Night Mare Part 8

"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.

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 duration of his illness, and Prince Dor had a.s.sumed 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. Indeed, King Trent had lost his mind while the others were celebrating in the zombie graveyard. It was hard not to suspect 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 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 catapulted 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 the 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 developing 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 connecting 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 traveler. "I don't understand."

"Maybe my father would have understood," Irene murmured. "He could have had dialogue with the Good Magician. Maybe there's a chain in the armory whose magic will be released when it is broken."

"Sometimes Humfrey's obscure Answers are more trouble 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 ourselves. 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.

"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 something of an expert in Mundane matters, since I am of Mundane 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 invaluable when we have needed to research Mundania. You enabled us to locate and rescue King Trent when he was captive in Mundania. I do trust you, and value your information, and know King Trent felt the same. That's why he gave you free access 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, organizing for the defense of their Isle. I should know; I just returned 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 organizing such an important mission so hastily, but we can't defend Xanth at all unless we get that information. If you 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, a.s.serting 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 modic.u.m 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 stalact.i.tes depending from the domed ceiling and deep shadows shrouding the walls. Muted wailing sounded in the background. Fallen King Trent had the aspect 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, standing 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, speaking slowly and clearly so the woman would understand. Of course there was no a.s.surance 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 s.p.a.ce around it was clear, for the baobab didn't like to be crowded, and used hostile spells to drive away compet.i.tive plants.

Imbri poked her nose in the foliage. Was the day horse here? He hadn't specified which day; he might be elsewhere 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.

Inside it was like a cathedral, with the dome of the tree rising high above. Wooden walls convoluted down to a tessellated wooden floor. From inside, the tree looked right side up. Perhaps that was illusion.

There in the center stood the handsome day horse, shining 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 unicorn-horn, no shady colors, no bad dreams. The Mundanes may not be good for much, but they certainly know how to grow horses!"

Imbri could only agree, despite the golem's obliquely derogatory 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 millennia, but now they seldom bred at all because the relationship 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 folk," he said in the dream. "They might capture me again." He stomped his left foot nervously, making the bra.s.s 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 getting 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 a.s.sumed patience. "Thousands of years, and more territory than in all Xanth. We need to know when and where you come from so Ichabod can look it up in his moldy tomes and find out how 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 escape 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 bra.s.s 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 that!"

"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 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 bra.s.s, not iron--a kind of insurance. Because they believe 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 penetrated. "Does this renegade Mundane of yours use spurs?"

"No. Ichabod is an old man who has probably never ridden a horse before in his life. A centaur, maybe, because the centaur archivist Arnolde is his closest friend, but that's not the same. You'd have to step carefully to prevent Ichabod from falling off."

The day horse digested that. Certainly Ichabod did not sound like much of a threat. "No bit?"