A Spell for Chameleon

  Such an investigation would be the death of Trent. The old King would be determined to abolish this major threat to his declining power.

  "And Trent knows what is likely to happen to him when the authorities get there, if they catch him?" Trent surely did. Bink nodded yes again. "And you--do you want him dead?" Bink shook his head vehemently, no. "Or exiled again?"

  Bink had to think a moment. Then he shook his head again.

  "Of course; you need him to transform you back into human form. That perhaps gives him some bargaining leverage. They might spare his life in exchange for such services. But after that, it seems likely to be exile for him--or blindness."

  Blindness! But then Bink comprehended the horrible logic of it. Blind, Trent could not transform anyone; he had to see his subjects. But what a terrible fate.

  "I see you don't like that notion either. Yet there are harsh realities to weigh." Humfrey pondered. "It will be difficult enough to save your life, since you also are an illegal immigrant. But perhaps I have a wrinkle." He frowned. "I'm really sorry to see Trent get into this scrape; he's a truly great Magician, and we've always gotten along, not interfering in each other's business. But the welfare of Xanth comes first." He smiled briefly. "After my fee, of course."

  Bink didn't see much humor in it.

  "Well, it will soon be out of our hands, fortunately. What will be will be."

  After that he was silent. Bink watched the clouds, real ones this time; they loomed up larger and darker as the rug flew northward. Now the carpet was over the Gap, making Bink feel less secure despite his wings; it was a long way down. When the rug passed through a cloud, it dipped alarmingly; it seemed there were internal downdrafts. But Humfrey rode with seeming equanimity, eyes closed, deep in thought.

  It got worse. The carpet, possessing no intelligence, zoomed straight for its preprogrammed destination, not trying to avoid the cloud banks. The clouds formed into towering mountains and awesomely deep valleys, and the drafts got worse. No illusion, this building storm; though it lacked the colors and menacing swirls of Iris's illusion-cloud, in its somber way it was just as threatening.

  Then the rug dropped through the fog and came out below. There was the North Village!

  The windows of the King's palace were draped in black. "I think it has happened," Humfrey remarked as they landed before the palace gate.

  A village Elder came out to meet them. "Magician!" he cried. "We were about to send for you. The King is dead!"

  "Well, you'd better choose his successor, then," Humfrey said acidly.

  "There is no one-except you," the Elder replied.

  "Lamebrain! That's no recommendation," Humfrey snapped. "What would I want with the throne? It's a big boring job that would seriously interfere with my studies."

  The Elder stood his ground. "Unless you can show us another qualified Magician, the law requires that you accept."

  "Well, the law can go--" Humfrey paused. "We have more pressing business. Who is caretaker during the interim?''

  "Roland. He is seeing to the funeral."

  Bink jumped. His father! But he knew immediately that his father would be scrupulous in avoiding any possible conflict of interest; better not even to tell him Bink was back in Xanth.

  Humfrey glanced at Bink, seeming to have the same notion. "Well, I think I know just the sucker for the job," the Good Magician said. "But he has a certain technical problem to surmount first."

  Bink suffered an exceedingly uncomfortable shiver of premonition. Not me! he tried to say, but still could not speak. I'm no Magician, really. I know nothing of kingship. All I want to do is save Chameleon. And let Trent get away, too.

  "But first we have to settle a couple of other matters," Humfrey continued. "The Evil Magician Trent, the transformer, is back in Xanth, and a girl is dying. If we move fast, we may catch them both before it is too late."

  "Trent!" The Elder was shocked. "What a time for him to show up." He ran into the palace.

  Very soon they had assembled a war party. The village travel-conjurer was given the precise location, and he started popping people through.

  First to go was Roland himself. With luck he would catch the Evil Magician by surprise and stun him in place, nullifying his magic. Then the others could proceed safely. Next the Good Magician went, with his vial of healing water, to save Chameleon--if she still lived.

