DRAGON ON A PEDESTAL XANTH 07

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; / 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 ev-

idently 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

1

2                   Dro9on on a Pedestal

across and lifted Ivy from Irene's arms. Irene stifled a flash of

anger and embarrassment, 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 assumption 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 prob-

ably 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—

"Halsh!" It was a zombie centaur guarding the approach to

the castle of the Zombie Master. Zombies came in all varieties;

Dragon on a Pedestal                   3

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 mot-

tled 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 pass."

"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 in-

structions.

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 degen-

erating 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 mani-

fested. 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 assumed 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

4                   Dragon on a Pedestal

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, espe-

cially those who also happened to be kings. It was better to

run things behind the scenes, the old-fashioned 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 fashion, 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 draw-

bridge. 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 passages 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 al-

Dragon on a Pedestal                   5

ways been secretly jealous of that. But now Millie was plump-

ing 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 fashion, 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 Amolde

Centaur to the interior. Amolde, 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 Amolde; because of him, she herself had

been, even more briefly. King of Xanth.

Irene smiled to herself. Xanth custom prohibited any reign-

ing Queen, but did not specifically bar a female King. That

had been part of Amolde'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 fashion.

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

inquired gently.

The vision! She had almost forgotten it! Now it came back

6                   Dragon on a Pedestal

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 ex-

amining it, as sometimes these things are important."

"Indeed they can be," Amolde 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 reassuringly. "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 Amolde 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,"

Amolde said. "Not here at Castle Zombie?"

Dragon on a Pedestal                   7

"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, shifting

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," Amolde 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," Amolde 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," Amolde 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 reassuringly.

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, buttressed 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.

8                   Dragon on a Pedestal

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

keeping him."

"Hugo," Irene said succinctly. Hugo was the retarded son

of the Magician Humfrey and the Gorgon, his name a com-

bination of theirs: HUmfrey and GOrgon. Well, Irene corrected

her thought, maybe "retarded" 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 fath-

ering 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 culti-

vated just the right arch to make the expression effective. Vol-

umes 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 in-

definitely. "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."

Dragon on a Pedestal                   9

"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 wamers,

and my zombies are currently patrolling, but this is a singularly

omery 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 arsenal,"

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—" Amolde 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 float-

ing 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

10                 Dro9on on a Pedestal

strangest thing was that, though her monster had definitely been

real when Irene herself was small, her own parents had pre-

tended 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?" Amolde asked, in-

terested. "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 mon-

ster in the open, she would take a broom to it! "You were

about to conjecture about Humfrey's motive," Irene reminded

Amolde.

"Ah, yes," the centaur Magician agreed. "The Good Ma-

gician 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 ran-

domly."

"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."

Dragon on a Pedestal                 11

"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 im-

patient 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.

"It's some sort of Mundane device called a jerk box," he

explained. "Teenagers associate with it."

"Juke box," Amolde corrected him gently. "My friend Ich-

abod the Mundane arranged to import it, and Humfrey found

a spell to make it operate here. I am not certain they exercised

good judgment in this instance."

"If that's Mundane music, I'm glad I live in Xanth," Irene

muttered.

"Wasn't there another problem?" Dor inquired of the Zom-

bie Master.

The dour man nodded. "Yes. People have been turning up

at the castle with amnesia."

"Amnesia?"

"They have forgotten who they are and where they're going,"

the Zombie Master explained. "It is as if they have just been

bom—but they possess all their faculties. We can't send them

home, because we don't know where they belong. Animals,

too—they just wander aimlessly."

"That sounds like a forget-spell," Amolde said.

"Like the one on the Gap Chasm?" Dor asked.

"No," the Zombie Master said. "That spell makes people

forget that the Gap exists, once they depart from it. It doesn't

make them forget who they are themselves."

12                  Dragon on a Pedestal

"It hardly makes them forget the Gap itself, these days,"

Irene put in. "We are all able to remember the Gap now."

"Still, this could be a spell," Amolde said. "It is unfortunate

the affected people are unable to remember what happened to

them."

