Dragon On A Pedestal Part 1

Dragon on a Pedestal.

By Piers Anthony.

Chapter 1: Ivy League.

Irene held her little girl snugly before her as they rode the centaur. They were approaching Castle Zombie, and she didn't want any problems about sliding off. Ivy, only three years old, had not encountered a zombie before and might react in an unfortunate manner.

Suddenly Irene experienced a terrible vision. She screamed and almost fell off the centaur herself.

Chem Centaur spun her front section about, trying to catch woman and child before they fell. Simultaneously, Chet jumped close, reaching out to steady them. "What happened?" he asked, his free hand reaching for the bow slung over his shoulder. "I didn't see anything."

"You didn't; I did," Irene told the centaur, recovering. They had been friends for a long time. "A vision. It appalled me."

King Dor, riding Chet, glanced obliquely at Irene. He evidently did not know how serious this might be, so he limited his comment to practicalities. "Let's get on inside the castle. Then you can tell us about it." He didn't say so, but he might have been nervous about having his daughter riding with a person who screamed without apparent reason, for he reached across and lifted Ivy from Irene's arms. Irene stifled a flash of anger and embarra.s.sment, but did not resist the transfer. She could hardly explain her reaction herself.

They rode on in slightly awkward silence, the two centaurs choosing the path. Irene glanced at her husband and child. Dor had been young and gangling when she had arranged to become engaged to him, and still somewhat unprepossessing when she had finally managed to marry him five years ago, even though he was a full Magician. She remembered their nuptials with a certain fondness; they had been in the zombie graveyard at Castle Roogna. Most of those zombies were gone now, having perished at the brutal hands of the invading Mundanes. It was difficult for a zombie to die, since it wasn't really alive, but it could be hacked to pieces. However, the newer zombies here at the Zombie Master's own castle in the uncharted wilderness of southern Xanth had not been subjected to such indignity.

She closed off that subject in her mind, as she was not partial to zombies, useful and loyal though they might be. She returned her thought to Dor. The a.s.sumption of the throne of Xanth had abruptly matured him, at least in her eyes, and the arrival of their darling child two years later had matured him again. Now, at age twenty-nine. Dor seemed quite solid and respectable. In a few more years he might even look kingly!

Ivy, in contrast, was a bundle of squiggle. She was large and agile for her age, with fair hair that bore just a tinge of green and eyes with more than that. She was insatiably curious about the whole of Xanth. That was natural with any child, of course; Irene's parents, who had ruled Xanth before Dor, had remarked on her own propensities for mischief at an early age. Irene's magic talent was for growing plants, which was probably why her own hair was green, and it seemed that talent had manifested early. Before she had learned to talk, she had caused all manner of weeds to sprout around Castle Roogna. Blue roses were all right, but skunk cabbages were awkward, particularly when they got upset.

Ivy's talent, though, was of a different nature. They had had to readjust palace life when she was around, because-- "Hals.h.!.+" It was a zombie centaur guarding the approach to the castle of the Zombie Master. Zombies came in all varieties; most were--or had once been--human, but some were animal or crossbreed. The Zombie Master could reanimate any dead creature, giving it perpetual half-life. This one's hide was mottled with mold and its face was rotting out, but otherwise it was in fair condition.

"We are here for the twins' debut," King Dor said, just as if he were addressing a living creature. "Please let us pa.s.s."

"Ssurre," the zombie said. Evidently it had been told to be accommodating for this very special occasion. Zombies had rotten brains, but could comprehend and remember simple instructions.

They moved on toward the castle. It was a truly grotesque specimen of its kind. It had a moat filled in with thick, greenish sludge, populated by corrupt monsters. Its stones were degenerating slimestone. It looked centuries old, though it had been built less than a decade ago. That was the way the zombies liked it. They had made it, and their ichor stained every surface.

The Zombie Master's twin children were alert. Both hurried out to meet the incoming party. They were just sixteen, lanky and fair-haired, about the same height and almost identical from a distance. But as they approached, their distinctions manifested. Hiatus was male, with developing shoulders and the first traces of a beard; Lacuna was female, her hair framing a rounder face and her clothing arranged to set off contours that were evidently not entirely to her satisfaction. Irene smiled to herself; some girls filled out early, as she herself had done, while others were late. Lacuna would get there in due course.

"Welcome to Castle Zombie, your Majesties," Hiatus said formally. The two were on their good behavior; no mischievous magic occurred.

