Searching for Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “What happened to them?”

  “We just left them at the ford,” Cimorene said with a shrug. “Nobody thought it was important. Most of them are probably still there. Dragon scales last a long time.”

  “At the Ford of Whispering Snakes?” Mendanbar asked. Cimorene nodded, and he grimaced. “Then anyone who walked by could have picked up these scales any time in the past year. That doesn’t narrow things down much.”

  “I’m as sorry about that as you are,” Cimorene said.

  Mendanbar’s face must have shown his surprise, because she gave him an exasperated look and went on, “Hadn’t it occurred to you that we’d want to know who’s plotting to get dragons blamed for their mischief? Especially if it turns out not to be the Society of Wizards.”

  “But—oh. If it’s not the Society, then you have a new enemy you don’t know anything about.”

  Cimorene nodded again, very soberly. “I just wish I had time to look into it right now, but with Kazul missing it will have to wait.”

  “You’ll let me know when she gets back?”

  “I’ll tell Roxim to send you word if she shows up while I’m gone,” Cimorene assured him. “And if I find her first, I’ll tell her everything you’ve told me. I’m sure she’ll get in touch with you right away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, is there anything else you want to know? Because if there isn’t, I need to be going,” Cimorene went on. “It’s a long walk to Flat Top Mountain, and I’d like to get there before dark.”

  “Surely you don’t plan to walk all the way to the northern end of the Mountains of Morning.” He was surprised and suddenly disappointed by this evidence of princesslike behavior. From their brief acquaintance, he’d thought Cimorene had better sense.

  “Of course not,” Cimorene replied impatiently. “I’m not stupid. I’m going to borrow a magic carpet from Ballimore, the giantess who lives on Flat Top Mountain.”

  Mendanbar choked on the last of his tea. “Do you expect a giantess to loan you a carpet just because you have a dragon with you?” he demanded when he could talk again.

  “I’d better not, since I won’t have a dragon with me,” Cimorene retorted. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You’re going to wander around the Mountains of Morning alone looking for King Kazul?” Mendanbar said, appalled.

  “Exactly. And if I can’t find her there, I’ll swing through the Enchanted Forest on the way back, just the way she was planning to. And it’s time I got started, so if you’ll just—”

  “Oh, no.” Mendanbar set his teacup down so emphatically that it rattled the saucer. “If you’re fool enough to travel through the Mountains of Morning without a companion, that’s not my concern, but you are not going through the Enchanted Forest alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Cimorene snapped. “You forget, I’ve been living with the dragons for over a year.”

  “Maybe so,” Mendanbar said, trying hard to hold on to his temper. “But the Enchanted Forest is very different from the Mountains of Morning. And what do you suppose will happen if the King of the Dragons’s princess—or Cook and Librarian, or whatever—gets captured or killed or enchanted going through my forest?”

  Cimorene opened her mouth to reply, then paused. “Oh,” she said in a very different tone. “Oh, I see. That would cause just the sort of trouble we’re both trying to avoid, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m used to people objecting to things because they think I can’t do them or shouldn’t do them. It didn’t occur to me that you might have a real reason.”

  “Then you won’t go?” Mendanbar said with relief.

  “I have to,” Cimorene said in the tones of one explaining something obvious. “It’s my job. Besides, Kazul is my friend. I’ll just have to make sure I don’t get captured or killed or enchanted, that’s all.”

  “It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”

  “I know. I’ve visited Morwen a time or two,” Cim­orene said. “I’ll manage, one way or another.”

  Mendanbar started to object again, then stopped. He didn’t think Cimorene was quite as sure of herself as she sounded, but she was plainly determined to go hunting for Kazul. Well, she was right about one thing: somebody had to find the King of the Dragons, and soon. Mendanbar didn’t like to think of what might happen if Kazul stayed missing for long, especially if rumors about dragonsbane in the Enchanted Forest started floating around the mountains.

  “Is there anyone you can take with you?” Mendanbar asked.

  “No,” Cimorene said. “Roxim and Marchak are the only dragons who have enough sense not to go off in fits when they hear that Kazul is missing. Roxim is too old for adventures, and Marchak has to stay and take care of business while I’m gone. And I hope you’re not going to suggest I borrow Marchak’s princess.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mendanbar said sincerely. “Is she very awful?”

