you try any magic, we'll knock you out and carry you.'
Magic? They didn't know that Bink had none he could use-or that if he had, it would be no good out here beyond the Shield. But he nodded, showing he understood. Maybe they would treat him better if they thought he could somehow strike back.
They marched him down the other side of the pass and to a military camp on the mainland beyond the isthmus.
What was an army doing here? If it were an invasion of Xanth, it could not succeed; the Shield would kill a thousand men as readily as one.
They brought him to the main tent. Here, in a screened enclosure, sat a handsome man in his forties, wearing some sort of green Mundane uniform, a sword, a neat mustache, and an emblem of command. 'Here is the spy, General,' the sergeant said respectfully.
The General glanced at Bink, appraising him. There was dismaying intelligence in that cool study. This was no bandit thug. 'Release him,' he said quietly. 'He is obviously harmless.'
'Yes, sir,' the sergeant said respectfully. He untied Bink and removed his gag.
'Dismissed,' the General murmured, and without a word the soldiers were gone. They were certainly disciplined.
Bink chafed at his wrists, trying to rub the pain out, amazed at the General's confidence. The man was well formed, but not large; Bink was younger and taller and surely stronger. If he acted quickly, he might escape.
Bink crouched, ready to jump at the man and knock him down. Suddenly the General's sword was in his hand, pointing at Bink. The man's draw had been a blur; the weapon had jumped to his hand as if by magic, but that obviously could not be the case here. 'I would not advise it, young man,' the General said, as if warning him not to step on a thorn.
Bink staggered, trying to brake without falling on the point of the sword. He did not succeed. But as his chest bore on that blade, the sword retreated, returning to its scabbard. The General, now on his feet, caught Bink by his elbows and stood him back upright. There was such precision and power in the action that Bink knew he had grossly underestimated this man; he had no chance to overcome him; with or without the sword.
'Be seated,' the General said mildly.
Cowed, Bink moved awkwardly to the wooden chair and sat on it. Now he was conscious of his own dirty face and hands, the disorganization of his apparel, in contrast to the impeccable nearness of the General. 'Your name?'
'Bink.' He did not give his village, since he was no longer affiliated with it. What was the purpose of this question, anyway? He was a nonentity regardless of his name.
'I am the Magician Trent. Perhaps you know of me.'
It took a moment for the import to register. Then Bink didn't believe it. 'Trent? He's gone. He was-'
'Exiled. Twenty years ago. Precisely.'
'But Trent was-'
'Ugly? A monster? Crazy?' The Magician smiled, showing none of these traits. 'What stories do they tell of me today in Xanth?'
Bink thought of Justin Tree. The fish of the stream, turned to lightning bugs to harass the centaurs. The opponents who had been transformed to water forms and left to die on land. 'You-he was a power-hungry spell-caster who tried to usurp the throne of Xanth when I was but a child. An evil man whose evil still lives after him.'
Trent nodded. 'This is a kinder repute than is normally accorded the loser in a political contest. I was about your present age when I was banished. Perhaps our cases are similar.'
'No. I never killed anyone.'
'They accuse me of that too? I transformed many, but I did that instead of killing. I have no need to kill, since I can render an enemy harmless by other means.'
'A fish on land still dies!'
'Oh, so that is how they put it. That would indeed be murder. I did transform enemies to fish-but always in water. On land I utilized only land forms. Possibly some subsequently died, but that was the doing of predators in the normal course of nature. I never-'
'I don't care. You abused your magic. I am not at all like you. I-had no magic.'
The fair eyebrow lifted expressively. 'No magic? Everybody in Xanth has magic.'
'Because they exile those who don't have it,' Bink said, with a flash of bitterness.
Trent smiled, and it was a surprisingly winning expression. 'Nevertheless, our interests may be parallel, Bink. How would you like to return with me to Xanth?'
For an instant wild hope flared in his breast. Return! But immediately he quashed it. 'There is no return.'
'Oh, I wouldn't say that. To every act of magic there is a countermagic. It is merely a matter of invoking it. You see, I have developed a counter to the Shield.'
Again Bink had to take stock of his reactions. 'If you had that, you could have gone into Xanth already.'
'Well, there is a certain small problem of application. You see, what I have is an elixir distilled from a plant that grows on the very fringe of the magical zone. The magic extends somewhat beyond the Shield, you understand-otherwise the Shield itself wouldn't work, for it is magic and cannot operate beyond the magic
