The magic of Xanth was useless in Mundania—until Dor tried honesty! Dor was having troubles growing up to be the next Magician-King of the magic Land of Xanth. He wanted no part of running the Kingdom. But now the Good King Trent was leaving on a trade mission to non-magical Mundania, home of such weird beasts as horses and bears, so Dor had to take over as King for a week. A week passes. No Trent. Then three weeks. King Trent still hasn't returned. Surely, something terrible had happened; he was apparently held captive in some foul dungeon, unable to escape. Dor was left with the burden of ruling—and with Irene, who was entirely too willing to be his Queen! His only hope was to enter Mundania and free King Trent. But how could it be done without the powers of magic? Nevertheless, he started forth bravely—together with Irene, a golem, a centaur, and a young ogre—heading for the far south of Xanth. The entrance to Mundania, of course, lay to the north. Piers Anthony [Xanth] -- Piers Anthony redefined the fantasy series when he launched his Xanth books--they're(quite simply) pun for the whole family! --Veronica Chapman, Senior Editor o act as King of Xanth so long as Trent was gone for a week. But the weeks passed and Trent did not return. Dor knew he had to rescue his king but with no magic powers, how could it be done...? Dor agreed to act as King of Xanth so long as Trent was gone for a week. But the weeks passed and Trent did not return. Dor knew he had to rescue his king but with no magic powers, how could it be done...? Piers Anthony , sometimes called Pier Xanthony, is the pseudonym of a Mundane character who was born in England in 1934, came to America in 1940, was naturalized in 1958, and moved to Xanth in 1977. His first story was published in 1963, and his first novel, Chthon, in 1967. His first Xanth novel, A Spell for Chameleon, won the August Derleth Fantasy Award as the best novel for 1977, and his fantasy novels began placing on the New York Times bestseller list with Ogre, Ogre . He shifted from writing in pencil to writing on the computer, and Golem in the Gears was his first novel created on the machine; naturally, the computer found its way into Xanth. Chapter 1. Spelling Bee   Dor was trying to write an essay, because the King had decreed that any future monarchs of Xanth should be literate. It was an awful chore. He knew how to read, but his imagination tended to go blank when challenged to produce an essay, and he had never mastered conventional spelling.   “The Land of Xanth,” he muttered with deep disgust.   “What?” the table asked.   “The title of my awful old essay,” Dor explained dispiritedly. “My tutor Cherie, on whom be a muted anonymous curse, assigned me a one-hundred-word essay telling all about Xanth. I don’t think it’s possible. There isn’t that much to tell. After twenty-five words I’ll probably have to start repeating. How can I ever stretch it to a whole hundred? I’m not even sure there are that many words in the language.”   “Who wants to know about Xanth?” the table asked. “I’m bored already.”   “I know you’re a board. I guess Cherie, may a hundred curse-burrs tangle in her tail, wants to know.”   “She must be pretty dumb.”   Dor considered. “No, she’s infernally smart. All centaurs are. That’s why they’re the historians and poets and tutors of Xanth. May all their high-IQ feet founder.”   “How come they don’t rule Xanth, then?”   “Well, most of them don’t do magic, and only a Magician can rule Xanth. Brains have nothing to do with it—and neither do essays.” Dor scowled at his blank paper.   “Only a Magician can rule any land,” the table said smugly. “But what about you? You’re a Magician, aren’t you? Why aren’t you King?”   “Well, I will be King, some day,” Dor said defensively, aware that he was talking with the table only to postpone a little longer the inevitable struggle with the essay. “When King Trent, uh, steps down. That’s why I have to be educated, he says.” He wished all kinds of maledictions on Cherie Centaur, but never on King Trent.   He resumed his morose stare at the paper, where he had now printed THU LANNED UV ZANTH. Somehow it didn’t look right, though he was sure he had put the TH’s in the right places.   Something tittered. Dor glanced up and discovered that the hanging picture of Queen Iris was smirking. That was one problem about working in Castle Roogna he was always under the baleful eye of the Queen, whose principal business was snooping. With special effort, Dor refrained from sticking out his tongue at the picture.   Seeing herself observed, the Queen spoke, the mouth of the image moving. Her talent was illusion, and she could make the illusion of sound when she wanted to. “You may be a Magician, but you aren’t a scholar. Obviously spelling is not your forte.”   “Never claimed it was,” Dor retorted. He did not know what the word “forte” meant—perhaps it was a kind of small castle—but whatever it