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the ridicule that would be directed at him if he ever expressed any serious ideas of his own about Millie. She was an eight-hundred-year-old woman; he was just a boy. Only way to stifle all speculation would be to give her what she most wanted: Jonathan, alive. "But how-?"
           The King spread his hands. "I do not know the answer, Dor. But there may be one who does."
           There was only one person in the Land of Xanth who knew all the answers: the Good Magician Humfrey. But he was a sour old man who charged a year's service for each Answer. Only a person of considerable determination and fortitude went to consult Good Magician Humfrey.
           Suddenly Dor realized the nature of the challenge King Trent had laid down for him. First, he would have to leave these familiar environs and trek through the hazardous wilderness to the Good Magician's castle. Then he would have to force his way in to brace the Magician. Then serve his year for the Answer. Then use the Answer to restore Jonathan to life-knowing that in so doing, he was abolishing any chance that Millie would ever-
           His mind balked. This was no quest; this was disaster!
           "Ordinary citizens have only themselves to be concerned about," Trent said. "A ruler must be concerned for the welfare of others as much as for himself. He must be prepared to make sacrifices-sometimes very personal ones. He may even have to lose the woman he loves, and marry the one he doesn't love-for the good of the realm."
           Give up Millie, marry Irene? Dor rebelled-then realized that the King had not been talking about Dor, but about himself. Trent had lost his wife and child in Mundania, and then married the Sorceress Iris, whom he never professed to love, and had a child by her-for the good of the realm. Trent asked nothing of any citizen he would not ask of himself.
           "I will never be the man you are," Dor said humbly.
           The King rose, clapping him on the back so that Grundy almost fell off his shoulder. Trent might be old, but he was still strong. "I was never the man I am," he said. "A man is only the man he seems to be. Inside, where no one sees, he may be a mass of gnawing worms of doubt and ire and grief." He paused reflectively as he showed Dor firmly to the doorway. "No challenge is easy. The measure of the challenge a man rises to at need is the measure of the man. I proffer you a challenge for a Magician and a King."
           Dor found himself standing in the hall, still bemused. Even Grundy was silent
           Good Magician Humfrey's castle was east of Castle Roogna, not far as the dragon flew, but more than a day's journey through the treacherous wilderness for a boy on foot. There was no enchanted path to Humfrey's retreat, because the Magician abhorred company; all paths led away only. Dor could not be sent there instantly by spell, because this was his quest, his private personal challenge, to accomplish by himself.
           Dor started in the morning, using his talent to solve part of the problem of travel. "Stones, give me a warning whistle whenever I approach anything dangerous to me, and let me know the best route to the Good Magician's castle."
           "We can tell you what is dangerous," the rocks chorused. There were no stony silences for him "But we don't know where the Good Magician's castle is. He has strewn little forget-spells all over."
           "He should have known. I've been there," Grundy offered. "It's not far south of the Gap. Bear north toward the Gap, then east, then south to his castle."
           "And if I'm off, and miss it, where will I wind up?" Dor inquired sourly.
           "In the belly of a dragon, most likely."
           Dor bore north, heeding the whistles. Most citizens of Xanth did not know of the Gap's existence, because it had been enchanted into anonymity, but Dor had lived all his life in this neighborhood