Piers Anthony - Night Mare

NIGHT
MARE

Piers Anthony

A Del Rey Book

BALLANTINE BOOKS * NEW YORK

Contents

For our Mare
Sky Blue
And her girl Penny
our Heaven-cent daughter

Chapter 1. To See the Rainbow

The stork glided to a landing before Stunks residence and squawked for attention.

No, it cant be! the goblin cried in panic. Im not even married!

Snot that, the stork said through his long bill. In the off-season I deliver mail. He produced an official-looking letter.

Off-season for what? the goblin demanded.

You wouldnt understand. Take the missive. I have other idiots to bug.

But I cant read! Stunk protested, his panic shifting to embarrassment. Few goblins could read, but like most illiterates, they didnt like this advertised.

I will read it to you, bulbnose. The stork opened the envelope and oriented an eye on the document inside.

Greetings.

Same to you, birdbrain, Stunk said politely. Goblins had excellent manners, though for some reason other creatures seemed unable to appreciate them.

Dont answer back, dolt, the stork said. Im reading the letter, not talking to you. Dont you know what Greetings means?

Stunk didnt answer.

Hey, stupid, I asked you a question, the stork said, irritated.

I thought you were reading the letter, needlebeak, so I didnt answer back. Im trying to be polite to one not worth the effort. Of course I know what it means. Its an ungoblinish salutation.

Salutation, ha! You dope, it means you have been drafted!

What? I wasnt aware of any draft. Its a very quiet day; no breeze at all.

Abducted into the army, moron! Caught by the official press gang. Your happy civilian life is over.

No! Stunk cried, appalled. I dont want to fight. Not that way, with weapons and rules and things. Tell me it isnt true!

Ill bet you wish youd had the baby instead, huh, goblin! the stork gloated, cradling the letter with his wings.

Why would I be summoned to war? Were at relative peace with the dragons and the griffins!

Its the Mundane invasion, oaf. The Nextwave of conquest. The horrible Mundanes are coming to make dragon stew and goblins too.

No! No! Stunk screamed, his horror growing by stumbles and lurches and faltering footsteps. I dont want to be goblin stew! Im only a young, ignorant lout! I have my whole ornery life ahead of me! I wont go!

Then you are a draft evader or a deserter, the stork said, licking his beak with an orange tongue. Do you know what they do to deserters?

I dont want to know!

They feed them to dragons. The stork was gloating; waves of gloat radiated out from him like ripples on a greasy puddle. Behind him a dragon loomed, snorting up little warm-up snorts of purple smoke.

Theyll never get me alive! Stunk cried, working up to a superior degree of cowardice. He charged out of his hole in the wall, fleeing the draft notice. But already the dragon was pursuing him hungrily, pumping up extra-purple smoke, the kind that not only roasted goblins, but smelled pretty bad, too. Salivary smoke.

Stunk fled screaming, feeling the monsters fire hot at his back. He paid no attention to where his feet were going. He was beginning to outdistance the dragon, but knew he was not yet out of its range; that tongue of flame could reach him any time.

Suddenly he was at the brink of a ledge, unable to stop. His horror doubled as he fell off. He saw the hard rock of the bottom of a canyon rushing up at him as his stubby arms windmilled futilely. Better the dragon than this, and better the draft than the dragonbut now it was too late for either.

It was too much. Bawling out his terror, he woke.

Imbri leaped through the wall, phasing into intangibility. She had misjudged the clients reaction to the dream and had almost been caught visible. It was very bad form for any night mare to be seen by a waking person, even one as insignificant as a goblin. She galloped out into the night, leaving only a single hoofprint behind as a signature. That signature was important; Imbri was a perfectionist, and liked to put her personal stamp on every bad dream she delivered.

Dawn was threatening. Fortunately, this was her last call; now she could go home and relax and graze for the day. She galloped across the land, passing through trees and bushes, until she came to a patch of hypnogourds. Without pause she dived into a ripe gourda feat that would have surprised anyone who was not conversant with magic, as horses were much larger than gourdsand was instantly in an alternate world.

Soon she was on the dusky plain, with the other mares of the night mare herd converging, all returning from duty. Their hoofprints bore maps of the moon, with its green cheese and holes, and the names of the individual mares highlighted thereon. MARE HUMERUM, MARE NUBIUM, MARE FRIGORIS, MARE NECTARIS, MARE AUSTRALEall her old immortal friends, all with seas of the moon named after them, in honor of their nocturnal performance over the centuries.

Another mare galloped up to intercept Imbri. It was Crisium, serving as temporary liaison to the Night Stallion. She projected a dreamlet the moment she came within range. It was the scene of an elf, waving his arms in animated speech. Imbri! the elf exclaimed. Report to Trojan right away! The brief dream faded.

A summons from the Dark Horse himself? That was not to be ignored! Imbri whirled on a hoof and charged across the plain, heading for the stable. Her relaxation would have to wait.

The Night Stallion was awaiting her. He stood huge and handsome, midnight black of hide and mane and tail and hoof in the same fashion as all the mares, but on him it was more impressive. Any male was impressive in the realm of equus for the real power lay with the few stallions.

Trojan projected a dream set in a lush human edifice chamber, in which Imbri took the form of an elegant human person lady, and he was a gray-haired human creature King.

You are not doing well, Mare Imbrium! the Horse King said. You have lost that special spark that truly terrifies. I am dissatisfied.

But I just drove a goblin to distraction! Imbri-Lady protested.

After hauling in the dragon and the unforeshadowed cliff, Trojan retorted. You should have had him terrified into oblivion before he ever left the house. Dream dragons must not be brought in promiscuously, or the dreamers will become acclimated to them and desensitized. That ruins it for the other mares. You must avoid overexposure of emergency elements.

Imbri realized it was true. The nucleus of the dream had been the horror of the draft that was supposed to chill the spine of the client and make him shiver. She had lost her competitive edge and made clumsy what should have been precise. I will try to do better, her lady form said penitently.

That is not enough, he replied. The edge is not entirely a matter of trying. It is inherent. Once you lose it, its gone. Im going to have to trade you, Mare Imbrium.

But this is the only work I know! she protested, stricken. She felt as the goblin had when receiving a dread notice. After more than a century of dream duty, during which time she had earned and held her designated moon sea, she wasnt ready for anything else.

You can learn new work. There are daydreams.

Daydreams! she repeated with contempt.

I believe you have the inclination.

Inclination? She was stunned. I never