Piers Anthony - Xanth 02 - The Source of Magic

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XANTH
W
ISLE
OF
ILLUSION
Any resemblance to any Mundane peninsula Is strictly in the mind of the author, who lives near the
North Village
^CENTAUR ISLE
Chapter 1. Closet Skeleton
I he magic-sniffer ambled toward Bink, its long limber snout snuffling industriously. When the
creature reached him it went into a frenzy of enthusiasm, snorting out flutelike notes, wagging
its bushy tail, and prancing in a circle.
"Sure, I like you too, Sniffer!" Bink said, squatting to embrace it The creature's snout kissed
his nose wetly. "You were one of the first to believe in my magic, when—"
Bink paused, for the creature was acting strangely. It had stopped frisking and become subdued,
almost frightened. "What's the matter, little friend?" Bink asked, concerned. "Did I say something
to hurt your feelings? I apologize!" . , .
But the sniffer curled its tail between its legs and slunk away. Bink stared after it, chagrined.
It was almost as if the magic had been turned off, causing the thing to lose its function. But
Bink's talent, like all others, was inherent; it could not dissipate while he lived. Something
else must have frightened the sniffer.
Bink looked about, feeling uneasy. To the east was the Castle Roogna orchard, whose trees bore all
manner of exotic fruit, vegetables, and sundry artifacts like cherry bombs and doorknobs. To the
south was the untamed wilderness of Xanth. Bink remembered how that jungle had herded him and his
companions inhere, seeming so menacing, way back when. Today fthe trees were basically friendly;
they had only wanted U Magician to stay and make Castle Roogna great [again. King Trent had done
that. Now the consider-
able power of this region exerted itself for the benefit of the kingdom. Everything seemed to be
in order.
Well, on with his business. There was to be a ball tonight, and his shoes were badly worn. He
proceeded to the edge of the orchard where a stray shoe-tree had rooted. Shoes liked to move
about, and often planted themselves in out-of-the-way places.
This one had several ripe shoes. Bink inspected individual ones without plucking them, until he
was sure he had found a pair that fit him. Then he twisted them off, shook out the seeds, and put
them carefully on his feet. They were quite comfortable, and looked nice because they were fresh.
He started back, walking with exaggerated motion to break in the shoes without scuffing them, bis
mind still nagged by the episode with the magic-sniffer. Was it an omen? Omens always' came true,
here in the Land of Xanth, but it was seldom possible to understand them properly until too late.
Was something bad going to happen to him? That really seemed unlikely; Bink knew it was no
exaggeration to assume that serious evil would have to fall on all Xanth before Bink himself was
harmed. So it must be a misreading. The magic-sniffer had merely suffered a fit of indigestion,
and had to scoot off.
Soon Bink was within sight of his home. It was a fine cottage cheese just off the palace grounds,
which he had moved into when he married. The rind had long since hardened and lost the better part
of its flavor, and the walls were fine-grained creamy-yellow petrified cheese. It was one of the
most tasteful cottages extant, but since he hadn't hollowed it out himself he didn't see fit to
brag about it
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Bink took a deep breath, nerved himself, and opened the front rind-door. A sweetish waft of
seasoned cheese blew out, together with a raucous screech.
"That you, Bink? About time! Where did you sneak off to, right when there's work to be done? You
have no consideration at all, do you!"
"I needed shoes,** he said shortly.
"Shoes!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You have shoes, idiot!"
FHis wife was much smarter than he, at the moment, Chameleon's intelligence varied with the time
of month, as did her appearance. When she was T ;autiful, she was stupid—in the extreme, for both.
When she was smart, she was ugly. Very smart and very ugly. At the moment she was at the height of
the latter phase. This was one reason she was keeping herself secluded, virtually locked in her
room.
