Dragon On A Pedestal Part 2

I'll have to go to the Good Magician for advice," Irene decided. "He must be home by now; I can reach him in half an hour. That will be faster and better than casting aimlessly about the wilderness. The rest of you can do that."

Her husband looked at her with a certain familiar resignation. He knew she would do things her own way, regardless of his preference, so he didn't set himself up for embarra.s.sment by opposing her openly. It did not seem to occur to him that her way was best; men were not very practical in some respects. "I will organize a search party here, to range farther into the local jungle," Dor said. "Ivy can't be far away." He did not seem unduly concerned, but that was just his way; Irene knew he would leave hardly any local stone unturned.

"You'll probably find her before I get back," she said, though she had a sick premonition that this would not be the case. That vision had been no pa.s.sing fancy; it had hinted at a terrible ordeal and danger as yet unglimpsed. She gave Dor a quick, distracted kiss, then turned to the more important business.

She brought out one of the seeds she had planned to use to entertain the twins. Now she had a better use for it. This was a bird-of-paradise plant seed. "Grow," she commanded as she flipped it into the air.

The seed obeyed with alacrity. Irene had always been able to make plants grow, so that in minutes one of them would complete a life cycle that would normally have taken months or years. When Irene had been a child, the Elders of Xanth had judged her magic talent to be excellent but beneath Magician level, to her frustration. Her mother Iris had been privately furious, suspecting s.e.xual discrimination; but the fact was that her talent was not as versatile as those of her parents. During the crisis of the NextWave invasion of Mundanes, five years ago, when Kings of Xanth had been falling like Mundane dominoes, Arnolde Centaur had a.s.sumed the throne and decreed Irene's talent to be Magician level. Her mother had not been partial to centaurs before then; her att.i.tude had suffered a remarkable change. Since that time, as if in response to that promotion, Irene's talent had intensified, so that now she could grow in seconds what had required minutes before. She had become, indeed, a full Magician. Perhaps it was the result of the birth of her unusually talented child. Ivy caused the qualities of those near her to intensify, and this applied to both physical and magical aspects. Irene had always been nearest her child, and yes, the enhancement of her talent had manifested during her pregnancy. Funny she should realize this just now, when her daughter was lost.

Her comprehensive chain of thought was compressed into a very brief span because the seed was sprouting in the air at the same time, sending out tendrils that radiated large, smooth, flat, oval leaves that became wings that flapped and supported the swelling ma.s.s of the body before it fell to the ground. Another shoot became the ornate tail of the bird, and another the head, which was actually a phenomenal flower with lovely petals spreading delicately.

"More," she said, and the plant renewed its effort and increased its growth, becoming much larger than it would ever naturally have been. In moments it had a wingleaf span of twice Irene's height and a ma.s.sive if convoluted twisted-stem body. Brown roots became legs and feet and claws. The downdraft of its beating wings flattened the gra.s.s beneath and stirred up a cloud of dust. The bird-of-paradise plant was ready to fly.

The zombies were watching with dull interest, never before having seen this type of magic. Perhaps they wondered why only one seed grew, instead of all the plants in range of the sound of her voice. The answer was that it was more than her voice that did it; it was her concentration. She could have made any of the surrounding plants put on sudden new growth, had she wished to; but she had addressed only the one seed. However, there was no point in trying to explain such matters to zombies; they could hardly understand ordinary things, let alone magic.

"I'll be back in an hour, dear," Irene promised Dor as she mounted the bird. She always took care to remind him in little ways how much she cared for him, because she knew men were in constant need of such rea.s.surance. If they didn't receive it, their attention could wander, and that was not necessarily wholesome for a marriage.

There were many footholds and handholds amidst the vines of the plant, so she had no concern about falling. She settled herself in the saddle area and blew Dor a kiss.

King Dor nodded. Her magic with plants was old stuff to him; his own magic was more than equivalent, and he was as concerned as she by the peril to their child. He would turn new leaves and old ones in the search for Ivy, rough as that might be on the trees of this region.

