"All part of the business. Never charge a man who knows how to throw." Crombie raised one finger near his ear, signifying an idea. "I'll show you how to do it; it's a nonmagical talent you can use."
"Dee!" Bink cried. "She's still out there!"
Crombie grimaced. "Okay. I made her walk out; if it means so much to you, I'll help you find her."
So the man did have some decency, even with regard to women. "Do you really hate them all?" Bink asked as he girded himself to wrestle with the hail again. "Even the ones who don't read minds?"
"They all read minds," Crombie asserted. "Most of them do it without magic, is all. But I won't swear as there's no girl in the whole of Xanth for me. If I found a pretty one who wasn't mean or nagging or deceitful " He shook his head. "But if any like that exist, they sure as hell wouldn't marry me."
So the soldier rejected all women because he felt they rejected him. Well, it was a good enough rationale.
Now the storm had stopped. They went out into the piled hailstones, stepping carefully so as not to take any more spills. The colored storm clouds cleared, dissipating rapidly now that their magic imperative was spent.
What caused such storms? Bink wondered. They had to be inanimate-but the course of this journey had convinced him that dead objects did indeed have magic, often very strong magic. Maybe it was in the very substance of Xanth, and it diffused slowly into the living and nonliving things that occupied the land. The living things controlled their shares of magic, channelizing it, focusing it, making it manifest at will. The inanimate things released it haphazardly, as in this storm. There had to be a lot of magic here, gathered from a large area. All wasted in a pointless mass of hailstones.
Yet not all pointless. Obviously the tangle tree benefited from such storms, and probably there were other ways in which they contributed to the local ecology. Maybe the hail culled out the weaker creatures, animals less fit to survive, facilitating wilderness evolution. And other inanimate magic was quite pointed, such as that of Lookout Rock and the Spring of Life-its magic distilled from water percolating through the entire region, intensifying its potency? Perhaps it was the magic itself that made these things conscious of their individuality. Every aspect of Xanth was affected by magic, and governed by it. Without magic, Xanth would be-the very notion filled him with horror-Xanth would be Mundane.
The sun broke through the clouds. Where the beams struck, the hailstones puffed into colored vapor. Their fabric of magic could not withstand the heat of direct sunlight. That made Bink wonder again: was the sun antipathetic to magic? If the magic emanated from the depths, the surface of the land was the mere fringe of it. If someone ever delved down deep, he might approach the actual source of power. Intriguing notion!
In fact, Bink wished that he could set aside his quest for his own personal magic and make that search for the ultimate nature of reality in Xanth. Surely, way down deep, there was the answer to all his questions.
But he could not. For one thing, he had to locate Dee.
In a few minutes all the hail was gone. But so was the girl. "She must have slid down the slope into the forest," Crombie said. "She knows where we are; she can find us if she wants to."
"Unless she's in trouble," Bink said worriedly. "Use your talent; point her out."
Crombie sighed. "All right." He closed his eyes, rotated, and pointed down the south side of the ridge.
They trotted down-and found her tracks in the soft earth at the fringe of the jungle. They followed them and soon caught up.
"Dee!" Bink cried gladly. "We're sorry. Don't risk the jungle alone."
She marched on determinedly. "Leave me alone," Dee said. "I don't want to go with you."
"But Crombie didn't really mean-" Bink said.
"He meant. You don't trust me. So keep away from me. I'd rather make it on my own."
And that was that. She was adamant. Bink certainly wasn't going to force her. "Well, if you need help or anything, call-or something-"
She went on without answering.
"She couldn't have been very much of a threat," Bink said forlornly.
"She's a threat, all right," Crombie insisted. "But no threat's as much of a threat when it's somewhere else."
They ascended the ridge again and traveled on. In another day they came in sight of the Magician's castle, thanks to the soldier's unerring magic directional sense and ability to avoid the dangers of the wilderness. He had been a big help.
"Well, that's it," Crombie said. "I have seen you to this point safely, and I think that about squares us. I have business of my own elsewhere before I report to the King for reassignment. I hope you find your magic."
"I hope so too," Bink said. "Thanks for the throws you taught me."
"It was little enough. You'll have to practice them a lot more before they'll really serve. Sorry I got the girl mad at you. Maybe my talent was wrong about her after all."
Bink didn't care to discuss that aspect, so he just shook hands and headed for the castle of the Good Magician.
Chapter 6.
Magician
The castle was impressive. It was not large, but it was tall and well designed. It had a deep moat, a stout outer wall, and a high inner tower girt with parapets and embrasures. It must have been built by magic, because it would have taken an army of skilled craftsmen a year to build it by hand.
Yet Humfrey was supposed to be a Magician of information, not of construction or illusion. How could he have magicked such an edifice?
No matter; the castle was here. Bink walked down to the moat. He heard a horrible kind of galloping splash, and around from behind the castle came a horse, running on the water. No, not a horse-a hippocampus, or seahorse, with the head and forefeet of a horse and the tail of a dolphin. Bink knew the dolphin only from old pictures; it was a kind of magic fish that breathed air instead of water.
Bink stepped back. The thing looked dangerous. It could not follow him out onto land, but it could pulverize him in water. How was he to cross the moat? There did not seem to be any drawbridge.
Then he noted that the hippocampus wore a saddle. Oh, no! Ride the water monster?
Yet it obviously was the way to go. The Magician did not want his time wasted by anyone who wasn't serious. If he lacked the nerve to ride the seahorse, he didn't deserve to see Humfrey. It made perverse sense.
Did Bink really want the answer to his question? At the price of a year's service?
The picture of beautiful Sabrina came to his mind, so real, so evocative that all else became meaningless. He walked up to the hippocampus, waiting at the edge of the moat expectantly, and climbed onto its saddle.
The creature took off. It neighed as it sped around the moat, instead of across it. The steed was jubilant, using the water as a veritable racetrack, while Bink clung desperately to the saddle horn. The powerful front legs of the hippocampus terminated in flippers rather than hooves, scooping gouts of water back on either side, drenching him with the spray. The tail, curled in a muscular loop when the creature was stationary, uncoiled and threshed the water with such vigor that the saddle whipped back and forth, threatening to dislodge the rider momentarily.