contingent would encoun-

ter them south of the location King Amolde 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 swaflowed 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, con-

sulted, and moved slowly back toward the Mundanes.

"What are you doing?" Imbri demanded in a dreamlet.

"Now we have sprung the trap; we shall destroy the en-

emy," a centaur replied.

"But there are several hundred Mundanes, protected by

the terrain! You'll be slaughtered exactly as your compan-

ions werel"

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 sup-

posed 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 weap-

ons, who now knew exactly what they faced. Their unex-

celled 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 vol-

ley 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 ov-

erlapping 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 con-

tinued to fall, and none who fell rose again. Now Imbri

realized that Chet, a young centaur, had not yet fully mas-

tered his marksmanship; otherwise he would have needed

no more than a single arrow per Mundane when he had

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251

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 main-

tained 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 real-

ized, 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. Appar-

ently 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 deni-

zen 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 de-

stroy 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 ad-

vice 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. Natu-

rally he would not give that information simply for the ask-

ing.

She entered the chamber of the Kings—and skidded to a

halt, appalled.

"Yes, it is I," Amolde 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,"

252

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253

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," Amolde added. "I told Iris to sleep, since

there was no present menace to me. Evidently I was mis-

taken."

Evidently so, Imbri had to agree. She nodded and trotted

on out, feeling heavy-hoofed. When would it end?

Chapter 12. King Queen

She reached Castle Roogna, unconscious of the

interveningJourney. THe palace staff was sleeping, mcludmg

^ImbTapproached Queen Iris and sent her a^fica^

dream: "King Arnolde has been taken; you must assume

the Kingship, your Majesty."                        ^

"What? Arnolde was quite alert a moment agol ins

protested.                      ,...,.„

'^^^.^-^ herself

awaShTlurched to her feet and stumbled ^he Kmg s

apartment. "King Centaur, I just had a bad dream-

She stopped. Arnolde stood there, staring blankly.

^sS Iris whispered, appalled. "Oh, we should

^ S^mTrTo^mbri 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. AU 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 torment-

ing 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 physicallyl I can use my illu-

sion 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 Amolde."

"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, men 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.

254

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255

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 then" burrows, wanting

none of it.

In midmoming 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 Xantb intelli-

gence estimate had thought—had been reduced to some-

what 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 effec-

tively! 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 ref-

uge in the burrow of a local dragon; there was a loud

gulping sound, followed by the smacking of lips and a satis-

fied 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 ele-

phants 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 re-

covered, if any could be rounded up unscathed.

"Now that's the way illusion should operate," Queen

Irene murmured appreciatively. "They'll make slower prog-

ress with most of then- 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 poi-

sonous. 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 versa-

tility of the King's performance; she would have been terri-

fied 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 pre-

vented 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 mag-

256 Night Mare

ical 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 deep-

ened 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 if 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 rain-

deer 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 disap-

pear. 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 fash-

ion. One might disbelieve the storm—but overlook the non-

existence 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 nonex-

istent storm, across the nonexistent ground—and fell,

screaming, into the very real Gap Chasm. The Horseman

had forgotten about it, naturally enough, and the Mun-

danes 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

Night More                      257

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 re-

tained 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 saf-

est. The best shortcuts were ones only something like a

man could take. So there still seemed to be no perfect an-

swer. 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 stum-

bled, 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 Amolde decreed you a Sorceress, therefore a Ma-

gician, therefore in the line of succession, and he named

258

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259

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 pro-

tect 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 Magi-

dan. We can't let the Horseman claim the throne by de-

fault. 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 help-

ing 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 ad-

justment, 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 strag-

gle 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

Amolde 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 pros-

pective 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 be-

lieve 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 intel-

lect to match hers then. "I shall see that the Horseman is

not the tenth King, whatever else I do or do not accom-

plish." 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—"

Irene's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I follow your impli-

cation."

"You are a lovely young woman. He might attempt to

legitimize his takeover by taking you in another fashion."

Irene flushed. "I'd kill him!" Then she tilted her head,

reconsidering slightly. "I'll kill him anyway, if I get the

chance. I owe him for my father, my mother, my hus-

band—"

Again Chameleon smiled. How different this expression

was from the one her lovely version had shown. This was a

cold, calculating, awful thing. "I am not questioning your

personal loyalty to Xanth. I am merely Suggesting that it

might occur to him to try. It is the kind of thing that oc-

curs to men when they encounter young women of your

260

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261

description. If you could discipline yourself enough to seem

to accept his interest, at least until you fathomed his se-

cret—"

Slowly Irene's smile matched that of the older woman.

The strangest thing was that it was no prettier on Irene's

face than on Chameleon's. Imbri saw, and understood, and

was repelled. Human women well knew the advantage they

bad over human men and used it ruthlessly. What an ugly

way to try to save Xanth! Yet if it came to that extreme,

was there any better way? What was justified in war? Im-

bri wasn't sure. Maybe there was no proper answer to this

type of question.

Now King Irene went to work organizing her campaign.

The magic mirror showed the Mundanes camping for the

night; at least there were several campfires. The rest was

darkness. If the Punics resumed their march at dawn, it

would take them at least two hours to reach the invisible

bridge—obviously the Horseman knew about it—and

longer to get to Castle Roogna.

Irene turned to Imbri. "The bridge—could you kick that

out tonight?"

"I could try," Imbri sent. "But I would run the risk of

falling into the Gap, since I can't use a lever or an axe, and

would have to stand on the bridge in material form to kick

at its supports. This sort of work really requires human

bands and tools." It galled her to admit that there was

something a human folk person was better at than an

equine person, but in this very limited respect it was so.

"I will go with you," Chameleon said. "I'm not strong,

but I'm good at that sort of challenge. I have a sharp knife

that should cut through the strands."

"But—" King Irene protested.

"There is no danger from the Mundanes by night," Cha-

meleon reminded her. "And none from Xanth monsters

when I'm on the enchanted path or on the night mare. If

we can take down that bridge quickly, the Nextwave will

be stalled at least another day, navigating the Chasm, and

we shall be much better able to defend Castle Roogna."

"But if I should be taken during your absence—"

"I'll return promptly. I promise."

The girl spread her hands. "You are correct, of course.

I'm afraid to be alone with this responsibility, but that's a

luxury I can't afford. Unlike my mother, I never even

imagined being King. I shall set up a collection of plants to

defend this castle, but I won't make them grow until you

are safely back inside."

Chameleon mounted Imbri, and they took off through

the wall and headed for the local gourd patch.

"I have another task for you," Chameleon said when

they were alone. "I do not believe that either the Gap or

Irene's plants can stop the Mundanes for long, and we'll

never eliminate the Horseman unless we first trap him and

prevent his escape. This will require a lure he can't resist,

and some desperate measures on our part."

"I want to kill the Horseman if I find him," Imbri sent.

"I'm not sure hell tell us how to nullify his enchantment.

He deceived me once, but he will never trick me like that

again." She swished her tail, smashing imaginary flies.

"He is extremely elusive, and I think I know why," Cha-

meleon 'said. "It would be quite unfortunate if I am

wrong—and I'm not yet at my peak of intelligence, so I

may be—therefore I will not voice my suspicion. But if I

am right, he will take King Irene, and he will also take me,

immediately following. He will suppose that will make him

the tenth King, the chain complete, but we can prevent

that by acting first. There must be one more King of

Xanth designated, one he can't send to the gourd. That is

the King who can finally break the chain."

"Yes, Magician Humfrey's prophecy makes the tenth

monarch vital," Imbri agreed, diving into a gourd. Neither

of them paid attention to the gourd world, which now

seemed commonplace, being absorbed in their conversation.

"But who is it to be? Anyone you select can be enchanted."

"Anyone but one," Chameleon said.

"Who?"

"You."

Imbri veered into the wall of the City of Brass, one of

the subdivisions of the gourd, where the brassies labored on

metallic aspects of bad dreams. Of course the brass wall

didn't hurt her, as it was insubstantial in her present state,

262 Night Mare Night Mare 263

but by the time she straightened out, she had startled sev-

eral of the laboring brass folk. "Who?"

"Who are you looking for?" a brassie man inquired,

thinking she was addressing him.

Embarrassed, Imbri covered by naming the one brassie

she knew of who had seen the real world. "Biythe."

"You're in the wrong building," the brassie man said.

"She's in B-Four."

"Tell her I may need her help soon," Imbri sent, realiz-

ing that she might turn this blunder to advantage. Biythe

Brassie just might be able to help in the crisis of Xanth.

"Right now I'm on my way elsewhere."

"Yes, carrying garbage to the dump," another brassie re-

marked, eying Chameleon.

Imbri hastily trotted on through»another wall, feeling an

unequine burning in her ears. "The brass folk are very in-

sensitive," she sent to Chameleon. "They have no souls and

no soft tissues."

"I am used to this sort of thing," Chameleon said. "Peo-

ple assume that because I am ugly I must be bad, and they

treat me that way, then find confirmation when I do not

react with delight. If they approached me in my off-phase

the way they do when I'm pretty, they would find me easy

enough to get along with."

There was much truth in that, Imbri was sure. She re-

membered how Smash the Ogre had been considered bru-

tish and violent because of his size and appearance, when

in fact he was a most decent creature. People tended to

become what others deemed them to be. Perhaps that was

another aspect of the magic of Xanth.

Chameleon resumed her discussion. "I am designating

you to be the final King of Xanth, Imbri. If I am correct,

and I hope I am, you are the only one who can do it. This

is the real reason the Night Stallion sent you out into the

day. He knew what he was not permitted to tell, so he did

what he could to save Xanth by making it possible. It was a

course requiring much grief, including Good Magician

Humfrey's shame, but the only likely way to save Xanth.

You are the key. You must be the tenth King."

"But I'm a horse!"

"Yes, I had noticed. Are you any less a creature of

Xanth?"

Imbri snorted. "I think I liked you better when you were

beautiful, and not just because of your appearance."

"Everyone does. But on certain rare occasions, intelli-

gence is more valuable to a woman than beauty."

"Oh, of course! I didn't mean—"

"I will be beautiful again, Imbri. I can not afford to

remain King then; I would defeat Xanth through sheer stu-

pidity. If the Horseman had the intelligence to banish Irene

and keep me in power, he could certainly work his will

during my other phase. I must provoke the crisis now,

while I have the wit to handle it. Things may move quite

rapidly once I return to Castle Roogna. Just you be ready

to do your part, mare."

"I don't understand this at all!" Imbri sent in a dreamlet

of darkly roiling nebulosities. "You aren't even King yet,

but you talk of getting banished to me gourd. If you desig-

nate me King, no citizen of Xanth would accept it."

"They won't need to," Chameleon said. "I would explain

more thoroughly, but I fear that would disrupt the proph-

ecy. You must tell no one of this—until the time. Mean-

while, after we take down the bridge, you must go and

fetch help for Irene's plants. The throne of Xanth has come

at last to women; it behooves the women to defend it with

greater efficacy than the men did. Go fetch the Siren and

the Gorgon from Magician Humfrey's castle and locate

Goldy Goblin; we'll need their talents for the final con-

frontation."

"But if I go there, how will you get back to Castle

Roogna?" Imbri had never dreamed such an office would

come to her, and as a night mare, she had dreamed a great

deal, but did belatedly see the logic of it. She was immune

to the Horseman's power, so could stop him in a way no

other creature could. But practical details of organization

remained. "At least I must take you back there before—"

"We shall see what works out," Chameleon said enigmat-

ically. That was another annoying aspect of her intelli-

gence; obviously there was a lot Imbri was missing.

