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 r 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

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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
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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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.




94

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

Night Mare

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-




98

Night More

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

Night More

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'




Night Mare

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

Night Mare

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

184

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

Night Mare

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




192

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?"
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

Night Mare

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.




212

Night Mare

Night Mare

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




216

Night Mare

Night Mare

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




218

Night Mare

Night Mare

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."




220

Night Mare

Night Mare

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.




222

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,

224

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

Night Mare

Night More

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

244

Night Mare

Night Mare

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,




246

Night Mare

Night Mare

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




248

Night Mare

Night Mare

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




250

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Night Mare

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

Ni9^ Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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-




264

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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

Night Mare

Night Mare

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.







296

Night More

Night Mare

297

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




302

Night Mare

Night Mare

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,




304

Night More

Night Mare

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




306

Night Mare

Night Mare

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.