Night Mare (13 page)

“We shouldn’t be separated,” Imbri sent in a worried dreamlet. She remembered her prior capture by the Horseman 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 warningly 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 comfortable 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 gruffly 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 had to let Ichabod handle the interview.

“I am a visitor to this land, but I have traveled a fair amount,” Ichabod replied carefully. He seemed more intrigued 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 yesterday,” Imbri suggested, not following all of the man’s confusion. 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 all! 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 accursed 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 Second 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 complicated to explain. Sometimes people step through accidentally 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, evidently 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 interesting 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 reinforcements 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.

“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 suffer 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 dialogue.

“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 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 recapture 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 cooperate 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 dragonfire.

“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 prehensile bramble bushes. The ungrateful animal! He’ll perish 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 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 controlling 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 credited.

“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 Chameleon in a very awkward situation, for she was no smarter than the day horse. Grundy might escape, since he continued 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 forward, 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 encountered. But you refuse to cooperate. Very well, I am a reasonable man. I am prepared to compromise. I will exchange 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 information to the Punics. It will all be privileged communication. 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 destroy 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 equitable deal than that.”

“What should I do?” Imbri queried Grundy in a dreamlet.

“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!”

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.

“Ha! 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?”