Bink woke with a start as the diggle halted. “I think we’re here,” Jewel murmured. Her voice was hoarse from hours of singing.
“You should have waked me before!” Bink said. “To take my turn singing the worm along. You’ve sung yourself out.”
“Your head was so nice on my shoulder, I couldn’t disturb you,” she rasped. “Besides, you’ll need all your strength. I can feel the magic intensifying as we move along.”
Bink felt it too: a subtle prickle on his skin like that of the magic dust. For all he knew, the rock through which they traveled might be the magic-dust rock, before it welled to the surface. But the mystery remained: what was it that imbued that rock with magic? “Uh, thanks,” he said awkwardly. “You’re a sweet nymph.”
“Well—“ She turned her head, making it easy to kiss. She smelled of especially fine roses: this magic, too, was enhanced by the environment. Bink leaned forward, inhaling the delicious fragrance, bringing his lips close to—
They were interrupted by the sight of the bottle. It bobbled on the glowing surface of another lake. Something was attached to it, a bit of string or tar—
“Grundy!” Bink cried.
The golem looked up. “About time you got here! Fetch in this bottle, before—“
“Is it safe to swim in this lake?” Bink asked, wary of the glow. It might keep the goblins away, but that didn’t make it safe for people.
“No,” Jewel said. “The water is slowly poisonous to most forms of life. One drink won’t hurt much, if you get out of it soon, up at the headwaters where it is diluted by the fresh flow from the surface. But down here, where it has absorbed much more horrible magic—“
“Right. No swimming,” Bink said. “Chester, can you lasso it?”
“Out of range,” the centaur said. “If the eddy currents carry it closer to shore I can snag it readily enough.”
“Better hurry,” Grundy called. “There’s something under the lake, and it—”
“The fiends lived under a lake,” Chester said. “Do you think the enemy—?”
Bink started stripping off his clothing. “I think I’d better swim out and get that bottle right now. If the lake harms me, the Magician can give me a drop of his healing elixir. That should be more potent, too, here.”
“Don’t do that!” Jewel cried. “That lake—I don’t think you’d ever reach the bottle. Here, I’ll have the diggle phase through the water. Nothing hurts him when he’s in phase.”
At her direction, and hoarse singing, the worm slid into the water, erecting its circular flange to form a temporary tunnel through the liquid, as through rock. He moved very slowly, until Chester’s flute appeared and played a brisk, beautiful marching tune. The flute seemed larger and brighter than it had before, and its sound was louder: more magical enhancement. The diggle speeded up, expanding and contracting in time to die music. He advanced purposefully toward the bottle.
“Oh, thank you, centaur,” Jewel whispered.
“Hurry! Hurry!” the golem called. ‘The coral is aware of the—is trying to—is—HELP! IT’S COMING UP TO GET ME!”
Then Grundy screamed horribly, as if in human pain. “I’m not real enough, yet,” he gasped after the scream had torn its way out of his system. “I’m still just a golem, just a thing, string and gum. I can be controlled. I—“
He broke off, then screamed again, then resumed more quietly. “I’m gone.”
Bink understood none of this, yet had the sinking feeling that he should somehow have tried to help the golem to fight off—what? Some encouragement, some reminder of the feelings Grundy evidently did have. Maybe the golem could have fought off his private personal horror, if—
Now the worm was almost at the bottle. Quickly Grundy wrapped his string-arms about the cork, braced his feet against the neck of the bottle, and heaved. “By the power of the brain coral, emerge!” he gasped.
The cork flew out. Smoke poured from the bottle, swirled into a whirlwind, ballooned, then coalesced into the figures of the Good Magician and the griffin. “Grundy rescued them!” Chester exclaimed as his flute faded out.
“Fly to shore!” Bink cried. “Don’t touch the water!”
Humfrey caught hold of Crombie, who spread his wings and bore them both up. For a moment they tilted unsteadily, then righted and moved smoothly forward.
Bink ran up as they landed at the shore. “We were so worried about you, afraid the enemy would get you first!”
“The enemy did,” Humfrey said, reaching for a vial as he let go of the griffin. “Turn about, Bink; desist your quest, and you will not be harmed.”
“Desist my quest!” Bink cried, amazed. “Right when I’m so close to accomplishing it? You know I won’t do that!”
“I serve a new master, but my scruples remain,” Humfrey said. There was something sinister about him now; he remained a small, gnomish man, but now there was no humor in that characterization. His gaze was more like that of a basilisk than that of a man: a cold, deadly stare. “It is necessary that you understand. The bottle was opened by the agency of the entity that lies beneath this lake, a creature of tremendous intelligence and magic and conscience, but lacking the ability to move. This is the brain coral, who has to operate through other agencies to accomplish its noble purpose.”
