Chapter 15. Duel

They crested a forest ridge-and abruptly the wilderness ended. The blue fields of a bluejean plantation spread out before them: civilization.

Trent and Chameleon dismounted. Bink had trudged all night, tirelessly, sleeping while his great legs worked by themselves. Nothing had bothered the party; even the fiercest things of the wilderness had some caution. Now it was mid-morning, a fine clear day. He felt good.

Suddenly he was a man again-and he still felt good. "I guess this is where we part company at last," he said.

"I'm sorry we could not agree on more things," Trent said, putting out his hand. "But I think separation will abate those differences. It has been a pleasure to know you both."

Bink took the hand and shook it, feeling oddly sad. "I suppose by definition and talent you are the Evil Magician-but you helped save Xanth from the wiggles, and in person you have been a friend. I can not approve your designs, but..." He shrugged. "Fare-well, Magician."

"Same here," Chameleon said, flashing Trent a breathtaking smile that more than made up for the inelegance of her speech.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" a voice said.

All three whirled defensively-but there was nothing to see. Nothing but the ripening jeans on their green vines, and the forbidding fringe of the jungle.

Then a swirl of smoke formed, thickening rapidly. "A genie," Chameleon said.

But now Bink recognized the forming shape. "No such luck," he said. "That's the Sorceress Iris, mistress of illusion."

"Thank you for the elegant introduction, Bink," the now-solid-seeming woman said. She stood among the jeans, ravishing in a low-cut gown-but Bink felt no temptation now. Chameleon, at the full flush of her beauty, had a natural if magical allure that the Sorceress could not duplicate by her artifice.

"So this is Iris," Trent said. "I knew of her before I left Xanth, since she is of my generation, but we never actually met. She is certainly skilled at her talent."

"It happened I had no hankering for transformation,'' Iris said, giving him an arch glance. "You left quite a trail of toads and trees and bugs and things. I thought you had been exiled."

"Times change, Iris. Didn't you observe us in the wilderness?''

"As a matter of fact, I didn't. That jungle is a dreary place, with quite a number of counter-illusion spells, and I had no idea you were back in Xanth. I don't believe anyone knows, not even Humfrey. It was the huge sphinx that attracted my attention, but I could not be sure you were involved until I saw you transform it into Bink. I knew he had been exiled recently, so something was definitely amiss. How did you pass the Shield?"

"Times change," Trent repeated enigmatically.

"Yes they do," she said, nettled at being put off. She looked at each of them in turn. Bink had not realized she could project her illusions so effectively, so far afield, or perceive things from such distances. The ramifications of the powers of Magicians and Sorceresses were amazing. "Now shall we get down to business?"

"Business?" Bink asked blankly.

"Don't be naive," Trent muttered. "The bitch means blackmail."

So it was strong magic opposing strong magic. Maybe they would cancel each other out, and Xanth would be safe after all. Bink had not anticipated this.

Iris looked at him. "Are you sure you won't reconsider my prior offer, Bink?" she inquired. "I could arrange things so that your exile would be revoked. You could still be King. The time is ripe. And if you really prefer the innocent look in women-" Suddenly another Chameleon stood before him, as beautiful as the real one. "Anything you desire, Bink-and with a mind, too."

That last little dig at the girl's stupid phase annoyed him. "Go jump in the Gap," Bink said.

The figure changed back to Iris-beautiful. It faced Chameleon. "I don't know you, my dear, but it would be a shame to see you fed to a dragon."

"A dragon!" Chameleon cried, frightened.

"That is the customary penalty for violating exile. When I notify the authorities, and they put their magic-spotters on you three and verify your status--"

"Leave her alone!" Bink said sharply.

Iris ignored him. "Now if you could only persuade your friend to cooperate," she continued to Chameleon, "you could escape that horrible fate-those dragons really like to chew on pretty limbs-and be beautiful all the time." Iris had claimed not to know Chameleon, but she had evidently figured things out. "I can make you seem as lovely in your off phase as you are right now."

"You can?" Chameleon asked, excited.

"The deceptions of the Sorceress are apt," Trent murmured to Bink, obviously with double meaning.

"The truth is not in her," Bink murmured back. "Only illusion."

"A woman is as a woman seems," Iris told Chameleon. "If she looks lovely to the eye and feels lovely to the touch, she is lovely. That is all men care about."

"Don't listen to her," Bink said. "The Sorceress just wants to use you."

