Calling on Dragons ef-3

by Patricia Collins Wrede

  "This your donkey, ma'am?" the man asked.

  "Not exactly," Morwen said. "What seems to be the problem?"

  "He says I can't eat any more," Killer complained. "And I'd only just figured out how to get at it, too."

  Morwen glanced down. Below Killer's front hooves, a double hand-span of grass and clover had been trimmed several inches below the surrounding meadow. "So I see. How did you manage it?"

  "Well, if I kneel down and stretch way out-"

  "Excuse me, ma'am," said the man in the overalls, setting his bucket at his feet, "but if this ain't your donkey, whose is it?"

  "He doesn't belong to anyone in particular," Morwen said. "And he's not actually a donkey. Why?"

  The man in the overall, who had begun uncoiling the length of rope, paused. "Not a donkey, eh?" He studied Killer intently for a moment.

  "Blue's kind of an unusual color for a donkey."

  "What's he getting at, Morwen?" Killer's ears waggled nervously.

  "Quiet, Killer," Morwen said.

  "And I got to admit that donkeys don't normally talk much," the man added. "So what is he? Enchanted prince? Knight? Circus sideshow performer?"

  "Rabbit," Morwen said. 'Judging from his behavior, a permanently hungry rabbit."

  "Huh." The man in the overalls eyed Killer speculatively. "A rabbit named Killer. Amazing, the things people come up with. How'd he end up a blue donkey?"

  "It's a long story," Morwen said. "Killer, why don't you go back to the others?"

  "But what about the clover? I was just getting started. And it's different-not so crunchy, and not as sweet, and there's sort of a cinnamon undertaste that-" "Not now, Killer. Go let the others know what's happening."

  "Oh, all right." Muttering sullenly, Killer started back around the hill.

  "What's this about others?" demanded the man in the overalls as Morwen turned back to him. "How many of you are there?"

  "Seven, altogether," Morwen said.

  "There are seven of you trampling across my fields and mining the harvest?" the farmer asked, plainly appalled.

  "Not exactly. Killer couldn't trample anything right now if he tried, and the rest of us haven't moved around much."

  The farmer shook his head. "It was bad enough having that donkey or rabbit or whatever eating up my crops, but this! I want the lot of you out, right now."

  "Crops?" Morwen looked pointedly to the left, then to the right, then raised her chin and stared directly at the man in the overalls. "Grass and clover?"

  "Hay," the man said, unperturbed.

  "Hey what?" said Cimorene's voice. "Morwen, who is this and what is going on? Killer said something about trespassers, but then he got into an argument with your cats, and it's a little hard to follow when you can't understand half of the conversation."

  "This appears to be the man who owns this hill," Morwen said.

  "Name of MacDonald, ma'am," the man said, nodding politely. "And this is my farm, and I'd appreciate it if you'd take your friend and your donkey and your cats elsewhere."

  "I'm Cimorene, the Queen of the Enchanted Forest," Cimorene said.

  "Pleased to meet you, Farmer MacDonald. And we'll be leaving just as soon as our magician recovers a bit more. I'm sorry if we've caused a problem."

  "Queen, eh?" MacDonald's eyes narrowed speculatively. "Little unusual to find a queen out adventuring. Mostly it's princes and younger sons, and once in a while a princess."

  "So I'm unusual," Cimorene said.

  "I wasn't criticizing," MacDonald said peaceably. "I just wondered if you'd be in the market for some vegetables."

  "Vegetables? Why would I-" "I got a full line of specialty crops," the farmer went on. "My peas are perfectly round, and hard as rock. I sell them by the bag if you want to scatter them on the floor for maidens disguised as huntsmen to walk on, or you can buy one at a time for sticking under the mattress of a visiting princess."

  "I don't think I-" "Then there's straw, first quality, for spinning into gold. I can deliver as much as you want, on a regular schedule.

  I grow four kinds of grain-oats, barley, millet, and wheat-on the same plants, so it's harvested premixed.

  I sell it by the bushel, to people who want to test someone by making them sort out the different kinds. And beans, naturally. I got the kind that jump and the kind that grow giant stalks. I've got apples, poisoned or gold, in several varieties; extra-large pumpkins for turning into coaches; and walnuts with anything you want inside, from a miniature dog to a dress as shining as the stars."