"Did anyone follow their tracks back?" Irene asked;

"Yes, of course," the Zombie Master said. "We have

several excellent zombie hounds. We traced the tracks some

distance through the forest—but there seemed to be nothing

of significance. The tracks just wandered randomly. We did

trace a couple back to their origins; one came from the South

Village, and his wife recognized him—but he neither re-

membered her nor was able to say what had happened to

him. There was no evidence of misplay anywhere along his

route. It seemed he had gone out to fetch a pine needle for

his wife to sew with and never returned. We retraced his

route several times, narrowing down the region where his

progress became aimless, but there was nothing. No one else

was affected, and there was no sign of the passage of any

unusual animal or plant."

"At least he was able to rejoin his family," Irene said.

The Zombie Master smiled briefly. "Fortunately, she is an

attractive woman, or he might not have chosen to exercise that

option." He waved a thin hand in a gesture of negation. "But

a number of other cases remain unsolved, and in any event,

we don't want this complaint to spread. Especially not while

a dragon is rampaging."

"Good Magician Humfrey will have the Answers," King

Dor said. "He always does."

"Take care he doesn't charge us each a year's service for

it," Amolde said with a faint smile. Humfrey normally did not

charge other Magicians, as a matter of propriety or caution,

but the Good Magician was often absent-minded. All the other

Magicians of the senior generation had retired, but Humfrey

seemed eternal. Irene wondered what his secret was. She also

wondered if they had not become too dependent on him for

Answers. How would they manage if the Good Magician were

no longer around to give advice? That was not a pleasant thought,

but it would be foolish not to prepare.

Dragon on a Pedestal                  13

Millie reappeared. "I had to pack them off outside," she

said. "But we had better finish the meeting soon, or they'll be

in trouble again."

"All we need is the Good Magician," Arnolde said. "We

have defined the problems; he must define the Answers."

"It's not like him to be this late," the Zombie Master said.

"Not when the matter is important. He doesn't like to leave

his castle, but he keeps a pretty strict schedule once he does;-

Perhaps I should send a zombie out—"

"He could be traveling by magic carpet," Irene pointed out.

"Or by direct conjuration. He wouldn't bother with a footpath."

A zombie in a ragged tuxedo appeared at the door. "Yes,

Jeeves?" the Zombie Master inquired. It seemed there were a

few indoor zornbies, performing necessary chores.

"Carpish ashoy," the creature announced, spitting out a de-

cayed tooth in the effort of speech.

"Well, open a window," the Zombie Master said.

The zombie dropped a chunk of sodden flesh from some-

where on its anatomy within the tux and went to a window.

After some struggle, since its muscles were mostly rotten, it

got the window open. Then it shuffled out.

Just in time! A flying carpet glided in, supporting two fig-

ures. The Good Magician had at last arrived.

The carpet landed on the floor with a bump. Humfrey and

his son sat there. The Good Magician was a small, wrinkled

gnome of a man with a bare pate and thick-lensed glasses.

Hugo was evidently following the pattern of his father; though

his skin was smooth, his head fair-haired, and his face innocent,

he was very small for his age and already somewhat gnarled.

By no stretch of euphemism could he be called handsome, and

he was all too likely to grow into a man no prettier than Hum-

frey.

Too bad, Irene thought, that Hugo had not taken after his

mother, for the Gorgon was as tall, stately, and good-featured

as a human being came. Of course, few people ever gazed on

the Gorgon's features, and those who did were likely to pay a

rather severe consequence. There were still a number of statues

of Mundane invaders placed around Castle Roogna, souvenirs

of the Gorgon's part in that last great battle.

14                 Dragon on a Pedestal

There was over a century between the ages of Humfrey and

Hugo, but they were obviously two of a kind, physically. Alas,

not mentally! Humfrey was a special kind of genius, while the

boy—

"Come and sit down," the Zombie Master said, rising to

welcome the Good Magician. "We have been waiting for you."

"I am sitting, Jonathan," Humfrey grumped. As he spoke,

the wrinkles around and across his face seemed almost to ripple.

"I had other business."