"Correction," Iris said. "I want to use you, Bink. I bear no malice to your girlfriend-so long as you cooperate with me. I am not a jealous woman. All I want is power."

"No!" Bink cried.

Chameleon, following his lead uncertainly, echoed: "No."

"Now you, Magician Trent," Iris said. "I have not been watching you long, but you seem to be a man of your word, at least when it suits your convenience. I could make you a formidable Queen--or I can have the palace guards on the way to kill you in five minutes."

"I would transform the guards," Trent said.

"From longbow range? Perhaps," she said, raising a fair eyebrow skeptically. "But I doubt you could be King after such an incident. The whole land of Xanth would be out to kill you. You might transform a great number-but when would you sleep?"

Telling blow! The Evil Magician had been caught before when he slept. If he were exposed before he could surround himself with loyal troops, he would not be able to survive.

But why should that bother Bink? If the Sorceress betrayed the Evil Magician, Xanth would be secure--through no action of Bink's. His own hands would be clean. He would have betrayed neither his country nor his companion. He should simply stay out of it.

"Well, I might transform animals or people into my own likeness," Trent Said. "It would then be very hard for the patriots to know whom to kill."

"Wouldn't work," Iris said. "No imitation will fool a magic-spotter, once it fixes on its subject."

Trent considered. "Yes, it would be very difficult for me to prevail in such circumstance. Considering this, I believe I should accept your offer, Sorceress. There are some details to work out, of course--"

"You can't!" Bink cried, shocked.

Trent gazed at him, affecting mild perplexity. "It seems reasonable to me, Bink. I desire to be King; Iris desires to be Queen. There is power enough to share, that way. Perhaps we could define spheres of influence. It would be a marriage of pure convenience--but I have no present interest in any other kind of liaison."

"Well, now," Iris said, smiling victoriously.

"Well nothing!" Bink cried, conscious that his prior decision to stay clear of this matter was being abrogated. "You're both traitors to Xanth. I won't permit it."

"You won't permit it!" Iris laughed indelicately. "Who the hell do you think you are, you spell-less twerp?"

Obviously, her true attitude toward him had come out now that she had found another avenue for her ambition.

"Do not treat him lightly," Trent told her. "Bink is a Magician, in his fashion."

Bink felt a sudden, well-nigh overwhelming flood of gratitude for this word of support. He fought it off, knowing he could not afford to permit flattery or insult to sway him from what he knew was right. The Evil Magician could spin a web of illusion with mere words that rivaled anything the Sorceress could do with magic. "I'm no Magician; I'm just loyal to Xanth. To the proper King."

"To the senile has-been who exiled you?" Iris demanded. "He can't even raise a dust devil any more. He's sick now; he'll soon be dead anyway. That's why the time to act is now. The throne must go to a Magician."

"To a good Magician!" Bink retorted. "Not to an evil transformer, or a power-hungry, sluttish mistress..." He paused, tempted to end it there, but knew that wouldn't be entirely honest. "Of illusion."

"You dare address me thus?" Iris screamed, sounding much like a harpy. She was so angry that her image wavered into smoke. "Trent, change him into a stinkbug and step on him."

Trent shook his head, suppressing a smile. He obviously had no emotional attachment to the Sorceress, and shared a masculine appreciation for the insulting pause Bink had made. Iris had, just now, shown them all how ready she was to sell her illusion-enhanced body for power. "We operate under truce."

"Truce? Nonsense!" Her smoke now became a column of fire, signifying her righteous wrath. "You don't need him any more. Get rid of him."

Again, Bink saw how she would have treated him after he had helped her achieve power and she no longer needed him.

Trent was adamant. "If I were to break my word to him, Iris, how could you trust my word to you?"

That sobered her-and impressed Bink. There was a subtle but highly significant difference between these two magic-workers. Trent was a man, in the finest sense of the word.

Iris was hardly pleased. "I thought your truce was only until you got out of the wilderness."

"The wilderness is not defined solely by the jungle," Trent muttered.

"What?" she demanded.

"That truce would be worthless if I abridged its spirit thus suddenly," Trent said. "Bink and Chameleon and I will part company, and with luck we shall not meet again."

The man was being more than fair, and Bink knew he should accept the situation and depart-now. Instead, his stubbornness drove him toward disaster. "No," he said. "I can't just go away while you two plot to conquer Xanth."

