Piers Anthony - The Source of Magic

"Uh, that's not diplomatic," Bink murmured, embarrassed.

"Fiends? Who called us fiends?" the lord demanded. "The ogre," Chester replied. "He said you blasted a whole forest with a curse."

The lord stroked his goatee. "The ogre survives?"

"Chester, shut up!" Bink hissed. But the centaur's unruly nature had taken control. "All he was doing was rescuing his lady ogre, and you couldn't stand to have him happy, so-"

"Ah, yes, that ogre. I suppose to an ogre's way of thinking, we would be fiends. To us, crunching human bones is fiendish. It is all in one's perspective."

Apparently the centaur had not antagonized the lord, though Bink judged that to be sheer luck. Unless the lord, like his troupe, was an actor-in which case there could be serious and subtle trouble. "This one is now a vegetarian," Bink said. "But I'm curious: do you really have such devastating curses, and why should you care what an ogre does? You really don't have cause to worry about ogres, here under the lake; they can't swim."

"We do really have such curses," the lord said. "They constitute group effort, the massing of all our magic. We have no individual talents, only individual contributions toward the whole."

Bink was amazed. Here was a whole society with duplicating talents! Magic did repeat itself!

"We do not employ our curses haphazardly, however. We went after the ogre as a professional matter. He was interfering with our monopoly."

Both Bink and Chester were blank. "Your what?"

"We handle all formal entertainments in southern Xanth. That bad actor blundered into one of our sets and kidnapped our leading lady. We do not tolerate such interference or competition."

"You used an ogress for a leading lady?" Bink asked.

"We used a transformed nymph-a consummate actress. All our players are consummate, as you shall see. In that role she resembled the most ogrelike ogress imaginable, absolutely horrible." He paused, considering. "In fact, with her artistic temperament, she was getting pretty ogrelike in life. Prima donna…"

"Then the ogre's error was understandable."

"Perhaps. But not tolerable. He had no business on that set. We had to scrub the whole production. It ruined our season."

Bink wondered what reception the ogre would encounter, as he rescued his ideal female. An actress in ogress guise, actually from the castle of the fiends!

"What about the reverse-spell tree?" Chester asked.

"People were taking its fruit and being entertained by the reversal effects. We did not appreciate the competition. So we eliminated it."

Chester glanced at Bink, but did not speak. Perhaps these people really were somewhat fiendish. To abolish all rival forms of entertainment-

"And where did you say you were traveling to?" the lord inquired.

"To the source of magic," Bink said. "We understand it is underground, and that the best route leads through this castle."

"I do not appreciate humor at my expense," the lord said, frowning. "If you do not wish to inform me of your mission, that is certainly your privilege. But do not taunt me with an obvious fabrication."

Bink had the impression that obviousness was a worse affront than fabrication, to this person.

"Listen, fiend!" Chester said, bridling in most obvious fashion. "Centaurs do not lie!"

"Uh, let me handle this," Bink said quickly. "There is surely some misunderstanding. We are on quest for the source of magic-but perhaps we have been misinformed as to its access."

The lord mellowed. "That must be the case. Below this castle lies only the vortex. Nothing that goes that route ever returns. We are the Gateway; we straddle the vortex, protecting innocent creatures from being drawn unwittingly into that horrible fate. Who informed you that the object of your quest lay in such a direction?"

"Well, a Magician-"

"Never trust a Magician! They are all up to mischief!"

"Uh, maybe so," Bink said uneasily, and Chester nodded thoughtfully. "He was very convincing."

"They tend to be," the lord said darkly. Abruptly he shifted the subject. "I will show you the vortex. This way, if you please." He led the way to an interior panel. It slid aside at his touch. There was a glistening wall of glassy substance. No, not glass; it was moving. Fleeting irregularities showed horizontally. Now Bink could see through it somewhat vaguely, making out the three-dimensional shape. It was a column, perhaps twice his armspan in diameter, with a hollow center. In fact it was water, coursing around in circles at high speed. Or in spirals, going down-

"A whirlpool!" Chester exclaimed. "We are looking at the nether column of a whirlpool!"

"Correct," the lord said with pride. "We have constructed our castle around it, containing it by magic. Substances may pass into it, but not out of it. Criminals and other untoward persons are fed into its maw, to disappear forever. This is a most salutary deterrent."

Surely so! The mass of moving fluid was awesome in its smooth power, and frightening. Yet it was also in its fashion luring, like the song of the siren, or the madness.

Bink yanked his gaze away. "But where does it go?"

"Who would presume to know?" the lord inquired in return, quirking an eyebrow expressively. He slid the panel across and the vision of the vortex was gone.

"Enough of this," the lord decided. "We shall wine and dine you fittingly, and then you will audience our play."

The meal was excellent, served by fetching young women in scant green outfits who paid flattering attention to the travelers, especially Chester. They seemed to admire both his muscular man-portion and his handsome equine portion. Bink wondered, as he had before, what it was girls saw in horses. The siren had been so eager to ride!

At last, stuffed, Bink and Chester were ushered to the theater. The stage was several times the size of the chamber for the audience. Apparently these people did not like to watch as much as they liked to perform.

The curtain lifted and it was on: a gaudily costumed affair replete with bold swordsmen and buxom women and funny jokers. The staged duels were impressive, but Bink wondered how proficient those men would be with their weapons in a real battle. There was a considerable difference between technical skill and combat nerve! The women were marvelously seductive-but would they be as shapely without the support of their special clothes, or as wittily suggestive minus the memorized lines?

"You do not find our production entertaining?" the lord inquired.

"I prefer life," Bink replied.

The lord made a note on his pad: MORE REALISM,

Then the play shifted to a scene of music. The heroine sang a lovely song of loss and longing, meditating on her faithless lover, and it was difficult to imagine how any lout, no matter how louty, could be faithless to such a desirable creature. Bink thought of Chameleon again, and longed for her again. Chester was standing raptly beside him, probably thinking of horsing around with Cherie Centaur, who was indeed a fetching filly.

Then the song was augmented by a hauntingly lovely accompaniment. A flute was playing, its notes of such absolute quality and clarity that the lady's voice was shamed. Bink looked toward that sound-and there it was, a gleaming silver flute hanging in the air beside the heroine, playing by itself. A magic flute! The lady ceased singing, surprised, but the flute played on. Indeed, freed of the limitations of her voice, it trilled on into an aria of phenomenal expertise and beauty. Now the entire cast of players stood listening, seeming to find it as novel as Bink did.

The lord jumped to his feet "Who is performing that magic?" he demanded.

No one answered. All were absorbed in the presentation.

"Clear that set!" the lord cried, red-faced. "Everybody out, out, out!"