The Source of Magic Read online

  He was, to Bink's surprise, a man, garbed richly in silver cloth and diamonds, but with the same foolish slippers his servant wore. "So you proffer service for a night's lodging," he said briskly.

  "This is our custom," Bink said.

  "And ours too!" the lord agreed heartily. "Have you any special talents?"

  Bink couldn't tell his own, and didn't know Chester's. "Uh, not exactly. But we're strong, and can do work."

  "Work? Oh my heavens no!" the lord exclaimed. "People do not work here!"

  Oh? "How do you live, then?" Bink asked. "We organize, we direct--and we entertain," the lord said. "Have you any entertainment abilities?" Bink spread his hands. "I'm afraid not."

  "Excellent! You will make an ideal audience."

  "Audience?" Bink knew that Chester was as perplexed as he. The mirror had shown him watching a play--yet that could hardly be a service!

  "We send our troupes out to entertain the masses, accepting payment in materials and services. It is a rewarding profession, esthetically and practically. But it is necessary to obtain advance audience ratings, so that we can gauge our reception precisely."

  This innocuous employment hardly jibed with the local reputation! "To be an audience--to watch your shows--that's all you require? It hardly seems equitable! I'm afraid we would not be able to present an informed critical report--"

  "No necessity! Our magic monitors will gauge your reactions, and point up our rough edges. You will have nothing to do but react, honestly."

  "I suppose we could do that" Bink said dubiously. "If you really are satisfied."

  "Something funny here," Chester said. "How come you have a reputation as fiends?"

  "Uh, that's not diplomatic," Bink murmured, embarrassed.

  "Fiends? Who called us fiends?" the lord demanded. "The ogre," Chester replied. "He said you blasted a whole forest with a curse."

  The lord stroked his goatee. "The ogre survives?"

  "Chester, shut up!" Bink hissed. But the centaur's unruly nature had taken control. "All he was doing was rescuing his lady ogre, and you couldn't stand to have him happy, so--"

  "Ah, yes, that ogre. I suppose to an ogre's way of thinking, we would be fiends. To us, crunching human bones is fiendish. It is all in one's perspective."

  Apparently the centaur had not antagonized the lord, though Bink judged that to be sheer luck. Unless the lord, like his troupe, was an actor--in which case there could be serious and subtle trouble. "This one is now a vegetarian," Bink said. "But I'm curious: do you really have such devastating curses, and why should you care what an ogre does? You really don't have cause to worry about ogres, here under the lake; they can't swim."

  "We do really have such curses," the lord said. "They constitute group effort, the massing of all our magic. We have no individual talents, only individual contributions toward the whole."

  Bink was amazed. Here was a whole society with duplicating talents! Magic did repeat itself!

  "We do not employ our curses haphazardly, however. We went after the ogre as a professional matter. He was interfering with our monopoly."

  Both Bink and Chester were blank. "Your what?"

  "We handle all formal entertainments in southern Xanth. That bad actor blundered into one of our sets and kidnapped our leading lady. We do not tolerate such interference or competition."

  "You used an ogress for a leading lady?" Bink asked.

  "We used a transformed nymph--a consummate actress. All our players are consummate, as you shall see. In that role she resembled the most ogrelike ogress imaginable, absolutely horrible." He paused, considering. "In fact, with her artistic temperament, she was getting pretty ogrelike in life. Prima donna..."

  "Then the ogre's error was understandable."

  "Perhaps. But not tolerable. He had no business on that set. We had to scrub the whole production. It ruined our season."

  Bink wondered what reception the ogre would encounter, as he rescued his ideal female. An actress in ogress guise, actually from the castle of the fiends!

  "What about the reverse-spell tree?" Chester asked.

  "People were taking its fruit and being entertained by the reversal effects. We did not appreciate the competition. So we eliminated it."

  Chester glanced at Bink, but did not speak. Perhaps these people really were somewhat fiendish. To abolish all rival forms of entertainment--

  "And where did you say you were traveling to?" the lord inquired.

  "To the source of magic," Bink said. "We understand it is underground, and that the best route leads through this castle."

