The Source of Magic

"So? And what about when you spiked your sword into old firesnoot's neck?"

  That had resembled bravery. How could Bink explain that the protection provided by his devious talent made such acts easier? Had he really believed he might get killed, he might never have had the nerve. "I only did what you two were doing: attacking. To save my hide."

  Chester snorted derisively and charged on. The dragon continued to gain. Had it been a flying one, they would have been lost--except that the flying dragons were smaller, and consequently less powerful. But any dragon was real trouble, unless the one being attacked had nullifying magic.

  Now the dragon was coming within torching range. There was dirt on its nose, but its fires remained stoked. It opened its mouth--

  Chester dropped into a hole. "Hang on!" the centaur cried belatedly. "It's a crevice too broad to leap!"

  Evidently so. Bink narrowly avoided doing a somersault over Chester's tail, hung on, and landed with gut-jarring impact The walls rose up rapidly on either side. They must have approached this chasm obliquely, so that it was easy to rush down inside it. This must be the escape Crombie had indicated. Indeed, the griffin was angling down to join them.

  But the dragon followed them into the crack. Its long, sinuous body was well adapted to this type of structure. There was no crevice a centaur could hide in that would be too narrow for the dragon. That made Bink uncertain; could this be a diversion, and not the escape route?

  Suddenly Chester skidded to a halt. "Don't stop!" Bink cried. "The monster's right behind us!"

  "Some escape route that featherbrain picked for us," Chester muttered with disgust. "We'd better fight the dragon."

  "We'll have to," Bink said, turning around to face the centaur's head. "We can't outrun it--"

  Then he saw what had stopped Chester. "Nickelpedes!" he cried with new horror.

  The dragon saw the nickelpedes too. It skidded to a halt and tried to turn about--but the crevice was too narrow for effective circling. It might have looped up and over its own body, but that would have meant exposing its neck again, where it had already been stung.

  Crombie came to land between them. "This was your way out, birdbrain?" Chester demanded as the nickelpedes scuttled close, forming living barricades wherever there were shadows, cutting off any likely escape.

  "Squawk!" the griffin replied angrily. He understood both the language and the insult perfectly, though he could not reply in kind. He stood up, wings furled so they would not bang against the close walls and get smudged. He closed his eyes, whirled awkwardly, and pointed with a forepaw. But the paw was not firm; it wavered across half a circle.

  A few bold nickelpedes attacked. Each was girt with about five hundred legs and a single set of pincers, and each had a taste for fresh meat. A single nickelpede could be killed, with a certain amount of effort and unpleasantness; a hundred were insurmountable without extraordinary armor or magic. But the attempt had to be made, for if there was one thing worse than being roasted by a dragon, it was being gouged by nickelpedes.

  The dragon youped. A nickelpede had clamped on its smallest front claw and was gouging out a disk of substance nearly an inch across. The dragon's claws were iron, but the nickelpede's pincers were nickel hardened by magic; they could gouge from almost anything. Chester chuckled grimly.

  Then the centaur leaped high, emitting a cry like a neigh. Another nickelpede had scooped out a piece of one hoof. Chester came down, stomping the little monster hard. But the nickelpede scuttled to the side, avoiding the blow--while others attacked Chester's remaining hooves. And the dragon chuckled.

  But their predicament was not funny. The crevice was deep, with a level footing below sheer vertical stone walls. It was too deep for Bink to jump out of. He might have made it by standing on Chester's back--but how would the centaur himself get out? The dragon could lift its head that high--but not its forefeet. Only the griffin might escape--except that the narrowness of the cleft prevented him from spreading his wings far enough. He had glided into a landing, but taking off required more vigorous action and lift. With Chester's help he might get high enough--but again, what about Chester? They were trapped as much by the situation as by the walls.

  Very soon they would all be food for the swarm, if they didn't get out of here. Yet the back of the dragon blocked the exit. At this stage the dragon was fidgeting about, trying to hoist its body off the ground so that it would not get gouged in a tender place, while the nickelpedes went gleefully for its feet. Chester was performing similarly. So was Crombie, who could not fly at the moment. And Bink himself, whose extremities were the most tender of all. Where was his talent now?

