Dragon on a Pedestal (5 page)

Now an unrelated thought struck her. She should have asked Mare Imbri about the vision! After all, Imbri’s statue had been in the vision; maybe—but no, Imbri no longer brought bad dreams, so she should not have done this. Still, the next time the mare showed up, Irene would inquire. Imbri might know, or be able to find out, who had brought the vision, and why, and what it signified.

Soon another castle hove in view. They glided down, touched—and passed through. “Another illusion!” Irene exclaimed in disgust. She slapped at the fog that formed it, without effect, wishing she had another watermelon seed to dry it up. Then she nudged her mount to zoom onward.

Very soon she came to a third castle. Again she approached cautiously, and again it was illusion.

Irene uttered an unladylike word. The bird-of-paradise plant, startled by the expletive, shed several tendril feathers. It derived from a line of creatures which associated with a far loftier realm than that described by such a word, and so the shock was formidable.

Irene was getting downright annoyed, but sealed her erring lips. The bird was getting tired; no sense hurting it this way. She had to find the correct castle soon, before the bird wilted, for she had no other flying seed with her. Oh, the hazards of unpreparedness! Had she but known what was to happen—

Maybe that dreadful vision had arrived late. Had it come to her before she left Castle Roogna, she would have packed some devastating seeds! A foul-up in scheduling for visions—

But such bemoanment was useless, and Irene was a practical woman. She directed the bird back the way they had come, a new suspicion teasing her mind. Sure enough, there was no castle visible where the last one had been. It had faded out after she had left it. The illusion was moving from site to site—or from sight to sight—so as always to appear before her, leading her in the wrong direction. She had caught it by surprise by backtracking suddenly, but all that accomplished was the proof of its nature. She had to get rid of it before she could spot the real castle.

But how could a person abolish an illusion? That was like removing something that wasn’t there.

Irene concentrated her thought. Obviously she couldn’t eradicate the nonexistent; there had to be another way to deal with this. It was no use to get rid of the illusions after she saw them; she needed to stop new ones from forming so that she could find the real castle.

She snapped her fingers. Suppose she stopped the illusion literally? By fixing it in place so it could no longer move ahead of her?

She brought out a new seed, then guided the tiring bird-plant back to the location of the third phantom castle. It was still there, because she had not yet passed all the way out of sight of it. Evidently the illusion remained in place as long as someone was watching it; it would have very little effect if that were not the case. Imagine an illusion that disappeared while being watched; it would very rapidly lose its credibility! “Grow!” she directed the seed and flipped it out.

The seed landed and bounced and sprouted into a black-eyed pea. The black eyes focused on the castle, for such plants were always watching things. The illusion castle would be intently watched for weeks, until the pea grew old and withered and its vision failed.

She flew on. If this worked, the illusion would be pinned in place because it was still being watched. It would not be able to move to new locations to bother her.

In moments she experienced the dismay of defeat. There was the castle in front of her again! She had another black-eyed-pea seed, but what was the use of planting it if her ploy wasn’t working? Meanwhile, the bird-of-paradise plant was failing rapidly, unable to remain aloft much longer. It was really designed to be pretty rather than strong. It dropped toward the phantom ramparts.

Crash! They collided with a wall. The bird spun down, shedding more feather-leaves. Irene barely righted herself in time to land on her feet. This illusion had teeth! Now she was without her steed and could not look for the—

She clonked her head with the heel of her hand, as if to knock out the dottle. This was no illusion! This was the real castle! The pea ploy had worked. She didn’t have to search for Humfrey any more.

She tucked herself together and walked around the bank inside the moat, toward the front gate. Soon she would be able to rescue Ivy!

As she walked, she fished in her bag for another seed. She had located the castle, no thanks to the illusion, but she would surely need—

There was a loud, booming squawk. An enormous shape lifted from an alcove in the castle wall, spreading wings that seemed to block half the light of the sun. It was a truly monstrous bird.

Irene’s fingers, questing in the bag, closed convulsively on a seed. She was so surprised that she made no other motion. She just stood there, seed pinched between thumb and finger, watching that gargantuan bird.

