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Sorcerer, and he held the book of spells: Ancient Evil Magic. His finger marked a place near the
beginning.
This was trouble! Walter knew the power of those spells. He charged the steps, hoping to reach the
Sorcerer before he could look up a spell and invoke it.
He was way too late. The Sorcerer made a gesture and uttered an incantation. He had evidently already
reviewed a spell.
Walter swung his rifle into place and took aim. If he could kill the Sorcerer before the spell took effect
"Adder," the Sorcerer finished.
Walter's rifle changed form. The end of its barrel hissed and turned back to look at him. The length of it
writhed. He was holding a snake!
The creature struck. Walter dropped the thing and stepped back just in time. The viper fell to the
pavement, hissed again, and struck at his foot. Since he was wearing heavy boots, the fangs did no harm.
He shook it off and lifted his foot to crush it, literally, underheel and paused.
This wasn't a real adder. It was his rifle, enchanted. In fifteen minutes it would revert to its original form.
Suppose he squished the snake: would it later revert to a squished rifle? In which case he would have
destroyed his own weapon.
He looked wildly about. Was there anything into which he could put the serpent for safekeeping? He saw
no jars with lids. He might toss it into the water of the fountain, but if it didn't swim out, the water could
still be bad for the rifle. He had to think of something in a hurry, because the Sorcerer was already
starting another spell. Suppose he threw the snake at the Sorcerer? No, the spells probably didn't work
against their originator, and it would be foolish to try to reverse them. His own experience in the role of
Evil Sorcerer had shown him that there were limits either way, and one of them was that the spells never
turned back against their invoker. So what to do with this reptile?
Meanwhile the nymph was reappearing in her recliner by the fountain. Her period of oblivion was over.
Walter had a bright notion. He nerved himself and pounced on the snake, his fingers catching it just
behind the head. He picked it up and tossed it to the nymph. "Hold the adder safe until I return," he cried
to her persuasively.
She caught the snake neatly. She had been given a directive, so she obeyed it, not being programmed to
know any better. The persuasive talent of his character had prevailed. Not only did that keep the snake
out of mischief, it occupied the nymph too, and with luck she would not attack him again.
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"Albatross," the Evil Sorcerer intoned, gesturing.
Walter returned his attention to the man just in time to see a big ugly bird appear. Its wingspan was
huge. It flew toward him, its beady eyes orienting.
The Sorcerer had conjured an albatross to attack him? Instead of a hawk or harpy? Where was the catch?
Walter ducked, and the bird passed over his head. It looped around, somewhat ungainly in this confined
space. As Walter recalled, the albatross was a sea bird yes, now he saw its webbed feet that seldom
came to roost. There had been one in a poem he cudgeled his memory for a moment, and to his surprise
got it "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," wherein the protagonist had had an albatross tied to him,
showing that he was in some way cursed.
Walter drew his pistol as the creature swooped in again. But he hesitated, as he had with the snake. Such
birds were harmless to man, and it was considered bad luck to shoot one. This was a magical setting; if he
shot this bird, would it nullify the good luck of his character? He very much feared it would. He needed
that luck! So he would have to find some other way.
He ran to the fountain, gesturing. "Fish!" he cried persuasively. "Lots of fish in the water! All you can
eat!" He hoped it was true. Maybe if his luck held out.
The albatross took an interest. It swooped low over the pool, then dived to the surface. Its head came up
with a fish. Satisfied, it came to rest somewhat in the manner of a duck, floating, so as to have leisure to
enjoy its repast.
Walter turned to face the Sorcerer again. The man was well into another incantation. But there were
liabilities there, Walter knew. Not only did each spell last only fifteen minutes, it freed a castle denizen,
who then would immediately go to try to free the Princess. It was not wise to use spells too prolifically.
But perhaps the Sorcerer had not done his background homework, and didn't know that. He could spell
himself right into trouble.
But Walter wasn't here to win points. He just wanted to rescue Baal, then see if they could chase Phreak
down. Unfortunately his mission was the same as the setting challenge, because Baal was the Princess. So
he couldn't shortcut it. He wasn't the official Hero, but he had to fight the Evil Sorcerer and prevail.
Could he just shoot the man? Not if the Sorcerer had invoked a spell of invulnerability. In fact, in that
case the bullet might come right back to score on its source. Better not to risk it, except as a desperation
ploy.
Walter ran for the steps as the Sorcerer completed his incantation with the word "Anchor." Suddenly
Walter stopped in his tracks literally. He legs seemed glued to the floor, catching him in mid running
stride. The anchor spell had anchored him.
But how was that possible? He was a player, not a construct. The magic should not work against him
personally. It could affect the Sorcerer personally, when he wanted to fly or whatever, because he
invoked it. But another player had to have free will. Otherwise the Sorcerer would simply immobilize or
destroy all opposition and it would be no contest. He remembered that limit from his own tenure. Had the
rules changed?
Maybe not. Walter reached down and braced his hands against a boot. He hauled up his foot, and it came
out. He set it on the pavement and hauled the other foot out. Now he stood in his stocking feet. The boots
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remained anchored, but he was free. He had lucked out again. He had chosen his character traits well!
But already the Sorcerer was uttering another spell. At this rate the man would soon free all the castle
denizens, which was good for Walter. Meanwhile he had to fend off all that magic, and that was too
chancy. So he decided to risk a shot. He drew his pistol.
The Sorcerer finished his spell. "Angel," he said. How was he able to do them so rapidly?
An angel appeared. This was no cherubic figure, and no delicate girl. It was a Guardian Angel, or an
Avenging Angel. Masculine, with a great long shining sword.
Walter was not supremely religious, but it bothered him to attack an angel. He hesitated.
The Angel didn't. He floated toward Walter. "Repent, sinner!" he cried in a golden voice, raising his
glowing sword to smite the sinner.
Walter had no choice. He aimed his pistol at the Angel and fired at point-blank range.
The shot had no effect. Walter knew his aim had been good. But it seemed that the Angel was
invulnerable to mortal attack. That figured.
"Repent!" the Angel repeated, swinging the sword viciously down. Walter threw himself to the side, and
the stroke missed. The glowing sword of vengeance sliced into the pavement, cutting a tile in twain and
sending up a shower of sparks.
This was a one-way business, it seemed. Walter couldn't smite the Angel, but the Angel could smite him.
The magic wasn't direct, but that indirect application could kill him.
"Repent!" the Angel cried again. He drew his sword from the stone and floated after Walter.
Walter ran. It was the only way to keep clear of that terrible swift sword. Yet even in this emergency he
had a stray thought. The Sorcerer was going through the spells in order! Just turning pages. That was why
he was so fast. All his spells had been alphabetical, in the "A" section: Adder, Albatross, Anchor, and
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