“The—enemy?” Bink asked, dismayed. “The one who sent the magic sword, and the dragon, and the squiggle—“
“And countless other obstructions, most of which your own magic foiled before they manifested. The coral cannot control a conscious, intelligent, living entity; it must operate through thought suggestions that seem like the creature’s own notions. That was why the dragon chased you, and the squiggle spied on you, and why the other seemingly coincidental complications occurred. But your talent brought you through almost unscathed. The siren lured you, but the gorgon did not enchant you into stone; the midas fly was diverted to another target, the curse of the fiends missed you. Now, at the heart of the coral’s magic, you are finally balked. You must turn back, because—“
“But it cannot control you!” Bink protested. “You are a man, an intelligent man, a Magician!”
“It assumed control of the golem, possible only because Grundy’s reality was not complete and this is the region of the coral’s greatest power. It caused the golem to open the bottle. Crombie and I are subject to the holder of the bottle. It does not matter that the bottle is now floating on the surface of the coral lake; the conjuration was done in the name of the brain coral, and it is binding.”
“But—“ Bink protested, unable to continue because he could not formulate his thought.
‘”That was the most savage engagement of this campaign,” Humfrey continued. “The struggle for possession of the bottle. The coral managed to dislodge it from your clothing, but your magic caused the cork to work loose, and we started to emerge. That was the impact of the fiends; curse, aiding you by what seemed like an incredible coincidence. It shook the bottle within the vortex. But the coral used a strong eddy current to jam the stopper back, trapping Grundy outside. But your magic made the magic mirror get caught halfway, shattering it, with fragments inside and out, enabling us to establish communication of a sort. Then the coral’s magic caused you to lose your fragment of glass. But your magic guided you to Beauregard, who re-established communication. You very nearly reached the bottle in time, by turning the liability of your infatuation for the nymph into an asset—your talent outmaneuvered the coral neatly there!—but here the coral’s magic is stronger than yours, and so it got the bottle first. Barely. In effect, your two talents have canceled out. But now the coral, through the power of the bottle, controls Crombie and me. All our powers are at its service, and you have lost.”
Chester stood beside Bink. “So you have become the enemy,” he said slowly.
“Not really. Now that we have access to the coral’s perspective, we know that it is on the side of reason. Bink, your quest is dangerous, not merely for you, but for all the land of Xanth. You must desist, believe me!”
“I do not believe you,” Bink said grimly. “Not now. Not now that you’ve changed sides.”
“Same here,” Chester said. “Conjure yourself back into the bottle, and let us rescue the bottle and release you in our power. Then if you can repeat that statement, I’ll listen.”
“No.”
“That is what I thought,” Chester said. “I undertook this mission as a service to you, Magician, but I have never collected my Answer from you. I can quit your service anytime I want. But I shall not renounce this quest merely because some hidden monster has scared you into changing your mind.”
“Your position is comprehensible,” Humfrey said with surprising mildness. “I do not, as you point out, have any present call on your service. But I am obliged to advise you both that if we cannot prevail upon your reason, we must oppose you materially.”
“You mean you would actually fight us?” Bink asked incredulously.
“We do not wish to resort to force,” Humfrey said. “But it is imperative that you desist. Go now, give up your quest, and all will be well”
“And if we don’t quit?” Chester demanded belligerently, eyeing Crombie. Obviously the centaur would not be entirely loath to match his prowess against that of the griffin. There had been a kind of rivalry between them all along.
“In that case we should have to nullify you,” Humfrey said gravely. Small he was, but he remained a Magician, and his statement sent an ugly chill through Bink. Nobody could afford to take lightly the threat of a Magician.
Bink was torn between unkind alternatives. How could he fight his friends, the very ones he had struggled so hard to rescue? Yet if they were under the spell of the enemy, how could he afford to yield to their demand? If only he could get at the brain coral, the enemy, and destroy it, then his friends would be freed from its baleful influence. But the coral was deep under the poison water, unreachable. Unless —
“Jewel!” he cried. “Send the diggle down to make holes through the coral!”
“I can’t, Bink,” she said sadly. “The diggle never came back after we sent it after the bottle. I’m stuck here with my bucket of gems.” She flipped a diamond angrily into the water. “I can’t even plant them properly, now.”
“The worm has been sent away,” Humfrey said. “Only the completion of your quest can destroy the coral — along with all the Land of Xanth. Depart now, or suffer the consequence.”
Bink glanced at Chester. “I don’t want to hurt him. Maybe if I can knock him out, get him out of range of the coral — “
“While I take care of birdbeak,” Chester said, nominally regretful.
“I don’t want bloodshed!” Bink cried. “These are our friends, whom we must rescue.”
“I suppose so,” Chester agreed reluctantly, “I’ll try to immobilize the griffin without hurting him too much. Maybe I’ll just pull out a few of his feathers.”
Bink realized that this was as much of a compromise as Chester was prepared to make. “Very well. But stop the moment he yields.”
Now he faced Humfrey again. “I intend to pursue my quest. I ask you to depart, and to refrain from trying to interfere. It grieves me even to contemplate strife between us, but — “
.Humfrey rummaged in his belt of vials. He brought one out.
“Huh-uh!” Bink cried, striding across. Yet his horror at practicing any kind of violence against his friends held him back, and he got there too late. The cork came out and the vapor issued. It formed into...a green poncho, which flapped about in the air before settling to the floor.
“Wrong bottle,” the Magician muttered, and uncorked another.