  “Actually, she’s one of the nice ones,” Cimorene admitted. “But she’s very silly. She’d try, but she wouldn’t enjoy it at all, and she’d be much more of a nuisance than she’s worth. I’d rather take my chances alone.”

  “That’s almost as bad an idea as taking that princess along,” Mendanbar said. He sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to come with you myself.”

  Cimorene stared at him blankly for a moment, then began to giggle.

  “It isn’t funny,” Mendanbar said. “I mean it.” He felt a little hurt by Cimorene’s reaction. He wasn’t necessarily stuffy or useless or a nuisance to travel with just because he was the King of the Enchanted Forest. Cimorene ought to realize that. After all, he’d fixed the sink for her, hadn’t he?

  “I know you mean it,” Cimorene said when she could talk again. “It wasn’t what you said, it was the way you said it.” She shook her head, chuckling. “You sound about as eager to come with me as I am to have company. Which isn’t much.”

  “Maybe not, but somebody—”

  “What was that?” Cimorene interrupted, holding up a hand for silence.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Mendanbar said.

  “Shhh,” Cimorene hissed. She rose and tiptoed to the door, listening. In the quiet, Mendanbar heard a faint thud outside. Cimorene’s lips tightened. “Princes or wizards?” she muttered. “Wizards, I’ll bet. Princes are noisier.”

  Still frowning, she picked up the bucket of soapy water that was sitting beside the door. As she reached for the doorknob, Mendanbar started after her. Cimorene hadn’t asked for his help, but a bucket of soapy water wasn’t much of a weapon against a wizard. If it was a wizard.

  The corridor outside the kitchen was pitch black. Cim­orene vanished into the gloom, moving with the calm sureness of long familiarity. Cursing mentally, Mendanbar picked his way after her, one hand on the cave wall for guidance, the other stretched out in front of him to keep him from running into anything.

  Another muffled crash echoed from up ahead. Mendanbar took two more steps and his outstretched arm touched Cimorene’s shoulder. A moment later, Cim­orene’s voice said calmly, “Phrazelspitz.”

  Mendanbar felt magic rise around him. Light flared from the walls, then settled into a steady glow, revealing an enormous cavern. He and Cimorene stood in one of five dark openings spaced unevenly around the wall. Halfway across the cave, a tall man in blue and brown wizard’s robes stood hanging onto a staff and trying to squint in all directions at once. His hair and beard were brown, and he bore a strong resemblance to Zemenar, only younger.

  “Antorell,” Cimorene said in tones of disgust. “I might have guessed.”

  “I’m glad to see you again, Princess Cimorene,” the wizard said in an oily tone. “But who could fail to rejoice at the sight of so lovely a princess?”

  “What are you doing here?” Cimorene demanded. Mendanbar was pleased to note that she didn’t sound at all mollified by Antorell’s flattery. “And how did you get in without being eaten?”

  “Oh,
we wizards have our little ways,” Antorell said airily. “And I came because—well, because I was concerned about you, Princess.”

  “I’ll bet,” Cimorene muttered. “What do you mean?” she said in a louder voice.

  “I thought you might need a friend.” Antorell’s voice oozed sincerity. “Especially after what Father said when he came back from the Enchanted Forest. If King Mendanbar really is getting ready for a war with the dragons . . .”

  “Where did your father get that idea?” Cimorene asked in tones of mild interest.

  Antorell frowned slightly, as if he had hoped for a stronger reaction. “Something the King said to him, I think. I shouldn’t have repeated it, I suppose, but I was carried away by my feelings.”

  “Sure you were,” Cimorene said. “That’s why you sneaked in here without knocking and went blundering around in the dark, instead of calling me or at least bringing a lamp.”

  “I didn’t want to disturb King Kazul, if she happened to be here,” Antorell said stiffly.

  Cimorene snorted. “If you’d really thought Kazul was here, you wouldn’t have come at all. She doesn’t like it when people ignore her rules. One of which, may I remind you, is that wizards aren’t allowed in the Mountains of Morning anymore.”

