The Source of Magic (38 page)

He put the cloth in his pocket along with the bottle. Evidently the golem’s last act had been to grab the bottle, protecting it with his body. That had been effective, and so Grundy had given up his life for that of the griffin he served. He had cared, and therefore achieved his reality—just in time to have it dashed by circumstance. Where was the morality in that?

Startled by another thought, Bink drew out the bottle again. Was Crombie still in there? In what form? With magic gone, he could be dead—unless some magic remained corked in the bottle—

Better not open it! Whatever lingering chance Crombie had, resided in that bottle. If he were loosed and the magic dissipated into the air—would Crombie emerge as a man again, or a griffin, or a bottle-sized compressed mass? Bink had just gambled enormously, freeing the Demon; he was not about to gamble similarly with the life of his friend. He repocketed the bottle.

How drear it was, this depth of the hole. Alone with a bottle, and a defunct golem and his own mortification. The ethical principle on which he had based his decision was opaque to him now. The Demon Xanth had lain prisoner for over a thousand years. He could have lain for another century or so without harm, couldn’t he?

Bink discovered he was not at the bottom of the hole, after all. The rubble opened into a deeper hole, and at the bottom was dark water. The lake! But the level had lowered drastically; now the dank gray convolutions of a formerly submerged structure lay dimly revealed. The brain coral! It, too, was dead; it could not exist without the potent magic of the Demon.

“I fear you were right, Coral,” Bink said sadly. “You let me through, and I destroyed you. You and our world.”

He smelled smoke—not the clean fresh odor of a healthy
blaze, but the smoldering foulness of incompletely burning vegetation. Evidently the Demon’s departure had ignited some brush, assuming there was brush down here underground. The intense magic must have done it, leaving behind a real fire. It probably would not burn far, here deep in the ground, but it certainly was stinking up the place.

Then he heard a delicate groan. Surely not the coral! He scrambled toward the sound—and found Jewel wedged in a vertical crevice, bleeding from a gash on the head, but definitely alive. Hastily he drew her out, half-carrying her to a brighter place. He propped her up against a rock and patted her face with his fingertips, trying to bring her to consciousness.

She stirred. “Don’t wake me, Bink. Let me die in peace.”

“I’ve killed everyone else,” he said sullenly. “At least you will be able to—”

“To return to my job? I can’t do it without magic.”

There was something strange about her. Bink concentrated and it came: “You don’t smell!”

“It was magic,” she said. She sighed. “If I’m alive, I’m alive, I suppose. But I really do wish you’d let me die.”

“Let you die! I wouldn’t do that! I—”

She glanced up at him cannily. Even through the blood-caked dust on her face, she was lovely. “The magic is gone. You don’t love me any more.”

“Still, I owe it to you to get you home,” Bink said. He looked up, trying to decide on the most feasible route, and did not see her enigmatic reaction.

They checked through the rubble a little longer, but could not find the Magician. Bink was relieved, in a fashion; now he could hope that Humfrey had survived, and had departed before him.

Bink peered up at the Demon’s exit. “We’ll never make it up there,” he said glumly. “Too much of it is sheer cliff.”

“I know a way,” Jewel said. “It will be difficult, without the diggle, but there are natural passages—oh!” She broke off suddenly.

There was a monster barring the way. It resembled a dragon,
but lacked wings and fire. It was more like a very large serpent with legs.

“That’s a tunnel dragon—I think,” Jewel said. “But something’s missing.”

“The magic,” Bink said. “It’s changing into a mundane creature—and it doesn’t understand.”

“You mean I’ll change into a mundane woman?” she inquired, not entirely displeased.

“I believe so. There really is not much difference between a nymph and a—”

“They usually don’t bother people,” she continued uneasily. Before Bink could react, she added: “They’re very shy dragons.”

Oh. A nymphly nonsequitur. Bink kept his hand near his sword. “This is an unusual occasion.”

Sure enough, the legged serpent charged, jaws gaping wide. Though it was small for a land dragon, since it was adapted to squeeze through narrow passages, it was still a formidable creature. Its head was larger than Bink’s, and its body sinuously powerful. In the conditions of this cavern, Bink could not swing his sword freely, so he held it out ahead of him.