"Now, Bink;" Trent said reasonably. "I never deceived you about my ultimate objective. We always knew our purposes were divergent. Our truce covered only our interpersonal relation during the period of mutual hazard, not our long-range plans. I have pledges to fulfil, to my Mundane army, to Castle Roogna, and now to the Sorceress Iris. I am sorry you disapprove, for I want your approval very much, but the conquest of Xanth is and always was my mission. Now I ask you to part from me with what grace you can muster, for I have high respect for your motive, even though I feel the larger situation places you in error."

Again Bink felt the devastating allure of Trent's golden tongue. He could find no flaw in the reasoning. He had no chance to overcome the Magician magically, and was probably outclassed intellectually. But morally-he had to be right. "Your respect means nothing if you have no respect for the traditions and laws of Xanth."

"A most telling response, Bink. I do have respect for these things-yet the system seems to have gone astray, and must be corrected, lest disaster overtake us all."

"You talk of disaster from Mundania; I fear the disaster of the perversion of our culture. I must oppose you, in whatever way I can."

Trent seemed perplexed. "I don't believe you can oppose me, Bink. Whatever your strong magic is, it has never manifested tangibly. The moment you acted against me, I should have to transform you. I don't want to do that."

"You have to get within six feet," Bink said. "I could strike you down with a thrown rock."

"See?" Iris said. "He's within range now, Trent. Zap him!"

Yet the Magician desisted. "You actually wish to fight me, Bink? Directly, physically?"

"I don't wish to. I have to."

Trent sighed. "Then the only honorable thing to do is to terminate our truce with a formal duel. I suggest we define the locale of combat and the terms. Do you wish a second?"

"A second, a minute, an hour-whatever it takes," Bink said. He tried to quell the shaking he felt in his legs; he was afraid, and knew he was being a fool, yet he could not back down.

"I meant another person to back you up, to see that the terms are honored. Chameleon, perhaps."

"I'm with Bink!" Chameleon said immediately. She could comprehend only a fraction of the situation, but there was no question of her loyalty.

"Well, perhaps the concept of seconds is foreign here," Trent said. "Suppose we establish an area along the wilderness border, a mile deep into the forest and a mile across. One square mile, approximately, or as far as a man might walk in fifteen minutes. And it shall be until dark today. Neither of us shall leave this area until that time, and if the issue is undecided by then, we shall declare the contest null and separate in peace. Fair enough?"

The Evil Magician seemed so reasonable-and that made Bink unreasonable. "To the death!" he said-and immediately wished he hadn't. He knew the Magician would not kill him unless he were forced to; he would transform Bink into a tree or other harmless form of life and let him be. First there had been Justin Tree; now there would be Bink Tree. Perhaps people would come to rest under his shade, to have picnic lunches, to make love. Except that now it had to be death. He had a vision of a fallen tree.

"To the death," Trent said sadly. "Or surrender." Thus he nearly abated Bink's exaggeration without hurting his pride; he made it seem as if the Magician arranged the loophole for himself, not for Bink. How was it possible for a man so wrong to seem so right?

"All right," Bink said. "You go south, I'll go north, into the forest. In five minutes we'll stop and turn and start."

"Fair enough," the Magician agreed. He held out his hand again, and Bink shook it.

"You should get out of the duel zone," Bink told Chameleon.

"No! I'm with you," she insisted. She might be stupid, but she was loyal. Bink could no more blame her for that than he could blame Trent for pursuing power. Yet he had to dissuade her.

"It wouldn't be fair," he said, realizing that it would be futile to try to scare her by thought of the consequences. "Two against one. You have to go."

She was adamant. "I'm too dumb to go by myself." Ouch! How true.

"Let her go with you," Trent said. "It really will make no difference."

And that seemed logical.

Bink and Chameleon set out, angling into the jungle to the northwest. Trent angled southwest. In moments the Magician was out of sight. "We'll have to figure out a plan of attack," Bink said. "Trent has been a perfect gentleman, but the truce is over, and he will use his power against us. We have to get him before he gets us,"

"Yes."

"We'll have to collect stones and sticks, and maybe dig a pit for a deadfall."

"Yes."

"We have to prevent him from getting close enough to use his power of transformation."

"Yes."

"Don't just say yes!" he snapped. "This is serious business. Our lives are at stake."

"I'm sorry. I know I'm awful dumb right now."

Bink was immediately sorry. Of course she was stupid now-that was her curse. And he might be exaggerating the case; Trent might simply avoid the issue by departing, making no fight at all. Thus Bink would have made his stand, and have a moral victory-and have changed nothing. If so, Bink was the dumb one.