The bird swooped down, extended a foot, and grasped her in its claws, lifting her from the ground. She wasn’t hurt, for the claws were like heavy metal bars that confined her in a cagelike embrace, rather than squeezing her. She found herself aloft again, and not by her own choosing.

Finally she acted. She threw the seed down. “Grow!” she cried. But she didn’t even know which seed it was.

This was a roc, the largest of all birds! What was it doing with her? Rocs normally did not prey on human beings; they required larger morsels to sustain them, like dragons or Mundane elephants.

The roc, having attained an awesome elevation in seconds, now plummeted. It swooped low, banked, and hovered for a moment, releasing Irene just above the ground. Then it hurled itself upward again with a downdraft of air that shoved Irene back several steps and ruined her hairdo.

“Birdbrain!” she shouted after it, disgruntled. “May a giant feather stick in your craw!” Of all times to be subjected to such pointless mischief! Just when she was going in to see Humfrey.

She paused, annoyed by a new realization. This wasn’t coincidence! This was the castle defense system! All newcomers had to struggle through three types of obstruction in order to get inside and see the Good Magician. That was because Humfrey didn’t like to be bothered by trivial concerns. Anyone who really wanted to see him would persevere until he got inside. At least that was the theory. Humfrey was a taciturn gnome of a man with his own ornery ways of doing things. No one really understood him, except perhaps the Gorgon, his wife.

But Irene was the Queen of Xanth. She wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this indignity! The traveling illusion, the roc—those were intended for lesser folk.

She paused. Lesser folk? Beware the arrogance of royalty! She was just the woman who had married the King, and her present concern was a personal one. She could not presume to deserve favors that the least of the denizens of Xanth could not.

She would darn well conquer these challenges herself. She had already handled one, the illusion. Now she would deal with the second.

Obviously the roc was assigned to pick up all intruders and dump them well away from the castle. She had to nullify that big bird. But how? The roc was far too powerful for any plant short of a tangle tree to conquer, and she didn’t want to hurt it. It had not hurt her, after all. This was really a kind of game, a challenge, not warfare.

She checked through her collection of seeds. Purple turnips—no good. Soda poppies—no. Night lilies—no.

Suddenly she brightened. She had a rock garden kit with her! That just might do it.

She heard a putrid sound in the distance. Her nose wrinkled. That was the belch of a stink horn! That must be the seed she had dropped, back at the castle. She could use that foul signal to locate the castle immediately.

She marched back toward the castle. It took her a while, for the huge bird had covered a lot of distance during the brief flight. When she came to the moat, she dropped her seeds on the ground. “Grow!”

The rock group sprouted. Rock moss spread across the ground, forming a carpet. Colored stones expanded in pretty crystalline patterns. Sand formed in miniature dunes, and tiny streamlets of water appeared. From the whole issued the sound of strange music, reminiscent of the noise of the twins’ jerk box but harsher. Irene didn’t understand rock music, but of course this was not for her benefit.

Now she grew a water lily in the moat. It formed a series of sturdy wide leaves, stepping-places across the water. She started crossing.

Immediately the roc appeared again. This time she was ready for it. “Look over there, bird,” she told it. “A roc garden.”

The bird looked, listened—and almost, plummeted into the moat. “Rawk!” it squeaked.

“That’s right, bird—rock,” Irene agreed. “Pattern and music—all yours.”

The roc landed by the garden and stared at it, fascinated. It cocked its head, listening. Rocs loved rock gardens! Irene knew she would have no more trouble with the big bird. She proceeded on across the moat. She knew there would be one more hurdle.

The stone walls of the castle were imposing. They were fresh and firm, unlike those of the zombie castle, and were buttressed by a wooden lattice, though they hardly needed it. No normal person could scale this barrier. Of course, she wouldn’t have to; she would have a climbing vine to do it for her, if the front door was locked.