They plunged out of the gourd near the bridge and gal-

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265

loped to the brink of the Chasm. But there was a problem.

The Mundanes had set guards there. Imbri faded back into

the dark forest, before the enemy spied her, and halted.

"What now? I could approach invisibly, but would have to

materialize to attack the bridge."

Chameleon considered, tapping her fingers idly against

Imbri's mane. "Well have to get rid of them. I'll devise a

slingshot, and you can power it. Make sure I don't grab the

wrong kind of vine."

They quested quickly through the jungle, locating sev-

eral large elastic bands, which they harvested and tied to

firm ironwood trunks, making a huge sling. Chameleon set

a big stone in the net, and Imbri drew it back with all the

weight of her body. Chameleon had fixed a temporary kind

of harness from vines to make this possible.

Following Chameleon's directions, Imbri adjusted her

position until the slingshot was aimed right at the Mun-

danes. At Chameleon's command she phased out, releasing

the bands, and the rock hurtled up and across.

It scored a perfect hit on the near side of the bridge,

sweeping the two Mundane guards into the Chasm. Cha-

meleon knew exactly what she was doing in this phase! The

two of them hurried across and discovered that the stone

had also ripped away the bridge. The job was done alreadyl

Two more Mundanes stood across the Chasm. They

nocked arrows to strings—but Chameleon jumped on Im-

bri, and Imbri phased out again, and the arrows passed

harmlessly through them. Nevertheless, they retreated from

the Chasm, so that there would be no threat.

They heard a noise from the west. "A centaur's

coming!" Imbri sent.

"No, I suspect it's a horse."

Indeed, in a moment the white day horse appeared. Im-

bri projected a dreamlet of greeting to his mind.

"Is the bridge still there?" he asked worriedly. "I heard a

crash, so came running. The best grazing is south, but I

have a good hiding place on the other side, and it's getting

late."

"No bridge," Imbri sent. "We just took it out. You

couldn't have used it anyway; the Mundanes had set

guards on it."

"The Mundanes!" his dream figure cried. "I understood

they were way up north!"

"That was yesterday. Now they are here. Tomorrow

they'll be crossing the Chasm, and the day after that they'll

be at Castle Roogna."

"I must flee!"

"If I understand his reactions correctly," Chameleon

said, "you have informed him of the proximity of the Punic

army, and he wants to get away from here."

"Yes," Imbri agreed. "He is very nervous about Mun-

danes. I can expand the dream to include you so you can

talk to him directly—"

"No, don't bother. When I was fair and stupid, I felt at

home with the normal equine intellect; now that palls. But

I do need transportation. Tell him I shall be the next King

of Xanth, the ninth, and ask him if he would like to carry

me back to Castle Roogna. That's on his way south, away

from the enemy."

Imbri did as she was bidden. "That's Chameleon?" the

day horse asked, amazed. The night was dark, since it was

no longer a good phase of the moon, but his excellent

equine night vision showed him her appearance well

enough. "I know she changes, but this creature is ugly,

even for the human kind!"

"But she's the same inside," Imbri sent to both.

"The hell I am!" Chameleon snapped.

"And she's going to be Queen of Xanth?" the day horse

asked, daunted.

"King of Xanth." Imbri did not have the nerve to say

who would follow Chameleon in that office.

The day horse shrugged. "She's ugly, but I liked her

once and can carry her, if there are no Mundanes there."

"There are none," Imbri reassured him. "Even Ichabod

retired to a human village, after Amolde the Centaur King

got taken out. There are only women inside Castle Roogna

BOW, with King Irene."

The day horse snorted acquiescently. Women were no

threat to him. Chameleon mounted, and they set off at a

gallop for Castle Roogna.

Imbri headed for Magician Humfrey's castle, via the

gourd. As she traversed a fraction of the night world, she

266 Night Mare

Wondered idly how Chameleon had guessed she would find

convenient transportation back. The woman was hideously

smart in her proper phase, but this smacked of prophecy.

Soon she reached the Magician's castle and trotted

across its moat and through its wall. "Grundy!" she sent in

a general dreamlet. "Is the Gorgon back yet? Tell her not

to look at mel"

"I am back," the Gorgon replied in the dream. "The go-

lem returned not long ago to Castle Roogna to help fight

the final battle. I am thoroughly veiled. Just let me wake

up, and I will introduce you to my sister the Siren and

Goldy Goblin, who also returned with me."

So the goblin girl had been serious about helping! "Don't

wake up," Imbri sent. "You surely need your sleep, and I

already know the Siren. I will talk to you all in one

dream." She expanded the dream to include the others,

now that she knew their identity.

"Oh, you are the night mare Smash the Ogre knew!"

Goldy exclaimed as she saw Imbri. "The Siren told me

about you. You carried Smash from the Void."

"Well, not exactly," Imbri demurred, somehow flattered.

"But I did help and I received half of Chem Centaur's soul

for the service. That enabled me to go dayside."

"I know how that is," the goblin girl said. "The ogre

arranged for me to have this magic wand, and that gave

me great power among my kind. Soon I will marry a goblin

chief. I was down in the mines, picking out a trousseau of

precious metals, or I would have come to help the centaurs

fight the Mundanes. I didn't know until too late, so I sent a

messenger who may not have reached you—"

"He reached me," Imbri sent.

"Then the Gorgon picked me up before I heard from

him. Now I'm ready." She waved her wand in the dream,

and objects flew about, touched by its power of levitation.

"Magician Humfrey told me to fetch my sister," the

Gorgon explained. "And she told me that we should gather

some of her other friends, so we tried. But Fireoak the

Hamadryad can't leave her tree for such a risky venture,

and John the fairy is expecting offspring—I don't think

you know these people anyway—and we couldn't reach

Night More                      267

Biythe Brassie, and have still to get the word to others like

Chem and Tandy—"

"Chem and Tandy are already at Castle Roogna," Imbri

sent, flashing an image of the castle in the background.

"And I can fetch Biythe any time if she wants to come.

She expressed interest before, and I left a message at the

City of Brass for her to be ready."

"It would be so nice to get together again," the Siren

said. "And to see the ogre again, too; he made it all possi-

ble."

"Chameleon asked me to fetch help to defend Castle

Roogna," Imbri sent. "I can take you there one at a time."

"No, we'll use the magic carpet," the Gorgon said. "We

used a bottled conjure-spell to send the golem back, so we

saved the carpet. We can start in the morning and keep

whistling it back until all three of us are there. Will that be

time enough?"

"It should be," Imbri agreed. "We expect the Mundanes

there in two days. King Irene will grow plants to stop

them—"

"King Irene!" the Gorgon exclaimed. "What happened

to the Centaur King?"

Imbri quickly updated them on recent developments. "So

Chameleon will be the next King," she concluded.

"This is moving almost too swiftly for me," the Siren

said. "We've got to stop losing our Kings!"

"And stop the Nextwave army," the Gorgon added. "I

believe I can do much of that myself, if I can get a good

look at them."

"Yes," Imbri agreed. "Take care that no Xanth defend-

ers are near."

The Gorgon nodded. "We certainly shall. You go fetch

Biythe; well meet you at Castle Roogna."

Imbri let them lapse back into dreamless sleep. She trot-

ted out and to the gourd patch and soon was back at the

City of Brass.

All the brassies of Biythe's block were frozen into statue

form, which was normal for them when at rest. Imbri

pressed the activation button with her nose and they came

to life. "Will you come with me to the real world, Biythe?"

268 Night Mare Night Mare 269

Imbri asked the pretty brassie girl. "Your friends have

asked for you, and you did mention to me—"

"I'd love to!" Biythe exclaimed. "It's a strange place out

there, with all its living things, but I liked the ogre and the

girls."

"I'll have to clear it with the Night Stallion," Imbri sent.

"But I think it will be all right."

Biythe mounted her, and they made an arrangement to

have the brassie building turned off again after they de-

parted it, then went on to check on the seven Kings.

Imbri received a shock. Now there were nine Kings.

Both Irene and Chameleon had been taken.

"Now it is up to you. King Mare," Chameleon said.

"Only you can stop the Horseman."

"But how did he get to you?" Imbri asked, flustered.

Chameleon had warned that things might proceed rapidly,

but this was hardly to be assimilated.

Chameleon smiled unpleasantly. "I brought him inside

Castle Roogna. My plan worked perfectly."

"You what?"

"I confirmed my suspicion and lured him into the trap,

using myself as bait. The moment he was inside, we sent

all other living occupants of the castle outside, and King

Irene grew the plants she had set out, and they quietly con-

fined him to the castle while he was occupied with us." She

made that nasty smile again. "For a while he somehow

thought Irene found him handsome, but when he realized

she was only stalling for time for her plants to complete

their growth, he banished her to the gourd. Then I assumed

the crown and told him we knew his secret and would

never let him escape the castle, and of course he banished

me, too. So my tenure as King was very brief: no more

than two minutes. He was very angry about being outwit-

ted, particularly by one he had regarded as stupid."

"But he never met you before!" Imbri protested. "You

were in the forest with the day horse when Grundy and

Ichabod and I met him!"

"Not precisely. Now you must go and dispatch him, and

that will not be easy," Chameleon concluded.

"It will be easy!" Imbri sent. "I will gladly kick that

monster to death!"

Chameleon shook her head. "No, not easy at all. You

can't kill him."

"Certainly I can, King Chameleon!" Imbri sent hotly.

"Because it may be that only he can abate the enchant-

ment he has put all of us under. You must first make him

free us—and he won't do that voluntarily."

Of course that was true; they had been over it before.

Imbri was letting her equine temper run away with her.

"But I can still kick him into submission. Before I finish,

he'll be glad to tell me all." But uncertainty was gnawing

at her.

"Not so," Good Magician King Humfrey said. "There is

an aspect we may have neglected to clarify."

"You see," Chameleon continued, "he is the offspring of

a stallion and a human woman. The result of a liaison at a

love spring. That's why he calls himself the Horseman. He

is a crossbreed, like the centaurs."

"Like the centaurs?" Imbri asked, confused. "But he's a

man!"

"He is a werehorse."

Slowly the terrible realization came across Imbri. "The—

day horse?"

"The same. His mind could occupy two forms, each one

quite natural to him. No one suspected, because no such

creature has manifested in recent times."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Imbri sent, appalled. "All this

time I—he—"

"I realize that was cruel," Chameleon said. "But I was

sot quite sure. If I were wrong, I would have maligned a

good and innocent animal. If I were right, it would have

been dangerous to inform you, because your reaction could

have alerted him and made him avoid our trap. So I had to

deceive you, and I regret that."

"All the time, with us—the Horseman!"

"Whose magic talent is to connect a line of sight between

any two places—such as a human eye and the peephole of

a gourd, as we surmised. That is how he enchanted all of

us. But if you try to kick him, he will change into his horse

form—and he is more powerful than you."

"Not by night!" Imbri protested. But she remained ap-

palled. She had thought the day horse was her friend! Now

270 Night Mare

she remembered how the animal had always been in the

general vicinity of the Horseman. Certainly this had been

so when she had first encountered both of them, the one

purporting to be fleeing the other. What a cunning camou-

flage—and she had been completely deceived. The horse

had even freed her from captivity by the man—how could

she suspect they were the same? Then, when she, Grundy,

and Ichabod had spied on the Mundane army, while Cha-

meleon slept, the Horseman had appeared in the Mundane

camp. And the Horseman's uncanny ability to travel—

naturally he had used his stallion form to gallop in hours

what might have taken his human form days, while the

man form could navigate the special passes and shortcuts

that might have balked the animal form. The best of both

forms! As the day horse, pretending to be stupid, he had

learned the secrets of Xanth—the invisible bridge, the pro-

jected lines of Kings—and they had thought him their ally

and had told hirri everything!