  "I do not appreciate humor at my expense," the lord said, frowning. "If you do not wish to inform me of your mission, that is certainly your privilege. But do not taunt me with an obvious fabrication."

  Bink had the impression that obviousness was a worse affront than fabrication, to this person.

  "Listen, fiend!" Chester said, bridling in most obvious fashion. "Centaurs do not lie!"

  "Uh, let me handle this," Bink said quickly. "There is surely some misunderstanding. We are on quest for the source of magic--but perhaps we have been misinformed as to its access."

  The lord mellowed. "That must be the case. Below this castle lies only the vortex. Nothing that goes that route ever returns. We are the Gateway; we straddle the vortex, protecting innocent creatures from being drawn unwittingly into that horrible fate. Who informed you that the object of your quest lay in such a direction?"

  "Well, a Magician--"

  "Never trust a Magician! They are all up to mischief!"

  "Uh, maybe so," Bink said uneasily, and Chester nodded thoughtfully. "He was very convincing."

  "They tend to be," the lord said darkly. Abruptly he shifted the subject. "I will show you the vortex. This way, if you please." He led the way to an interior panel. It slid aside at his touch. There was a glistening wall of glassy substance. No, not glass; it was moving. Fleeting irregularities showed horizontally. Now Bink could see through it somewhat vaguely, making out the three-dimensional shape. It was a column, perhaps twice his armspan in diameter, with a hollow center. In fact it was water, coursing around in circles at high speed. Or in spirals, going down--

  "A whirlpool!" Chester exclaimed. "We are looking at the nether column of a whirlpool!"

  "Correct," the lord said with pride. "We have constructed our castle around it, containing it by magic. Substances may pass into it, but not out of it. Criminals and other untoward persons are fed into its maw, to disappear forever. This is a most salutary deterrent."

  Surely so! The mass of moving fluid was awesome in its smooth power, and frightening. Yet it was also in its fashion luring, like the song of the siren, or the madness.

  Bink yanked his gaze away. "But where does it go?"

  "Who would presume to know?" the lord inquired in return, quirking an eyebrow expressively. He slid the panel across and the vision of the vortex was gone.

  "Enough of this," the lord decided. "We shall wine and dine you fittingly, and then you will audience our play."

  The meal was excellent, served by fetching young women in scant green outfits who paid flattering attention to the travelers, especially Chester. They seemed to admire both his muscular man-portion and his handsome equine portion. Bink wondered, as he had before, what it was girls saw in horses. The siren had been so eager to ride!

  At last, stuffed, Bink and Chester were ushered to the theater. The stage was several times the size of the chamber for the audience. Apparently these people did not like to watch as much as they liked to perform.

  The curtain lifted and it was on: a gaudily costumed affair replete with bold swordsmen and buxom women and funny jokers. The staged duels were impressive, but Bink wondered how proficient those men would be with their weapons in a real battle. There was a considerable difference between technical skill and combat nerve! The women were marvelously seductive--but would they be as shapely without the support of their special clothes, or as wittily suggestive m
inus the memorized lines?

  "You do not find our production entertaining?" the lord inquired.

  "I prefer life," Bink replied.

  The lord made a note on his pad: MORE REALISM,

  Then the play shifted to a scene of music. The heroine sang a lovely song of loss and longing, meditating on her faithless lover, and it was difficult to imagine how any lout, no matter how louty, could be faithless to such a desirable creature. Bink thought of Chameleon again, and longed for her again. Chester was standing raptly beside him, probably thinking of horsing around with Cherie Centaur, who was indeed a fetching filly.

  Then the song was augmented by a hauntingly lovely accompaniment. A flute was playing, its notes of such absolute quality and clarity that the lady's voice was shamed. Bink looked toward that sound--and there it was, a gleaming silver flute hanging in the air beside the heroine, playing by itself. A magic flute! The lady ceased singing, surprised, but the flute played on. Indeed, freed of the limitations of her voice, it trilled on into an aria of phenomenal expertise and beauty. Now the entire cast of players stood listening, seeming to find it as novel as Bink did.

  The lord jumped to his feet "Who is performing that magic?" he demanded.

  No one answered. All were absorbed in the presentation.

