Night Mare Part 29

"Then you can free them, if you choose!" Imbri sent.

"I did not say that," the Horseman replied, as if playing a game.

"Either you can free them or you can't. If you can't, then they are doomed anyway and you have nothing to bargain with. If you can free them, you had better do so, or you will lose your life. I shall not permit you to gain the throne of Xanth by your mischief. Either King Trent returns to power or I shall remain King; in neither case will you a.s.sume the office. The question is whether you will free the Kings and live, or fail to free them and die."

The Horseman clapped his hands together in mock applause. "Oh, pretty speech, nocturnal mare! But what if I live, and you die, and I am accepted as the final King of the chain?"

She saw that he had no intention of yielding. He was stalling until his Mundane allies rescued him. She would have to kick him. Perhaps when he was suitably battered, and knew she was serious, his nerve would crack. She braced herself for a charge.

Suddenly the Horseman hurled a spell enclosed in an Opaque globe. It bounced against the wall behind Imbri and burst. From it a bright light emerged, illuminating the whole chamber as if it were day. It was a sunspot, one of the spells in the royal a.r.s.enal. The Horseman had spent part of his confinement exploring the castle and had, of course, raided its store of artifacts. He was, after all, far from helpless--and she should have antic.i.p.ated this.

Imbri wrenched her eyes away from the blinding sunspot--but too late to prevent damage. Her vision, adapted to night, was temporarily stunned. Fool! She had allowed herself to be completely vulnerable to surprise!

"What--did that sudden blaze hurt your sensitive evening eyes, mare?" the Horseman inquired with false concern. "Do you have difficulty seeing me, King Equine? Perhaps I can alleviate your indisposition."

Imbri whirled to the side, avoiding his approach--but soon crashed into a wall. The forgotten object in her mouth flung out and clattered across the floor. She could not see--and not only that, she could not phase out, because of the daylight the sunspot generated. The scheming Horseman had hit her with a double penalty. How cunningly he had laid his counter trap, knowing she was coming!

"I dislike this, Imbri," the Horseman said, stalking her, "You're such a beautiful animal, and I really do appreciate fine horseflesh. I am, I think, uniquely qualified to judge the best. But you have placed yourself between me and the throne of Xanth and have cost my ad hoc allies an extraordinary amount. So I must congratulate you on the way you organized those females, and dispatch you--"

Imbri lurched away again, caroming off a wall. Her vision was beginning to return, but slowly. Things were still mostly blurry.

"Mare--he's got a magic sword!" a voice warned in her ear.

"Who are you?" Imbri sent to the unknown person. How could there be anyone else in the castle?

"I am Jordan the Ghost," the person whispered, again in her ear. "We ghosts have been watching for the rescue attempt, and I was notified the moment you phased in. I know what you are doing, and the great effort you must make. I have friends within the gourd. I will help you, if you trust me."

"I bear a message of greeting to you from them!" she sent as she continued to move. "I forgot to seek you out before, when I had the opportunity. Of course I trust you!" Now she deeply regretted her neglect. There were half a dozen ghosts in Castle Roogna, and Millie, the Zombie Master's wife, had been one of their number for eight hundred years. Naturally the ghosts supported the legitimate Kings of Xanth! "Help me. Get on my back and guide me till my sight returns."

"I'm on," Jordan said. Imbri felt nothing, but that was normal for a ghost. "One body length ahead, turn right. There's a door. Hurry; he's about to strike at your flank!"

Imbri leaped forward and veered right. She misjudged slightly and banged her shoulder, but got through the doorway.

"Two body lengths," the ghost said. "Turn left."

She obeyed and found another opening.

"It is dark here," Jordan advised her.

Glory be! Imbri phased into immateriality and walked through a wall. She was safe now, thanks to the ghost. "Thank you, Jordan," she sent. "Are you still with me? I mean, now that I'm--"

"Oh, yes, I'm still riding you," he said. "The state of your materiality makes no difference to me."

Now Imbri's sight was firming. "Did the Horseman follow?"

