Calling on Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “I think he hurt her feelings,” Scorn said.

  “What about my feelings?” Killer said loudly. “My ear is burned, I’ve bent three feathers and pulled a muscle in my back, and I’m hungry.”

  “So are the rest of us,” Trouble said. “But you don’t hear us complaining.” He glanced at Scorn and Horatio, and then all three cats looked up at the humans with matching expressions of starvation being nobly borne in a good cause.

  Morwen sighed. “Brandel, would you be good enough to calm down, stop flaming, and see about a morning meal? Or if you’d rather not be bothered, at least tell us how to work the pantry spell?”

  Setting up breakfast took nearly half an hour, mostly because everyone except Killer and the cats had other preoccupations. Brandel and Cimorene kept getting sidetracked into a discussion of Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist and his involvement with the Society of Wizards and the theft of the sword. Telemain was more interested in studying the mirror than in talking or food, and Morwen made a mental note to make sure he didn’t skip breakfast. Backshock or not, he was still recovering, and he’d be a great deal more use if he ate well before they left. Morwen herself would have liked to join either Cimorene’s discussion or Telemain’s investigation, but for the most part she forced herself to stay out of them. After all, someone had to keep the others moving.

  Finally, everything was ready, and they sat down to eat. “I still can’t believe it,” Brandel said, tipping three sausage patties onto his plate and handing the platter to Cimorene. “Vamist never liked the idea of wizards. They weren’t traditional enough for him.”

  “Don’t start on that again,” Morwen said. “You’ll use up all your energy burning your hair.”

  Cimorene swallowed a bite of toast and said, “Yes, what we need now is a plan. Can you give us directions to this Vamist person’s house, Brandel?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you.” Brandel scowled and a wisp of smoke rose out of his hair. “The idea of that pompous, overbearing skunk helping wizards after he got us kicked out of town for being nontraditional . . .”

  “I wonder what they offered him?” Telemain said.

  “How about a warding spell powerful enough to protect him from half a dozen fire-witches?” Morwen suggested.

  “You mean he was working with them all along?” Brandel said. “That little—”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Cimorene said hastily. “Yet. And if you still can’t go home, you can come back to the Enchanted Forest with us after we get the sword. I’m sure Mendanbar would be happy to have you, and the rest of your family, too.”

  “It’s lots nicer than a swamp,” Killer put in. “There’s plenty of clover—at least, there’s plenty for rabbits. I don’t know if there’s enough for six-foot donkeys with wings.” His ears drooped at the thought.

  “We’ll worry about that later,” Morwen told him. “Eat your breakfast. Brandel, how long will it take us to get to Vamist’s house? And does anyone have any suggestions as to how we should proceed once we get there?”

  “That’s easy,” Cimorene said. “It looked like Vamist and Antorell were the only ones there. Brandel and Telemain can go to the front door and distract them while you and I sneak in through the back and grab the sword. And if Antorell tries to stop me, I’ll melt him. Pass the salt, please.”

  17

  In Which There Is Much Excitement

  ALTHOUGH THEY DISCUSSED THE MATTER for the rest of the meal, Cimorene’s plan was the best idea they had. Since only Cimorene could carry the sword, she had to be the person who sneaked in and took it. Morwen had to go with her because the cats were going to act as lookouts and no one else could understand them. Brandel was the logical person to distract Arona Vamist, and Telemain had to be with him in order to melt any wizards who might show up.

  “What about me?” asked Killer.

  “You get to stand outside the back door and stay out of mischief,” Morwen told him. “You’d be safer here, but we’ll probably want to transport home right from Vamist’s house.”

  “You’re sure you can manage that part, Telemain?” Cimorene asked.

  “Quite certain,” Telemain said a little crossly. “The last error was due to a cross-matrix interference that is not at all likely to be repeated.”

  “I might agree with you if we knew exactly what caused the interference in the first place,” Morwen said. “Since we don’t . . .”

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll put a screening mechanism in the bypass module.” This time, Telemain made no attempt whatsoever to hide his annoyance.

