'Well nothing!' Bink cried, conscious that his prior decision to stay clear of this matter was being abrogated. 'You're both traitors to Xanth. I won't permit it.'
'You won't permit it!' Iris laughed indelicately. 'Who the hell do you think you are, you spell-less twerp?'
Obviously, her true attitude toward him had come out now that she had found another avenue for her ambition.
'Do not treat him lightly,' Trent told her. 'Bink is a Magician, in his fashion.'
Bink felt a sudden, well-nigh overwhelming flood of gratitude for this word of support. He fought it off, knowing he could not afford to permit flattery or insult to sway him from what he knew was right. The Evil Magician could spin a web of illusion with mere words that rivaled anything the Sorceress could do with magic. 'I'm no Magician; I'm just loyal to Xanth. To the proper King.'
'To the senile has-been who exiled you?' Iris demanded. 'He can't even raise a dust devil any more. He's sick now; he'll soon be dead anyway. That's why the time to act is now. The throne must go to a Magician.'
'To a good Magician!' Bink retorted. 'Not to an evil transformer, or a power-hungry, sluttish mistress?' He paused, tempted to end it there, but knew that wouldn't be entirely honest. 'Of illusion.'
'You dare address me thus?' Iris screamed, sounding much like a harpy. She was so angry that her image wavered into smoke. 'Trent, change him into a stinkbug and step on him.'
Trent shook his head, suppressing a smile. He obviously had no emotional attachment to the Sorceress, and shared a masculine appreciation for the insulting pause Bink had made. Iris had, just now, shown them all how ready she was to sell her illusion-enhanced body for power. 'We operate under truce.'
'Truce? Nonsense!' Her smoke now became a column of fire, signifying her righteous wrath. 'You don't need him any more. Get rid of him.'
Again, Bink saw how she would have treated him after he had helped her achieve power and she no longer needed him.
Trent was adamant. 'If I were to break my word to him, Iris, how could you trust my word to you?'
That sobered her-and impressed Bink. There was a subtle but highly significant difference between these two magic-workers. Trent was a man, in the finest sense of the word.
Iris was hardly pleased. 'I thought your truce was only until you got out of the wilderness.'
'The wilderness is not defined solely by the jungle,' Trent muttered.
'What?' she demanded.
'That truce would be worthless if I abridged its spirit thus suddenly,' Trent said. 'Bink and Chameleon and I will part company, and with luck we shall not meet again.'
The man was being more than fair, and Bink knew he should accept the situation and depart-now. Instead, his stubbornness drove him toward disaster. 'No,' he said. 'I can't just go away while you two plot to conquer Xanth.'
'Now, Bink;' Trent said reasonably. 'I never deceived you about my ultimate objective. We always knew our purposes were divergent. Our truce covered only our interpersonal relation during the period of mutual hazard, not our long-range plans. I have pledges to fulfil, to my Mundane army, to Castle Roogna, and now to the Sorceress Iris. I am sorry you disapprove, for I want your approval very much, but the conquest of Xanth is and always was my mission. Now I ask you to part from me with what grace you can muster, for I have high respect for your motive, even though I feel the larger situation places you in error.'
Again Bink felt the devastating allure of Trent's golden tongue. He could find no flaw in the reasoning. He had no chance to overcome the Magician magically, and was probably outclassed intellectually. But morally-he had to be right. 'Your respect means nothing if you have no respect for the traditions and laws of Xanth.'
'A most telling response, Bink. I do have respect for these things-yet the system seems to have gone astray, and must be corrected, lest disaster overtake us all.'
'You talk of disaster from Mundania; I fear the disaster of the perversion of our culture. I must oppose you, in whatever way I can.'
Trent seemed perplexed. 'I don't believe you can oppose me, Bink. Whatever your strong magic is, it has never manifested tangibly. The moment you acted against me, I should have to transform you. I don't want to do that.'
'You have to get within six feet,' Bink said. 'I could strike you down with a thrown rock.'
'See?' Iris said. 'He's within range now, Trent. Zap him!'
Yet the Magician desisted. 'You actually wish to fight me, Bink? Directly, physically?'
'I don't wish to. I have to.'
Trent sighed. 'Then the only honorable thing to do is to terminate our truce with a formal duel. I suggest we define the locale of combat and the terms. Do you wish a second?'
'A second, a minute, an hour-whatever it takes,' Bink said. He tried to quell the shaking he felt in his legs; he was afraid, and knew he was being a fool, yet he could not back down.
'I meant another person to back you up, to see that the terms are honored. Chameleon, perhaps.'
'I'm with Bink!' Chameleon said immediately. She could comprehend only a fraction of the situation, but there was no question of her loyalty.
'Well, perhaps the concept of seconds is foreign here,' Trent said. 'Suppose we establish an area along the wilderness border, a mile deep into the forest and a mile across. One square mile, approximately, or as