"Good to be here," Dor responded. The truth was, the King had come on business; the twins' debut was merely a pretext so that citizens of Xanth would not be concerned that something was wrong. For something was indeed wrong, and this was to be a significant meeting. It was perhaps the first genuine crisis since Dor had a.s.sumed the throne on a regular basis, and Irene worried that he might mishandle it. Her father, King Trent, had been fully competent to deal with anything--but Trent had retired and moved to the North Village so as not to interfere with the policies of his successor. Irene would have preferred to have her father closer by, just in case. She loved Dor, and always had, especially when she was furious with him, but knew he was not the man her father was. Of course, she never displayed that sentiment in public; her mother Iris had long since impressed on her that it was not politic to be too open about the inadequacies of men, particularly husbands, especially those who also happened to be kings. It was better to run things behind the scenes, the old-fas.h.i.+oned way. That was where the real power was.

"We cleaned up the zombies for you," Lacuna said shyly.

Irene glanced at the zombie centaur, which had followed after them as a kind of honor guard. Gobbets of decayed flesh fell from its body as it moved and plopped sickeningly to the ground. But the creature had a bright red ribbon in its tail. "We can see that," she said diplomatically. "That was very nice of you." Zombies did take some getting used to, but they were, in their putrescent fas.h.i.+on, decent folk. It was hardly their fault that they had died and been reanimated as walking dead.

They crossed the moat, using the warped wooden drawbridge. Irene couldn't help glancing down into the green fluid coated by slime and wrinkling her nose against the terrible smell. No enemy in his right mind would storm this sewer!

A zombie water monster lifted its largely defunct head, but did not bother them; it was used to the frequent pa.s.sages of the lively twins. Such a creature would not be very good for real defense because it had lost most of its teeth, but naturally it would not be polite for a visitor to remark on that. Zombie monsters, like husbands, required careful management.

The interior of the castle was quite different, for this was where Millie the Ghost held sway. The stone floor was clean, and pleasant draperies covered the walls. The zombie centaur did not go inside, and no other zombies were in evidence.

Millie stepped forward to welcome them. She was dressed in a soft pink gown that fitted her very well. She had been in her teens for eight hundred years, as a ghost in Castle Roogna, but since then had had another twenty-nine years of real life, just about tripling her mortal age. She had been an amazingly supple creature, as Irene well remembered, and Irene had always been secretly jealous of that. But now Millie was plumping out in the manner of a pampered housewife.

She still had her magic talent, though; Irene could tell by the way Dor reacted. She felt a stronger tinge of jealousy. Millie had been Dor's first love, in a fas.h.i.+on, for she had been his governess while his parents were away for extended periods. But Millie affected every man that way--and Millie's own love was only for her husband the Zombie Master. So Irene's jealousy was mainly a perfunctory thing, and she controlled it rigorously. She had come to know Millie better in adult life, and liked her personally. Millie was really very sweet and permanently innocent. How she managed to be so after bearing and raising two children was a minor mystery, and Irene was also a bit jealous of that.

There was a small commotion outside, and the twins dashed out to get in on the action. In a moment they escorted Arnolde Centaur to the interior. Arnolde, no zombie, was much older than Chet and Chem and showed it; he walked with a certain stiffness and wore spectacles, and parts of his hide were turning gray. He was a Magician, which magic had gotten him banished from his original home on Centaur Isle, but his talent did not manifest in Xanth itself. He was also highly educated and intelligent, and this did manifest. He had, briefly, been King of Xanth during the NextWave crisis, and it was generally conceded that his special insights into the situation had been the critical factor in turning the course of the war to Xanth's favor. Irene liked Arnolde; because of him, she herself had been, even more briefly. King of Xanth.

Irene smiled to herself. Xanth custom prohibited any reigning Queen, but did not specifically bar a female King. That had been part of Arnolde's insight, bless him.

After the polite greetings, Chet and Chem went out with the twins to tour the grounds, taking Ivy along, and the Zombie Master made his appearance. He remained as cadaverous as ever, but was neatly dressed in a black, mundane suit, and was actually fairly handsome in his fas.h.i.+on.

There was a pause. Dor turned to Irene. "The vision?" he inquired gently.

The vision! She had almost forgotten it! Now it came back in its horror. "It--it was a picture, or a still-life scene. A statue. Two statues. And danger."

The Zombie Master's head turned gravely. "Danger--here?"

"She suffered a vision as we approached the castle," Dor explained. "I thought it better to wait for privacy before examining it, as sometimes these things are important."

"Indeed they can be," Arnolde agreed. "There are aspects of the magic of Xanth that remain obscure to us. The predictive visions are a prime example."

"I don't know that it's predictive," Irene said. "It may be just my foolishness."