  “Temperamental, isn’t he?” said Scorn.

  “A screening mechanism sounds like a very good idea to me,” Morwen told Telemain. “And we aren’t questioning your competence, so stop frowning. Getting the sword back to the Enchanted Forest is too important to take chances, even small ones.”

  “Then you’d better help me figure out what kind of adjustments to make to the springbase loader so that it won’t ignore Brandel,” Telemain said. “Since I assume you don’t want to leave him behind for the wizards.”

  Brandel looked at Telemain with alarm. “Leave me behind? Why?”

  “Fire-witches are immune to most spells,” Morwen said. “Including ordinary transportation spells. Telemain is quite right; if we don’t make a few changes, you’ll undoubtedly find yourself standing alone in the middle of Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist’s yard when the spell goes off.”

  “We can’t let that happen!” Cimorene said. “If the Society of Wizards catches him, they’ll do something awful.”

  “But you just said he’s immune to spells,” Killer said in a puzzled tone. “So what can the wizards do to him?”

  “Break his legs, tie him to a tree for the nightshades to eat, stick him in a dungeon with no food,” said Trouble. “Wizards don’t need magic to do nasty things.”

  Horatio hissed. Killer’s ears went stiff and the hair along his neck bristled. “No food! They wouldn’t. Not really.”

  “Yes, they would,” said Morwen. “If they caught him. Which they won’t, because before we leave here, Telemain and I are going to make sure the transportation spell works on Brandel.”

  Killer bobbed his head up and down in vigorous agreement. “That’s good. We don’t want to leave anyone behind. No food! Those wizards really are horrible.”

  “You two work on the spell,” Cimorene said. “I’ll get everything else ready to go. How far away did you say this place is, Brandel?”

  “Two or three hours’ walk,” Brandel said. “It’ll take us an hour or so to get out of the swamp, but after that it should be easy.”

  Trouble lowered his head and lashed his tail in disgust. “More mud. And no dragon to ride on this time, either.”

  “Dibs on Morwen’s shoulder,” said Scorn.

  “Mrrow!” said Horatio in an emphatic tone.

  “Will you need me for the changes you want to make in the transportation spell?” Brandel asked Telemain. “Because if you won’t, I’d like to make a few calls. The rest of the family ought to know that the Society of Wizards is behind Vamist.”

  Telemain removed a silver globe the size of a tennis ball from the pouch at his belt and studied it. “What? Yes, of course. Go ahead. Morwen, I think we should start with the shift alignment linkages. We’ll have to add two or three interrupt vectors, and we may have to modify the invisible channel connection as well.”

  “We’ll need you when we test our work,” Morwen said to Brandel, “but that won’t be until we’re finished. You’ll have plenty of time for your calls; this will take at least half an hour, possibly more.”

  Brandel nodded and left. Morwen turned back to Telemain. “I don’t see the point of adding interrupt vectors. All we really need is a temporary change in the definition section so that it includes fire-witches.”

  Telemain’s face went blank for a moment as he considered the idea. Then his nose wrinkled and his mouth twiste
d as if he had bitten into something very sour. “Temporary changes. How inelegant.”

  “As long as it’s effective, who cares? Think of it as a trial run. You can study the ways all the various pieces interact, and do a permanent redesign later.”

  “True.” The magician began to look more cheerful. “In that case, where do you suggest we start?”

  Changing the transportation spell was simple, compared to keeping Telemain from putting in various extra things he wanted to test. Morwen insisted on doing the last few checks, since she was still a little worried about Telemain’s condition. When they were sure everything worked properly, they called Cimorene, who had vanished down the stairwell while they were working.

  “Coming.” A moment later, Cimorene appeared at the head of the stairs, carrying her pack over her left shoulder and a long-handled straw broom in her right hand. “Morwen, have you got any of that flying ointment left? Because if you do, I think you should use it on this. We’ll get to Vamist’s house a lot faster if we don’t have to slog through all that mud.”

  “I am not riding on that thing,” Telemain said. “Mud or no mud.”

