> The Wizzard and the Pony
>  by Parchment_Scroll
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


The Unicorn Kingdom...

"I don't understand it," Clover the Clever muttered to herself.  "He said he'd be back today!  The summit starts in just a few hours, and he was supposed to escort the princess there himself, and I'm not ready for this kind of--"  The lavender unicorn grimaced, fighting what she knew to be a losing battle against oncoming panic.

The reason for this panic was her mentor, Star Swirl the Bearded, also referred to as Star Swirl the Kind, Star Swirl the Mischievous, and, when he wasn't around (as now), Star Swirl the Frustratingly Absent-Minded.

"Oh, Star Swirl," the musical voice of Princess Platinum drifted up the stairs to the court wizard's tower, where Clover pranced in place, desperate for a place to hide, "We are ready to leave, but We simply must have Our Royal Wizard to accompany us!"

"Ah," Clover stammered.  "Ah, Princess...  I shall accompany you to the summit in my mentor's stead."

The Princess entered the room with all of the grace and poise she could muster under the circumstances.  Given that she was in her own castle, and had just finished receiving her pre-travel makeover, there was, in fact, a surplus of grace and poise for the situation.  "And where has that fool got to now, I wonder?"

Clover was wondering that herself.


* * * * *


Elsewhere...

There are those who say that, in an Infinite Universe, not only are all things possible, if one looks long enough and far enough, one can find literally anything*.  On one part of the far end of the probability curve, one might find a world that, odd as it seems, is spherical, and, far more sensibly, has such a vast preponderance of magic that it is populated by such things as colorful talking ponies, and other mythological creatures.  On another, particularly skewed arc of the curve, there is Great A'Tuin.

He swims through the vast celestial ocean, towards Who-Knows-Where, and his mind, vast and glacial, is occupied with its own thoughts, slow and massive as only those of a member of Chelonia Galactica can be.  Atop his tremendous shell, the four Great Elephants: Berilia, Tubul, Great T'Phon, and Jerakeen.  Atop these nearly-as-tremendous-but-not-quite-so-tremendous-as-Great-A'Tuin pachyderms, spanning their shoulders, rests the great disc of the World.  And atop that disc, some distance turnwise and rimwards of the Circle Sea, stands a quite befuddled blue unicorn pony.


* * * * *


"Oh, dear," Star Swirl the Bearded said to himself with a dejected sigh.  "I knew that shortcut was a mistake."

One must give Star Swirl the benefit of acknowledging that he was in a tremendous hurry when he cast the teleportation spell.  Somepony needed to warn everypony about the Windigoes, after all, before tensions between the three pony tribes rose too far for them to be stopped.

As Star Swirl examined the constellations in the sky above him, it occurred to him that he did not recognize a single one of them, and that he would evidently not be the one to get the word out after all.  Not, that is, unless he managed to find someone to help figure out where he was, in any case.




* There are others who say that this is, of course, a load of rubbish, and, furthermore, that anyone who believes such a thing should have their heads scrubbed out with a good, stiff, wire-bristled brush.



> Chapter 1: Ankh-Morpork
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


Ankh-Morpork

Rincewind the Wizard was running in terror for his life.  This was, as anyone who knew him could attest, no new event.  The wizard was often running in terror for his life.  In fact, among many people who knew him (or at least knew of him), it was said that if Rincewind wasn't afraid, there was nothing to be afraid of.  Death had stared Rincewind in the back of the rapidly-fleeing head too many times to count.  What was one more?

The problem, this time, was not Rincewind's fault.  It seldom was, in fact.  Here it was, a good two weeks into what should be a typical Ankh-Morporkian summer, and there had been a rime of frost on everything.

It was unnatural, people said.

Magical.

And there was Rincewind, quietly minding his own business in his usual spot in the Mended Drum, nursing what could be referred to as a beer if one were feeling particularly generous, quietly and horrifyingly aware of the way people were looking at him.  And of the fact that he had "Wizzard" written in large, glittery letters on his hat.

And if there was one thing Rincewind knew, apart from the fastest egress from any particular location -- he had raised the survival instinct to an almost artistic level, some said -- it was that when unnatural things began occurring, wizards quite quickly became targets.

This in and of itself would not be a problem for most wizards.  Rincewind, however, was not most wizards.  In point of fact, when, at one point, he had risen to the challenge of defeating a Sourceror armed with a half-brick in a sock, it could be argued that his weapon had more magical potential than he had.  And it hadn't been a particularly magical half-brick.*

And so it was that, while the heads of the Eight Orders of Wizardry met to discuss the unseasonable weather in the lofty towers of Unseen University, the lowliest member of that University's faculty fled through the streets of Morpork, navigating more by memory and scent than sight, as the city was going by in a blur.

Left at the fishmonger's stall, he told himself as the stench of dead fish actually managed to improve the general atmosphere**.  Left again, no, right at the Temple of Small Gods.  Ah, to travel the open road, he thought.  No one trying to kill him, the safety and boredom of a long trek, that would do a body good.

Getting caught by the pursuing (and, thankfully, slowly dissipating) crowds, he decided, would not.




* The sock, being one of his, had had a weapons-grade stench about it, but even less magical potential than the half-brick.  Even so, it could still be argued that the sock had more magical potential than Rincewind.
** Citizens of Ankh-Morpork referred to the atmosphere about the city as "air with character."  Others preferred the phrases "dear gods what died?" or, more succinctly, "yech."




It was peculiar about the weather, Rincewind found himself thinking as he walked away from the city, and no mistake.  To call it unseasonably cold would have been an understatement of a nearly world-shaking nature.

"Good gods, it's unseasonably cold," he muttered, and while the world failed to shake, his shivering nearly made up for it.  Grimacing, he pulled his battered robe around himself tighter, and set off grimly away from the city and, he hoped, trouble.  He had no idea where he was going -- it was his considered opinion that when running away, one should never waste time worrying about where to run to -- but it had to be better (and, indeed, warmer) than here.

He was surprised, after a time, to find he didn't have the road to himself after all.  Ahead of him, just cresting a hill, was an odd little silhouette.  (There was an even odder silhouette approaching behind him, but he expected that one eventually, it hardly counted, and anyway, it was best not to think about it.)  Based on the shape of the hat, his first thought was that it was another wizard.  The problem was, he thought, that he'd never heard of a dwarf wizard before.  Nor did he see anything resembling a staff.

The silhouette waved and called out to him.  Shrugging, he picked up the pace and went to meet him.


* * * * *


There is a frequently mentioned theory that for every possible outcome of every possible event, there is a universe in which that outcome took place.  Some refer to these as parallel universes, despite the term being grossly inaccurate.  Even more inaccurately, some refer to these as parallel dimensions.

The fact is that they are neither universes nor dimensions.  Neither are they parallel.  They are, in fact, tangential offshoots along the probability and possibility axes of the single universe (often inaccurately referred to as a multiverse) in which all things exist.

None of this is important at this time, and it is only tangentially relevant to the situation at hand.  What is relevant, however, is that due to the disconnect between these realities, their chronology is often discontinuous.  Which is to say that time in one reality has no bearing on time in another.

Really clever wizards have postulated that this discontinuity could be used to effectively travel through time, as once you have exited one reality, your point of reentry to it is completely open.  The disc has lost more really clever wizards in attempts at this temporal sleight-of-hand than to any other means, barring the natural, healthy competition for promotion within the wizardly community.

Wizards who put more stock in wisdom than cleverness say that this is all just as well and it's no more than what they deserve for mucking about with causality, the young whipper-snappers.

The only bearing any of this has on Rincewind and Star Swirl the Bearded, however, is the rather odd coincidence that at the exact moment that Rincewind was waving to one pony, another pony was introducing herself to a recently deceased Morporkian pie seller.  Compounding the coincidence, she greatly resembled the Earth-pony Chancellor (from whom she was several generations descended) Puddinghead, and was close friends with a direct descendent of his own apprentice, Clover the Clever (with whom her friend also shared an uncanny resemblance).

In point of fact, the cross-connections that could be made between Rincewind, Star Swirl the Bearded, and Pinkie Pie were so convoluted that it would take an entire team of wizards, twelve pasta chefs, and an incredibly patient vole* to work them all out.

Lacking in pasta chefs, we shall simply move on.




* It is a little-known fact that voles are exceptional at navigating the many diverse courses of transtemporal reality, which quite resemble the complex burrows the creatures live in.  Their powers of comprehension, however, leave something to be desired.




It wasn't the first time Rincewind questioned his sanity.  There was the time he'd most emphatically not encountered those talking trees.  There was also the thing with the talking rocks, but as those had turned out to be trolls, that was all right.  Well, apart from the repeated near-death-experiences that accompanied it.  Those hadn't been all right at all.

This was, however, the first time he had ever encountered a pony that was:
* Blue
* Wearing a robe and wizard's hat (with bells on, no less)
* Bearded, and
* Asking for help.

So he found himself in one of those awkward internal dialogues, questioning his sanity (which steadfastly refused to have anything to do with this situation and therefore wouldn't answer).  After a few minutes of this fruitless activity, he realized the pony was looking at him expectantly, and had in fact just asked him a question.

"Erm?" he said, helpfully.

"I said," the pony repeated, "I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to the Unicorn Kingdom from here.  It's just that I've lost my way, you see."

Rincewind had traveled all over the Disc in the course of his varied (and harried) life, and even traveled to another world no less than three times (possibly four).  Nevertheless...

"Never heard of it," he said.  "Sorry," he felt compelled to add.

Star Swirl sighed, looking momentarily forlorn.  "Oh well," he said.  "No sense getting depressed about it."  There is a certain inevitability to life, Rincewind had observed in the past, so it was with a dawning sense of horror that he heard the odd creature continue on to say, "this could be an adventure!"


* * * * *


Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully stood at the head of a great, intricate octogram in the heart of Unseen University.  Around him, the seven other heads of the magical orders of the Disc.  Before him, a task he had sincerely hoped would not come up.  The preparations had taken the better part of an hour - normally, they took several, but it was cold and people were in a hurry.  The words remained to be said, however, and he looked around at the assembled wizards.

"Look," he said, "are we quite sure we're agreed on this?"

"Oh yes," one of the assembled wizards said.  "No question."  The others muttered reassuringly.

"It's just that, well, one gets the sense that, well...  He doesn't appreciate being bothered."

"My ale froze this morning," said another wizard glumly.  "Solid."

The Archchancellor sighed, and began the invocation of the Rite of AshkEnte.  There was the familiar thickening of the atmosphere in the octogram, the darkening of all colours save octarine*, the... confetti and party streamers?

"Surprise!"  There, in the center of the octogram, besides the expected anthropomorphic personification, was a most peculiar sight: a jubilant, somehow pink, pony.

Do forgive her, said Death.  She is new.

"Hi!" the enthusiastic apparition said, grabbing Ridcully's hand between two startlingly warm and solid hooves and shaking enthusiastically.  "I'm Pinkie Pie!  I'm so happy to meet you!  I've got a new part-time job and it's been loads and loads and loads of fun, but I was really kind of hoping I would get to meet some live people and now here you are! And here I am!  This is going to be so great! We'll play pin-the-tail-on-the-pony and we'll dance and--"

Pinkie, Death said patiently.  Let the man speak.

"Sorry," the pink pony said, her ears drooping.

"O Foul an--"

Please, Death said, holding up a bony hand imploringly.  My patience is, as you can see, already strained.  Traditions aside, may we skip the "foul creature" nonsense and get to the point?

"Ahem," said Ridcully after a moment.  "Of course.  I, erm...  Am I to understand you have replaced your traditional pale mount for this creature?"

It is, said Death, a long story.**

"We were, erm, wondering," said Ridcully, thrown off his stride by the unexpected appearance of Pinkie Pie, combined with the breach of tradition embodied in Death's request to skip the formalities of the Rite, "what you could tell us about, erm...  the sudden onset of cold weather."

Am I to understand, said Death, that you summoned me here for that?

"Well," said Ridcully, "well, yes, to be perfectly honest."

That is unfortunate.

"Erm?"

I find myself at a loss to answer, you see.  Whatever is happening is outside of my experience.

"But," said Ridcully, "you're... well, you're supposed to know the past and future as well as the present."

This is true.

"You're supposed to know, well, everything."

This, alas, said Death, is not.

"Wait a minute," interrupted Pinkie Pie.  "You mean like really really really cold weather that's, like, out of nowhere?"

"Yes," said one of the assembled wizards, "exactly!"

"And no matter what you do, it just keeps getting worse and worse and worse?"

"So far," admitted Ridcully.

"Oooh!  Oooh!  I know what it is!  Pick me!  Pick me!  Pick me!"


* * * * *


In the sky far above Ankh-Morpork, invisible to the freezing citizens below, an equine shape loomed over the bifurcated city and gorged itself on the inherent disharmony of the large city.  The Windigo snorted a blizzard in its contentment, and settled down to really make a mess of things.




* Octarine, for the uninitiated, is the eighth colour, the colour of magic.  It is invisible to most people, and comprised of all other colours, but wizards, whose eyes have the necessary octagons to perceive it, often describe it as being a sort of greenish purplish yellow.
** But a good one.  It can be found here.






> Chapter 2: Travelers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


The Hub...

At the center of the Disc, rising above the world like nothing less than the tallest mountain on the Disc stands the tallest mountain on the Disc: Cori Celesti, home of the gods of the Disc.  There, in the city the gods call Dunmanifestin*, games are played.  Though games such as Significant Quest and Literal Interpretation** help pass the long millennia, the foremost pastime is the Game.

The Game is always being played, and for high stakes.  Some gods are regarded as better players than others, if only because they are.  Alliances are forged and broken, the dynamic between gods is a fractious thing in large part because of it.

And lately, one can't help but notice, there are a fair amount of equine pieces being put into play.




* The gods of the Disc are inordinately proud of their cleverness, and no one has the heart (or, indeed, the suicidal bravery) to tell them otherwise.
** A lot like Pictionary, except players sculpt their entries out of clay and bring them to life once successfully guessed. When it comes to wildlife on the Disc, it explains a lot, actually.




"Sister?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me again about the fields."

"There are wide, rolling fields there," the elder sister replied softly.  "Fields of sweet grass and blue grass and beautiful, sweet flowers."

"And there are no humans there, right?"

"No, sister.  No humans at all."

There was a long, contemplative silence, as the caravan moved down the road.

"Sister?"

"Yes?"

"We're going to go there someday, right?"

"Yes," said the elder, and she can hardly be blamed if she thought she was lying at the time.


* * * * *


A man and a pony walked side-by-side, heading turnwise from the city of Ankh-Morpork.  This in and of itself wasn't too outlandish, particularly on the Disc.  The man was somewhat gangly -- thin for his height, with knobby knees -- and the exceptionally worn, formerly red robe he wore entirely failed to even attempt to hide this fact.  Perched on the man's head was an equally worn hat, which had also clearly been red before time and travel faded its colour.  Tarnished sequins and flaking glitter spelled the word "WIZZARD" in large letters, in case there were any doubts about the nature of the man wearing it.*

To say the man's clothing had seen better days was a gross misrepresentation of fact.  What it had seen, in fact, was worse days, and a great many of them.  Rincewind had been to Hell and back, and worse places besides, and even if it hadn't always made the journey with him, his hat was still a testament to the kind of life he lived.**

The pony was a relatively fit (albeit middle aged, and going a bit pudgy 'round the middle) specimen of the species Equus Monocerata (Dikos Mou Micros), blue in color, wearing a blue robe decorated with golden stars and large brass bells, and a wide-brimmed hat with similar decorations.  Whereas the man had a scraggly attempt at a beard, the pony's was long, full, and white.

Rincewind struggled to contain his jealousy.

Star Swirl, on the other hand, was excited - nearly jubilant, in fact.  When he first tracked the Earth Ponies' food shortage down to a small herd of Windigos, he knew how to solve the problem plaguing all three tribes.  Granted, he didn't seem to even be in the proper plane anymore, but all he needed to fix that was the help of a good wizard or two, and here was Rincewind.  Why, his hat even said "WIZZARD" on it!  Things, he thought, were going to be all right after all.***




* There were.  Many of them.  Even (in fact especially) with the hat.
** One that involved quite a lot of fleeing and near-Death experiences.
*** Star Swirl, not being native to the Disc, can be forgiven for this lapse of sense.  Sadly, he is not exempt from the consequences of it.




As the sun set over the Disc, night didn't so much fall as trickle (and, in places, crystallize) across the landscape like a thick, black treacle. This was normally caused by two things: the effect of a strong magical field on light, slowing it down and causing it to flow like a thick liquid, and the fact that, in a reality* of a magical nature, everything has its opposite.  The third factor, heretofore unknown on the Disc - at least not during recorded history - was the unexpected cold weather that appeared in pockets** around the Circle Sea, crystallizing the fluid darkness and only enhancing the metaphor.

Even in the city of Dunmanifestin, at the top of Cori Celesti, at the very center of the Hublands, the cold was noted.  Gods, not universally known for their thick clothing, felt the chill despite the heat generated by the thick magical fields they radiated.

Still in the game were, unsurprisingly, Fate and the Lady, glaring at each other across the game board coolly, assessing each other as always.  More surprisingly, Offler the Crocodile God, who had formed an unexpected alliance with Errata early on but had played an even more unexpectedly conservative game thus far, was, if not still in the game, not yet out of it.

Fate smiled almost warmly, His eyes crinkling almost merrily as He made His move.  The nature of His eyes, however, made such a gesture worse than meaningless.  For the eyes of Fate, while they appear to be merely shadowed and dark, upon closer inspection are the cold black of an empty space, where entropy has done its work and done it well, and nothing remains but the End of All Things.

When He lifted His hand from the board, the other players (and observers as well) noted that the three pieces he'd had at the start of his turn had each multiplied again, each piece remaining in place while two smaller pieces advanced to other places on the board.  Fate, it seemed, was playing a game of attrition, a strategy that had served Him well against other opponents.

The Lady surveyed the Board, her green*** eyes narrowing speculatively.  Almost idly, She moved two of Her pieces - an old favourite, and a new piece introduced when Errata had suggested they try Her new custom character rules.

Offler snorted, looked over the board, fingered something in a satchel He wore, then shook His head.  "I'll path," he said for the twelfth time that day.




* The term is, admittedly, used loosely.
** Not, it must be said, literally - those whose clothing did not feature pockets experienced the phenomenon every bit as much as those whose clothing did.  Those who didn't wear clothing, pockets or no, experienced it even moreso.
*** The gods of the Disc could take any form they chose, with the exception of their eyes, the nature of which they could not change.  The eyes of the Lady were, as always, emerald green, sans white or pupil.




Unseen University sparkled in the night, which was similar enough to its usual behaviour to fool the casual observer.  Where it would normally give off the occasional octarine spark, however, visible only to wizards, it now shone with reflected light where ice crystals formed on nearly every surface.

Students holed up in their rooms, as did most of the faculty.  Fires, natural or magical, did not last long in the fireplaces around the University.  No sooner would they get started than frigid winds would blow through the flue and blow them out, no matter how powerful the spell to light it.

In fact, there was one warm place left in the University - the Library, warmed by the magical radiation of thousands of assorted spellbooks, grimoires, and magical codices.

The Librarian knuckled his way through the stacks, making soft grunting noises in the back of his throat as he looked around.  A surprising number of students and faculty had suddenly discovered a need to do late night research tonight.  He couldn't blame them, he supposed.  So long as the books were undisturbed, and cigarettes were smoked outside, the Librarian would not raise a fuss.

He moved almost invisibly and inaudibly, watching over his charges and, for tonight at least, his guests.


* * * * *


"Oh yes," Star Swirl was saying as he and Rincewind plodded on, "there are some truly magical beasts where I come from."

"More magical than talking unicorns, d'youmean?"

"What's so magical about talking unicorns?" scoffed the pony.  "Talking unicorns are a bushel a bit.  A unicorn that'll shut up, now, there's someone to sit up and take notice of!"

"Oh really," Rincewind said drily.  "Know any?"

Rather than take offense, Star Swirl laughed.  "I have been accused of prattling," he admitted.  "If it bothers you, just let me know.  I've been known to keep quiet for, oh, seconds at a time."

Rincewind stifled a yawn.

Star Swirl glanced up at him.  "Am I boring you?"

"Oh no," Rincewind said, startled to find it true.  "I'm actually rather enjoying the company for a change.  It's just..."  He yawned again.  "If we don't find some shelter soon, I'm liable to fall asleep on my feet."

Star Swirl chuckled.  "Nothing wrong with sleeping standing up," he said.  "These days, I find it's easier than climbing out of bed in the mornings."

"Except I haven't got four legs."  Another yawn.  "Falling asleep for me is liable to turn rather literal, I'm afraid."

"Huh."  Star Swirl thought for a moment.  "Might be able to do something about that," he said.  "Can't promise a soft bed, but I should at least be able to keep the wind off."

Rincewind let out a yelp, as something bumped into him from behind.  He leapt forward, turning in midair, only to find his Luggage plodding along patiently behind him.

Such was his startlement, he actually had time to run that sentence through his head two more times before he touched ground, certain there was something wrong with it.

"Oh, it's you," he said.  "Sorry I didn't come get you.  I was rather in a hurry to leave town."

The Luggage gave him a long-suffering look that altogether lacked menace, then sat down, retracting the dozens of pink legs it had been following the two on.  As Rincewind stared in amazement at this altogether not-nearly-hostile-enough display, it flipped open its lid to show him its contents.

"What is that?"  The blue pony approached the Luggage with, in Rincewind's opinion, not nearly enough trepidation and entirely too much curiosity.

"It's just The Luggage.  It sort of belongs to me."

"Sort of?"

"There's generally a bit of disagreement as to who owns whom," Rincewind clarified.

"You'll have to explain the enchantments you've got on it," Star Swirl said with a slowly widening smile.  "I've never seen a luggage do that before.  Not even with a Come-to-Life spell."

"Oh, I haven't enchanted it.  It's made of sapient pearwood.  A staggering amount of it, if I'm to be honest."

"So it's the material itself that makes it move like that?"

The Luggage extended its legs - hundreds of tiny, pink-hued wooden legs covering the entire bottom of it, which fascinated Star Swirl - and trotted up to Rincewind, nudging him again.

"Is that...?"  Rincewind blinked at the contents.  The luggage was completely stuffed with a large, lumpy, formerly white bulge of cloth.  "That's my mattress!" he said accusingly.  "You've gone and eaten my mattress, you wretched thing!"

The Luggage sagged, emanating an aura of disappointment.

"Erm," said Star Swirl.

"What?"

Star Swirl frowned.  "Have you considered," he said, "that it was bringing you your mattress?"

"No," said Rincewind in genuine surprise.

"Well, I mean, it is your Luggage, you said.  And it only interrupted when we were talking about finding a place to sleep."

The Luggage shuffled around to face Star Swirl, a complicated manouvre that would make the Centipede's Dilemma seem like basic arithmetic, and sat down for all the world like a happy puppy.

Rincewind shrank back in terror.  "What's got into it, I wonder?" he said.  "Besides my mattress."

"Beg pardon?"

"It's..."  Rincewind examined the Luggage closely.  "It's being nice."  Carefully, more-than-half expecting the Luggage to revert to form and behave as hostilely as ever (if not moreso, which was a truly horrifying thought), Rincewind pulled the mattress out of the Luggage, marveling as it unfolded into something other than its usual lumpy self.

Lumpy it remained, and there was an apparent limit to how clean even the Luggage could get the off-white monstrosity, but it was, indeed, clean.  Rincewind sniffed it.  As he suspected it would, it smelled faintly of lavender.  Taken aback, he addressed the Luggage again.  "Thank you," he said.

The luggage merely flipped its lid shut and radiated satisfaction.

"I don't suppose you managed to grab a tent on the way out?"

Without moving, the Luggage gave the impression of shrugging, a remarkable feat, all things considered.

"Something's different," Rincewind said.  "I'm not sure if I like it."

"Why not?"

"In my experience, the Universe is only ever nice to me when It's setting me up for a fall."

"That's a terrible outlook," grunted Star Swirl.

Rincewind had to agree.  But, he also stubbornly insisted, it was accurate.
> Chapter 3: On the Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


"Rincewind."

The wizard frowned, pulling his hat down further over his eyes.  Where was all that light coming from?

"Yoo-hoo!"

"Gerroff," he muttered, as something tugged at his hat.

"You really are not a morning person, are you?"  Something jabbed at his shoulder.  "Wake up now, we haven't much time."

Frowning, Rincewind rolled over, and found himself face-to-face with...  oh.  So that was where the light was coming from.


* * * * *


It has been said that the most powerful force in all of Creation is Love: able to transcend life and death, more powerful than Time itself, and as unpredictable as any great power can be.  In point of fact, the hierarchy of Great Powers can be rather dynamic.  There exist, for example, worlds wherein Love is such a powerful force that nothing can hope to gainsay it.  There are other worlds in which it is decidedly a lesser power, unable to triumph over even such mutable things as rail schedules.*

Experts in such things agree that there are six elements that comprise all matter on the Disc.  The four most notable are Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.  Surprise, the fifth element, helps to keep those smarty-pants Alchemists on their curly toes.  Notability aside, however, the most common element making up the Disc is Narrativium, which permeates everything and ensures the smooth** working of the Disc according to the laws of Narrative Causality.

Due to a large amount of extradimensional influence, however, a heretofore unknown seventh element was creeping into the Disc's makeup, subtly (and in other cases, not so subtly) altering the narrative flow of the stories that make up the Disc's inhabitants.  Assassinations were down this week.  Bar brawls were at an all-time low.  Arguments, while still happening, were more minor and less likely to result in participants needing a separate casket for the extremities no longer geographically associated with their torsos.

Were anyone studying this new element, they would be chagrined to discover that not only did it already have a name, but that one of the foremost experts in its nature was currently sharing a magically cobbled together shelter with a notoriously inept wizard.  It is quite fortunate that no one was aware of this change to the balance of elemental power on the Disc, if only because it prevented anyone from naming this element Get-Alongingness.

It was due to this new element that the Luggage, which it must be noted not only raised hostility to an art form, but would be considered a Grand Master in that art, was feeling uncharacteristically companionable.  It was also due to this element, combined with the already prevalent (and noted) effects of Narrativium, that certain natives of the Disc found themselves inexorably drawn towards each other, will they or nil they.




