The Colour of Magic

assignment.
    A beetle began to crawl laboriously up Rincewind’s leg.
    The wizard wondered how much damage a half-solid dragon could do. Would it only half-kill him? He decided not to stay and find out.
    Moving on heels, fingertips and shoulder muscles, Rincewind wriggled sideways until foliage masked the oak and its occupants. Then he scrambled to his feet and hared off between the trees.
    He had no destination in mind, no provisions, and no horse. But while he still had legs he could run. Ferns and brambles whipped at him, but he didn’t feel them at all.
    When he had put about a mile between him and the dragon he stopped and collapsed against a tree, which then spoke to him.
    “Psst,” it said.
    Dreading what he might see, Rincewind let his gaze slide upward. It tried to fasten on innocuous bits of bark and leaf, but the scourge of curiosity forced it to leave them behind. Finally it fixed on a black sword thrust straight through the branch above Rincewind’s head.
    “Don’t just stand there,” said the sword (in a voice like the sound of a finger dragged around the rim of a large empty wine glass). “Pull me out.”
    “What?” said Rincewind, his chest still heaving.
    “Pull me out,” repeated Kring. “It’s either that or I’ll be spending the next million years in a coal measure. Did I ever tell you about the time I was thrown into a lake up in the—”
    “What happened to the others?” said Rincewind, still clutching the tree desperately.
    “Oh, the dragons got them. And the horses. And that box thing. Me too, except that Hrun dropped me. What a stroke of luck for you.”
    “Well—” began Rincewind. Kring ignored him.
    “I expect you’ll be in a hurry to rescue them,” it added.
    “Yes, well—”
    “So if you’ll just pull me out we can be off.”
    Rincewind squinted up at the sword. A rescue attempt had hitherto been so far at the back of his mind that, if some advanced speculations on the nature and shape of the many-dimensioned multiplexity of the universe were correct, it was right at the front; but a magic sword was a valuable item…
    And it would be a long trek back home, wherever that was…
    He scrambled up the tree and inched along the branch. Kring was buried very firmly in the wood. He gripped the pommel and heaved until lights flashed in front of his eyes.
    “Try again,” said the sword encouragingly.
    Rincewind groaned and gritted his teeth.
    “Could be worse,” said Kring. “This could have been an anvil.”
    “Yaargh,” hissed the wizard, fearing for the future of his groin.
    “I have had a multidimensional existence,” said the sword.
    “Ungh?”
    “I have had many names, you know.”
    “Amazing,” said Rincewind. He swayed backward as the blade slid free. It felt strangely light.
    Back on the ground again he decided to break the news.
    “I really don’t think rescue is a good idea,” he said. “I think we’d better head back to a city, you know. To raise a search party.”
    “The dragons headed hubward,” said Kring. “However, I suggest we start with the one in the trees over there.”
    “Sorry, but—”
    “You can’t leave them to their fate!”
    Rincewind looked surprised. “I can’t?” he said.
    “No. You can’t. Look, I’ll be frank. I’ve worked with better material than you, but it’s either that or—have you ever spent a million years in a coal measure?”
    “Look, I—”
    “So if you don’t stop arguing I’ll chop your head off.”
    Rincewind saw his own arm snap up until the shimmering blade was humming a mere inch from his throat. He tried to force his fingers to let go. They wouldn’t.
    “I don’t know how to be a hero!” he shouted.
    “I propose to teach you.”

    Bronze Psepha rumbled deep in his throat.
    K!sdra the dragonrider leaned forward and squinted across the clearing.
    “I see him,” he said. He swung himself down easily from branch to branch and landed lightly on the tussocky grass, drawing his sword.
    He took a long look at the approaching man, who was obviously not keen on leaving the shelter of the trees. He was armed, but the dragonrider observed with some interest the strange way in which the man held the sword in front of him at arm’s length, as though embarrassed to be seen in its company.
    K!sdra hefted his own sword and grinned expansively as the wizard shuffled toward him. Then he leapt.
    Later, he remembered only two things about the fight. He recalled the uncanny way in which the