NIGHTMARE XANTH 06

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