"Hugo can join the other children," Irene said diplomati-

cally. She knew the adults would not talk freely while the boy

was present, though Hugo was unlikely to comprehend any-

thing significant.

"No, we have another chore, and I'm behind schedule,"

Humfrey said. "Your problems are these: the Gap Dragon is

ravaging the country; you must not hurt it, for it is necessary

to the welfare of the Gap, especially now that the spell is

breaking up."

"Spell?" King Dor asked.

"The forget-spell, of course," Humfrey said, as if impatient

with dullness. He probably had a lot of practice with that,

traveling with his son. "It received a fatal jolt in the Time of

No Magic twenty-nine years ago, and now is fragmenting and

mutating. Forget-whorls are spinning off and causing mischief;

they can incite partial or complete amnesia. Spray each whorl

with this liquid to neutralize it temporarily, then move it out

of Xanth to the Mundane regions where it has no effect." He

grimaced, remembering something. "Not much effect, at any

rate; it does cause the Mundanes to forget that magic works—

not that that is very much loss for them." He handed the Zombie

Master a small bottle of translucent fluid with a nozzle and

pneumatic bulb on it. "Take it up, Hugo."

The carpet lurched into the air toward the wall. "No, out

the window, idiot!" the Good Magician snapped, out of patience

before he started. "Straighten out and fly right!"

"Wait!" Dor cried. "How can we spray and move—"

The carpet straightened out, wobbled, then sailed through

the window. The Good Magician was gone.

Dragon on a Pedestal                 15

"—a forget-whorl we can't even see, hear, or feel?" Dor

finished, frustrated.

The others exchanged glances. "So much for our business

meeting," Irene said. "We got the business."

"The amnesia," the Zombie Master said. "So it is from the

Gap's forget-spell! Mutated—I never thought of that! No won-

der we couldn't trace the source of the problem; the whorls

would be undetectable and leave no trace except the wipeout

of memory!"

"That was my question," Dor said. "Invisible, silent, no

smell—how will we know one is near, until it is too late?"

"That is indeed a problem," Amolde agreed. "It had not

occurred to me that such a fragmentation would be so undis-

ciplined, but I suppose that if the forget-spell now lacks its

primary object—"

"Undisciplined," Dor said. 'That describes the Gap Dragon,

too! The breakup of the spell must have enabled it to remember

a way out of the Gap, and it doesn't have any limit to its

marauding, up here in regular Xanth."

"But to follow it to its secret exit," the Zombie Master said.

"That will be dangerous. The Gap Dragon is one of the largest

and most savage creatures we know, and no person in its vi-

cinity is safe."

"We shall have to plan a strategy of procedure," Dor said.

"We must deal with both the dragon and the forget-whorls,

somehow."

"At least now we know the cause of our problems," Amolde

said. "Humfrey was not here long, but he did cover the essence.

Perhaps we should proceed to the twins' party before they

become more restive, so that we are freed from that distraction.

Then we can meet again and try to work out—"

He was interrupted by commotion and screaming from out-

side. Something dramatic was going on!

"I fear they are already restive," the Zombie Master said

wryly.

They hurried to the window the Good Magician had used.

It offered a fair view of the moat and the surrounding coun-

tryside. Irene saw a cloud of smoke approaching through the

forest. "I'm not sure the children are doing that," she said.

16                  Dragon on a Pedestal

No, it wasn't smoke, exactly. It was steam, or condensing

water. It was puffing from—

"The Gap Dragon!" Amolde Centaur exclaimed. "It is raid-

ing here\"

"And we're not supposed to hurt it," Dor said with disgust.

"What does Humfrey expect us to do—tie a yellow ribbon on

its tail and follow it home?"

"The children!" Irene exclaimed, appalled. "The children

are outside!" She charged through the castle and out the front

portal, oblivious to all else. Her vision, the dragon— "Ivy!

Ivy!" she cried.

Lacuna was sitting by the edge of the moat, forming words,

sentences, and paragraphs on the slimy surface of the water.