"He did not. He remains in the light, sword ready. He is eyeing the box you brought, but not touching it."

"He doesn't know what's in it," Imbri sent. "Neither do I. It's a complete gamble, which I plan to open only when there is no hope. That way it will be unable to hurt me if it is bad, and may help me if it is good."

"That makes sense. But he has control of the box right now and doesn't dare open it."

"Then we are at an impa.s.se," Imbri sent. "He can't hurt me in the dark, and I doubt I can hurt him in the light. If that's a typical magic sword, it will skewer me before I can hurt him."

"It is," the ghost confirmed. "Of course, you could borrow some other weapon from the a.r.s.enal."

That sounded good. Imbri knew she had little time to dispatch the Horseman, for she could hear the Mundanes pounding at the outer wall. "What is there?"

"Oh, lots of things," Jordan said. "Magic bullets--only we don't know what they are or how they are used, whether they are for biting or for making people feel good. Vanis.h.i.+ng cream, which we can't see at all, let alone drink. Healing elixir. Fantasy fans--"

"What's a fantasy fan?" Imbri asked.

"A bamboo fan that has a magic picture on it when spread open," Jordan explained. "It also makes you think you're cooler than you are, especially when the picture is of a snowscape. Periodically these fans gather together from all over Xanth for some big convention where they shoot the breeze and blow a lot of hot air and decide who is the secret master of random."

Oh. Imbri didn't need any fantasy fans. In fact, none of the items seemed useful for her present situation. "Is there anything to nullify his sword?"

"Oh, yes. Magic s.h.i.+elds, armor, gauntlets--"

"I can't use those things! I have no hands!"

"Oh, yes, I see. Xanth hasn't had a handless King before! Let me consider. It's the sword you must be wary of. You can't avoid it; the moment he gets within range, it will strike for the kill. I presume that if it weren't for that, you could dispatch him in the light."

"Yes." Imbri knew that even if the Horseman got on her back and used his spurs, he could not control her now; she would ignore the pain and launch into darkness, where she would be in control in either phase. No, the Horseman would not dare try to ride her this time!

"I've got it!" Jordan cried, snapping his ghostly fingers without effect. "The melt-spell!"

"Will that melt metal?"

"Indubitably. That is what this one is for. The Mundane scholar, Ichabod, was cataloguing the spells of the armory for King Arnolde, and that was an old one he discovered before the men were sent away from this region. Too bad he didn't have the chance to finish the job; there's a lot of good stuff here that even we ghosts don't understand."

They trotted down to the armory. The spell was in a small globe, as many were; Imbri wondered what Magician had packaged such spells, for they seemed to keep forever. She picked the globe up in her mouth, carefully, for the ghost could not carry anything physical. She phased back, phasing the spell with her, and trotted off to the main floor.

She heard the cras.h.i.+ng of the Mundanes attacking the wall. By the sound of it, they were making progress. Their ramp and fire had nullified the moat and plants in that vicinity, so they were free to batter the stones as much as they craved. In just a few more minutes they would break in. She had to finish with the Horseman before then, for otherwise the Mundanes could go on the rampage and kill the ensorcelled Kings regardless of the outcome of her conflict. Imbri hurried.

In fact, she thought now, she had better make sure that, if it seemed she would beat the Horseman, she finished him off quickly so that he would have no chance to take the true Kings with him.

She came in to the lighted room, where the Horseman awaited her, sword ready. He looked even more arrogant now, his thin lip curling up from half-bared teeth, his bra.s.s bracelet gleaming with seeming malevolence in the light of the sunspot.

She was prepared for the light, and the sunspot was no longer as brilliant, so this time she had no trouble with vision. She turned solid in the room, however; any light stronger than moonlight did that to her.

"Ah, I thought I might see you again, King Mare," the Horseman said with a supercilious sneer. "You must meet me--or forfeit your cause." He strode forward, the sword moving with an expertise that was inherent in it, not in him.

