The Source of Magic Read Free

King, however; King Trent never played practical jokes, and permitted no tampering with his weapons. Someone had activated this sword and sent it out to do mischief,and that person would shortly face the formidable wrath of the King.
    That was little comfort to Bink at the moment, though. He didn’t want to seem to hide behind the protection of the King. He wanted to fight his own battle and win. Except that he would have some problem getting at a person who wasn’t there.
    As he considered, Bink rejected the notion that a distant person could be wielding this weapon. It was magically possible, but as far as he knew he had no enemies; no one would want to attack him, by magical or natural means, and no one would dare do it with one of the King’s own swords, in the garden of Castle Roogna.
    Bink fenced with the enemy sword again, maneuvered it into a vulnerable position, and sliced through the invisible arm. No arm was there, of course. No doubt about it: the sword was wielding itself. He had never actually fought one of these before, because the King didn’t trust the judgment of mindless weapons, so the experience was a novel one. But of course there was nothing inherently odd about it; why
not
do battle with a charmed sword?
    Yet why should such a sword seek his life, assuming it was acting on its own? Bink had nothing but respect for bladed weapons. He took good care of his own sword, making sure the sharpness charm was in good order and never abusing the instrument. Swords of any type or creed should have no quarrel with him.
    Perhaps he had inadvertently affronted this particular sword. “Sword, if I have caused you distress or wronged you, I apologize and proffer amends,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you without reason.”
    The sword cut ferociously at his legs. No quarter there!
    “At least tell me what your grievance is!” Bink exclaimed, dancing away just in time.
    The sword continued its attack relentlessly.
    “Then I must put you out of commission,” Bink said, with mixed regret, ire, and anticipation. Here was a real challenge!For the first time he took a full offensive posture, fencing the sword with skill. He knew he was a better man than it.
    But he could not strike down the wielder of that weapon, because there was none. Nobody to pierce, no hand to slice. The sword showed no sign of tiring; magic powered it. How, then, could he overcome it?
    This was more of a challenge than he had supposed! Bink was not worried, because he found it hard to worry about a skill less than his own. Yet if the opposition were invulnerable—
    Still, his talent would not allow the sword to hurt him. A sword wielded by a man in ordinary fashion could damage him, because that was mundane; but when magic was involved, he was safe. In Xanth, hardly anything was completely unmagical, so he was extremely well protected. The question was, was he going to prevail honestly, by his own skill and courage, or by some fantastic-seeming coincidence? If he didn’t do it the first way, his talent would do it the second way.
    Again he maneuvered the sword into a vulnerable position, then struck it across the flat of the blade, hoping to snap it off short. This did not work; the metal was too strong. He had not really expected such a ploy to be effective; strength was one of the basic charms built into modern swords. Well, what next?
    He heard the clop-clop of someone approaching. He had to wrap this up quickly, or suffer the embarrassment of being rescued. His talent didn’t care about his pride, just his body.
    Bink found himself backed up against a tree—a real one. The hedge-maze had been superimposed on existing vegetation, so that everything became part of that puzzle. This was a gluebark tree: anything that penetrated the bark was magically stuck to it. Then the tree slowly grew around the object, absorbing it. Harmless, so long as the bark was intact; children could safely climb the trunk and play in its branches, as