  "Clear that set!" the lord cried, red-faced. "Everybody out, out, out!"

  Slowly they cleared, fading into the wings, looking back at the solo instrument The stage was empty--but still the flute played, performing a medley of melodies, each more lovely than the one preceding.

  The lord grabbed Bink by the shoulders. "Are you doing it?" he demanded, seeming about ready to choke.

  Bink tore his attention from the flute. "I have no magic like that!" he said.

  The lord hauled on Chester's muscular arm. "You--it must be yours, then!"

  Chester's head turned to face him. "What?" he asked, as if coming out of a reverie. In that instant, flute and music faded.

  "Chester!" Bink exclaimed. "Your talent! All the beauty in your nature, suppressed because it was linked to your magic, and as a centaur you couldn't--"

  "My talent!" Chester repeated, amazed. "It must be me! I never did dare to--who would have believed--"

  "Play it again!" Bink urged. "Make beautiful music! Prove you have magic, just as your hero-uncle Herman the Hermit did!"

  "Yes," Chester agreed. He concentrated. The flute reappeared. It began to play, haltingly at first, then with greater conviction and beauty. And strangely, the centaur's rather homely face began to seem less so. Not so strange, Bink realized: much of Chester's brutality of expression stemmed from his habitual snarl. That snarl had abated; he had no need of it any more.

  "Now you don't owe the Magician any service," Bink pointed out. "You found your talent yourself."

  "What abominable mischief!" the lord cried. "You accepted our hospitality on the agreement that you would render service as an audience. You are not an audience--you are a performer. You have reneged on your agreement with us!"

  Now a portion of Chester's familiar arrogance reasserted itself. The flute blew a flat note. "Manfeathers!" the centaur snapped. "I was only playing along with your heroine's song. Bring your play back; I'll watch it, and accompany it."

  "Hardly," the lord said grimly. "We tolerate no non-guild performances in our midst. We maintain a monopoly."

  "What are you going to do?" Chester demanded. "Throw a fit? I mean, a curse?"

  "Uh, I wouldn't--" Bink cautioned his friend.

  "I'll not tolerate such arrogance from a mere half-man!" the lord said.

  "Oh, yeah?" Chester retorted. With an easy and insulting gesture he caught the man's shirtfront with one hand and lifted him off the floor.

  "Chester, we're their guests!" Bink protested.

  "Not any more!" the lord gasped. "Get out of this castle before we destroy you for your insolence!"

  "My insolence--for playing a magic flute?" Chester demanded incredulously. "How would you like that flute up your--"

  "Chester!" Bink cried warningly, though he had considerable sympathy for the centaur's position. He invoked the one name that had power to restrain Chester's wrath: "Cherie wouldn't like it if you--"

  "Oh, I wouldn't do it to her!" Chester said. reconsidered. "Not with a flute--"

  All this time the centaur had been holding the lord suspended in air. Suddenly the man's shirt ripped, and then he fell ignominiously to the floor. More than ignominiously: he landed in a fresh pile of dirt.

  Actually, this cushioned his impact, saving him from possible injury. But it multiplied his rage. "Dirt!" the lord cried. "This animal dumped me in dirt!"

  "Well, that's where you belong," Chester said. "I really wouldn't want to dirty my clean silver flute on you." He glanced at Bink. "I'm glad it's silver, and not some cheap metal. Shows quality, that flute."

  "Yes," Bink agreed hastily. "Now if we can leave--"

  "What's dirt doing on my teak parquet?" the lord demanded. There was now a crowd of actors and servants about him, helping him up, brushing him off, fawning.

  "The squiggle," Bink said, dismayed. "It found us again."

  "Oh, so it's a friend of yours!" the lord cried, proceeding dramatically from rage to rage. "I should have known! It shall be the first to be cursed!" And he pointed one finger, shaking with emotion, at the pile. "All together now. A-one, a-two, a-three!"

  Everyone linked hands and concentrated. At the count of three the curse came forth, like a bolt of lightning from the lord's finger. Ball lightning: it formed into a glowing mass the size of a fist, and drifted down to touch the dirt. At contact it exploded--or imploded. There was a flash of darkness and a momentary acrid odor; then the air cleared and there was nothing. No dirt, no squiggle, no flooring, in that region.