  Bink realized that if this plan was successful, Trent would never have another chance to transform anyone. If they unknowingly executed the Evil Magician before Bink was transformed, he would remain forever a phoenix. Chameleon would be alone, although well. And his father would be responsible. Was there no way out of this predicament?

  Well, the plan might fail. Trent could transform Roland and Humfrey. Then Bink himself might recover his human form, but Chameleon would die. That was no good either. Maybe Trent would have escaped before Roland arrived. Then Chameleon would be cured, and Trent would survive--but Bink would remain a bird.

  No matter which way it worked out, someone dear to Bink would be sacrificed. Unless Humfrey somehow managed things to make everything come out all right. Yet how could he?

  One by one the Elders disappeared. Then it was Bink's turn. The conjurer gestured--

  The first thing Bink saw was the body of the wolf-headed man. The creature had evidently charged, and been dispatched by Trent's singing sword. Elsewhere were a number of caterpillars that had not been here before. Trent himself stood frozen, concentrating as though in the process of casting a spell. And Chameleon--

  Bink flew to her gladly. She was well! The terrible wound was gone, and she was standing, looking bewildered.

  "This is Bink," Humfrey told her. "He flew to fetch help for you. Just in time, too."

  "Oh, Bink!" she cried, picking him up and trying to hug him to her bare torso. Bink, as a bird with delicate plumage, did not find this as delightful as he might have in his natural form. "Change back."

  "I am afraid that only the transformer can change him back," Humfrey said. "And the transformer must first stand trial."

  And what would be the result of that trial? Why hadn't Trent escaped when he had the chance?

  The proceedings were swift and efficient. The Elders put questions to the frozen Magician, who of course could not answer or argue his own case. Humfrey had the travel-conjurer fetch the magic mirror--no, it was Munly, the master of ceremonies at Bink's hearing, who was himself an Elder. Bink's bird-brain was letting him get confused. Munly used his talent to conjure this small object directly to his hand from the Good Magician's castle. He held it up so that all could see the images forming within it.

  In the mirror were reflected scenes from the trio's travels in Xanth. Gradually the story came out, though it did not reveal Bink's talent. It showed how the three had helped one another to survive in the wilderness; how they had stayed at Castle Roogna--there was a general exclamation about that, for no one had known this old, famous, semi-mythical artifact remained intact. How they had fought the wiggle swarm--and that produced another reaction! How they had finally dueled. How the Sorceress Iris had mixed in. And how--Bink felt a fury of embarrassment--he had made love to Chameleon. The mirror was merciless.

  The whole sequence was clearly damning to Trent, for there were no words. But it's not really like that, Bink tried to cry. He's a fine man. In many ways his rationale makes sense. If he had not spared me and Chameleon, he could have conquered Xanth.

  The picture froze on the final sequence of the duel: Trent wounding Bink, making ready to strike the final blow--and halting. See--he spared me. He is not evil. Not any more. He is not evil!

  But no one heard him. The assembled Elders looked at one another, nodding gravely. Bink's father, Roland, was among them, and the family friend Munly, saying nothing.

  Then the mirror continued, showing what had happened after Bink flew away. The monsters of the wilderness, smelling fresh blood, had converged. Trent barely had time to bandage Chameleon before these thr
eats became pressing. He had stood before her, sword in hand, bluffing the creatures back--and transforming those who attacked anyway to caterpillars. Two wolf-heads had charged together, jaws gaping wide, slavering; one became a caterpillar while the other was cut down by the sword. Trent had killed only as necessary.

  He could have run, even then, Bink cried silently. He could have let Chameleon be taken by the monsters. He could have escaped into the magic jungle. You would never have caught him--until he caught you. He is a good man now. But he knew there was no way he could plead this good man's case. Chameleon, of course, was too stupid to do it, and Humfrey didn't know the whole story.

  At last the mirror showed the arrival of Roland, as strong and handsome in his fashion as the Evil Magician, and a few years older. He had landed facing away from Trent--and directly in front of an advancing two-headed serpent, each head a yard long. Roland, searching the wilderness before him, nervous about a nearby tangle tree, had seen neither Magician nor serpent behind him.