Now she arrived at that door. It was solid wood. She knocked politely. There was no response. She knocked impolitely, with no better result. She looked for a knob or latch, but there was none. She pushed on the door, but it was firmly in place. She couldn’t even find a lock; it was probably barred on the other side. She had expected as much. This was unusual wood; she had a general familiarity with many types of trees, but did not recognize this particular kind. It seemed almost as solid and hard as stone, but it wasn’t rock maple or ironwood.

Very well; she would use her talent. She brought out a clinging-vine seed and set it at the base of the wall. “Grow.”

Nothing happened. She stooped to check the seed but could not find it. That was funny; that hadn’t happened in years. It must have been a bad seed.

She took out a climbing bean and held it in her hand. “Grow.” The bean shriveled up and disappeared.

Irene stared at her empty hand. This was definitely peculiar! Her climbing bean had changed to a has-bean.

Experimentally, she set out a firecracker plant seed. This was another of the ones intended for the twins’ party; too bad that party had been so brutally broken up. This plant wouldn’t help her cross over the wall, but it would verify that her talent was in order. “Grow!”

The seed shrank until it disappeared. There wasn’t even the faintest of detonations. It had done the opposite of what it was supposed to do.

Then she caught on. “Reverse wood!” she exclaimed. “When I exert my magic, it acts backward!” Her father-in-law Bink had once spoken of wood like this, found in the hinterland of Xanth. Evidently the Good Magician had harvested some of it. What a devious ploy!

Now she had a problem. If her talent worked backward near this wood, how could she grow anything to help her?

She considered the castle wall and door again. Irene was a healthy woman, but this sheer barrier was beyond her. She could neither scale it nor break it down without help. She might carry stones and pieces of fallen wood to lay against the wall and build a ramp she could use to surmount it, but that would take many hours—while Ivy might be gobbled by a jungle monster any minute. She needed to get inside the castle
now
.

Humfrey had set up this challenge, and she intended to conquer it. But she was doing a slow burn at this delay.

Burn? Could she set fire to the wood and destroy it? No, because her flame-vine would only put itself out instead of burning. She didn’t know how to start a fire without magic.

“Darn it!” she swore, stamping her foot in a fury of frustration. “I’ve just got to get rid of that blankety reverse wood!”

She put her hands on the nearest section of the lattice, trying to rip it free, but it adhered tightly to the wall. Now she knew why the lattice was there—to prevent her from using her magic on the wall. All the wood, the whole door included, was made of this stuff.

Maybe she could move away from the castle, grow something useful, and use it to surmount the wall. The reversal did not apply to magic already completed, it seemed, for the bird-of-paradise plant had not suffered until it cracked into the wall, and that was a straight physical shock rather than a magical one. But this process, too, would take time she might not be able to afford.

There was natural grass growing between the wall and the moat. Maybe that was immune to the reversal. “Grow,” she told it.

The grass shriveled back into the ground, leaving a bare spot. So much for that. Her talent worked—but not the right way. Shrinkage was no good for her.

But what about the stink horn? She had made that grow! No—now she saw it, on the far bank of the moat. It had grown some distance from the wall. No exception there.

Too bad her talent could not also shrink plants, because then she could try that, and when the wood reversed the thrust of her magic—

A pear-shaped flash of light illuminated the inside of her head. Shrink plants? The reverse wood was from a plant, wasn’t it? If the sniff retained any life of its own, which it might, since it retained its magical effect—

“Grow!” she commanded the reverse wood.

Immediately the wood shrank, reversing her magic. The lattice diminished to thin lines, and the massive door warped and pulled away from its moorings, becoming smaller.

The wood had reversed its own growth.

Irene pushed the dwindling remnant aside and entered the castle. “Serves you right, wood,” she said ungraciously. “You shouldn’t have messed with a person with Magician-caliber magic.” Her husband had more than once accused her of always insisting on having the last word; it was a true charge, and she gloried in it. No word was better than the last word!

She walked down the main entry hall. A heavily veiled woman hurried up. It was the Gorgon, whose direct gaze could petrify a person. “Oh, Irene, I’m so glad you made it!”