* Such worlds, it should be noted, can be identified by the lack of fingles in their creation.  Natives of those worlds, sadly, are mostly unaware of this singular lack, having been born in worlds that never had fingles.  Despite this lack of basis for comparison, it has been said by One who has cause to know that they were at their cores aware that something was missing, merely lacking the experience and vocabulary to define the missing wossnames.
** Again, the word "smooth" is used guardedly at best.  A better choice of words would perhaps be "cobbled together" or, in fact, "not so much smooth as not-at-all-smooth-but-certainly-interesting".




The Librarian did not often feel restless.  When he did, it was usually a sort of short-term restlessness, something that could be sorted out by a circumspect visit to the Patrician's private menagerie of a night.  Consequently, it took some time for him to take note of the feeling driving him to inspect the stacks yet again.

Whole great swaths of Unseen University had frozen over, now.  Those not caught in the preternatural cold front had taken shelter among the books of the University's Library, letting the unearthly magical radiation of the many grimoires, spell-books, and tomes warm their poor bones.  Over the desk where the Librarian was wont to curl up with a blanket and a banana or two was a sign, which had never been needed before.


Library Rules:
* No Smoking
* No Spellcasting.
** Not Even Pernicus' Persistente Lyght
*** Seriousely, it 'tis notte worthe it.
* NO SMOKING



The Librarian patrolled the stacks once more, noting that the rules were, for a change, being obeyed.  He had neither cause nor care to realize that this change was due to the introduction of a new element to the Disc, which we will definitely not be referring to as Get-Alongingness.  He also did not realize that it was due to this new element that he felt compelled to wonder where his sometime assistant had gotten himself off to.

It was definitely due to this element that he felt the need to go find out.


* * * * *


Rincewind had encountered deities before.  In point of fact, he had even encountered this particular deity before.  She just hadn't looked so...  quadrupedal.  Due to that, and his inability to recall certain crucial facets of his education*, he almost didn't recognize Her.

"Erm," he said, trying to remind himself that it was rude to stare.  It helped that she was radiating what would have been a soft warm light, had they not been enclosed in a dome of glittering whiteness, which reflected the warm light, amplified it, and turned it into an all-ecompassing blaze of glory.  "I beg your pardon?"

"Ah good," the decidedly equine deity said.  "You're awake."

Beside him, Star Swirl the Bearded began to stir.  "Mrrf," the pony grunted, pulling his hat down over his eyes as well.  "Turn out that ruddy light," he muttered.

"I..."  Rincewind was overcome with a staggering - and, for him, horrifying - sense of familiarity.  "Erm..."  He shrugged.  There was nothing for it but to ask.  "Have we met?"

The glowing equine grinned, and Rincewind noted the warm, friendly way that grin crinkled the corners of her eyes -- or at least the one eye not obscured by a flowing pastel mane.  He felt he could get lost in those eyes, which were green without white or iris, and that was when recognition hit him.

"Lady!"  Several expressions vied for control of his face at one time.  First, there was the expression that said "please do not smite me O Mighty Smiter," which was a chagrined frown.  Second, a warm, slighly nervous grin that contrived to ameliorate the negative effects of the first expression.  Third, a terrified sort of grimace that said, in pure Rincewind, "I'm going to die.  I don't want to die.  I have so much not-dying yet to do."  Fourth, an apologetic sort of smile which contrived to brush off the other three expressions.

As these all raced towards Rincewind's face at the same time, some part of his brain became aware of an impending collision in the motor control nerves around his mouth and eyes.  He tried gamely to prioritize these expressions and avert a disaster, but, alas, too late.  His face tried to make all four expressions at once, and ended up with something entirely impossible to communicate.  If his expression represented a sentiment, that sentiment was "gflrghuggah."  Realizing that nonverbal communications would not do in this situation, Rincewind attempted to make up for that lack with a more proper greeting.

"Gflrghuggah," he said, then covered his face with his hands.  Shame and fear.  Ah, there was a familiar expression, and one he could rely on again and again.

The Lady, for Her part, chuckled warmly.  "Do relax, Rincewind," She said, "and introduce Me to your friend."




* That is to say, virtually all of it.




Rincewind looked over at Star Swirl the Bearded, who was gaping open-mouthed at this resplendent vision of equine beauty.

"Ahem," said Rincewind.  "Star Swirl the Bearded," he said, "may I present the Lady."

"Enchanted," Star Swirl said factually.  "Lady what, may I ask?"

Rincewind panicked.  "No!  No, no, that's, erm...  We do not ever refer to Her by name."

The Lady chuckled again.  "Indeed," She said.  "I am the one god of the Disc who is not called upon by name.  I am She of the Million-to-One Chance, and all the other Chances as well.  I have no temple, but you may find Me where ever a roll of the dice decides the future."

"Oh," said Star Swirl matter-of-factly.  "You mean Lu--"

Rincewind had never tackled a pony before, so he can be forgiven if his desperate need to do so now caused him to forget that this particular pony had something of a hard, bony protrusion from the forehead.  He did, however, note, that taking a unicorn to the armpit is, at the very least, painful and not to be recommended.  "So," he said, "erm..."  How did one broach the subject, he wondered?  "What, erm... brings You here?"

The Lady forewent chuckling this time, and simply laughed.  "Oh, my, you are entertaining, Rincewind.  As to why I am here, things are afoot that I felt you and your new friend should be made aware of."

"You mean the sudden cold front in Ankh-Morpork?"

The Lady nodded.  "Not merely in Ankh-Morpork, I should say.  In fact, due to a grave miscalculation on the part of one of My opponents, the phenomenon is spreading quite rapidly."

Star Swirl frowned.  "I was beginning to suspect as much," he said.  "When Rincewind here said it was supposed to be summer--"

"Summer Two," corrected the wizard.

"It's Windigoes, isn't it?"

The Lady nodded.  "Much as it pains Me to admit it," She said, "even We gods are finding it...  difficult to deal with the incursion.  Nothing seems to work."

Star Swirl blinked.  "Well, erm...  Have You tried, erm...  being nice to each other?"

Rincewind stared at Star Swirl.  The gods of the Disc were not, he wanted to say, noted for their congeniality.  In point of fact, rather than an attitude of live-and-let-live, their basic modus operandi tended more towards live-and-oh-by-the-way-here's-a-nice-plague-to-be-getting-on-with.

"Ah," the Lady said, "I knew I was right when I chose you."

Rincewind, completely at a loss, merely stared back and forth between the goddess and the pony.  As he did so, he found himself wondering at Her chosen avatar.  Previously, when he and a friend had met the Lady, neither of them had been able to agree on any one thing about Her appearance, apart from the fact that She had been quite beautiful.  This time, however, he was mortally certain that if he were to question Star Swirl about Her, the two of them would be able to describe her exactly.

"It's elementary," Star Swirl was saying.  "Though they can be downright pernicious at the right - or rather, the wrong - times, Windigoes are fortunately vulnerable to the most common of the five elements that comprise the world."

Rincewind raised a polite finger in objection, realized that there was a good chance he was wrong, and hastily shut his mouth.

"Many scholars of alchemy," continued Star Swirl, undeterred, "believe the world to be formed of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.  While this is true for the most part, each of these elements contains at its core a fifth element, which allows them to interact with each other in order to form the fundamental building blocks of reality."

This was all sounding very familiar to Rincewind, who had completely failed to stay awake through quite a similar lecture during his time as a student of Unseen University.

"Without Harmony," said Star Swirl, "Fire consumes Earth, Water douses Fire, and so on.  With Harmony, Fire and Earth can combine to form, for example, rubies."

Rincewind had never heard of an Element of Harmony before.*  Things were beginning to make a terrible sort of sense to him, which had that familiar feeling of inevitability about it.  "And if there weren't such a thing as the Element of Harmony?" he asked, knowing that the answer was as inevitable as it was terrible, much like the rest of his life.

"Well," said Star Swirl the Bearded, "I'd say we'd be in a right fix.  We would need to find a way to generate the Element, and preferably quickly."

"That... shouldn't be too difficult, right?"

"I've no idea," Star Swirl answered.  "Pony magic depends on the presence of Harmony, though, and as I'm not without magic, that means there must be some around here somewhere."

The Lady, an enigmatic smile on Her fa-- muzzle -- merely watched this exchange.

Rincewind's mind was working harder than it had in a long time, taking new information and attempting to apply it to the information he'd already had.  Pony magic depended, he thought, on an Element that modern Wizardry knew nothing of.  There were two possibilities: either that element was so intrinsic to everything that they'd somehow overlooked it in centuries of study, or it never existed here.

Okay, he thought, tackle the first possibility.  Narrativium, his mind reminded him.  Oh, thanks, he thought.  Right, narrativium was so ubiquitous as to be omnipresent.  And yet it did not remain undiscovered for long.  Consequently...  there was no such thing as the Element of Harmony.  At least, he concluded, not in his world, which was the only one he really cared about at the moment.

So, the second possibility loomed large in his mind.  Pony magic, Star Swirl had said, relies on the presence of Harmony to function.  Since Harmony was not native to this world, something somewhere must be generating it.  Which meant that magic, pony magic, was flowing into a world that had never had it before.  Which meant...

Sourcery.  Specifically, pony Sourcery, Harmonious Sourcery.  Horsery, he concluded, was as good a name as any.  Somewhere out in the world was a pony Sourcerer.  He looked at the Lady again, curiously.  "That," he said, "is a new look for you."

The Lady smiled enigmatically.  "Isn't it, though?" she said, then vanished, plunging the two of them into darkness.




* Sadly, more devastating to the stable emotional development of a universe than the early trauma of a Big Bang is the lack of certain nurturing Elements in that universe's creation and growth.  The lack of an Element of Harmony in the foundation of a world can lead to war, famine, unfair taxes, short life spans, increased amounts of violence, and, in some extreme cases, the presence of areas in said worlds where even the brave remember pressing engagements elsewhere.




The river Ankh, which normally does not so much flow through the city of Ankh-Morpork as it does ooze, glittered beautifully in the frozen Summer air.  It was breathtaking, though not nearly as much as the general chill, which would not only take one's breath away, but surreptitiously replace it with tiny shards of ice just out of sheer maliciousness.  On one side, the proud city of Ankh, with its wealthy population and its stunning (or at least garish) architecture.  There, protected by numerous spells, none of which were working well enough to suit him, Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of the Unseen University, made his hasty way from one frozen street to another in an effort to reach the offices of the Patrician to discuss the emergency vouchsafed to him by Death's rather unorthodox companion during the Rite of Ashk'Ente.

As the slippery footing, combined with the difficulty in breathing, will cause his journey to take longer than he anticipated, we leave him to his devices for now, and gaze across the frozen river at the city of Morpork, a city with a long history of less-than-moral-rectitude.  Nestled deep in the dark alleys of Morpork is an even darker set of alleys, where none but the brave, suicidal, or desperate dare to tread.  The dark maze of streets where, even in the height of the noonday sun, a combination of architecture and tradition ensure that there are far more shadows than even dimly lit areas, is known colloquially as The Shades.

The Shades is the sort of place that the lowliest dregs of humanity can look to and think "well, I may be murdering, raping scum, but at least I don't live in the Shades" and feel better about themselves.  The Shades has few regular visitors, if only because most visitors find themselves quite expectedly and unsurprisingly deceased, usually within minutes of their first visit.  It is not, in short, the sort of place one goes to, for example, catch up on the local gossip while getting a pedicure.

"An' then," the troll was saying, "Beryllia, you remember Beryllia, she's the one wot had that big to-do wif 'er 'usband about the job at the Widdershins Bridge..."

"Mmm-hmm," the pedicurist said, filing away at the lichen that stubbornly refused to lose its grip on her client's nails.

"Anyway, she says that Ole Granite-puss ack-tually saw Lias Bluestone down the Mended Drum, kin yer believe it?"

She could believe it, if only because she had no idea who Lias Bluestone was.  "Do tell," she said dutifully.

"Yeh, an o' course Granite-puss sez he'd of got 'is autograph, but that Rincewind squashy went an' started a ruckus to do wif all the cold weather goin' on."

The file, a durable piece of equipment she'd bought from a stonemason once it became apparent whom her clientele was going to be, snapped.  "I'm sorry," said Conina, "did you say Rincewind?"

Moments later, she was off down the street, headed for the tiny, ramshackle hovel she and her husband called "Home-for-lack-of-a-better-word", leaving a surly, and slightly wounded, troll in her wake.  The sign in the door behind the troll read:


Conina and Nijel Harebutt
Hair, Nails, and Roguish Adventuer!
Hair $5, Nails $2,
Adventure Negotiable
Closed Until Furthur Note-us.

> Chapter 4: Friendship is Horsery
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


There is a certain visual shorthand for people (or a person and a pony) in the dark, in that, to an outside observer, the eyes are always clearly visible.  It should be noted, however, that those in the darkness are incapable of seeing said eyes, and that due to this, it is a phenomenon of life on the Disc that no one is aware of, if only because they lack a perspective sufficiently detached from those they would be observing.

Beneath a copious amount of snow on the Sto Plains, somewhat Turnwise of the city of Ankh-Morpork, there was a dark empty area surrounded by packed snow in the shape of a hemisphere, as though an overturned bowl had protected it from the snowfall, then vanished, leaving only the space beneath to testify to its existence.  In point of fact, this was not too far off from the truth.  Within this darkness floated two pairs of eyes, one about two thirds the elevation of the other.  There was also a keyhole, but as it was the same color as the background, it was easy to overlook.

"If I were to ask," said the taller of the two sets of eyes, "where I was, would I regret it?"

"I'm not sure I've known you long enough to adequately answer that question," the lower set replied.

The keyhole merely sat there, content for the moment.

"Okay, I'll bite.  Where are we, and why is it so dark?"

"Well, if you'll recall, before we bedded down for the night, I cast an amniomorphic shield, yes?"

"Ye~e~e~s...  ish."

"Well, it snowed in the night, didn't it?"

"Are we buried under a great deal of snow?"

"I should imagine so, yes."

"It figures."

"Hmm."

"What?"  The taller eyes darted back and forth, looking in vain for something.

"From what you've told me about yourself, I rather expected a bit more panic from you."

"You just wait until things get really horrible.  Then you'll see some world-class panicking."

"Not worried about freezing to death?  Suffocating?  Being crushed to death if this space collapses?"

"Not particularly."  The taller set of eyes glared briefly in the general direction of the lower ones, which had unfortunately already moved.  "Not until now, at any rate.  Still, it doesn't seem likely."

"Why not?"

"Given the number of times I've nearly died in my life, it seems... insufficient, somehow."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes, not nearly a terrible enough fate."

"Good.  I imagine you've already figured a way out of this situation, then?"

"Erm..."

"No?"

"Not as such, no."

"Oh."  The lower eyes closed momentarily, or from the outside perspective, vanished.  "It so happens," they said, "I've got a plan of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"Yes.  Grab my tail."

There was an awkward silence.  The higher set of eyes widened.  The lower pair narrowed dangerously.

"Rincewind."

"Erm, yes?"

"That is not my tail."

There was a flash of light, outlining the forms of a skinny wizard and a somewhat pudgy unicorn pony, and when the flash went away, the eyes had vanished.


* * * * *


Lord Vetinari glanced briefly at the ice crystals decorating his window, then back at Archchancellor Ridcully.  "What do you expect me to do?  Issue a decree telling the citizens of Ankh-Morpork to be nice to each other?"

"Erm, well," Ridcully replied.  Now that the Patrician mentioned it, it seemed surpassingly unlikely.  "I realize how it sounds--"  He did now, at any rate. "--but, well, yes."

"And this will somehow end the unnatural weather that has stricken the city?"

"So I have been informed."

"It won't work."

"I rather doubt it myself," Ridcully admitted.  "But I've been assured that if it does, well, it will solve the problem."

"There is no possibility of this decree making even the slightest change in the behavior of anyone at all."

"None," admitted Ridcully.

"Even now, members of my staff have fallen victim to the unnatural freeze," admitted Vetinari.  "Tempers are high, temperatures quite the opposite."

"Any port in a storm, Patrician?" offered Ridcully.

"The odds against it working are astronomical," Vetinari said, and Ridcully saw his opening.

"A million to one," he said.*

The Patrician steepled his hands in front of his face.  Ridcully, through sheer willpower, managed not to look smug.

"Bring me a quill," said the Patrician.




* Probability is a funny thing on a world such as the Disc, which, due to the presence of Narrativium, rigidly follows the laws of Narrative Causality.  While normally, the odds follow the same rules on the Disc as in other Realities, it is a widely known fact that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten**.
** This, in fact, changes the odds of such an event from 1,000,000:1 to 1:9, which in itself leads to bizarre twists of Probability not seen without an atomic vector plotter and a scaldingly hot cup of tea.




The caravan was an oasis of warmth in the odd weather -- so much so that the people driving it didn't know to pack for snow.  That being said, the drivers, being Klatchian, didn't really know much about snow to begin with.  An outrider returned to the caravan, waving his arms to get the drivers' attention.

"Nothing ahead," he said as he pulled up alongside them.  "They say that their crops were ruined by a sudden storm of some sort."

"By the Seven Moons of Nasreem, Annar, tell me you did not believe them!"

Annar shrugged.  "They were quite insistent."

"This is not good.  At this rate, we may have to resort to drastic measures."

Annar frowned.  "Pray, Isrim, to what drastic measures are you referring?"

"It occurs to me, Annar, that we do not need two magical talking, flying horses."

"The smaller one is quite popular with children.  We make more money from the hands-on menagerie than the tent."

"Indeed, Annar.  It also occurs to me that the larger one is, well, larger."

"It is, indeed."

"One could feed, for example, a group of, oh, hypothetically, eight hungry travelers for a month with proper rationing."

Annar smiled, a cold, predatory smile that would have been quite at home on something with scales, claws, and a great many very sharp, very white teeth.  "One could," he agreed.

"How long will our current supplies last?"

"I believe we can go for a week.  Two on short rations."

Isrim frowned.  "Let us not be over-hasty, Annar.  With such a supply of meat readily available, I see no need to short ourselves."

"Indeed, Isrim," said Annar.  "However, I must ask where we would keep this bounty of meat."

Isrim pondered the problem for a moment, then began to smile.  If Annar's smile would have looked at home on something large and predatory, Isrim's smile would have sent that creature running for its lair in the hypothetical hills* in a heartbeat.  In fact, one could be safe in assuming that such a creature, if it existed, would make evolutionary leaps and bounds in that same time, if only so that it could invent a door to hide behind, locks to secure the door with, and a properly intimidating arsenal in case the locked door failed.  "Why," he said, "where do we keep it now?"

So saying, he began to laugh, and after a moment, Annar began to laugh with him.




* The Hypothetical Hills, in fact, can be found by the curious-minded in the foothills of the mountains of the Hublands.  Such people would then (hypothetically, of course) find many wondrous, magical, and highly improbable creatures living there.



> Chapter 5: Sideshow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


As Rincewind and Star Swirl made their way turnwise, and a Klatchian caravan made its way widdershins on the same road, fated* to meet each other, another meeting was about to take place some ways widdershins of the erstwhile pair on the same road.

"Look, love," a young man with all the trappings of a barbarian swordsman and then some** was saying, "I'm not disagreeing with you on principle, I'm just saying, how can we be sure he actually left the city?"

His wife grinned.  "Right now," she said, "anyone with even a grain of survival instinct is either holed up in their homes or trying to find a way out of Ankh-Morpork that isn't frozen over."

"Right," said Nijel.  "Wouldn't we be better served, erm, looking for him there?"

Conina's grin turned into a knowing laugh.  "Do you honestly think," she asked, "he would be among the last to run?"

"Oook," the Librarian agreed, waving to the couple as he approached.




* More by their course than by Fate Himself, Who was still focusing on spreading his burgeoning Windigo army across the Disc.
** In deference to the unnaturally cold weather***, Nijel the Destroyer was wearing extra-thick woolen underwear.
*** And his mother's wishes.




It was Star Swirl who saw the caravan first.  As he and the human wizard crested a hill, they were struck immediately by how green and lush everything had become.  Rincewind, to Star Swirl's amazement, was not reassured by the sudden return of Summer weather.

"I don't like it," he said.  "It's unnatural.  Too convenient, for one thing."  He looked behind them at the glittering, snow-covered terrain they'd just covered, then to either side, noting the clear demarcation between summer and winter landscapes.

"Now, Rincewind," the pony replied.  "The snow and ice were unnatural.  We've just finally gotten out of range of the Windigoes' magic."

"No, look," Rincewind said, indicating the line.  "It curves the other way.  This patch of warmth is a perfect circle, look!"  He pointed along the line, showing the bearded unicorn exactly what he'd described.

Star Swirl laughed.  "Good eye, my friend," he cried.  "Why, look there! I believe those tents are at the centre of it!"

"What tents?  Where?"  But Star Swirl had already begun trotting happily down the hill towards the center of the summer field.

As Rincewind followed his new equine friend, he felt something peculiar.  He almost wanted to call it magic, but it didn't feel right.  A strong magic field can make the air feel heavy, greasy, and charged with arcane potential.  This air, however, within the warm summer field, felt comfortable, like a hand-knitted blanket by a crackling fire.  Though the air didn't smell any different from a normal grassy field, something about the scent made him think of fresh-brewed herbal tea, which was very odd, because Rincewind had never smelled herbal tea before, and fresh-brewed is practically an insult in Morporkean terms.  He stood there, trying to puzzle it out, and the Luggage, concerned about its owner, rubbed up against his robe in a fair, albeit wooden, approximation of a comforting nuzzle.

"Ah," he said.  "Horsery."  The phenomenon thus explained, he hurried to catch up with his companion, stoically fighting off the sense of goodwill and camaraderie that his finely honed survival instincts warned him would be a problem if push, as it inevitably did in his presence, came to shove.  Or, more likely, attempted bludgeoning.


* * * * *


The tent was filled with people desperate to forget their woes.  Somehow, when the caravan had arrived, it brought with it fair weather instead of the unnatural snow that had been plaguing the land for the past few days.  The jolly, welcoming faces of the Klatchian nomads helped put people at their ease.

Of course the nomads were happy to meet the locals.  Naturally they were all friends here.  No, five Ankh-Morporkean dollars was not too much to ask for the pleasure of viewing the supernatural oddities on display.  It was a given that should anyone be dissatisfied, the money would be refunded without question.  It was also a given that no one could possibly be dissatisfied, as that would be unfriendly.

It takes a special sort of person to spend any amount of time in the midst of a strong Harmonic field, well in excess of a hundred and fifty millisnugs*, and not feel warmly disposed to everyone around him.  It takes a very special sort of person to spend days in close proximity to the source of such a field and contemplate carving it into cutlets.

Isrim al Qurad was a very, very special person** indeed. He had come deep into the Hublands*** for a purpose, and since acquiring the oddities providing his current income, he was beginning to see a means of achieving far, far more.

Isrim had been born the eighth son of an eighth son, but his auspicious birth had been overlooked due to his eldest brother's being born to a different mother.  Unbeknownst to any save Isrim himself, he was a Wizard.  And that was how he liked it: having more power than those around him thought he did.  

By Klatchian standards, Isrim was excellent Vizier material, but that post was currently occupied by one of his older brothers.  This, too, was how Isrim preferred things - he was one of the few to witness what had happened to the prior Grand Vizier and live to tell the tale.  The sight had made an impression on him.  Far better, he decided, to keep a low profile until one had enough might, both magical and military, to achieve any end.

And so, he had come to the Hublands, a place known for its heroes; a place where one couldn't swing a half-brick in a sock without fear of hitting a barbarian swordsman.  And in this place, he would raise an army.  And with that army, he would conquer the world.  And now, thanks to the strange, calming effect of his menagerie, he could see a way to achieve that army, and to make his transition to power seamless.

It didn't hurt that, for some reason, the past few days had seen an increase in the amount of magic at his disposal.




* A snug being the amount of adorability generated by a cavorting puppy, a kitten with a ball of yarn, or a small filly with a pink bow in her mane who wants her cutie mark "naoow".
** Some would say homicidal.  Or at least equicidal.
*** From the Klatchian perspective, the Hublands are defined as "those lands so far Hubwards that they're not even a desert anymore."  What the rest of the Disc considers the Hublands may as well be Cori Celesti itself as far as they're concerned.




Star Swirl the Bearded sat patiently some distance from the side of the road.  Rincewind had insisted that he remain behind, as a talking unicorn wearing a wizard's hat and robes would attract attention.  He'd offered to remove the clothing, but that simply made the human wizard uncomfortable.  He'd promised not to speak even a little bit, but Rincewind said that a non-talking unicorn, naked or no, would still draw attention.  So here he was, waiting for Rincewind to return from his investigation of the small group of tents ahead on the road.

There was a bright flash of light, like that from a spell of teleportation, only much brighter and of longer duration.


* * * * *


Rincewind frowned.  It was taking rather a lot of effort not to just walk up and warmly greet every person he could see.  They, he noted, were certainly being friendly with each other.  Still, his natural paranoia proved an adequate defense, and after seeing the signs on his way up to the tents, he was very glad he'd asked Star Swirl the Bearded to remain behind.




it read, and beneath that,




Attempting to feign the sort of goodwill he was fighting off while at the same time not falling victim to it proved difficult, but as he approached the turbaned man behind the table at the front of the Performance-by-the-Side-of-the-Road tents, he knew it was important.  With a jaunty wave and a friendly smile, he approached the table.

"Well hello, my good friend," called out the Grand Vizier-looking fellow.  "I am Isrim al Qurad, and I would like to welcome you to my traveling menagerie and Performance-by-the-Side-of-the-Road!  Our hands-on menagerie is currently open, but I highly recommend you first see the Performance-by-the-Side-of-the-Road, as it is about to begin.  By the Five Moons of Nasreem, you have never seen such wonders!"

Rincewind forced a nervous sort of smile.  "Well," he said, fishing out five Morporkean dollars -- fully a third of what he bitterly called his savings -- "I am a well-traveled man, my friend, but as we are all friends here, I believe I will take you up on your offer."  He widened his smile a few millimeters just for effect.

Isrim took his money and waved him through to the largest of the tents.

It took some time to get used to the low light inside the tent, especially after being out in the bright Summer Two* sun.  And when the show began, he was astounded.