She nudged the bird-plant with her knee and it took off. For a moment it faltered, for this was its first experience carrying a load; then its beat strengthened and it forged aloft. It circled, gaining alt.i.tude, while the zombies watched with another surge of dull curiosity. Irene tucked her green skirt in close about her knees, aware that the view from below differed from that above. In her younger days she would have reacted more stringently, as she had been very sensitive about people trying to see under her skirt in their chronic effort to discover what color her panties were. Now she knew that they didn't really care about that sort of thing, and certainly zombies didn't, but old reflexes died hard.

The bird-plant rose above the highest decaying spire of Castle Zombie, above the tattered and slimy zombie flag, and above most of the trees of the region. From this vantage, the zombies below looked like squashed slugs. It was an improvement.

The Good Magician's castle was northeast of here. By foot the journey would have been next to impossible, for most of the jungle here remained unexplored. No telling what horrors lurked in uncharted wilderness! But by air it was easy enough to--oops.

Clouds were headed this way, mean little gray ones with tentacle-tendrils of dark vapor. They were obviously up to no good. The inanimate could be perverse in the wilder regions of Xanth, and clouds often liked to soak down pa.s.sersby just for the electric thrill of it. Thunderclouds could get a real charge from such mischief; they huffed and puffed their delight and crackled their merriment. Irene decided to get above these nuisances.

She nudged the bird-plant, and made it another upward loop. But these annoying clouds were not so readily avoided. They reared up new layers and projected longer contrails, trying to enclose her in fog. They blew out gusts of wind, and the chill drafts made her shiver; water coalesced on the slick wingleaf surfaces and caused the bird to gain weight and lose tractions. Oh, fudge! she thought angrily.

Irene had little patience with this. She had never put up with much guff from the inanimate, having been exposed to the smart remarks of rocks and furniture and even water when Dor was present. His talent was making inanimate things talk; that was fine, it was an excellent talent, and because of it he was now King and she was Queen--but why did those things have to have such mouthy att.i.tudes?

She brought out six more seeds from the bag she always carried with her. "Grow," she ordered them, and flung them out.

The seeds sprouted, sending out roots and vines. In midair they flowered and fruited, forming swelling, gourdlike ma.s.ses. They were watermelons, and required immense amounts of water to complete their cycles. They normally drew this water from the air--and the air was filled with clouds, which were, of course, composed of water droplets. This was sheer delight to the melons. Because they were growing magically rapidly, they drew their water fast. The first cloud touched by a sprouting seed was sucked dry in an instant; it shrank and shriveled and disappeared with a breezy sigh. The others suffered similarly.

One larger cloud, with a silvery crown above, made a fight of it. This was evidently the leader of the pack. The king cloud reached out and enclosed the watermelon plant in vapor, so that it disappeared. But the watermelon only took in more water greedily, its tendrils threading through the cloud, and soon the embrace was reversed. The cloud disappeared, and a monstrous melon formed and plummeted to the distant ground.

One fragment of cloud tore free at the last moment and scudded away, its contrail between its legs. "I'll get even!" it seemed to mouth before it floated over the horizon. "You haven't seen the last of me, solid creature!"

Irene smiled. It would be a long time before that survivor hara.s.sed travelers again. "Dry up. King Cloud.!" she called mockingly as it disappeared behind a hill. She had gotten into the habit of talking back to the inanimate, because of the way it talked back to her when she was with Dor. Rocks and other things on the ground could be especially obnoxious when she stepped over them.

There was a splat from below, and a bellow. The melon had struck a firedog basking below and very nearly put out the poor creature's fire.

The scattered remaining clouds had learned their lesson; they no longer intruded on Irene's flying s.p.a.ce. That was just as well; her long a.s.sociation with Dor had taught her how to deal with the inanimate, but she was now out of watermelon seeds and wasn't sure what she would have done for a follow-up. After all, this had been a business and pleasure excursion when they had set off for the Zombie Master's castle; she had left most of her weapons-grade seeds behind.