That was her talent; she could cause print to form on anything

and could change it at will. She was so engrossed in her com-

position that she was obviously unaware of the approaching

menace. "Ivy's all right, your Majesty. She's enhancing the

zombies. They like her."

"The Gap Dragon's here!" Irene cried. But even as she

spoke, the monster appeared, a great cloud of steam enclosing

it.

Irene tried to run along the moat bank to get at Ivy, but the

child was on the other side. So was the Gap Dragon. It was

bearing down on them.

Irene screamed. Ivy looked up and saw her. The child was

facing away from the dragon.

Then one of the zombies saw the dragon. For a long moment

it paused, a thought churning through its sloppy cranial matter,

while the dragon steamed rapidly closer. The thought was lucky;

it made it through to the zombie's action-command center.

The zombie picked up the child and lumbered along the

moat, out of the dragon's path. It was an act of remarkable

relevance for this type of creature.

The dragon steamed right up to the moat—and hunched its

foresection across it. A large moat monster attacked, being too

far gone to harbor either fear or common sense, but its teeth

were mostly caries and could not make an impression on the

steel-hard scales of the Gap Dragon. The dragon shook off the

Dragon on a Pedestal                 17

zombie and plowed into the outer wall of the castle, snoot-

first. Such was its impact that the stone crumbled inward.

The dragon stalled at last. head buried in the wall. But it

wasn't trapped; it wrenched its head up, and a larger section

of the wall crumbled out. Slimestone simply had not been

designed to stand up to treatment like this!

Zombies rushed up to defend the castle, bearing rusty swords

and rank clubs. They sliced and bashed ineffectively at the

dragon's side and back. Irritated by this nonsense, the dragon

brought its head about and issued a blast of steam that entirely

obscured the zombies.

When the cloud cleared, the zombies were in a sorry state.

Portions of their decaying flesh had melted away, leaving

steamed bones, and much of what remained was too cooked

to function well. Zombies were generally immune to physical

damage, other than being cut to pieces, but there were limits.

These ones staggered and fell into the moat, annoying the other

moat denizens but enriching it with their substance.

The dragon, having breached the castle defenses, seemed

to lose interest. It turned toward Irene.

The Gap Dragon was low-slung, with a triple pair of legs,

exactly as in her vision. Its metallic scales shone green in the

shade and iridescent in the sunlight. One ear perked up; the

other was merely a stub, evidently the casualty of one of its

many battles. Indeed, there were scars all over its tree-trunk-

thick torso. Its eyes were bright with the malevolent delight of

the rampage.

Now Irene became aware of her own peril. She had been

standing more or less transfixed by the action, oblivious to

personal danger. The Gap Dragon was one of the most for-

midable monsters ofXanth. Ordinarily it was no threat to people

outside the Gap Chasm. That hardly mattered now!

The dragon took a step toward her, as if deciding whether

she was worth going after. It was time to act.

Irene brought out a pincushion seed. "Grow!" she directed

it and tossed it in front of the dragon.

The plant sprouted immediately, forming a button that swelled

into a cushion that sprouted a score of sharp pins, their points

jutting sharply out.

18                 Drogon on a Pedestal

The dragon paused to sniff at it. A pin stuck in its nose.

The monster shot out a jet of steam, but the pins didn't melt.

The cushion continued to grow.

The pin in the nose tickled. The dragon sneezed. That sent

pins and steam flying out from the cushion. The steam floated

up into the sky, while the pins rained down into the moat,

sticking the moat monsters. Pins didn't bother zombies, but

there was an angry squeal from the denuded cushion.

The Gap Dragon, of course, had not been hurt. It was

armored against swords; pins were beneath its notice. It peered

again at Irene, still trying to decide whether she was worth the

trouble of gobbling. She did not wait any undue time for its

decision. She reached for another seed.

The dragon decided to explore in the opposite direction. It

turned about and moved off. Ironically, Irene found herself

angry; wasn't she good enough to eat?

More zombies rushed up, armed with pickled stink bombs.