  In the mirror, Trent charged, running at the tail of the monster, grabbing it with his bare hands, causing it to whirl on him furiously. Both heads had struck--and the thing had abruptly become another caterpillar. A two-headed caterpillar.

  Roland whirled. For an instant the two men looked into each other's eyes, their deadly talents equivalent at this range. They seemed very similar to each other. Then Roland squinted, and Trent froze in place. The stun had scored before the transformation.

  Or had it? Trent never even tried to resist, Bink thought futilely. He could have transformed my father instead of the serpent--or simply let the serpent strike.

  "Elders, have you seen enough?" Humfrey inquired gently.

  If I could have the throne of Xanth at the expense of Trent's life, I would not take it, Bink thought savagely. The trial had been a farce; they had never let Trent speak for himself, to present his eloquent thesis of the damage magic was doing to the human population of Xanth, or of the threat of a future attack from Mundania. Were they going to dispose of him the same way they had exiled Bink? Thoughtlessly, by rote law, regardless of the meaning behind the facts?

  The Elders exchanged glances gravely. Each nodded slowly, affirmatively.

  At least let him talk! Bink cried mutely.

  "Then it would be best to release the spell," Humfrey said. "He must be free of magic for the denouement, as is our custom."

  Thank God!

  Roland snapped his fingers. Trent moved. "Thank you, honorable Elders of Xanth," he said politely. "You have granted me a fair presentation, and I stand ready to accept your judgment."

  Trent wasn't even defending himself. This horrendously partial, silent investigation, obviously a mere ritual to justify a decision privately arrived at--how could the Evil Magician lend credibility to that?

  "We find you guilty of violating exile," Roland said. "For this the set penalty is death. But we are in a unique situation, and you have changed substantially since we knew you. You always had courage, intelligence, and strong magic; now you are also possessed of loyalty, honor, and mercy. I am not unmindful that you spared the life of my son, who had foolishly challenged you, and that you protected his chosen one from the ravages of wild beasts. You have some guilt in these matters, but you expiated it. We therefore waive the set penalty and grant you leave to remain in Xanth, under two conditions."

  They were not going to kill Trent. Bink almost danced for joy. But immediately he realized that there would still be stringent restrictions, to prevent Trent from ever again aspiring to the throne. Humfrey had mentioned blinding him, so that he would be unable to perform his magic. Bink had some idea of what a life without magic would be like. Trent would be forced to assume some menial occupation, working out his days in ignobility. The Elders were generally old, but not necessarily gentle; no smart citizen ever crossed them twice.

  Trent bowed his head. "I thank you sincerely, Elders. I accept your conditions. What are they?"

  But there was so much more to be said! To treat this fine man as a common criminal, to force his agreement to this terrible retribution--and Trent was not even protesting.

  "First," Roland said, "that you marry."

  Trent looked up, startled. "I can understand a requirement that I reverse all prior transformations and desist from any future exercise of my talent--but what has marriage to do with it?"

  "You are presuming," Roland said grimly. And Bink thought: Trent hasn't caught on. They have no need to make restrictions--if they blind him. He will be helpless.

  "I apologize, Elder. I will marry. What is the other condition?"

  Now it comes! Bink wished he could blot out the sounds, as if by failing to hear the words of the sentence he could alleviate it. But that was not his type of magic talent.

  "That you accept the throne of Xanth."

  Bink's beak fell open. So did Chameleon's mouth. Trent stood as if stun-frozen again.

  Then Roland bent one knee and slowly dropped to the ground. The other Elders followed, silently.

  "The King, you see, is dead," Humfrey explained. "It is essential to have a good man and strong Magician in the office, one who has the demeanor of command coupled with restraint and perspective, yet who will muster savagery when necessary in the defense of Xanth. As in the event of a wiggle invasion or similar threat. One who may also provide a potential heir, so that Xanth is not again caught in the difficult situation just past. It is not necessary to like such a monarch, but we must have him. I obviously do not qualify, for I could hardly bring myself to devote the required attention to the details of governance; the Sorceress Iris would be unsuitable even if she were not female, because of her lack of restraint; and the only other person of Magician caliber has neither personality nor talent appropriate to the needs of the crown. Therefore, Xanth needs you, Magician. You can not refuse." And Humfrey, too, bent his knee.