* Some time should be taken to explain seasons on the Disc, for those (such as Star Swirl, who, sadly, will miss this footnote due to his limited perspective) unfamiliar with its cosmology.  The Discworld sun, a ball of fire roughly a mile across, travels in an elliptical orbit along the length of the Great A'Tuin, while the Disc itself rotates in a clockwise direction on the backs of the four Elephants.  The astute observer will realize then, that the sun's proximity to any given part of the Disc varies based on that part's position around the Disc in this rotation.  The even more astute observer will note that the Disc has, instead of four, eight seasons, as each season repeats itself (for example, one Summer occurs when the sun rises rimwards of a location, and the other when it rises hubwards).



> Chapter 6: Conversations and Plans
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


Rincewind came out of the tent in a daze.  A wizard, even a failed one, can recognize when powerful magic is being used.  So it was that he had recognized, within the tent, the source of the Harmonic field that emanated from the caravan.

So, he thought, I have seen a Horserer.  He was struck by a feeling of familiarity, beyond the general sense of goodwill intrinsic to a strong Harmonic field.  She had looked nearly exactly the way the Lady had presented herself to him and Star Swirl that morning -- apart from the eyes -- but that was not it.  In fact, it was her eyes, large and long-lashed, and like nothing he'd seen before, that had somehow struck a chord within him.

Where had he seen that lost, haunted look before?  He looked around the tents as he wandered, lost in thought.  Everyone was moving in more or less the same direction, towards a sort of paddock in the back.  They chattered genially amongst themselves, wandering this way and that, but always in the general direction of the paddock.  He didn't think they were aware they were doing it.  If he were to be honest with himself, it gave him chills.

To buy himself time to think, he purchased a large, meaty drumstick sort of thing -- the leg of a geas, as it happened -- and stood by the back of the large tent that he had just left, gnawing futilely at the tough, almost rubbery meat.  That was how he came to hear the conversation, if such a word applied.

"So," he heard a man say, and due to the steel-hard nature of the voice, he had difficulty identifying it as al Qurad's.  "This is how you repay me for taking care of you and your sister these last weeks."

"Isrim, no," another voice replied, and he recognized the voice of the Horserer.  "It was only a performance!"

"A performance indeed," Isrim said.  "'Come fly with me'?"  There was a sharp snapping sound, the smell of ozone, and a whinny of pain and fear.

"No, Isrim, please!  You know I would never try to escape!" the Horserer cried.

Isrim laughed, and Rincewind only barely mastered the urge to flee from the hard edge of that laugh.  "Of course you would not," the Klatchian said.  "But those people have been touched by your power.  Even now, they queue for a chance to be near your sister.  To pet her.  To talk to your adorable..." Another sharp crack and whiff of ozone.  "...little..."  Another.  "...sister!"  And another.

Hullo, said a voice in Rincewind's head.

Oh bugger,he thought.  You again.

Yes, said Rincewind's conscience.  Been a bit, hasn't it?  Are you hearing this?  And then the voice stopped, forcing him to listen, once again, to the conversation in the tent.

"They will look at her," Isrim was saying, "and see that she is cute, and helpless.  They will see her wings.  And then they will hear you saying 'come fly with me'...   as you intended!"

"No," the Horserer pled.

"Yes!"  Another crack, another whiff of ozone, another whinny.  "And your nasty little ingrate of a sister won't be able to resist, will she?  Some little Hublandish whelp will climb on her back and say 'fly with me!' and off they will go...  And I will not have it!"  And yet another.

You do know, Rincewind's conscience put in, that's Tslah's Portable Lightning he's whipping her with?

I know, Rincewind snarled back.

I imagine, his conscience continued, relentlessly, that the pain is indescribable.

"You know," Isrim said, "should your sister attempt to flee, she will need to be punished as well."

"No," the Horserer said, and her voice lost some, but not all, of its pleading nature.  "Not Luna.  We had a bargain.  Not Luna."

"Bargain or no," Isrim argued, "discipline must be maintained."

And suddenly, Rincewind knew what it was about the Horserer's eyes that was so familiar.  "You know what happens to boys who are bad," he quoted, sotto vocce.

Well, said his conscience, I can see my work here is--  where are you going?  For Rincewind had tossed aside the geas drumstick (it bounced twice) and was headed out of the camp with a determined sort of look in his eyes.

To get Star Swirl, he replied, snarling.  I can't do this on my own.

He decided he must be mad to be considering it at all, but that some situations called for madness.


* * * * *


Star Swirl, in the meantime, was having what he would later consider one of the most peculiar conversations of his long life.  Considering he had, just a few days prior, engaged in an animated debate with the Earth Pony Chancellor, Puddinghead, about the merits and flaws of an oatmeal-based economy*, that particular bar was set rather high.

Star Swirl, while Rincewind had been watching the show in the largest tent, had been talking to himself.  Given Star Swirl's garrulous and, it must be admitted, often silly nature, this was not in itself unusual.  What was unusual was that the pony he was talking to was standing three feet away and dressed very oddly indeed.

"That's an interesting outfit," Star Swirl said diplomatically.  Personally, he thought the black jumpsuit was too understated, and could use some trim and possibly a bell or two.  He had to admit that the eyepatch and scar made him look rather dashing, however.

The other Star Swirl grinned.  "Isn't it?  It's some sort of material to keep warm in the Windigoes' area of influence.  Some human fellow named Ridiculous or something gave it to me."  He turned to examine himself, then sighed.  "He was very resistant to the idea of putting bells on, or one of those little puffball things, so it's perhaps not as silly as I'd like."

"And the eyepatch?"

"Well, it completes the look, doesn't it?  I think it makes me look dashing."

"Well, yes, it does," Star Swirl admitted.  "And the suit seems a bit slimming."

"Look," said Other Star Swirl, "we haven't got time for this.  We--" And then he got a case of the Sillies.**  He snorted, gasped out the word "time" once, then fell over, rolling on the ground laughing and pounding his hooves against the dirt in apparent hilarity.  Despite Star Swirl's best efforts, all Other Star Swirl could manage to say was "time," which would set him off again.

"Oh dear," Star Swirl said, watching his doppelganger bemusedly, "I fear I've gone and cracked."

Other Star Swirl then began to glow, eventually vanishing in a blinding flash of yellow-white light, all the time still laughing.

Star Swirl stood there, staring at the spot his doppelganger had collapsed and trying to figure out what had just happened, when another flash of light went off behind him.  He turned around and found himself face-to-face with Other Star Swirl again, who grinned, said "Boo!" and kissed him on the nose before falling over laughing again, insensible until he vanished a second time.

Before Star Swirl could react, there was yet another flash of yellow-white light, heralding yet another appearance of Other Star Swirl.

"Okay," Other Star Swirl said, gasping for breath.  "Sorry.  Sorry.  Ahem.  This time for sure."  He almost lost composure again at the word "time", but bravely held it together.  "Greetings, Star Swirl the Bearded.  I bring tidings of the future!  OOOooOOooooo!"  So saying, Other Star Swirl reared back on his hind legs and waved his forehooves around in what Star Swirl presumed was intended to be a spooky manner.

"Things are about to get chancy," Other Star Swirl continued, "but if you keep your chin up and keep on smiling, everything will end in sunshine and rainbows!"

Star Swirl opened his mouth to reply, but Other Star Swirl simply shoved his black-clad hoof in it.  Never having heard of foam latex, Star Swirl didn't know what Other Star Swirl's suit was made of, but he knew it tasted horrible.

"The other important thing I have to say," Other Star Swirl said, "is that you've got to head over to the main road right now or you'll miss meeting Rincewind's friends!"

Star Swirl was taken aback.  Pushing Other Star Swirl's hoof out of the way, he said "Rincewind's got friends?"***

"Course he's got friends!"  Other Star Swirl grinned.  "He's got you, hasn't he?"

"Go on," Star Swirl said, "pull the other one.  It," he added quite factually, "has got bells on."

Other Star Swirl laughed, his composure finally broken.  (Truth be told, Star Swirl had been waiting years to use that line, so it was rather gratifying to have an appreciative audience.)  As the glow began to overtake him, indicating he was about to vanish again, his eyes lit up.  "Oooh!" he said.  "I just remembered!  I should probably tell you about the Elements of Har--"  And then he vanished.

Star Swirl waited a moment for him to reappear, and when he didn't, he decided he'd better heed Other Star Swirl's advice and head for the main road.




* Merits: Everypony loves oatmeal, especially with cinnamon and a little butter.  Flaws: It's a bad idea to have edible currency, oat meal has a fairly short shelf life, and once prepared it's not exactly portable.  Or, as Star Swirl had put it before enumerating these points, "Oatmeal? Are you crazy?"
** Though a human being can generally laugh off a case of the Sillies in short order, in ponies it is a serious condition, often with long-term consequences.  Some learn to live with the symptoms (spontaneous musical numbers, an inability to stay on task, and a compulsion to travel by hopping or bouncing are among the more common ones) while others, as trained medical ponies put it, "go completely 'round the twist".
*** This would be a surprise to Rincewind too, as it happens.  Wizards on the disc are not generally noted for their amicability, being an insular, competitive lot.




Havelock Vetinari's office was one of the few remaining places in the bifurcated -- and now mostly crystallized -- city of Ankh Morpork that wasn't frozen solid.  (If he could have seen it, he would have grudgingly admitted that the Shades made a startlingly beautiful, and large, ice sculpture.)  He would have liked to credit sound construction or a well-maintained heating system for the fact, but he knew that wasn't the case.  Similarly, his guest, Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully, would have loved to credit his own magical prowess, but he did not cast any spells on the room.

No, the only explanation remaining was that the two of them had set aside their considerable differences and were, in fact, getting along rather swimmingly.  In short, the situation confirmed, albeit on a small scale, information vouchsafed to the Archchancellor by Death's admittedly unorthodox companion and mount.

"I've an idea," Ridcully said after a few minutes of careful, and silent, consideration.

"Do tell," the Patrician replied, with none of his usual air of superiority.  Truth be told, he was getting rather desperate for a solution.

"Well," said Ridcully, "All's Fallow is coming up in just a few days.*"

The Patrician smiled wryly, seeing where Ridcully was taking the discussion.  "I suppose you're suggesting, what, a party?"  His smile widened, taking on a bit more of his usual attitude.  It felt good, he decided.  "Trick people into getting along with each other?"

"It could work," Ridcully said.  "At least for a time."  He looked out the window at the freezing city.  Was that an equine cloud he saw, racing over the skyline?  He shuddered.  "It's either that or settle in and wait for the Ice Giants."

Vetinari had to admit the Archchancellor had a point.




* All's Fallow, the midsummer festival of Summer Two, is the one day of the year when, it is said, witches and warlocks stay in their beds.




It was, ironically, the presence of the Luggage that had put Conina and Nijel at ease.  (Most familiar with the oft-homicidal travel accessory would have the opposite reaction.)  The Librarian, accompanying them, seemed comfortable with any situation with which he was presented.  This, in fact, likely had to do with the fact that, as an orang-utan,* his concerns had become much less immediate, generally coming down to a vague wonder where his next banana was coming from.

"Oook?" he asked.

"Erm, yes," answered Star Swirl.  "He's just gone on ahead to those tents up there."  He indicated the caravan with a gesture of his horn.

"Rincewind went ahead?"  Conina blinked.  "Are you sure he didn't just...  erm... scarper?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Star Swirl said.

"It's just," Nijel said, "meaning no offense, but Rincewind isn't...  well, he's not exactly, erm..."

The Librarian rolled his eyes.  "Ook," he said, saving Nijel from having to spit out the uncomfortable truth.

"Well," said Star Swirl, "so he can be a bit cowardly at times**.  But what's to be brave about?"  He seemed genuinely nonplussed.  "All he has to do is pop in, say 'Hello, lovely weather we're having,' and just have a look about."

"Ook," explained the Librarian and, laying a long-fingered, leathery hand comfortingly on Star Swirl's shoulder, pointed up the road.  There was Rincewind, one hand holding his pointed hat on his head while the other held up the skirts of his robe, allowing his spindly legs the full range of motion required for fleeing.

Nijel and Conina, more experienced in dealing with Rincewind than Star Swirl, were preparing to join his headlong flight when, rather to their surprise, he skidded to a halt in front of them.

"What is it?" said Conina, brandishing a large, curious-looking weapon.  "Who's after you?"

"Erm," said Rincewind, looking over his shoulder.  "No one, I think."  He shrugged.  "I don't think they noticed me leaving."

"Then why the headlong flight?  Why the expression of terror?" Nijel asked.

"Well," said  the embarrassed wizard, "better safe than sorry.  As for the look, I imagine you wouldn't look quite so brave if you knew what I know about what's coming next."  He paused to consider for a moment.  "Well," he allowed, "I suppose you might, and she," he said, indicating Conina, "definitely would.  Hullo, Conina, Nijel."

"Hullo, Rincewind.  What is it you know that we don't?  What's coming next?"  Conina couldn't conceal the excitement in her voice.

Rincewind looked at Star Swirl.  "I've found her," he said.  "I've found the Horserer."

Star Swirl blinked.  "The what?"

Rincewind realized he hadn't explained sourcery, nor its relation to the element of Harmony that made Star Swirl's magic possible.  "The source of the Harmony that's been keeping the Windigoes' magic at bay," he explained.  "She's another talking pony -- horse, really -- with wings and a unicorn's horn..."

"Alicorn," corrected Star Swirl.  "Come to think of it, according to legend, there used to be winged unicorns, and some scholars call them alicorns as well.  It comes from the Fancee, or rather, Gall, terms 'aile', for wing, and 'corn' for horn.  Or they call them alacorns... Pegacorns? No, that sounds silly."

Rincewind grimaced.  "In any event," he said, heading off a long, rambling speech, "she's called Princess Celestia, she has a sister named, if I heard right, Loony or something, and there's no way I can save them without your help!"  He had grasped the front of Star Swirl's robes, shaking the pony vigorously.  Each shake was accompanied by the merry jingle of Star Swirl's bells.

"They're prisoners?"  Star Swirl broke off his building monologue.  "I thought you said she was a princess?"

"She's being forced to star in some sort of traveling show beside the road," Rincewind explained.  "I think the whole 'Princess' bit is a sort of wossname - like a pen name, but for performers."

"Show name?" offered Nijel.

"I suppose."

"But why would they call her a princess?" asked Star Swirl, the only member of the group with experience dealing with royalty, who often left him unimpressed.

"It's to make her sound more exotic," said Nijel with an air of authority.  "Only it says in my book that 'Warrior Princess of the Steppes' is a much better--"

"Nijel," Rincewind interrupted, "she's a bloody talking unicorn with wings.  How much more bloody exotic do you want?"

Nijel merely shrugged.

"So," said Conina, "what are we up against?"

"We?"

Conina grinned.  "Of course!  We're all friends here, aren't we?"

Rincewind, having never had a friend before***, let alone four, was caught off guard.  It took him a moment to get his bearings and forge ahead with the conversation.  "Right," he said.  "Right.  Erm...  There were at least a dozen large men with those sort of curvy swords they like in Klatch.  Then there were six or seven thiefy, backstabby looking sorts, and the leader.  He's a wizard, at least fifth level."

"Right!" said Nijel.  "We've got some genuine damsels in distress to rescue, what are we waiting around here for?"

"Erm," said Rincewind, "You did catch the part where they're horses, right?"  Conina had already begun making her way into the hills nearer the caravan, and he realized something about the weapon she was wielding.  "Is that," he asked, "a double-handed cuticle knife?"

Conina Harebutt, barbarian hairdresser, just grinned and led the way into the hills.



* The transformation had occurred during a magical mishap involving a massive Change spell and the most powerful tome of magic in the Unseen University's admittedly vast Library some years ago.  Since then, he has resisted all efforts to change him back.
** Again, allowances must be made for Star Swirl's inexperience.
*** A point should be made about the social dynamics among wizards on the disc, who tend to stick together not so much out of a sense of camaraderie and fellowship as to keep a good eye on each other.  To a wizard, "friend" is a typographical error****, and "colleague" merely a synonym for "deadly rival."
**** One that made for a very peculiar edition of Ali Gieri's Guide to Demonologie indeed.




Isrim al Qurad sighed.  With the strange calming effect his... charges had on people, he reasoned that his small troop of mercenaries -- no more than a raiding party, actually -- would be able to conquer a large city rather handily.  Then it would be a simple matter of finding those who, like his hand-picked soldiers, were able to act in spite of that field of calmness.  Such men would be too easy to co-opt or otherwise neutralize, thereby both expanding his forces and eliminating any potential resistance.  The whole conquest would, in fact, be too easy.  Unfulfilling.  So boring.

Where was the challenge?  Where was the conquest?  Where was that infernal buzzing coming from?

Further adding the disappointing ease with which his plans could be enacted, he'd begun to realize that the amount of magic available at his fingertips was increasing geometrically.  At first, he'd suspected sourcery, but he'd been present during the second Mage Wars a few years back*, and this didn't have the same raw, vibrant edge of new magic.  Nor did it appear to be related to the field emanated by his equine charges.  No, this was good, old-fashioned, comfortable Disc magic -- it was just that there was rather a lot more of it than he expected.

As the sun descended towards the rim, it occurred to Isrim that twilight and dawn, being cusp times, were excellent times for a good astral poke around and look-see.  Hastily, he drew the required octogram, wrote out the necessary sigils, and, just as the sun began to descend past the horizon, spoke the prescribed incantations.  Just as his spirit left his body, the buzzing gained such in intensity that he began to question the brilliance of this idea after all.  It didn't help that, in his haste, he'd misspelled a crucial word in the protective octogram's spellwork.



* The wizards of Unseen University had all been conveniently out of town, visiting family, ill, or otherwise indisposed, and therefore were not responsible for any of the numerous injuries, transformations, deaths, and other inconveniences that had befallen the Disc.  In fact, they went on to say, everyone who was there had surely died in the magical conflagration, and futhermore, hey, was that a demonic duck of some sort?




Great A'Tuin  swims on through the Celestial Sea.  No one -- save perhaps him (or her) -- knows where he (or she) is going.  Few know where he (or she) has been.  Meteor-pocked flippers the size of continents push him (or her) through the aether at what can only be called a galactic pace.  While normally, his thoughts (or he-- you get the idea), with all the swiftness of continental drift, are of the Weight.  Now, however, even he (or she-- oh, nevermind) can feel the Cold.

There is rather a lot of it.  Whole civilizations  stand literally frozen in place and time.  In scholarly, Rim-most Krull, eyes are pressed against telescopes, rimed with frost.  The argument about the nature of the equine shapes seen galloping through the clouds is rather forcibly on hold, lungs frozen mid-breath, lips stopped as they form the words of an argument that, as it happens, is completely wrong.

There are a few pockets of, if not warmth, then at least less cold, here and there.  Small villages, more communal than their larger counterparts, come together in support of each other.  Pockets of conviviality show in even the largest, most decadent of cities.  Ankh-Morpork, for example, widely reputed to be the only city to ever start out decadent, and whose Patrician has raised political corruption to the level of fine art, is preparing a city-wide celebration for All's Fallow in the hopes of remedying the situation, at least locally.  As it happens, this celebration will fail, but will at least provide a slight surcease, and enable the true solution to come in its good time.

The horse people of the Hubland steppes have noticed the Cold.  There has been much talk lately among them about how unseasonably comfortable these past few days have been.

Even in the great city of Dunmanifestin, home of the gods, high atop Cori Celesti, the Cold is felt.  There, in the great hall of the gods, the Game goes on.  Offler, the crocodile god, has made his move at last.  He has put a new piece into play...  a bizarre, twisted mockery of a creature.

Its serpentine body twists into an S shape as it looms over the Sto Plain.  Mismatched limbs, six of them (including the wings, too different from each other to be considered a pair) make it most resemble a dragon, but it is not.  There was some heated debate about the legality of Offler's new game piece, even in light of the new custom rules, but that argument, and the heat that came with it, is now over.  The gods of the Disc stand around the Game board, mouths open to voice shouts that no longer come; eyes are narrowed as they glare with the fury that only gods* can manage.  They stand there, glaring, holding angry gestures at each other.  They have no choice.  They are frozen.

And as, at the base of Cori Celesti, at the heart of the Disc, the Ice Giants stir, and begin to wonder if perhaps it's worth risking another herd** to go out and see what's going on, if one were to enter the great hall above, one would see that the Lady, under her rime of frost, is smiling.



* Also, taxi drivers, construction workers, and the Luggage.
** Having lost the bulk of their main herd in a previous excursion, their reticence is, perhaps, understandable.
> Chapter 7: The Stars Will Aid in Her Escape
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


There are battles that alter the course, not of nations, but of worlds.  There are struggles the tales of which are recounted for millennia.  Often, the two overlap.  But not always.

Only the most dedicated of scholars would ever learn, if they happened to find just the right book, of the night a failed wizard, an orang-utan, a hairdresser, a self-taught hero, a unicorn, and a box with legs set out to rescue two prisoners from a Klatchian traveling show, and, in so doing, altered the destinies of two worlds.  For only in a lone book normally kept in the Canterlot Archives (though a much-edited version is available in a few other Equestrian libraries) is recorded the names of Star Swirl the Bearded*, Nijel the Destroyer, Conina the Cunning, and Rincewind the Brave**.  Though the Librarian and the Luggage are mentioned, at times in long, praise-filled passages, their participation in the raid that night went largely unnoticed.***

It began in a straightforward enough manner.  Conina, Nijel, Star Swirl, and the Librarian simply marched up to the edge of camp and stood there, waiting.  It would not be accurate to say that Rincewind and the Luggage were nowhere to be found.  Those who might have been interested in finding them, however, were about to be otherwise occupied.

According to the book Inne Juste 7 Dayes I wille make You a Barbearian Hero!, the Triple Orcthrust with Extra Flip is the most impressive manoeuvre in a swordsman's arsenal.  This fact, along with a rudimentary knowledge of basic swordfighting techniques, is arguably all one needs to prove that the book, purportedly written by Cohen the Barbarian, was in fact ghost-written, and by someone who had only once seen even an illustration of a sword.  It is also, arguably, proof that the author had no knowledge of simple laws of momentum and basic human anatomy.

It's the twist right before the extra flip that does it, of course.  As a nod to the fact that no human swordsman has a wrist that is capable of rotating a full three hundred sixty degrees without first parting company with the rest of the swordsman, it is listed as being an optional step.  In deference to the conflicting fact that a combination of momentum and centrifugal force causes the twist (and its own consequences) anyway, there are no instructions for performing the manoeuvre without it.

In fact, noted Barbarian swordsman Lars the Half-Man (it was a point of shame that his mother was, in fact, a woman) infamously took one look at the illustrations, prior to using the pages as tinder, and christened the move "How to Disarm Yourself in Eight Easy Steps."  He did, however, concede that steps one through six would be suitably impressive if they did not perforce lead straight into steps seven and eight.

Shortly after moving to the Shades, and discovering the vigorous sort of lifestyle contained therein, Nijel and Conina found a heretofore undiscovered aspect about the manoeuvre.  That aspect is this: An adequately skilled swordsman (one capable of performing steps one through six) would, with sufficient clearance, reliably place their weapon, hilt first, exactly twelve feet in front of and two and a half feet to the right of themselves.  Also, given the stupendously eye-catching nature of the manoeuvre, exactly zero people end up watching that precise spot.  To Conina's hereditary (and highly trained) fighting instincts, that was too good an opportunity to pass up.

So it was that, when the attack came, it came from exactly the place none of the Klatchians were watching.  In fact, only two pairs of eyes witnessed the full breadth of the manoeuvre, their owners invisible to almost everyone then present on the field.  Star Swirl, who would have been able to see them, was so fascinated by the combination of the Triple Orcthrust, followed by Conina's expert use of the blade that fell into her hands exactly as if she'd planned it so (she had) that when he heard a voice (which he would later swear had to have come from the Earth Pony Chancellor Puddinghead) call out, "Oh, hey, it's the bearded clown! Hi, bearded clown!" he couldn't bring himself to look for the speaker until it was too late.




* Together with the others, at any rate. Alone, Star Swirl is mentioned throughout the pre-classical era, and, indeed, has his own wing in the Archives.
** Ponies have a somewhat biased view of Rincewind, owing in large part to the events of that, and subsequent, nights.
*** Except by those present, most of whom are no longer in any condition to comment on the innacuracies.




The equine known as Princess Celestia, who was not truly a princess of anything at the time, woke with a start.  She had been dreaming, as always, of ponies.  Ponies of all colours of the spectrum, with the possible exception of octarine.  They were hers, her refuge from the terrors of captivity.  She dreamed of the things that she and her sister Luna most longed for: wide, rolling fields; good friends; laughter.  And each night, while the guards slept, she would wake at the end of a dream and tell her sister all about it, weaving stories about gentle Posey, mischievous Surprise, clever Twilight Twinkle, hard working Applejack, daring Fyrefly, and elegant Sparkler.  She would tell Luna all about her little ponies, and then they would be their little ponies.  Luna would come up with such stories -- of how boastful Lulamoon came to Ponyland and tried to best each of Celestia's little ponies at their own game, or how a giant dragon threatened to cover all of Ponyland with its smokey breath...  and then, after their little ponies had dealt with the threat, the two of them would have the same conversation.

Luna would ask if it was true that there were no humans allowed in Ponyland, and Celestia would say that it was.

Luna would then ask if they could live in Ponyland some day, and, her heart breaking, Celestia would say "of course we can."

Now, this had been shaping up to be a particularly good dream, all about a big fancy party, so she was quite surprised to be awakened before the dream was over.  She looked around the tent for the source of the disturbance, and saw a human silhouette there in the darkness with them.

"Shhh," the silhouette hissed.

Celestia nodded, rising to her hooves.  She was nervous, but there was not much she could do.

"Right," said the silhouette.  "This, erm...  this is a bit of a rescue sort of thingy."  It glanced nervously over its shoulder as the sound of fighting intruded from outside the tent.  "I don't suppose the keys to those cages are anywhere about?"

Celestia shook her head.  "Isrim keeps them on his person at all times."

She couldn't see the expression on her would-be rescuer's face, but she could well imagine it.  Especially when he groaned, muttering "of course he does."  The silhouette rummaged futilely about the tent for a bit, its muttering now focused on imprecations against Klatchian slavers which called the slavers' parentage into question.