Bink, momentarily frozen, realized that he could not subdue the Magician until he separated the man from his arsenal of vials. Bink’s talent might have helped Humfrey to confuse the bottles, but that sort of error could not be counted on after the first time. Bink drew his sword, intending to slice the belt from the Good Magician’s waist—but realized that this seemed like a murderous attack. Again he hesitated—and was brought up short by the coalescing vapor. Suddenly thirteen black cats faced him, spitting viciously.
Bink had never seen a pure cat before, in the flesh. He regarded the cat as an extinct species. He just stood there and stared at this abrupt de-extinction, unable to formulate a durable opinion. If he killed these animals, would he be re-extincting the species?
Meanwhile, the centaur joined battle with the griffin. Then: encounter was savage from the outset, despite Chester’s promises. His bow was in his hands, and an arrow sizzled through the air. But Crombie, an experienced soldier, did not wait for it to arrive. He leaped and spread his wings, then closed them with a great backblast of air. He shot upward at an angle, the arrow passing beneath his tail feathers. Then he banked near the cavern ceiling and plummeted toward the centaur, screaming, claws outstretched.
Chester’s bow was instantly replaced by his rope. He swung up a loop that closed about the griffin’s torso, drawing the wings closed. He jerked, and Crombie was swung about in a quarter-circle. The centaur was about three times as massive as his opponent, so was able to control him this way.
A black cat leaped at Bink’s face, forcing him to pay attention to his own battle. Reflexively he brought his sword around—and sliced the animal cleanly in half.
Bink froze again in horror. He had not meant to kill it! A rare creature like this — maybe these cats were all that remained in the whole Land of Xanth, being preserved only by the Magician’s magic.
Then two things changed his attitude. First, the severed halves of the cat he had struck did not die; they metamorphosed into smaller cats. This was not a real cat, but a pseudo-cat, shaped from life-clay and given a feline imperative. Any part of it became another cat. Had a dog been shaped from the same material, it would have fractured into more dogs. So Bink hardly needed to worry about preservation of that species. Second, another cat was biting him on the ankle.
In a sudden fury of relief and ire, Bink laid about him with his blade. He sliced cats in halves, quarters, and eighths — and every segment became a smaller feline, attacking him with renewed ferocity. This was like fighting the hydra — only this time he had no spell-reversal wood to feed it, and there was no thread to make it drop. Soon he had a hundred tiny cats pouncing on him like rats, and then a thousand attacking like nickelpedes. The more he fought, the worse it got.
Was this magic related to that of the hydra? That monster had been typified by seven, while the cats were thirteen, but each doubled with each strike against a member. If there were some key, some counterspell to abolish doubling magic —
“Get smart, Bink!” Chester called, stomping on several cats that had wandered into his territory. “Sweep them all into the drink.”
Of course! Bink stooped low and swung the flat of his sword sidewise, sweeping dozens of thumbnail-sized cats into the lake. They hissed as they splashed, like so many hot pebbles, and then thrashed to the bottom. Whether they were drowning or being poisoned he could not tell, but none emerged.
While he swept his way to victory, Bink absorbed the continuing centaur-griffin engagement. He could not observe everything, but was able to bridge the gaps well enough. He had to keep track, because if anything happened to Chester, Bink would have another enemy to face.
Crombie, initially incapacitated by the rope, bent his head down and sheared his bond cleanly with one crunch of his sharp beak. He spread his wings explosively, made a defiant squawk, and launched a three-point charge at Chester’s head: beak, claw, and talon.
The centaur, thrown off balance by the abrupt slackening of the rope, staggered. He had better stability than a man, but he had been hauling hard. His equine shoulder thudded against a stalagmite and broke it off as the griffin made contact. Bink winced—but as it turned out, the stalagmite was more of a problem to Crombie than to Chester. The pointed top fell across the griffin’s left wing, weighing it down, forcing Crombie to flap his other wing vigorously to right himself.
Chester rose up, one talon slash down the side of his face where the griffin’s strike had missed his eye. But his two great hands now grasped the griffin’s two front legs. “Got you now, birdie!” he cried. But in this position he could not use his sword, so he tried to bash the griffin against the broken base of the stalagmite.
Crombie squawked and brought his hind legs up for a double slash that would have disemboweled the centaur’s human portion had it scored. Chester hastily let go, throwing Crombie violently away from him. Then he grabbed for his bow and arrow again. The griffin, however, spread his wings to brake his flight, looped about, and closed in again before the arrow could be brought to bear. Now it was hand-to-claw.
Bink had cleared his area of little cats—but the Good Magician had had time to organize his vials and open the next. This coalesced into a mound of bright-red cherry bombs. Oh, no! Bink had had experience with these violent little fruits before, as there was a tree of them on the palace grounds. In fact, these were probably from that same tree. If any of them scored on him—
He dived for Humfrey, catching the Magician’s arm before he could throw. Humfrey struggled desperately against Bink’s superior strength. Bink still held back, hating this violence though he saw no alternative to it. Both of them fell to the floor. The Magician’s belt tore loose, and a collection of vials tumbled across the stone. Some of their corks popped out. The cherry bombs were dislodged; they rolled away and dunked into the lake, where they detonated with harmless thuds and clouds of steam. One rolled into Jewel’s bucket of gems.