He turned to Chameleon to apologize--and rediscovered the fact that she was radiantly beautiful. She had seemed lovely before, in comparison with Fanchon and Dee, but now she was as he had first met her, as Wynne. Had it really been only a month ago? Now she was no stranger, though. "You're great just the way you are, Chameleon."

"But I can't help you plan. I can't do anything. You don't like stupid people."

"I like beautiful girls," he said. "And I like smart girls. But I don't trust the combination. I'd settle for an ordinary girl, except she'd get dull after a while. Sometimes I want to talk with someone intelligent, and sometimes I want to-" He broke off. Her mind was like that of a child; it really wasn't right to impose such concepts on her.

"What?" she asked, turning her eyes upon him. They had been black in her last beauty phase; now they were dark green. They could have been any color, and she would still be lovely.

Bink knew his chances of surviving the day were less than even, and his chances of saving Xanth worse than that. He was afraid-but he also had a heightened awareness of life right now. And of loyalty. And of beauty. Why hide what was suddenly in his conscious mind, however long it had developed subconsciously? "To make love," he concluded.

"That I can do," she said, her eyes brightening with comprehension. How well she understood, or on what level, Bink hesitated to ponder.

Then he was kissing her. It was wonderful.

"But, Bink;" she said, when she had a chance. "I won't stay beautiful."

"That's the point," he said. "I like variety. I would have trouble living with a stupid girl all the time-but you aren't stupid all the time. Ugliness is no good for all the time-but you aren't ugly all the time either. You are-variety. And that is what I crave for the long-term relationship--and what no other girl can provide."

"I need a spell-" she said.

"No! You don't need any spell, Chameleon. You're fine just the way you are. I love you."

"Oh, Bink!" she said.

After that they forgot about the duel.

Reality intruded all too soon. "There you are!" Iris exclaimed, appearing over their makeshift bower. "Tut-tut! What have you two been doing?"

Chameleon hastily adjusted her dress. "Something you wouldn't understand," she said with purely female insight.

"No? It hardly matters. Sex is unimportant." The Sorceress put her hands to her mouth in a megaphone gesture. "Trent! They're over here."

Bink dived for her-and passed through her image cleanly. He took a tumble on the forest floor. "Silly boy," Iris said. "You can't touch me."

Now they heard the Evil Magician coming through the forest. Bink looked frantically for some weapon, but saw only the great boles of the trees. Sharp stones might have been used against these trees-therefore all stones had been magically eliminated. Some other area might have potential weapons, but not this highly competitive wilderness, this fringe near the farms that were always in need of more cleared land.

"I have ruined you!' Chameleon cried. "I knew I shouldn't have-"

Shouldn't have made love? True enough, in one sense. They had wasted vital time, loving instead of warring. Yet there might never be another chance. "It was worth it," Bink said. "We'll have to run."

They started to run. But the image of the Sorceress appeared in front of them. "Here, Trent!" she cried again. "Cut them off before they get away."

Bink realized that they could get nowhere so long as Iris dogged them. There was no place they could hide, no surprise they could prepare, no strategic placement possible. Inevitably Trent would run them down.

Then his eye fell on an object Chameleon still carried. It was the hypnotic gourd. If he could get Trent to look into that unwittingly-Now the Magician came into sight. Bink gently took the gourd from Chameleon. "See if you can distract him until I get close enough to shove this in his face," he said. He held the gourd behind his back. Iris probably did not realize its significance, and she would be able to do nothing once Trent was out of commission.

"Iris," the Magician called loudly. "This is supposed to be a fair duel. If you interfere again, I shall consider our understanding terminated."

The Sorceress started to react with anger, then thought better of it. She vanished.

Trent stopped a dozen paces from Bink. "I regret this complication. Shall we start over?" he inquired gravely.

"We'd better," Bink agreed. The man was so damned sure of himself, he could give away any advantage. Maybe he wanted to wrap it up with a completely clear conscience--such as it was. But by so doing, Trent had unknowingly saved himself from possible disaster. Bink doubted he would have another opportunity to use the gourd.

They separated again. Bink and Chameleon fled deeper into the forest-and almost into the quivering arms of a tangle tree. "If only we could trick him into running into that," Bink said-but found he didn't mean it. He had somehow gotten himself into a duel he really did not want to win-and could not afford to lose. He was as dumb as Chameleon--only somewhat more complicated about it.

