"Anthony, Piers - Xanth 06 - Night Mare" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

"But I don't understand!" Imbri exclaimed, the dream
background shaking.

"You aren't meant to."

"I don't even know Chameleon or King Trent! I've never
had to take a dream to either of them! How can I deliver a

message?"

"Your present image is that of Chameleon," the Stallion
said, producing a mirror from air so she could look at her-
self in the dream. Imbri was not a phenomenal judge of
human appearance, but the image appeared quite ugly.
Chameleon was an awful crone. "Use your dreamer-locator
sense; it will operate by day as well as by night. And if you
need to meet King Trent directly-he is my present im-
age." The Stallion's dream form was handsome in an aged
sort of way-the very model of a long-reigning King.

"But I understand so littlel" Imbri protested. "This is
like a bad dream."

"Granted," the Stallion said. "War is very like a bad
dream. But it does not pass with the night, and its evil
remains long after the combat has abated. War is no warn-
ing of ill; it is the ill itself."

"War?"

8 Night Mare

But the Stallion's kingly eyes flashed, and the dream
faded. Imbri found herself standing at the edge of the
broad grazing plain, alone. The interview was over.

Imbri traveled the realm of the night, making her farewells
to its denizens. She went to the City of Brass, threading her
way between the moving buildings, meeting the brass folk.
Brassies were just like human folk, only made of metal.
The males wore brassards and the females wore brassieres.
The brass folk were activated when particular dreams had
to be mass-produced; they were very good at mechanized
manufacturing. Imbri had been here often before to pick
up specialized dreams, and they were always well crafted.

One brassie girl approached Imbri. "You do not know
me, mare," she said. "I understand you are going dayside. I
was dayside once."