The explosion sent precious stones flying all over the cavern. Diamonds shot by Bink’s ears; a huge pearl thunked into the Magician’s chest; opals got under Chester’s hooves. “Oh, no!” Jewel cried, horrified. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to be done! Each has to be planted in exactly the right place!”
Bink was sorry about the gems, but he had more pressing problems. The new bottles were spewing forth a bewildering variety of things.
The first was a pair of winged shoes. “So that’s where I left them!” Humfrey exclaimed. But they flew out of reach before he could grab them. The second vial loosed a giant hour-glass whose sands were running out—also harmless in this instance. The next was a collection of exotic-looking seeds, some like huge flat fish eyes, others like salt-and-pepper mix, others like one-winged flies. They fluttered out and littered a wide patch, crunching underfoot, rolling like marbles, squishing and adhering like burrs. But they did not seem to be any direct threat.
Unfortunately, the other vials were also pouring out vapors. These produced a bucket of garbage (so that was how the Magician cleaned his castle: he swept it all into a vial!), a bag of supergrow fertilizer, a miniature thunderstorm, and a small nova star. Now the seeds had food, water, and light. Suddenly they were sprouting. Tendrils poked out, bodies swelled, pods popped, leaves burst forth. Roots gripped the rock and clasped items of garbage; stems shot up to form a dense and variegated carpet. Diverse species fought their own miniature battles over the best fertilizer territory. In moments Bink and the Magician were surrounded by an expanding little jungle. Vines clung to feet, branches poked at bodies, and leaves obscured vision. Soon the plants were flowering. Now their species were identifiable. Lady slippers produced footwear of a most delicate nature, causing Jewel to exclaim in delight and snatch off a pair for herself. Knotweeds formed the most intricate specialized knots: bow, granny, lanyard, clinch, hangman, and half-hitch. Bink had to step quickly to avoid getting tied up. That would cost him the victory right there!
Meanwhile, the Magician was trying to avoid the snapping jaws of dog-tooth violets and dandelions, while a hawkweed made little swoops at his head. Bink would have laughed—but had too many problems of his own. A goldenrod was trying to impale him on its metallic spire, and a sunflower was blinding him with its effulgence. The nova star was no longer needed; the cave was now as bright as day, and would remain so until the sunflower went to seed.
Bink ducked just in tune to avoid a flight of glinting arrowheads—but his foot slipped on a buttercup, squirting butter out and making him sit down hard—ooomph —on the squishy head of a skunk cabbage. Suddenly he was steamed in the nauseating fragrance.
Well, what had he expected? He had very little protective talent now; the enemy brain coral had canceled out his magic. Bink was on his own, and had to make his own breaks. At least Humfrey was no better off; at the moment he was being given a hotfoot by a patch of fireweed. He snatched up a flower from a water lily and poured its water out to douse the fire. Meanwhile, several paintbrushes were decorating him with stripes of red, green, and blue. Stray diamonds from the nymph’s collection were sticking to his clothes.
This was getting nowhere! Bink tore his way out of the miniature jungle, holding his breath and closing his eyes as a parcel of poppies popped loudly about his head. He felt something enclosing his hands, and had to look: it was a pair of foxgloves. A bluebell rang in his ear; then he was out of it. And there was the Magician’s belt with its remaining vials. Suddenly he realized: if he controlled this, Humfrey would be helpless. All his magic was contained in these vials!
Bink stepped toward it—but at that moment the Magician emerged from the foliage, plastered with crowfeet. Humfrey brushed them off, and the feet scampered away. A lone primrose turned its flower away from this gaucherie. Humfrey dived for his magic belt, arriving just as Bink did.
Bink laid his hands on it. There was a tug-of-war. More vials spilled out. One puffed into a kettle of barley soup that spilled across the floor and was eagerly lapped up by the questing rootlets of the jungle. Another developed into a package of mixed nuts and bolts. Then Bink found a steaming rice pudding and heaved it at the Magician—but Humfrey scored first with a big mince pie. Minces flew out explosively, twenty-four of them, littering a yet wider area. Bink caught the brunt of it in his face. Minces were wriggling in his hair and down his neck and partially obscuring his vision. Bink fanned the air with his sword, trying to keep the Magician back while he cleared his vision. Oddly, he could perceive the neighboring battle of centaur and griffin better than his own, at this moment.
Chester’s human torso was now streaked with blood from the vicious raking of the griffin’s talons. But one of Crombie’s forelegs was broken, and one of his wings half-stripped of feathers. That hand-to-claw combat had been savage!
Now the centaur was stalking his opponent with sword in hand, and the griffin was flying in ragged circles just out of reach, seeking an opening. Despite Bink’s cautions, these two were deadly serious; they were out to kill each other. Yet how could Bink stop them?