  "It's only the sunlight that holds them back," Chester said. "When the sun moves over, they'll all be on us."

  Bink looked at the line of shadow. At the moment the sun was high, and there was only a small shadowed area. But that area was packed with the pinching monsters. Only one nickelpede in a hundred ventured forth into the light, scuttling across to the shadow of someone's body--but even so, there were a dozen or more coming.

  Then Bink had an inspiration. "We must cooperate!" he cried. "All together--before we all get eaten together!"

  "Of course," Chester said. "But how do we get rid the dragon?"

  "I mean cooperate with the dragon!" Chester, Crombie, and the dragon looked at him, mutually startled. All of them were still dancing in place. "A dragon's too dumb to cooperate, even if it wanted to," Chester objected. "Even if there were any point. There's just a pilot light in the monster's brain. Why help it eat us?"

  "There would have to be a truce," Bink said. "We help it, it doesn't eat us. The dragon can't turn about, it can't lift its body off the ground for any length of time. So it is vulnerable, just as we are. But it can fight the nickelpedes much better than we can. So if we protect its flank--"

  "Flame!" Chester exclaimed. "Nickelpedes hate light--and flame has lots of light!"

  "Right," Bink said. "So if we protect its dark side, and its feet--"

  "And its back," Chester added, glancing at Crombie. "If it will trust us--"

  "It has no choice," Bink said, moving toward the dragon.

  "It doesn't know that! Watch out--it'll scorch you!"

  But Bink, protected by his magic, knew he would not get scorched. He walked up to the nose of the dragon and stood before the copper nostrils. Wisps of smoke drifted up from them; there was a little leakage when the system was idle. "Dragon," he said, "you understand me, don't you? You can't talk, but you know we're all in trouble now, and we'll all get gouged to pieces and consumed by the nickelpedes unless we help each other fight them off?" And he jumped to avoid the onslaught of another nickelpede.

  The dragon did not respond. It just looked at him. Bink hoped that was a good sign. He drew his sword, sighted at the nickelpede between his feet, and impaled it neatly on the point. The thing clicked its pincers as Bink lifted it, undead, and it strove to get at anything gougeable. From this vantage the pincers were circular; a nickelpede normally clamped onto its target with a few hundred legs and scooped inward to cut away a shallow disk of flesh. Horrible!

  "I can nullify one nickelpede at a time," Bink continued, showing his captive to the dragon's right eye.

  "I could sit on one of your feet and protect it. My friend the centaur could defend your tail. The griffin is actually a transformed soldier, another friend; he could watch for enemies dropping on your back, and crunch them in his beak. We can help you--if you trust us."

  "How can we trust it?" Chester demanded.

  Still the dragon did not react. Was it stupid, or comprehending? As long as it listened, Bink had to assume that all was reasonably well. "Here's what we have to do," he continued hurriedly, as the shadow advanced and the nickelpedes grew bolder. Three were coming at Bink's own feet now; it would be hard to spear them all in time. "The three of us must climb over you to get to your tail and back feet. Crombie will perch on your back. So you will have to let us pass, and tolerate our weight on your body
. We'll do what we can to keep your scales intact. But the main job is yours. Once we get clear, you scorch the whole mass of nickelpedes in the crevice before you. Fry them all! They don't like light, and will clear out. Then we can all back out of here. Agreed?"

  The dragon merely stared at him. Had it really comprehended? Chester took a hand. "Dragon, you know centaurs are creatures of honor. Everyone knows that! I give my word: I will not attack you if you let me past. I know Bink; even though he is a man, he is also a creature of honor. And the griffin--" He hesitated.

  "Squawk!" Crombie said angrily.

  "Crombie is also a creature of honor," Bink said quickly. "And we assume you are too, dragon."

  Yet the dragon still stared at him. Bink realized he would have to gamble. The dragon might be too stupid to comprehend the nature of their offer, or it still might not trust them. It was possible it had no way to respond. They would have to gamble on the last alternative.

  "I am going to climb over your back," Bink said. "My friends will follow me. The truce will hold until we all get out of this crevice."