Evidently the Zombie Master was getting his defenses orga-

nized. The zombies lofted these bombs at the Gap Dragon,

who snapped the first out of the air with easy contempt and

crunched it into a foul mass.

Now the Gap Dragon made a sound that resembled its in-

itials. It was not particularly intellectual, but there was nothing

wrong with its perception of smell or taste. It could distinguish

a foul stench quite as readily as could the next creature. It

coughed out another cloud of steam, but the odor clung to its

teeth.

Really irritated now, the Gap Dragon lunged and snapped

up a zombie. But the rotten creature didn't taste much better

than the stink bomb. The Gap Dragon spat it out with another

utterance of its initials.

At last, with poor grace, the dragon gave it up as a bad job

and humped back across the moat and galumphed away into

the jungle. The raid was over.

"You would have done better chomping me!" Irene called

after the dragon snidely. "/ don't taste like a stink bomb!"

She breathed a sigh of relief nonetheless—then remembered

Ivy. She was the object of the danger in the vision! Where had

the zombie taken her?

Dragon on a Pedestal                  19

Irene hurried across the drawbridge and around the outside

of the moat, following the route she had seen the zombie take.

She tuned out most of everything else, intent on this one thing.

Along the way she saw the devastation left by the Gap Dragon,

with broken trees and pieces of zombie, but not the thing she

most sought: her darling daughter. Where was Ivy?

In moments others joined her, searching the entire area.

"Which zombie took her?" the Zombie Master asked. "I can

question that one."

"I don't know one zombie from another!" Irene replied, the

ugly clutch of apprehension tightening about her rib cage. That

vision was becoming more real!

"Then I will question them all," the Zombie Master decided.

He brought out a battered hom and blew a blast that sounded

like the final wail of a dying buzzard.

Immediately the zombies converged from the entire area,

shuffling up so hurriedly that they left pieces of themselves all

over the premises. It was amazing the number that appeared;

soon there was a dense and grotesque crowd of the things. Irene

knew that each one was a person who had died and been

reanimated; a lot of people had died in the past few years!

And would one more die in the next day? No! she cried

mentally. She could not even think of that!

"Which one of you carried Ivy?" the Zombie Master de-

manded of the motley throng.

There was no answer.

"Which one of you knows who carried Ivy?" he asked next.

Three fetid hands hoisted.

"Tell me who carried Ivy," the Zombie Master said, pointing

to one of them. Irene realized that it took a special technique

to question zombies; they reacted literally, like inanimate things.

"Zzussch," the indicated zombie replied, losing part of its

lip in the effort of speech.

"Zush, where are you?" the Zombie Master called.

Another zombie shuffled forward.

"Where did you take Ivy?"

The zombie shrugged, dropping a piece of bone from its

shoulder.

20                 Dragon on a Pedestal

"I fear it does not remember," Amolde said. "Perhaps a

forget-whorl..."

"But then Ivy—" Irene began, horrified. The horror of the

vision—had it been forgetfulness? That would explain its un-

defined nature.

"May be lost in the jungle—without her memory," the

centaur concluded for her.

Now everyone understood. There was an appalled silence.

Into what league of incapacity and peril had Ivy been thrown?

Chapter 2. Humfreys Horror

I '11 have to go to the Good Magician for advice,"

Irene decided. "He must be home by now; I can reach him in

half an hour. That will be faster and better than casting aim-

lessly about the wilderness. The rest of you can do that."

Her husband looked at her with a certain familiar resigna-

tion. He knew she would do things her own way, regardless

of his preference, so he didn' t set himself up for embarrassment

by opposing her openly. It did not seem to occur to him that

her way was best; men were not very practical in some respects.

"I will organize a search party here, to range farther into the

local jungle," Dor said. "Ivy can't be far away." He did not

seem unduly concerned, but that was just his way; Irene knew

he would leave hardly any local stone unturned.

"You'll probably find her before I get back," she said,

though she had a sick premonition that this would not be the

case. That vision had been no passing fancy; it had hinted at

a terrible ordeal and danger as yet unglimpsed. She gave Dor

a quick, distracted kiss, then turned to the more important busi-

ness.