They spotted a noose-loop bush. The loops were up to eighteen inches in diameter, but would contract suddenly to a quarter of that when any careless animal put its head or limb through. Their fibers were so tight that only a knife or specific counterspell could alleviate the bind. Even when separated from the bush, the loops retained their potency for several days, gradually hardening in place. Careless or unlucky animals could lose feet or lives, and no creature ever bothered a noose-loop plant twice.

Chameleon shied away, but Bink paused. "It is possible to harvest and carry such loops," he said. "At the North Village we use them to seal packages tight. The trick is to touch them only on the outside. We can take some of these and lay them on the ground where Trent has to step. Or we can throw them at him. I doubt he can transform them once they're detached from the living plant. Can you throw pretty well?"

"Yes."

He walked toward the bush-and spied another wilderness threat. "Look-a nest of ant lions!" he exclaimed. "If we can put them on his scent..."

Chameleon looked at the foot-long, lion-headed ants and shuddered. "Do we have to?"

"I wish we didn't," Bink said. "They wouldn't actually eat him; he'd transform them first. But they might keep him so busy that we could overpower him. If we don't stop him somehow, he's very likely to conquer Xanth."

"Would that be bad?"

It was just one of her stupid questions; in her smart phase, or even her normal phase, she would never have asked it. But it bothered him. Would the Evil Magician really be worse than the present King? He put the question aside. "It is not for us to decide. The Council of Elders will choose the next King. If the crown starts being available by conquest or conspiracy, we'll be back in the days of the Waves, and no one will be secure. The law of Xanth must determine the possession of the crown."

"Yes," she agreed. Bink had surprised himself with an excellent statement of the situation, but of course it was beyond her present understanding.

Still, the notion of throwing Trent to the ant lions bothered him, so he went on searching. In the depths of his mind a parallel search was manifesting, concerning the morality of the present government of Xanth. Suppose Trent were right about the necessity of reopening Xanth to migration from outside? According to the centaurs, the human population had slowly declined during the past century; where had those people gone? Were new part-human monsters being formed even now, by magically enabled interbreeding? The very thought was like being entangled in a noose-loop bush; its ramifications were appalling. Yet it seemed to be so. Trent, as King, would change that situation. Was the

evil of the Waves worse than the alternative? Bink was unable to form a conclusion.

They came to a large river. Bink had forded this in his sphinx stage, hardly noticing it, but now it was a deadly barrier. Little ripples betrayed the presence of lurking predators, and eerie mists played about the surface. Bink flipped a clod of mud into the water, and it was intercepted, just before it struck, by a giant crablike claw. The rest of the monster never showed; Bink was unable to determine whether it was a mercrab or a super crayfish or merely a disembodied claw. But he was sure he did not want to swim here.

There were a few round stones at the edge. The river did not have the same reason to be wary of stones that the trees did, but it was best to be careful. Bink poked at them gingerly with his staff to be sure they weren't magic lures; fortunately they weren't. He poked experimentally at a pleasant nearby water lily, and the flower snapped three inches off the tip of his pole. His caution was justified.

"All right," he said when they had a fair reserve of stones. "We'll try to ambush him. We'll arrange noose-loops across his likely path of retreat, and cover them over with leaves, and you can throw your loops at him and I'll throw stones. He'll duck the stones and loops, but he'll have to watch us both to do it, while retreating, so he may step into a hidden loop. It'll bind on his foot, and he'll be vulnerable while he tries to get it off, and maybe we can score. We'll get some material from a blanket tree to throw over his head, so he can't see us and can't transform us, or we can hold the hypno-gourd in front of his face. He'll have to yield then."

"Yes," she said.

They set it up. Their covered loops extended from a hungry tangle tree to the ant-lion nest, and their ambush was in an invisible bush they discovered by sheer accident. That was about the only way such a bush could be discovered. Such plants were harmless, but could be a nuisance when stumbled into. When they hid behind it, they became invisible too, so long as they kept the bush between them and the viewer. They settled down to wait.

But Trent surprised them. While they had been setting up the trap, he had been circling around, orienting on their sounds. Now he came at them from the north. Chameleon, like most girls, had to answer calls of nature frequently, particularly when she was excited. She went behind a harmless mock-tentacle banyan tree, gave one little gasp of alarm, and disappeared. As Bink turned, he saw a lovely young winged deer bound out.

The battle was upon him! Bink charged the tree, stone in one hand, pole in the other. He hoped to knock out the Magician before Trent could throw his spell. But Trent wasn't there.