  "I appreciate the offer," Cimorene said, "but I don't think I need any of those things."

  "You wouldn't happen to have any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, would you?" Morwen asked.

  "No, I don't grow ornamentals," MacDonald replied. "I stick to vegetables, fruit, and nuts. Farm things. I'm hoping to branch out into livestock soon."

  Cimorene blinked. "What sort of livestock?"

  "Oh, little dogs that laugh, winged horses, geese that lay golden eggs, that sort of thing. That's why I'm growing hay." The farmer waved at the hillside. "I want to have it on hand when the horses arrive."

  "It's not enchanted hay, is it?" Morwen asked with sudden misgiving.

  "Not exactly. Why?"Enchantments." Nothing seemed to have happened yet, though. At least, Morwen hadn't heard any horrified braying since Killer disappeared over the hill.

  Perhaps it would be all right.

  MacDonald shrugged. "I use enchanted fertilizer to help it grow, but the hay itself is nothing special. Winged horses eat pretty much the same thing as regular horses, plus a little birdseed."

  "You sound as if you've thought about it quite a bit," Cimorene said.

  "Had to," MacDonald said, nodding. "This farm's been in the family for a long time, but I couldn't make a living running it the way my dad did.

  Here a horse, there a pig-that just doesn't work anymore. These days, you have to have a plan. So I decided to specialize. Sure you don't need anything?"

  "Not right now," Cimorene said, "but I'll keep you in mind."

  "Thanks." The farmer hesitated. "About that blue donkey-" "He isn't a donkey," Morwen reminded him. "He's an enchanted rabbit."

  "Oh, that's right. Pity. He'd make an interesting start at stocking the barnyard." Fingering his rope thoughtfully, MacDonald stared off in the direction Killer had taken.

  "I don't think you'd want him," Cimorene said. "He doesn't seem to be good for much."

  "And he eats a great deal," Morwen added. "Most of it unsuitable, inconvenient, or both. Besides, it's time we were leaving."

  "What about my hay?"

  Morwen glanced at the nibbled clover and raised an eyebrow. "Killer hardly touched it. In a couple of days, you won't be able to tell which part of the patch he got at."

  "Well…"

  "Then that's settled," Cimorene said in a tone that somehow reminded everyone that this was the Queen of the Enchanted Forest talking, and if she said it was settled, it had better be settled. "It's been nice meeting you, Mr. MacDonald, and I shall certainly mention your special crops to my friends.

  Now, we really must be going." She turned and swept off.

  Nodding a brisk farewell to MacDonald, Morwen followed. Halfway around the hill, she glanced back and saw MacDonald frowning uncertainly after them. At least he isn't chasing after us, she thought. Goodness knows how he'd react if he saw Kazul.

  The same thought had apparently occurred to Cimorene. "We need to leave right away, if we can," she said as soon as they reached the others.

  "Can you manage it, Telemain?"

  "Of course," the magician said. "But what's the problem?"

  "Nothing dangerous, but if we stay we're likely to waste the whole afternoon arguing. I'll explain later."

  "Wait a minute," Morwen said as Telemain climbed to his feet.

  "Where's Scorn?"

  "She went after you," Trouble said.

  "Bother," said Morwen. "I'm sorry, Cimorene, but-" A narrow
path of grass stirred and shifted. An instant later, Scorn leapt for Morwen's back. Her claws dug into the folds of material, and with another brief effort she pulled herself the rest of the way up to Morwen's shoulder, where she perched, purring smugly.

  "No wonder you wear loose robes," Cimorene said.

  Balancing carefully, Scorn stretched. Then the purring stopped and she said, "That farmer is coming after you, Morwen. I thought you'd want to know."

  "Scorn says MacDonald is on his way," Morwen said to the rest of them.

  "If you really want to avoid him, Cimorene, we should go now."

  "Then let's go." Cimorene looked at Telemain.

  "Everyone here? Very well, then." Eyes narrowed in unwonted concentration, Telemain raised his hands and recited the spell.

  The hillside wavered like a reflection in a suddenly disturbed pool.

  Reluctantly, it began to melt and shift. Morwen caught a glimpse of MacDonald's face, too distorted to tell whether his expression was one of astonishment or fear, before the scene became unrecognizable.