Dragon on a Pedestal                 21

She brought out one of the seeds she had planned to use to

entertain the twins. Now she had a better use for it. This was

a bird-of-paradise plant seed. "Grow," she commanded as she

flipped it into the air.

The seed obeyed with alacrity. Irene had always been able

to make plants grow, so that in minutes one of them would

complete a life cycle that would normally have taken months

or years. When Irene had been a child, the Elders of Xanth

had judged her magic talent to be excellent but beneath Ma-

gician level, to her frustration. Her mother Iris had been pri-

vately furious, suspecting sexual discrimination; but the fact

was that her talent was not as versatile as those of her parents.

During the crisis of the Nextwave invasion of Mundanes, five

years ago, when Kings of Xanth had been falling like Mundane

dominoes, Amolde Centaur had assumed the throne and de-

creed Irene's talent to be Magician level. Her mother had not

been partial to centaurs before then; her attitude had suffered

a remarkable change. Since that time, as if in response to that

promotion, Irene's talent had intensified, so that now she could

grow in seconds what had required minutes before. She had

become, indeed, a full Magician. Perhaps it was the result of

the birth of her unusually talented child. Ivy caused the qualities

of those near her to intensify, and this applied to both physical

and magical aspects. Irene had always been nearest her child,

and yes, the enhancement of her talent had manifested during

her pregnancy. Funny she should realize this just now, when

her daughter was lost.

Her comprehensive chain of thought was compressed into

a very brief span because the seed was sprouting in the air at

the same time, sending out tendrils that radiated large, smooth,

flat, oval leaves that became wings that flapped and supported

the swelling mass of the body before it fell to the ground.

Another shoot became the ornate tail of the bird, and another

the head, which was actually a phenomenal flower with lovely

petals spreading delicately.

"More," she said, and the plant renewed its effort and in-

creased its growth, becoming much larger than it would ever

naturally have been. In moments it had a wingleaf span of

twice Irene's height and a massive if convoluted twisted-stem

22                 Dro9on on a Pedestal

body. Brown roots became legs and feet and claws. The down-

draft of its beating wings flattened the grass beneath and stirred

up a cloud of dust. The bird-of-paradise plant was ready to fly.

The zombies were watching with dull interest, never before

having seen this type of magic. Perhaps .they wondered why

only one seed grew, instead of all the plants in range of the

sound of her voice. The answer was that it was more than her

voice that did it; it was her concentration. She could have made

any of the surrounding plants put on sudden new growth, had

she wished to; but she had addressed only the one seed. How-

ever, there was no point in trying to explain such matters to

zombies; they could hardly understand ordinary things, let alone

magic.

"I'll be back in an hour, dear," Irene promised Dor as she

mounted the bird. She always took care to remind him in little

ways how much she cared for him, because she knew men

were in constant need of such reassurance. If they didn't receive

it, their attention could wander, and that was not necessarily

wholesome for a marriage.

There were many footholds and handholds amidst the vines

of the plant, so she had no concern about falling. She settled

herself in the saddle area and blew Dor a kiss.

King Dor nodded. Her magic with plants was old stuff to

him; his own magic was more than equivalent, and he was as

concerned as she by the peril to their child. He would turn new

leaves and old ones in the search for Ivy, rough as that might

be on the trees of this region.

She nudged the bird-plant with her knee and it took off. For

a moment it faltered, for this was its first experience carrying

a load; then its beat strengthened and it forged aloft. It circled,

gaining altitude, while the zombies watched with another surge

of dull curiosity. Irene tucked her green skirt in close about

her knees, aware that the view from below differed from that

above. In her younger days she would have reacted more strin-

gently, as she had been very sensitive about people trying to

see under her skirt in their chronic effort to discover what color

her panties were. Now she knew that they didn't really care

about that sort of thing, and certainly zombies didn't, but old

reflexes died hard.

Dragon on a Pedestal                 23

The bird-plant rose above the highest decaying spire of

Castle Zombie, above the tattered and slimy zombie flag, and

above most of the trees of the region. From this vantage, the

zombies below looked like squashed slugs. It was an improve-

ment.

