Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 01

by Dealing

  “That’ll be Kazul,” Morwen said. She crossed to tile door and opened it. “Come in. I’ll get you some cider as soon as I’ve seen to Cimorene’s hand.”

  Morwen’s back door did not seem to get any larger, and Kazul certainly did not get any smaller, but when she put her head through the doorway, her scales did not even scrape the sides. The rest of her followed with no apparent difficulty, and somehow there was plenty of room in the kitchen even after she got inside.

  Kazul settled down along the far wall, where she would be out of the way, and as soon as she stopped moving, six cats jumped onto various portions of her tail, back, and shoulders. Neither Kazul nor Morwen seemed to notice. Morwen took a small tin box from a shelf beside the stove and sat down at the table beside Cimorene. “Now, tell me what you’re here for,” she said, taking a roll of linen and two jars of ointment out of the box. “Apart from my cider, I mean.”

  “Cimorene had some interesting visitors yesterday,” Kazul said.

  “If they were interesting, they can’t have been knights,” Morwen commented.

  “They weren’t,” Kazul said. “They were wizards, and they went to a lot of trouble to get a look at my copy of the Historia Dracorum. The part that describes the Caves of Fire and Night.”

  “And you think that’s why they’ve been sniffing around the Mountains of Morning for the past six months,” Morwen said. “How did you find out what they were looking at? Or did they ask permission?”

  “I don’t think Zemenar would ask permission for anything even if he was sure he’d get it,” Cimorene said. “He’d consider it beneath him. No, I saw him shut the book, and he was only a little further along from where I’d left my bookmark. Ow! That stings.”

  “Good,” Morwen said. “It’s supposed to.” She closed the jar of salve she had been smearing on Cimorene’s palm and began wrapping the injured hand in the linen bandage. “Did Zemenar get what he was after?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cimorene said. “He said he wanted to come back for another visit, and I don’t think he’d have done that if he’d found whatever he was looking for.”

  “That seems like a reasonable assumption,” Morwen said. “Though wizards aren’t always reasonable. There, that should take care of things. Don’t take the bandage off for at least four days, and if you’re going to cook anything that has fennel in it, stir it left-handed.”

  “Zemenar’s interest in the Historia Dracorum isn’t the only thing that points to his curiosity about the Caves of Fire and Night,” Kazul said, and explained about the book that had been stolen. “There have been other incidents as well, and nearly all the wizards we’ve caught poking around have been somewhere in or near the caves. That's why no one thought much about it at first. Ever since King Tokoz made that agreement with the Society of Wizards, they’ve been claiming they’re supposed to have more time in the caves than we’re willing to give them. Everyone thought this was more of the same.”

  “Not everyone,” Morwen said, giving Kazul a sharp look.

  “I am widely considered to be unduly suspicious of everyone and everything,” Kazul said in a dry tone. “Particularly wizards.”

  “And what do your suspicions make of this business?”

  “I think Zemenar is trying to find out something about the Caves of Fire and Night,” Kazul said. “Something he hasn’t been able to learn from visiting the caves in person, hence his recent interest in histories that describe the caves, however briefly.”

  “And you’re hoping I have something in my library that will help you figure out what it is,” Morwen concluded.

  “I don’t hope,” Kazul said. “I know. Unless someone has run off with your copy of DeMontmorency’s A Journey Through the Caves of Fire and Night.”

  “If someone has, he’ll regret it,” Morwen said. “Wait here, and I’ll check.” She rose and went out. Through the doorway Cimorene could see a room full of tall, dark-stained shelves.

  Cimorene blinked. “Isn’t that the door you came in through?” she asked Kazul.

  Kazul nodded. “Of course.”

  “I thought it led out into Morwen’s yard.”

  “It leads wherever Morwen wants it to lead,” Kazul said.

  “I see,” said Cimorene, wishing her father’s court philosopher were there. He was very pompous and stuffy, particularly about magic, which he claimed was 90 percent trickery and the rest illusion. Cimorene had found him very trying. Dealing with Morwen’s door would probably have given him a headache.