Had he jumped to a conclusion? Chameleon could have scared out a hiding doe-"Now!" the Evil Magician cried from above. He was up in the tree. As Bink looked up, Trent gestured, not making a magical gesture, but bringing his hand down within six feet so as to cast the spell effectively. Bink jumped back-too late. He felt the tingle of transformation.

He rolled on the ground. In a moment he got his hands and feet under him-and discovered he was still a man. The spell had failed! He must have made it out of range in time after all, so that only one arm was in range, not his head.

He looked back at the tree--and gasped. The Evil Magician was tangled in the prickles of a candystripe rose bush.

"What happened?" Bink asked, forgetting his own peril for the moment.

"A branch of the tree got in the way," Trent said, shaking his head as if dazed. He must have had a hard fall. "The spell transformed it instead of you."

Bink would have laughed at this freak accident, but now he remembered his own position. So the Magician had tried to turn him into a rose bush. He hefted his rock. "Sorry," he apologized-and hurled it at the handsome head.

But it bounced off the tough shell of a purple tortoise. Trent had converted the rose to the armored animal and was hidden behind it.

Bink acted without thinking. He aimed the pole like a lance, ran halfway around the tortoise, and thrust it at the Magician. But the man dodged, and again Bink felt the tingle of enchantment.

His momentum carried him beyond his enemy. He was still a man. He retreated to the invisible bush, marveling at his escape. The spell had bounced, convening the tortoise to a werehornet. The insect buzzed up angrily, but decided on escape rather than attack.

Now Trent was hot on Bink's trail. The bush became a woman-headed serpent that slithered away with an exclamation of annoyance, and Bink was exposed again. He tried to run-but was caught a third time by the magic.

Beside him a yellow toad appeared. "What is this?" Trent demanded incredulously. "I struck a passing gnat instead of you. Three times my spell has missed you. My aim can't be that bad!"

Bink scrambled for his staff. Trent oriented on him again, and Bink knew he could neither get out of range nor bring his weapon to bear in time. He was finished, despite all his strategy.

But the winged deer charged from the side, threatening to bowl over the Magician. Trent heard her coming, and spun to focus on her. As she reached him she became a lovely iridescent butterfly, then a very pretty wyvern. "No problem there," Trent remarked. "She's good-looking in whatever form I put her, but my spells are registering perfectly."

The small winged dragon turned on him, hissing, and suddenly she was the winged doe again. "Scat!" Trent told her, clapping his hands. Startled, the deer bounded away. She was not overly bright.

Meanwhile, Bink had taken advantage of the distraction to retreat. But he had gone toward his own carefully fashioned trap, and now he did not know precisely where the noose loops lay hidden. If he tried to cross that line, he would either trap himself or give away its presence to Trent--assuming the Magician was not already aware of it.

Trent strode toward him. Bink was cornered, victim of his own machinations. He stood unmoving, knowing the Magician would turn on him the moment he tried to act. He cursed himself for not being more decisive, but he simply did not know what to. He obviously was no duelist; he had been outmaneuvered and outmagicked from the outset of this contest. He should have left the Evil Magician alone--yet he still could not see how he could have stood by and yielded Xanth up without even token protest. This was that token.

"This time, no error," Trent said, stepping boldly toward Bink. "I know I can transform you, for I have done it many times before without difficulty. I must have been overhasty today." He stopped within range, while Bink stood still, not deigning to run again. Trent concentrated-and the magic smote Bink once more, powerfully.

A flock of funnelbirds manifested around Bink. Hooting derisively, they jetted away on their fixed wings.

"The very microbes surrounding you!" Trent exclaimed. "My spell bounced right off you-again. Now I know there is something strange."

"Maybe you just don't want to kill me," Bink said.

"I was not trying to kill you-only to transform you into something harmless, so that never again could you oppose me. I never kill without reason." The Magician pondered. "Something very strange here. I don't believe my talent is misfiring; something is opposing it. There has to be some counterspell operating. You have led a rather charmed life, you know; I had thought it was mere coincidence, but now-"

Trent considered, then snapped his fingers ringingly. "Your talent! Your magic talent. That's it. You cannot be harmed by magic!"

"But I've been hurt many times," Bink protested.

"Not by magic, I'll warrent. Your talent repels all magical threats."

"But many spells have affected me. You transformed me--."

"Only to help you--or to warn you. You may not have trusted my motives, but your magic knew the truth. I never intended to harm you before, and so my spells were permitted. Now that we are dueling and I am trying to change your status for the worse, my spells bounce. In this respect your magic is more powerful than mine-as certain prior signals have indicated indirectly.''