Now, too, she understood the shame of the Good Magi-

cian. The day horse had been there when Humfrey had set

out his spells and explained them to her! Humfrey could

have enchanted the Horseman at any time, had he realized

what was in retrospect so obvious. Instead he had allowed

himself to be caught in that moment when Imbri had been

outside, waiting for the day horse to follow; the stallion had

changed to the Horseman, ensorcelled the Magician,

changed back, and run with Imbri. If Humfrey was morti-

fied, what, then, of Imbri herself. She had indeed been

marishly stupid.

It all fitted so neatly together now. She was sickened. It

had taken Chameleon, in her nasty smart phase, to put all

the clues together and arrive at the proper conclusion. The

Horseman, perhaps becoming contemptuous of his opposi-

tion, had been fooled himself. Naturally he had gone with

her into Castle Roogna; there was his chance to eliminate

the last two Kings expeditiously and take over.

They were all standing there, waiting for Imbri to come

to terms with it. King Dor had his arm around King Irene,

and both looked pretty well satisfied to be together again.

King Trent had taken the hand of King Iris, a seemingly

Night Mare                       271

minor gesture of quarter-century significance. All nine

Kings appeared to be well enough off here, for the time

being—but their bodies were in Castle Roogna, at the

mercy of their enemy, the Horseman. They had figured

out the truth, and that was essential, but the end of this

crisis was hardly certain yet.

"Best of fortune. King Imbri," King Trent said sol-

emnly. "Xanth is depending on you."

Now Imbri appreciated the full magnitude of the chal-

lenge. The tenth King had to break the chain—and she was

that King.

Chapter 13. Breaking the Chain

1 here was no trouble about getting Biythe Brassie

released for real-world duty; the Night Stallion had been

waiting for the request. Imbri and the brassie girl arrived

at Castle Roogna before dawn.

The Gorgon, the Siren, and Goldy Goblin were already

there. So were Chem Centaur and Tandy and her ogre hus-

band Smash, who had been faithfully guarding the castle

throughout. Other people and creatures had been sent to

neighboring villages for their own safety, since it was now

known this would be a battle site. The old soldier Crombie

had been persuaded by his daughter to march with the oth-

ers, to protect them on the journey and point the way if

any got lost. The truth was, he was no longer in condition

to fight Mundanes, but he had indomitable pride. The Si-

ren had organized these things with the tact and sensitivity

she possessed.

Biythe was joyed to meet the others. Old friends greeted

one, another enthusiastically. Then they sobered, knowing

that the difficult time was soon to come. Marching from

272

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273

the Gap was one enemy; within the castle was another.

Both had to be dealt with—by this pitifully frail-seeming

group of females and a single ogre.

"And one golem," Grundy pointed out with grim pride.

Obviously he had not departed with the others, though he

should have. What he could do to help wasn't clear at the

moment, but he was ready to do it.

They looked at Imbri, who suddenly realized it was now

her place to give directives, for she was King. "Rest, eat,"

she sent in a slightly shaky dreamlet. "We don't expect the

Mundanes until another day. You'll know what to do."

Imbri faced the castle, a dark silhouette against a sky

thinking about brightening. "And I know what I must do

first!"

The castle was imposing in a strange new way, as she

gradually made out the details. It was almost entirely over-

grown by vegetation. Tangle trees braced against its walls,

and carnivorous grass sprouted from the crannies. Animate

vines dangled from the parapets. Kraken weeds sprouted

from the moat, making the normal moat monsters uneasy.

King Irene was gone, but her magic remained, and it did

indeed seem to be of Magician caliber.

There was no easy way any person could pass in or out

of that place. The Horseman certainly was trapped, for a

tangler would as quickly gobble a horse as a man. The

plants could not invade the interior of the castle, for that

was protected by assorted spells that had been in place for

centuries, but they certainly lurked for anything outside.

Imbri had to enter the castle now, before dawn, or she

would not be able to do so until nightfall. Only her imma-

terial state could pass those savage plants! Chameleon and

Irene had certainly set their trap well, and done as much

for Xanth in their brief tenures as Kings as any of the prior

Kings had.

There was a sound from the north. Chet Centaur came

galloping, his fine body sweating from the effort. Imbri

marveled at how different the results of crossbreeding

could be—a fine centaur on one hoof, the awful Horseman

on the other.

"The Mundanes are coming! The Mundanes are com-

ing!" Chet exclaimed breathlessly.

"But we took down the bridge!" Imbri protested.

"I know it. I checked as well as I could without being

seen by them. Apparently they sent a man across right

after you left. It happened so fast the Gap Dragon didn't

have time to get there—though I'm not sure that poor

monster is eager to encounter Mundanes again! The man

hauled the invisible bridge back up—it's netlike, you

know—and tied it in place, and they marched across it at

night. Now their vanguard is upon us! I would have discov-

ered it earlier, but I was checking other trails."

"You were on routine night patrol, not expecting any-

thing," Grundy said. "We all knew the one place they

would not cross was at the broken bridge. Or thought we

knew."

"We have all underestimated the Mundanes," the Siren

said. "That's why the war has gone so badly for us. We

keep thinking that people without magic can't be much of a

threat. That's not true at all; in fact, such people are the

most ruthless and depraved, perhaps because of that lack,

so are doubly dangerous."

Imbri realized that the Siren, who had been deprived of

her own magic talent for more than twenty years, was in a

position to appreciate the deleterious social effects of loss

of magic. She was a good woman and had survived and

perhaps even improved herself during that hiatus, but

lesser people could readily do worse.

Imbri, like the others, had made another serious miscal-

culation. She had assumed that the Mundanes would re-

main camped for the night, then forge across the Gap

Chasm by day in the manner the other army had crossed a

few days before, and camp again on the south side. They

had outsmarted her, advancing cleverly and rapidly to re-

join their trapped leader. Now the consequence of this mis-

judgment was apparent; the siege was on before the de-

fense was ready.

The Horseman would have to wait. Imbri had a battle to

organize. The Nextwave could not be allowed to capture

Castle Roogna, the last solid symbol of Xanth indepen-

dence, or to rescue the Horseman. If she went inside to deal

with him, she would be trapped there by daylight, unable

274

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275

to phase through walls and plants, and thus be unable to

deal with the army outside. She might kill the Horseman

but lose the battle, so that Xanth would have nothing at all

except barbarians overrunning it. Even a bad leader was

probably better than none at all. If she dealt first with the

Mundanes, the Horseman would remain trapped, and she

could deal with him at her leisure.

But that wasn't a perfect answer. Suppose the Horseman

got angry and started killing the bodies of the Kings? Could

she afford to risk that? Imbri wavered again. The burden

of decision making was heavy, for a mistake affected the

welfare of many other creatures, and perhaps the entire

Kingdom.

"Don't worry," the Siren said, divining her thought.

"The Horseman won't hurt the Kings. He is holding them

hostage. He knows we could send in a flight of harpies or

other deadly creatures to wipe him out, if we weren't con-

cerned about our own people in there. Meanwhile, the

Kings are no threat to him. He has everything to gain by

taking good care of them—until the Mundanes win this

battle and free him. If the Mundanes lose, he'll try to use

the Kings as bargaining chips to win his own freedom."

That made sense, Imbri hoped. "We must organize

quickly," she sent. "The Gorgon must be where only the

enemy can see her, but not where they can shoot arrows at

her."

"Fear not," the Gorgon said. "I will remove my veil only

in the presence of a Mundane. I can hide behind a tree and

peek out—"

"But the others will see what happens to the first," the

Siren said. "The Mundanes are very quick to perceive and

act against threats to their welfare. But I can help. Magi-

cian Humfrey restored my magic dulcimer before he be-

came King; I have it now, and my power has returned. Let

me lure them—"

"First we must get all Xanth males clear of the area,"

Imbri sent.

"Aw, we know about the Gorgon," Grundy protested.

"We won't look her in the puss."

"All males must be clear," Imbri insisted. "Beyond hear-

ing, so you won't be lured in by the Siren. You go out and

warn them, in the name of the King. Get far away and

don't return until one of us finds you and tells you it's

safe."

"Oops—Smash went on another patrol through the jun-

gle," Tandy said. "To make sure no Mundanes were sneak-

ing in from any other directions."

"We have to do it, golem," Chet said. "She's the King

Mare. And she's right. We must warn everyone as fast as

we can, catching any stragglers and getting well away from

here ourselves. We can intercept Smash and warn him

off."

"We'll give you as much time as possible," Imbri sent.

"This is a battle only females can fight, because they are

immune to the Siren's song." She turned quickly to the Si-

ren. "That's right, isn't it?"

"That's right," the Siren agreed. "My power is related to

that of Millie the Ghost—projected sex appeal. I suppose a

male Siren could summon females."

"That would serve them right!" Grundy exclaimed. The

Gorgon turned toward him, lifting one hand to her veil.

Hastily he mounted Chet, and they galloped off while the

Siren chuckled. The Gorgon would not really have lifted

that veill

Imbri remained uneasy. They certainly had an excellent

weapon, or combination of weapons, in these two sisters,

since the Mundane army was all male. If only they had

had more time to work out a really solid defensel

In hurried moments, they set up a crude arrangement,

the best they could manage with the disadvantage of their

situation. As the sun hauled itself up out of the forest to

the east, singeing the leaves of the adjacent trees, the head

of the Mundane column marched upon the castle. Light

glinted from the Punic shields and helmets as the dread

Wave crested a ridge.

Chem Centaur concealed herself in a hollow old beer-

barrel tree and projected a large map of what she saw. This

identified the position of all the Mundanes in the area in a

way that every defender could see. The Punics could see it,

too—but no Xanth positions were marked on it, so it didn't

276

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277

help the enemy. The Mundanes peered about, trying to

spot the origin of the map, but there were a hundred fat

old trees in the vicinity, none of .whom cared to help the

enemy, and many other features of the terrain to baffle the

intruders. So the Mundanes spread out, poking their spears

at each tree and getting peppered by supposedly accidental

falls of deadwood. Soon they would discover the right one.

But Goldy Goblin, using the projected map for orienta-

tion, waved her magic wand. A Mundane flew up in the

air, involuntarily, with a startled cry. He sailed in a high

arc over the jungle, then plunged, screaming, out of sight.

The Mundanes oriented on this new menace, for the mo-

ment forgetting the map. They located Goldy, perched high

in a you-call-yptus tree. They shot arrows at her, but the

tree called out a warning, as was its nature, and moved its

branches to intercept them.

The Mundanes stared, thinking this another coincidence,

blaming the movement on the wind. But as the breeze died,

and the tree kept balking their shots, they realized that it,

too, was a combatant. All the trees around Castle Roogna

could move, within reasonable limits, and they were guard-

ians of the castle. But they could not do much unless the

Mundanes came within reach, and the enemy soldiers were

careful to stay clear.   '

The Mundanes charged the yptus tree. Goldy used her

wand to loft another and another over the jungle and in-

to the nearest lake, where hungry goozlegizzard monsters

lurked, but there were too many for her to stop. They

reached the base of the tree and started climbing.

