After that he was silent. Bink watched the clouds, real ones this time; they loomed up larger and darker as the rug flew northward. Now the carpet was over the Gap, making Bink feel less secure despite his wings; it was a long way down. When the rug passed through a cloud, it dipped alarmingly; it seemed there were internal downdrafts. But Humfrey rode with seeming equanimity, eyes closed, deep in thought.
It got worse. The carpet, possessing no intelligence, zoomed straight for its preprogrammed destination, not trying to avoid the cloud banks. The clouds formed into towering mountains and awesomely deep valleys, and the drafts got worse. No illusion, this building storm; though it lacked the colors and menacing swirls of Iris's illusion-cloud, in its somber way it was just as threatening.
Then the rug dropped through the fog and came out below. There was the North Village!
The windows of the King's palace were draped in black. "I think it has happened," Humfrey remarked as they landed before the palace gate.
A village Elder came out to meet them. "Magician!" he cried. "We were about to send for you. The King is dead!"
"Well, you'd better choose his successor, then," Humfrey said acidly.
"There is no one-except you," the Elder replied.
"Lamebrain! That's no recommendation," Humfrey snapped. "What would I want with the throne? It's a big boring job that would seriously interfere with my studies."
The Elder stood his ground. "Unless you can show us another qualified Magician, the law requires that you accept."
"Well, the law can go-" Humfrey paused. "We have more pressing business. Who is caretaker during the interim?''
"Roland. He is seeing to the funeral."
Bink jumped. His father! But he knew immediately that his father would be scrupulous in avoiding any possible conflict of interest; better not even to tell him Bink was back in Xanth.
Humfrey glanced at Bink, seeming to have the same notion. "Well, I think I know just the sucker for the job," the Good Magician said. "But he has a certain technical problem to surmount first."
Bink suffered an exceedingly uncomfortable shiver of premonition. Not me! he tried to say, but still could not speak. I'm no Magician, really. I know nothing of kingship. All I want to do is save Chameleon. And let Trent get away, too.
"But first we have to settle a couple of other matters," Humfrey continued. "The Evil Magician Trent, the transformer, is back in Xanth, and a girl is dying. If we move fast, we may catch them both before it is too late."
"Trent!" The Elder was shocked. "What a time for him to show up." He ran into the palace.
Very soon they had assembled a war party. The village travel-conjurer was given the precise location, and he started popping people through.
First to go was Roland himself. With luck he would catch the Evil Magician by surprise and stun him in place, nullifying his magic. Then the others could proceed safely. Next the Good Magician went, with his vial of healing water, to save Chameleon-if she still lived.
Bink realized that if this plan was successful, Trent would never have another chance to transform anyone. If they unknowingly executed the Evil Magician before Bink was transformed, he would remain forever a phoenix. Chameleon would be alone, although well. And his father would be responsible. Was there no way out of this predicament?
Well, the plan might fail. Trent could transform Roland and Humfrey. Then Bink himself might recover his human form, but Chameleon would die. That was no good either. Maybe Trent would have escaped before Roland arrived. Then Chameleon would be cured, and Trent would survive-but Bink would remain a bird.
No matter which way it worked out, someone dear to Bink would be sacrificed. Unless Humfrey somehow managed things to make everything come out all right. Yet how could he?
One by one the Elders disappeared. Then it was Bink's turn. The conjurer gestured-
The first thing Bink saw was the body of the wolf-headed man. The creature had evidently charged, and been dispatched by Trent's singing sword. Elsewhere were a number of caterpillars that had not been here before. Trent himself stood frozen, concentrating as though in the process of casting a spell. And Chameleon-
Bink flew to her gladly. She was well! The terrible wound was gone, and she was standing, looking bewildered.
"This is Bink," Humfrey told her. "He flew to fetch help for you. Just in time, too."
"Oh, Bink!" she cried, picking him up and trying to hug him to her bare torso. Bink, as a bird with delicate plumage, did not find this as delightful as he might have in his natural form. "Change back."
"I am afraid that only the transformer can change him back," Humfrey said. "And the transformer must first stand trial."
And what would be the result of that trial? Why hadn't Trent escaped when he had the chance?
The proceedings were swift and efficient. The Elders put questions to the frozen Magician, who of course could not answer or argue his own case. Humfrey had the travel-conjurer fetch the magic mirror-no, it was Munly, the master of ceremonies at Bink's hearing, who was himself an Elder. Bink's bird-brain was letting him get confused. Munly used his talent to conjure this small object directly to his hand from the Good Magician's castle. He held it up so that all could see the images forming within it.
In the mirror were reflected scenes from the trio's travels in Xanth. Gradually the story came out, though it did not reveal Bink's talent. It showed how the three had helped one another to survive in the wilderness; how they had stayed at Castle Roogna-there was a general exclamation about that, for no one had known this old, famous, semi-mythical artifact remained intact. How they had fought the wiggle swarm-and that produced another reaction! How they had finally dueled. How the Sorceress Iris had mixed in. And how-Bink felt a fury of embarrassment-he had made love to Chameleon. The mirror was merciless.
The whole sequence was clearly damning to Trent, for there were no words. But it's not really like that, Bink tried to cry. He's a fine man. In many ways his rationale makes sense. If he had not spared me and Chameleon, he could have conquered Xanth.
The picture froze on the final sequence of the dueclass="underline" Trent wounding Bink, making ready to strike the final blow-and halting. See-he spared me. He is not evil. Not any more. He is not evil!
But no one heard him. The assembled Elders looked at one another, nodding gravely. Bink's father, Roland, was among them, and the family friend Munly, saying nothing.
Then the mirror continued, showing what had happened after Bink flew away. The monsters of the wilderness, smelling fresh blood, had converged. Trent barely had time to bandage Chameleon before these threats became pressing. He had stood before her, sword in hand, bluffing the creatures back-and transforming those who attacked anyway to caterpillars. Two wolf-heads had charged together, jaws gaping wide, slavering; one became a caterpillar while the other was cut down by the sword. Trent had killed only as necessary.
He could have run, even then, Bink cried silently. He could have let Chameleon be taken by the monsters. He could have escaped into the magic jungle. You would never have caught him-until he caught you. He is a good man now. But he knew there was no way he could plead this good man's case. Chameleon, of course, was too stupid to do it, and Humfrey didn't know the whole story.
At last the mirror showed the arrival of Roland, as strong and handsome in his fashion as the Evil Magician, and a few years older. He had landed facing away from Trent-and directly in front of an advancing two-headed serpent, each head a yard long. Roland, searching the wilderness before him, nervous about a nearby tangle tree, had seen neither Magician nor serpent behind him.