Imbri spit out the spell. It flipped through the air toward the Horseman. The sword alertly intercepted it, slicing it in two--and therein lay the sword's demise. It wasn't intelligent; it didn't know when to desist. Had the spell been allowed to pa.s.s unmolested, or had the Horseman simply caught it in his left hand, preventing it from breaking, he would have been all right. But as the globe separated into halves, the vapor of the spell puffed out, clouding about the blade of the sword.

The blade melted. First it sagged, then it drooped, like soft rubber. At last it dripped on the floor. It was useless.

Now Imbri leaped for the Horseman with a squeal of combat, her forehooves striking forward.

The man dodged aside, throwing away the useless weapon. He tried to jump on her back, but Imbri whirled, bringing her head around, teeth bared. Most human beings did not think of equine beings as teeth fighters, but they were. However, all she caught was his sleeve; he was moving too fast for her. He was scrambling onto her, ready to use his awful spurs.

She lunged to the side, slamming into the wall, trying to pin him against it, to crush him and stun him. Again he was too fast; he certainly understood horses! He rolled over her back and off the other side, landing neatly on his feet.

Imbri swung about and lashed out with her hind hooves. The double blow would have knocked his bones from his body, had it scored, but he had thrown himself to the side, antic.i.p.ating her attack with uncanny accuracy.

But she was a night mare, with a century more experience than he had in life. She knew far more about this sort of thing than had any horse he had dealt with before. She spun on her hind feet as they touched the floor and leaped for him again. She knew she had him now; he could not safely leave the lighted chamber, for in the darkness the advantage would be entirely hers. In moments she would catch him, in this confined s.p.a.ce, with hoof or teeth or the ma.s.s of her body, and he would be done for.

The Horseman had fallen to the floor, getting out of her way. Sure enough, she had surprised him with her speed and ferocity. He had misjudged her exactly as she had misjudged the day horse, a.s.suming that the personality that showed was the only one inhabiting that body. He was accustomed to tame Mundane horses, who tolerated riders because they knew no better. Now he scrambled on hands and knees as she reoriented for the kill. He was too slow this way; she knew she had him.

Then he transformed into his other form. Suddenly the day horse stood before her, ma.s.sive, white, beautiful--and male. She had, in a pocket of her mind, doubted that her horse friend and her man enemy could really be the same; now that doubt had been banished.

Imbri hesitated. The masculinity of this magnificent creature struck her like a physical blow. She was in season, ready to mate, and this was the only stallion she knew. If she destroyed him, she might never again have the chance to breed.

He was the enemy; she knew that. Had she retained any doubt, the presence of tile bra.s.s band on his left foreleg, just above the foot, would have removed it. She had believed that that band was the token of his slavery to the Horseman; now she was aware that it was much more than that. The form of the creature had changed; the form of the inanimate band had not. How ready she had been to believe whatever he told her! She had gone more than halfway to delude herself, wanting to believe that no horse could be evil.

She knew his nature now--but all her being protested against violence in this case. No mare opposed a stallion-- not when she was in season. It was as contrary to her nature as it was for a human man to strike a lovely woman. It simply wasn't done. This was no decision of intellect; it was a physiological, chemical thing. With equines, intellect was not allowed to interfere with the propagation of the species. She had always before considered this an advantage. But advantage or disaster, it was so.

The day horse turned toward her, lifting his handsome head high. He snorted a snort of dominance. He recognized his power over her. It did not matter that they both knew him to be her enemy, her deadly rival for the Kings.h.i.+p, or that he was only stalling for time until the Mundanes completed their break-in. The Horseman had occupied her as long as he could, using up precious time; now the day horse was doing the rest of the job. Nature held her as powerless as she had been when blinded.

"Imbri! Don't let him dazzle you!" Jordan the Ghost cried in her ear. He was still with her; she had forgotten him during the intense action. "No male is worth it! I know, for I am a worthless male who ruined a good girl, and now suffer centuries of futile remorse. Don't let it happen to you! Xanth depends on you!"

Still she stood, virtually rooted, smelling the compelling scent of the stallion. She knew she was being totally foolish, as females had always been in the presence of virile males. She knew the consequence of her inaction. Yet she could not act. The mating urge was too strong.