  The Evil Magician, evil no longer, bowed his head in mute acceptance. He had conquered Xanth after all.

  The ceremony of coronation was splendid. The centaur contingent marched with dazzling precision, and from all over Xanth people and intelligent beasts came to attend. Magician Trent, henceforth the Transformer King, took both crown and bride together, and both were radiant.

  There were of course some sly remarks at the fringe of the spectator crowd, but most citizens agreed that the King had chosen wisely. "If she's too old to bear an heir, they can adopt a Magician-caliber boy." "After all, he's the only one who can control her, and he'll never suffer from lack of variety." "And it eliminates the last real threat to the kingdom." They were not yet aware of the other formidable external and internal threats.

  Bink, restored to his natural form, stood alone, contemplating the place where Justin Tree once stood. He was glad for Trent, and certain the man would make a fine King. Yet he suffered also from a certain anticlimactic disappointment. What would he, Bink, do now?

  Three youths passed, one middle-aged. Zink, Jama, and Potipher. They were chastened, their eyes downcast. They knew that the days of wild nuisance were over; with the new King in power, they would have to behave--or else be transformed.

  Then two centaurs trotted up. "So glad to see you, Bink!" Cherie exclaimed. "Isn't it wonderful you weren't exiled after all? She nudged her companion. "Isn't it, Chester?"

  Chester forced his face into a tortured smile. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled.

  "You must come and visit us," Cherie continued brightly. "Chester speaks so often of you."

  Chester made a little throttling motion with his two powerful hands. "Yeah, sure," he repeated, more brightly.

  Bink changed the subject. "Did you know, I met Herman the Hermit in the wilderness," he said. "He died a hero. He used his magic--" Bink paused, remembering that the centaurs regarded magic in a centaur as obscene. That would probably change, once Trent publicized the knowledge gained from the Castle Roogna archives. "He organized the campaign that wiped out the wiggle swarm before it infested all of Xanth. I hope Herman's
name will be honored among your kind in future."

  Surprisingly, Chester smiled. "Herman was my uncle," he said. "He was a great character. The colts used to kid me about his exile. Now he's a hero, you say?"

  Cherie's mouth tightened. "We don't discuss obscenity in the presence of a filly," she warned him. "Come on."

  Chester had to accompany her. But he looked back briefly. "Yeah, sure," he said to Bink. "You come see us real soon. Tell us all about what Uncle Herman did to save Xanth."

  They were gone. Suddenly Bink felt very good. Chester was the last creature he would have expected to have something in common with, but he was glad it had happened. Bink knew all about the frustration of getting teased about some supposed failing. And he did want to tell an appreciative audience about Herman the magic Hermit centaur.

  Now Sabrina approached him. She was as lovely as he had ever seen her. "Bink, I'm sorry about what happened before," she said. "But now that everything is cleared up..."

  She was like Chameleon in her beauty stage, and she was intelligent, too. A fit bride for almost any man. But Bink knew her now, too well. His talent had stopped him from marrying her--by keeping itself secret. Smart talent.

  He glanced about--and spied the new bodyguard Trent had taken, on Bink's recommendation. The man who could spot anything, including danger, before it developed. The soldier was now resplendent in his imperial uniform, and impressive of demeanor. "Crombie!" Bink called.

  Crombie strode over. "Hello, Bink. I'm on duty now, so I can't stay to chat. Is something the matter?"

  "I just wanted to introduce you to this lovely lady, Sabrina," Bink said. "She does a very nice holograph in air." He turned to Sabrina. "Crombie is a good man and able soldier, favored by the King, but he doesn't quite trust women. I think he's just never met the right one. I believe you two should get to know each other better."