The third time he bashed his shins on the same wooden bench, his cry of pain less muffled each time, Celestia stifled a giggle and asked if he would like some light.  When he accepted, she applied the slightest amount of concentration, and her horn began to glow -- it was the one spell she knew how to cast.  So it was that Princess Celestia got her first clear look at Rincewind the wizard.

He was a ratty looking sort of fellow.  Indeed, it has been suggested numerous times that he had some rodent in his ancestry.  It certainly looked that way.  He was somewhere between lean and emaciated, depending on how many meals he'd managed to acquire recently, and the frayed, patchy red robes he wore did nothing to conceal that fact.  His ears were perhaps a bit overlarge which added to the way his face seemed to sweep back, rodent-like, from a largish nose.  In an effort, perhaps, to hide his weak chin he had cultivated what could only be called an attempt at a beard.  He simply wasn't cut out for the actual item.

In light of Celestia's situation, however, the majestic Alicorn decided he was the bravest looking man she'd ever met.  She watched closely as he bent to examine the lock on her cage.

It was a simple enough lock to look at, but whoever designed it obviously knew their trade.  It was made of octiron, the hardest, densest metal on the disc, and was therefore impervious to most magic and well-nigh indestructible.  He would never be able to break the lock, and without the key, would require lockpicking skills greater than his own to open it otherwise.  He saw only one solution, and it was one he didn't like at all.

It did not help that he had done this exact thing before, with an even more complicated lock.  The fact was that he was about to attempt one of the most difficult and dangerous feats of practical magic known to the Disc: telekinesis.

Rincewind's mind, and his frankly not very considerable power, was to act as the fulcrum of a lever, applying gentle but inexorable pressure to the tumblers of the lock.  As Celestia looked on, an expression of equal parts dawning comprehension and rising hope crossing her muzzle, Rincewind carefully split his attention to two related tasks: opening the lock, and keeping the principle of leverage from squeezing his brains out of his skull.


* * * * *


He drifts through the aether, the astral plane that surrounds the disc while, at the same time, in a sense above it.  He is here for a purpose, he knows, but they he is having trouble remembering what that is.  The buzzing makes it hard to think.  It is everywhere and they he cannot see, nor otherwise sense, its source.

He tries to focus, bring their minds his mind to bear on the problem, but the buzzing will not relent.  Their memories are His memory is not exactly fading, but becoming harder to access.  They He almost cannot remember who they are.  So they remind themselves himself.  You, he says, are the wizard Isrim al Qurad. They He They reach for the magic and find it easily. Too easily. You are the BUZZZZard Isrim al QuBUZZZZ.

The magic, he remembers.  They He came here to see why there was so much of it.  He casts their minds out to the far reaches of the Disc, finding it easier than they he expected.  They feel themselves himself fragmenting, and tries the mantra again, but the harder they try he tries, the worse the buzzing gets: You are BUZZZZd Isrim BUZZZZad.

There is the answer, though: The Disc turns, grinding out magic with the friction of its rotation like a millstone the size of a planet, but across the Disc itself, wizards are succumbing to the supernatural cold of the Windigoes, and with fewer wizards to use it, the magic accumulates.

That (You are the wizBUZZZZm alBUZZZZ) would also explain the buzzing. (BUZZZZare the wizard BUZZZZ Qurad)  As the magic builds (You BUZZZZ wizard BUZZZZrim alBUZZZZ), it is drawn towards their body as to a lightning rod, and the fabric of the universe is pushed down (You are BUZZZZd Isri BUZZZZrad) by the pressure of so much magic towards the Dungeon Dimensions.  The buzzing (You are theBUZZZZ) is the Things.  They know they should be concerned by this (BUZZZZIsrimBUZZZZ) but strangely, all he feels is a weird (YouBUZZZZ) sort of elation.  He pulls themselves together, descending towards their body, and a chilling realization strikes him.

The buzzing is coming from inside their minds.  Finally terrified, they beat a hasty retreat to their body, and the last thought they have before coming out of their trance is the mantra:

You are BUZZZZd IsBUZZZZQurad.
You are dIsQurad.

* * * * *

Rincewind had difficulty containing his jealousy.  Here he had risked his life and worn himself to the bone (metaphorically speaking) opening the lock to Celestia's cage, and she had just... well...  She'd trotted over to the smaller alicorn's cage, the glow around her horn had flared, and the octiron lock, supposedly immune to all magic, had torn itself apart in an explosion of white fire.  One piece had even nicked his ear as it flew past with a zipping sound, and another was causing the canvas on the far side of the tent to smoulder.  It just wasn't fair.

It perhaps would have helped if he had a better understanding at the time about the relationship between disc magic and Harmonious (or pony) magic.  It is a well known fact that in a world as permeated with magic as the Disc, all things have their opposites.  Dark is not the opposite of light, for example, merely its absence.  On the disc, however, there are colours of darkness once you go past mere black and out the other side.  What no one had yet considered, however, was what the opposite of magic is.  Science is an entirely unrelated concept, which develops best in the absence of magic, but is not its actual opposite.  Considering an absence of magic was virtually unheard of (apart, arguably, from Rincewind).  What do you get when you go past the zero point on the magical axis of a graph, and keep going?

The answer, naturally, is Harmony -- pony magic.  On a practical level, this meant that octiron, famed for its invulnerability to all known forms of magic, was in fact incredibly vulnerable to a heretofore unknown form of magic.  This, in turn, meant that Isrim had done the equivalent of trapping a phoenix in a paper bag.  Which had been soaked in petrol.  And sealed shut with plastic explosives.

This also meant that, in the presence of a Horseror such as Celestia or Luna, let alone both of them, any act of magic -- Disc magic, that is -- required a simply staggering amount of energy behind it.   All told, then, it was no wonder Rincewind's legs had gone all wibbly just then.


* * * * *


Annar al Morir was no fool.  So he told himself, at any rate.  Anyone with even the most basic understanding of Narrative Causality -- which was most everyone who'd spent more than a few weeks alive on the Disc -- could see where this situation was heading.  On the one side, a few dozen heavily armed guards, well trained, highly disciplined, and wearing the traditional garb of a Klatchian thug.  On the other, a small band of distinct individuals, poorly trained and diverse.  The Klatchians hadn't stood a chance.

He'd tried to alert Isrim, of course, but the wizard had been deep in a trance since sunset and could not be roused.  That's it, then, thought Annar.  It was time to get while the getting was good.  Adequate, at any rate.  Passable.  Time to get, he decided, while the getting was moderate to poor.  Before it got even worse, that is.

Conveniently, he had found a large sea chest standing open at the foot of his bed.  Without questioning what it was doing there - his first mistake - he began throwing his valuables into it.  This, of course, was his second.  It is widely known that trouble comes in threes, so Annar's third mistake was, perhaps, inevitable.

He turned his back on the open box to gather some clothing for his unscheduled departure.

Something bumped into him from behind.  He wobbled, flailing his arms for balance and sending his clothing flying about the room, then fell over backwards.  There was a sharp, wooden snapping sound, which had an air of finality about it.  It was inevitable.  Anyone with a sufficient knowledge of Narrative Causality would have seen it coming the moment he'd decided to take flight.

Annar's clothing lay on the floor around the luggage, unpacked.  It was just as well: he needn't have packed after all.


* * * * *


Conina caught herself enjoying the fight -- the cut and thrust and parry, the rush of adrenaline.  She grimaced.  Just when she'd nearly broken herself of the habit.  Three years on the wagon, she thought, not so much as a barroom brawl, gone just like that.  She caught her grimace just as it tried to sneak a grin past her face's defenses.  At least it's for a good cause, she rationalized.  Her sponsor would not have approved.

Nijel, she noted, had improved beyond all recognition, thanks to their time in the Shades*.  He'd only dropped his sword three times, and not once in a way that rendered it unrecoverable.  Meanwhile, Star Swirl was holding his own surprisingly well.  He easily warded off attack after attack with a flash of azure unicorn magic, then would pivot on his forehooves to plant a solid kick in whatever portion of his attackers' anatomies he could reach.  Each devastating impact was accompanied by a merry jingle from the bells on his cloak, a groan, and a thud.

The Librarian, by contrast, had needed no improvement: he was an absolute terror.  Each opponent he reached was dealt with quickly, thanks to a firm grasp of leverage and-- No, she quickly amended, it was thanks to a grasp of his opponents extremities, followed by an application of leverage.

She was just beginning to think they might actually pull off the rescue without a hitch when the largest tent erupted into a massive column of flames.  Silhouetted against this blaze, she saw two winged horses -- one full grown, the other only slightly larger than Star Swirl, and the familiar sight of Rincewind in full, panicked flight.

"Run away!" he shouted needlessly to her.  To the survival-minded, the sight of a fleeing Rincewind is all the cue one needs.

"Where to?" said an unfamiliar voice, young and feminine.  Despite having spent a good portion of the evening planning this rescue with a talking pony (among others), Conina was still surprised to realize the voice had come from the smaller horse -- alicorn, rather: now that she'd galloped past, Conina could see her horn.

She was further surprised when the expected retort came not from Rincewind, but Star Swirl.  "Never you mind about 'to,'" he said, rearing back as the last remaining guard managed to score a glancing blow against his jaw.  "I expect that'll--" and then everything went horribly awry.

The Klatchian had seen an opening when Star Swirl reared back, exposing his belly, and struck.  The Klatchian's scimitar cut him just below the ribs, deep enough that Conina saw a brief surge of blood from the wound before he collapsed.  Fury and grief drove her towards the last standing combatant, and suddenly her vision went red.

When her vision cleared, it was not because she had calmed.  In fact, she hadn't even reached the Klatchian yet.  The red pulled away from her, and resolved into the flapping robes and flailing limbs of a desperate, enraged Rincewind.

Quite apart from merely looking somewhat rodentine, Rincewind fought like a cornered rat.  Or rather, he fought like a Morporkean, which amounts to the same thing.  It involved a lot of flailing knees and elbows, applied with a sort of frenzied precision to the most vulnerable places they could reach, along with even dirtier tactics best not described outside of a story meriting the dread [grimdark] tag, which this is not.

As this is not that sort of story, Conina's attention, along with the narration, were perforce driven to focus on the wounded body of Star Swirl.  Even then, though, she was not as fast as another.

The Luggage, its many legs pumping hard and driving it on as fast as she'd ever seen it move, dove at the body, lid open, and rolled over as smoothly as possible for a box to do.  It came upright with a thump, and its lid closed with the gentlest of clicks as it continued its mad flight into the hills and the forest beyond.

"Eek!" shrieked the Librarian.

"I'll take care of him," she called out to the orang-utan.  "You get that lot out of here!"

Without waiting to see if he heard, she advanced on Rincewind, whose movements were gradually losing energy.  She laid a hand on his shoulder and he twisted round, his eyes bloodshot and streaked with tears.

"Come on," she told him.  "We're not out of this yet."

He nodded and staggered to his feet, letting her lead him towards the others.  He only made her stop once, so that he could scoop up something battered and conical and stuff it, with a muted jingle, into the front of his robes.



*"Come for the Unique Cultural Experience!" the new brochures read.  "Stay for the cheapest funerals on the Disc!"  The Ankh-Morpork Guild of Merchants and Traders, it must be noted, had vastly improved its rhetoric, as well as its morbid sense of humour.



> Chapter 8: A Near Pie Experience
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


The Things that had once been Isrim al Qurad -- and still superficially resembled him -- returned to their body, settling into it like a new pair of shoes.  I mean, yes, it pinched a bit in the shoulders.  And all right, maybe it could be a bit more flexible around the spine.  Still, it fitted fairly well, and all new bodies take some breaking in, don't they.  With the putting on of an individual body, a sense of self returned.  Like the body, it superficially resembled Isrim al Qurad, but only superficially.  Like the body, already subtly less human than it had been, that would change in time.

dIsQurad surveyed the remains of his caravan.  Tents and wagons blazed merrily away all around him.  His own tent had begun to burn and would soon be another pyre in the general conflagration.  He ignored it.  He had all the magic on the disc at his disposal now.  And the first thing he needed, he decided upon surveying the general carnage, was some new minions.


* * * * *


Conina and Rincewind found the others holed up in a cave in the hills, a small fire warming them until the effects of Horsery could thaw the supernatural ice and snow covering the landscape.

Nijel met them at the cave mouth.  "He's resting," he said of the wounded unicorn.  "I've done what I can, but...  My book doesn't have a lot of...  Not really a medical...  I mean, I'm s'posed to be a barbarian, right?"

You're supposed to be a hero thought Rincewind.  But Nijel looked about as fragile as Rincewind felt, so he merely grunted instead.  There was a soft sound, as of leather gloves brushing dirt off of stone, and the Librarian came up beside Nijel.

"Ook," he said gently.

"Right," said Rincewind.   "You're right."  He turned to Nijel.  "Listen, I...  it's not your fault, all right?  Things just...  just... went wrong, eh?"

"Too right," Nijel said bitterly.  "Look, I'm off to find some ice that isn't melting already.  Be back quick as I can."

He set off without waiting for a response.  The librarian, grunting softly, headed off himself, in search of herbal remedies.

"Right," said Rincewind, too late to be heard.  He looked over at Conina, who was looking out in the direction her husband had gone with a look of sadness with a stubborn sort of pride mixed in.  "You know," he told her, "he is entirely too nice to be a proper barbarian hero."

Conina sniffed, then smiled.  "I know," she said.  "But he's my barbarian hero, and that's better than a proper one any day.  Besides, I had enough of barbarians coming up."

Rincewind grinned.  "Don't let your father hear you say that."

"What, him?  Suspect he'd agree.  He says he'd rather a roll of soft lavatory paper than a clump of leaves any day."

"Yuh," grunted Rincewind.  "Sounds like Cohen."

"Come on," Conina said, dragging Rincewind into the cave.  "Let's go check on your friend."

"Right," said Rincewind, who'd managed to convince himself rather handily that nothing horrible could happen to Star Swirl so long as he kept himself from finding out what had happened.*



* Erwin Schrödinger having never been heard of on the Disc, this idea could have advanced the field of theoretical magic by decades, had Rincewind not correctly identified it as juvenile.



It is a well-documented fact that trolls do not like fire.  It is a less well-known (but not unknown) fact that, as silicaceous lifeforms, the reason for this dislike is that fire slows the electrochemical reactions in their silicate nervous systems.  It only stood to reason, then, that the unnatural cold spreading across the Disc would have the opposite effect.  The problem, then, became this:  Philosophy.

It is an even less well-known fact that trolls are apt to catch Philosophy as they age.  The increased speed of their thought processes in the cold weather only sped that process along.

Rapid Onset Philosophical Enlightenment Syndrome was reaching epidemic proportions, sweeping across the disc along with the cold.  Everywhere, trolls who were just settling down for a nice powdery bit of pumice, or crushing some human who'd happened across their path, or just on a stroll through the landscape (often literally), would stop to think for a moment.  And then they would just go on thinking.  Entire troll communities had ground to a halt, their populaces tied up with philosophical conundrums.  These troll towns were as frozen by their minds as the human communities were in ice.  Zeno would have had a field day.

Colonies had been set up for the care of those stricken by the disease, but then the caretakers would start to wonder what their charges were thinking about, and...

Well, you see the problem.


* * * * *


The mood inside the cave was sombre, bordering on grim, but with hints of melancholy.  Rincewind hardly noticed the two alicorns, who had huddled together on the opposite side of the fire from where Star Swirl lay.  He did note the peculiar way in which Celestia's long, pastel rainbow mane flowed in a wind that nothing else felt.  He did note the fact that, by comparison with her, little indigo What's-Her-Name looked positively miniscule.  But then his attention moved on.

Star Swirl lay curled up on the far side of the cave, with his side pressed up against the Luggage.  He had a small bandage wrapped around his brow, but Rincewind was far more concerned with the other bandage.  His barrel was tightly wrapped in white bandages, from just behind his forelegs down to his belly.  On his belly itself, the bandages were stained red with blood.  In the firelight, though, it looked black.

Conina tried to speak, but all that came out was a tight-throated grunt.  She backed away, leaving the two of them (three, counting the Luggage) as alone as she could manage in the cave.

Star Swirl's eyes half-opened.  "Told 'em you'd be along.  Hullo, Rincewind."

"Hullo."

"Don't sound so glum, man," Star Swirl said, then coughed.  The red splotch on his bandage spread slightly but visibly.  "We did it!"  He tried to gesture towards the alicorns with a hoof, but Conina stepped forward and gently forced him to lay back down.  "Nijel says I'm likely to scar if--  er, when I get better.  I do hope so.  Scars are dashing, impress the mares, don't you think?"

"Oh?  Any mares in particular?"  Rincewind essayed a weak attempt at a smile.

Star Swirl's smile was much better.  It was, in fact, almost a grin.  "Oh, there's one," he said after a moment.  "Pretty coat...  brilliant eyes...  even more brilliant mind, too.  I was so proud of her when she went from Journeymare to Master of Magic."  He sighed, which led into coughing again.  "She doesn't seem to understand that makes us equals now, more's the pity."  His gaze, which had grown distant and misty as he talked about the mare, refocused on Rincewind.  "And you?"

Rincewind tried another smile.  It was better, but still tinged with a bit of bitterness.  "Put it this way," he said.  "You've heard the phrase 'wine, women, and song'?  There's a reason wizards tend to know a lot of drinking songs."

Star Swirl laughed outright, which triggered another bout of coughing, which further spread the stain across his bandages.  Uncomfortable in the presence of someone so gravely injured, Rincewind sidled over to Conina.

"He can't keep on like this," he said.  "At least, I don't know how much longer he can."

About five minutes, I expect, said a voice like a mausoleum door slamming shut.


* * * * *


dIsQurad smiled.  It felt good, so he tried a little chuckle.  Even better, he concluded.  Throaty and sinister.  He steepled his hands, tapping his clawed fingertips together.  The body was slowly getting more comfortable, but that was by the wayside now.  Now, it was time to see about those new minions.

It is a much more widely known fact about trolls that they hate humans.  While not entirely true -- a good many simply disdain or disregard any alithic life they encounter (or, more often, trample over) -- it is true of enough trolls to make it a safe assumption.  Any given troll is more than likely to kill you, be it out of malice, callous disregard, or simply not looking down often enough.

The trolls dIsQurad appeared amidst with a snap of his fingers and a flash of light fell well within the "malicious" category.  In fact, his sudden appearance so startled them, driving them into such a hot-crystaled* frenzy that it spared a number of them, who were just about to sit down and get some real, heavy duty thinking done for a change.

If they stopped to consider it, they would have had to feel grateful, which would have raised some interesting questions about morality and the interrelatedness of all things.  In fact, a few did stop to consider just that, and Auguste Rodin was coincidentally struck by a particle of inspiration at that exact moment.

Good old Shalesworth, however, did not stop to consider much of anything, ever.  Who cared if he was sedimentary?  He had some nice sharpish edges about him, and so he sprung into action.  dIsQurad smirked, then snapped his fingers.  And then Shalesworth exploded.

Tactfully, no one commented on the secret shame his demise finally exposed:  Shalesworth had suffered from fossils.




* Being silicaceous, trolls naturally lack blood.




Rincewind gritted his teeth.  It wasn't just the voice, as terrible and ominous as that voice was.  It wasn't the way the temperature in the cave had seemed to drop a few degrees in an instant.  It wasn't the presence Rincewind could feel just behind him.  It wasn't even what he, both as a wizard and from personal experience, knew that all of those added up to.

It was, in fact, all of that combined with his concerns about his new friend's health.  Rincewind turned, finding himself, as he expected, face-to-skull with the Grim Reaper.  It wasn't the first time, by any stretch of the imagination.  It probably wouldn't be the last.  But, for the first time, when faced with the Reaper, Rincewind didn't know what to do.  His first instinct, which was to run, would not help.  His second instinct, which was also to run, would serve about as well as his first.  Redundant backups figured heavily in Rincewind's finely honed sense of self-preservation, so his next five instincts were just as useless, which left him at loose ends.

Hullo, Rincewind, Death said in a voice like a granite slab toppling.

"Erm," said Rincewind.  It suited his mood, so he decided he'd say it again.  "Erm."

The word you are looking for, said the Reaper with glacial patience, is "hello."

"Right," said Rincewind.  "Hullo, erm...  er..."

Death, supplied Death.

The two of them stood there in awkward silence, neither quite knowing how to cope with a situation that didn't involve Rincewind fleeing in terror from the bony apparition.  The silence looked forward to dragging on for a great while, and had even started to make retirement plans involving the cave, until it was cut down in its prime by a voice as full of life as the Reaper's was devoid of it.

"Oh, hey!" said the cheerful voice.  "It's the weirdo clown again!  Hi, weirdo clown!"

Rincewind craned his neck.  There, behind Death, was a pony much like Star Swirl in size and build.  This one, however, was female, hornless, and very, very, very pink.  She waved a forehoof at the invalid unicorn, then hopped over to him in a way that Rincewind was fairly certain was anatomically impossible for an equine, whose legs didn't -- or at least shouldn't -- bend that way.

Star Swirl blinked up at the pink pony in confusion.  "Chancellor Puddinghead?"

She giggled.  "Nopey-dopey!" she said.  "Oh, but I played her in a big pageant in Canterlot once!  And all my bestest best friends were in it!"  (Rincewind considered that the pink pony was probably singlehandedhoofedly responsible for keeping several exclamation points employed.)  "Like Applejack was Smart Cookie, and Rarity was Princess Aluminum..."

"Platinum," corrected Star Swirl with a grin at the thought of the self-important unicorn princess hearing herself referred to as 'Princess Aluminum.'

"Uh-huh," continued the pink pony without pausing for breath, "and Twilight Sparkle was Clover the Clever, and Rai--HEEEEY!"  She pointed an accusatory hoof at the recumbent unicorn.  "I know who you are!  You're Star Swirl the Bearded!"  Even more excitedly (another whole family tree of exclamation points finding themselves unexpectedly hired to work overtime), she zipped over to where Death was standing, barely even brushing against the intervening air on her way over.  "Boss!  Hey, boss!  Boss!  That's Star Swirl the Bearded!"

Death gave Rincewind a long-suffering look -- or would have done if his face hadn't perforce been locked in the customary calcareous grin -- then returned his attention to the pony.  Before he could say Yes, I know, however, she had already returned to the unicorn's side.

"I don't suppose there's anything you can do," said Rincewind as across the cave, the lively pink pony could be heard chattering away at top speed, thereby occupying Star Swirl's attention.

There is one thing, said Death.

"Oh?"  Rincewind could feel something at the pit of his stomach, which he was terrified might actually be hope.

I can do my Duty.

"Ah."  Rincewind fidgeted awkwardly, as that feeling curled back up again into a sort of solid rock-like weight in his gut.  "See, I was rather hoping there could be an alternative to that."

From me?

"I, ah, see your point."  The wizard shuffled his feet, as one of his many redundant backup instincts tried unsuccessfully to apply itself to the situation.  "You could..."

Yes...? said Death, who, it must be noted, operated with foreknowledge of the conversation and in situations like this merely saw his role as one of prompting his conversation partner.

"Maybe..."  The next words to come out of Rincewind's mouth did so in a rush, as though in an effort to get out before being caught by verbal security at the door, so to speak.  "Takemeinstead?"

The two stared at each other for a time -- time in which the level, orbless gaze of Death reminded Rincewind that with each moment, his life was slipping away just as readily as everyone else's.  Oh, said Death.  I see.  Can't be bothered to keep an appointment unless it suits you, eh, Rincewind?

"Er..." Er'ed Rincewind helplessly.

But the moment it does, I'm expected to rearrange Time and Space to suit your needs, am I?  Well, I'm sorry, the Reaper continued, but after all the times I've gone out of my way to meet you, only to have you cancel at the last minute, which is in no way an impediment to an organized work schedule, I'll have you know--

"I'm sorry?"

No, said Death.  It is not possible.  Everyone gets one life and one death - no exchanges, substitutions, or refunds.  Even if I were inclined to upset the natural balance of things in this regard, I could not.

"We can't just let him die," came from the other side of the cave, where Celestia (who had spoken) and Luna were just rising to their hooves.

In fact, said Death, you can.

"We won't," said Luna.  "He is the first pony we have met, and these here the first to show us true kindness, and you would have us simply let him die?

I would have nothing, said Death. My desires do not enter into this.  I merely pointed out that it is, in fact, possible to simply let him die.  It is not, one way or the other, my decision to make.

Celestia stepped forward, raising her head to gaze levelly at the Reaper.  "There is something you're not telling us," she said.

Death did not reply.  Rincewind got the sense that, had he eyebrows, the Reaper would have arched one at the large equine.

Celestia narrowed her eyes at Death.

There is a hierarchy amongst all sentient things, be they sapient or not.  A constantly changing state of dominance and submission, always in flux.  Death, lacking the biochemical processes involved in this interplay, was therefore experiencing something he was entirely unprepared for: a dominance play in this heirarchy.  Death was being stared down.

The face-(and skull)-off was interrupted by a startled gasp.  Everyone turned toward the source of the sound.

Luna, her eyes glowing white with pony magic, her mane now darkened and flowing in the same unfelt breeze as her sister's as she used her power, was staring at Star Swirl with a sort of dawning horror.

"He--  he's being...  drained," she said.  "It's not just a wound to his body - his soul is bleeding too."

"Right."  Celestia stomped a hoof, cracking the cave floor.  Her horn flared, a bright yellow-white light shining in everyone's eyes, blinding them.  As a result, only the two alicorns, protected by their magic, could see Death move between Star Swirl and the pearly equine.

What, he asked, are you doing?

"I'm going to patch his soul," she said.  "I'm going to give him a piece of mine."

No, said Death.

Celestia stomped the floor again, widening the cracks beneath her hoof.  "What did you say?"

I said "no," Death replied.  You cannot.  Or, rather, you should not.

"Explain," the regal (if not strictly royal) pony said in a voice even colder than his.

Your life force - your soul - is of a different order than his.  It would keep him alive, yes.  Even as his body ages beyond the ability to sustain that life, he would survive.  As age and decay render him unable to so much as speak, he would survive.  As his body becomes dessicated and cracked, a husk only kept intact by the magic you would wind through his soul, he would survive.  Wishing for death, but unable to beg for it, he would survive.  Death met Celestia's horrified gaze.  You would grant him life at the cost of the peace it is my place to give, and I cannot condone this path.