Bink was amazed. "Then-then I have won. You cannot hurt me."

"Not necessarily so, Bink. My magic has brought yours to bay, and forced its unveiling, and thereby rendered it vulnerable." The Evil Magician drew his gleaming sword. "I have other talents than magic. Defend yourself-physically!"

Bink brought up his staff as Trent lunged. He barely parried the blade in time.

He was vulnerable-physically. Suddenly past confusions unraveled. He had never directly been harmed by magic. Embarrassed, humiliated, yes, especially in childhood. But it was evidently physical harm he was protected against. When he had ran a race with another boy, and the boy had charged through trees and barriers to win, Bink had not suffered any physical damage, merely chagrin. And when he had chopped off his own finger, nonmagically, nothing had aided him there. Magic had healed that, but magic could not have made the injury. Similarly, he had been threatened by magic many times, and been terrified-but somehow had never had those threats materialize. Even when he had taken a lungful of Potipher's poison gas, he had been saved just in time. He had indeed led a charmed life-literally.

"Fascinating aspects to your magic," Trent said conversationally as he maneuvered for another opening. "Obviously it would be scant protection if its nature were widely known. So it arranges to conceal itself from discovery, by acting in subtle ways. Your escapes so often seemed fortuitous or coincidental." Yes, as when he escaped the Gap dragon. He had also been benefited by countermagic, coincidentally-as when he had been taken over by Donald the shade, enabling him to fly up out of the Gap safely.

"Your pride was never salvaged, merely your body," Trent continued, obviously taking his time about the fight while he worked out all the details, just in case. He was a meticulous man. "Maybe you suffered some discomfort, as in our entry into Xanth, whose purpose was to conceal the fact that nothing serious had happened to you. Rather than reveal itself, your talent allowed you to be exiled-because that was a legal or social matter, not really magical. Yet you were not hurt by the Shield-"

He had felt the tingle of the Shield as he dived through on his way out, and thought he had gotten safely through the opening. Now he knew he had taken the full force of the Shield-and survived. He could have walked through it at any time. But, had he known that, he might have done it-and given away his talent. So it had been concealed-from himself.

Yet now it had been revealed. And there was a flaw. "You were not hurt by the Shield either," Bink cried, striking hard with his staff.

"I was in direct contact with you when we entered," Trent said. "So was Chameleon. You were unconscious, but your talent still operated. To allow the two of us to die while you survived unscathed-that would have given it away. Or possibly a small field surrounds you, enabling you to protect those you touch. Or your talent looked ahead, and knew that if the magic of the Shield eliminated us at that time, you would be cast into the den of the kraken weed alone, and be unable to escape, and die there. You needed me and my power of transformation to survive the magical threats-so I was spared. And Chameleon, because you would not have worked with me if she had not done so. So we all survived, in order to promote your survival, and we never suspected the true cause. Similarly, your magic protected us all during our trek through the wilderness. I thought I needed you to protect me, but it was the other way around. My talent became a mere aspect of yours. When you were threatened by the wiggles and the invisible giant, you drew on my transformation of you to abate that threat, still without revealing..."

Trent shook his head, still parrying Bink's clumsy attacks easily. "Suddenly it becomes less amazing-and your talent more impressive. You are a Magician, with not merely the overt complex of talents but the ramifying aspects too. Magicians are not merely more powerfully talented people; our enchantments differ in quality as well as quantity, in ways seldom appreciated by normal citizens. You are on a par with Humfrey and Iris and myself. I'd really like to know your power's full nature and extent."

"So would I," Bink gasped. His efforts were winding him, without effect on the Magician. This was true frustration.

"But alas, it seems I cannot become King while a talent like that opposes me. I sincerely regret the necessity of sacrificing your life, and want you to know this was not my intent at the outset of this encounter. I would have much preferred to transform you harmlessly. But the sword is less versatile than magic; it can only injure or kill."

Bink remembered Herman the centaur, his head flying from his body. When Trent decided that killing was necessary-Trent made a deft maneuver. Bink flung himself aside. The point of the sword touched his hand. Blood flowed; with a cry of pain, Bink dropped his staff. He could be hurt by Mundane means, obviously. Trent had aimed for that hand, testing, making absolutely sure.

This realization broke the partial paralysis that had limited the imagination of his defense. He was vulnerable-but on a straight man-to-man basis, he did have a chance. The awesome power of the Evil Magician had daunted him, but now, in effect, Trent was merely a man. He could be surprised.