  Truce. He had learned to appreciate this mode of compromise over a year ago, when he and Chameleon had made a truce with the Evil Magician. That arrangement had saved them all from disaster in the wilderness. It seemed no enemy was too awful to deal with in time of sufficient peril.

  He addressed the silent dragon again. "If you don't believe me, scorch us now, and face the nickelpedes alone."

  Bink walked boldly around the dragon's head to the base of the neck where the front legs projected. The dragon did not scorch him. He saw the wound he had made in the neck, dripping ichor that a nickelpede was greedily eating as it landed. The little monster was gouging disks out of the stone floor to get every last bit of the delicacy puddling there. The nickelpedes had to be the most rapacious monsters for their size in all the Land of Xanth!

  Bink sheathed his sword after wiping off the impaled nickelpede, then stretched up his hands and jumped. His head and chest cleared the top of the leg, and he was able to scramble over the scales. Because they were lying flat, they did not cut him--so long as he did not rub them the wrong way. The dragon did not move. "Come on, Chester, Crombie!" he called back.

  Prompted by his call and the encroaching nickelpedes, the two creatures followed. The dragon eyed them warily, but held its flame. Soon the three assumed their battle stations. Just in time; the nickelpedes had massed so thickly that the shadowed walls were bright with their highlights. The shadow was advancing inexorably.

  "Blast out the passage ahead!" Bink yelled to the dragon. "We're protecting your flank!" And he drew his sword and speared another nickelpede on the point.

  The dragon responded by belching out a tremendous wash of fire. It scorched the whole crevice, obscuring everything in flame and smoke. It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck. Nickelpedes screeched thinly as they fell from the walls, burning, some even exploding. Success!

  "Very good," Bink said to the dragon, wiping his tearing eyes. There had been a fair backlash of hot gas. "Now back out" But the creature did not move.

  "It can't back," Chester said, catching on. "Its legs don't work that way. A dragon never retreats."

  Bink realized it was true. The dragon was limber, and normally it twined about to reverse course. Its legs and feet were structured for forward only. No wonder it had not expressed agreement to Bink's proposal; it could not perform. Without words, it could not explain; any negation would have seemed to be a refusal of the truce. Even a really intelligent creature would have been in a dilemma there, and the dragon was less than that. So it had shut up.

  "But that means we can only advance deeper into the crevice!" Bink said, appalled. "Or wait until dark." Hither course was disaster; in complete darkness the nickelpedes would be upon them in a mass, and gobble every part of their bodies in disk-chunks called nickels. What a horrible fate, to be nickeled to death!

  The dragon's flame would not last forever; the creature had to refuel. Which was what it had been trying to do at the outset, chasing them. The moment its fires gave out, the nickelpedes would swarm back in.

  "The dragon can't be saved," Chester said. "Get on my back, Bink; I'll gallop out of here, now that we're past the obstruction. Crombie can leap from its back and fly."

  "No," Bink said firmly. "That would violate our trace. We agreed to see the whole party safe outside."

  "We did not," the centaur said, nettled. "We agreed not to attack it We shall not attack it. We shall merely leave it"

  "And let the nickelpedes attack it instead?" Bink finished. "That was not my understanding. You go if you choose; I'm finishing my commitment, implied as well as literal."

  Chester shook his head. "You're not only the bravest man I've seen, you're the man-headedest."

  I.e., brave and stubborn. Bink wished it were true. Buoyed by his talent, he could take risks and honor pledges he might otherwise have reneged on. Crombie and Chester had genuine courage; they knew they could die. He felt guilty, again, knowing that he would get out of this somehow, while his friends had no such assurance. Yet he knew they would not desert him. So he was stuck: he had to place them in terrible peril--to honor his truce with an enemy who had tried to kill them all. Where was the ethical course?

  "OK we can't go back, well just have to go forward," Chester decided. "Tell your friend to get up steam."

  The irony was unsubtle--but Chester was not a subtle centaur. In fact, he was an argumentative brawler. But a loyal friend. Bink's guilt remained. His only hope was that as long as they were all in this fix together, his talent might extricate them together.