"I need good-looking ones, tonight," he said, mustering patience. But even as the words were out
he realized he had phrased it badly; any reference to good looks set her off. "The hell you do,
dunce!"
|, He wished she wouldn't keep rubbing in his inferior Intelligence. Ordinarily she was smart
enough not to do jfbat Bmk knew he was no genius, but he wasn't Subnormal either; she was the one
who was both. "I have to attend the Anniversary Ball," he explained, though of course she already
knew that. "It would be an insult to the Queen if I attended sloppily dressed."
"Dolt!" she screamed from her hideaway. "You're attending in costume! No one will see your
stinking shoes!"
Oops, that was right. He had made his trip for nothing.
"But that's all too typical of your selfishness," she continued with righteous ire. "Bugging off
to the party to have a good tune while I suffer home alone, chewing on the walls." That was
literal; the cheese was old and hard, but she gnawed on it when she got angry, and she was angry
most of the time now.
Still, he tried to be positive. He had only been married a year, and he loved Chameleon. He had
known at the outset that there would be good times bad times, and this was a bad time. A very bad
. "Why don't you come to the ball too, dear?"
She exploded with cynical wrath. "Me? When I'm
:e this? Spare me your feebleminded sarcasm!"
"But as you reminded me, it's a costume party. The
leen is cloaking every attendee in a disguise of her >sing. So no one will see—"
"You utter moronic nincompoop!" she bawled ragh the wall, and he had heard something
crash.
Now she was throwing things, hi a genuine temper tantrum. "How can I go to a party hi any guise—
when I'm rune months pregnant?'*
And that was what was really bothering her. Not her normal smart-ugly phase, that she had lived
with all her life, but the enormous discomfort and restriction of her pregnancy. Bink had
precipitated that condition during her lovely-stupid phase, only to learn when she got smarter
that she had not wanted such a commitment at this time. She feared her baby would be like her—or
like him. She had wanted to find some spell to ensure that the child would be positively talented,
or at least normal, and now it was up to blind chance. She had accepted the situation with
extremely poor grace, and had not forgiven him. The smarter she got, and the more pregnant she
got, the more intense her ire became.
Well, soon she would be over the hump, and getting prettier—just hi time for the baby. It was due
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in a week or so. Maybe the baby would be normal, perhaps even strongly talented, and Chameleon's
fears would be laid to rest Then she would stop taking it out on him.
If, however, the baby were abnormal . . . but best not even think of that. "Sorry, I forgot," he
mumbled.
"You forgot!" The irony in her tone cut through his sensitivities like a magic sword through the
cheese of the cottage. "Imbecile! You'd like to forget, wouldn't you! Why didn't you think of that
last year when you—"
"I have to go, Chameleon," he muttered, hastily retreating out the door. "The Queen gets upset
when people are tardy." In fact it seemed to be the nature of women to get upset at men, and to
throw tantrums. That was one of the things that distinguished them from nymphs, who looked like
women but were always amenable to the idle whims of men. He supposed he should count himself lucky
that his wife did not have a dangerous talent, like setting fire to people or generating
thunderstorms.
"Why does the Queen have to throw her ridiculous pointless dull party now?" Chameleon demanded.
"Right when she knows I can't attend?"
^Ah, the logic of women! Why bother to try to un-dferstand it. All the intelligence hi the Land of
Xanth Could not make sense of the senseless, Bink closed the door behind him.
Actually, Chameleon's question had been rhetorical. They both knew the answer. Queen Iris took
every Opportunity to flaunt her status, and this was the first imniversary of that status.
Theoretically the ball was to honor of the King, but actually King Trent cared fittie for
theatrics and would probably skip the festivities. The party was really for the Queen—and though
she could not compel the King to attend, woe betide the lesser functionary who played hooky
tonight! Bhik was such a functionary. *' And why was this so? he asked himself as he trod glumly
on. He was supposed to be an important per-900, tile Royal Researcher of Xanth, whose duty it was
to probe the mysteries of magic and report directly to the King. But with Chameleon's pregnancy,
and the necessary organization of his homestead, Bink had not gotten around to any real research.