The Good Magician's castle was northeast of here. By foot

the journey would have been next to impossible, for most of

the jungle here remained unexplored. No telling what horrors

lurked in uncharted wilderness! But by air it was easy enough

to—oops.

Clouds were headed this way, mean little gray ones with

tentacle-tendrils of dark vapor. They were obviously up to no

good. The inanimate could be perverse in the wilder regions

of Xanth, and clouds often liked to soak down passersby just

for the electric thrill of it. Thunderclouds could get a real charge

from such mischief; they huffed and puffed their delight and

crackled their merriment. Irene decided to get above these

nuisances.

She nudged the bird-plant, and made it another upward loop.

But these annoying clouds were not so readily avoided. They

reared up new layers and projected longer contrails, trying to

enclose her in fog. They blew out gusts of wind, and the chill

drafts made her shiver; water coalesced on the slick wingleaf

surfaces and caused the bird to gain weight and lose tractions.

Oh, fudge! she thought angrily.

Irene had little patience with this. She had never put up with

much guff from the inanimate, having been exposed to the

smart remarks of rocks and furniture and even water when Dor

was present. His talent was making inanimate things talk; that

was fine, it was an excellent talent, and because of it he was

now King and she was Queen—but why did those things have

to have such mouthy attitudes?

She brought out six more seeds from the bag she always

carried with her. "Grow," she ordered them, and flung them

out.

The seeds sprouted, sending out roots and vines. In midair

they flowered and fruited, forming swelling, gourdlike masses.

They were watermelons, and required immense amounts of

water to complete their cycles. They normally drew this water

24                 Dragon on a Pedestal

from the air—and the air was filled with clouds, which were,

of course, composed of water droplets. This was sheer delight

to the melons. Because they were growing magically rapidly,

they drew their water fast. The first cloud touched by a sprout-

ing seed was sucked dry in an instant; it shrank and shriveled

and disappeared with a breezy sigh. The others suffered sim-

ilarly.

One larger cloud, with a silvery crown above, made a fight

of it. This was evidently the leader of the pack. The king cloud

reached out and enclosed the watermelon plant in vapor, so

that it disappeared. But the watermelon only took in more water

greedily, its tendrils threading through the cloud, and soon the

embrace was reversed. The cloud disappeared, and a monstrous

melon formed and plummeted to the distant ground.

One fragment of cloud tore free at the last moment and

scudded away, its contrail between its legs. "I'll get even!" it

seemed to mouth before it floated over the horizon. "You hav-

en't seen the last of me, solid creature!"

Irene smiled. It would be a long time before that survivor

harassed travelers again. "Dry up. King Cloud.!" she called

mockingly as it disappeared behind a hill. She had gotten into

the habit of talking back to the inanimate, because of the way

it talked back to her when she was with Dor. Rocks and other

things on the ground could be especially obnoxious when she

stepped over them.

There was a splat from below, and a bellow. The melon

had struck a firedog basking below and very nearly put out the

poor creature's fire.

The scattered remaining clouds had learned their lesson;

they no longer intruded on Irene's flying space. That was just

as well; her long association with Dor had taught her how to

deal with the inanimate, but she was now out of watermelon

seeds and wasn't sure what she would have done for a follow-

up. After all, this had been a business and pleasure excursion

when they had set off for the Zombie Master's castle; she had

left most of her weapons-grade seeds behind.

She flew directly to the Good Magician's castle without

further interruption. Trees and lakes and hills passed by below;

it was pretty enough scenery, but she knew there were a number

Dragon on a Pedestal                  25

ofunpretty monsters lurking in it. That made her nervous again

for the welfare of her daughter. The jungles of unexplored

Xanth were no place for a three-year-old child!

Her steed descended, becoming uncertain. Irene's brow fur-

rowed; what was the problem? The turret of Humfrey's castle

showed clearly in the vale. She nudged the plant onward, going

for a landing on a convenient parapet.