"This is the best possible, occasion to find out," Dor said. "If we can't figure it out. Good Magician Humfrey surely will when he arrives." He reached across and took her hand. "You saw statues?"

"One was Imbri the Day Mare--the statue we made after she saved Xanth from the Horseman."

"Of course," Dor agreed rea.s.suringly. "We all honor Mare Imbrium."

"The other--seemed to be a dragon. On a pedestal."

Dor squeezed her hand. He could be very comforting when he tried. "And that frightened you?"

"No, not exactly. Not the statues. They were just stone."

The Zombie Master's thin lips quirked. "Perhaps the Gorgon is involved."

"I don't think so," Irene said. "But between them--"

She paused, having difficulty formulating what she had seen. "The Void?" Dor suggested helpfully. "Mare Imbri fell into it, and it remains a danger--"

"Not the Void. But something just as terrible. I don't know what."

Dor shrugged, not understanding. But now Arnolde stepped in, applying his fine centaur intellect to the problem. "Why would possible peril to two statues frighten you?"

"It wasn't to the statues," Irene said. "Or from them. They were just markers, I think."

"So there is a specific locale--if we can but fathom it," Arnolde said. "Not here at Castle Zombie?"

"Not here," Irene agreed. "Not anywhere I know of. But definitely a place of danger."

"Is there peril to any of us here?" the centaur asked, s.h.i.+fting to a new line of investigation.

"I don't think so. Not directly."

"To whom, then?"

"I'm not sure," Irene said, feeling her face clouding up.

"I suspect you do know," Arnolde persisted. "If not peril to us, or to yourself, perhaps to someone you love--"

"Ivy!" Dor exclaimed.

That was it. "Between the statues," she agreed heavily.

"Your little daughter, between the statues," Arnolde said. "Was she hurt?"

"No. Just there. She seemed almost happy. But it terrified me. I just knew something awful--that Ivy would--I don't know. It was all in together, in that one scene."

"Night mare, dragon, and child," Arnolde said. "Together in danger. Perhaps that is sufficient warning to enable you to avoid that situation."

"We'll keep her away from statues," Dor said rea.s.suringly.

It all seemed foolish now. The vision didn't necessarily mean anything, and if it did, it wasn't the statues that were responsible. They were just there. Mare Imbri would never bring harm to Ivy, not even a bad dream, and the dragon--that one resembled the Gap Dragon, for it had six legs, but seemed smaller. Such a dragon would be dangerous, for any dragon was dangerous--but how could a dragon statue harm anyone? And why would anyone make a statue of a dragon? It made no sense!

Irene relaxed. Now four Magicians were present, and they could settle down to the business of planning the party for the twins' debut.

Which business they promptly ignored. Millie had worked out the plans privately and in an hour would stage a splendid display, b.u.t.tressed by such props as talking objects and fantastic plants, courtesy of the talents of Dor and Irene.

"Wasn't Humfrey supposed to join us by this time?" Dor inquired, his tone showing mild annoyance.

"Definitely," the Zombie Master agreed. "I can't think what's keeping him."

"Hugo," Irene said succinctly. Hugo was the r.e.t.a.r.ded son of the Magician Humfrey and the Gorgon, his name a combination of theirs: Humfrey and Gorgon. Well, Irene corrected her thought, maybe "r.e.t.a.r.ded" was too strong a term for Hugo. Certainly the boy was slow, and his magic virtually useless, and Humfrey kept him largely confined to the castle--but perhaps he would improve with age. Humfrey was, after all, well over a century old and so might have had difficulty fathering a completely healthy child, unkind as it might be to think of it that way. Or perhaps Hugo was merely a slow developer; who could tell what he might be when he was eighty or ninety years old?

"Things do tend to go wrong when Hugo is along," Dor remarked. "The boy is a born bungler. Humfrey did mention that he planned to bring Hugo so he could meet the other children here. The Gorgon will be in charge of Humfrey's castle for the day."

'The other children?" Irene asked, lifting an eyebrow. Her brows were modestly green, like her hair, and she had cultivated just the right arch to make the expression effective. Volumes could be conveyed by the small motion of an eyebrow, if one had the talent. "The twins are sixteen, and Ivy is three. Hugo is eight. With whom does he play?"

"We asked Humfrey to bring the boy," the Zombie Master said. "They very kindly shared their castle with us for a decade, but when Hugo arrived, it was time for us to make room. They bore with our children; we can bear with theirs."

"For a few hours," Millie said, smiling from the doorway. Irene had forgotten she was present; Millie still had a certain ghostlike quietness at times!