  Suddenly, everything froze. For an impossibly long instant, they hung between greenish blurs and brown blobs. Then, with a painful jerk, everything darkened and slammed into proper shapes once more. Morwen dropped two inches into a puddle of mud. The landing jarred her glasses loose and tore Scorn from her shoulder. Morwen managed to catch the cat, but her glasses vanished into the mud. Behind them, there was a squishy thwump as Kazul landed, followed by a yowl from Trouble and various startled noises from Killer and Cimorene.

  "Drat," Morwen muttered, swallowing hard. "I knew I should have brought a stomach remedy." The air was damp and smelled like rotten eggs, which didn't help any.

  "And boots," Scorn said, relaxing in Morwen's hands.

  "Definitely boots," Morwen agreed. The mud was cold, soft, and ankle deep, and between the gloom and her missing glasses she could not spot a better place to step to. Assuming, of course, that there was a better place to stand.

  "Morwen?" Cimorene called. "Where are you?"

  "Where are we, is the question," Scorn said.

  "Quiet," said Morwen. "Over here, Cimorene. Scorn, I'm going to hunt for my glasses, and I'll need both hands. If you don't want to walk around in this, you'd better climb up on my back."

  With a disdainful snort, Scorn scrambled out of Morwen's grasp and back to her shoulder. Slowly, Morwen bent forward, giving Scorn time to adjust her balance. Holding her sleeves out of the way with one hand, she fished in the mud with the other.

  A series of sucking noises and squelches came near. "Morwen, what are you doing?" Cimorene asked. She was muddy to the elbows, and she held her drawn sword in one hand.

  "Looking for my glasses," Morwen replied. "Unfortunately, I don't seem to-Wait a minute." Carefully, she worked her hand free of the mud.

  "There. Now all I have to do is clean them."

  "Easier to say than done in this muck," Cimorene said. "Didn't you bring an extra pair?"

  "Chaos broke my extra pair last week." Morwen squinted at the mud-covered glasses, then shrugged. Pinching a fold of material from her robe, she began wiping the lenses. "The replacements haven't been delivered yet."

  "Well, I'm afraid I can't help. I slipped when we landed, and even my handkerchiefs are full of mud. Morwen, where are we? This doesn't look like the edge of a desert."

  "No kidding," said Scorn.

  "Ask Telemain," Morwen said, putting on her glasses. "He should have some idea where we were when he lost control." The lenses were still streaky, but at least she could see.

  A worry line appeared between Cimorene's eyebrows, below the mud that smeared her forehead. "I don't know where Telemain is," she said. "I was hoping he was over here, with you."

  12

  Which Is Exceedingly Muddy

  Morwen looked around. Here and there, tall, thin trees shot upward from the omnipresent mud. High in the air, they suddenly sprouted a wide, dense mat of twisted branches. Long, fuzzy gray-green strips of moss dangled from the branches, shutting out most of the light, and patches of dirty white fog drifted among the trunks.

  Between the fog and the shadows, it was hard to be sure of seeing anyone. Even Kazul seemed to melt into the gloom. Only Killer's vivid blue stood out against the muddy colors of the swamp.

  "Is everyone else here?" Morwen said. Her stomach was already settling down, which was a relief. The last time this had happened, it had taken much longer.

  Cimorene nodded.

  "Then I'll look for Telemain. There's bound to be some residue from the transportation spell for me to trace. The rest of you stay together so I can find you again. If we split up in this mess, we're likely to lose someone permanently."

  "I suppose that's best," Cimorene said, but she did not sound happy.

  Morwen was not very happy about the arrangement, either, but she did not say anything more as Cimorene squelched back to Kazul. Then, with a resigned sigh, she reached into her left sleeve and pulled out a ball of red yarn and a shiny metal plate three inches across with a small hole near the rim. Focusing her attention on her most recent memories of Telemain's magic, she tied the yarn to the plate. She bent and breathed on the metal, clouding it over, then said quickly, "Green and growing; show me.

  Swift and silent, show me.

  Damp and dingy, show me.

  Deep and shining; show me what I would see."

  With her last words, she released the plate so that it hung free. It spun wildly on the end of the yarn, and she felt it tug lightly to the right, well away from the others. Carefully, she turned, letting the faint pull guide her.

