Anthony, Piers - Xanth 07 - Dragon on a Pedestal
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2024-12-07
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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;
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Chapter1.IvyLeagueIreneheldherlittlegirlsnuglybeforeherastheyrodethecentaur.TheywereapproachingCastleZombie,andshedidn'twantanyproblemsaboutslidingoff.Ivy,onlythreeyearsold,hadnotencounteredazombiebeforeandmightreactinanunfortunatemanner.SuddenlyIreneexperiencedaterriblevision.Shescreamedandalmostfe...
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