Another Fine Myth by Robert Asprin

“Here, kid.” Aahz handed me his flagon and picked up the jug. “Have some yourself. You did pretty good this afternoon.”

I took the flagon, but somehow couldn’t bring myself to drink any.

“What did you put in the wine, anyway?” I asked.

“Joke powder,” Aahz replied. “As near as I can tell, it’s the same stuff Garkin used on me. You can put it in a drink, sprinkle it over food, or burn it and have your victim inhale the smoke.”

I had a sudden flash recollection of the brazier billowing smoke as Aahz materialized. “What does it do?”

“Weren’t you paying attention, kid?” Aahz cocked his head at me. “It takes away your powers.”

“Permanently?”

“Of course not!” Aahz scoffed. “Only for a century.”

“What’s the antidote?”

“There isn’t one … at least I couldn’t get the stall proprietor to admit to having one. Maybe when you get a little better with the magik, we’ll go back to Deva and beat an answer out of him.”

I thought for a few minutes. That seemed to answer all my questions … except one.

“Say… urn, Aahz?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“What do we do now?”

“About what?” Aahz asked.

“I mean, what do we do? We’ve been spending all the time since we met getting ready to fight Isstvan. Well, it’s over. Now what do we do?”

“What you do, apprentice,” Aahz said sternly, “is devote your time to your magik. You’ve still got a long way to go before you’re even close to Master status. As for me … well, I guess most of my time will be spent teaching you.”

He poured a little more wine down his throat.

“Actually, we’re in pretty good shape,” he stated. “We’ve got a magik crystal courtesy of Frumple . . . and that crummy sword if we search his gear.”