Then Biythe Brassie went into action. She was perched

on a lower branch and had a basket of cherry bombs har-

vested from the local cherry tree. She dropped these singly

on each ascending helmet The bombs detonated as they

struck, splattering cherry juice in the enemy faces and

making the helmets clang. The climbing Mundanes fell out

of the tree and out of the fight

The other Mundanes shot arrows at Biythe. They were

so close that the tree's branches were unable to react fast

enough to protect her. But the arrows clanged off her brass

body harmlessly. Well, almost harmlessly; each one left a

dent, and she was very sensitive about dents. Furious, she

hurled more cherries at the archers, blasting them out

Angered in turn, the Punies formed a kind of phalanx,

overlapping their shields above their heads, so the cherry

bombs had little effect, and marching to the base of the

tree. Then they used their swords to hack at the trunk.

"OooOooOl" the tree groaned with a sound like that of

wind sighing through its branches. It certainly was hurting.

Biythe dropped down on the top of the phalanx and

knelt to locate crevices. Through these she squeezed more

cherry bombs. The explosions in the confined space of the

formation caused the overlapping shields to jump and fall

apart Smoke poured out, assisted by the coughing and

hacking of the people inside the enclosure. Biythe lost her

perch and fell down into the phalanx.

Now the Punies whose bodies remained intact grabbed

the brassie girl. Biythe struggled, but they were too many

and too strong for her. "Look what we've got herel" one

gloated. "A golden nymph."

"We know what to do with that kind!" another ex-

claimed. "Hold her arms and legs—"

Imbri, seeing this from deeper in the jungle, galloped

across to where the Siren hid. "They've got Biythel" she

sent the moment she came within range. "They're chopping

Goldy's tree! Now it's time for youl"

The Siren nodded. She put her hands to her dulcimer

and began to play. Music sprang out magically, filling the

air. Then she sang. Her voice merged oddly with the notes

of the instrument, forming an unusual but compelling mel-

ody. The magic was not entirely in the dulcimer and not

entirely in her voice, but together the two formed a power-

ful enchantment. The sound floated out over the battle-

field, suffusing the environment.

The Mundane men reacted in quite a different manner

than the Xanth females. The soldiers straightened up, lis-

tening, pausing in whatever they were doing. Some had ar-

rows nocked to strings; some were chopping at the you-call

tree; some were advancing on the castle; and some were

holding Biythe Brassie spread-eagled, preparing for some

heinous male act. All froze a moment, then turned and

278 Night More

faced the music. Biythe, battered and dented but otherwise

undaunted, dropped to the ground; the men had no further

interest in her.

There was no formation now, only a somnambulistic

shuffling toward the unseen Siren. For almost twenty-five

years the merwoman's power had been blunted by the loss

of her magic instrument; now it burst forth again in its

fantastic compulsion. The Mundane men crowded toward

the source of the sound, jostling one another discourteously.

They clogged like drifting garbage at the narrow entrance

to the glade where the Siren sang and shoved blindly to

enter—and of course got shoved back. Everything about

the Mundanes was brutish. But slowly the clog cleared,

and they tunneled in.

Beside the Siren stood the Gorgon. As each man ap-

proached, she lifted aside her veil and looked him in the

face. He turned instantly to stone, a statue in place. The

man following him was not concerned; he simply went

around and was in turn converted to stone.

Imbri watched from behind the Gorgon, which was the

safest place to be. The Siren's power operated only on men,

but the Gorgon's worked on anyone or any creature. The

combination of Siren and Gorgon was deadly potent. At

this rate, the entire Mundane army would soon be stoned.

Then Imbri's acute equine ears heard a distant call. "Im-

bri! Trouble!" It was from one of the girls; what was the

matter?

Imbri left the garden of statues, careful never to face the

Gorgon, though she knew the Gorgon would cover her face

the moment any friendly party turned toward her. A night

mare might be immune to the Horseman's enchantment,

but not to the Gorgon's, which was of a different nature.

Imbri galloped on past the heedless Punics.

It was Tandy who was calling. She had been on pe-

ripheral duty, watching out for unexpected developments,

and she had found one, to her horror. "It's my own hus-

band!" she exclaimed as Imbri joined her. "Smash! He

must have missed Chet and Grundy and not gotten the

warning to flee! So he came in to report! Now he's caught

by the Siren's song, and I can't stop him!"

Indeed, the ogre was tromping along behind the Mun-

Night More                      279

danes, orienting on the hidden glade, captive to the melody.

Smash stood twice the height of any of the men and

weighed about six times as much; no ordinary person could

stop him physically. In addition, he had his magic ogre

strength, making him much more dangerous than his size

suggested; he could crush rock with his bare hands and

squeeze juice from trees. A giant could hardly have

stopped him; certainly it was beyond the power of a person

Tandy's size.

Imbri tried. "Smash!" she sent in an urgent daydream.

"You are caught by the song of the Siren! Block it out, or

you will face the Gorgon!"

"Me know; me go," the ogre agreed, reverting to his dull

ogrish manner, though his human ancestry gave him intelli-

gence. He tromped on. A couple of objects were clutched

in his hamhands.

The lure certainly was powerful! Imbri realized she

could not stop Smash. She galloped back to the glade, send-

ing a dream to the Gorgon: "Do not petrify me, friend!

I'm coming into sight!"

The Gorgon veiled her face, and Imbri approached her

safely, albeit feeling shaky in all four knees. She stopped

behind the devastating woman, and the Gorgon resumed

flashing at Mundanes, petrifying each in place. The glade

was now crowded with statues, and the Siren and the Gor-

gon had to keep backing away to make room for more.

These two were destroying an army that had marched the

length of the wilderness of Xanth, cowed griffins and gob-

lins and dragons, and made refugees of whole Xanthian

communities. It was surely ironic that the end of the Next-

wave should be brought about by two middle-aged and

fairly gentle married women.

"The ogre is approaching, and I can not dissuade him,"

Imbri sent. "Siren, you will have to cease singing for long

enough to free him. I'll send him far away; then you can

resume."

"But that will also free the Mundanes!" the Siren pro-

tested in the dream.

"I know. But the Gorgon can continue petrifying them.

They won't know they should flee. The ogre can move very

fast; it won't be long."

280

Night Mare

Night Mare

281

"As you wish." The Siren stopped singing and playing.

"Actually, my fingers are getting tired; I haven't done this

in a long time." She flexed them, working the fatigue out,

getting limber for the next siege of playing.

"Smashi" Imbri sent to the ogre in a strong long-range

dream. "Flee to the jungle as fast as you can! Get out of

range of the Siren's voice so you won't get stoned!" She

accompanied her words with a picture of the Gorgon petri-

fying men, including one ogre who was converting slowly

to an ugly statue.

"Me flee!" the ogre agreed. "Me leave spells, she use

well." He set something on the ground, turned about,

picked up Tandy, and charged away, shaking the earth

with his tread.

"You, too, Chem!" Imbri sent, realizing that the cen-

taur's map was no longer necessary. "Get away from here

and see if you can find other help, in case we should need

it. Maybe some of the monsters of the jungle—"

"They're staying out of it," Chem replied, dodging a

spear. "They don't want to mix in human business. They

don't care who rules Xanth."

"Well, go anyway. I don't want you getting hurt here."

Chem nodded. She was sensible enough to grasp the

reality of the situation. It was best to keep all expendable

personnel well clear of the moving Gorgon so that no acci-

dents could happen.

The Mundanes, meanwhile, were shaking their heads»

reorienting. Some tried to attack the running ogre, thinking

he was fleeing them. That foolishness was rewarded imme-

diately; Smash swung his free fist in a surprisingly wide

arc, knocking them away. It was an almost idle gesture for

him, akin to the swatting of flies, but the Mundanes flew

through the air and did not move again after they plowed

into the earth.

Other Mundanes returned to their original mission, ad-

vancing on the castle. Their numbers had been depleted;

there were fewer than a hundred remaining. Some contin-

ued on into the glade, trying to ascertain what was happen-

ing there, and these the Gorgon quickly dispatched.

Several soldiers stopped to pick up the items the ogre

had set down. Imbri had forgotten about those; Smash had

called them spells, so he must have believed they were

magic that would help in the war effort. She galloped over,

but was too late; the Mundanes were already opening one

box. Whatever the magic was, the enemy had it. As King,

she was not handling such details very well.

There was a scream, followed by frantic activity. The

Mundanes started desperately swatting at something,

stomping their feet, and fleeing the region. They ignored

Imbri.

In a moment she realized what it was. Smash had picked

up the box of quarterpedes left by Good Magician Hum-

frey. It must have washed into the jungle undamaged. The

terrible little monsters naturally attacked anything they

could reach. They were all over the Mundanes, gouging out

two bits of flesh with every pinch, a scourge not even brute

soldiers could ignore. In a moment the area was clear—

clear of quarterpedes, too, for they were all on the Mun-

danes. Screams and curses in the distance bespoke the loca-

tion of the affected individuals. What lucky mischief for

the Castle Roogna defenders!

The second box remained. Imbri remembered this one; it

was lettered PANDORA. She wondered what was inside,

but knew better than to open it herself. She picked it up

with her teeth and carried it with her; maybe the Gorgon

could identify its contents, since she had packed it for the

Good Magician.

Soon Imbri judged the ogre to be far enough away; the

sounds of boulders cracking and trees being knocked over

had faded in the distance. She wondered idly whether the

quarterpedes would have dared to gouge at the ogre, had

he opened their box. She trotted back toward the Gorgon's

glade circuitously, avoiding Mundanes. "Start again,

Siren!" she sent.

There was no response. "Hey, Siren!" Imbri sent again,

in a stronger dream.

Still there was nothing. "Gorgon, tell your sister to re-

sume singing," Imbri sent.

After a moment the Gorgon responded in the dream.

"My sister has been taken by the Horseman!"

Imbri's confidence collapsed like a wall struck by the

ogre. Too late, she realized what had happened. The

282 Night Mare Night Mare 283

Horseman, confined to Castle Roogna, had heard the Si-

ren's song, faintly, and felt its compulsion. Since he could

not reach her, he had remained partially transfixed, per-

haps walking in place against the wall, perhaps in immi-

nent danger of stepping out to be gobbled by a carnivorous

plant. The moment the song stopped, he had been freed—

so he had acted to eliminate the danger. He must have

been able to see the Siren from an embrasure, and could

work his magic on whomever he could see. Or perhaps her

song had enabled him to focus sufficiently on her. He had

connected her to the gourd. She now had joined the Kings.

"We'll have to fight without her," Imbri sent. "Do not be

alarmed, Gorgon; she is well enough off in the gourd. Just

protect her body from the Mundanes, and we shall rescue

her when we rescue the Kings."

"I'll do more than protect her body," the Gorgon said

grimly. "I'll petrify every last ilk of a Mundane!" She

walked purposefully around the statues, holding her veil

away from her face, looking for enemy men. Imbri was

glad she had cleared the area of friends; this was certainly

dangerous territory now!

But it wasn't the same without the Siren's summoning.

The Mundanes were becoming aware of the danger. Some

formed a phalanx, not looking out; others located the Gor-

gon by looking at her in the reflections of their shields.

They blindfolded some of their archers and gave them in-

structions on aiming their bows by using the shield-

reflection technique. The first arrows missed, but the Mun-

danes' aim was improving. They might not be in the

centaurs' class as archers, but they were good enough. The

Gorgon had to keep moving to avoid getting struck.