As Trent set up for the finishing thrust, Bink moved with inspired competency. He ducked under the man's arm, caught it with his bloody hand, turned, bent his knees, and heaved. It was the throw that the soldier Crombie had taught him, useful for handling an attacker with a weapon.

But the Magician was alert. As Bink heaved, Trent stepped around, keeping on his feet. He wrenched his sword arm free, threw Bink back, and oriented for the killing thrust. "Very nice maneuver, Bink; unfortunately, they also know such tactics in Mundania."

Trent thrust with instant decision, and with killing force. Bink, off balance, unable to move out of the way, saw the terrible point driving straight at his face. He was done for this time!

The winged doe shot between them. The sword plunged into her torso, the point emerging from the other side, just shy of Bink's quivering nose.

"Bitch!" Trent yelled, though that was not the proper term for a female deer, winged or land-bound. He yanked free the bloody blade. "That strike was not meant for you!"

The doe fell, red blood spurting from her wound. She had been punctured through the belly. "I'll transform you into a jellyfish!" the Evil Magician continued in fury. "You'll smother to death on land."

"She's dying anyway," Bink said, feeling a sympathetic agony in his own gut. Such wounds were not immediately fatal, but they were terribly painful, and the result was the same in the long run. It was death by torture for Chameleon.

The omen! It had finally been completed. The chameleon had died suddenly. Or would die-Bink launched himself at his enemy again, experiencing a vengeful rage he had never felt before. With his bare hands he would-Trent stepped nimbly aside, cuffing Bink on the side of the neck with his left hand as he passed. Bink stumbled and fell, half conscious. Blind rage was no substitute for cool skill and experience. He saw Trent step up to him, raising the sword high in both hands for the final body-severing blow.

Bink shut his eyes, no longer able to resist. He had done everything he could, and lost. "Only kill her too--cleanly," he begged. "Do not let her suffer."

He waited with resignation. But the blow did not fall. Bink opened his eyes--and saw Trent putting his terrible sword away.

"I can't do it," the Magician said soberly.

The Sorceress Iris appeared. "What is this?" she demanded. "Have your guts turned to water? Dispatch them both and be done with it. Your kingdom awaits!"

"I don't want my kingdom this way," Trent told her. "Once I would have done it, but I have changed in twenty years, and in the past two weeks. I have learned the true history of Xanth, and I know too well the sorrow of untimely death. My honor came late to my life, but it grows stronger; it will not let me kill a man who has saved my life, and who is so loyal to his unworthy monarch that he sacrifices his life in defense of the one who has exiled him." He looked at the dying doe. "And I would never voluntarily kill the girl who, lacking the intelligence to be cunning, yields up her own welfare for the life of that man. This is true love, of the kind I once knew. I could not save mine, but I would not destroy that of another. The throne simply is not worth this moral price."

"Idiot!" Iris screamed. "It is your own life you are throwing away."

"Yes, I suppose I am," Trent said. "But this was the risk I took at the outset, when I determined to return to Xanth, and this is the way it must be. Better to die with honor than to live in dishonor, though a throne be served up as temptation. Perhaps it was not power I sought, but perfection of self." He kneeled beside the doe and touched her, and she was the human Chameleon again. Blood leaked from the terrible wound in her abdomen. "I cannot save her," he said sadly, "any more than I could cure my wife and child. I am no doctor. Any creature into which I might transform her would suffer similarly. She must have help-magic help."

The Magician looked up. "Iris, you can help. Project your image to the castle of the Good Magician Humfrey. Tell him what has happened here, and ask him for healing water. I believe the authorities of Xanth will help this innocent girl and spare this young man, whom they wrongly exiled."

"I'll do nothing of the sort!" the Sorceress screamed. "Come to your senses, man. You have the kingdom in your grasp."

Trent turned to Bink. "The Sorceress has not suffered the conversion that experience has brought me. She will not help. The lure of power has blinded her to all else-as it almost blinded me. You will have to go for help."

"Yes," Bink agreed. He could not look at the blood coming from Chameleon.

"I will staunch her wound as well as I can," Trent said. "I believe she will live for an hour. Do not take longer than that."

"No..." Bink agreed. If she died-Suddenly Bink was a bird-a fancy-feathered, fire-winged phoenix, sure to be noticed, since it appeared in public only every five hundred years. He spread his pinions and took off into the sky. He rose high and circled, and in the distance to the east he saw the spire of the Good Magician's castle glinting magically. He was on his way.