She flew directly to the Good Magician's castle without further interruption. Trees and lakes and hills pa.s.sed by below; it was pretty enough scenery, but she knew there were a number of unpretty monsters lurking in it. That made her nervous again for the welfare of her daughter. The jungles of unexplored Xanth were no place for a three-year-old child!

Her steed descended, becoming uncertain. Irene's brow furrowed; what was the problem? The turret of Humfrey's castle showed clearly in the vale. She nudged the plant onward, going for a landing on a convenient parapet.

The castle looked different from its configuration of the past--but that was normal. It always changed. How Humfrey managed this she had never discovered; it was just part of his magic. As the Magician of Information, he obviously had information on how to revise castles periodically. The talent of a Magician was always impressive, once the full extent of it was known. Too bad there were so few of that caliber! Her daughter's talent had not yet been cla.s.sified by the Elders, but Irene had the depressing feeling that it was not Magician level. Ivy's presence tended to enhance the qualities of others; that was nice for the others, but what did it do for Ivy herself? Now if Ivy could enhance her own abilities, what a creature she might become! But that was a foolish daydream.

Daydream? "h.e.l.lo, Imbri!" Irene said and fancied she saw the flick of the day mare's tail as a return greeting. Irene had come to know Mare Imbrium as a night mare, but now Imbri had become the bearer of the dreams of the day, which were much more pleasant. The mare was invisible; most people never knew when she was present. It didn't occur to them that dreams of any kind had to be formulated somewhere and be brought by someone. Dream duty was an often thankless task.

"Thank you for the dream, Imbri!" Irene called belatedly. But the mare had already gone. A creature had to be constantly on the move to keep up with the delivery schedule for daydreams, since so many people had them. A human carrier would have been unable to keep the pace, but horses were designed for running.

They glided to the turret, the bird-plant still trying to balk. Annoyed, Irene kneed it harder; plants were not usually very smart, so often they were not able to obey well, but this was a simple landing procedure. There was no excuse for holding back.

The leg--and foot-roots touched--and made no contact. The bird-plant continued on down into the stone. "What?" Irene asked, startled to see her own legs disappearing into the castle rampart.

Then they were all the way in it. The Good Magician's castle was nothing but fog! She nudged the bird, and it ascended rapidly, drawing out of the darkness, glad to get away from this. Now she knew why the steed had balked; it had realized something was wrong.

Irene looked down. There was the castle, exactly as before. "Illusion!" she exclaimed. "The castle doesn't exist!"

Then she had a second thought. "It has to exist! I need Humfrey's advice, in case Dor fouls up the search!"

She nudged the bird down again, cautiously. Again the two of them intersected the castle--and found nothing of substance. The Good Magician's castle simply wasn't there.

Irene shook her head. "Some joker is playing games, and I'm sure it isn't my mother." Her mother Queen Emeritus Iris was mistress of illusion, but she seldom used her talent now, and never for mischief. It was a said fact that age was softening the senior Magicians of Xanth, all except Humfrey, the oldest of all. Irene wondered again what the Good Magician's secret was. He had been old before Irene herself was born and he remained old--but no older than before in appearance. Maybe he had achieved the ultimate age, the plateau beyond which the years became meaningless. But she couldn't ponder that at the moment; she needed to find him and quickly, so as to learn how to save her child. Dor might or might not find and rescue Ivy, though he would certainly try; Humfrey's advice would make that rescue certain.

"If the castle isn't here, it must be elsewhere," she decided. "I know I'm in the right general region." For she had flown here before and was familiar with the lay of the land. She nudged the bird and it flew on northeast.

Now an unrelated thought struck her. She should have asked Mare Imbri about the vision! After all, Imbri's statue had been in the vision; maybe--but no, Imbri no longer brought bad dreams, so she should not have done this. Still, the next time the mare showed up, Irene would inquire. Imbri might know, or be able to find out, who had brought the vision, and why, and what it signified.