For that he had only himself to blame, really. He should indeed have considered the consequence of
impregnating his wife. At the time, fatherhood had been the last thing on his mind. But Chameleon-
lovely was a figure to cloud man's mind and excite his—never mind!
Ah, nostalgia! Back when love was new, carefree, uncomplicated, without responsibility! Chameleon-
lovely was very like a nymph—
No, that was a false feeling. His life before he met Chameleon had not been all that simple, and
he had encountered her three times before he recognized her. He had feared he had no magic talent—
He shimmered—and suddenly his appearance changed. The Queen's costume had arrived. Bink
was same person, mentally and physically, but now he
jked like a centaur. The Queen's illusion, so he Id play the game she had devised, in her infinite
acity to generate minor mischief. Each person had
_guess the identities of as many others as possible >re making his way to the palace ballroom, and
was a prize for the one who guessed the most rectly.
\
In addition, she had set up a mock-maze-hedge around Castle Roogna. Even tf he did not play the
people-guessing game, he would be forced to thread his way through the giant puzzle. Damn the
QueenI
But he had to go through with it, as did everyone else. The King wisely did not interfere with
household matters, and gave the Queen considerable play on her tether. With resignation Bink
entered the maze and began the laborious chore of threading his way through the network of false
paths toward the castle.
Most of the hedge was illusion, but enough of it was anchored in reality to make it safest simply
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to honor the maze, rather than barging through. The Queen would have her fun, especially on this
important First Anniversary of the King's coronation. She could get uglier than Chameleon when not
humored.
Bink whipped around a corner—and almost collided with a zombie. The thing's wormy face dripped
earth and goo, and the great square eye-sockets were windows of putrefaction. The smell was
appalling.
Morbidly fascinated, Bhik stared into those eyes. Far within their depths there seemed to be a
faint illumination, as of moonlight on a haunted plain or glow-fungus feeding on the corpse's
rotting brain. It was as if he could see through twin tunnels into the very source of its foul
animation, and perhaps to the root of all the magic of Xanth. Yet it was nightmare, for the zombie
was one of the living dead, a horror that should be quickly buried and forgotten. Why had this one
ripped free of its unquiet grave? The zombies normally roused themselves only in defense of Castle
Roogna, and they had been passive since King Trent took over.
The zombie stepped toward him, opening its fossil mouth. "Vvooomm," it said, laboring to make the
putrid gas that was its only breath form a word.
Bink backed away, sickened. He feared little in the Land of Xanth, for his physical prowess and
magic talent made him one of the most subtly formidable people in the kingdom. But the peculiar
discomfort and disgust entailed by dealing with a zombie unnerved him. He spun about and ran down
a side avenue, leaving the undead thing behind. With its
sf.
•*/;•
IJecayed articulation of bones and moldy flesh it could |aot match his speed, and did not even
try.
Suddenly a gleaming sword rose up before him. Bink halted, amazed by this second apparition. He
saw no person, no connections, just the weapon. What was the purpose of this illusion?
Oh—it must be another cute little trick of the Queen's. She liked to make her parties exciting and
challenging. All he had to do was walk through the Sword, calling the bluff of this ad hoc
interference.
Yet he hesitated. The blade looked terribly real. Bhik remembered his experience with Jama, as a
youth. Jama's talent was the manifestation of flying swords, solid and sharp and dangerous for the
few seconds they existed, and he tended to exert his talent arrogantly. Jama was no friend of
Bink's, and if he were in the area—
; Bink drew his own sword. "On guard!" he ex-daimed, and struck at the other weapon, hah*
expecting his blade to pass through it without resistance. The Queen would be pleased her bluff
had worked, and this way he was taking no risk, just hi case—
The other sword was solid. Steel clanged on steel. Then the other weapon twisted about to
disengage from his, and thrust swiftly at his chest
Bink parried and stepped aside. This was no temporary blade, and no mindlessly flying thing! Some
invisible hand guided it, and that meant an invisible man.