  “But if there’s going to be a war—”

  “There isn’t,” Mendanbar said, stepping forward into the light. “At least, not if I can help it. Why are you people trying so hard to make trouble, anyway?”

  Antorell’s eyes widened, and he sucked in his breath. “Mendanbar? You’ll ruin everything, blast you.” He smiled a sudden, nasty smile. “Unless I deal with both of you now. Oh, yes, that will do very well. Father will be so pleased.”

  He raised his staff. Mendanbar started toward him, pulling his sword free as he ran, though he knew the wizard was much too far away to reach before he finished the spell. Cimorene followed quickly, not quite running, carrying her bucket carefully to avoid spilling. They had only gone a few steps when a swirl of smoke appeared in the air in front of them.

  The smoke thickened rapidly, then congealed with shocking suddenness into the largest nightshade Mendanbar had ever seen. It was two feet taller than Mendanbar and covered with spikes of coarse black fur. Its beady black eyes glared at him as it raised a long arm and clicked its dark purple claws together. It hissed, showing a mouthful of fangs.

  “There!” cried Antorell over the nightshade’s noise. “Vanquish that, Cimorene—if you can!”

  7

  In Which a Wizard Makes a Mess and the Journey Begins

  IGNORING ANTORELL, MENDANBAR KEPT HIS EYES on the nightshade. He had a moment’s useless wish that he were in the Enchanted Forest, where he could have disposed of the monster with relative ease. Here, things were going to be a lot more complicated. He shifted his grip on the sword and pulled at the power within it.

  The nightshade swung at him, its fully extended claws carving a whistling arc in the air. It was very, very fast. Mendanbar barely managed to block in time. The force of the blow knocked him to one side, and he almost lost hold of the sword. The nightshade hissed in pain and shook its arm, but Mendanbar knew it was not seriously hurt. Without active magic behind it, the most damage the sword could have inflicted on a nightshade this big was a bruise.

  Again he pulled at the power in the sword, then had to roll to avoid another swing by the nightshade. This time he kept on rolling until he was out of the monster’s reach. He came up on one knee and pointed the sword at the nightshade, pushing power through the sword in the pattern he had pictured in his mind.

  Antorell’s staff struck him across the shoulders. The sword flew out of his hands and he went sprawling. His half-formed spell spun wildly in the air and then was sucked away. He heard an angry shriek from Cimorene, then a shout: “Mendanbar! Dodge left, quick!”

  Without hesitation, Mendanbar threw himself to his left. He heard a rush of wind as the nightshade’s claws missed him by inches. There was a splash somewhere behind him, and Antorell’s voice cried, “No! No! You’ll be sorry for this, Cimorene!” Then Mendanbar’s hand closed on the hilt of his sword. He twisted and brought the sword up, shoving power through it recklessly.

  The blast of barely formed magic caught the nightshade in midleap. The creature hung frozen in the air for an instant, then dissolved in a cloud of bright sparks. Mendanbar seized the remnants of magic and pulled them together into a tight knot, ready to throw at another nightshade or at Antorell himself. Only then did he pause to look around.

  Cimorene stood a little way away, swinging the empty bucket in one hand and looking at him as if she were impressed in spite of herself.

  Antorell had vanished.

  “You really do like flashy magic,” Cimorene commented as Mendanbar climbed warily to his feet. “I haven’t seen anything like that since Kazul’s coronation party.”

  “Where’s Antorell?” Mendanbar asked. “Did he get away?”

  “No,” Cimorene said, waving her free hand at a damp area of floor to Mendanbar’s right. “I melted him.”

  “Melted him?” Mendanbar looked at the damp patch more closely. Antorell’s soggy robes were plastered to the floor in the middle of a gooey puddle. His staff lay along one side of the robes, half-in, half-out of the goo. There was no other trace of him. Mendanbar was impressed, and said so.

  “It’s really not hard,” Cimorene said. “All it takes is a bucket of soapy water with a little lemon juice in it. A friend of mine discovered by accident how to do it, and I’ve kept a bucket ready ever since, just in case.”