  Morwen came back into the kitchen holding a thin red book. “Here it is. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it, but the nonfiction isn’t organized as well as it should be yet.”

  Kazul surged to her feet, shedding cats in all directions. The cats gave her reproachful looks and then stalked out the front door with affronted dignity. Kazul paid no attention. She curled her head around to peer at the book over Morwen’s shoulder.

  “I suppose you’ll want to borrow it?” Morwen said.

  “I certainly do,” Kazul said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Only if it gets stolen,” Morwen said. “There are very few of these around, and I’m not sure I could replace it.”

  “I’ll keep it in the vault with the treasure,” Kazul promised. “Zemenar won’t think to look for it there, and even if he does, he won’t get in. I’ve got enough anti-wizard spells on the door to stop the whole Society. They can’t get in unless someone invites them.”

  “All right,” Morwen said, handing the book to Kazul. “Is that everything you came for?”

  “No,” said Kazul. She looked at Morwen with limpid eyes and went on in a plaintive tone, “I still haven’t had any cider.”

  Morwen laughed and went to one of the cupboards. She pulled out two mugs and a large mixing bowl and filled them with an amber-colored liquid she poured from a heavy-looking pottery jug. She set the mixing bowl in front of Kazul and gave one of the mugs to Cimorene, then sat down with the second mug herself.

  They were in Morwen’s kitchen for over an hour, drinking cider and speculating about what the wizards were up to. After a while several of the cats came back, and Morwen gave them a dish of goat's milk, which soothed their ruffled feelings somewhat.

  “How is that fireproofing spell of yours coming?” Morwen asked as she returned to the table.

  “I have everything I need except the powdered hens’ teeth, and I’m beginning to think I’m never going to find any,” Cimorene said. “Kazul has offered to let me look through the jars in the treasury, but if there isn’t any there, I don’t know where I’ll look next.”

  “Really,” Morwen said, giving Kazul a sharp look. “Well, if you can’t find any hens’ teeth, you could try substituting snake fingernails or the hair from a turtle’s egg. I wouldn’t try it except as a last resort, though. Altering spells is a very tricky business.”

  At last they had to leave. Kazul went out the same way she had come in while Cimorene watched in fascination. Then Cimorene and Morwen went onto the front porch. Kazul sidled up to the house, and Cimorene stood on the porch railing to climb onto her back. The cats were seriously affronted by this maneuver and expressed their displeasure in reproachful glances and low yowls.

  “Don’t take any notice,” Morwen said. “It only encourages them.”

  Cimorene nodded. “Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Morwen answered. “Don’t wait too long to come again.”

  “You’d better take this. Princess,” Kazul said, reaching back over her shoulder to hand Morwen’s book to Cimorene. “I can’t carry it and run at the same time.”

  Cimorene took the book and tucked it into her pocket. “I’m all set,” she said, and they started off.

  * * *

  Cimorene enjoyed the ride back to the Mountains of Morning. She was now sufficiently accustomed to riding on a dragon to be able to concentrate on looking at the forest as it flashed past. The trees seemed almost identical to on
e another, but Cimorene spotted quite s few odd-looking bushes and vines, and twice she thought she saw small faces staring out at her from among leafy branches.

  They reached the threshold of the caves much sooner than Cimorene expected. Kazul waited while she slid to the ground, then said, “The entrance is a little narrow. I’ll go first and make sure there’s nothing unpleasant waiting for us.”

  Cimorene nodded, and Kazul vanished into the cave. Before Cimorene could follow, she heard a shrill cry above her. She looked up and saw an enormous white bird plummeting toward her, its clawed feet extended to attack. For an instant, Cimorene was frozen by surprise and fear. Then she ducked and reached for her sword.

