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Despite rumor, Death isn’t cruel—merely terribly, terribly good at his job.
“Yes, but I have, haven’t I? I’ve got a sort of talent for it. Ask anyone. I’m an addict.” “Addicted to what?” “Life. I got hooked on it at an early age and I don’t want to give it up
it sprouted in areas that had seen vast expenditures of magic.
Wizards’ staves were traditionally made of it; so was the Luggage.
The Luggage was also extremely protective of its owner. It would be hard to describe its attitude to the rest of creation, but one could start with the phrase “bloody-minded malevolence” and work up from there.
“I think I’d vote for ‘terminally dangerous,’” she said. “It
the inside isn’t always the same, it’s sort of multidimensional, and—” “How does it feel about women?” “Oh, it’s not choosy. It ate a book of spells last year. Sulked for three days and then spat it out.”
“It’s horrible,” said Conina, and backed away. “Oh, yes,” said Rincewind, “absolutely.”
Rincewind looked pathetically at Conina, who shrugged again. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “This looks like an adventure. I’m doomed to have them, I’m afraid. That’s genetics* for you.”
For the good of the University. For the honor of wizardry. For the sake of the world. For your heart’s desire. And I’ll freeze you alive if you don’t. Rincewind breathed a sigh almost of relief. He wasn’t good on bribes, or cajolery, or appeals to his better nature. But threats, now, threats were familiar. He knew where he was with threats.
But seeping through the ancient fabric was a new magic, saw-edged and vibrant, bright and cold as comet
For most of the wizards, it was like being an elderly man who, suddenly faced with a beautiful young woman, finds to his horror and delight and astonishment that the flesh is suddenly as willing as the spirit.
A proto-wizard, a doorway through which new majik may enterr the world, a wizard not limited by the physical capabilities of hys own bodie, not by Destinie, nor by Deathe.
oeuvre?” “Egg?”
It is tragic. Little particles of inspiration sleet through the universe all the time traveling through the densest matter in the same way that a neutrino passes through a candyfloss haystack, and most of them miss. Even worse, most of the ones that hit the exact cerebral target hit the wrong one.
Rincewind nodded gloomily. “I don’t think you understand. A wizard isn’t what you do, it’s what you are. If I wasn’t a wizard, I wouldn’t be anything.”
“I know what I mean! It’s the grounds that kill you!”
I think I would have to teach me a lesson, as an example to myself.”
“Magic uses people,” said Rincewind hurriedly. “It affects you as much as you affect it, sort of thing. You can’t mess around with magical things without it affecting you. I just thought I’d better warn you.” “Like a wine bottle,” said Creosote, “that—” “—drinks you back,”
He had nothing in the whole world but a magic carpet, a magic lamp, a magic ring and a grotto full of assorted jewels.” “Came up the hard way, did he?” said Rincewind.
“Anyone can write things on their hat,” said Conina. “You don’t want to believe everything you read.”
The whole point about the old University organization was that it kept a sort of peace between wizards who got along with one another about as easily as cats in a sack,
This wasn’t the old, gentle, rather silly magic that the Disc was used to; this was magic war, white-hot and searing.
“Poor I don’t mind,” said the Seriph. “It’s sobriety that is giving me difficulties.”
Distance is, however, an entirely subjective phenomenon and creatures of magic can adjust it to suit themselves.
They are not necessarily very good at it.
“Sometimes he really gets on my nerves. Why is he always so keen to have the last word?” he said. “Force of habit, I suppose.”
In Klatch they take their mythology seriously. It’s only real life they don’t believe.
It’s vital to remember who you really are. It’s very important. It isn’t a good idea to rely on other people or things to do it for you, you see. They always get it wrong.”
Coin smiled, nodded, shook the Librarian’s hand, and opened his own hands and drew them up and around him and stepped into another world. It had a lake in, and some distant mountains, and a few pheasants watching him suspiciously from under the trees. It was the magic all sourcerers learned, eventually. Sourcerers never become part of the world. They merely wear it for a while.
the last sourcerer vanished from this world and into a world of his own.