  The lord glanced at the hole with satisfaction. "That's one squiggle that will never bother us again," he said. "Now for you, half-man." He raised his terrible finger to point at Chester. "A-one, a-two--"

  Bink dived across, knocking the man's arm aside. The curse spun off and smashed into a column. There was another implosion of darkness, and a chunk of the column dissolved into nothingness.

  "Now see what you've done!" the lord cried, becoming if possible even more angry than before. Bink could not protest; probably his talent had been responsible for the seemingly random shot. The curse had to destroy something, after all.

  Bink himself would be immune--but not Chester, "Let's get out of here!" Bink said. "Give me a ride out of range of those curses!"

  Chester, about to draw his sword, reconsidered in mid-motion. "That's right--I can take care of myself, but you're just a man. Come on!"

  Bink scrambled to straddle the centaur's back, and they leaped away just as the lord was leveling another curse. Chester galloped down the hall, his feet oddly silent because of the hoofpads. The fiends set up a howl of pursuit

  "Which way is out?" Bink cried.

  "How should I know? That's birdbeak's department I'm only a former guest of the fiends."

  Good old Chester! All prickle and performance.

  "We're somewhere upstairs," Bink said. "Except they don't use stairs. We could break out a window and swim--" He reached into his pocket, feeling the bottle that contained Crombie, Grundy, and the Magician. He fumbled until he found the one containing the water-breathing-spell pills; couldn't afford a mistake now! "We'd better take new pills; it's been over two hours."

  They gulped their pills on the run. Now they were ready for the water--if they could find it They had left the pursuit behind for the moment; no man on foot could match the speed of a centaur.

  Bink had a second thought "We don't want to go out--we want to go down. Into the nether region, to the source of magic."

  "Where they tried to scare us away from," Chester agreed. He spun about as neatly as he had when dodging exploding pineapples, his two front feet down so that fore and hind sections rotated about the axis. Then he cantered back the way they had come.

&n
bsp; "Hold up!" Bink screamed. "This is suicidal! We don't even know where the entrance to the vortex is!"

  "The vortex has to be in the center of the castle; matter of architectural stability," Chester said. "Besides which, I have a fair directional sense of my own; I know roughly where it is from here. I am prepared to make my own entrance." Bink tended to forget that behind the brutal facade lay a fine centaur mind Chester knew what he was doing.

  They rounded a corner--and plowed into the charging fiends. People went tumbling every which way--but a massive curse rose up from the jumble and sailed after Chester.

  Bink, glancing nervously back, spied it. "Chester--run!" he cried. "There's a curse on your tail!"

  "On my tail!" Chester cried indignantly, and leaped forward. He didn't mind threats to his homely face, but his beautiful behind was sacred.

  The curse, oriented on its target, pursued with determination. "This one we can't avoid," Bink said. "It's locked onto us, as the other was locked onto the ogre,"

  "Should we swear off crunching bones?"

  "I never was much for human bones anyway!"

  "I think the vortex is ahead," Chester said. "Hang on--I'm going in!"

  He leaped--directly at a blank wooden panel. The wood shattered under the impact of his forehooves, and the two of them crashed directly into the vortex.

  Bink's last thought as the awful swirl engulfed him, hauling him brutally around and around and down and down, providing one terrifying glimpse of its dark center shaft, was: what would happen to the curse that followed them? Then he spiraled into oblivion.

  Chapter 10

  Precious Nymph

  Bink woke naked and battered, but not cold. He lay strewn on the edge of a warm, glowing lake. Hastily he dragged his feet out of the water, fearful of predators.

  He heard a groan. A little farther along lay the centaur, limbs projecting in six directions. It had been an extremely violent descent; had they not had that water-breathing magic, they would surely have drowned. Bink scrambled to his feet and lumbered toward his friend "Chester! Are you--"

  He paused. Midway between them he spied the sparkle of a star or jewel. Foolishly he paused to pick it up; he had no use for such a bauble. But it turned out to be only a shard of glass.