The sword struck again, and again Bink parried. This thing was really trying to get him! "Who are
you?" Bhik demanded, but there was no answer.
Bmk had been practicing with the sword for the past year, and his tutor claimed that he was an apt
student Bhik had courage, speed, and ample physical power. He knew he was hardly expert yet, but
he was no longer amateur. He rather enjoyed the challenge, even with an invisible opponent
But a serious fight... was something else. Why was
being attacked, on this festive occasion? Who was silent, secretive enemy? Bink was lucky that
that >n's spell of invisibility had not affected the sword for then he would have had an awful
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time
countering it. But every item of magic in Xanth was single; a sword could not carry its necessary
charms of sharpness and hardness and also be invisible. Well, it was possible, for anything was
possible with magic; but it was highly unlikely. At any rate, that weapon was all Bink needed to
see.
"Halt!" he cried. "Desist, or I must counter you."
Again the enemy sword slashed at him ferociously. Bink was already aware that he faced no expert;
the swordsman's style was more bold than skilled. Bink blocked the weapon off, then countered with
a halfhearted thrust to his opponent's exposed midsection. There was only one place that
midsection could be, visible or not, for a certain balance and position were essential in
swordplay. Bink's strike was not hard enough to maim, but was sufficient to—
His blade passed right through the invisible torso without resistance. There was nothing there.
Bink, startled, lost his concentration and balance. The enemy sword thrust at his face. He ducked
barely in time. His instructor, Crombie the soldier, had taught him such avoidance; but this
escape was at least partly luck. Without his talent, he could have been dead.
Bulk did not like to depend on his talent. That was the point in learning swordsmanship: to defend
himself his own way, openly, with pride, without suffering the private snickers of those who
assumed, naturally enough, that mere chance had helped him. His magic might stop or blunt an
attack by having the attacker slip on a littered fruit rind; it didn't care about his pride. But
when he won fairly with his sword, no one laughed. No one was laughing now, but still he did not
like being attacked by a—what?
It must be one of the magic weapons of the King's private arsenal, and it was consciously
directed. No way this could be the action of the King, however; King Trent never played practical
jokes, and permitted no tampering with his weapons. Someone had activated this sword and sent it
out to do mischief, and that person would shortly face the formidable wrath of the King.
That was little comfort to Bink at the moment, though. He didn't want to seem to hide behind the
8
protection of the King. He wanted to fight his own battle and win. Except that he would have some
problem getting at a person who wasn't there.
As he considered, Bink rejected the notion that a distant person could be wielding this weapon. It
was magically possible, but as far as he knew he had no enemies; no one would want to attack him,
by. magical or natural means, and no one would dare do it with one of the King's own swords, in
the garden of Castle Roogna.
Bink fenced with the enemy sword again, maneuvered it into a vulnerable position, and sliced
through the invisible arm. No arm was there, of course. No doubt about it: the sword was wielding
itself. He had never actually fought one of these before, because the King didn't trust the
judgment of mindless weapons, go the experience was a novel one. But of course there was nothing
inherently odd about it; why not do battle with a charmed sword?
Yet why should such a sword seek his life, assuming it was acting on its own? Sink had nothing but
respect fcr bladed weapons. He took good care of his own
•word, making sure the sharpness charm was in good order and never abusing the instrument. Swords
of toy type or creed should have no quarrel with him. > Perhaps he had inadvertently affronted
this particular
•word. "Sword, if I have caused you distress or wronged you, I apologize and proffer amends," he
said. "I do not wish to fight you without reason."
The sword cut ferociously at his legs. No quarter there!
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Xanth%2002%20-%20The%20Source%20of%20Magic.txtXANTHWISLEOFILLUSIONAnyresemblancetoanyMundanepeninsulaIsstrictlyinthemindoftheauthor,wholivesneartheNorthVillage^CENTAURISLEChapter1.ClosetSkeletonIhemagic-snifferambledtowardBink,itslonglimbersnou...

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