The Magician found a vial and opened it. Bink advanced alertly—but it was another miscue. A huge bowl of yogurt manifested. It had, by the look and smell of it, been in the bottle too long; it had spoiled. It floated gently toward the lake; let the brain coral try a taste of that! But Humfrey already had another vial. These mistakes were not the result of Bink’s talent so much as sheer, honest chance; Humfrey seemed to have a hundred things in his vials (he was reputed to have a hundred spells, after all), and few were readily adaptable to combat, and now they were all mixed up. The odds were against anything really dangerous appearing from any randomly chosen vial.
Yet the odds could be beaten. The vial produced a writhing vine from a kraken, which undulated aggressively toward Bink. But he sliced it into fragments with his sword, and advanced on the Magician again. Bink knew he could control the situation now; nothing in Humfrey’s bottles could match the devastating presence of a capable sword.
Desperately Humfrey opened bottles, searching for something to further his cause. Three dancing fairies materialized, hovering on translucent, pastel-hued wings, but they were harmless and soon drifted over to consult with Jewel, who put them to work picking up stray gems. A package of cough drops formed and burst —but too close to the Magician, who went into paroxysms of coughing. But then a wyvern appeared.
Wyverns were basically small dragons—but even the tiniest of dragons were dangerous. Bink leaped at it, aiming for the monster’s neck. He scored—but the wyvern’s tough scales deflected the blade. It opened its mouth and fired a jet of hot steam at Bink’s face. Bink danced back—then abruptly rammed his point directly into the cloud of vapor with all his force. The sword plunged into the creature’s open mouth, through its palate, and out the top of its head. The wyvern gave a single cry of agony and expired as Bink yanked back his weapon.
Bink knew he had been lucky—and that this was genuine luck, not his talent at work. But the problem with such luck was that it played no favorites; the next break could go against him. He had to wrap this up before such a break occurred.
But the Magician had had time to rummage among more vials. He was looking for something, having trouble locating it amid the jumble. But each failure left him fewer vials to choose from, and a correspondingly greater chance of success. As Bink turned on him again, a set of long winter underwear formed, and several tattered comic books, and a wooden stepladder, a stink bomb, and a gross of magic writing quills. Bink had to laugh.
“Bink—watch out!” Chester cried.
“It’s only a lady’s evening gown,” Bink said, glancing at the next offering. “No harm in it.”
“Behind it is an evil eye!” Chester cried.
Trouble! That was what Humfrey had been searching for! Bink grabbed the gown, using it as a shield against the nemesis beyond.
A beam of light shot out, passed him—and scored on the centaur. Half-stunned, Chester reeled—and the griffin dived in for the kill. His beak stabbed at Chester’s blinded eyes, forcing the centaur to prance backward.
“No!” Bink screamed.
Again, too late. Bink realized that he must have leaned on his talent a long time, so that his reactions to chance happenings were slow. Chester’s rear hooves stepped off the ledge. The centaur gave a great neighing cry of dismay and tumbled rear first into the evil water of the lake.
The water closed murkily over Chester’s head. Without further sound or struggle, the centaur disappeared below. Bink’s friend and ally was gone.
There was no time for remorse. Humfrey had found another vial. “I have you now, Bink! This one contains sleeping potion!” he cried, holding it up.
Bink did not dare charge him, because the evil eye still hovered between them, balked only by the evening gown Bink held as a feeble shield. He could see the eye’s outline vaguely through the filmy cloth, and had to maneuver constantly to avoid any direct visual contact with it. Yet that sleeping potion would not be stopped by mere cloth!
“Yield, Bink!” Humfrey cried. “Your ally is gone, my ally hovers behind you, the eye holds you in check, and the sleeping potion can reach you where you stand. Yield, and the coral grants you your life!”
Bink hesitated—and felt the swish of air as the griffin flew at him from behind. Bink whirled, seeing the nymph standing nearby, petrified with terror, and he knew that even as the brain coral made the offer of clemency with one mouth, it was betraying that offer with action.
Until this point Bink had been fighting a necessary if undesired battle. Now, abruptly, he was angry. His friend gone, himself betrayed—what reason had he now to stay his hand? “Look, then, at the evil eye!” Bink cried at Crombie, whipping away the gown as he faced away from the menace. Instantly Crombie turned his head away, refusing to look. Bink, still in his rage, charged the griffin with his sword.
Now it was claw and beak against sword—with neither party daring to glance toward the Magician. Bink waved the bright gown as a distraction while he sliced at the griffin’s head, then wrapped the material about his left arm as a protection against the claws. Crombie could attack only with his left front leg; his tattered wings did not provide sufficient leverage for close maneuvering, so he had to stand on his hind legs. Still, he had the deadly body of a griffin, and the combat-trained mind of a soldier, and he was as clever and ferocious an enemy as Bink had ever faced. Crombie knew Bink, was long familiar with his mannerisms, and was himself a more competent swordsman than Bink. In fact, Crombie had been Bink’s instructor. Though as a griffin he carried no sword, there was no maneuver Bink could make that Crombie did not know and could not counter. In short, Bink found himself overmatched.