The serpent snapped at the blade—a foolish thing to do, since the charmed blade would likely cut its jaw in two. The teeth closed on it—and the blade was yanked out of Bink’s hand.

Then he remembered: without magic, the sword’s charm was gone. He had to make it work by himself—completely.

The serpent flung the sword aside and opened its jaws again. There was blood on its lower lip; the blade had done some minor damage. But now Bink faced the monster barehanded.

The head struck forward. Bink danced backward. But as the strike missed, and the head dropped low, Bink struck the serpent on the top of the head with his fist. The thing hissed in furious amazement as its chinless chin bashed into the floor. But Bink’s foot was already on its neck, crushing it down. The serpent’s legs scraped across the stone as it tried to free itself. But Bink had it pinned.

“My sword!” he cried. Jewel hastily picked it up and
extended it point-first toward him. Bink was already grabbing for it before he noticed, and then almost lost his balance and his captive as he aborted his grab. “Other way!” he snapped.

“Oh.” It had not occurred to her that he would need to take hold of the handle. She was a complete innocent about weapons. She took it gingerly by the blade and poked the hilt in his direction.

But as he took it, the serpent wrenched free. Bink jumped back, his sword ready.

The thing had had enough. It backed away—an awkward maneuver when slithering—then dived into a side-hole. “You’re so brave!” Jewel said.

“I was stupid to let it disarm me,” he said gruffly. He was not at all proud of the encounter; it had been fraught with clumsiness, not at all elegant. Just a stupid, indecisive brawl. “Let’s get on before I make a worse mistake. I brought you out of your home, and I’ll get you back there safely before I leave you. It’s only right.”

“Only right,” she repeated faintly.

“Something wrong?”

“What am I going to do without magic?” she flared. “Nothing will work!”

Bink considered. “You’re right. I have wrecked your livelihood. I’d better take you to the surface with me.”

She brightened, then dulled. “No, that wouldn’t work.”

“It’s all right. I told you the potion has no effect now. I don’t love you; I won’t be bothering you. You can settle in one of the villages, or maybe work in the King’s palace. It won’t be much without magic, but it has to be better than this.” He made a gesture, indicating the dismal caverns.

“I wonder,” she murmured.

They continued. Jewel did know the labyrinth of the caverns fairly well, once they were out of the Demon’s depths, and brought them steadily if circuitously upward. Beyond the immediate region of the Demon’s vacancy there had not been much damage. But everywhere the magic was gone, and the creatures were crazed. Rats tried to zap him with their rodent magic, and failed, and resorted to teem. They were no more
used to naked teeth as weapons than Bink was to using an uncharmed sword, so the sides were fair. He drove them back with slashing sweeps of his sword. There might be no magic in the blade, but the edge remained sharp and it could hurt and kill.

Still, it took a lot of energy to swing that sword, and his arm grew tired. There had been another charm to make the sword lighter and more responsive to direction, without making it self-willed like the one that had attacked Bink in the gardens of Castle Roogna. The rats crowded closer, staying just out of range and coming in to nip at his heels when he climbed. Jewel was no better off; she lacked even a knife of her own, and had to borrow Bink’s knife to defend herself. A monster could be killed but these smaller creatures seemed inexhaustible. They weren’t nickelpedes, fortunately, but they were reminiscent of them.

“The way—it will be dark in places,” Jewel said. “I hadn’t thought—without magic there’s no glow, no magic light. I’m afraid of the dark.”

There had been some residual glow, but it was fading. Bink looked at the rats, so close. “With reason,” he said. “We have to see what we’re fighting.” He felt naked without his talent, though it only protected him against magic—a protection that was irrelevant now. For practical purposes his situation was unchanged, since no magic threatened him. Not now or ever again. “Fire—we need fire for light. Torches—if we can make torches—”

“I know where some fire stones are!” Jewel said. But she reconsidered immediately. “Only I don’t think they are working, without magic.”

“Do you know where there’s dry grass—I mean straw—something we could twist up tight and burn? And—but I don’t know how the Mundanes make fire, so—”

“I know where there’s magic fire—” She broke off. “Oh, this is awful! No magic—” She looked as if about to cry. As Bink knew, real sternness of character was not to be found in nymphs. They seemed to have been fashioned by magic to accommodate man’s casual dreams, not his serious ones.