"We need to reorganize," Imbri sent. "You must back up

against Goldy's tree, Gorgon. Then Goldy can protect you.

Biythe can help a lot, too; I don't believe your power af-

fects her, since she is already made of metal."

"My sister mentioned that Biythe was immune to the

glare of a basilisk," the Gorgon said. "Mine is no worse

than that"

"Get on my back; we must hurry."

Carefully the Gorgon mounted. Then Imbri galloped on,

while the Gorgon glared about, leaving a trail of statues in

their wake. Many Mundanes had not yet gotten the word;

they soon got the look, and that finished them.

A centaur galloped back. It was Chem. "Why isn't the

Siren singing?" she called. "Is something wrong?"

Imbri quickly sent her a dream of explanation. "Get

away from the Mundanes," she concluded. "They remain

dangerous."

"So I see," Chem agreed. "One thing I can do. I can

circle around and carry my friend the Siren away to

safety."

"An excellent notion," Imbri said, and the centaur gal-

loped away.

They set up by the yptus tree, with Biythe Brassie pro-

tecting the Gorgon from hurled spears and close arrows,

while Goldy Goblin used her wand to remove any archers

whose blindfolded aim became too good.

They settled into a war of attrition, with the numbers of

the enemy steadily decreasing, but then" alertness increas-

ing. The Punics tried to swamp the Gorgon with another

phalanx; Goldy and Biythe disrupted it, loosening it so that

some Mundanes inadvertently looked out—and turned to

stone. That messed things up for the others, who found

themselves in a pileup of mixed living and stone bodies.

They tried to charge with a huge tree trunk as a battering

ram, but Imbri sent a dream picture of a tree to one side of

the real one, and they oriented on that and charged harm-

lessly by. When they ground to a halt, realizing that some-

thing was wrong, and looked back, the Gorgon got them all

stoned with a single glance. Others tried to use the stoned

bodies of their companions as weapons, picking them up

and shoving them toward the tree, but the statues were too

clumsy and too easy for Goldy's wand to move away.

It seemed the girls were doing all right, despite their re-

verses. The Mundanes were down to about fifty and were

fazed by the number of their companions who were statues.

Soon they would not have enough of a force, left to storm

the plant-defended castle and rescue their leader. The day

was passing; when night fell, Imbri's power would be mag-

nified, for she would be invulnerable to strikes against her-

self. As it was, only constant vigilance, the proximity of the

Gorgon, and the fact that many Mundanes did not know

284

Night Mare

what office Imbri held prevented her from getting

wounded. Had the Punics been able to face her and attack,

they would soon have prevailed.

Then Imbri realized that she hadn't seen any Mundanes

lofted out of the battle for a while. "Are you all right,

Goldy?" she sent in a dreamlet to the high branches of the

tree.

She encountered only blankness. With a tired and famil-

iar wash of horror, she knew that the goblin girl had been

taken. The Horseman had evidently spotted her, concen-

trated long-distance, and finally managed to reach her. It

surely wasn't easy for him to score at this range, but he

had nothing to do except try; perhaps he had missed a

hundred chances, then eventually scored when conditions

were just right. Maybe Imbri had erred again by not going

in to deal with him at the outset; he certainly was causing

mischief now! Whom would he reach next?

"I think you should get out of the line of sight of the

castle," Imbri said to the Gorgon. "Biythe and I are from

the World of Night, so can't be enchanted that way; look-

ing into a gourd's peephole does not hypnotize us. But

you—"

Hastily the Gorgon edged around the tree until she could

no longer see Castle Roogna. But without Goldy's help,

their situation was critical. Now the Mundanes could or-

ganize a phalanx without having individual members fly

out from it. They had shields angled like mirrors in several

places so that they could orient specifically on the tree.

There would be no stopping this onel

"We have to move," Imbri sent. "They are too much for

us."

They moved, Imbri carrying both Biythe and the Gor-

gon. The double load was awkward, especially since the

brassie girl was heavier than flesh, but the phalanx was not

able to pursue efficiently, so Imbri did a lumbering gallop

and made it to the protection of the main jungle.

Then she felt the Gorgon sliding off. Biythe grabbed the

woman to prevent her from falling, but that was only a

minor problem.

They had appeared in sight of the Horseman, and he

had been ready and had taken the Gorgon. Maybe it had

Night Mare

285

been a lucky score for him, but the damage was critical.

Now they had no really good Weapon against the Mun-

danes. All they could do was hide until nightfall, hoping

the plants around Castle Roogna would confine the Horse-

man until then. Imbri was not especially proud of the way

she had managed things; she should have realized that the

Horseman would strike again the moment he got the

chance. ,

The Mundanes did not pursue them far, perhaps fearing

some new trap. They might be satisfied to have routed the

defenders, not knowing that the Gorgon could not turn and

strike again. Imbri soon was clear of the enemy, moving

through the quiet jungle. She and Biythe set the Gorgon in

a pillow bush, covered her over with a blanket from a blan-

ket tree, and left her there; she should be safe for a few

hours. Most of the predatory creatures of this region had

departed when the Mundanes came, as the reputation of

the invaders as hunters of monsters had preceded them.

Imbri and Biythe went to the edge of the jungle to watch

the Mundanes.

Irene's plants remained formidable. The first Mundanes

who ventured close to the front gate got snatched and con-

sumed by the vines and tangle trees guarding it. Pieces of

Mundane fell to the grass, and it gobbled these just as av-

idly. Some plopped into the moat, where the moat monsters

fought with the kraken weeds to snap them up. That taught

the men caution.

The Punics tried another battering ram, charging up to

the moat and hurling it across at the wall, but the tentacles

snatched it out of the air and dumped it back on the men's

heads. A real battering ram, which was a horned and

hoofed animal who liked to charge things headfirst, would

never have made the mistake of charging a tangler.

The Mundanes consulted, then scattered. "What are they

doing?" Biythe asked.

It soon became apparent. They were gathering dry wood.

They're going to use fire," Imbri sent.

"Oh, the plants won't like that!" the brassie girl said

worriedly. She had learned about plants during her prior

visit to the real world, when she had traveled with the ogre.

"But doesn't water stop fire?"

286 Night More

"It does," Imbri agreed. "But the Mundanes have proved

to be resourceful before; they must have some way in mind

to get around that."

Imbri looked at the sky. The sun was now descending, as

it did every day about this time when it got too tired to

maintain its elevation. Soon night would come. She doubted

the Mundanes could free their leader before the friendly

darkness closed. "When night arrives, I will enter Castle

Roogna and confront the Horseman," Imbri sent. "You

must go then to rescue Goldy Goblin from the yptus tree

and bring her to where we have hidden the Gorgon."

"Yes. I will keep them safe," the brassie girl promised.

The Mundanes rolled small boulders into the moat,

slowly filling it in at one place and forming a crude cause-

way. They shoveled dirt and sand into the interstices. The

plants and moat monsters were not smart enough to realize

what the men were doing, so did not oppose it directly.

They tried to grab the men as morsels, but left the boulders

alone. In due course the causeway reached the castle wall,

so that the Mundanes were able to march up to it, while

fighting off attacking tentacles.

Now the Punics brought their collected wood and piled it

against the wall where the causeway touched. But the vines

grabbed the sticks and hurled them back, perceiving them

as useful missiles.

"I could get to like such plants," Imbri sent apprecia-

tively.

This did not balk the Nextwavers for long. They started

their fire away from the wall, then drew burning brands

from it and threw them at the plants. The plants threw them

back, but received a number of scorches in the process. It

was evident that before long the Mundanes would be able

to clear a section of the wall. They weren't approaching the

front gate, for that was guarded by two omery tangle trees;

but here at the ramp, the wall was less heavily defended.

Of course, the wall itself remained behind the plants,

and that was excellently solid. They would have to batter a

hole in it, which would take time. Imbri judged she would

have about an hour to deal with the Horseman after night

fell. But she wasn't sure, for the Punics had surprised her

before with their savage cunning. Still, these ones must

Night Mare                      287

have been active for a day and a night and another day

without rest; they were bound to give out eventually.

Darkness closed. "Go about your business, Biythe," Im-

bri sent, and phased out.

"Good luck!" the brassie called after her.

Imbri started to neigh a response—and discovered that

she still held the Pandora box in her mouth. She had been

so caught up in events that she had never noticed the way

it propped her mouth open. Well, she would simply have to

hold on to it a little longer, since she didn't know what it

contained. It was bound to be important, though; hadn't

Humfrey said his secret weapon, more potent than any

other, was locked up in this box? He had been afraid the

girl Pandora would take it out prematurely, so had kept the

box.

If she opened it herself, something horrible might

emerge to destroy her, as the quarterpedes had done to the

Mundanes who opened the other box. If she let this item

fall into the hands of the Mundanes, some fearsome thing

might come forth to aid them. What should she do? It was

a problem.

Imbri suspected she would need the luck Biythe wished

her. Everything depended on her. If she found herself in

real trouble, she would open the box and hope it helped

her. But she wouldn't touch it before then, only when she

had nothing to lose.

The castle loomed closer. She had not been able to con-

centrate on this aspect of her challenge. Now, as she gal-

loped invisibly toward the final encounter, seeing the grim

wall illuminated on one side by the smoldering blaze of the

Mundanes' fire, she realized why: it was because of the

day horse.

She had thought the day horse was her friend. Now she

knew he was not. He had deceived her from the outset,

running from her because he feared she could read his

mind, then meeting her in the form of the Horseman and

learning more about her, then returning in horse form to

ingratiate himself with her by freeing her. What a cynical

mechanism to make her feel positive toward him! There-

after he had used her to find his way conveniently all

around Xanth, learning about the enchanted paths, the in-

Night Mare

288

visible bridge, and the nature of the Xanth defenses. Thus

she had been responsible for the ultimate betrayal of

Xanth, setting up a series of Kings for confinement in the

gourd. All that the day horse had told her about the selfish

motives of the Horseman, such as why he had allowed her

to escape Hasbinbad's camp, were true; he had been in a

position to know. Of course that creature, in either form,

had enabled her to remain free; she was far more useful to

the enemy than were any of the Mundane spies! Beware

the Horseman indeed! If she had known . . .

Now she did know. Now she was the tenth King of

Xanth, and she had to atone for her colossal error in judg-

ment. She had to destroy the monster she had so innocently

facilitated.

But that wasn't all of the point now. There was some-

thing else. Something more fundamental. What was it?

She couldn't kill the Horseman because of his magic,

which would probably continue after him, leaving the

Kings in dire circumstances. She had to make him tell his

secret, which meant she would have to converse with him,

and she couldn't do that because—

Because why? Somehow her mind sheered away as if at

the brink of the Gap Chasm. But she had to face the truth,

for this was the critical encounter. What was that truth?

She snorted hot little snorts and swished her tail violently

from side to side, venting her private rage at the cynical

way the day horse had maneuvered her, reviewing it once

more in order to evoke the elusive thought she knew was so

important. The day horse had played the innocent, pretend-

ing to be almost stupid, almost cowardly, when he was in

fact none of these things. He had given rides or aid to fu-

ture Kings of Xanth, facilitating their advance, not from

any good will to them, but because he judged them to be

potentially ineffective rulers against whom the Mundanes

could make easy progress. When each new King disap-

pointed him by demonstrating surprising determination and

capability, he took out that King to make way for another,

weaker one. Ironically, even the less promising of these, the

women, became towers of strength for Xanth, until at last

the least impressive of all. Chameleon, fathomed his secret

and trapped him.

