was back with Chameleon, now understanding this woman better. Appearance and intelligence that varied in a monthly cycle—how like a woman!
Imbri checked in with a reassuring dreamlet, then moved back outside to graze on the excellent local grass. She slept while grazing, comfortably, suspecting she would need all her energy the next day.
A tiny golem appeared at the cottage in the morning. “Oh, hello, Grundy,” Chameleon said. “Do you want a cookie?”
“Yes,” the miniature figure said, accepting the proffered delicacy. It was an armful for him, but he chewed bravely into the rim. “But that’s not why I’m here. King Trent says you must ride the night mare to Good Magician Humfrey’s castle and ask his advice for this campaign.”
“But I couldn’t bother the Good Magician!” Chameleon protested. “He’s so old nobody knows!”
“The King says this is important. We have a crisis coming up in the Nextwave and we don’t want to misplay it. He says Humfrey should see this mare. Get going within the hour.”
Imbri snorted. Who was this little nuisance, to order them about?
The golem snorted back—speaking perfect equine. “I’m Grundy the Golem, and I’m on the King’s errand, horse-face.”
“So you can communicate in nonhuman languages!” Imbri neighed. That was quite a talent! She didn’t even have to project a dreamlet at him. Still, she didn’t like the insulting inflection he had applied to the uninsulting “horse-face,” so she sent a brief dream of the fires of hell at him.
The golem blanched. “That’s some talent you have yourself, mare,” he concluded. He departed with dispatch.
Chameleon looked at Imbri. “But I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she said. She seemed very unsure of herself in her stupid phase, but she was certainly an excellent figure of a woman of her age.
“Use a pillow for a cushion, and I will teach you how,” Imbri projected, her dreamlet showing Chameleon seated confidently and somewhat regally on the dream horse’s back, her lovely hair flowing down about her.
Chameleon got a pillow and followed instructions. Soon she was precariously perched, her legs dangling awkwardly, her arms rigid. This was an immense contrast to the evil expertise of the Horseman! But Imbri moved carefully, and the woman gradually relaxed. It really was not hard to ride a horse, if the horse was willing.
They moved east through field and forest, toward the Good Magician’s castle. Because Imbri had been almost everywhere in Xanth in the course of her century and a half of dream duty, she needed no directions to locate it. She stayed clear of dragons, tangle trees, and similar hazards and reached the castle without untoward event late in the day. Imbri could have covered the distance much faster alone, but Chameleon would have taken much longer by herself, so it was a fair compromise. They had paused to eat along the way and had taken turns napping; Imbri carried the woman carefully while she slept, then had shown her how to guide the snoozing mare away from holes in the ground and other nuisances by the pressure of knees on sides. Chameleon was quite surprised that a creature could walk while sleeping. She was stupid, but she had a sweet personality and followed directions well; she was learning to be a helpful rider.
As the castle came into view, both mare and woman were startled. It was a monstrous circle of stones set within a moat. Each stone was too huge to be moved physically and stood upright. On top were set enormous slabs of rock, so that the whole formed a kind of pavilion. There was no sign of the Good Magician.
“I am not very smart, of course,” Chameleon said, “but I don’t understand this at all. That megalith looks many centuries old!”
Imbri was reasonably smart, but she was similarly baffled. She had been by this castle several times in the past, and though it had always looked different, it had never been
this
different “We shall
Imbri checked in with a reassuring dreamlet, then moved back outside to graze on the excellent local grass. She slept while grazing, comfortably, suspecting she would need all her energy the next day.
A tiny golem appeared at the cottage in the morning. “Oh, hello, Grundy,” Chameleon said. “Do you want a cookie?”
“Yes,” the miniature figure said, accepting the proffered delicacy. It was an armful for him, but he chewed bravely into the rim. “But that’s not why I’m here. King Trent says you must ride the night mare to Good Magician Humfrey’s castle and ask his advice for this campaign.”
“But I couldn’t bother the Good Magician!” Chameleon protested. “He’s so old nobody knows!”
“The King says this is important. We have a crisis coming up in the Nextwave and we don’t want to misplay it. He says Humfrey should see this mare. Get going within the hour.”
Imbri snorted. Who was this little nuisance, to order them about?
The golem snorted back—speaking perfect equine. “I’m Grundy the Golem, and I’m on the King’s errand, horse-face.”
“So you can communicate in nonhuman languages!” Imbri neighed. That was quite a talent! She didn’t even have to project a dreamlet at him. Still, she didn’t like the insulting inflection he had applied to the uninsulting “horse-face,” so she sent a brief dream of the fires of hell at him.
The golem blanched. “That’s some talent you have yourself, mare,” he concluded. He departed with dispatch.
Chameleon looked at Imbri. “But I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she said. She seemed very unsure of herself in her stupid phase, but she was certainly an excellent figure of a woman of her age.
“Use a pillow for a cushion, and I will teach you how,” Imbri projected, her dreamlet showing Chameleon seated confidently and somewhat regally on the dream horse’s back, her lovely hair flowing down about her.
Chameleon got a pillow and followed instructions. Soon she was precariously perched, her legs dangling awkwardly, her arms rigid. This was an immense contrast to the evil expertise of the Horseman! But Imbri moved carefully, and the woman gradually relaxed. It really was not hard to ride a horse, if the horse was willing.
They moved east through field and forest, toward the Good Magician’s castle. Because Imbri had been almost everywhere in Xanth in the course of her century and a half of dream duty, she needed no directions to locate it. She stayed clear of dragons, tangle trees, and similar hazards and reached the castle without untoward event late in the day. Imbri could have covered the distance much faster alone, but Chameleon would have taken much longer by herself, so it was a fair compromise. They had paused to eat along the way and had taken turns napping; Imbri carried the woman carefully while she slept, then had shown her how to guide the snoozing mare away from holes in the ground and other nuisances by the pressure of knees on sides. Chameleon was quite surprised that a creature could walk while sleeping. She was stupid, but she had a sweet personality and followed directions well; she was learning to be a helpful rider.
As the castle came into view, both mare and woman were startled. It was a monstrous circle of stones set within a moat. Each stone was too huge to be moved physically and stood upright. On top were set enormous slabs of rock, so that the whole formed a kind of pavilion. There was no sign of the Good Magician.
“I am not very smart, of course,” Chameleon said, “but I don’t understand this at all. That megalith looks many centuries old!”
Imbri was reasonably smart, but she was similarly baffled. She had been by this castle several times in the past, and though it had always looked different, it had never been
this
different “We shall
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