  She was almost too slow. The bird was on top of her, shrieking and slashing, before she had done more than grasp the hilt of her weapon. But the sword seemed to leap out of the scabbard as soon as she touched it, and she swung clumsily as she rolled aside. She did not expect to do any damage, just to force the bird to back away a little, but she felt the sword connect and heard a wail of pain from the bird. Thanking all her lucky stars individually and by name, Cimorene twisted and scrambled to her feet, sword ready.

  There was nothing for her to guard against. The sword stroke had been more effective than she realized. The bird was dying. As she stared at it, it raised its head.

  “You killed me?” the bird said incredulously. “But you’re a maiden.”

  “Actually, she’s a princess,” Kazul’s voice said from behind Cimorene. “My princess, so you’d have been in even bigger trouble if you’d succeeded in carrying her off.”

  “I don’t think I could have done it if I hadn’t had a magic sword,” said Cimorene, who was beginning to wish she hadn’t. She had never hurt anyone before, and she didn’t like it.

  “Just my luck,” the bird said disgustedly. “Oh, well, fair’s fair. You killed me, so you get my forfeit.”

  “You’re not dead yet,” Cimorene said. “If you’ll let me near, I can try to stop the bleeding—”

  “Not a chance,” the bird said. It was beginning to sound rather faint. “Do you want the forfeit or don’t you?”

  “Take it,” Kazul advised.

  Cimorene said nothing, and after a moment the bird said, “All right, then. Under my left wing, you’ll find three black feathers. If you drop one and wish to be somewhere else, you’ll find yourself there in the twinkling of an eye. Any questions?”

  “Can I take anyone else with me?” Cimorene asked, thinking that if the bird was so determined to give her the feathers, she might as well cooperate with it.

  The bird looked at her with respect. “Will wonders never cease. For once a human with sense is getting the forfeit. Yes, you can take someone with you, as long as you’re touching him. Same for objects; if you can carry it, you can take it with you. You get one trip per feather. That's all.”

  “But—” said Cimorene, and stopped. The bird’s head had fallen back, and it was dearly quite dead.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” Kazul said perceptively. “If it had succeeded in carrying you off, it would have fed you to its nestlings.”

  “Fed me to its nestlings?” Cimorene discovered that she had lost her sympathy for the dead bird. “What a horrid thing to do!” She hesitated. “Won’t the nestlings starve, now that the bird is dead?”

  “No, one of the other birds will take over the chore of feeding them for a few weeks until they’re big enough to catch their own food,” Kazul said. “Now, clean that sword and take your feathers, and let's get going. I want to have a look at that book of Morwen’s.”

  Cimorene nodded and did as she was told. The three black feathers were right where the bird had said they would be, and she put them in her pocket with Morwen’s book and the black pebble from the Caves of Fire and Night. She wiped the sword on the grass several times, then finished cleaning it with her handkerchief. When she finished, she left the handkerchief beside the dead bird and followed Kazul into the Caves of Fire and Night.

  9

  In Which Therandil Is a Dreadful Nuisance,

  and Cimorene Casts a Spell

  The rest of the trip home was uneventful. Passing through the King’s Cave seemed easier going in the opposite direction, and the impenetrable darkness only descended once. As soon as they arrived, Kazul took the book Morwen had lent them and curled herself around a rock just outside the mouth of the cave to study it while Cimorene made dinner. She pored over the book all evening, and Cimorene found it fascinating to watch the dragon delicately turning pages with her claws. Early the next day Kazul went off to consult with Roxim.

  Cimorene was rather stiff from all the dragon riding she had done the previous day, so she decided not to do any more cleaning. Instead, she spent the morning in Kazul’s treasure room, sorting through likely looking bottles and jars for those that might possibly contain powdered hens’ teeth. Remembering Kazul’s advice, she started by setting aside all the bottles she could find that had lead stoppers. Since the light was not very good, she took the jars and bottles that looked as if they might be worth investigating and piled them in her apron, so as to carry them outside more easily.

  She had nearly finished sorting when she heard a voice calling faintly in the distance.

  “Bother!” she said. “I did hope they’d leave me alone a little longer.”

