know there is something strange.'
'Maybe you just don't want to kill me,' Bink said.
'I was not trying to kill you-only to transform you into something harmless, so that never again could you oppose me. I never kill without reason.' The Magician pondered. 'Something very strange here. I don't believe my talent is misfiring; something is opposing it. There has to be some counterspell operating. You have led a rather charmed life, you know; I had thought it was mere coincidence, but now-'
Trent considered, then snapped his fingers ringingly. 'Your talent! Your magic talent. That's it. You cannot be harmed by magic!'
'But I've been hurt many times,' Bink protested.
'Not by magic, I'll warrent. Your talent repels all magical threats.'
'But many spells have affected me. You transformed me-.'
'Only to help you-or to warn you. You may not have trusted my motives, but your magic knew the truth. I never intended to harm you before, and so my spells were permitted. Now that we are dueling and I am trying to change your status for the worse, my spells bounce. In this respect your magic is more powerful than mine-as certain prior signals have indicated indirectly.''
Bink was amazed. 'Then-then I have won. You cannot hurt me.'
'Not necessarily so, Bink. My magic has brought yours to bay, and forced its unveiling, and thereby rendered it vulnerable.' The Evil Magician drew his gleaming sword. 'I have other talents than magic. Defend yourself-physically!'
Bink brought up his staff as Trent lunged. He barely parried the blade in time.
He was vulnerable-physically. Suddenly past confusions unraveled. He had never directly been harmed by magic. Embarrassed, humiliated, yes, especially in childhood. But it was evidently physical harm he was protected against. When he had ran a race with another boy, and the boy had charged through trees and barriers to win, Bink had not suffered any physical damage, merely chagrin. And when he had chopped off his own finger, nonmagically, nothing had aided him there. Magic had healed that, but magic could not have made the injury. Similarly, he had been threatened by magic many times, and been terrified-but somehow had never had those threats materialize. Even when he had taken a lungful of Potipher's poison gas, he had been saved just in time. He had indeed led a charmed life-literally.
'Fascinating aspects to your magic,' Trent said conversationally as he maneuvered for another opening. 'Obviously it would be scant protection if its nature were widely known. So it arranges to conceal itself from discovery, by acting in subtle ways. Your escapes so often seemed fortuitous or coincidental.' Yes, as when he escaped the Gap dragon. He had also been benefited by countermagic, coincidentally-as when he had been taken over by Donald the shade, enabling him to fly up out of the Gap safely.
'Your pride was never salvaged, merely your body,' Trent continued, obviously taking his time about the fight while he worked out all the details, just in case. He was a meticulous man. 'Maybe you suffered some discomfort, as in our entry into Xanth, whose purpose was to conceal the fact that nothing serious had happened to you. Rather than reveal itself, your talent allowed you to be exiled-because that was a legal or social matter, not really magical. Yet you were not hurt by the Shield-'
He had felt the tingle of the Shield as he dived through on his way out, and thought he had gotten safely through the opening. Now he knew he had taken the full force of the Shield-and survived. He could have walked through it at any time. But, had he known that, he might have done it-and given away his talent. So it had been concealed-from himself.
Yet now it had been revealed. And there was a flaw. 'You were not hurt by the Shield either,' Bink cried, striking hard with his staff.
'I was in direct contact with you when we entered,' Trent said. 'So was Chameleon. You were unconscious, but your talent still operated. To allow the two of us to die while you survived unscathed-that would have given it away. Or possibly a small field surrounds you, enabling you to protect those you touch. Or your talent looked ahead, and knew that if the magic of the Shield eliminated us at that time, you would be cast into the den of the kraken weed alone, and be unable to escape, and die there. You needed me and my power of transformation to survive the magical threats-so I was spared. And Chameleon, because you would not have worked with me if she had not done so. So we all survived, in order to promote your survival, and we never suspected the true cause. Similarly, your magic protected us all during our trek through the wilderness. I thought I needed you to protect me, but it was the other way around. My talent became a mere aspect of yours. When you were threatened by the wiggles and the invisible giant, you drew on my transformation of you to abate that threat, still without revealing?'
Trent shook his head, still parrying Bink's clumsy attacks easily. 'Suddenly it becomes less amazing-and your talent more impressive. You are a Magician, with not merely the overt complex of talents but the ramifying aspects too. Magicians are not merely more powerfully talented people; our enchantments differ in quality as well as quantity, in ways seldom appreciated by normal citizens. You are on a par with Humfrey and Iris and myself. I'd really like to know your power's full nature and extent.'
'So would I,' Bink gasped. His efforts were winding him, without effect on the Magician. This was true frustration.
'But alas, it seems I cannot become King while a talent like that opposes me. I sincerely regret the necessity of sacrificing your life, and want you to know this was not my intent at the outset of this encounter. I would have much preferred to transform you harmlessly. But the sword is less versatile than magic; it can only injure or kill.'
Bink remembered Herman the centaur, his head flying from his body. When Trent decided that killing was necessary-
Trent made a deft maneuver. Bink flung himself aside. The point of the sword touched his hand. Blood flowed; with a cry of pain, Bink dropped his staff. He could be hurt by Mundane means, obviously. Trent had aimed for that hand, testing, making absolutely sure.
This realization broke the partial paralysis that had limited the imagination of his defense. He was vulnerable-but on a straight man-to-man basis, he did have a chance. The awesome power of the Evil Magician had daunted him, but now, in effect, Trent was merely a man. He could be surprised.
As Trent set up for the finishing thrust, Bink moved with inspired competency. He ducked under the man's arm, caught it with his bloody hand, turned, bent his knees, and heaved. It was the throw that the soldier