The castle looked different from its configuration of the

past—but that was normal. It.always changed. How Humfrey

managed this she had never discovered; it was just part of his

magic. As the Magician of Information, he obviously had in-

formation on how to revise castles periodically. The talent of

a Magician was always impressive, once the full extent of it

was known. Too bad there were so few of that caliber! Her

daughter's talent had not yet been classified by the Elders, but

Irene had the depressing feeling that it was not Magician level.

Ivy's presence tended to enhance the qualities of others; that

was nice for the others, but what did it do for Ivy herself?

Now if Ivy could enhance her own abilities, what a creature

she might become! But that was a foolish daydream.

Daydream? "Hello, Imbri!" Irene said and fancied she saw

the flick of the day mare's tail as a return greeting. Irene had

come to know Mare Imbrium as a night mare, but now Imbri

had become the bearer of the dreams of the day, which were

much more pleasant. The mare was invisible; most people never

knew when she was present. It didn't occur to them that dreams

of any kind had to be formulated somewhere and be brought

by someone. Dream duty was an often thankless task.

"Thank you for the dream, Imbri!" Irene called belatedly.

But the mare had already gone. A creature had to be constantly

on the move to keep up with the delivery schedule for day-

dreams, since so many people had them. A human carrier would

have been unable to keep the pace, but horses were designed

for running.

They glided to the turret, the bird-plant still trying to balk.

Annoyed, Irene kneed it harder; plants were not usually very

smart, so often they were not able to obey well, but this was

a simple landing procedure. There was no excuse for holding

back.

26                 Dra9on on a Pedestal

The leg- and foot-roots touched—and made no contact. The

bird-plant continued on down into the stone. "What?" Irene

asked, startled to see her own legs disappearing into the castle

rampart.

Then they were all the way in it. The Good Magicians's

castle was nothing but fog! She nudged the bird, and it ascended

rapidly, drawing out of the darkness, glad to get away from

this. Now she knew why the steed had balked; it had realized

something was wrong.

Irene looked down. There was the castle, exactly as before.

"Illusion!" she exclaimed. "The castle doesn't exist!"

Then she had a second thought. "It has to exist! I need

Humfrey's advice, in case Dor fouls up the search!"

She nudged the bird down again, cautiously. Again the two

of them intersected the castle—and found nothing of substance.

The Good Magician's castle simply wasn't there.

Irene shook her head. "Some joker is playing games, and

I'm sure it isn't my mother." Her mother Queen Emeritus Iris

was mistress of illusion, but she seldom used her talent now,

and never for mischief. It was a ssid fact that age was softening

the senior Magicians of Xanth, all except Humfrey, the oldest

of all. Irene wondered again what the Good Magician's secret

was. He had been old before Irene herself was bom and he

remained old—but no older than before in appearance. Maybe

he had achieved the ultimate age, the plateau beyond which

the years became meaningless. But she couldn't ponder that at

the moment; she needed to find him and quickly, so as to learn

how to save her child. Dor might or might not find and rescue

Ivy, though he would certainly try; Humfrey's advice would

make that rescue certain.

"If the castle isn't here, it must be elsewhere," she decided.

"I know I'm in the right general region." For she had flown

here before and was familiar with the lay of the land. She

nudged the bird and it flew on northeast.

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,

Dragon on a Pedestal                 27

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 ex-

claimed in disgust. She slapped at the fog that formed it, with-

out 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

uripreparedness! 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 erad-

icate 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.

28                 Dragon on a Pedestal

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

Dragon on a Pedestal                 29

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 mon-

strous 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 Mun-

dane 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 new-

comers had to struggle through three types of obstruction in

order to get inside and see the Good Magician. That was be-

cause 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 omery ways of doing

things. No one really understood him, except perhaps the Gor-

gon, his wife.

30                 Dragon on a Pedestal

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 dam 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 tur-

nips—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.

Dragon on a Pedestal                 31

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 mu-

sic—ail 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

32                 Dragon on a Pedestal

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 bum at this delay.

Bum? 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.

"Dam it!" she swore, stamping her foot in a fury of frus-

tration. "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 some-

thing 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