Something like fire lighted the old monarch's ashy eye momentarily. 'This counts for naught,' he mumbled. 'Humfrey is not King; I am!' He let the paper drop to the ground.
'But-' Bink protested.
The master of ceremonies glanced at him warningly, and Bink knew it was hopeless. The King was foolishly jealous of the Magician Humfrey, whose power was still strong, and would not heed the message. But, for whatever reason, the King had spoken. Argument would only complicate things.
Then he had an idea. 'I have brought the King a present,' Bink said. 'Water from a healing Spring.'
Munly's eyes lighted. 'You have magic water?' He was alert to the possibilities of a fully functional King.
'In my canteen,' Bink said. 'I saved it-see, it healed my lost finger.' He held up his left hand. 'It also cured my cold, and I saw it help other people. It heals anything, instantly.' He decided not to mention the attached obligation.
Munly's talent was the conjuration of small objects. 'With your permission-'
'Granted,' Bink said quickly.
The canteen appeared in the man's hand. 'This is it?'
'Yes.' For the first time, Bink had real hope.
Munly approached the King again. 'Bink has brought a gift for Your Majesty,' he announced. 'Magic water.'
The King took the canteen. 'Magic water/' he repeated, hardly seeming to comprehend.
'It heals all ills,' Munly assured him.
The King looked at it. One swallow, and he would be able to read the Magician's message, to brew decent storms again-and to make sensible judgments. This could reverse the course of Bink's demonstration.
''You imply I am sick?' the King demanded. 'I need no healing! I am as fit as I ever was.' And he turned the canteen upside down, letting the precious fluid pour out on the ground.
It was as if Bink's life blood were spilling out, not mere water. He saw his last chance ruined, by the very senility he had thought to alleviate. On top of that, now he had no healing water for his own emergencies; he could not be cured again.
Was this the retribution of the Spring of Life for his defiance of it? To tempt him with incipient victory, then withdraw it at the critical moment? Regardless, he was lost.
Munly knew it too. He stooped to pick up the canteen, and it vanished from his hand, returned to Bink's house. 'I am sorry,' he murmured under his breath. Then, loudly: 'Demonstrate your talent.'
Bink tried. He concentrated, willing his magic, whatever it might be, to break its geis and manifest. Somehow. But nothing happened.
He heard a sob. Sabrina? No, it was his mother, Bianca. Roland sat with stony face, refusing by his code of honor to let personal interest interfere. Sabrina still would not look at him. But there were those who did: Zink, Jama, and Potipher were all smirking. Now they had reason to feel superior; none of them were spell-less wonders.
'I cannot,' Bink whispered. It was over.
Again he hiked. This time he headed westward, toward the isthmus. He carried a new staff and a hatchet and his knife; and his canteen had been refilled with conventional water. Bianca had provided more excellent sandwiches, flavored by her tears. He had nothing from Sabrina; he had not seen her at all since the decision. Xanth law did not permit an exile to take more than he could conveniently carry, and no valuables, for fear of attracting unwanted attention from the Mundanes. Though the Shield protected Xanth, it was impossible to be too safe.
Bink's life was essentially over, for he had been exiled from all that he had known. He was in effect an orphan. Never again would he experience the marvels of magic. He would be forever bound, as it were, to the ground, the colorless society of Mundania.
Should he have accepted the offer of the Sorceress Iris? At least he could have remained in Xanth. Had he but known?He would not have changed his mind. What was right was right, and wrong was wrong.
The strangest thing was that he did not feel entirely despondent. He had lost citizenship, family, and fiance, and faced the great unknown of the Outside-yet there was a certain quixotic spring to his step. Was it a counter reaction buoying his spirit so that he would not suicide-or was he in fact relieved that the decision had at last been made? He had been a freak among the magic people; now he would be among his own kind.
No-that wasn't it. He had magic. He was no freak. Strong magic, Magician-caliber. Humfrey had told him so, and he believed it. He merely was unable to utilize it. Like a man who could make a colored spot on the wall-when there was no wall handy. Why he should be magically mute he did not know-but it meant that he was right, the decision of the King wrong. Those who had not stood by him were better off apart from him.
No-not that either. His parents had refused to compromise the law of Xanth. They were good, honest people, and Bink shared their values. He had refused a similar compromise when tempted by the Sorceress. Roland and Bianca could not help him by accompanying him into an exile they did not deserve-or by trying to help him stay by cheating the system. They had done what they felt was right, at great personal sacrifice, and he was proud of them. He knew they loved him, but had let him go his own way without interference. That was part of his buried joy.
And Sabrina-what then of her? She too had refused to cheat. Yet he felt she lacked the commitment of his parents to principle. She would have cheated, had she had sufficient reason. Her surface integrity was because she had not been moved strongly by Bink's misfortune. Her love had not been deep enough. She had loved him for the magic talent she had been convinced he had, as the son of strongly talented parents. The loss of that potential talent had undercut that love. She had not really wanted him as a person.
And his love for her was now revealed as similarly shallow. Sure, she was beautiful-but she had