Soon another castle hove in view. They glided down, touched--and pa.s.sed through. "Another illusion!" Irene exclaimed in disgust. She slapped at the fog that formed it, without effect, wishing she had another watermelon seed to dry it up. Then she nudged her mount to zoom onward.

Very soon she came to a third castle. Again she approached cautiously, and again it was illusion.

Irene uttered an unladylike word. The bird-of-paradise plant, startled by the expletive, shed several tendril feathers. It derived from a line of creatures which a.s.sociated with a far loftier realm than that described by such a word, and so the shock was formidable.

Irene was getting downright annoyed, but sealed her erring lips. The bird was getting tired; no sense hurting it this way. She had to find the correct castle soon, before the bird wilted, for she had no other flying seed with her. Oh, the hazards of unpreparedness! Had she but known what was to happen-- Maybe that dreadful vision had arrived late. Had it come to her before she left Castle Roogna, she would have packed some devastating seeds! A foul-up in scheduling for visions-- But such bemoanment was useless, and Irene was a practical woman. She directed the bird back the way they had come, a new suspicion teasing her mind. Sure enough, there was no castle visible where the last one had been. It had faded out after she had left it. The illusion was moving from site to site--or from sight to sight--so as always to appear before her, leading her in the wrong direction. She had caught it by surprise by backtracking suddenly, but all that accomplished was the proof of its nature. She had to get rid of it before she could spot the real castle.

But how could a person abolish an illusion? That was like removing something that wasn't there.

Irene concentrated her thought. Obviously she couldn't eradicate the nonexistent; there had to be another way to deal with this. It was no use to get rid of the illusions after she saw them; she needed to stop new ones from forming so that she could find the real castle.

She snapped her fingers. Suppose she stopped the illusion literally? By fixing it in place so it could no longer move ahead of her?

She brought out a new seed, then guided the tiring bird-plant back to the location of the third phantom castle. It was still there, because she had not yet pa.s.sed all the way out of sight of it. Evidently the illusion remained in place as long as someone was watching it; it would have very little effect if that were not the case. Imagine an illusion that disappeared while being watched; it would very rapidly lose its credibility! "Grow!" she directed the seed and flipped it out.

The seed landed and bounced and sprouted into a black-eyed pea. The black eyes focused on the castle, for such plants were always watching things. The illusion castle would be intently watched for weeks, until the pea grew old and withered and its vision failed.

She flew on. If this worked, the illusion would be pinned in place because it was still being watched. It would not be able to move to new locations to bother her.

In moments she experienced the dismay of defeat. There was the castle in front of her again! She had another black-eyed-pea seed, but what was the use of planting it if her ploy wasn't working? Meanwhile, the bird-of-paradise plant was failing rapidly, unable to remain aloft much longer. It was really designed to be pretty rather than strong. It dropped toward the phantom ramparts.

Crash! They collided with a wall. The bird spun down, shedding more feather-leaves. Irene barely righted herself in time to land on her feet. This illusion had teeth! Now she was without her steed and could not look for the-- She clonked her head with the heel of her hand, as if to knock out the dottle. This was no illusion! This was the real castle! The pea ploy had worked. She didn't have to search for Humfrey any more.

She tucked herself together and walked around the bank inside the moat, toward the front gate. Soon she would be able to rescue Ivy!

As she walked, she fished in her bag for another seed. She had located the castle, no thanks to the illusion, but she would surely need-- There was a loud, booming squawk. An enormous shape lifted from an alcove in the castle wall, spreading wings that seemed to block half the light of the sun. It was a truly monstrous bird.

Irene's fingers, questing in the bag, closed convulsively on a seed. She was so surprised that she made no other motion. She just stood there, seed pinched between thumb and finger, watching that gargantuan bird.

The bird swooped down, extended a foot, and grasped her in its claws, lifting her from the ground. She wasn't hurt, for the claws were like heavy metal bars that confined her in a cagelike embrace, rather than squeezing her. She found herself aloft again, and not by her own choosing.