But his anger sustained him. He attacked the griffin determinedly, slicing at legs and head, stabbing at the body, forcing his opponent to face the evil eye. He swung the gown to entangle Crombie’s good wing, then screamed terribly and launched his shoulder into Crombie’s bright breast. Bink was as massive as the griffin; his crudely hurtling weight bore Crombie back toward the deadly water. But it was useless; just as Bink thought he had gained the advantage, Crombie slid sidewise and let Bink stumble toward the water alone.
Bink tried to brake, and almost succeeded. He teetered on the brink. And saw—the golem Grundy, astride the still-floating bottle, now quite near the shore. “Fish me out, Bink!” the golem cried. “The poison can’t hurt me, but I’m beginning to dissolve. Look out!”
At the warning, Bink dropped flat, his face landing bare inches from the water. Crombie passed over him, having missed his push, spreading his wings to sail out over the dark lake. Grundy scooped one tiny hand through the water, splashing a few drops up to splatter the griffin’s tail—and immediately that tail drooped. The water was deadly, all right!
Crombie made a valiant effort, flapping so vigorously that he rose up out of range of the splashing.
Then he glided to the far side of the lake and crash-landed, unable to control his flight well because of the defeathered wing and stunned tail. Bink used the respite to extend his sword to the golem, who grabbed the point and let himself be towed to shore.
Then Bink remembered: Grundy had freed Humfrey and Crombie—in the name of the enemy. The golem was also a creature of the brain coral. Why was he siding with Bink, now?
Two possibilities: first, the coral might have only borrowed the golem, then released him, so that Grundy had reverted to Bink’s camp. Yet in that case, the coral could take over the golem again at any time, and Grundy was not to be trusted. In the heat of battle the coral might have forgotten Grundy, but as that battle simplified, that would change. Second, Grundy might remain an agent of the enemy right now. In that case—
But why should the coral try to fool Bink this way? Why not just finish him off without respite? Bink didn’t know, but it occurred to him it might be his smartest course to play along, to pretend to be fooled. The enemy might have some weakness Bink hadn’t fathomed, and if he could figure it out, using the golem as a clue—
The soldier had not given up. Unable to turn in air because of his disabled guidance system, Crombie oriented himself on land, got up speed, and took off across the lake again.
“Don’t touch me—I’m steeped in poison!” Grundy cried. “I’ll spot the eye for you, Bink. You concentrate on—“
Glad for the little ally despite his doubts, Bink did. As the griffin sailed at him, Bink leaped up, making a two-handed strike directly overhead with his sword. Crombie, unable to swerve, took the slash on his good wing. The blade cut through the feathers and muscle and .tendon and bone, half-severing the wing.
Crombie fell to the ground—but he was not defeated. He squawked and bounced to his feet, whirling and leaping at Bink, front claw extended. Surprised at the soldier’s sheer tenacity, Bink fell away, tripped over an irregularity in the rock, and landed on his back. As the griffin landed on him, beak plunging for his face, Bink shoved his sword violently upward.
This time it was no wing he scored on, but the neck. Blood spurted out, soaking him, burning hot. This had to be a mortal wound—yet still the griffin fought, slashing with three feet, going for Bink’s gut.
Bink rolled from under, dragging his sword with him. But it snagged on a bone and was wrenched out of his hand. Instead he threw himself on Crombie’s neck from behind, wrapping both arms about the spilling neck, choking it, trying to break it. Until this moment Bink could not have imagined himself killing his friend—but the vision of Chester’s demise was burning in his mind, and he had become an almost mindless killer.
Crombie gave a tremendous heave and threw him off. Bink dived in again, grabbing for the legs as Chester had, catching a hind one. Such a tactic could never have worked on the soldier in his human form, for Crombie was an expert hand-to-hand fighter; but he was in animal form, unable to use much of his highly specialized human expertise. To prevent the griffin from reorienting, Bink hauled hard on that leg, putting his head down and dragging the form across the rock.
“Don’t look!” Grundy cried. “The eye is ahead of you!”
Could he trust the golem? Surely not—yet it would be foolish to risk looking where the eye might be. Bink closed his eyes, took a new grasp, and with his greatest exertion yet, heaved the griffin over his head and forward. Crombie flew through the air—and didn’t land. He was flying again, or trying to! Bink had only helped launch him; no wonder the griffin had not resisted that effort!
“The eye is circling, coming in toward your face!” Grundy cried.
To believe, or not to believe? The first demonstrably false statement the golem made would betray his affiliation. So probably Grundy would stick to the truth as long as he could. Bink could trust him because he was an enemy agent, ironic as that seemed. He kept his eyes closed and shook out his robe. “Where?”
“Arm’s length in front of you!” Bink spread the gown, held it in both hands, and leaped. He carried the material across and down. “You got it!” the golem cried. “Wrap it up, throw it in the lake!” And Bink did. He felt the tugging within the gown, and felt the slight mass of the captive eye; the golem had spoken truly. He heard the splash, and cautiously opened one eye. The gown was floating, but it was soaked through; anything caught in it would be finished.
Now he could look about. Crombie had flown only a short distance, and had fallen into a small crevasse; he was now wedged in its base, prevented by his wounds and weakness from rising. But the Magician had remained active. “One step, and I loose the sleeping potion!” he cried.