"Then--" said Luna, but Death raised a hand.

Did you think your soul was any different in this regard from your sister's?

The indigo alicorn hung her head.

"What about mine?" said a voice that had, until then, been completely silent.  Rincewind turned to stare, shocked, at Conina.

What about it?

"I'm quite sure my soul isn't on the same order as theirs," she explained.

It is not, said Death.  I can say no more, except that if you are to do anything, you must do it now.  He reached into his robes, pulling out what Rincewind first thought was a glass sculpture.  It consisted of two blue bowls, one pouring its contents into the other.  A five-pointed star was etched into the top bowl, on a background consisting of whorls.  The name 'Star Swirl' was engraved on the lower one.

More importantly, the top one was cracked in several places, and the silvery sand of Star Swirl's life was pouring through those cracks faster than into the lower bowl.  Celestia's eyes widened, moved from the bowl, to Star Swirl, to Conina, to the Grim Reaper, and then narrowed.

Her horn was enveloped in a warm yellow glow, which speared out and forked, and each fork struck both Conina and Star Swirl in the center of their ribcages.  The two of them floated off the ground, orbiting around each other as the light began to radiate from them, Star Swirl's taking a blue-green tinge and Conina's a red-orange one, which began to mix and swirl in between them.

As the light faded and the two of them lowered gently to the cave floor, Rincewind was startled to realize that both Death and the pink pony that had accompanied him were no longer present, no longer being needed.  He found it odd that the Reaper had shown up when no one had died, but this was in part due to the fact he'd never studied the science of transretrocausality.  (It was widely considered by the students of Unseen University to be a course only taken by those who wanted to spend their magical careers in special wizard robes whose sleeves wrapped around the torsos and tied up in back, conducting seminars to empty rooms with cushions on the walls.)

At this point, Nijel came into the cave, took one look at everyone and shrugged. "I've not come back at a bad time, have I?" he asked.

He hadn't, but the group of angry trolls approaching the cave had.
> Chapter 9: Sub-Harmonic Particle Theory
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


The Librarian, returning with an armload of herbal remedies he'd learned of from a combination of the books in his care and occasional run-ins with one of the few females ever to be granted entry onto the premises of Unseen University, was lost in thought.  He was deeply worried about his...  friends.  It felt odd to even think the word, but there it was.

Wizards did not, as a rule, make friends.*  In point of fact, wizards are, for the most part, one of the most fractious groups on the Disc**.  And yet, here he was, out in the wilderness, gathering herbs to treat the injuries of a friend.

It all came down to Rincewind, he decided.  He'd grown rather fond of the fellow over the years.  When Rincewind had vanished into the Dungeon Dimensions at the end of that incident with the sourceror, the Librarian had felt a keen sense of loss.  And, he recalled, he hadn't been alone.

Conina and Nijel, whom he had encountered on his way to meet up with Rincewind just that afternoon, had both come to inquire after Rincewind in the wake of that incident.

So.  Rincewind, as yet another example of his difference from most wizards, made friends.  He'd befriended that tourist fellow, the Librarian heard, over the course of their adventures.  He'd befriended Nijel and Conina.  If Rincewind himself were to be believed, and the Librarian judged him so, he'd even befriended the legendary Cohen the Barbarian.  And, of course, he'd befriended Star Swirl the Bearded in rather short order as well.

Rincewind made friends.  The Librarian was quite certain that meant something.  Something important.  Something to do with these Windigo things his newest friend had told them about.

Rincewind, it must be noted, also made enemies.  Quite often against his wishes; without his knowledge, even.  This time, the Librarian thought, he'd gone and done so deliberately.  And for what?

To save a pair of talking equines.

There was something about Rincewind that wasn't right, the orang-outan mused, as he knuckled his way back towards the cave.  Or at least at odds with both Rincewind's extremely honed survival instinct and with the natural wizardly tendency towards self-interest.  To be honest, which the Librarian generally was, he rather liked that quality in the man.

Of course, it led to problems from time to time.

Problems like the one the Librarian was becoming aware of: the sound of fighting coming from the caves ahead.



* Golems, yes.  Homunculi, definitely.  Friends, not so much.
** Considering some of the people living on the Disc, that is saying a very great deal indeed.



Rincewind grimaced.  The situation had gone from out-of-hand to well out-of-hand quite rapidly.  One moment, he was marveling at Star Swirl's near-complete recovery.  The next, the lot of them were being assaulted by angry trolls.

What really infuriated him was that it didn't make any sense.  There weren't any trolls in this part of the country, he was certain of it.  There certainly hadn't been any on the way up to the cave.

Someone, he concluded, had sent the trolls.  Someone had gone and plucked them out of whatever hillside they were occupying and deposited them outside this cave.  It wouldn't be the first time.

They weren't equipped for trolls, Rincewind thought furiously.  Well, Conina was, but she was equipped for anything and everything, wasn't she?

He spared a moment to look around the cave.  Conina was, of course, doing quite well for herself.  He didn't expect anything different.  Nijel was doing poor-to-middling, which he had to admit was a gross improvement over his performance some years ago.

Star Swirl and the "princesses" were holed up in the back of the cave behind one of the pony wizard's azure shield-bowls, which was holding up nicely.

The Luggage had taken up a position between them and the oncoming trolls and was doing terrifyingly well, dancing furiously about on a pile of gravel that Rincewind was quite sure hadn't been there moments earlier.

And Rincewind himself was... largely being ignored.  That stung.  He hadn't much pride, he would be the first to admit, but he did have some.  Letting out a battlecry that sounded more than anything like a terrified yelp, he launched himself at the nearest troll.

As he made contact, wrapping his spindly arms around its granite throat, he realized that he had made a colossal misjudgment somewhere along the line.  As the troll reached back to dislodge him, he scrabbled desperately for purchase.  He tried punching it in the face, but it was, understandably, like punching a rock.  He tried kicking it, but his feet couldn't find anyplace vulnerable to connect.

As he felt the troll grip the back of his head, he wriggled loose, and as this brought his face close to what, on a human opponent, would be a tender spot, he bit down.

This, too, was a mistake.  The troll adjusted its grip and, with a sort of long-suffering grumble, tossed Rincewind aside like a rag doll.

This, to Rincewind's embarrassment, was when the Librarian made his entrance.  The orang-outan dropped what he was carrying, seized a large chunk of rock (possibly detritus from the Luggage's furious assault moments ago) and began laying about with an unbridled fury that gave even the largest of the trolls pause.

Rincewind shook his head.  Amidst the sounds of fighting -- the furious screeches of the Librarian, the grunts of Conina and Nijel, and the hard sounds of stone or metal striking rock -- he could swear he heard laughter.

Frowning, he took another look around, trying to find the source of the sound.  Instead, what he saw chilled him.  One of the trolls had managed to skirt around the Luggage and had been assaulting Star Swirl's shield.  The shield, and thus Star Swirl, had just collapsed.

And the troll, for whatever reason, had immediately seized the smaller of the two alicorns.

The larger one, Celestia, angrily moved to intercept, shouting "Put her down, you brute!"

The troll let out a chuckle that sounded quite like a rockslide, and roughly backhanded her into the wall of the cave.  Rincewind watched, horror-struck, as the pearl-colored equine collapsed.

Something in him flared up.

No, it said.  We've gone through too much to lose now.

No, it said again.  They can't take her.

No.

NO!

Rincewind found himself reaching out desperately towards the troll.  The cave took on a surreal atmosphere at that moment.  All of the colours became brighter, less subdued.  Time seemed to freeze, and Rincewind found that a split second was plenty of time in which to wonder at the change, then to realize the reason for it.  Light on the Disc consisted of eight colours: the usual spectrum of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, and the eighth colour, Octarine.  The colour of magic.  Of Disc magic, at any rate.

And somehow, all of the Octarine in the cave had vanished, as though driven away by some opposing force.  In response, all of the other colors became crisper, clearer, to Rincewind's eyes.

And then everything went white.


* * * * *


Ridcully the Brown stamped his feet in an effort to both restore circulation and break apart the ice that had formed on his boots during the hurried trip back from Unseen University to the Patrician's home.  The Patrician, for his part, just waited patiently.

The situation, Ridcully had to admit, was grim.  He had gone to the University to make preparations for...  Not a party, he told himself sternly.  An experiment.  A proof of concept.

Not that the wizard had anything against parties, mind.  He simply didn't see how such a thing could, well, achieve anything other than inebriation, embarrassing anecdotes, and, in the wake of one particular such event, an inexplicable aversion to pasta.

The Patrician watched expectantly.  A lesser man, impatient and worried, might express exasperation.  He might arch an eyebrow expectantly, or say "Well?" or "How did it go?"

The Patrician was not, as many could attest*, a lesser man.  Ridcully would naturally answer his unspoken questions, or he would not have come.

"We'll know soon enough," Ridcully said, once his teeth had stopped attempting to get the message across in Morse code.  "I've got a man watching the Great Hall, and those members of the faculty and students who are able will be at the feasting and partying for as long as they can manage."

The Patrician nodded.  Another reason he hadn't asked Ridcully how the excursion had gone was that he already knew.  Ridcully had a man keeping watch on the University during this crisis.  The Patrician had several on a rota, and had done for years.

Nonetheless, there were gaps in the information he had.  He looked at the Arch-Chancellor, who had apparently over the course of his brief journey foregone the traditional robes of his office in favour of something... quite different.

It was, first and foremost, form-fitting, which, on many wizards, would yield quite a disturbing image.  Therefore, it was, secondly, as black as magic and a skilled dye job could make it, which is quite black indeed.

Ridcully smiled at the Patrician, taking in the very slight amount of perplexity faintly visible through the man's otherwise unflappable expression.  "It's experimental," he explained. "A safety measure developed by our Professor of Alchemical Studies.  It's completely flame-retardant, but more importantly for our purposes, it traps body heat."

The Patrician frowned, taking the similar suit being offered to him by the Arch-Chancellor.  


* Provided one could employ the services of a skilled necromancer**.
** Necromancy having been something of a forbidden, or at least severely disliked***, art for years, the odds of this happening when you need it to are a million to one.  Naturally, when it comes time for a heroic quest, necromancers tend to be rather thick on (or under, as it were) the ground.
*** It's not the strange smells and apparitions.  Wizards are used to those.  It's not the grim disposition.  Those are a dime a dozen on the Disc.  No, wizards argue, it's the loud music and the inexplicable urge to wear makeup that's the problem.



When the light had cleared, so, too, had the trolls.  There was rather a lot more debris in the cave than there had been earlier, as well.

"Oook?" asked the Librarian.

"Don't ask me," Rincewind answered.  "Everything went white, and here we are."

"Eeek."

Rincewind was about to argue the point further, but Star Swirl, still dragging himself to his hooves, chose that moment to speak up.

"He's quite right, lad," the old pony said.  "I'm not quite sure what spell you cast there, but it was quite powerful."

Rincewind found himself at a loss.  "But that's not--"  He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.  It was possible, or the Librarian wouldn't have suggested it.

"Look," Conina put in, "you three can blatter away if you like, but I really would rather not stay here."

Rincewind frowned.  Everything in his life had gone topsy-turvy.  It had started with the weather, but it hadn't stopped there.  Talking equines, his own inexplicable* urge to actually go forth and rescue damsels in distress**, being accused of performing magic, and now Conina was advising flight before he could?

Conina of all people?

"Trolls've gone," Nijel put in.  "This cave seems pretty well defensible."

"The problem isn't that the trolls have gone," argued Rincewind, trying to get his metaphorical feet under him again.  "It's where they came from."

"Oook."

"D'you think?" asked Rincewind.

"Ook."

"He certainly didn't have any trolls working for him when we rescued the Princesses."

"Eeeek."

"Too right," agreed Rincewind.  Nijel and Conina watched this exchange with utter bafflement writ large across their faces***.  The ponies seemed to be following the conversation well enough.  No one could, or indeed would dare try, speak for what the Luggage did or didn't understand.

"Where shall we go?" asked the large, pearl-colored mare.  "If Al Qurad can simply conjure trolls now, finding us should be no problem for him."

"I've an idea about that," the stallion said with a note of pride in his voice.

"You've an idea where to go?" asked Rincewind, incredulous.  "You don't even know where we are!"

"No," the pony corrected.  "I've an idea how to keep us off his crystal ball, or whatever it is you bipedal wizards use for scrying."

Rincewind's frown deepened.  In times of life-threatening danger, his instincts served him in good stead, even if they all told him to flee post haste (or used to do, at any rate).  In other times, when the danger was vague and nebulous, however, he had a different impulse.  "I want to go home," he muttered.  "I want a nice quiet beer at the Drum, and maybe a game on that contraption if the Librarian will let anyone else have a go."

"Oook," the Librarian said gently, laying a leathery, long-fingered hand on his shoulder.



* Rincewind, like many wizards, was never very good at headology.  A good experienced witch, preferably a spindly one with a hooked nose, could have told him a thing or two about himself he would scarcely believe.
** Quadrupedal ones that tended to whinney when startled, but damsels nonetheless.
*** Not literally, of course, to the inevitable confusion of any Ankh-Morporkeans who may stumble upon this text.


Zephyr had never been happier in his existance.  Where he came from, he was a lesser member of a small herd, nearly an outcast.  Now, however, he was the largest, most powerful member of his race in the world.  His herd covered fully half of the Disc from hub to rim -- and wasn't that particular geological feature a surprise? he thought to himself.

This flat world, in many respects vastly different from the one it had come from, had proven to be a cornucopoeia of seething hatred, barely (if at all) repressed anger, and other delicacies.  As large as his herd had grown, there was an absolute bounty, a surplus in fact, of negative emotions.

He was feeling magnanimous, he decided.  That was the reason he didn't smite the peculiar creature standing on a cloud in front of him.  The cloud was sleeting, Zephyr observed.  He couldn't help but observe it, because it was sleeting upwards, which Zephyr was fairly certain was impossible.

"Who dares interrupt my repast?" he demanded of the intruder, his voice seeming to thunder from the air all around.  In point of fact, it did no such thing -- he was limited to telepathic communications.

"Call me dIsQurad," the bizarre patchwork being replied.  It had clearly once been human, but as time went on and dIsQurad's magic continued to adapt his body to the mind it housed, any resemblence to that race was visibly being expunged.  dIsQurad's neck had elongated, his arms and legs shortened, and his torso was beginning to slim down.  His limbs were quite mismatched and no longer resembled anything human at all, except in their arrangement.

"Discord?"

"Oh, that works, too," the once-human creature said happily.  "Discord it is!"

"Why should I not have my herd freeze you in place and shatter you?"

The newly-christened Discord grinned.  With the highly diminished number of practising wizards left unfrozen in the world, the magic being ground out by the Disc's rotation was coalescing about the remaining practitioners, such as himself, quite thickly indeed.  "What," he asked the Windigo smugly, and held out a hand that was well on the way to becoming something altogether more paw-like, "you mean this herd?"

There, floating above Discord's paw-hand was a collection of small, equine ice statues.  Zephyr's eyes flashed coldly.  He was the most powerful Windigo ever to exist, and this creature thought to mock him?!  And yet...

And yet, there were markings in the tiny statues.  Miniscule though they were, he could identify each individual member of his herd.  Warily, he cast his eyes about.  The winds about them, caused by the herd's constant galloping, had died down.  The herd was gone.  He glared at the bipedal creature.

"What," he nickered, every letter glittering with frosty malice, "do you desire of me?"

Discord grinned lopsidedly as his jaw jerked out of its former human configuration and into something slightly goat-like.  "My friend," he said, draping a skinny, taloned arm over the equine creature's shoulders, "let's talk about ponies, shall we?"


* * * * *


It hadn't taken much to persuade the others to leave the cave.  A few pointed nods towards the piles of gravel littering the floor had quelled any arguments.

Nijel moved over to walk by Star Swirl and Rincewind.

"...of course," Star Swirl was saying to the human wizard, "even an exhaustive study of the nature of Harmony hasn't uncovered all of its secrets."

"Oh?"

"Yes, why, just a week or so before I set off on the journey that, well, eventually brought me here, a former pupil of mine was drawing up a thesis on the possibility of sub-Harmonic particles."

Rincewind frowned.  "What particles?"

"Sub-Harmonic," Star Swirl explained.  "You see, the deeper we study the nature of Harmony, the more it becomes apparent that it itself is comprised of even more elementary forces interacting with each other in surprisingly complex ways."

Rincewind nodded.  He vaguely recalled a similar discussion in the halls of Unseen University.  He remembered concluding at the time that it was either very profound or very silly.  "Go on," he said, if only to pass the time.

"It came from her observations of Harmony in nature, and especially in the interactions between ponies."

"I'm sorry," Nijel interrupted.  "Did you say the interactions between ponies?  I thought you were talking about, well...  magic."

Star Swirl grinned.  "Well, that's just it, you see," he said.  "When two or more ponies get together to do something, harmoniously, cooperatively, they are capable of so very much more than any of them alone.  What is that, if not magic?"

Rincewind frowned.  "But," he said, "what does that have to do with, well, actual magic magic?  Proper magic."

"Well," said Star Swirl, "everything.  You see, with the power of Harmony, a pony can do all sorts of things that would be impossible without it.  Harmony allows us unicorns to raise and lower the sun and moon, it allows pegasi to control the weather, it allows earth ponies to grow the foods that we all need to survive...  Without Harmony, very little, if any, of that could be accomplished."

Rincewind's frown threatened to deepen, so Star Swirl continued.

"When a pegasus pony sets up a storm cloud, it is their Harmonious connection with that cloud that allows it to respond to them.  Without Harmony, their hooves would simply pass through the cloud like, well, any other pony would without magic.  With Harmony, a pegasus can apply just the right pressure in just the right place to trigger anything from a small shower to a massive thunderstorm."

"Okay," said Rincewind.  "I'll grant that sounds an impressive bit of magic.  And you say this is how your world is?"

Now it was Star Swirl's turn to frown.  "Well, how it should be, I should say," he said.  "The fact is that right now, Harmony between the three races is strained at best.  There has been a problem with the Earth Pony Kingdom not producing enough food for all three Kingdoms, therefore not providing enough food."

Rincewind nodded.  "That makes sense," he said.

"Sadly," Star Swirl continued, "the problem is compounding itself.  The Pegasus Kingdom is threatening to withold the rain needed for the crops unless they get preferential treatment, and the Unicorns are demanding preferential treatment for providing the sunlight."

"Providing the sunlight?"  Nijel frowned.  "One would think the sun did that well enough on its own, no?"

"Ah," said Star Swirl, "but without unicorn wizards to control its path, there may be too much or too little sunlight, ruining the harvest by either drought or malnutrition.  It's a very delicate system, and the moment a single thing goes wrong with it, tensions rise and things get entirely out of hoof."

He sighed.  "I'd thought I was well out of it when I retired from my place on the Circle of the Sun in order to take on an apprentice, but when things started to go wrong, I just couldn't stay away from it."

"So," Rincewind said, "what went wrong to begin with?"

Star Swirl blinked, stopping short.  "Why," he said, "didn't I tell you earlier?  The same thing that's gone wrong with the weather here: Windigoes."

"So," said Nijel, "what, you brought them here?"

Star Swirl frowned.  "Hmm.  Or I followed them.  I really don't know, as I'm still working out the details of how I got here at all."

Rincewind nodded at the two alicorns, traveling along behind them and talking animatedly with Conina.  "And them?"

"Another mystery, I'm afraid," Star Swirl said.  "Certainly nopony matching their descriptions lived in any of the three pony kingdoms, or they would be, well, incredibly famous.  Legend has it that alicorns are immortal--"

"Hmm, Death said something of the sort when they saved your life earlier," Rincewind interjected.

"...ah."  Star Swirl spent a moment processing the implications of that.  "I... Death, you say?"

"Oh, yes," Rincewind said.  "Tall, skinny fellow, pale complexion, has an affinity for sharp farming implements and black robes?"

"Are... are you quite sure it was Death?"

"Quite," said Rincewind.

"Oh, my."  He was spared further contemplation on that subject, however, by the Librarian, who had gone ahead in search of shelter.  Preferably troll-free shelter.

"Oook," the orang-outan called out.

"I'm sorry," said Rincewind, "what?"

"Ook!"

"Really?  Furnished?"

"Eek," the Librarian said, coming into view.  He nodded, for the benefit of those who couldn't understand him.

"I'm sorry," Nijel said, "but what's furnished?"

"A cottage," Star Swirl and Rincewind said simultaneously.

"In the middle of the forest?" said Nijel.  "Well, that's convenient, isn't it?"

"I much doubt that," Rincewind said.  "I just hope it's not gingerbread this time."
> Chapter 10: Dreams and Visions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


Rincewind felt mildly betrayed.  His traveling companions were all gathered round a long dining table, calmly discussing the events that had led them to that point over a dinner procured from the mysterious cottage's fully stocked larder.  A fire was burning merrily away in a fireplace at one end of the room.  Absolutely nobody was in a blind state of panic.  It just wasn't right.

"Something bothering you, my boy?"  

He looked across the table at Star Swirl, who watched him inquisitively.  "Well, yes," he admitted.  "Frankly, I'm scared out of my robes right now, and I'm wondering why I seem to be the only one!"

The Librarian laid a placating, leathery hand on his shoulder.  "Ook," he said, and Rincewind winced.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I don't mean to yell, but it's just...  I mean, first there was the whole freak cold weather in the middle of Summer Two thing, then breaking the Princesses out of slavery, and the fight right after that, then the bit with Star Swirl almost dying, and then the troll attack, and, well, I'm just wondering if we really have the time for a nice supper is all!"

Star Swirl smiled.  "I'm quite all right now, Rincewind," he said.  "All of that is behind us."

"Indeed," said Luna.  "You were very brave tonight."

"Very brave," said Celestia.  "We can't possibly thank you enough for what you've done."

"But it's not over!" cried Rincewind.

"Of course it's not," said Conina, gnawing at a largeish bird leg.  The rubbery meat was proving difficult to chew, but not unpalateable.  "Look, Rincewind, you've been through enough adventures--"

"That's just my point!" Rincewind cried.  "I've been through enough adventures! I don't want any more!  They're terrible!"

"Well," said Conina, "yes, I suppose."

Nijel put on his bravest face, and inwardly Rincewind groaned.  "If they weren't terrible," he said, "there would be no need for heroes to go on them."

"I'm no hero," said Rincewind, and then, coldly added, "and neither are you."  With that, he stormed off towards one of the two bedrooms and shut himself in.


* * * * *


Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, sat in surprising comfort in his chambers.  The strange garb provided by Arch Chancellor Ridcully was doing a fantastic job of keeping him warm, he had to admit, even if it did look, frankly, ridiculous.  Fortunately, his formidable* reputation kept anyone from commenting on his appearance.

"Report," he said with a disdainful glance at the page who'd just entered his chambers.  Ridcully gave him a reproachful look.**

"Keep it friendly," the wizard reminded him under his breath.

"...if you please," Vetinari added, each word feeling slightly more bilious than the last.

"Preparations for the party are well underway, M'Lud," the page said.  "We've had no luck just yet finding the right musical entertainment, but the Major Domo has some people chasing down rumours in the hopes of locating a performing group that was quite popular not too long ago."

"Excellent," Vetinari said, steepling his hands.  Perhaps, he mused, the gesture wasn't the most friendly he could have managed, but one had to admit it had a certain style that suited him.  "And refreshments?"

"There's a fellow at the entrance would like to talk to you about that, M'Lud."

Vetinari smiled.  "By all means, do send him up," he said.

"Erm," said the page.  "He's a bit, erm... rough, if you take my meaning sir."

"Are you suggesting I should fear this person?"  The Patrician's smile grew as cold as the air outside his now-magically-reinforced windows, and the page swallowed fearfully.

"By no means, sir," he stammered.  "I was just, erm...  He's..."  The page shrugged.  "It's Dibbler, M'Lud."

Vetinari frowned, feeling a bit of a headache coming on.  "Tell Mr. Dibbler," he said, enunciating carefully, "that we will not be using his exclusive services during this celebration."

Ridcully coughed slightly, prompting Havelock Vetinari to roll his eyes and continue.

"However," he said, "neither will he be restricted from peddling his wares, either."

The page nodded, and scurried out of the room as soon as the Patrician's attention turned away from him.

"Better, Mustrum?" Vetinari asked when the two were alone.

"Marginally," the Arch Chancellor of Unseen University said with a sigh.  "Marginally better."



* Many would say "terrifying".
** Being a straightforward, direct sort of person, Mustrum Ridcully would normally be hopelessly out of his depth in dealing with a twisted mind like Vetinari's.  In the Arch Chancellor's favour, however, was the fact that Vetinari was, in fact, out of his depth in dealing with a person as straightforward and direct as Ridcully.  Such personalities were beyond rare in Ankh-Morpork.



Rincewind did not toss and turn that night.  He was, in fact, too scared to.  From all over the cottage came the sounds of snoring.  People, ponies, an orang-outan, and the Luggage, all blissfully asleep.  Not he, however.  His nerves were too tightly wound.  He considered pacing back and forth, but he knew that he would not stop there.

First would be the pacing, then walking, then the running, and there would be no going back from there.  He would never be able to face any of them again.

When had he grown so concerned with what others thought of him?

He was a coward.  He knew that.  He owned it.  He wore his cowardice with as much pride as his robe and wizard's hat.  At least, up until that night, he had done.

Now, however, it filled him with an emotion he'd never really taken the time to properly experience before.  A sort of combination of fear and depression that, he admitted, seemed very much like his usual behavior, except in some subtle way different.

Hullo, he thought at the emotion.  What are you?

Shame, an inner voice told him dully.

Really? he thought, surprised.  I rather suspected I didn't have you.

Well, you have, his shame replied.  You've quite a bit to be ashamed of, you know.

Do tell, he thought drily, and to his dawning horror, it did.

You're a coward, his shame said.

Well, he thought, but I'm alive, aren't I?

You're filthy.

Fancy a bath in the Ankh, do we?

You've got little to no morals.

Rincewind frowned.  Can't afford them, he thought.  Morals only get in the way on the rough streets of Morkpork.