  "Dragon, if you would--" Bink called. "Maybe there's an exit ahead."

  "Maybe the moon isn't made of green cheese," Chester murmured. It was sarcasm, but it reminded Bink poignantly of the time in his childhood when there had been what the centaurs called an eclipse: the sun had banged into the moon and knocked a big chunk out of it, and a great wad of the cheese had fallen to the ground. The whole North Village had gorged on it before it spoiled. Green cheese was the best--but it only grew well in the sky. The best pies were in the sky, too.

  The dragon lurched forward. Bink threw his arms about its ankle to keep from being dislodged; this was worse than riding a centaur! Crombie spread his wings partially for balance, and Chester, facing the rear, trotted backward, startled. What was a cautious pace for the dragon was a healthy clip for the others.

  Bink was afraid the crevice would narrow, making progress impossible. Then he would really have a crisis of conscience! But it stabilized, extending interminably forward, curving back and forth so that no exit was visible. Periodically the dragon blasted out the path with a snort of flame. But Bink noticed the blasts were getting weaker. It took a lot of energy to shoot out fire, and the dragon was hungry and tiring. Before long it would no longer be able to brush back the nickelpedes. Did dragons like green cheese? Irrelevant thought! Even if cheese would restore the fire, there was no moon available right now, and if the moon were in the sky, how could they reach it?

  Then the crevice branched. The dragon paused, perplexed. Which was the most promising route?

  Crombie closed his griffin eyes and spun as well as he could on the dragon's back. But again his wing pointed erratically, sweeping past both choices and finally falling, defeated. Crombie's spell was evidently in need of the spell doctor--at a most inopportune time.

  "Trust the bird-head to foul it up," Chester muttered.

  Crombie, whose bird hearing evidently remained in good order, reacted angrily. He squawked and walked along the dragon toward the centaur, the feathers of his neck lifting like the hackles of a werewolf.

  "Stop!" Bink cried. "We'll never get out if we quarrel among ourselves!"

  Reluctantly, Crombie moved back to his station. It seemed to be up to Bink to decide on the route.

  Was there a chance the two branches looped around and met each other? If so, this was a handy way to get the dragon turned abou
t, so they all could get out of here. But that seemed unlikely. At any rate, if it were this way, either path would do. "Bear left"

  The dragon marched into the left one. The nickelpedes followed. It was getting harder to drive them off; not only was the shadow advancing, the oblique angle of the new passage made a narrower shaft for the sunlight

  Bink looked up into the sky--and discovered that things were even worse than they had seemed. Clouds were forming. Soon there would be no sunlight at all. Then the nickelpedes would be bold indeed.

  The passage divided again. Oh, no! This was becoming a maze--a deadly serious one. If they got lost in it--

  "Left again," Bink said. This was awful; he was guessing, and it was getting them all deeper into trouble. If only Crombie's talent were operative here! Strange how it had failed. It had seemed to be in good order until they entered the crevice. In fact, it had pointed them here. Why had it sent them into a region that blanked it out? And why had Bink's own talent permitted this? Had it failed too?

  Suddenly he was afraid. He had not realized how much he had come to depend on his talent. Without it he was vulnerable! He could be hurt or killed by magic.

  No! He could not believe that. His magic had to remain--and Crombie's too. He just had to figure out why they were malfunctioning at the moment.

  Malfunctioning? How did he know they were? Maybe those talents were trying to do their jobs, but weren't being interpreted correctly. Like the dragon, they were powerful but silent. Crombie merely had to ask the right question. If he asked "Which road leads out of the maze?" it was possible that any of them did--or none. What would his talent do then? If he demanded the specific direction of out, and the escape route curved, wouldn't his pointing appendage have to curve about, too? There was no single direction, no single choice; escape was a labyrinth. So Crombie was baffled, thinking his talent had failed, when perhaps it had only quit in disgust

  Suppose Bink's talent was aware of this. It would not worry; it would show him a way to make Crombie's talent operate, in due course. But it would be better if Bink figured that way out himself, because then he could be sure that all of them escaped. That way, both friendship and honor would be preserved.