Bink had had enough. “If you loose it, you will be the first affected!” he said, striding toward Humfrey. “I can hold my breath as long as you can!” His sword was on the floor, where it had dropped from the griffin’s wounds. Bink paused to pick it up, wiping some of the blood off against his own clothing, and held it ready. “In any event I doubt it takes effect before I reach you. And if it does, the golem will not be affected. What side will he be on then? He’s part real, yon know; the coral can never be certain of its control.”
The Magician jerked the cork out, refusing to be bluffed. The vapor issued. Bink leaped forward, swinging his sword as the substance coalesced—and struck a small bottle.
A bottle materializing from a bottle? “Oh, no!” Humfrey cried. “That was my supply of smart-pills, lost for this past decade!”
What irony! The Magician had absentmindedly filed his smart-pills inside another bottle, and without them had been unable to figure out where he had put them. Now, by a permutation of the war of talents, they had shown up—at the wrong time.
Bink touched the Magician’s chest with the point of his sword. “You don’t need any smart-pill to know what will happen if you do not yield to me now.”
Humfrey sighed. “It seems I underestimated you, Bink. I never supposed you could beat the griffin.”
Bink hoped never to have to try it again! If Crombie hadn’t already been tired and wounded—but no sense worrying about what might have been. “You serve an enemy master. I cannot trust you. Yield, and I will require one service of you, then force you back into the bottle until my quest is complete. Otherwise I must slay you, so as to render your brain coral helpless.” Was this a bluff? He did not want to kill the Magician, but if the battle renewed...“Choose!”
Humfrey paused, evidently in communion with some other mind. “Goblins can’t come; too bright, and besides, they hate the coral. No other resources in range. Can’t counter your check.” He paused again. Bink realized the term “check” related to the Mundane game King Trent sometimes played, called chess; a check was a direct personal threat. An apt term.
“The coral is without honor,” Humfrey continued. “But I am not. I thought my prior offer to you was valid; I did not know the griffin would attack you then.”
“I would like to believe you,” Bink said, his anger abating but not his caution. “I dare not. I can only give you my word about my intent.”
“Your word is better than mine, in this circumstance. I accept your terms.”
Bink lowered the sword, but did not put it away. “And what of the golem?” he demanded. “Whose side is he on?”
“He—is one of us, as you surmised. You tricked me into acknowledging that by my reaction a moment ago. You are very clever in the clutch, Bink.”
“Forget the flattery! Why was Grundy helping me?”
“The coral told me to,” the golem answered.
“It doesn’t make sense for the coral to fight itself! If you’d fought on Crombie’s side, he might have beaten me!”
“And he might still have lost,” Humfrey said. “The coral, too, had seriously underestimated you, Bink. It thought that once it canceled out your talent—which remains horribly strong and devious, forcing constant attention—you could readily be overcome by physical means. Instead you fought with increasing savagery and skill as the pressure mounted. What had seemed a near-certainty became dubious. Thus the chance of the coral prevailing by force diminished, while the chance of prevailing by reason increased.”
“Reason!” Bink exclaimed incredulously.
“Accordingly, the coral delegated the golem to be your friend—the coral’s agent in your camp. Then if you won the physical battle, and I were dead, you would be prepared to listen to this friend.”
“Well, I’m not prepared,” Bink said. “I never trusted Grundy’s change of sides, and would have thrown him back into the lake the moment he betrayed me. At the moment I have more important business. Find the vial containing the healing elixir. I know that has not yet been opened.”
The Magician squatted, picking through the remaining vials. “This one.”
“Jewel!” Bink snapped.
Timidly the nymph stepped toward him. “I’m afraid of you when you’re like this, Bink.”
And she had been afraid during the battle. He could have used her help when the evil eye was stalking him, instead of having to rely on the extremely questionable aid of the golem. She was an all-too-typical nymph in this respect, incapable of decisive action in a crisis. Chameleon had been otherwise, even in her stupidest phase; she had acted to save him from harm, even sacrificing herself. He loved them both—but he would stay with Chameleon.
“Take this vial and sprinkle a drop on the griffin,” he directed her.
She was startled. “But—“
“Crombie may be controlled by the enemy, and because of that he did a horrible thing, but he is my friend. I’m going to cure him, and have the Magician put him back in the bottle, along with himself, until this is over.”
“Oh.” She took the vial and headed for the broken griffin. Bink nudged the Magician forward with the point of his sword, and they followed Jewel more slowly. Humphrey had told Bink he had won, but Bink knew it was not over yet. Not until the Magician and griffin and golem were back in the bottle, and Bink had control of that bottle. And the coral would do its best to keep them out of that bottle.
Jewel paused at the brink of the crevice, looking down. Her free hand went to her mouth in a very feminine gesture that Bink found oddly touching. No, not oddly; he loved her, therefore he reacted in a special manner even to her minor mannerisms. But intellectually he knew better. “He’s all blood!” she protested.