Night More                      289

Least impressive? No, that doubtful honor belonged to

Imbri herself—not human, not male, and no Magician.

Xanth had at last been brought to the indignity of being

governed by a night mare. A creature whose life cycles

were equine—

Suddenly, as she encountered the dark moat, she suf-

fered her final, horrible realization—the one that had

eluded her before; she was coming into season.

It had been developing all along, of course, in the nor-

mal equine cycle. As a full night mare, she had never been

tied to it, for she had been mostly immaterial. But once she

became a day mare, the things of solid existence had

loomed larger, and nature had proceeded inexorably. Now

nature said it was time for her to mate. Her mind had been

distracted by the crisis of the Kings, but her body had

never changed its course.

The enemy she faced was, in his fashion, a stallion.

She veered away from the castle. She could not face him

now! She could not even go near him! Her equine nature

would betray her! It would not permit her to attack him; it

would require her to mate with him.

Yet she could not stay away, either, for soon the Mun-

danes would break open an aperture in the wall and free

their leader. Then Xanth would be finished. The Horse-

man would kill the hostage bodies of the Kings and pro-

claim himself King, and there would be none but a discred-

ited mare to deny him. If she were going to stop him at all,

she had to do it now.

Imbri wavered indecisively. If she went inside Castle

Roogna, she would surely betray Xanth to the enemy; if

she avoided confrontation, she would let Xanth fall by de-

fault. Which way was she to go?

She turned again. Better, at least, to try! She charged

toward the castle, determined to do what she had to do.

She might be in season, but she had a mind equivalent to

that of a human being, and a human woman could pretty

well control her mating urges, such as they were. Imbri had

to determine, once and forever, whether she was a civilized

King—or a simple animal.

She phased across the moat, through the vegetation and

the stone of the wall, and into the deep gray matter of the

290 Night Mare

castle. A ghost spied her, waved, and vanished; then all

was still. She made her way to the throne room—and there

was the Horseman, her foe, sitting slumped on the throne,

a golden crown on his head, a scepter in his hand, sleeping.

Such ambition!

She materialized and stood looking at him. He was a

fairly handsome figure of a man, with curly light hair,

good musculature, and that thin brass band on his left

wrist, the only jewelry he wore. Yet even though he was in

repose, there was a cruel hook to his upper lip. He was not

a nice person.

It would be easy to kill him now! This was the enemy

who had plagued Xanth generally, and her personally, for

he had ridden her and dug his cruel spurs into her flanks.

She could dispatch him with perfect joy and justice.

But first she had to force from him his secret so she

could free the nine other Kings of Xanth. If she failed,

they would all perish as their physical bodies starved, even

if the Horseman died first. If the Horseman won, Xanth

would be ruled by the tyrant imposter and his Mundane

henchmen. She had to succeed—but still did not know how

to proceed.

As she stood there in unkingly uncertainty, the Horse-

man woke. His eyes opened, and he spied her.

"Well," he said, seemingly unperturbed. "So you have

arrived at last. King Mare."

He seemed so confident! Imbri knew that there was no

way this horrible man could get on her back, since she was

fully on guard. Even if by some trick he managed to get on

her, he could not remain, since she would simply demate-

rialize. He would have to get off in a hurry, or she would

carry him into the gourd and turn him over to the Kings.

He would never get to rule Xanth then! She could attack

him, while he could not attack her, not even with his spe-

cial magic talent. She was one of the few creatures natu-

rally immune to his power. That was why she was here

now. He had to know that. Why, then, should he appear

unconcerned?

"What, no dreams, Imbri?" he asked brightly. "All this

trouble to come see me, and no dialogue?"

"I'm here to break the chain," she sent, trying to rid

Night More                      291

herself of the unreasonable awe of him she felt. "How do I

free the Kings from your spell?"

"You don't, Imbri! Those Kings are past; I am the next

and final King of Xanth, as you can plainly see."

"Not so. I am the present King of Xanth," she sent, her

equine ire rising. "I will kick you to death before I let you

usurp the throne!" She took a step forward.

The Horseman waved a hand in a gesture of negligence.

"So the issue is which of us is the true tenth King of

Xanth. You are bluffing, mare. I know you are immune to

my power, and I know I can not ride you or strike you

while it is dark. I have seen the night world from which

you hail! Nevertheless, you are not about to attack me—

because all your prior Kings will die if I do. There will be

no one to unriddle the enchantment I made."

"Then you can free them, if you choose!" Imbri sent.

"I did not say that," the Horseman replied, as if playing

a game.

"Either you can free them or you can't. If you can't,

then they are doomed anyway and you have nothing to bar-

gain with. If you can free them, you had better do so, or

you will lose your life. I shall not permit you to gain the

throne of Xanth by your mischief. Either King Trent re-

turns to power or I shall remain King; in neither case will

you assume the office. The question is whether you will

free the Kings and live, or fail to free them and die."

The Horseman clapped his hands together in mock ap-

plause. "Oh, pretty speech, nocturnal mare! But what if I

live, and you die, and I am accepted as the final King of

the chain?"

She saw that he had no intention of yielding. He was

stalling until his Mundane allies rescued him. She would

have to kick him. Perhaps when he was suitably battered,

and knew she was serious, his nerve would crack. She

braced herself for a charge.

Suddenly the Horseman hurled a spell enclosed in an

Opaque globe. It bounced against the wall behind Imbri and

burst. From it a bright light emerged, illuminating the

whole chamber as if it were day. It was a sunspot, one of

the spells in the royal arsenal. The Horseman had spent

part of his confinement exploring the castle and had, of

292

Night Mare

course, raided its store of artifacts. He was, after all, far

from helpless—and she should have anticipated this.

Imbri wrenched her eyes away from the blinding sun-

spot—but too late to prevent damage. Her vision, adapted

to night, was temporarily stunned. Fool! She had allowed

herself to be completely vulnerable to surprise!

"What—did that sudden blaze hurt your sensitive eve-

ning eyes, mare?" the Horseman inquired with false con-

cern. "Do you have difficulty seeing me, King Equine?

Perhaps I can alleviate your indisposition."

Imbri whirled to the side, avoiding his approach—but

soon crashed into a wall. The forgotten object in her mouth

flung out and clattered across the floor. She could not

see—and not only that, she could not phase out, because of

the daylight the sunspot generated. The scheming Horse-

man had hit her with a double penalty. How cunningly he

had laid his countertrap, knowing she was coming!

"I dislike this, Imbri," the Horseman said, stalking her,

"You're such a beautiful animal, and I really do appreciate

fine horseflesh. I am, I think, uniquely qualified to judge

the best. But you have placed yourself between me and the

throne of Xanth and have cost my ad hoc allies an extraor-

dinary amount. So I must congratulate you on the way you

organized those females, and dispatch you—"

Imbri lurched away again, caroming off a wall. Her vi-

sion was beginning to return, but slowly. Things were still

mostly blurry.

"Mare—he's got a magic sword!" a voice warned in her

ear.

"Who are you?" Imbri sent to the unknown person. How

could there be anyone else in the castle?

"I am Jordan the Ghost," the person whispered, again in

her ear. "We ghosts have been watching for the rescue at-

tempt, and I was notified the moment you phased in. I

know what you are doing, and the great effort you must

make. I have friends within the gourd. I will help you, if

you trust me."

"I bear a message of greeting to you from them!" she

sent as she continued to move. "I forgot to seek you out

before, when I had the opportunity. Of course I trust you!"

Now she deeply regretted her neglect. There were half a

Night Mare                      293

dozen ghosts in Castle Roogna, and Millie, the Zombie

Master's wife, had been one of their number for eight

hundred years. Naturally the ghosts supported the legiti-

mate Kings of Xanth! "Help me. Get on my back and

guide me till my sight returns."

"I'm on," Jordan said. Imbri felt nothing, but that was

normal for a ghost. "One body length ahead, turn right.

There's a door. Hurry; he's about to strike at your flank!"

Imbri leaped forward and veered right. She misjudged

slightly and banged her shoulder, but got through the door-

way.

"Two body lengths," the ghost said. "Turn left."

She obeyed and found another opening.

"It is dark here," Jordan advised her.

Glory be! Imbri phased into immateriality and walked

through a wall. She was safe now, thanks to the ghost.

"Thank you, Jordan," she sent. "Are you still with me? I

mean, now that I'm—"

"Oh, yes, I'm still riding you," he said. "The state of

your materiality makes no difference to me."

Now Imbri's sight was firming. "Did the Horseman fol-

low?"

"He did not. He remains in the light, sword ready. He is

eyeing the box you brought, but not touching it."

"He doesn't know what's in it," Imbri sent. "Neither do

I. It's a complete gamble, which I plan to open only when

there is no hope. That way it will be unable to hurt me if it

is bad, and may help me if it is good."

"That makes sense. But he has control of the box right

now and doesn't dare open it."

"Then we are at an impasse," Imbri sent. "He can't hurt

me in the dark, and I doubt I can hurt him in the light. If

that's a typical magic sword, it will skewer me before I can

hurt him."

"It is," the ghost confirmed. "Of course, you could bor-

row some other weapon from the arsenal."

That sounded good. Imbri knew she had little time to

dispatch the Horseman, for she could hear the Mundanes

pounding at the outer wall. "What is there?"

"Oh, lots of things," Jordan said. "Magic bullets—only

we don't know what they are or how they are used, '

294

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295

whether they are for biting or for making people feel good.

Vanishing cream, which we can't see at all, let alone drink.

Healing elixir. Fantasy fans—"

"What's a fantasy fan?" Imbri asked.

"A bamboo fan that has a magic picture on it when

spread open," Jordan explained. "It also makes you think

you're cooler than you are, especially when the picture is of

a snowscape. Periodically these fans gather together from

all over Xanth for some big convention where they shoot

the breeze and blow a lot of hot air and decide who is the

secret master of random."

Oh. Imbri didn't need any fantasy fans. In fact, none of

the items seemed useful for her present situation. "Is there

anything to nullify his sword?"

"Oh, yes. Magic shields, armor, gauntlets—"

"I can't use those things! I have no hands!"

"Oh, yes, I see. Xanth hasn't had a handless King before!

Let me consider. It's the sword you must be wary of. You

can't avoid it; the moment he gets within range, it will

strike for the kill. I presume that if it weren't for that, you

could dispatch him in the light."

"Yes." Imbri knew that even if the Horseman got on her

back and used his spurs, he could not control her now; she

would ignore the pain and launch into darkness, where she

would be in control in either phase. No, the Horseman

would not dare try to ride her this time!

"I've got it!" Jordan cried, snapping his ghostly fingers

without effect. "The melt-spell!"

"Will that melt metal?"

"Indubitably. That is what this one is for. The Mundane

scholar, Ichabod, was cataloguing the spells of the armory

for King Amolde, and that was an old one he discovered

before the men were sent away from this region. Too bad

he didn't have the chance to finish the job; there's a lot of

good stuff here that even we ghosts don't understand."

They trotted down to the armory. The spell was in a

small globe, as many were; Imbri wondered what Magician

had packaged such spells, for they seemed to keep forever.

She picked the globe up in her mouth, carefully, for the

ghost could not carry anything physical. She phased back,

phasing the spell with her, and trotted off to the main

floor.