The day horse nipped her on the neck. Imbri stood still. There was pain, but it was exquisite equine pain, the kind a mare not only accepted from a stallion but welcomed. He was dominant, as he had to be, to be a worthy stud.

He marched around her, taking his time. This, too, was part of the ritual. He sniffed her here and there and snorted with affected indifference. Oh, he certainly had her under control! The ghost had given up, knowing Imbri was lost. Her glazing eyes were fixed on the box on the floor, the one that had the word PANDORA printed on it. All it would take would be three steps to reach it and strike it with a forehoof, opening it, releasing whatever it contained--but she could not force herself to take those steps.

There was a loud crash from the distant outer wall. The Mundanes had broken in at last. Imbri quivered, trying to break free of her paralysis, but the stallion snorted, quieting her. She simply could not oppose him, though all her reason protested her folly. She had fatally underestimated the compulsion of her own marish nature.

"Hey, General--where are you?" a Mundane called.

The day horse s.h.i.+fted momentarily into his human form. "Here in the throne room!" he called back.

That broke the spell. Imbri jumped, moving like the released mechanism of a catapult, turning on him. But as she faced him, poised for the strike, he converted back to stallion form. He arched his neck, eyeing her with a.s.surance, completely handsome and potent. He tapped the floor with his left forehoof.

Imbri, in the process of freezing again despite her best resolution, saw the bra.s.s band on that leg. The band that advertised exactly who and what he was.

She struck out with a forefoot, catching him on that front leg, attacking the band. The blow was not crippling or even very effective; its significance lay in the fact that she was opposing him. His s.h.i.+ft of form, and his direct recognition of alliance with the Mundane enemy, had disrupted the equine mood. He was not a horse in the guise of a man, but a man in the guise of a horse. Imbri did not breed with a man in any guise. Now she knew, subjectively as well as objectively, that he was no friend of hers. All she had to do was look at that band, to see him as he was.

The day horse squealed, more in anger than in pain. He stomped his forefoot again. He was as handsome in his ire as in his dominance.

Imbri refused to be captured again. The bra.s.s band remained fixed in her mind. Her head swung about, her teeth biting into his neck just behind the furry white ear. She tore out part of his splendid silver mane. Red blood welled up, staining the s.h.i.+ning hide.

Now the day horse fought. He squealed and reared, his forehooves striking out--but she reared, too. She was not as large and powerful as he, so was at a disadvantage, but she was driven by pure outrage and the knowledge that she was fighting not only for her pride, her freedom, and her life, but for the welfare of the nine other Kings and for the Land of Xanth itself. She was the King Mare; she had to prevail.

She whirled, her lesser ma.s.s giving her greater maneuverability, and launched a rear-foot kick. She scored on his shoulder and felt the bone crumbling under the force of her blow. The day horse stumbled, limping, then righted himself and came at her again. He was indeed a fighting creature and quite unafraid; instead of turning about to orient his powerful hind hooves on her, he used his head. This was the contemptuous nipping approach of the dominant animal.

This time Imbri kicked him in the head.

He collapsed, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Imbri looked at him. Now she was sorry for what she had done, though she knew it was necessary. He had made a fatal tactical error, coming at her in the mode of disciplining rather than in the mode of fighting, and had paid the consequence. Yet the blood on his pretty white coat, gus.h.i.+ng over the floor, horrified her.

She knew there was healing elixir in the armory. She could fetch some of that, and in an instant this most beautiful creature could be restored. No stallion should suffer so ignominious a demise!

"Where are you, General?" the Mundane called, approaching the throne room.

Imbri charged for the door, whirled, and caught the man with a hard kick in the chest as he entered. He went down with a broken groan, unconscious or worse.

"Jordan!" she sent. "Will you ghosts help? The Mundanes are said to be superst.i.tious; they're actually afraid of the supernatural. If you show yourselves to them and make threatening gestures, it may scare them away. I've got to protect the dormant Kings while I try to reverse the Horseman's enchantment on them."