  “He wouldn’t say that if he’d spent most of yesterday wading through the stuff,” Scorn observed.

  “You should talk,” said Trouble. “Between riding on Morwen’s shoulder and riding on Kazul’s back, you never even got your paws dirty.”

  “I was going to suggest that you and Brandel ride in the laundry basket anyway,” Cimorene said to Telemain. “There isn’t room for all of us on the broomstick.”

  “There’s a flying mortar and pestle in the basement,” Brandel offered. “It’s too heavy to use every day, and it’s a little small, but if you’ll help me haul it upstairs you can use it.”

  “It sounds nearly as uncomfortable as a broomstick,” Telemain said. “No, thank you. I’ll take the laundry basket.”

  “What about us?” Trouble demanded.

  “You will come on the broomstick, where I can keep an eye on you,” Morwen told him as she fished in her sleeve for the jar of flying ointment. “Scorn and Horatio should probably go in the laundry basket, or possibly on Killer’s back. We don’t want to overload anything.”

  “I don’t know,” Killer said, ruffling his wings nervously. “I still don’t like cats. And they’ve got claws.”

  “You bet we do.” Trouble held up a paw and flexed it, displaying five wickedly curved and sharply pointed claws.

  Killer shuddered. “Couldn’t I go by myself?”

  “No,” Cimorene said firmly. “We all have to do what we can, and what you can do is carry the cats.”

  “Well, I’m not doing any more flying,” Killer said, planting his feet for emphasis. “It’s too hard, and it scares me.”

  “I bet he gets airsick, too,” said Scorn. “Rabbits!”

  While Morwen enchanted the broomstick, Brandel picked up the laundry basket and shoved it through the open window. Cimorene set it hovering and helped steady it as the two men climbed in. Then she sent Killer and the two cats out after the basket and turned to Morwen and Trouble.

  “All done,” Morwen said. “I hope the laundry basket holds together, because that was the last of the flying ointment.”

  “Then let’s go. We don’t want Telemain and Brandel to get too far ahead of us.”

  “Not to mention that rabbit,” Trouble said.

  They climbed onto the broomstick and took off. Cim­orene had to duck as they went through the window.

  “Excuse me, Cimorene,” Morwen said as they swooped out and down. “I forgot how tall you are.”

  “Better watch for low branches,” Trouble said.

  “There aren’t any low branches,” Morwen told him, setting the broomstick to fly about ten feet off the ground.

  A moment later, they caught up with Killer and the laundry basket, and the whole group continued on together. Their speed was limited to Killer’s trotting pace, but with all the trees to dodge they could not have traveled much faster, even without him. Following Brandel’s directions, they reached the edge of the swamp in fifteen minutes.

  “It’s straightforward from here,” Brandel said. “Head west, toward those hills. At this rate, we should be there within half an hour.”

  “Half an hour!” Killer shook his mane, drawing yowls of protest from Scorn and Horatio. “You want me to keep running like this for another half an hour? I can’t do it. And don’t ask me to fly. That’s even more work.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t eat so much you’d be in better shape,” Scorn said.

  “Hrmrrrr,” agreed Horatio.

  “I do not!” said Killer. “It’s all very well for the rest of you. You all get to ride. I want a rest and a drink and a snack to keep my strength up.”

  Morwen landed the broomstick. “That sounds reasonable enough, if you don’t take too long. Five minutes now, and we’ll stop again halfway there.” She looked at Cimorene, who was frowning impatiently.

  “I suppose we don’t have much choice,” Cimorene said. “And it really isn’t fair to make Killer work so hard when it’s so easy for the rest of us. But I do wish there were some way to—to speed things up. I’m worried about what those wizards might be doing at home.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Morwen said. “Now, as long as we’re stopping for a few minutes . . . Killer, are there any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines around?”

  “I can see two of them right over there.” Killer pointed with his right ear. “Are you going to let me eat one?”

  “No, I’m going to collect them for my garden,” Morwen said. “Goodness knows when I’ll get another chance.” She began rummaging in her sleeves for a trowel and some specimen bags.

