Sourcery

with spells, which meant that most magical weapons rebounded and landed on the common people who were trying to scratch an honest living from what was, temporarily, the soil, and lead ordinary, decent (but rather short) lives.
    But still the fighting raged, battering the very structure of the universe of order, weakening the walls of reality and threatening to topple the whole rickety edifice of time and space into the darkness of the Dungeon Dimensions…
    One story said that the gods stepped in, but the gods don’t usually take a hand in human affairs unless it amuses them. Another one—and this was the one that the wizards themselves told, and wrote down in their books—was that the wizards themselves got together and settled their differences amicably for the good of mankind. And this was generally accepted as the true account, despite being as internally likely as a lead lifebelt.
    The truth isn’t easily pinned to a page. In the bathtub of history the truth is harder to hold than the soap, and much more difficult to find…

    “What happened, then?” said Conina.
    “It doesn’t matter,” said Rincewind, mournfully. “It’s going to start all over again. I can feel it. I’ve got this instinct. There’s too much magic flowing into the world. There’s going to be a horrible war. It’s all going to happen. The Disc is too old to take it this time. Everything’s been worn too thin. Doom, darkness and destruction bear down on us. The Apocralypse is nigh.”
    “Death walks abroad,” added Nijel helpfully.
    “What?” snapped Rincewind, angry at being interrupted.
    “I said, Death walks abroad,” said Nijel.
    “Abroad I don’t mind,” said Rincewind. “They’re all foreigners. It’s Death walking around here I’m not looking forward to.”
    “It’s only a metaphor,” said Conina.
    “That’s all you know. I’ve met him.”
    “What did he look like?” said Nijel.
    “Put it like this—”
    “Yes?”
    “He didn’t need a hairdresser.”

    Now the sun was a blowlamp nailed to the sky, and the only difference between the sand and red-hot ash was the color.
    The Luggage plodded erratically across the burning dunes. There were a few traces of yellow slime rapidly drying on its lid.
    The lonely little oblong was watched, from atop of a stone pinnacle the shape and temperature of a firebrick, by a chimera. * The chimera was an extremely rare species, and this particular one wasn’t about to do anything to help matters.
    It judged its moment carefully, kicked away with its talons, folded its leathery wings and plummeted down toward its victim.
    The chimera’s technique was to swoop low over the prey, lightly boiling it with its fiery breath, and then turn and rend its dinner with its teeth. It managed the fire part but then, at the point where experience told the creature it should be facing a stricken and terrified victim, found itself on the ground in the path of a scorched and furious Luggage.
    The only thing incandescent about the Luggage was its rage. It had spent several hours with a headache, during which it had seemed the whole world had tried to attack it. It had had enough.
    When it had stamped the unfortunate chimera into a greasy puddle on the sand it paused for a moment, apparently considering its future. It was becoming clear that not belonging to anyone was a lot harder than it had thought. It had vague, comforting recollections of service and a wardrobe to call its own.
    It turned around very slowly, pausing frequently to open its lid. It might have been sniffing the air, if it had a nose. At last it made up its mind, if it had a mind.

    The hat and its wearer also strode purposefully across the rubble that had been the legendary Rhoxie to the foot of the tower of sourcery, their unwilling entourage straggling along behind them.
    There were doors at the foot of the tower. Unlike those of Unseen University, which were usually propped wide open, they were tightly shut. They seemed to glow.
    “ You three are privileged to be here ,” said the hat through Abrim’s slack mouth. “ This is the moment when wizardry stops running ,” he glanced witheringly at Rincewind, “ and starts fighting back. You will remember it for the rest of your lives .”
    “What, until lunchtime?” said Rincewind weakly.
    “ Watch closely ,” said Abrim. He extended his hands.
    “If we get a chance,” whispered Rincewind to Nijel, “we run, right?”
    “Where to?”
    “From,” said