Night Mare (25 page)

“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 something 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.”

“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 significant 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 armored, 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 amiable. “One of those Kings you had eliminated by the Horseman 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 panted. “I do not like to fight at night. I call for truce 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 tall in frustration. This was surely folly!

Hasbinbad sheathed his sword and looked about “I’m hungry,” he said. “Want to trade some Mundane travel rations 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. “I’d 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 urgently. “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 misgivings, 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 matters?”

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 Mundane 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

I
mbri 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 dangerous 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 Imbri had seen first hand—technically, it was first hoof, but the human folk would not understand that—the determination 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 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 destroyed. 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 attracted to an ogre. But Imbri had interacted with her passingly before, and knew that she needed a really strong husband 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 talents 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 successors, the Punics. They have run afoul of Mundanes before, 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 knowing 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, penetrated 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.

“Imbri!” 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 returned as a zombie, so I know he isn’t really dead. When the chain is broken, he will return.” She had excellent perspective!

“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.”

“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 Mundanes 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 encouraging 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 Horseman—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 Arnolde 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 stopping 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 insight in the process. She had known before that the Horseman was playing his own game, but had not thought of the consequence of his being recognized as Xanth’s only surviving 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 obvious!

That reminded her of Good King Humfrey’s shame. What obvious thing had he overlooked that should so mortify 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. “Gerome, 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 developed 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.

“Bink?”

“He is a human Magician whose talent has been concealed until recently.”

“That is in order, then.”

“But after him, the King of Xanth will have to be Arnolde 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 Arnolde 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 acknowledge the merit of the notion. We shall dispatch a contingent 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 Mundane 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 become openly recognized by the government of Xanth, henceforth and for all time.”

“If Arnolde 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.

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 devastating hypnotic magic. That was understandable but inconvenient. 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 Castle 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 rapidly in the past few days and looked more like her mother. Her eyes were deeply shadowed and there were lines forming about her face. She had the reputation of being a beautiful 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 Mundane bodies, forest debris, drying layers of mud, and occasional 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, 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 approach.

A sneak attack at night, before dawn. Both men gone. Imbri did not like this. Had the Punic leader treacherously . . . ?

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 following 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 earnest. Bink had shown himself to be stronger in direct combat, 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.