She heard the crashing of the Mundanes attacking the

wall. By the sound of it, they were making progress. Their

ramp and fire had nullified the moat and plants in that

vicinity, so they were free to batter the stones as much as

they craved. In just a few more minutes they would break

in. She had to finish with the Horseman before then, for

otherwise the Mundanes could go on the rampage and kill

the ensorcelled Kings regardless of the outcome of her con-

flict. Imbri hurried.

In fact, she thought now, she had better make sure that,

if it seemed she would beat the Horseman, she finished

him off quickly so that he would have no chance to take

the true Kings with him.

She came in to the lighted room, where the Horseman

awaited her, sword ready. He looked even more arrogant

now, his thin lip curling up from half-bared teeth, his brass

bracelet gleaming with seeming malevolence in the light of

the sunspot.

She was prepared for the light, and the sunspot was no

longer as brilliant, so this time she had no trouble with

vision. She turned solid in the room, however; any light

stronger than moonlight did that to her.

"Ah, I thought I might see you again, King Mare," the

Horseman said with a supercilious sneer. "You must meet

me—or forfeit your cause." He strode forward, the sword

moving with an expertise that was inherent in it, not in

him.

Imbri spit out the spell. It flipped through the air toward

the Horseman. The sword alertly intercepted it, slicing it in

two—and therein lay the sword's demise. It wasn't intelli-

gent; it didn't know when to desist. Had the spell been al-

lowed to pass unmolested, or had the Horseman simply

caught it in his left hand, preventing it from breaking, he

would have been all right. But as the globe separated into

halves, the vapor of the spell puffed out, clouding about

the blade of the sword.

The blade melted. First it sagged, then it drooped, like

soft rubber. At last it dripped on the floor. It was useless.

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Now Imbri leaped for the Horseman with a squeal of

combat, her forehooves striking forward.

The man dodged aside, throwing away the useless

weapon. He tried to jump on her back, but Imbri whirled,

bringing her head around, teeth bared. Most human beings

did not think of equine beings as teeth fighters, but they

were. However, all she caught was his sleeve; he was mov-

ing too fast for her. He was scrambling onto her, ready to

use his awful spurs.

She lunged to the side, slamming into the wall, trying to

pin tiim against it, to crush him and stun him. Again he

was too fast; he certainly understood horsesi He rolled over

her back and off the other side, landing neatly on his feet.

Imbri swung about and lashed out with her hind hooves.

The double blow would have knocked his bones from his

body, had it scored, but he had thrown himself to the side,

anticipating her attack with uncanny accuracy.

But she was a night mare, with a century more experi-

ence than he had in life. She knew far more about this sort

of thing than had any horse he had dealt with before. She

spun on her hind feet as they touched the floor and leaped

for him again. She knew she had him now; he could not

safely leave the lighted chamber, for in the darkness the

advantage would be entirely hers. In moments she would

catch him, in this confined space, with hoof or teeth or the

mass of her body, and he would be done for.

The Horseman had fallen to the floor, getting out of her

way. Sure enough, she had surprised him with her speed

and ferocity. He had misjudged her exactly as she had mis-

judged the day horse, assuming that the personality that

showed was the only one inhabiting that body. He was ac-

customed to tame Mundane horses, who tolerated riders be-

cause they knew no better. Now he scrambled on hands

and knees as she reoriented for the kill. He was too slow

this way; she knew she had him.

Then he transformed into his other form. Suddenly the

day horse stood before her, massive, white, beautiful—and

male. She had, in a pocket of her mind, doubted that her

horse friend and her man enemy could really be the same;

now that doubt had been banished.

Imbri hesitated. The masculinity of this magnificent

creature struck her like a physical blow. She was in season,

ready to mate, and this was the only stallion she knew. If

she destroyed him, she might never again have the chance

to breed.

He was the enemy; she knew that. Had she retained any

doubt, the presence of tile brass band on his left foreleg,

just above the foot, would have removed it. She had be-

lieved that that band was the token of his slavery to the

Horseman; now she was aware that it was much more than

that. The form of the creature had changed; the form of

the inanimate band had not. How ready she had been to

believe whatever he told her! She had gone more than half-

way to delude herself, wanting to believe that no horse

could be evil.

She knew his nature now—but all her being protested

against violence in this case. No mare opposed a stallion—

not when she was in season. It was as contrary to her na-

ture as it was for a human man to strike a lovely woman. It

simply wasn't done. This was no decision of intellect; it was

a physiological, chemical thing. With equines, intellect was

not allowed to interfere with the propagation of the species.

She had always before considered this an advantage. But

advantage or disaster, it was so.

The day horse turned toward her, lifting his handsome

head high. He snorted a snort of dominance. He recognized

his power over her. It did not matter that they both knew

him to be her enemy, her deadly rival for the Kingship, or

that he was only stalling for time until the Mundanes com-

pleted their break-in. The Horseman had occupied her as

long as he could, using up precious time; now the day horse

was doing the rest of the job. Nature held her as powerless

as she had been when blinded.

"Imbri! Don't let him dazzle you!" Jordan the Ghost

cried in her ear. He was still with her; she had forgotten

him during the intense action. "No male is worth it! I

know, for I am a worthless male who ruined a good girl,

and now suffer centuries of futile remorse. Don't let it

happen to you! Xanth depends on you!"

Still she stood, virtually rooted, smelling the compelling

scent of the stallion. She knew she was being totally foolish,

as females had always been in the presence of virile males.

298 Night Mare

She knew the consequence of her inaction. Yet she could

not act. The mating urge was too strong.

The day horse nipped her on the neck. Imbri stood still.

There was pain, but it was exquisite equine pain, the kind

a mare not only accepted from a stallion but welcomed. He

was dominant, as he had to be, to be a worthy stud. '

He marched around her, taking his time. This, too, was

part of the ritual. He sniffed her here and there and

snorted with affected indifference. Oh, he certainly had

her under control! The ghost had given up, knowing Imbri

was lost. Her glazing eyes were fixed on the box on the

floor, the one that had the word PANDORA printed on it.

All it would take would be three steps to reach it and strike

it with a forehoof, opening it, releasing whatever it con-

tamed—but she could not force herself to take those steps.

There was a loud crash from the distant outer wall. The

Mundanes had broken in at last. Imbri quivered, trying to

break free of her paralysis, but the stallion snorted, quiet-

ing her. She simply could not oppose him, though all her

reason protested her folly. She had fatally underestimated

the compulsion of her own marish nature.

"Hey, General—where are you?" a Mundane called.

The day horse shifted momentarily into his human form.

"Here in the throne room!" he called back.

That broke the spell. Imbri jumped, moving like the re-

leased mechanism of a catapult, turning on him. But as she

faced him, poised for the strike, he converted back to stal-

lion form. He arched his neck, eyeing her with assurance,

completely handsome and potent. He tapped the floor with

his left forehoof.

Imbri, in the process of freezing again despite her best

resolution, saw the brass band on that leg. The band that

advertised exactly who and what he was.

She struck out with a forefoot, catching him on that

front leg, attacking the band. The blow was not crippling or

even very effective; its significance lay in the fact that she

was opposing him. His shift of form, and his direct recog-

nition of alliance with the Mundane enemy, had disrupted

the equine mood. He was not a horse in the guise of a man,

but a man in the guise of a horse. Imbri did not breed with

a man in any guise. Now she knew, subjectively as well as

Night Mare                      299

objectively, that he was no friend of hers. All she had to do

was look at that band, to see him as he was.

The day horse squealed, more in anger than in pain. He

stomped his forefoot again. He was as handsome in his ire

as in his dominance.

Imbri refused to be captured again. The brass band re-

mained fixed in her mind. Her head swung about, her

teeth biting into his neck just behind the furry white ear.

She tore out part of his splendid silver mane. Red blood

welled up, staining the shining hide.

Now the day horse fought. He squealed and reared, his

forehooves striking out—but she reared, too. She was not

as large and powerful as he, so was at a disadvantage, but

she was driven by pure outrage and the knowledge that she

was fighting not only for her pride, her freedom, and her

life, but for the welfare of the nine other Kings and for the

Land of Xanth itself. She was the King Mare; she had to

prevail.

She whirled, her lesser mass giving her greater maneu-

yerability, and launched a rear-foot kick. She scored on his

shoulder and felt the bone crumbling under the force of her

blow. The day horse stumbled, limping, then righted him-

self and came at her again. He was indeed a fighting crea-

ture and quite unafraid; instead of turning about to orient

his powerful hind hooves on her, he used his head. This

was the contemptuous nipping approach of the dominant

animal.

This time Imbri kicked him in the head.

He collapsed, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Imbri looked at him. Now she was sorry for what she

had done, though she knew it was necessary. He had made

a fatal tactical error, coming at her in the mode of disci-

plining rather than in the mode of fighting, and had paid

the consequence. Yet the blood on his pretty white coat,

gushing over the floor, horrified her.

She knew there was healing elixir in the armory. She

could fetch some of that, and in an instant this most beauti-

ful creature could be restored. No stallion should suffer so

ignominious a demise!

"Where are you, General?" the Mundane called, ap-

proaching the throne room.

300 Night Mare

Imbri charged for the 'door, whirled, and caught the man

with a hard kick in the chest as he entered. He went down

with a broken groan, unconscious or worse.

"Jordan!" she sent. "Will you ghosts help? The Mun-

danes are said to be superstitious; they're actually afraid of

the supernatural. If you show yourselves to them and make

threatening gestures, it may scare them away. I've got to

protect the dormant Kings while I try to reverse the Horse-

man's enchantment on them."

"We'll do our best," Jordan said, and floated swiftly and

purposefully away.

Imbri returned to the day horse, determined to force him

to divulge the secret. She hated all of this, but if she had to,

she would taunt him with the healing elixir, holding it back

until he acquiesced.

But she discovered that he had changed again. He had

reverted to his human form, in a pool of blood—and the

Horseman wasn't breathing. The terrible force of her kick

had smashed the bones of his head. She knew at a glance

that he was dead.

There was now no way to make him talk. She had in her

desperation hit him too hard. She had murdered him.

She stared at the awful sight, her agony for the death of

the day horse merging with her grief'for the coming loss of

the Kings of Xanth. What could she do now? She had

squandered Xanth's last chance!

Bleak despair overwhelmed her. She and the ghosts

might fight off the Mundanes, but what use was that now?

The King Mare had brought doom, exactly as should have

been anticipated.

"The box!" Jordan prompted, returning. "Maybe it has a

counterspell—"

Listlessly, Imbri put her hoof on the box and crushed it.

Thin, translucently pink vapor puffed out, expanding into

a rather pretty cloud. It encompassed her, for she made no

effort to avoid it. For good or evil, she accepted it.

It certainly wasn't evil. She felt invigorated and positive.

Somehow she generated confidence that things would work

out after all.

"Hope!" Jordan exclaimed in her ear. "It was hope

Night More                      301

locked in that box! I feel it, too! Now I believe that my

own long morbidity will eventually terminate."

Hope. Good Magician Humfrey had mentioned that he

had locked up hope. She hadn't realized that it was in the

Pandora box. She understood, objectively, that nothing had

changed, yet the positive feeling remained. There had to be

some way!

Imbri's eye caught the brass circlet on the Horseman's

wrist. Something turned over in her mind. Why had he

never removed it, though it was an obvious hint of his

identity? Surely it had considerable value for him. Could

that thing be a magic amulet? Something to enable him to

convert from man to horse? No—that conversion was in-

herent in his nature, just as the Siren's ability to change

from legs to tail sprang from her man-mermaid parentage.