  “I thought that only worked on witches.”

  Cimorene shrugged. “Lots of things don’t work the way they’re supposed to. Morwen’s a witch, but she certainly doesn’t melt in a bucket of soapy water.”

  Mendanbar thought of the shining stone step and the spotless wooden floor in Morwen’s house, and nodded. “I can see that. But why does it work for wizards?”

  “We don’t know.” Cimorene gave him a sidelong look. “I’m sorry I let Antorell wallop you with his staff, but I didn’t want to throw the water at him while you were in the way.”

  “Why—oh, you mean you were afraid it would melt me, too?” Mendanbar blinked. “But I’m not a wizard.”

  “You work magic,” Cimorene pointed out. “And I don’t know how strict the soapy-water-and-lemon-juice trick is about defining wizards. It would cause a lot of trouble if I melted the King of the Enchanted Forest in the middle of Kazul’s living room, even if it isn’t permanent.”

  “You mean he’ll be back?” Mendanbar had started to put his sword back in its sheath, but he stopped at once. “How soon?”

  “Not for a couple of days, at least,” Cimorene reassured him. “Antorell may be Zemenar’s son, but he’s never been a very good wizard.”

  “Antorell is the son of the Head Wizard?” Mendanbar shot a considering look at the puddle and the pile of soggy robes. “So that’s what he meant when he said his father would be pleased.”

  “Probably.” Cimorene frowned pensively at Antorell’s staff. “I’ve got to find Kazul. The Society of Wizards is up to something for sure, and she needs to know right away.”

  “Couldn’t Antorell have come here on his own?” Mendanbar asked, although he didn’t really believe it himself.

  Cimorene shook her head. “I don’t think he’d have dared. As I said, he’s not a very good wizard. He wouldn’t have been able to keep himself concealed from the dragons, and he certainly must have had help to make anything as nasty and complex as that construct you took care of.”

  “That wasn’t a construct,” Mendanbar said. “That was a nightshade. They’re fairly common in parts of the Enchanted Forest. Antorell didn’t make it, he just snatched it from somewhere nearby.”

  “Snatched it?” Cimorene’s eyes widened. “Yes, I suppose he could have managed that. I begin to see what you meant about traveling in the Enchanted Forest alone,” she added in a thoughtful tone.

  �
�I should hope so,” Mendanbar muttered, turning away. “Then you’ve changed your mind about going?” he added hopefully over his shoulder.

  “No, just about whether I accept your offer of escort,” Cimorene said. “It’ll probably be a nuisance, but nightshades would be much worse.”

  Slightly startled by this unflattering comparison, Mendanbar glanced back at Cimorene. There was a decided twinkle in her eyes. Mendanbar smiled and bowed elaborately. “Thank you for your kind words, Princess.”

  “You’re welcome, Your Majesty,” Cimorene said, curtsying in response. “Now, we’d better get to work, or we’ll never get this mess cleaned up in time to get to Flat Top Mountain before dark.”

  Cleaning up the large cave took less time than Mendanbar had expected, despite the unpleasantly gummy look of the goo that Antorell had left behind. A large part of the mess turned out to be leftover soapy water, which was very convenient. Cimorene mopped most of it up with Antorell’s robe, then wrapped the robe around the staff and started toward the rear of the cave.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Mendanbar asked curiously.

  “Hide it,” Cimorene said. “There’s not much else you can do to a wizard’s staff. They won’t break, and even dragon fire won’t burn them. I know because we tried everything we could think of the last time we melted some wizards.”

  “We?”

  “Morwen and I. Antorell will get it back eventually, of course, but hiding it will slow him down a little.” She left to dispose of the staff while Mendanbar scraped up the last of the goo.

  The kitchen was another matter. Cimorene insisted on doing all of the dishes that had been waiting for the sink to get unplugged, which took a while. Mendanbar offered to use his magic on the dishes, but Cimorene politely declined.

  “A magic sword that does plumbing is unusual but very useful,” she explained as she filled the sink. “A magic sword that does dishes is just plain silly. Besides, there have been two big flares of magic in this cave in the past hour already, and if there’s a third one, someone might come to see what I’m up to.”