Finally she acted. She threw the seed down. "Grow!" she cried. But she didn't even know which seed it was.

This was a roc, the largest of all birds! What was it doing with her? Rocs normally did not prey on human beings; they required larger morsels to sustain them, like dragons or Mundane elephants.

The roc, having attained an awesome elevation in seconds, now plummeted. It swooped low, banked, and hovered for a moment, releasing Irene just above the ground. Then it hurled itself upward again with a downdraft of air that shoved Irene back several steps and ruined her hairdo.

"Birdbrain!" she shouted after it, disgruntled. "May a giant feather stick in your craw!" Of all times to be subjected to such pointless mischief! Just when she was going in to see Humfrey.

She paused, annoyed by a new realization. This wasn't coincidence! This was the castle defense system! All newcomers had to struggle through three types of obstruction in order to get inside and see the Good Magician. That was because Humfrey didn't like to be bothered by trivial concerns. Anyone who really wanted to see him would persevere until he got inside. At least that was the theory. Humfrey was a taciturn gnome of a man with his own ornery ways of doing things. No one really understood him, except perhaps the Gorgon, his wife.

But Irene was the Queen of Xanth. She wasn't supposed to be subjected to this indignity! The traveling illusion, the roc--those were intended for lesser folk.

She paused. Lesser folk? Beware the arrogance of royalty! She was just the woman who had married the King, and her present concern was a personal one. She could not presume to deserve favors that the least of the denizens of Xanth could not.

She would dam well conquer these challenges herself. She had already handled one, the illusion. Now she would deal with the second.

Obviously the roc was a.s.signed to pick up all intruders and dump them well away from the castle. She had to nullify that big bird. But how? The roc was far too powerful for any plant short of a tangle tree to conquer, and she didn't want to hurt it. It had not hurt her, after all. This was really a kind of game, a challenge, not warfare.

She checked through her collection of seeds. Purple turnips--no good. Soda poppies--no. Night lilies--no.

Suddenly she brightened. She had a rock garden kit with her! That just might do it.

She heard a putrid sound in the distance. Her nose wrinkled. That was the belch of a stink horn! That must be the seed she had dropped, back at the castle. She could use that foul signal to locate the castle immediately.

She marched back toward the castle. It took her a while, for the huge bird had covered a lot of distance during the brief flight. When she came to the moat, she dropped her seeds on the ground. "Grow!"

The rock group sprouted. Rock moss spread across the ground, forming a carpet. Colored stones expanded in pretty crystalline patterns. Sand formed in miniature dunes, and tiny streamlets of water appeared. From the whole issued the sound of strange music, reminiscent of the noise of the twins' jerk box but harsher. Irene didn't understand rock music, but of course this was not for her benefit.

Now she grew a water lily in the moat. It formed a series of st.u.r.dy wide leaves, stepping-places across the water. She started crossing.

Immediately the roc appeared again. This time she was ready for it. "Look over there, bird," she told it. "A roc garden."

The bird looked, listened--and almost plummeted into the moat. "Rawk!" it squeaked.

"That's right, bird--rock," Irene agreed. "Pattern and music--ail yours."

The roc landed by the garden and stared at it, fascinated. It c.o.c.ked its head, listening. Rocs loved rock gardens! Irene knew she would have no more trouble with the big bird. She proceeded on across the moat. She knew there would be one more hurdle.

The stone walls of the castle were imposing. They were fresh and firm, unlike those of the zombie castle, and were b.u.t.tressed by a wooden lattice, though they hardly needed it. No normal person could scale this barrier. Of course, she wouldn't have to; she would have a climbing vine to do it for her, if the front door was locked.

Now she arrived at that door. It was solid wood. She knocked politely. There was no response. She knocked impolitely, with no better result. She looked for a k.n.o.b or latch, but there was none. She pushed on the door, but it was firmly in place. She couldn't even find a lock; it was probably barred on the other side. She had expected as much. This was unusual wood; she had a general familiarity with many types of trees, but did not recognize this particular kind. It seemed almost as solid and hard as stone, but it wasn't rock maple or ironwood.