  She bundled the last five bottles into her apron without looking at them and, not forgetting to lock the door behind her, hurried out through the maze to see who was shouting for her this time.

  It was Therandil.

  “What are you doing here?” Cimorene said crossly. “I told you I wasn’t going to be ready to be rescued for at least a month!”

  “I was worried,” Therandil said. “I heard that you’d broken a leg, but you look fine to me.”

  “Of course I haven’t broken a leg,” Cimorene said. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Some knight at the inn at the foot of the mountain,” Therandil replied. “He was up yesterday, talking to the princess he’s trying to rescue, and he came back and warned everybody not to bother with the princess that was captured by the dragon Kazul. Well, I knew that was you, so I asked why, and he said his princess told him you’d broken your leg and wouldn’t be able to walk for months.”

  Cimorene smiled slightly. Alianora had apparently gone through with her plan to tell Hallanna about Cimorene’s “twisted ankle,” and Hallanna had decided to improve the story a little in hopes of reducing the competition. “Somebody must have gotten mixed up,” Cimorene said gently. “You can stop worrying. I’m fine. Is that all you came for? These jars are getting heavy, and I’ve got work to do.”

  “Cimorene, we have to talk,” Therandil said in a heavy, deep voice.

  “Then we’ll have to do it while I work,” Cimorene declared. She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen, full of annoyance. She had been feeling almost friendly toward Therandil—he had been worried about her, after all—until he said he wanted to talk. Cimorene was quite sure that what he wanted to talk about was rescuing her, and she was annoyed with him for being so stupidly stubborn and annoyed with herself for being annoyed when he was only trying to do the best he could.

  Therandil followed her into the kitchen. “What is all that?” he asked as Cimorene put the apron full of jars on the kitchen table and began lining them up.

  “Some things I’m checking for Kazul,” Cimorene said. She picked up a small jar made of carved jade and pried the lid off. It was half full of green salve. Cimorene put the lid back on and set the jar aside.

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked, reaching for another jar.

  “You. Dragons. Us. That looks interesting. Can I help?”

  “As long as you don’t break anything,” Cimorene said. “Some of these are very fragile.” Maybe opening jars would make him forget about You. Dragons. Us, for a while.

  “I’ll be very careful,” Therandil assured her. “This one looks like metal. I’l
l start with that, shall I?” He picked up one of the larger jars, made of beaten copper with two handles. He frowned at the top, then reached for his dagger, and as he tilted the jar, Cimorene saw that the neck was stopped up with lead.

  “Not that one!” she said quickly. She didn’t remember picking out that particular jar. It must have been one of the last four or five that she’d scooped up when she heard Therandil calling.

  “Why not?” Therandil said, sounding rather hurt. “I said I’d be careful.” The tip of his dagger was already embedded in the lead.

  “Kazul said to leave the ones with lead stoppers alone,” Cimorene said. “So put it back.”

  “If you insist,” Therandil said, shrugging. He pulled on his dagger, but it was stuck fast in the lead. “Drat!” he said, and twisted the handle. The dagger came free, and the lead stopper came along with it.

  “I should have known,” Cimorene said in a resigned tone.

  A black cloud of smoke poured out of the jar. As Cimorene and Therandil watched, it condensed into a dark-skinned giant wearing only a turban and a loincloth. He was more than twice as tall as Therandil, and the corners of his mouth were turned down in a stern frown.

  “What is it?” whispered Therandil.

  “Trouble,” said Cimorene.

  “Thou speakest truly, 0 Daughter of Wisdom,” said the giant in a booming voice that filled the cave. “For I am a jinn, who was imprisoned in that jar, and I am the instrument of thy death and that of thy paramour.”

  “My what?” Cimorene said, outraged.

  “Thy lover,” the jinn said uncomfortably. “The man who stands beside thee.”

  “I know what you meant,” Cimorene said. “But he isn’t my lover, or my fiance, or my boyfriend or anything, and I refuse to be killed with him.”