Oh? his shame replied, cruelly.  Fancy yourself street-hardened, do you?  You're a joke, Rincewind.  Rincewind the Never-Wazard, that's who you are.  Can't cast a spell to save his life, or anyone else's either for that matter.

Oh, so it's about that, is it?

Course it is, his shame said.  You've finally got friends, Rincewind, not that you deserve any, and what do you do?  Lead them from one fight into another, nearly get one killed, and what do you do about it?  Nothing!

I know! Rincewind snarled.  I know, all right?! I'm bloody useless, but what would you have me do?

There was a long silence within his mind.

Better, his shame said sternly.  That's what I'd have you do.  Better.

You're in the wrong bloody mind, mate, Rincewind thought back at it, and, wedging himself into a corner, finally drifted off to sleep.


* * * * *


Discord grinned.  Things were coming along, he thought.  He'd made mistakes, yes, but those were over and done with.  His armies were advancing on one of the two greatest threats to his conquest of this world, and he would soon deal with the other.

The Ice Giants had been remarkably easy to manipulate.  It hadn't taken any magic at all, merely goading.  They advanced inexorably towards Ankh Morpork, which, thanks to the delightfully malicious spirits he'd found racing through the Disc's atmosphere, they would find rather hospitable.

The only things left were those ridiculous pony "princesses".  The large one was out of the question, he decided.  Too stolid.  Too predictable.  But the smaller one was still young enough to mold into something quite other.  Much as he himself had been molded into something other than he had been.  The transformation was complete, and none too soon.

He stretched out his serpentine body, grinning even wider.  The Ice Giants would strive to bring order to the Disc, he realized, but they would only succeed in confusing things still further.  In the end, chaos would reign.  He would reign.

"It's been quite long enough," he told himself.  "The trap is surely sprung.  Time to collect my prize."


* * * * *


Rincewind was unsurprised to find himself a pony in a land of ponies.  Ponies of every colour frolicked through verdant hills.  His good friend Star Swirl was just ahead, eager to introduce him to the Unicorn Kingdom's council of wizards, where he would take his place among the learned and powerful.

Luna had gone ahead, but no matter.  With the Luggage and Star Swirl at his side, he knew he would catch up in no time at all.  Every pony in pony land was eager to hear his tale, Star Swirl had told him.  Every pony wanted to hear about Rincewind the Brave, and how he had used his mighty magic to triumph over the Windigoes.

"Will you get a move on!" Star Swirl called out.

"Coming," he caroled.

"Come on, Rincewind," another pony said, and the world shook slightly.  "This is no time for lollygagging!"

"Nijel?" Rincewind goggled at the stocky earth pony.  "You're a pony, too!"

"Bloody hell," a dangerous-eyed pegasus pony mare growled.  "He's lost what few marbles he already had!"

"No, I'm not!" Rincewind objected.  "I'm perfectly fine!"

Star Swirl grinned at him, nodding, but the next words he said didn't match his expression at all.  "He's not insane," the elderly unicorn said.  "He's dreaming!"

The pegasus, exasperated, seized him in her hooves and began shaking.  "Wake up, you useless idiot!" she yelled in his face.

"There's no need to yell, Conina," he said, beginning to get upset.  "I'm perfectly fine and wide awake."

"You are not fine," Star Swirl said with a friendly smile.  "You are not awake, and Luna has been abducted!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Rincewind said.  "She's just gone on ahead."

"Gone on ahead where?" Celestia asked.  Though her manner was casual, her tone was direct and quite forceful.

"Why, to the Unicorn Kingdom, of course," Rincewind said.  "Don't worry, Celestia, we'll catch up in no time!"

Another unicorn trotted up to him, red with an orange mane, and examined him.  "Ook," it said after a moment.

"Enchanted?  Me?"  Rincewind scoffed.  "I don't know what you lot are going on about."

"I'm afraid so," Star Swirl said with a wink and a grin.  "It's quite a piece of work.  I'd admire it if the situation wasn't so dire."

Rincewind looked around again.  "Dire?"  The ponies continued to frolic in the grassy fields, with no sign of concern.  There was nothing around that could be described as dire, at least as far as he could see.  Finally, he shrugged and laughed.  "Okay," he said.  "Joke's gone on long enough, ponies."

"It's no joke," Nijel said, trotting over to stand beside the pegasus that Rincewind realized had to be Conina.  "What is wrong with you?"

"It's a dream spell," said Star Swirl knowingly, then stuck his tongue out at Rincewind with another wink.  "Quite a clever one.  I've never seen anything like it!"

"I have," Celestia replied, before doing a loop-the-loop for the sheer joy of flying.  "The last time my sister and I tried to escape from Isrim, she cast a similar spell on our guards."

Rincewind frowned.  "Look," he said, "all that's behind us now."

"No," Conina said, matching Celestia's loop-the-loop and adding a corkscrew for good measure, "it's not.  It's right here and right now and we need your bloody help you useless idiot!"


* * * * *


Star Swirl looked over at the large, pearly-white alicorn.  "This is getting ridiculous," he said, gesturing with his horn at where Rincewind was enthusiastically gumming at the comforter on his bed.  "I believe the fellow thinks he's grazing!"

"Why didn't anyone tell me grass was so delicious?!" Rincewind cried out.

"We could just knock him out," Conina offered, "and worry about it later."

The Luggage moved between her and the wizard, opening its lid threateningly.

"Easy," she said.  "It was just a suggestion."

"If you've seen this before," Star Swirl said hopefully to Celestia, "I don't suppose you could do anything about it?"

Celestia nodded.  "You might," she said as her hide began to glow, "wish to avert your eyes."

> Chapter 11: On Bravery and Cowardice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


Discord frowned.  Gloating, it turned out, was a lot less fun when his opponent was completely subverted to your will.  True, there was still Celestia and her little rag-tag band of misfits, but really, what chance did they have of making things interesting?*

His armies were advancing upon Ankh-Morpork.  Rather than petty human armies, however, he had made use of the considerable resources available to him: spite, jealousy, anger, hatred, greed, and, most importantly, the clashing, chaotic maelstrom of an overabundance of Disc magic.  He had, of course, bolstered these forces with the lowest dregs of humanity, the malicious glee of the still-growing Windigo herd, what few trolls he could keep irate enough to keep them from thinking overmuch, and, most recently, the callous Ice Giants, finally free of their long imprisonment beneath the Hub.

Fundamental laws of the Disc, however, had already decided his fate.  His disregard for those laws had assured it.  It only remained, then, to see that fate play out.  Perhaps, then, this explained the smile that then still graced the frozen Lady's face while all gods, great and small, around her were frozen in otherwise heated debate.

The laws in question are as follows:

1) Everything on the disc has its opposite.
2) With an army on one side and a ragtag bunch of misfits on the other, bet on the ragtag bunch of misfits every time.
3) Million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten.

A fourth law, one not yet known but occasionally pondered upon, would prove to be the means by which Discord's fate had been decided.  There are those in life whose entire purpose is to be the spanner in the works.  Such people often live hard lives, and feel much as a spanner might feel in that situation: that the world itself was trying to grind them down.




* Due to one of the effects of the law of Narrative Causality, the answer to that question was "actually, rather good".  Or, to be more accurate "one in a million".




Rincewind was thinking.  This is generally considered to be a good thing to do, except in the condition Rincewind was in.  Rincewind was knurd, which is an absolutely awful condition in which to do any thinking, but one in which thinking seems to be inevitable.

It is a widely known fact that in a world as magically charged as the Disc, everything has its opposite.  The opposite of light, for example, is not darkness.  Darkness is merely the absence of light.  The opposite is what happens when you pass through darkness and out the other side, and as Rincewind could attest from personal experience, nothing good can be illuminated by such anti-light.

The opposite of Disc magic, again, was not the absence of it, but the presence of this new kind of magic, which Star Swirl the Bearded referred to as Harmony and Rincewind referred to as Horsery.

And the opposite of drunkenness, following this same pattern, is not sobriety.  When one goes from blotto to sodden to drunk to tipsy, and reaches sobriety, and looks back at where he's been, and decides he hasn't gotten far enough from drunk yet, one approaches the state of knurdness.

It is, as Rincewind could attest, a terrible condition to be in.  When one is knurd, one is stripped of all the little illusions that let one get through the day.  One becomes aware of things that they have never been aware of before, and in excruciating detail.  And the thing that most become aware of when they are knurd is themselves.

Rincewind was learning that there was a great deal about himself he had only fooled himself into thinking he was comfortable with.  He had thought he was okay with being a coward, for example.  He had, in fact, relished that knowledge.

In his knurd state, however, he saw that pride in his cowardice as a desperate sort of coping mechanism, like a child who knows he's on the wrong side of an argument and must resort to arguments that begin with the words "but it's okay though, because".

It didn't help that his shame, his pride, and his much-abused sense of self-worth had at some point gotten together and formed an alliance, and chose this moment of horrifying clarity to press the attack.

They're all looking to you, his pride said.

And what have you done to deserve that respect? asked his shame.

You're not worth their concern, said his self-worth.  Rincewind the Coward.  Rincewind the ratty little rodent, scurrying for his hole in the wall and hoping this all blows over.

Well, he said, what would you have me do?  At least I know running away.  And I'm alive so far!

Are you, though? said his self-worth.

I'm breathing, aren't I?  Still got all my limbs?  Both eyes?

But what use are you putting them to? asked his shame.

Look, Rincewind argued, I'm not Cohen.  I'm not Conina.  I'm not even bloody Nijel.  I'm not a hero.  I'm Rincewind the bloody wizard, and I am and always have been afraid.  Fear is good.  Fear keeps you alive.

Rincewind, in fact, had always held that there are two sorts of people in life: Those who, when presented with, say, a fierce, man-eating tiger, were properly and justifiably afraid, and those who would click their tongues at the creature and say things like "here, kitty, kitty," and "what a magnificent brute," and, ultimately, "argh, my internals have become externals".

It is interesting to note that Rincewind was not alone in this opinion.

"Rincewind," Conina said, interrupting his internal debate before it, as it threatened to, delayed them past the point of the Disc freezing over entirely.  "I know you're afraid.  And, well, to be blunt, you're damned well right to be."

Rincewind blinked at Conina.  This was, perhaps, the last thing he had ever expected to hear from her.  Conina, who blamed something called "genetics" for her unwanted predisposition towards violence and thievery, and who never seemed to fear anything or anybody.  Conina, whose father had once faced the Luggage, challenged it to a melee, and won.

"My father taught me something about fear," she said.  "He said that he once heard that bravery isn't lack of fear."

Rincewind was agog.

"Bravery," she continued, "is being able to act in spite of it.  And then he went on to say that he didn't know much about that, but if it was true, then the bravest man he ever met was also the biggest coward on the disc."

Rincewind frowned.  He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again.  Then he thought better of that, and started to speak again, but reconsidered halfway through the first letter.  Consequently, what he said was "wwww".

"Since you vanished, those years ago when the Sourceror came," she said, "I've had cause to think about those words.  I don't know where you went, and I was content not knowing, but I wished I could have told you that I thought what you did, going up against a Sourceror all by yourself, was probably the bravest thing I have ever heard of."

The Librarian nodded gravely.  "Ook," he said, miming a pair of shears with his fingers.  After a moment's thought, he added, more forcefully, "Oook."

Nijel put a hand on Rincewind's shoulder.  "Look," he said.  "All I know about is heroing.  Well, and being a grocer.  And what I know is that somewhere on the Disc is a damsel that needs saving.  And I know that when the chips are down and our backs are against the wall, if anyone can find a way out of the situation, it's you."

Star Swirl frowned.  "I think," he said, "what the boy is trying to say is that we need you.  You know things about this world and its magic that I never will.  To hear these fine folk talk about it, you've experienced the worst this world has to offer and come out on top."

Princess Celestia flared her wings in agitation.  "When you rescued my sister and me from Isrim, I thought you were the bravest, noblest human I had ever seen."  She looked around the cave.  "You can tell a lot about a person by the friends they keep.  This group, as motley as we are, are together because of you.  You have been so brave tonight.  I know you're tired.  I know you're afraid.  But my sister is in trouble again, and I need you to be brave one more time."  She strode up to him, looking him in the eyes.  Rincewind struggled against that gaze, full not of years of experience, but of centuries, millennia, of potentiality.  He was rooted to the spot.  "Please," she said.

Rincewind the Brave, his pride said.  She called you brave.

But it's not true, he said.

You faced Trymon, his self-worth argued.  You faced Trymon and you won.  You actually charged at the Things from the Dungeon Dimension to save the Sourceror from them.  Charged at them!  Tell me that's not brave.

I'm not brave, Rincewind said.  I was...  I was desperate.  I'm not brave.

But, said his pride, wouldn't you like to be?

Rincewind nearly cried.  It wasn't fair, having this conversation with all of them ganging up on him when he was knurd.  He wanted to go home.  He wanted to...

He felt an odd tugging.  Something to do with home.  Except instead of his old dormitory, or the library where he spent so much of his time, he thought of the Tower of Art.  The Tower of Art, where such terrible things had happened.  That wasn't home, though it was a sort of symbol of the University.

What was it with wizards and towers, anyway?

And then he realized what the odd tugging sensation was.  What it meant.

And then, in a brilliant flash of white light that pushed all of the octarine away from their surroundings, Rincewind vanished.
> Chapter 12: Harmonious Magic, an Observation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


"I don't believe it," Conina said with a grimace.  "I simply do not believe it."

Rincewind had vanished, not only without warning, but without so much as a hint as to his destination.

"Then don't," Star Swirl said.

"He scarpered!"

"We did put a lot of pressure on him," Nijel offered.

"Still," Conina said.  "That's twice now he's done this to us."

"Done what?" Celestia asked, blinking curiously at the barbarian hairdresser.

"A few years ago, there was this Sourceror or something," Nijel said.  "And all the wizards had taken sides and there was a huge bloody wizard war."

"And Rincewind...?"

"We had this magic carpet, you see," Conina said.  "Got it from Creosote's treasure chambers.  And Rincewind took it and just left us all behind."

"Oook," said the Librarian, firmly.

"He what?"  Nijel blinked stupidly at the orang-outan.

"Ook."

"Singlehandedly?"

"Eek."

"So," Celestia said, "if what you're telling me is accurate--"

"Oook," the Librarian said.

"Oh, no offense meant," she said quickly, before continuing.  "Then Rincewind left you behind to face this Sourceror on his own.  And saved the Disc."

"So I gather," Conina said.  "It's strange, I never really thought about where he got off to.  I knew he headed to Ankh-Morpork, and I sort of knew he faced the Sourceror at some point, but...  I don't know why I never even thought about it."

"Oook," the Librarian said gently.

"Who did?"

"Ook."

"And we listened?" Nijel said, incredulous.

"Well, he was a Sourceror," Conina said.  "I don't suppose we had much choice in the matter."

"Still," Nijel said.  "Awfully rude thing to do to a person."

"It is that," Conina acknowledged.

"I hadn't even considered that it was possible," Celestia said.  She looked at the Librarian.  "Is it?  Normally, I mean?"

The Librarian shrugged.

"If we take all of that into consideration," Star Swirl said, "then it's quite clear what Rincewind has done."

"Buggered off," Conina said.

"To face off against who-knows-what," Nijel put in, "alone."

"Again," Conina said bitterly.

"Well," said Celestia, "what do we do about it?"

"I think it's perfectly clear what we should do about it," Star Swirl said, "and it bothers me that we're wasting any time at all discussing it."

Nijel, Conina, Celestia, and the Librarian all nodded.  The Luggage looked between them in anticipation.  Well, it seemed to be saying, what are we waiting for?

Star Swirl trotted over to Nijel.  "Well," he said, "I'm no young colt anymore, but we'll never get there in time at the rate you humans run.  Climb on."

Celestia knelt next to Conina.  "You as well," she said.  "We haven't time to argue."

Conina and Nijel mounted the two equines awkwardly.  It wasn't that they'd never ridden before, but the thought of treating someone they'd come to view as a friend as little more than a mount, that made them hesitant.  Also, they had rather horrifying memories of riding on the backs of horses that stubbornly refused to run on the ground.  Conina eyed Celestia's large wings warily as she mounted.

The Luggage trotted its many-legged way over to the Librarian, nudging him gently.

"Ook," the Librarian said, and climbed aboard, clinging to the sapient pearwood lid with the strength only an orang-outan can muster.


* * * * *


There are known things, unknown things, and things that are speculated about the Apocralypse.  What is known: a great war will be fought, four dread riders will ride across the disc, and the Ice Giants will finally triumph over the gods, covering the Disc in ice.

What is unknown: Virtually everything else.

What is speculated upon: Every aspect of everything known or unknown.  The Apocralypse is, after all, an apocryphal Apocalypse.  It has been referred to as "the End of the World, sort of."

The Four Horsemen of the Apocralypse are widely believed to be War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death.  War, being the belligerent sort, is currently unavailable due to a sudden and quite expected case of frozen-solid.  Famine and Pestilence, not the most motivated sorts, are currently drinking their cares away in a pub, as they have done in the past.  They are, thankfully, not singing this time.  Neither do they have their usual companions for a rubber of Dam or Weyr or whatever-it's-called.

Death is quite occupied at the moment with his new mount and apprentice, and is therefore unavailable for Disc-shaking events not directly concerning that particular relationship.

Scholars of the Apocralypse would, therefore, call this particular go at it a wash.  What none had considered, however, was the possibility of the One Horsewoman, Two Ponymen, And A Luggageorang-outan of the Apocralypse.

Quite silly of them, really, as it was exactly the sort of thing that would happen on the Disc.  Especially lately.


* * * * *


Discord chuckled.  He quite liked the sound and feel of that, so he essayed a bit of a chortle.  Oooh, he thought.  Even better.  Then he tried a laugh, deep and long.  No, he thought.  Too jolly.  He sounded rather like the Hogfather that way.  This was proving a bit more finicky than he'd thought.  He looked over at his captive, who stared back at him blankly.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Luna," he said.  "Just wait until you see what I have planned for this rotten town.  It'll be such fun!"

Luna continued to stare.  Discord frowned.

"Pah," he said dismissively.  "You're nearly as boring as your sister."  With that, he snapped his taloned fingers and vanished in a flash of octarine light.

Luna continued to stare at the spot he had been.  Externally, she was placid, completely subverted to Discord's will.  Internally, however, a conflict raged that the Windigoes would have considered a bounty even when compared to the Shades.


* * * * *


"Well," Conina said jovially as Celestia carried her towards the gleaming spires of Ankh-Morpork, "we're making good time, at least!"

Nijel grimaced.  "Easy for you to say," he muttered.  "You're not banging your feet on every rock."

"It's not my fault you're so gangly," Star Swirl snapped at him.  "Keep your knees up like I keep telling you and it won't happen!"

"Ook!" warned the Librarian.

Nijel frowned, looking over at the orang-outan, who was clinging to the lid of the Luggage with an iron grip.  "What was that?"

"OOK!"

Nijel exhaled experimentally.  Sure enough, his breath fogged the air, tiny crystals forming in the cloud.  "Bloody hell," he muttered.  He glanced up at the clouds above.  He couldn't see the unnatural creatures galloping through them, but thanks to the Librarian, he knew they were there.  Guilt (and tiny shards of ice) stabbed at him.  "I'm sorry," he said to Star Swirl.

"Oh, think nothing of it, my lad," the blue unicorn replied.  "I'm just as much to blame as you are, after all."

Impulsively, Nijel leaned forward and threw his arms around Star Swirl's neck - partly to keep from falling off, but mostly to reaffirm their friendship.  Star Swirl, not slowing his gallop in the slightest, leaned his own head back and nuzzled Nijel in return.  "I'm worried about him, too," he said.

The Librarian smiled at the sight.  Of the three physically and thaumaturgically capable of seeing it, only he was in a position to note the brief heart-shaped flare of energy that leapt up from the man and pony, piercing the cloud above them and scattering it.  The windigoes turned and galloped towards Ankh-Morpork.

No matter, the Librarian thought, we'll be there shortly anyway.  We can deal with them then.

Or, to be more accurate, what he thought was "Ook."


* * * * *


There are few things as horrific as teleportation by means either thaumaturgic or technological.  The sensation of having one's body torn to infinitesimal pieces and flung across vast distances is second only to those few seconds after one is reassembled, where one is mortally certain that bits have been left out.  (Due to the pervasive nature of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, the odds are they have, but they're so infinitesimal one would never even notice.)

A Harmonic teleport, by contrast, is only mildly horrifying.  In fact, it starts off as one of the more pleasant ways to travel before quickly becoming overwhelming.  A person (or, more frequently, a pony) who has teleported (or "winked," to use the common parlance) using Harmonic magic at first feels as though the entire Universe is hugging them.

This hug grows tighter and tighter by the picosecond, squeezing them down until they can fit, in their entirety, through the miniscule imperfections in the quantum substrate of so-called "reality".  Then, once through to their destination, the pressure relents and their form reasserts itself, along with a renewed sense of independence.

It is rather like visiting a very clingy mother after having neglected to stay in touch for several millennia.

Consequently, Rincewind can be forgiven if he spent the first few moments after appearing in the Tower of Art gasping for breath and wondering why he had never bothered to keep the Universe updated about events in his life.

After that, and the time spent wondering how one would go about updating the Universe about anything, he looked around to see where he was.

He recognized the Tower, of course.

It looked much as it had the last time he had been up here.  That is to say, it was rickety, entirely too high up, and made him know deep in his core that he wanted to be anywhere but here.

He knew, however, though he didn't know where he had obtained the information, that if he really wanted to be anywhere but here, he would be.  One cannot teleport to a place one doesn't wish to be, not using Harmonic magic.

So, he thought.  The Tower again.  Why am I here?  And why am I not surprised?

When he didn't answer, he shrugged.  May as well explore, then, he concluded.  He took a moment to get his bearings.  Someone, he realized, had replaced many of the missing stairs from the interior.  That left him with one obvious way to go: up to the roof of the tower.

As he had very vivid memories of what had happened the last time he had climbed to the roof of the Tower of Art, he looked around for a way down, instead.

What he found was a statue.

It wasn't a pleasant statue.

It wasn't ugly, or frightening of visage.  No, what was unpleasant about it was that it was all too familiar.  The statue was of one of the prior members of the University faculty.  With a great deal of horror, Rincewind realized that this was not strictly accurate.  It was, in fact, not of the former Head of the School of Divination.  It was him.  He was certain the petrified faculty had been removed from the Tower after his confrontation with Trymon, and yet, here was old Murphy, staring ahead with petrified horror at the opposite wall.

Rincewind turned to see what Murphy was looking at, and felt the bottom drop out of his world.

What he saw was a stained-glass window that had never before graced this tower.  First of all, all of the windows in the Tower of Art had been smashed centuries ago, and left smashed partly to preserve the Tower as a historical site, but mostly because replacing them would be both expensive and difficult, two words that most Wizards equate with "impossible".

Secondly, it depicted a world unfamiliar to any on the Disc save, perhaps, three.  No, Rincewind thought.  Four.  He had never been to this world before.  He had never seen it.  But he knew it.

It was round, much like the world he had visited on a number of occasions in the past.  But the continents were all the wrong shapes.  Similar, but not the same.  Around the...  Rincewind struggled for the right word to describe the spherical world.  Globule?

Close enough, he concluded.

Around the globule, silhouettes formed a ring.  They were not, Rincewind concluded, to scale.  They were, however, identifiable.  They were ponies.  Ponies in all colours of the rainbow, even one or two octarine ones.  They stood shoulder to shoulder, some with horns adorning their heads, some with wings, and some slightly broader than the others.

After some time, Rincewind began to see a pattern to them.  If one began at any pony with neither horn nor wings and proceeded widdershins, the next pony would bear wings, and the one after that a horn, then a normal pony again.  "Earth," Rincewind muttered, his eyes tracing the forms, "Pegasus, Unicorn."  The three pony Kingdoms Star Swirl had talked about.  Except that instead of being grouped by type, they were distributed evenly.  Harmoniously.

Except at the top of the globule.  At the top of the globule, the forms were distorted.  Some force, probably magical, given the nature of the place the window appeared, had caused the window to melt, the various shapes fusing into each other horrifyingly.  The ponies at the top of the globule appeared to be screaming in pain and terror at what had been done to the window.  Rincewind was convinced he could hear them.

He tore his eyes away from the distorted part of the scene.  In the upper right, he saw a radiant gold sun.  He didn't know why - it wasn't shaped like her in the slightest, and was a completely different colour - but something about the image made him think of Celestia.

Curious, he looked across to the upper left of the window and saw a pearlescent, white crescent shape.  The moon, he concluded.  Again, he had no basis for this thought, but the crescent made him think of Luna.  Funny, he thought, the colour was more like Celestia's fur, but Luna was all he could think of.

And between the two, he saw something else.  Something horrible.

It looked like a madman's depiction of a goat.  One of its horns reminded Rincewind no small bit of the dragons (There's no such thing as dragons, he told himself firmly) he had encountered on his adventures with Twoflower.  The other looked more like a deer's antler.  It had a large fang protruding from its lower jaw and a malicious look in its yellow-and-red eyes.  That, Rincewind concluded, was a creature he wanted nothing to do with.

He began to come to a horrifying realization, followed by an even more horrifying premonition.  The realization was that what he had mistaken for a flaw in the window caused by heat and magic was, in fact, a depiction of the effects of the creature on those around it.  The premonition was a certainty that, by the time this day was over, he would be face-to-face with it.

Rincewind turned and ran from that window without a backwards glance, his feet carrying him up the restored stairs to the roof of the Tower of Art before he had time to realize where he was going.


* * * * *


"You're useless," the ebon mare snarled at her weaker half.  "You're pathetic."

"I'm not," insisted Luna.  She didn't know where she was, or what she was doing here.  She remembered going to bed in the cottage, and then she had heard something that woke her.

She had gone to investigate, but Rincewind had moved to stop her.  She didn't hear what he said, didn't register the concern in his voice.  All she'd known was that he was between her and where she had to be.  She'd had a solution for that, however.

The dream spell was simple, yet potent, and it had left Rincewind wandering about the cottage, greeting various bits of furniture as if they were old friends.  She hadn't had time to worry about him, or to giggle at his antics as she would have done otherwise.  She'd needed to go outside.  There had been someone outside she needed to see.  Her... father?  That had been it, hadn't it?  She'd never known her father or mother.  She didn't even know if she had them, though logically she must have done.  Regardless, she wasn't about to be denied meeting family at long last.