"We can proceed without him," Dor decided. He was, after all, the King; he could not afford to twiddle his thumbs indefinitely. "Humfrey will know all the details when he arrives. He has already advanced some advice, though we are not sure what it means."

"Which is typical of his advice," Irene murmured. "It's about as clear as a vision is."

"Good enough," the Zombie Master agreed. "The situation is this: a dragon--"

"A dragon!" Irene exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

"--seems to have moved into this general region and is terrorizing the populace. We have set out the usual warners, and my zombies are currently patrolling, but this is a singularly ornery creature that refuses to be bound by normal conventions. Therefore, stronger measures are in order."

Irene relaxed again. This did not seem to be the dragon of her vision.

"We do have strong spells in the Castle Roogna a.r.s.enal," Dor said. "But the Good Magician sent word not to bring any weapon-grade enchantments. That's what mystifies us. Why not use something effective against a rogue dragon?"

"I could conjecture--" Arnolde began.

They were interrupted by a terrible roar that stiffened Irene again. It resounded throughout the castle, making the very stone shake.

Millie the Ghost jumped up. "Oh, I told the children not to tease the monster under the bed!" she exclaimed, almost floating out in her haste to attend to the matter.

"Teasing a monster?" Irene inquired, raising another fine green eyebrow. That roar had really given her a start!

The Zombie Master grimaced apologetically. "There are monsters under every child's bed, but ours is more sensitive than most. The poor thing gets quite upset. The children like to dangle their feet down barely within its range, then yank them up just as its hairy mitt grabs for them. Or they squirt perfume at it. That sort of thing. It really isn't nice to do that. We want them to treat magic creatures with the respect they deserve."

Irene suppressed an illicit smirk. She had always been afraid of the monster under the bed and, in childhood, had tended to leap into bed, not from any joy of sleeping, but to avoid the ankle-grabbing mitt. The monster had disappeared when she grew up, and she came to doubt that it had ever existed, but recently Ivy had claimed to have seen it. When Irene had checked, there had been nothing there, so she knew Ivy was imagining it. Probably the monster had died of old age. The strangest thing was that, though her monster had definitely been real when Irene herself was small, her own parents had pretended not to see it. Why had adults refused to see her genuine monster, while now her child pretended to see it when it wasn't there? Regardless, she had no sympathy for the thing. Monsters under the bed were a species of creature; like dragons and nickelpedes, that she felt Xanth would be happier without.

"Can't it reach to the top of the bed?" Arnolde asked, interested. "Centaurs do not use beds, so I am not conversant with this particular monster."

"That is not the nature of bed monsters," the Zombie Master explained. "They can not depart their lair. It is too bright above, you see. Their domain terminates where the shadow does. They have to travel at night, but only the gravest emergency will lure a bed monster from its lair even then. They just don't feel secure in the open."

Irene could appreciate why. If she ever caught such a monster in the open, she would take a broom to it! "You were about to conjecture about Humfrey's motive," Irene reminded Arnolde.

"Ah, yes," the centaur Magician agreed. "The Good Magician always has excellent reason for his actions or inactions. If there were some special quality about this particular dragon, it would be unwise simply to slay it. We might thereby do irreparable harm to Xanth."

"By eliminating a rogue dragon?" Irene asked incredulously. "Dragons are common in Xanth!"

"But there are different types of dragons," the centaur pointed out. "Just as there are different types of humanoids, ranging from the giants to the elves. Some dragons are intelligent."

"Not this one," the Zombie Master said. "Or if it is, it doesn't care to show it. It just blunders along, rampaging randomly."

"Strange," the centaur said. "I suppose we shall just have to wait for the Good Magician to enlighten us. Is it usual for him to be so late to a meeting?"

"Nothing is unusual for Humfrey," Dor said with a smile. "He does things his own way and can neglect or forget routine details."

"Such as meeting with other Magicians of Xanth to work out a program to deal with a crisis," Irene said wryly. "A crisis that has been exacerbated by his refusal to let us use effective measures."

"I understand he had some errands to attend to on the way," the Zombie Master said mildly. "Some magic potions he can harvest in this vicinity. He is always collecting magic artifacts."

"Well, he ought to know where they are," Irene said. "He is the Magician of Information."

Dor twiddled his fingers against his knee, obviously impatient with the delay. "Should we make our decision without him? We can't wait too long, or the children will--"

There was a crash, followed by horrendous mixed noise. "Speak of the devils!" the Zombie Master said. "Now they're playing their music box."

"That's music?" Irene inquired, both brows raised.