The Light Fantastic

wizard, maybe—
    He looked up and into Trymon’s eyes.
    Perhaps it was the Spell, in its years of living in Rincewind’s head, that had affected his eyes. Perhaps his time with Twoflower, who only saw things as they ought to be, had taught him to see things as they are.
    But what was certain was that by far the most difficult thing Rincewind did in his whole life was look at Trymon without running in terror or being very violently sick.
    The others didn’t seem to have noticed.
    They also seemed to be standing very still.
    Trymon had tried to contain the seven Spells in his mind and it had broken, and the Dungeon Dimensions had found their hole, all right. Silly to have imagined that the Things would have come marching out of a sort of rip in the sky, waving mandibles and tentacles. That was old-fashioned stuff, far too risky. Even nameless terrors learned to move with the times. All they really needed to enter was one head.
    His eyes were empty holes.
    Knowledge speared into Rincewind’s mind like a knife of ice. The Dungeon Dimensions would be a playgroup compared to what the Things could do in a universe of order. People were craving order, and order they would get—the order of the turning screw, the immutable law of straight lines and numbers. They would beg for the harrow…
    Trymon was looking at him. Something was looking at him. And still the others hadn’t noticed. Could he even explain it? Trymon looked the same as he had always done, except for the eyes, and a slight sheen to his skin.
    Rincewind stared, and knew that there were far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that was precisely because they valued souls very highly; evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considered the universe worth stealing. But the gray world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even according its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn’t even notice them.
    Trymon held out his hand.
    “The eighth spell,” he said. “Give it to me.”
    Rincewind backed away.
    “This is disobedience, Rincewind. I am your superior, after all. In fact, I have been voted the supreme head of all the Orders.”
    “Really?” said Rincewind hoarsely. He looked at the other wizards. They were immobile, like statues.
    “Oh yes,” said Trymon pleasantly. “Quite without prompting, too. Very democratic.”
    “I preferred tradition,” said Rincewind. “That way even the dead get the vote.”
    “You will give me the spell voluntarily,” said Trymon. “Do I have to show you what I will do otherwise? And in the end you will still yield it. You will scream for the opportunity to give it to me.”
    If it stops anywhere, it stops here, thought Rincewind.
    “You’ll have to take it,” he said. “I won’t give it to you.”
    “I remember you,” said Trymon. “Not much good as a student, as I recall. You never really trusted magic, you kept on saying there should be a better way to run a universe. Well, you’ll see. I have plans. We can—”
    “Not we,” said Rincewind firmly.
    “Give me the Spell!”
    “Try and take it,” said Rincewind, backing away. “I don’t think you can.”
    “Oh?”
    Rincewind jumped aside as octarine fire flashed from Trymon’s fingers and left a bubbling rock puddle on the stones.
    He could sense the Spell lurking in the back of his mind. He could sense its fear.
    In the silent caverns of his head he reached out for it. It retreated in astonishment, like a dog faced with a maddened sheep. He followed, stamping angrily through the disused lots and inner-city disaster areas of his subconscious, until he found it cowering behind a heap of condemned memories. It roared silent defiance at him, but Rincewind wasn’t having any.
    Is this it? he shouted at it. When it’s time for the showdown, you go and hide? You’re frightened?
    The Spell said, that’s nonsense, you can’t possibly believe that, I’m one of the Eight Spells. But Rincewind advanced on it angrily, shouting, Maybe, but the fact is I do believe it and you’d better remember whose head you’re in, right? I can believe anything I like in here!
    Rincewind jumped aside again as another bolt of fire lanced through the hot night. Trymon grinned, and made another complicated motion with his hands.
    Pressure gripped Rincewind. Every inch of his skin felt as though it was being used as an anvil. He flopped onto his knees.
    “There are much worse