And so, she had gone out from the cottage, away from the only family or friends she had ever known, and into the waiting arms of a creature that, now in retrospect, should have completely terrified her.  Why hadn't it?

"Because you want so desperately," the Other said, "to be..."  And here she hesitated before finally spitting out the word like a vile thing: "...loved."

"But I am loved," insisted Luna.  "I am!"

"Please," scoffed the Other.  "By that cow, Celestia?  Or perhaps those grubby whelps rubbing their greasy hands all over your fur and wings?  Oh!"  The Other laughed derisively.  "Maybe that idiot Rincewind!  By all means, he must love you!"

"He does!" insisted Luna.  "You'll see.  He rescued me once, he'll do it again.  Rincewind is the kindest, bravest, handsomest human I have ever met, and he won't let me down."

"Rincewind is a selfish, cowardly rat of a man," sneered the Other.  "If it came down to a choice between letting you die slowly and in agony or risking mild discomfort, he would toddle off to the pub to drown his guilt in cheap ale rather than take a risk."

"You don't know!" Luna protested, tears streaming down her cheeks.  "Rincewind is brave!  Rincewind will save me!  Rincewind..."  She trailed off.

What did she know about Rincewind, really?

She'd never met the man before, after all.  All she knew was what she had seen, and from what she had seen...  She could draw no conclusions.  He certainly acted like a coward.  Whenever they encountered a problem, it was Rincewind who first suggested running as a solution.  He would suggest it second, too.  And third.  And generally continue suggesting it until they finally did so.

And yet...

And yet he had saved her and Celestia.

And he had cared deeply for Star Swirl.

And...

And he was here.

Wait, what?


* * * * *


Rincewind had stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw her.  Luna stood atop the Tower of Art, staring off into space, brow furrowed slightly.  He ran up to her, calling her name, but she didn't respond.

He placed a hand on her brow, careful not to touch the horn, and wondered what to do.

She was under some sort of spell, obviously, he thought.  If he knew what spell it was, he might be able to come up with a counterspell.  It wasn't likely, he acknowledged, as his knowledge of counterspells wasn't up to the level of his knowledge of spells.  And his knowledge of spells, it must be admitted, was barely up to the level of a first-year student.  If that.

Rincewind had no power he could fling at the alicorn in arcane gestures and words, to cut away the fog clouding her mind.  He had nothing he could do other than be there.  He was mortally certain that wouldn't be enough.

And yet...

And yet.  And yet it was Harmonious magic, pony magic, Horsery, that had brought him here, to where Luna was.  He knew it now.  He knew that when he had vanished from the cottage and reappeared here in the Tower of Art, it was his own desire that had brought him here.  And at the core of that desire was the need to rescue Luna.

So here he had been brought.  To Luna.  And what he needed now was the means to save her.

He tried all of the things he had failed at in his time as a student here at Unseen University.  He tried to clear his mind of all thought, but worry for the purple mare kept intruding.  He tried to control his breathing, but it kept coming in short, sharp gasps, on the verge of tears.  He tried to reign in his emotions, but they were in control of him.

And then he tried the opposite.

He let himself think of Luna.  He let himself feel that worry for her deep in every fibre of his being.  He let the raw emotions he was feeling, desperation, worry, and, yes, a sort of love, wash over him.

It left him ragged and exposed, raw and bleeding, and he threw his arms around Luna's neck and sobbed.  Nothing was working, he thought.  Nothing ever worked out for him.  Until it did.

As his arms wrapped around her neck, he felt something both wonderful and terrible.  He felt like a light switch must feel when its circuit closes.  Something rushed through him the moment his arms touched each other around her neck, and he felt like he was on fire.

At Unseen University, one is taught how to control the arcane forces of magic, how to bend magic to one's will.

Harmonious magic, however, is not of the same order.  Harmonious magic does as the Universe wills, provided it has a willing conduit.  Unicorns are taught how to present the appropriate conduit to achieve a desired effect through the use of Harmonious magic.  It is a subtle, intricate art.

Rincewind, as it happened, turned out to be exceptionally good at presenting exactly the right conduit for Harmonious magic.  His emotions provided the schema, his body the circuit, his will...  his will was meaningless in the face of the raw power of emotion he let wash over him.

There was a brilliant light that drove all of the octarine from the light around Rincewind and Luna, making all of the colors around them stand out unnaturally clearly, and as the light faded, Luna finally began to blink.

"R-Rincewind?"

Rincewind leaned back, holding Luna at arm's length.  "Luna, are you all right?"

"I had the oddest dream," she said.  "But it's all right.  You're here now."  She leaned into him, wrapping her forehooves around him in an equine hug.  Rincewind blinked, as the moment she did so, he could have sworn he heard music beginning to swell in the background.*




* It is an oft-observed fact of worlds with an abundance of Harmonious magic that the presence of so much Harmony can influence the air in such a way as to cause normal background noises to take on a musical tone.  Further, in areas of dense Harmonic concentration, this tendency can lead to coordinated outbursts of song from those affected.  This, as it happens is highly relevant to the current situation in Ankh-Morpork.



> Chapter 13: Musical Numbers and Other Harmonic Effects
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The effects of a strong Harmonic field upon soundwaves passing through it has been touched upon, briefly, but further exploration of this concept is, at times, merited.  Among those times are those times when a large group of sentient, sapient beings within the effects of such a field begin acting en masse.  At such times, those beings, be they hominid or equine, may find themselves acting in a choreographed manner.  The accepted term for such events is a Musical Number.

The reason for this is not entirely known, particularly because one of the effects of a Musical Number is that those participating in it are, by and large, unaware of a Musical Number as an event in and of itself.  The exceptions to this rule are those who, for one reason or another, are largely resistant to Harmonic effects.

One such person, Lord Havelock Vetinari, found himself wondering at the way the normal sounds of Ankh-Morpork were forming new patterns.  Rhytmic patterns, in point of fact, with an underlying melody.  When his companion for the past few days, Arch-Chancellor Mustrum Ridcully, opened his mouth to speak, the words that came out followed the same melody.


"A week of freakish weather,
"Has put us in a funk!"


Vetinari, frowning, found himself compelled to follow in suit, his own words twisted slightly to fit the rhythm, meter, and rhyming pattern of the Musical Number taking shape throughout the city.


"I hope this plan of yours will work,"

he sang,

"It seems a load of bunk!"


Ridcully nodded, acknowledging the Patrician's concerns, and replied.


"If the information that I have
"Is as true as I've been told,
"A party will be just the thing
"To drive away the cold!"


The two of them turned their attention from each other to the streets below, which were just beginning to fill with revelers, the citizens of Ankh-Morpork brought out of hiding partly because of the promise of a day of celebration, but also because of the influence of the Harmonic field and ensuing Musical Number.


"The streets are filled with snow and ice,
"But that won't slow us down!
"Some ale will make things warm and nice,
"And take away that frown!"


Some two miles from the Turnwise gate, Rincewind's estranged companions galloped not only into view of the city, but into the field of influence of the Musical Number themselves.  Conina opened her mouth to speak, not noticing that her hopeful tone of voice had been modified into a musical equivalent.


"We're almost there, I see the gate,"

she sang,

"We'll all be back together then!"

"Oook--"

sang the Librarian, and Nijel nodded in grim agreement.


"Before it's too late!"

he caroled.

Celestia, heedless of her native companions' concerns, picked up her pace, one thought on her mind and lips.

"I'll see Luna once again!"


Meanwhile, on the grounds of Unseen University, the students and faculty, aware of the less-publicised purpose of the All's Fallow celebrations planned that day, began to file out of the University and into the streets of Ankh-Morpork, talking -- or, rather, singing, amongst themselves about their hopes for the event.


"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Windigoes, we'll drive away!"


The general goodwill and cheer was doing its part in helping alleviate the chill that permeated what should have been an almost oppressively hot Summer Two midsummer's day (or All's Fallow, as it was more properly known, the one day of the year when witches and warlocks stayed inside).  Cheered by this evidence of the plan's viability, the wizards got to work in earnest setting up decorations and preparing for the festival to get underway.


"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!"

they sang,

"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!"



As they sang, they helped usher the people of Ankh-Morpork into the large market square outside of Unseen University's massive, octiron gates.  There, a stage had been prepared where various performances would help to keep the people's cheer up.  At least, such was the plan.  It remained to be seen if such a thing would actually come to pass.

In the meantime, the wizards sang on.


"Melt away the snow and ice,
"It has no business here!
"To help to make things green and nice,
"We'll fill the streets with cheer!"


Swept up in the celebration, as well as the rhythmic drive of the Musical Number, the people helped to prepare for the coming celebration, unconsciously joining their voices with those of the wizards.


"We'll celebrate,"

the people sang,

"'Til we can no longer stand!
"With fun and games..."


Immediately Turnwise of the great octiron University gates, a curtain was drawn, revealing a once well-known, now mysteriously forgotten trio, who lifted their instruments triumphantly and caroled,

"And a heck of a band!"


As the trio, whose names for some reason* eluded the memories of those present, accompanied the ongoing Musical Number, the wizards of Unseen University resumed their choral discourse, as well as their preparations.


"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Windigoes we'll drive away!"


As they began to apply decorations, the people of Ankh-Morpork found themselves cooperating to an as-yet unheard of degree.  They also found themselves singing along,

"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!"





* The reason was, in fact, that the forces of Narrative Causality had all but struck them completely from the Disc's history.  Echoes of memories of the Band With Rocks In and their signature music style still lingered, but the memories themselves did not fare so well.




The decorating party spread out from the market square into the streets in general as the people sang out instruction to each other.

"Decorate the streets and homes
"With ribbons and balloons!
"Get ready, all, to celebrate!
"We're going to party soon!"


The merchants of Ankh-Morpork (particularly those from the Morporkean side of the river) were eager to not only join in the festivities, but to cash in on them as well.


"We'll sell our wares,"

they sang,

"like mead and pies..."


One merchant in particular proved particularly shrewd when it came to merchandise to offer, and his voice carried out in the sudden silence after his fellow merchants trailed off.  Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler grinned avariciously as he held aloft a rather ratty, barely cohesive example of cold weather clothing, his heavily Morporkean-accented voice calling out,

"And these winter coats!
"You'll see with prices low as these,
"I'm cutting me own throat!"


As Dibbler's well-known catch-phrase rang out over the crowd, they resumed their decorating frenzy, all of them now participating not only in decorating their town from the costliest mansions in Ankh to the deepest, darkest corners of the Shades, but in caroling out the chorus begun by the wizards,

"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
Windigoes we'll drive away!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!"


High atop the Tower of Art, in the heart of Unseen University, Rincewind the failed wizard* found himself torn between his usual panic and the Harmonic event that had swept across the city.  In point of fact, as he was immediately adjacent to one of two fonts of Harmony present on the Disc, and the other was rapidly approaching the University gates in company with the rest of his companions, he was at Ground Zero and had no more chance of resisting participation in the Musical Number than he had of casting an Eighth Level spell**.  Instead, he found himself compromising between the two, and giving voice to his numerous concerns in musical form.


"It hasn't been the best of times,"

he sang, an understatement of proportions overshadowed only by his next words,

"I'll admit to fear."


Luna, quite misinterpreting the thrust of his words, shook her mane out and smiled up at him, singing,

"I'm not afraid anymore,
"Now that you are here!!"


Rincewind was baffled.  There were quite a number of things, he felt, to be afraid of, so he began to enumerate them.

"But the soldiers and those angry trolls,
"Windigoes out there, too!"


Luna, again grossly misinterpreting his intent, lowered her head and scooped him onto her back.  Before he could do more than desperately clutch her mane to keep from falling, she had catapulted the two of them off the Tower of Art, her wings catching the wind and beginning the long (and to him, utterly terrifying) descent to the ground below.  As they glided down, she watched her hero*** out of the corner of her eye, singing,

"Rincewind, you're so very brave,
"I owe my life to you!"




* His degree is, in fact, B. Magic (failed) and his hat reads "Wizzard" rather than "Wizard".****
** To say he had no chance at all would be overly generous.
*** As has been noted previously, the Equestrian historical view of Rincewind has been somewhat distorted due to the events in which he participated.  It is even more accurate to state that a good deal of this perspective comes from Luna's own views on the man.
**** He has been informed that, due to a service he performed for the school, he can now call himself a wizard and spell it with as many "Z"s as he likes.




Rincewind and the younger of the two alicorns descended into the main grounds of Unseen University just as the elder alicorn and the rest of Rincewind's companions were let in the gate by a group of wizards who were transporting a crystallized butter sculpture of the school out into the market square to be the centerpiece of a massive spread of food ranging from the completely inedible to the merely unpalateable, provided by the University's kitchens.  The wizards and citizens continued to sing as the preparations were nearing completion.


"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Windigoes we'll drive away!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!"



Rincewind, surrounded once again by friends both new and old, was chagrined to find himself the center not only of their attention, but of everyone's.  He looked around him, shoulders slumped in permanent defeat as he realized what it meant.  It meant that, once again, Rincewind was going to be the much-put-upon cog in the grinding machinery of Life.  He gritted his teeth, determined not to give in, but deep down, he knew that if there is a Destiny that shapes our ends, then It bore him some curious grudge for an offense he couldn't remember committing, and would see to it that his days were filled with as many Eventful Happenings as It could manage.  He opened his mouth to scream some manner of pitiful defiance at It, but what came out instead was a sort of mournful resignation to his fate.


"It isn't right the way that things
"Always come back to me!
"I want to live a quiet life,
"Not go adventuring!
"What good's a wizard with no magic?
"That's what they always say,
"But I have to help so I must
"Do my best today!
"Do my best today!"


As he slouched his way towards the market square, the crowd closed around him, raising their voices jubilantly.  Heedless of Rincewind's mood, the Musical Number's most potent form, the Finale, carried their words aloft, along with a highly concentrated charge of Harmonic energy.


"Thaw Ankh-Morpork,
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Windigoes we'll drive away!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Thaw Ankh-Morpork!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Day!
"Celebrate All's Fallow Daaaaay!"



* * * * *

High above Ankh-Morpork, a number of entities were on hand to witness the Musical Number.  The entire herd of Windigoes had converged on the city and realized too late the meaning of the massive, heart-shaped coalescence rising up to their level from the jubilant crowd.  As the charge condensed prior to its final destructive release of Harmony, the Herd Stallion had just enough time to realize what it was and what it boded for both him and his entire herd.  His final whinney, before a rainbow-hued wave of Harmonic energy swept him into oblivion, was both untranslateable and very rude, indeed.

Slightly further from the epicenter of the Harmonic blast, another being observed the event through angrily narrowed eyes.  Discord, held aloft by a combination of his mismatched wings and a massive concentration of Disc magic, threw his claws up in disgust.  His words, though requiring neither translation nor any form of censorship, conveyed an equal amount of ire.

"Oh, come on!"

Fuming, the horribly mismatched creature rolled up nonexistant sleeves.  "I can see," he said, "I'm going to have to take a more personal hand in this."  With a snap of his avian claws, he vanished in a flash of octarine light.
> Chapter 14: Sub-Harmonic Particle Theory Revisited
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


It had only been a matter of time, Rincewind thought.  First, there had been the business with the weather, then the Klatchians, the trolls...  It was just a matter of time before something even worse cropped up.

If there could be said to be an expert on the Disc in Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, it would be Rincewind.  Not by virtue of his many years at Unseen University, or poring through the numerous arcane tomes at his disposal as the assistant librarian, but because, for an unknown amount of time, Rincewind had lived there.

If you could call a constant state of headlong flight living.  Rincewind did.  In fact, he attributed the bulk of his life to his well-trained survival instinct.

All of that was beside the point, however.  (Except to Rincewind's survival instinct, which had just popped in to say, "basically, run," before taking its own advice.)  The point was the Things.  Or, in this case, Thing, singular.  And it was a singular Thing.  It was too well-ordered to be a creature of the Dungeon Dimensions, but it had that mish-mash hodge-podge look about it, like one of the gods had just reached into a spare parts bin and thrown together whatever He pulled out.

It had the head of a goat, the body of what could only be some sort of serpentine dragon, a lion's paw, an eagle's talon, and mismatched hooves.  Its tail twitched in irritation.  Its eyes, gold with red pupils, narrowed in disgust.  And there was something altogether too intelligent in the way it stroked its beard.

"I've had quite enough of this," it said, and Rincewind had one of those near-epiphanies that plague partygoers everywhere.  It's one thing to be confronted with someone at a large gathering and know, deep down, that you've met them before, even if you can't place their face.  It is, as Rincewind could attest, quite another to be presented with that same conundrum when the person in question is nowhere near human, utterly suffused with magic, and has a look that says more clearly than words "I am going to rend you into minuscule pieces."

Discord glared at Rincewind, eyes narrowed in a mixture of disgust and wrath.  "I," he said clearly, "am going to rend you into minuscule pieces."  He nodded.  "Just so we're clear on that."

"Oh?" said Rincewind.  He was, if anything, even further out of his depths than usual, and other than fleeing, the only thing he could think to do was stall for time.  Time for what, he couldn't say.  "Might I, erm, ask why?"

"You," snarled the hybrid creature.

"Yes," said Rincewind, realizing he was, perhaps, assuming rather a lot in thinking the creature was capable of communicating in any meaningful way.

"You're... so... boring!"

Rincewind blinked, flustered.  Beside him, Luna nuzzled his hand and smiled reasuringly.  "I like boring," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"You would," the creature spat derisively.  "I try to bring a little bit of fun to the world, a little light-hearted chaos, and what do you do?"

Rincewind, not really recognizing the question as being rhetorical, replied.  "Run, mostly," he said.

"Oh, yes," the creature snarled.  "You run, and you take my prize with you!  Well, not today!"  It snapped its fingers, and Luna vanished from Rincewind's side in a flash of octarine so bright it nearly blinded him.  "Not today!"  

While Rincewind stared at the spot Luna had previously occupied, the creature slid into view.  "I'm not finished with you, by the way," it said.  "How do you do?  Discord, embodiment of chaos, at your service."  It frowned.  "Well, not your service.  More... my own service."

"Erm," ermed Rincewind.  "Rincewind.  Likewise, I suppose."

"Give back my sister!"

Rincewind blinked.  That was unexpected, he had to admit.  Last he'd checked, he didn't have anyone's sister, let alone one belonging to a hideous amalgamation of creatures from the Dungeon Dimension.

"Ah, Celestia," the creature -- Discord -- purred.  "No, I don't believe I will.  I had plans for her, you see.  And while I don't strictly need her to enact those plans anymore, I'm sure I can come up for some use for her."

Rincewind didn't know what was coming over him.  Under most circumstances, he would never have...  And yet...  He found himself standing forth.  He found his mouth opening.  And, most horrifying of all, he found himself saying "over my dead body."

"That," agreed Discord, "was the plan."  Rincewind was unsurprised.

What happened next, however, came as a total shock.

Rincewind braced himself futilely as swirls of octarine coalesced in between Discord's claws.  He cringed as that octarine, so dense and bright it was visible to non-wizard eyes, built and built.  And when Discord flung it at him, even though he knew there was nothing he could do, he flung his arms up in self-defense.

And that's where things went off-script.

There was a flash of brilliant color in front of Rincewind, and the blast of pure chaotic magic simply evaporated.


* * * * *


From a window overlooking the market square, Arch-Chancellor Ridcully watched with fascination.  "Hmmm," he said.  "A magic/anti-magic reaction," he said.  "All that energy, just... snuffed out."  He sighed.  "Seems rather a shame," he said.


* * * * *


Rincewind examined his hands, counting fingers and checking for hideous mutations.  When he was satisfied that there were no visible changes, he smiled hesitantly.

"What?!"  Discord fumed.  He exhaled jets of steam from his nostrils, which condensed in the cold air into snowflakes, which, in the thick magical aura emanating from the hybrid creature, turned into extremely minuscule squirrels, chipmunks, and groundhogs that scampered away the moment they touched the ground.*  "That's impossible!"

He sent another, even larger and brighter blast of octarine Rincewind's way, and time seemed to slow for the ratty wizard.  He saw the ball of energy spinning and churning through the air, subtly altering the very molecules around it.  He saw the flash of energy as it got closer, flaring out from his chest and meeting the octarine light a mere arm's-length away from his body.  He watched the two energies nullify each other, dwindling into a point in space as though someone had pulled the stopper on reality and let them drain out.

Something clicked in his mind.

He reached into his robe and pulled out his much-loved Unseen University amulet.  In place of the usual octagram decorating the amulet, he saw a six sided gemstone: an amethyst.  It glinted purple in the summer sun.  He wondered what it meant.

There exists a theory among some of the more learned of Unicorn Pony mages that Harmonic Magic can be condensed, coalesced into solid form.  Critical to this process are two things: quantity and pressure.  In order to get any meaningful amount of Harmonic material into solid form, truly staggering amounts of it must be present.  In order to get that quantity of magic into one place to crystalise, it must be put under tremendous pressure from all directions in the form of some sort of anti-Harmonic magic.

It so happens that the mentor of the first proponent of this theory, as well as the related theory of sub-Harmonic particles, was present in the one place and time that both of those theories were proven true.  The vast amounts of Disc magic placed the Harmonic magic of Celestia and Luna under intense pressure.  At the same time, the natural Harmonic qualities of those around the two Horserors had acted as attractors for the attuned sub-Harmonic particles that made up each of the components of Harmonic magic.

And it was at that moment, when one of those attractors was under an even greater amount of pressure from non-Harmonic magic than previously, that those sub-Harmonic particles achieved precipitation.  Rincewind stared at the end result of one of those sets of particles, dangling from the end of a gold chain around his own neck.

"What...?"

Beside him, Star Swirl stepped up confidently, staring with fascination at the amulet.  "Well, I'll be a son of a gazelle," he said.

Rincewind looked over and down at the pony.  "It," he began hesitantly.

"It what?"

"Happened to you, too," Rincewind finished.

Star Swirl examined himself curiously, before Rincewind saved him the effort and snatched his belled hat from his head and held it in front of him.  One of the bells had been replaced with an aquamarine.  Star Swirl reached out with his magic and shook the bell-shaped gem, and it rang with a pure tone that caused him to grin from ear to ear.

Rincewind was flummoxed.  

Some distance away, Discord saw an opportunity.  His opponent, who was surprisingly neither dead nor horrendously mutated by the tremendous amounts of magic that had been flung at him, was clearly distracted.  Something stayed his claw, however.  He got the sense that things were about to go very badly for him indeed, and desperately searched the memories of the man he had once been for some sort of counter to this new and unexpected turn of events.  Isrim's memories, however, proved useless in that regard.  The former wizard had never seen anything like this.**

Rincewind looked around, and saw similar medallions hanging from the necks of his companions.  No, he amended the thought, his friends.  I've got friends.  He turned back to Star Swirl, curiosity overwhelming common sense for a change.  "Have you any idea what's happened?"

"Some," said Star Swirl.  "If I'm right, at any rate, it proves Clover to be every bit as clever as I've always told her she was."  He grinned.  "This is astounding!  Sub-Harmonic element theory proven right!"

"So, these... gem thingummies," Nijel said, examining his own amulet, the brilliant pink color of which would emasculate a more socially conscious man, "they're, what?  Elements of Harmony?"

Star Swirl grinned widely.  "A fantastic name for them, I should think," he said.

"ENOUGH!"

Rincewind and his friends froze in place, staring at the hybrid creature whose shout had interrupted their conversation.  Rincewind had the decency in the situation to feel abashed at having completely forgotten the fight.  "Right," he said.  "Erm.  Sorry."

"Sorry won't do, I'm afraid," Discord said.  "I think the only satisfaction I shall get will be over, as you said earlier, your dead body."  He laced the digits of his taloned left hand between those of the lion's paw that was his right, and cracked his knuckles.  "Let's get on with it, then, shall we?"

"No," said Rincewind, "I don't think so."  He could feel an energy flowing into him.  He'd never felt anything like it before.  Even when he had worked real magic, when the Sourcerer had been at the University and he himself had been fleeing the dungeons of Creosote along with Nijel and Conina, he had never felt even close to this sensation.  It was like being wrapped in his favorite blanket, with the lingering smell of potatoes in the air, and a full belly, and absolutely nothing exciting happening for leagues around him.  All of his favorite things filled him, and kept filling him, well past the point of overflowing.  His eyes snapped open, and instead of the usual look of rodent-like intelligence, they were filled with light.

Vast, all-encompassing light.

A similar light began to emanate from the hexagonal gemstone in his amulet, and he was dimly aware that his feet were no longer having much to do with the ground anymore.  That was all right, though.  Everything was all right.  He had his friends with him.

They, too, found their amulets (and Star Swirl's hat) glowing, and their feet (and hooves) no longer touching the ground.  They glided in behind Rincewind, each of them at peace with the world for perhaps the first time in their lives.

Rincewind found himself thinking about, instead of Discord and the extremely clear threat he represented, his friends and what they represented.  What they meant to him.  He thought about how difficult, if not impossible, it would have been to confront this beast if he hadn't had their examples.  When he'd been, as usual, too frightened to bear up to the events that confronted him, Star Swirl's good cheer had kept his mood buoyant.  Nijel's care had softened the harsh realities of life on the Disc.  Conina's willingness to give of herself had not only saved Star Swirl's life, but had been a constant balm in a severely troubling time.  The Librarian could always be counted on to know just how to bring the facts to light.  Even the Luggage, bloody-minded, murderous, blighted thing that it was, was reassuring in its constancy.

He could have survived without them, he concluded.  Surviving was a specialty of his, after all.  But thanks to them, the sheer, unrelenting horror of an adventurous life had been almost...  bearable.

Light began to radiate from Star Swirl, Conina, Nijel, the Librarian... even the Luggage, whose keyhole had apparently been plugged with a brilliant ruby at some point along the way.  It flowed towards Rincewind like lightning towards an atheist***, where it pooled around him and the aura surrounding him began to grow and grow and grow...