Yet he had cried, too, when he first grasped the immensity of what he had done. How much of his perception of the nature of nymphs was human-chauvinistic?

“I know,” Bink cried, surprising himself. “There was something burning—I smelled it before. If we went there—picked up some of whatever’s burning—”

“Great!” she agreed, with a flash of nymph-enthusiasm. Or female enthusiasm, he corrected his impression mentally.

They soon found it by following their noses: the remains of a magic garden the goblins must have tended, now sere and brown. The dead foliage was smoldering, and the smoke formed layers in the upper reaches of the garden cave. The goblins, of course, were far removed from this region; they had been so afraid of the fire that they had not even tried to put it out.

Bink and Jewel gathered what seemed like the best material, forming it into an irregular rope, and lit the end. The thing guttered and flared and went out in a cloud of awful-smelling smoke. But after several tries they got it working better; it was enough to have it smolder until they needed an open flame, which they could blow up anytime. Jewel carried it; it gave her a feeling of security she sorely needed, and Bink had to have his hands free for fighting.

Now the worst of the enemies were the goblins, who evidently resented the intrusion into their garden. There had been no direct evidence of them before—but of course they had been on the diggle, with protective magic and much light. In the absence of light the goblins grew bolder. They seemed to have been bred from men and rats. Now that the magic was gone, the man-aspect was diminishing and the rat-aspect was becoming more pronounced. Bink realized that this was evident mostly in their habits; physically they still resembled brutish little men, with big soft feet and small hard heads.

The difficulty with the goblins was that they had the intelligence of men and the scruples of rodents. They slunk just out of sight, but they were not cowards. It was simply that no one, three, or six of them could stand up to Bulk’s sword, and there
was not room for a greater number of them to approach him at one time. So they stayed clear—without giving up.

“I think they know I freed the Demon,” Bink muttered. “They’re out for revenge. I don’t blame them.”

“You did what you believed was right!” Jewel flared.

He put his arm about her slender waist. “And you are doing what you believe is right, helping me reach the surface—even though we both know I was wrong. I have destroyed the magic of Xanth.”

“No, you weren’t wrong,” she said. “You had empathy for the Demon, and—”

He squeezed her. “Thank you for saying that. Do you mind if I—” He stopped. “I forgot! I’m not in love with you any more!”

“I don’t mind anyway,” she said. But he let her go, embarrassed. There was an evil cackle of laughter from a goblin. Bink stooped to pick up a stone to hurl at the creature, but of course it missed.

Bink armed himself with a number of rocks, and hurled one every time he saw a goblin. Soon he got remarkably accurate, and the goblins gave him a wider berth. Stones had a special magic that had nothing to do with real magic; they were hard and sharp and plentiful, and Bink had a much better arm than any goblin possessed. Still, they did not give up. Beauregard’s warning had been accurate: Bink had not encountered goblins as brave and tenacious as these before.

Bink wanted to rest, for he was tired, but dared not. If he rested, he might sleep, and that could be disaster. Of course he could have Jewel watch while he slept—but she was after all only a nymph—rather, a young woman, and he was afraid the goblins would overwhelm her in such a situation. Her fate in goblin hands would probably be worse than his.

He glanced at her covertly. This rough trek was taking its toll. Her hair had lost its original sparkle and hung in lusterless straggles. She reminded him somewhat of Chameleon—but not in her beauty phase.

They dragged on, and made progress. Near the surface the ascent became more difficult. “There’s not much
communication with the topworld,” Jewel gasped. “This is the best route—but how you climb it without wings or a rope I don’t know.”

Bink didn’t know either. If this had been a convenient route, Crombie’s talent would have pointed it out on the way in. The day sky was visible through a crack in the ground above—but the walls sloped in from the broader cavern-space below, and they were slick with moisture. Impossible to climb, without magic.

“We can’t stay here long,” Jewel said worriedly. “There’s a tangle tree near the exit, and its roots can get ornery.” She stopped short, startled. “I’m still doing it! Without magic—”