Dragon on a Pedestal Read Online Free PDF

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. However, 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 beatstrengthened 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 stringently, 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.
    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 improvement.
    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 from the air—and the air was filled with clouds, which were, of course, composed of water droplets.