Discord had the distinct, and altogether new, impression that he should flee immediately.  However, lacking Rincewind's lifetime of experience, he began making what the (nominal) wizard would call "rookie mistakes", such as waiting until that moment to begin preparations, not knowing the quickest way out of the area, and even wasting time to consider where he would flee to.  These mistakes, all tolled, left him still transfixed when what could only be described as most of a rainbow**** lanced out from the aura surrounding Rincewind and swept over him.



* Not coincidentally, the coming months saw an unprecedented shortage of sesame seeds.
** In his defense, nobody else had, either.
*** That is to say, directly, and with absolutely no doubt that there was a cause-and-effect sort of relationship involved.
**** It quite clearly lacked any octarine.



As Rincewind and his companions settled to the ground, and the light faded, those few observers who remained (namely Ridcully and Vetinari, watching from the safety of the Patrician's offices some distance away) noted the distinct lack of a horrific amalgamation in the market square.

Rincewind, or rather the Harmonious magic that had been channeled through him and his companions, had been victorious.

Celestia galloped over to her little sister, the two immediately reassuring each other of their presence by physical contact as Harmonious creatures are wont to do.  Rincewind idly reached down to pat the Luggage, which, suffused with enough Harmony to power a small town, deigned to allow it.

"Well," said Star Swirl.  "That would appear to be that, then."

Rincewind nodded.  "I, erm... I imagine..."

"What?"

"Ook."

Rincewind nodded.  "It does, at that.  I rather expected for things to end, well, less positively and more gruesomely."

"Why isn't it any warmer?" Nijel asked.

"Yes," said Luna as she and Celestia rejoined the group.  "Those Windigo creatures were dispersed, were they not?  Should not the weather return to its normal state?"

"Well," Rincewind said knowingly, "these things take time, you see."

"Erm," said Conina.

"After all, it takes time for snow to melt in spring, so why not for ice to melt in summer?"

"Ah," put in Nijel.

"And really, I think it's only about time things went smoothly for a change and... what's that rumbling?"

"Ook," said the Librarian, pointing towards the Hub.

"What?"  Rincewind scoffed.  "Don't be ridiculous.  It can't be them.  That would mean the Apocralypse.  It can't be time for the Apocralypse.  There has to be a great battle, and four... dread... riders..."  He looked over at Conina, Nijel, and the Librarian, then at Celestia, Star Swirl, and the Luggage.

"Yes?" Celestia asked, completely lost.

"Tell me," he said, "how did you six get here so quickly?  Did you, erm... telewhatsis?"

"Teleport?" said Star Swirl.  "Dear me, no!  After all, winking is what got me in this mess in the first place!  No, no, no, we galloped."

"And Nijel, Conina, and the Librarian, did they gallop, too?"

"Oh, no," said Nijel.  "We...  oh my."

"Rode?"

"Erm, yes."

Rincewind sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  "Just once," he said.  "Just once, I would very much enjoy for things to go well from beginning to end."  He sighed again.  "I suppose that's just a bit much to ask for."  He turned Hubward, where he could see the already massive shapes of saddle-broken glaciers bearing down upon Ankh-Morpork, their tremendous bulks bearing the Ice Giants themselves.  The Apocralypse was indeed nigh.
> Chapter 15: Solar Eclipse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


To those who had never seen the Ice Giants before, they looked somewhat diminuitive.  It seemed, at first, a bit of an anticlimax for the world to come to an end at the hands of such tiny "giants".

Conina and Nijel, on the other hand, knew better.  The thing about the Ice Giants was that they were not only enormous, but treated the entire Disc with a callous disregard that completely disregarded concepts such as good or evil.  The reason they looked small from a distance, apart from perspective, was that the glaciers they rode were orders of magnitude larger than they.

"What do we do?" Conina said, a white-knuckle grip on her cuticle knife's hilt belying her otherwise calm manner.

"Run?" offered Rincewind.

"Honestly, Rincewind, that's your answer to everything."

"It hasn't failed me so far."

Conina eyed him.  "Are you sure?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?"  When nobody answered, Rincewind looked around.  "Aren't I?" he asked a bit more desperately.

"Has anything like this ever happened before?" asked Star Swirl.

"Ook," said the Librarian.

"Actually," Nijel said, "yes.  Once."

"Eek?"

"Well, how did you deal with it then?" Star Swirl said, latching onto a sliver of hope.

"Excuse me," Rincewind put in, "but there is already a question that needs resolving.  Am I, or am I not, still alive?"

"Of all the bloody..."  Conina whirled on Rincewind, brandishing her cuticle knife in his face.  "YES!  And if you would care to remain that way, then kindly focus on the problem at hand!"

"Right, then," Rincewind said.  "In that case, what's wrong with running, then?"

"Where would we run to?"

Rincewind rolled his eyes.  "Never worry about 'to'.  'To' takes care of itself.  The important part is 'from'."

Celestia and Luna watched this exchange with a mixture of horror and fascination.  Were they really having this argument now?  Now, at what could be the end of the world?

"Fine, then," Conina said.  "What would we run from?"

"Well," said Rincewind, "for starters, how about that?"  He gestured at the slowly advancing walls of ice and their terrible riders.

"That," said Conina, "is going to be everywhere if something isn't done."

"Running is something," said Rincewind.

"I give up," the barbarian hairdresser said.

"Does that mean we're running?" Rincewind asked hopefully.

"Not 'we'," Conina said.  "Do as you like.  I'm staying here."

"Going to make a stand, then?" Star Swirl said.

"For all the good it'll do," Nijel said.

"What happened last time?"

"I'm not really sure," Nijel said, then turned to Conina.  "You?"

"Not really," she admitted.  "There we were, about to be ground underneath a massive glacier one moment, then there was a hot wind and some kind of argument, and then the Ice Giants were gone, and everything was fine."

"Ook," said the Librarian.

"Well, then," said Rincewind with more than a slight touch of panic coloring his voice, "that's just fine then!  If the Gods took care of it last time, they'll take care of it this time as well, won't they?"

"Assuming they're not still frozen," Star Swirl rebutted.  "The more fractious somepony is, the longer the freeze can last after the Windigoes have been banished."

"Wait," put in Celestia.  "What do we need, really?  Divine intervention?  Or just enough heat to drive them back?"

Rincewind frowned.  "The latter, I suppose," he admitted.  "Though how we're to get it without the former is quite another matter."

"I have an idea," Celestia said.


* * * * *


"I'm really not sure about this," Rincewind said as Celestia and Luna began their preparations.  "Do you have any idea what you're about to attempt?"

"It should be a simple enough matter," the larger equine said.  "Star Swirl says that unicorns do it all the time where he comes from."

"Unicorns," Rincewind said.  "Plural."

"Well," Celestia said, "there are three of us.  That's plural.  I'm sure we can do it."

"How sure?"

Celestia didn't answer.  She merely turned her attention up to the sky.

Rincewind turned his attention to Luna, who was listening raptly as Star Swirl explained magical concepts to her.  Rincewind frowned.  The things Star Swirl was saying contradicted nearly everything (admittedly not very much) he'd learned in his time as a student at Unseen University.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asked them.

"Erm," said Star Swirl.  "I'm quite sure I can't."

"Then why are we...?"

"These two fine mares," Star Swirl said, gesturing at Celestia and Luna, "are convinced that whether or not they can, it is worth a try."

"What, exactly, are they doing?"

"Well," said Star Swirl, "sunlight behaves differently here than what I'm used to."

"How so?"

"It seems... fluid."*

Rincewind frowned.  "And this is relevant because...?"

"I hate to interrupt," Conina said, "but if you have a plan, now would be an excellent time to enact it."  She gestured at the encroaching glaciers, which now loomed over the city of Ankh-Morpork in a way that indicated they wouldn't wait for the city to pick up and move before continuing.

"Right," Celestia said, closing her eyes.  "Luna?"

The two alicorns stood side by side on the University grounds, eyes closed in concentration.  Celestia's horn was enveloped in a golden glow that filled the courtyard like sunlight, while Luna's own horn glowed with a deep blue colour that caused all of the shadows to stand out.

Rincewind found himself basking in their magic, in the way it seemed to make everything around them more vital.  Horsery.

The sun halted its movement across the sky, then slowly moved back up towards its apogee.  He stared up at it, wincing, then back at Celestia, who was gritting her teeth.  Almost against his will, his eyes tracked over to Luna, who was clearly concentrating as hard as her elder sister.

At first, the result of that concentration wasn't apparent.  Was she helping Celestia to move the sun?  After a stressful minute of waiting, the fruits of her labours became apparent: the moon, in direct contradiction to all laws of magic and nature that Rincewind was aware of, was being dragged above the horizons and across the sky as though against its will.**

He looked with dawning horror as the sun held at apogee and the moon, with terrifying relentlessness, climbed ever higher.  Having never seen -- or even heard of*** -- a solar eclipse before, Rincewind was convinced the two celestial objects were about to collide.



* It is an observed phenomenon that on worlds with a high concentration of magic, such as the Disc, that sunlight literally pours over the landscape, collecting in pools and spilling over mountains.
** This was, in fact, quite the case.  Luna would later comment that moving the moon in Equestria was a fair sight easier than some more recalcitrant orbs she could name.
*** It is not quite fair to state that such an event was completely unheard of on the Disc.  The fact was, however, that the orbits of the sun and moon were quite complicated enough without having to coordinate schedules, thank you very much.



After a minute of sustained eclipse, Rincewind dared to uncurl from the protective ball he'd folded himself into.  "Is... is it my imagination," he said, "or is it actually getting colder?"

"It's definitely not your imagination," Nijel complained.  "But would you look at that?"  He gestured expansively at the phenomenon above them.

"Bloody hell," Conina said. "I don't think I've ever seen something that beautiful..."

Rincewind looked overhead.  As the light of the sun fell down towards the Disc, it hit the moon and splattered across the sky, flaring out in all directions as spears of light before raining down on the Disc below.

Celestia opened one eye.  "Luna," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sister," the smaller alicorn said, and the aura around her horn flared.  The moon pulsed blue, and that pulse spread out from the orb, gathering the spilled light to itself.  As her magic collected sunlight, the world began to darken even further.

"What are you doing?!"  Rincewind stared back and forth between the ponies.  "That's our sunlight!  We need that!"

"Of course," Star Swirl said.  "We need as much of it as we can get.  All at once."

"Now?" Luna asked, now sweating profusely at the exertion of maintaining two massively powerful spells at great remove.

"Not yet," Star Swirl said.  "A bit longer.  You've got the amniomorphic shield, but it needs to be full before we move on to the next part."

Luna grunted her acknowledgement.  "Sister," she said, "I don't suppose you could speed things up on your end?"

"I'm trying, Luna," Celestia replied.  "This sun doesn't like being touched.  It's been left to its own devices for as long as it can remember.  I think I've..."  There was a brilliant flash of light from behind the moon that washed the entire city in blue-tinted light.  "Got it!"

"Now!" shouted Star Swirl, but Luna needed no encouragement.  She could feel her shield buckling under the weight of all that sunlight, and dropped it at once, yanking the moon out of the way with perhaps more force than was required.

Rincewind watched in awe as tonnes of sunlight didn't so much pour over the city as they washed over it in massive cascades.  Waves of light towered over the glaciers like tsunamis, and then everything was awash in blinding golden light.
> Chapter 16: Cutie Mark Stories
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Wizzard and the Pony


Rincewind had thrown up his arms in what he knew to be a futile effort at self-defense.  What else could he have done?  There was a torrent of sunlight cascading down over the city of Ankh-Morpork, and that was new.  New things, in Rincewind's experience, were seldom anything other than things to be horrified of.  Drowning in sunlight would be just how he would die, he figured.  Unprecedented and somehow humiliating.

The world was awash with light, golden and viscous and blinding.  There was no sound but the roar of torrential lightfall, and behind it, an angry hissing sound like thousands of serpents being whipped into a lather.

It was, upon reflection, a surprisingly comfortable demise.  Like basking on a rock on a particularly torpid Summer Two afternoon.

Slow, too, he thought.  Come to think of it, he wasn't so much drowning as... breathing normally, albeit in panicked gasps.  Upon further reflection, he thought that was fairly normal as well, so he could just as well strike that descriptor and just say "breathing normally."

"What was that?" a voice called out through the sound of rushing sunlight.

"Erm," said Rincewind.  "I'm...  surprised, is all," he said.  "I rather expected to drown in that."

"What," said the -- now amused -- voice.  "In the sunlight?"  Belatedly, Rincewind identified it as that of the larger equine, Celestia.

"To be fair," said another voice -- Conina, he ventured a guess -- "there is rather a lot of it."

"It just keeps coming!" said Nijel, awestruck.

Rincewind looked around.  He thought he could make out the shapes of his companions, and beyond them, what looked like perhaps buildings.

The sunlight drained away into the river Ankh, leaving behind...

Well, something was definitely wrong, Rincewind decided.  Ankh-Morpork could be described with a number of nouns, pronouns, adjectives, adverbs, and even, on some nights, verbs.  None of them were anything like "splendour" or "shining", and yet...

He looked around in awe.  The streets were not so much clean as sparkling.  The residue of filth on every cobblestone had been washed away in sunlight.*  Rincewind had, a few times before, felt the touch of true awe and beauty.  Never before, however, had he felt it when looking upon these streets.

Conversely, he had never felt less at home in the city than he did right then.  He was unsure if this was because of the change wrought on the city by the advent of so much sunlight, or because something in him had changed.  He rather hoped it was the former.  The latter, like many things**, frightened him in its implications.

"Ook," said the Librarian, softly.  That rather summed it up, Rincewind thought.

Rincewind looked over at his companions.  Strike that, he thought.  Though he rarely, if ever, used the term, he revised his thought and looked over at his friends.  Awash in the slowly-fading sunlight, they looked positively majestic.  Star Swirl's somewhat ragged mane and beard were, without a hair being altered, not so much ragged as charmingly eccentric.  Nijel looked heroic.  Conina looked...  Rincewind swallowed, hard, and wrenched his gaze away.  He wasn't going down that path again.  Even the Librarian looked like something out of a tapestry woven with more thought to poetry than reality.***



* This, in fact, left a number of residents surprised to find that they had doorsteps, and even, in some cases, whole stoops that had been forgotten for decades, if not longer.
** Some would say "everything".  They would not be wholly wrong.
*** This was a particularly Ankh-Morporkean perspective on the subject of tapestries.  Where other cities might commission a tapestry to commemorate a hero's triumph over the hordes of bog-dwelling creatures that had terrorized them for years, only Ankh-Morpork would commission one to commemorate the fortnight of gastrointestinal distress the hero suffered afterwards from being forced to drink bog water.****
**** This would then be protested until a third tapestry was commissioned lauding those who had to clean up after said distress.  The third tapestry would be protested by those who claimed that no one ever bothered to clean up after heroes, and, eventually, the whole thing would be scrapped.  Ankh-Morpork is not, precisely, awash in tapestries.



Turning away from the Librarian, Rincewind found himself looking -- staring, really -- at Celestia and Luna.  They were different.  Substantially, incredibly different.  It wasn't just the lingering effects of the sunlight, which was washing off.  Celestia's mane, pastel and flowing in an invisible wind, was now a pale, luminous rainbow.  Luna's mane was the same dark color, spangled with stars, that it had taken on when she had acted to save Star Swirl.  In addition, they each seemed to have been branded by their ordeal.

Rincewind wondered about that.  He also wondered whether staring at their rumps was some sort of etiquette breach.

"Well!" Star Swirl said jubilantly.  "Congratulations are definitely in order!  First, that was the most well-executed eclipse I have seen in, oh, decades at least!  And with just the two of you!"

Rincewind frowned at the unicorn.  "And, the, erm..."  He gestured at the two alicorns' rears with a delicate cough.

Star Swirl chuckled.  "I know!" he said.  "I mean, granted, most ponies are younger when they discover their Talent, but I doubt anyone will ever have a more memorable Cutie Mark story!"

Celestia and Luna blinked at Star Swirl, confused.  They looked at each other, then, with dawning realization, craned their necks to look at the new marks on their posteriors.  On Celestia's thigh was the image of a yellow sun with eight orange rays of light, representing her, Luna, and their new friends.  Luna's own mark appeared almost as a blot, apart from the clear crescent moon it framed.

"This is..."  Celestia prodded at her rear with a forehoof, curious.  "This is normal where you are from?" she asked.

"Quite," said Star Swirl.  He hitched up his own robe to reveal his own mark: a five-pointed blue star on a background of pink whorls.  "It's a coming-of-age thing, you see."*

"Hah!" Luna laughed defiantly.  "See, Tia, I'm grown up now!"

Celestia chuckled, nuzzling the smaller alicorn.  "You'll always be my little sister, Lulu," she said.



* In point of fact, Rincewind didn't see.  He would later, but that is a story for another time.



Life in Ankh-Morpork soon returned, if not to normalcy, then to something resembling it.  Within a few days, the freeze, near-Apocralypse, and eclipse had become a subject of gossip more than anything else.  Within a week, it was barely even that.  It was just another thing that had happened.  The trio of talking equines could be seen in and around the city at any given time of day or night, more often within the walls of Unseen University than not.

Nijel and Conina returned to the Shades, where they were visited frequently by Star Swirl, Celestia, Luna, and even Rincewind (when he could be talked, or more frequently, tricked into visiting that part of town).  The Librarian and Rincewind returned to their duties in the University, and life in Ankh-Morpork became decidedly tranquil for a change.

Rincewind loved it.  All the peace and comfort of home, except this time there was no looming event on the horizon waiting to ruin it.

Well.

One looming event.

"Any ideas?" he asked Star Swirl one night when the two of them were alone in the library.  (Celestia had gone to bed and Luna off to sample the night life.)

"None as yet," Star Swirl said with a sigh.  "Don't misunderstand," he said.  "It's not that I want to leave you."  He snorted a laugh.  "I'd take you with me if I could.  I think you'd like it where I come from."

"I might at that."

"But I just..."  Star Swirl shook his head in frustration.  "I don't belong here."

Rincewind sighed.  "I know that feeling," he said bitterly, then shook his head to clear it.  "There has to be something."

"Ook," said a quiet voice from behind him.

"Oh," he said, turning towards the Librarian.  "Hullo, you."

"Ook," the Librarian repeated firmly.

"Just, how to get the ponies back where they..."  Rincwind grimaced.  "Where they belong," he finished bitterly.

"Ook."

"Really?"

"Eek."

"And you never mentioned this before because...?"

"Because we never asked, I suspect," Star Swirl said.

"Ook," said the Librarian, laying a hand on Rincewind's shoulder.

"Well," said Rincewind.  "I...  Well.  I'm touched.  Really."  He squared his shoulders.  "But I think we'd better put their needs first, hey?"

"Rincewind," said Star Swirl gently.  "I think he was."  Before Rincewind could respond, the pony wrapped his forehooves around the wizard in a fierce hug.
> Apocrylogue - The End of the Story.  Sort of.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Apocrylogue
The End of the Story.  Sort of.


Rincewind trudged through the halls of Unseen University glumly.  It took him some time to identify at least one of the emotions he was feeling as boredom - he'd often expected it would be a sort of contented feeling, not a restless one, so it took him some time to identify it.

Despite the aid of nearly half the faculty of the University, and no small number of students as well, Star Swirl had utterly failed to come up with a means of returning to his home.  Then, one morning, the Librarian had come up with a way of doing it.

It all came down to Sourcery, he had explained.  Or, rather, Horsery.  When Coin the Sourceror realized he could no longer remain on the Disc, he had simply opened a gate elsewhere and strode through it, closing it behind him.  No one knew precisely where he had gone, and he had never been heard from again, but in this particular instance that probably boded well, rather than ill.  Why could not Celestia and Luna do the same thing?*

It had taken very little preparation after that.  Star Swirl had spent many evenings between the All's Fallow and that fateful day when the Librarian had presented his brilliant (though sparsely worded) idea regaling the two alicorns with tales of his homeland and the other two Pony Kingdoms, so they were nearly as familiar with its geography, flora, and fauna as he.

Consequently on one day, nearly a week and a half prior, Star Swirl, Celestia, Luna, Rincewind, the Luggage, Conina, Nijel, and the Librarian had met on the University Grounds.  The sun shone brightly down upon the city of Ankh-Morpork - brighter, in fact, than it had at any time prior to the unusual events surrounding the recent All's Fallow Eclipse - which only served to make the contrast between the cheery lighting and Rincewind's sombre mood that much more poignant.

Yes, he thought, his friends were leaving him, possibly forever, but they were going home.  Did that not make this a happy occasion at all?

Apparently, he concluded, not.

After a tearful** farewell, the two alicorns had touched their horns together, thought longingly of the land of ponies, and brought their horns apart and down, drawing out an arch in the form of a rainbow***.  As soon as the ends of the rainbow touched the ground of Unseen University, there was a brilliant light and Rincewind noted the tell-tale vibrancy of colour that indicated Horsery at work, driving away all of the octarine in the area.  In point of fact, given the wide radius of the colourful effect, there was quite a lot of it, which helped soothe the raw ache in Rincewind's...  he paused, wondering what it was that was hurting.  Possibly his spleen?  Not that he had any idea what a spleen was, or what it did, apart from, he had once been told, ooze green.  Well, this felt like a sort of oozing pain, didn't it?  His spleenache, then, he decided with a nod.  That would do.

Smiling tearfully, the alicorns looked around at their new friends.  "Thank you all," Celestia said, hugging each of them in turn.

"Thank you, especially," said Luna, "Rincewind the Brave."  She hugged him tightly, as though afraid to let go.

Then, the three ponies had separated from the humans (and Luggage), stepped through the Rainbow Portal, and vanished, along with the Portal itself.



* To be perfectly fair, what he had actually said was "Ook," but his point was understood well enough.
** And also, it must be admitted, hug-filled.
*** Lacking in octarine, however, it could really only be thought of as most of a rainbow.



All of that had been nearly a week ago, however, and Rincewind still had that spleenache.  He missed Celestia, and Luna, and Star Swirl, and even - though they remained not only in the world, but in the city of Ankh-Morpork itself - Nijel and Conina.  Only by having all of his friends together, he concluded, would the hole in his spleen be filled.

So it was that his rambling, melancholy footsteps took him down into the Unseen University's Library.  He had spent a lot of time there over the course of his stay at the University.  He and the Librarian had become friends long before the arrival of ponies to the Disc, and would likely remain friends long after, though the word itself had been somewhat foreign to them prior to this particular adventure.

He stepped into the Library, intent now on suggesting a trip down to the Mended Drum to drown their sorrows and console each other over their mutual spleenaches, but the idea of doing so quickly fled his mind as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Something, he could see, was wrong.

The books, first of all, were listless.  Even Euricades' Enumerated Entreaties.  The Librarian was frantic, scurrying about the place, trying to cheer them up.  A new tome, bound in pink with nearly as many spangles as a good wizard's hat, followed him around like a sort of hardbound puppy, waggling its spine and attempting to cheer up its fellow tomes.  Rincewind stared curiously at it.  "The Wholly Booke of the Pink Pony of Deathe," he read aloud.  As though it had heard its name being called, the book turned towards him, bounded twice, and then was upon him without seeming to have crossed the intervening space,* lapping joyfully at his face with its bookmark.

"Oook," said the Librarian, and the book relented.

"What..."  Rincewind looked around.  "What is going on," he asked, "and would it be any use running?"  He was genuinely at a loss on this second part, which only added to his confusion.

"Oook," the Librarian said, shaking his large, shaggy head.

"Well," Rincewind said, feeling a bit of his old pluck, "if you don't know what's going on, then running is still on the table, isn't it?**"

"Doubt it," said an unfamiliar voice behind Rincewind.  He yelped, leapt into the air, and had whirled to face his unknown assailant before it became clear that he wasn't actually being assaulted.



* In point of fact, it had not crossed the intervening space.  Holy tomes, in a world as magically suffused as the Disc, tended to take on characteristics of those they were dedicated to.
** To be clear, running was no longer on the table, having scarpered long before the initial question had been asked.



"Who the bloody hell are you, and how did you get in here?"  It was a valid question.  As Unseen University was a school for wizards, and a wizard was defined as the eighth son of an eighth son, there were certain characteristics a wizard was expected to have.

The stern-looking woman in wizard's robes (with a staff and everything) sighed and rolled her eyes.  "It's only me, Rincewind," she said.

Rincewind stared at the young lady, uncomprehending.  She looked familiar, yes, in the sort of way that she looked completely unfamiliar but not quite.  Perhaps it was the fact that he had never seen a woman on University campus before, especially a middle-aged one, that made her difficult to place.  She could be one of the kitchen or cleaning staff, he concluded, though she looked a bit too young to be - or was it too old?

But no, he thought, she clearly had a wizard's staff, albeit without a knob - whoever heard of a wizard's staff without a knob on the end, anyway? - and no member of the University's less magical staff would have one of those.

"Ook!" said the Librarian helpfully.

"I'm sorry, who?"  The name was familiar, he knew.  But where from?  "I've heard the name, Miss Smith -- it is Miss Smith, isn't it? -- but I can't place where."

Eskarina sighed, brushing a stray lock of white hair out of her eyes.  "Same old Rincewind," the old woman muttered.  "Anything unusual or seemingly out-of-place, and off you scurry for your hidey-hole."

"OOK!" the Libarian said forcefully.

"Really?  What, just recently?"  Eskarina Smith tilted her head curiously and examined the ratty wizard with renewed curiosity.

"Oook ook ook."

"Well, then."  She smiled.  "I suppose I owe you an apology."

"What for?" Rincewind said.  "It's not like you've said anything that wasn't true."

Eskarina frowned.  "Argh," she muttered.  "None of this matters anyway.  Hullo, I'm Eskarina Smith, and yes, I'm a wizard, and you're Rincewind, who is also a wizard, and we are all" - and here, the old woman made a grand gesture encompassing the whole of the University, and implying quite a bit beyond as well - "in a great deal of trouble."

"Of course we are," Rincewind muttered.  "I take it running is off the table?"

"All of reality will be about to have unravelled," Eskarina said sternly.  "Where would we run to?"

"Never you mind to," Rincewind said as sternly back at the young lady.  "In my experience, that takes care of itself.  It's the from that's the important bit.  Well, and the running."

He blinked, taken aback, while both Eskarina and a now-terrified Librarian waited for the implications of what the Disc's only female wizard had just said to settle in.

"Wait, did you say 'all of reality'?"


The...  ????