  It took considerable concentration to follow the spell while slogging through the cold, sticky mud.

  "I thought something smelled different over this way," Scorn said.

  Morwen spared a moment for a glance at the cat. "You might have told me."

  "You were busy."

  "True. Next time, tell me anyway." The tug was growing stronger.

  Morwen dodged around a tree trunk and almost stepped on Telemain. He lay face up in the mud, his eyes closed and his skin an unhealthy grayish white. Morwen had to look twice to be sure that he was still breathing.

  Stuffing her yarn and the metal plate back into her sleeve, Morwen shouted for Cimorene to come at once and bring the others. Then she crouched next to Telemain to see what she could do for him.

  Unfortunately, what he needed most was to be warm, dry, and somewhere he could sleep in comfort.

  He must have been even more tired than I thought he was, or the backshock wouldn't have acted him this badly, Morwen thought. He should have said something.

  "Stubborn fool," she said aloud.

  "This comes as a surprise?" Scorn said.

  "Morwen, what-oh, my." Cimorene squished over as quickly as she could, followed by Killer and Kazul. Trouble, somewhat muddy and damp looking, was clinging with grim determination to a spot high on Kazul's back. The moment the dragon stopped moving, Trouble extended a rear leg and began washing it vigorously. Killer looked unusually pleased with himself, probably because floating six inches off the ground had kept him the only completely dry and unmuddy member of the group.

  "What happened?" Kazul asked as Cimorene joined Morwen. "That was not one of the most enjoyable experiences I've ever had."

  "I'm not completely sure." Morwen reached into her right sleeve and began fishing around. "I'm a witch, not a magician. But I think it's backshock from that transportation spell."

  "Backshock?" said Killer.

  "If you pull a rubber band too hard, it breaks and snaps your fingers," Cimorene explained. "The same sort of thing can happen when someone loses control of a spell, only it's usually more serious than stinging fingers."

  "Oh." Killer looked at Morwen. "Rubber band?"

  "Never mind," Morwen said. "Ah, there it is." She pulled her heavy-duty wool camping blanket out of her sleeve, glanced around for a dry spot to put it, and ended by draping it across Killer's back.


  "Cimorene, we have to get Telemain out of this mud. Help me lift him onto Killer."

  "What? Wait a minute!" said Killer, taking two hasty steps backward.

  "I'm not supposed to do things like this. I'm a rabbit."

  "You used to be," said Morwen. "Now you're a six-foot floating blue donkey. Hold still."

  "But you'll get mud all over me!"

  Trouble glanced up from his washing. "Good idea. Can I help?"

  "If you do, you'll get muddy, too," Scorn said. She looked at Trouble.

  "Muddier."

  "The mud will get on my blanket," Morwen said. "And I can tell you already that Mendanbar is going to get a really enormous cleaning bill when this is all over."

  "But-" "Don't argue," Kazul said to the donkey. "I'm feeling cross enough already, and my stomach is bothering me."

  "The stomachache is a side effect of snapping the transportation spell," Morwen said. "The bad temper is probably from waking up too early.

  Ready, Cimorene?"

  Killer did argue, of course. It took nearly as long to convince him as it took to pry Telemain's unconscious body out of the mud, wrap him in Morwen's blanket, and hoist him onto the donkey's back.

  "There," Cimorene panted, steadying Telemain with one hand.

  "That's done."

  "And it looks pretty useless to me," Scorn said. She had joined Trouble on top of Kazul and was watching the whole procedure with an expression of disapproval. "Now that you've got him there, what are you going to do with him?"

  Killer shifted his feet in evident unease. "This is really uncomfortable.

  Isn't there somewhere else you could put him?"

  "He doesn't care much for riding on you, either," Morwen said.

  "Don't worry, we'll try to keep it short. Kazul, can you see anything that looks like a way out of here?"

  Stretching up to her full height, Kazul peered into the fog. "No.

  The fog's getting thicker, and the trees all look the same."

  "Hey, warn me before you do that," Trouble said reproachfully. "I almost fell off."

  Kazul lowered her forelegs and glanced over her shoulder. "That can be arranged."

  "It wouldn't matter," Scorn said to Trouble. "All that washing hasn't done much good. You still look like something the dog dragged in."