Very well; she would use her talent. She brought out a clinging-vine seed and set it at the base of the wall. "Grow."

Nothing happened. She stooped to check the seed but could not find it. That was funny; that hadn't happened in years. It must have been a bad seed.

She took out a climbing bean and held it in her hand. "Grow."

The bean shriveled up and disappeared.

Irene stared at her empty hand. This was definitely peculiar! Her climbing bean had changed to a has-bean.

Experimentally, she set out a firecracker plant seed. This was another of the ones intended for the twins' party; too bad that party had been so brutally broken up. This plant wouldn't help her cross over the wall, but it would verify that her talent was in order. "Grow!"

The seed shrank until it disappeared. There wasn't even the faintest of detonations. It had done the opposite of what it was supposed to do.

Then she caught on. "Reverse wood!" she exclaimed. "When I exert my magic, it acts backward!" Her father-in-law Bink had once spoken of wood like this, found in the hinterland of Xanth. Evidently the Good Magician had harvested some of it. What a devious ploy!

Now she had a problem. If her talent worked backward near this wood, how could she grow anything to help her?

She considered the castle wall and door again. Irene was a healthy woman, but this sheer barrier was beyond her. She could neither scale it nor break it down without help. She might carry stones and pieces of fallen wood to lay against the wall and build a ramp she could use to surmount it, but that would take many hours--while Ivy might be gobbled by a jungle monster any minute. She needed to get inside the castle now.

Humfrey had set up this challenge, and she intended to conquer it. But she was doing a slow burn at this delay.

Burn? Could she set fire to the wood and destroy it? No, because her flame-vine would only put itself out instead of burning. She didn't know how to start a fire without magic.

"Dam it!" she swore, stamping her foot in a fury of frustration. "I've just got to get rid of that blankety reverse wood!"

She put her hands on the nearest section of the lattice, trying to rip it free, but it adhered tightly to the wall. Now she knew why the lattice was there--to prevent her from using her magic on the wall. All the wood, the whole door included, was made of this stuff.

Maybe she could move away from the castle, grow something useful, and use it to surmount the wall. The reversal did not apply to magic already completed, it seemed, for the bird-of-paradise plant had not suffered until it cracked into the wall, and that was a straight physical shock rather than a magical one. But this process, too, would take time she might not be able to afford.

There was natural gra.s.s growing between the wall and the moat. Maybe that was immune to the reversal. "Grow," she told it.

The gra.s.s shriveled back into the ground, leaving a bare spot. So much for that. Her talent worked--but not the right way. Shrinkage was no good for her.

But what about the stink horn? She had made that grow! No--now she saw it, on the far bank of the moat. It had grown some distance from the wall. No exception there.

Too bad her talent could not also shrink plants, because then she could try that, and when the wood reversed the thrust of her magic-- A pear-shaped flash of light illuminated the inside of her head. Shrink plants? The reverse wood was from a plant, wasn't it? If the stuff retained any life of its own, which it might, since it retained its magical effect-- "Grow!" she commanded the reverse wood.

Immediately the wood shrank, reversing her magic. The lattice diminished to thin lines, and the ma.s.sive door warped and pulled away from its moorings, becoming smaller.

The wood had reversed its own growth.

Irene pushed the dwindling remnant aside and entered the castle. "Serves you right, wood," she said ungraciously. "You shouldn't have messed with a person with Magician-caliber magic." Her husband had more than once accused her of always insisting on having the last word; it was a true charge, and she gloried in it. No word was better than the last word!

She walked down the main entry hall. A heavily veiled woman hurried up. It was the Gorgon, whose direct gaze could petrify a person. "Oh, Irene, I'm so glad you made it!"

"You wanted me to come in?" Irene demanded. "You knew it was me? Then why didn't you turn off the castle defenses? I may have ruined them all!"