“I can’t take my attention from the Magician,” Bink said, and added mentally: or the golem. “If that vial does not contain the healing elixir, I shall slay him instantly.” Bold words, bolstering his waning drive. “You have to apply it. We need that griffin to point out the location of the antidote to the love potion.”
“I—yes, of course,” she said faintly. She fumbled at the cork. “He’s—there’s so much gore—where do I—?”
Crombie roused himself partially. His eagle head rotated weakly on the slashed neck, causing another gout of blood to escape. “Squawk!”
“He says don’t do it,” Grundy translated. “He’ll only have to kill you.”
Bink angled his sword so that the blade reflected a glint of nova-starlight into the griffin’s glazing eyes. The sunflower had been brighter, but now was fading; its harvest time was approaching. “I don’t expect honor in a creature of the enemy, or gratitude for a favor rendered,” he said grimly. “I have made a truce of sorts with the brain coral, and I enforce it with this sword. Crombie will obey me implicitly—or the Magician dies. Doubt me if you will.”
How could they fail to doubt him, when he doubted himself? Yet if violence broke out again, he would not simply let the coral take over.
Crombie turned his tortured gaze on Humfrey. “What Bink says is true,” the Magician said. “He has defeated us, and now requires service in exchange for our lives. The coral accedes. Perform his service, and suffer confinement in the bottle—or I will die and you will have to fight him again.”
The griffin squawked once more, weakly. “What is the service?” Grundy translated.
“You know what it is!” Bink said. “To point out the nearest, safest love-reversal magic.” Were they stalling, waiting for the sunflower to fade all the way so the goblins could come?
Another squawk. Then the noble head fell to the floor. “He agrees, but he’s too weak to point,” Grundy said.
“We don’t really need the antidote....” Jewel said.
“Get on with it,” Bink grated. He had deep cuts where the griffin’s claws had raked his body, and he was desperately tired, now that the violent part of the action had abated. He had to wrap this up before he collapsed. “Sprinkle him!”
Jewel finally got the bottle open. Precious fluid sprayed out, splattering her, the rocks, and the griffin. One drop struck the golem, who was suddenly cured of his partially dissolved state. But none of it landed on Bink, with what irony only the coral knew for sure.
Crombie lifted his body free of the crevice. Bright and beautiful again, he spread his wings, turning to orient on Bink. Bink’s muscles tensed painfully; he held the Magician hostage, but if the griffin attacked now—
Jewel jumped between Bink and Crombie. “Don’t you dare!” she cried at the griffin. There was the odor of burning paper.
For a long moment Crombie looked at her, his colorful wings partially extended, beating slowly back and forth. She was such a slip of a girl, armed only with the bottle of elixir; there was no way she could balk the magnificent animal. Indeed, her body trembled with her nervousness; one squawk and she would collapse in tears.
Yet she had made the gesture, Bink realized. This was an extraordinary act for a true nymph. She had tried to stand up for what she believed in. Could he condemn her because her courage was no greater than her strength?
Then Crombie rotated, extended one wing fully, and pointed. Toward the lake.
Bink sighed. “Conjure him into the bottle,” he told the Magician. “Do it right the first time. If you try to conjure me, you’re dead.”
There was a delay while Jewel fetched the bottle from the edge of the lake, where it still floated. She had to scoop it up carefully, not letting the moisture touch her skin, then dry it off and set it within range of the Magician.
Humfrey performed his incantation. The griffin dissolved into vapor and siphoned into the bottle. Belatedly it occurred to Bink that Humfrey could have done the same to Bink, anytime during their battle— had he thought of it. The loss of those smart-pills must really have hurt! Yet it was hard to think of the obvious, when being stalked by a sword. And—the best bottle, the demon’s residential one, had not been available, then.
“Now your turn,” Bink told the Magician, “Into the same bottle—you and the golem.”
“The coral is reconsidering,” Humfrey said. “It believes that if you knew the full story, you would agree with the coral’s viewpoint. Will you listen?”
“More likely the coral is stalling until more of its minions can arrive,” Bink said, thinking again of the goblins. They might not get along well with the brain coral, but if some kind of deal were made...
“But it knows the location and nature of the source of magic!” Humfrey said. “Listen, and it will guide you there.”
“Guide me there first, then I will listen!”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed?”
“We trust you, Bink.”
“I don’t trust you. But all right—I’ll make the deal. I hope I’m not making a fatal mistake. Show me the source of magic—and not with any one-word riddle I can’t understand—then tell me why the brain coral has tried so hard to stop me from getting there.”
“First, I suggest you imbibe a drop of the healing elixir yourself,” the Magician said.
Startled, Jewel turned. “Oh, Bink—you should have been the first to have it!”
“No,” Bink said. “It might have been the sleeping potion.”
Humfrey nodded. “Had I attempted to betray you, it would have shown when the griffin was treated,” he said. “You maneuvered to guard against betrayal most efficiently. I must say, even with your talent canceled out, you have managed very well. You are far removed from the stripling you once were.”
“Aren’t we all,” Bink growled, hand still on sword.
Jewel sprinkled a drop of elixir on him. Instantly his wounds healed, and he was strong again. But his suspicion of the Good Magician did not ease.