  “Is this an appropriate time to be gathering plants?” Telemain said.

  “We’ve promised Killer a five-minute rest. I may as well use the time constructively. You’re going to analyze Brandel’s magic again, aren’t you?”

  Telemain glanced at Brandel and shifted uncomfortably. “Given the necessity of a transportation spell and the possibility of unpredictable interactions between it and fire-witch magic, it seems wise to repeat—”

  “Then don’t fuss about my plants.” Morwen turned to Killer. “Show me exactly where the vines are, and I’ll give you the last bottle of cider. Don’t get too close; they’re dangerous, remember.”

  “How are you going to collect them, then?” Killer asked.

  “Watch.”

  Puzzled but willing, Killer described the exact positions of the two chokevines. Cautiously, Morwen edged closer, until Killer said she was just within three feet of the plants. Then she stopped and took a spray bottle and a paper packet of powdered slowstone from her right sleeve.

  “What’s that?” Cimorene asked, interested in spite of herself.

  “The bottle is plain water.” Morwen pumped the top to get the spray working, then aimed it at the tree in front of her and covered as much as she could reach with a fine mist. Shining drops of water collected in midair, outlining invisible leaves and stems that shifted restlessly as if trying to reach Morwen and her friends.

  “That’s pretty,” said Killer.

  “That’s wet,” growled Trouble, shaking his fur as if he were the one who had been sprayed.

  Morwen slipped the spray bottle back into her sleeve, then carefully opened one corner of the packet. Checking the direction of the wind, she shifted position until the slight breeze came from behind her, blowing toward the invisible dusk-blooming chokevines. “Everyone else, stay back,” she said, and sprinkled the slowstone over the vines.

  The gray powder settled over the dampened leaves, outlining them even more clearly than before. Slowly, the restless movement of the plants died down, until it was only a sluggish tremor. Morwen smiled in satisfaction. She hadn’t been altogether certain that slowstone would work the same way on plants as it did on animals and people.

  “What was that?” Telemain asked, breaking off his conversation with Brande
l in midsentence.

  “Powdered slowstone,” Morwen said.

  “It smells good,” Killer said. “Like fresh dandelion greens with cinnamon bark.”

  “You wasted powdered slowstone on a couple of plants?” Telemain sounded completely outraged.

  “I had to do something to calm them down,” Morwen said. “This should keep them quiet for a day or two—long enough to transplant them in my garden, at any rate.”

  “Does that mean they’re safe now?” Killer asked.

  “Temporarily,” Morwen replied, reaching for her trowel. “That is, they won’t bother you if you get close, but I wouldn’t eat them if I were you.”

  “Oh.” Killer’s ears drooped. “Why not? They smell awfully good, especially with that powdered stuff all over them.”

  “Weren’t you listening at all?” Scorn said with a superior sniff. “‘That powdered stuff’ is slowstone. It’s magical, and it does just what it sounds like it ought to do. We’d be lucky to get to Vamist’s house by tomorrow night if you ate any of it.”

  Killer looked at Morwen. “You mean it would slow me down? I thought you said it made those plants safe!”

  “Safe to walk near, not safe to eat.” Morwen knelt next to the chokevines and began to dig. “And I don’t know whether you’d slow down or not. So far, you haven’t reacted with any particular consistency to any of the things you’ve eaten.”

  “It’s possible that the slowstone would inhibit the onset of any alteration resulting from the consumption of invisible dusk-blooming chokevines,” Telemain said. “There is precedent for such an eventuality in Killer’s response to the growth-enhancing qualities of MacDonald’s fertilizer, although the parallel is not perfect.”

  “What did he say?” Killer asked anxiously.

  “That the slowstone might slow down your reaction to the invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, instead of slowing you down.” Having dug all the way around the roots of both plants, Morwen slid her trowel under the clump of dirt and carefully lifted the first paralyzed chokevine into a sample bag. “Unfortunately, the only way to tell for certain would be to try it and see what happens.”