The Siren needed the dulcimer to do her separate magic.

The band—could it be something like the dulcimer, to

amplify or focus his power? If the example of the Siren

was valid, these crossbred people did need something extra

to bring out their full talents. Part of their magic was their

dual nature,-so the rest was weaker than it should be. A

dulcimer—a thin brass band. The magic of the Horseman

could have resided not wholly in him but partly in the

amulet.

It was her only remaining chance. She had hope; this

could solve the problem of the Kings! She took the brass

ring in her teeth and tugged it. It would not pass over his

hand, so she used a forehoof to crush the bones of his dead

extremity together, pulping the appendage, until there was

room for the circlet to pass. Then she took it in her teeth

and itrotted out of the chamber, to darkness.

"We'll protect the Kings!" Jordan called after her. "As

long as we can scare the Mundanes ..."

She sent a neigh of thanks and phased through the walls

and out of the castle. She saw in passing that the ghosts

were indeed doing a good job of holding the remaining

Mundanes back; with the Horseman and one of their own

number dead, and with the ghosts menacing the rest, these

troops would be quite wary of penetrating deeper into the

castle by night. They would not realize for some time that

the ghosts had no physical power. She hoped-the Mundanes

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303

would be balked long enough; the Horseman had lost, but

Xanth would not win until the Kings had been saved.

She shot out into the night, the brass band still firmly in

her teeth. She knew one person who was knowledgeable

about brass. "Biythe!" she broadcast as powerfully as she

could. "Biythe Brassie!"

As she neared the place where she had left the Gorgon,

she heard the brassie girl's dream response. "Here, King

Imbri!"

In a moment they were together. "Biythe, I have a ring

of brass I took from the Horseman. I think it connects to

his power, but I don't know how it works. Can you tell?"

Biythe took the band and examined it closely. "Yes, I

believe I have encountered something like this before. Note

how short it is; very little depth compared with its mass. It

is what we call a short circuit."

"A short circuit? What does it do?"

"It's supposed to make a wrong connection, to divert

power from its proper avenue—or something. I'm really

not clear about the details."

"Could it divert light?" Imbri asked, her new hope flaring

again.

"Yes, I think so. It might make a lightbeam go the

wrong way."

"Like from a person's eye to the peephole of a gourd?"

Biythe brightened; "The missing Kings!"

Imbri looked through the loop. All she saw was Biythe,

on the other side. But of course it required magic to imple-

ment the effect—and that was the Horseman's talent. He

had somehow used the short circuit to connect the gaze of

each King to a gourd's peephole, causing the King to be

confined to the gourd. The ring could be a short circuit to

the gourd on one side and to the King's eye on the other.

"But how could the connection be broken?" Imbri asked.

"You have to shield the circlet," Biythe said. "Ordinary

matter won't do it, though. It has to be magic."

"I don't have any such magic—and very little time," Im-

bri sent desperately. "How can I abate its power quicldy?

Should I just break it? I'm sure I could crush it under my

hoof with just a stomp or two, or have the ogre chew, it to

pieces."

"Oh, no, don't do that!" Biythe said, alarmed. "That

could seriously hurt the Kings, sending them back to the

wrong bodies or permanently marooning them in the night

world." She paused, smiling fleetingly. "Isn't it funny, to

speak of anyone being marooned in our world! But, of

course, since they don't have their bodies with them—" She

shrugged her metal shoulders. "You must interrupt its

power without damaging the brass. That's the way such

things work. That will have the effect of cutting off the

Kings' view through the peephole, harmlessly."

She ought to know, Imbri realized, since she was of the

magic brass region. Desperately Imbri cudgeled her mind.

What would do it?

Then she had a notion. "The Void!" she sent. "That nul-

lifies anything!"

"Yes, that's where we send hazardous wastes to be dis-

posed of," Biythe agreed. "Things like used brass spittoons.

That should work. Nothing ever returns from there."

Imbri took back the band and launched herself north,

toward the Void. Then she remembered to veer to the near-

est gourd patch. Obviously it did not affect the band to be

within the gourd, since the day horse had been there while

wearing it and no prisoned King had been released. But the

Void was different. Even the creatures of the gourd world

had to be careful of it.

She plunged madly through tfae night world, heedless of

all its familiar scenes, and out of the gourd within the

'dread Void. She suppressed her growing nervousness. After

all, Xanth depended on her performance.

Now she ran straight into the most feared region of

Xanth—the center of the Void. The land curved down

here, like the surface of a buge funnel, descending to its

dread central point. For the Void was a black hole from

which nothing escaped, not even light. Only Imbri's kind

could safely pass the outer fringe of it—and she had to

dematerialize for the inner fringe, lest her physical body be

sucked in, never to emerge. She was terrified of this depth,

for it was beyond where she had ever gone before—but she

had to make sure the brass ring was properly placed, that

its effect was absolutely shielded. If she set it rolling or

sliding down toward the hole, and if it snagged on the way,

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305

the Kings could remain captive for an indefinite future

time until the ring completed its journey.

She wasn't even sure a direct placement in the hole

would break the spell, but it did seem likely, and it was all

she had left to try. It was her only hope. If this did not

break the chain, then Xanth was doomed to anarchy, for

there would be no way to rescue the Kings, and the Mun-

danes would ravage Xanth unchallenged. The Horseman

was gone, but his mischief would remain after him, causing

Xanth to suffer grievously.

She came to the bottom of the funnel. She saw the deep-

est blackness of the black hole. She was immaterial, yet it

seemed to suck her in. It had a somber, awesome latent

power. She was extremely afraid of it.

She opened her mouth and dropped the brass band. It

plummeted as if gaining weight. In an instant it disap-

peared into nothingness. There was not even a splash, just

a silent engulfment. The deed was done.

Imbri tried to turn and depart the funnel. Her feet

moved, but her body made no progress. She had ap-

proached too dose to the dread maw of the Void! Even

dematerialized, she could not escape it.

She scrambled desperately up the side of the funnel, but

slowly, inevitably, she slid back. Her hooves had no pur-

chase; nothing had purchase here! She had penetrated the

region of no return. Her fall accelerated.

With a neigh of purest terror and despair. Mare Imbri

fell into the black hole of the Void.

Chameleon seemed to float up, her face and body amaz-

ingly ugly, but her spirit beautiful. "Chem! Chem!" she

called out over the jungle of Xanth. "Chem Centaur—

where are you?"

"Here I am!" Chem cried. "Here with the Gorgon. Don't

worry, she's thoroughly veiled!"

"We need your soul," Chameleon said, drifting down to

join them.

"I have only half my soul," the centaur said. "Imbri the

night mare has the other half."

"No, you have all of it now. Don't you feel it?"

Chem was surprised. "Why, yes, I do! I feel buoyant?

But how is this possible? I never begrudged Imbri her half,

and my half was regenerating. Now I have more than a

full soul; it's too muchi"

"Imbri feH into the black hole of the Void," Chameleon

explained. "She killed the Horseman and carried his magic

talisman to the Void, to free the rest of us from the en-

chantment, but she couldn't escape it herself."

"The Voidi Oh, this is terrible! You mean she's dead,

after all she did for Xanth?"

"No. We believe one essential part of her survived. She

lost her body in the sacrifice she made to break the chain,

fulfilling the prophecy, but her soul remained. No soul is

subject to the Void. It's the only thing in Xanth that is not

vulnerable to the black hole."

"But it reverted to me! It wasn't her own soul, because

the creatures of the gourd don't grow their own souls! They

have to borrow from those of us who do. I don't want her

half soul! I want Imbri to live! After what she did for

Xanth, and the kind of person she was—" The centaur

filly was crying human tears of frustration and grief.

"So do we all," Chameleon agreed. "That's why Good

Magician Humfrey and I, anticipating this, made plans for

such a contingency. We could not act while we were con-

fined within the gourd. But the moment Imbri freed us,

Humfrey uttered a spell he knew. A Word of Power. An

enchantment to keep a special soul discrete, despite its ori-

gin."

"Discreet?"

"Discrete. Separate. So Imbri could live on after her

body was lost."

"But how, then—if her soul came back to me—?"

"She came, too. Free her, Chem; the Good Magician's

spell enables you to do that, because you have the first

claim on that soul."

The centaur concentrated immediately. "Imbri, I love

you! I free you! Take your half soul; be yourself!"

Something intangible snapped. Imbri floated free. "Is it

true?" she sent. "Am I really alive?"

"Yes, lovely night mare!" Chameleon said. "You are

alive in the purest sense. But you have lost your body. You

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307

can never again materialize. You are now of the spirit

world, like the ghosts."

"But what can I do without my body?" Imbri asked, dis-

mayed. She remembered her awful fall into the Void—and

the arrival of Chameleon. Nothing in between.

"That's part of what we arranged," Chameleon said.

"Humfrey's spell took care of the paper work, or whatever,

so it's all right. We all love you, Imbri, and we all thank

you, and we owe our lives and our hopes to you, and we

want to be with you often. So you will be a true day mare,

carrying daydreams and pleasant evening dreams, much as

you have been doing. Only now it is official, and forever.

Whenever we daydream, you will be there with your new

associates, making sure each dream is properly delivered

and enjoyed."

Imbri liked the concept. She no longer liked bad dreams.

Still, she was perplexed. "My associates?"

Now several other mares appeared, trotting prettily

through the air. They were of pleasant colors—red, blue,

green, and orange. "Welcome, black mare," one sent, perk-

ing her ears forward in a friendly fashion. "Oh, the Day

Stallion will like you! You have such an individual color!"

"The Day Stallion?" Imbri sent, an unpleasant associa-

tion forming.

A male horse appeared, flying winglessly through the

air, bright golden as the sun. "I assign the daydreams," he

sent. He swished his tail negligently. He was the hand-

somest stallion Imbri had ever seen. "But you may choose

any you like to deliver. We are very informal here and

seldom take things very seriously. This present daydream is

an example; we're all linked together in it, and we're all

helping with it, so as to introduce you to the nature of your

new work gently. All the recent Kings of Xanth and their

friends are sharing it. Soon they must revert to normal con-

sciousness, to transform the Mundane Wavers back into

men, one at a time—King Trent transformed them all to

stinkweeds, and the castle smells awful—to see if they're

ready to swear allegiance to the present order, and to see

about King Trent's retirement so he can spend more time

with his wife, and about King Dor's permanent assumption

of the throne of Xanth—these things must, after all, be

accomplished with the appropriate ceremony—but first

they wanted to see you properly established in your own

new employment. We have never had a King among our

number before."

"But I'm not King any more!" Imbri protested. "Now

mat the real Kings have been freed—"

"You will retain the honorary title, King Mare Im-

brium," King Trent said with a smile. "You are the one

who saved Xanth. We shall fashion a statue in your like-

ness and never forget you."

There was a murmur of agreement from all the others in

the collective daydream—her friends.

Suddenly Imbri knew she was going to like this duty.

With that realization, she looked up and saw that it was

day. Time had passed between her descent into the Void,

the final breaking of the chain of Kings, and her reanima-

tion as a soul-horse. Now the sun was up, but there was a

light shower, as if the clouds were shedding tears of joy at

the salvation of Xanth. Perhaps it was some weather over-

lapping from her region of the moon, the Sea of Rains.

There, in the bright misty sky, was the many-colored

rainbow she had always longed to see, spanning her hori-

zon.