"We'll do our best," Jordan said, and floated swiftly and purposefully away.

Imbri returned to the day horse, determined to force him to divulge the secret. She hated all of this, but if she had to, she would taunt him with the healing elixir, holding it back until he acquiesced.

But she discovered that he had changed again. He had reverted to his human form, in a pool of blood--and the Horseman wasn't breathing. The terrible force of her kick had smashed the bones of his head. She knew at a glance that he was dead.

There was now no way to make him talk. She had in her desperation hit him too hard. She had murdered him.

She stared at the awful sight, her agony for the death of the day horse merging with her grief for the coming loss of the Kings of Xanth. What could she do now? She had squandered Xanth's last chance!

Bleak despair overwhelmed her. She and the ghosts might fight off the Mundanes, but what use was that now? The King Mare had brought doom, exactly as should have been antic.i.p.ated.

"The box!" Jordan prompted, returning. "Maybe it has a counterspell--"

Listlessly, Imbri put her hoof on the box and crushed it. Thin, translucently pink vapor puffed out, expanding into a rather pretty cloud. It encompa.s.sed her, for she made no effort to avoid it. For good or evil, she accepted it.

It certainly wasn't evil. She felt invigorated and positive. Somehow she generated confidence that things would work out after all.

"Hope!" Jordan exclaimed in her ear. "It was hope locked in that box! I feel it, too! Now I believe that my own long morbidity will eventually terminate."

Hope. Good Magician Humfrey had mentioned that he had locked up hope. She hadn't realized that it was in the Pandora box. She understood, objectively, that nothing had changed, yet the positive feeling remained. There had to be some way!

Imbri's eye caught the bra.s.s circlet on the Horseman's wrist. Something turned over in her mind. Why had he never removed it, though it was an obvious hint of his ident.i.ty? Surely it had considerable value for him. Could that thing be a magic amulet? Something to enable him to convert from man to horse? No--that conversion was inherent in his nature, just as the Siren's ability to change from legs to tail sprang from her man-mermaid parentage. The Siren needed the dulcimer to do her separate magic.

The band--could it be something like the dulcimer, to amplify or focus his power? If the example of the Siren was valid, these crossbred people did need something extra to bring out their full talents. Part of their magic was their dual nature, so the rest was weaker than it should be. A dulcimer--a thin bra.s.s band. The magic of the Horseman could have resided not wholly in him but partly in the amulet.

It was her only remaining chance. She had hope; this could solve the problem of the Kings! She took the bra.s.s ring in her teeth and tugged it. It would not pa.s.s over his hand, so she used a forehoof to crush the bones of his dead extremity together, pulping the appendage, until there was room for the circlet to pa.s.s. Then she took it in her teeth and trotted out of the chamber, to darkness.

"We'll protect the Kings!" Jordan called after her. "As long as we can scare the Mundanes..."

She sent a neigh of thanks and phased through the walls and out of the castle. She saw in pa.s.sing that the ghosts were indeed doing a good job of holding the remaining Mundanes back; with the Horseman and one of their own number dead, and with the ghosts menacing the rest, these troops would be quite wary of penetrating deeper into the castle by night. They would not realize for some time that the ghosts had no physical power. She hoped the Mundanes would be balked long enough; the Horseman had lost, but Xanth would not win until the Kings had been saved.

She shot out into the night, the bra.s.s band still firmly in her teeth. She knew one person who was knowledgeable about bra.s.s. "Blythe!" she broadcast as powerfully as she could. "Blythe Bra.s.sie!"

As she neared the place where she had left the Gorgon, she heard the bra.s.sie girl's dream response. "Here, King Imbri!"

In a moment they were together. "Blythe, I have a ring of bra.s.s I took from the Horseman. I think it connects to his power, but I don't know how it works. Can you tell?"

Blythe took the band and examined it closely. "Yes, I believe I have encountered something like this before. Note how short it is; very little depth compared with its ma.s.s. It is what we call a short circuit."