Searching for Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “I didn’t notice anything remarkable when Antorell brought the nightshade in,” Mendanbar said, frowning. “Though I’ll admit I overdid it a little when I got rid of the thing. I was in a hurry.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Cimorene, setting a clean plate on the drain board. “But you weren’t in a hurry when you unclogged the sink, were you? That was the other flare I meant, not Antorell’s fiddling.”

  “What was conspicuous about that?” Mendanbar asked defensively. He picked up a clean towel and began drying plates. “It was a perfectly ordinary spell.”

  Cimorene looked at him. “Right. Just like that sword is a perfectly ordinary magic sword.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it ordinary, exactly, but that’s because it’s linked with the Enchanted Forest,” Mendanbar said. “Outside of that, it’s nothing special.”

  “Nothing special.” Cimorene stopped washing dishes for a moment to stare at him. Suddenly, she frowned. “You mean it. You really haven’t noticed.”

  “Noticed what?”

  “The way that sword of yours positively reeks of magic,” Cimorene said. “We’re going to have to do something about it, unless you want the Society of Wizards to be able to find us with their eyes closed.”

  Mendanbar looked at her. She was perfectly serious. He set the dishtowel down and drew his sword. It didn’t look or feel any different to him from the way it normally felt, but Cimorene winced.

  “Can’t you . . . tone it down a little?”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mendanbar said, irritated. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to go about ‘toning it down.’”

  “Why not? It’s your sword, isn’t it?”

  “It didn’t come with directions!”

  “Most of them don’t.” Cimorene shook her head at him and picked another dirty teacup out of the rapidly diminishing stack. “Maybe there’s something in Kazul’s treasury that will take care of it. I’ll check as soon as we’re done here.”

  When the dishes were finished and the kitchen tidied to suit Cimorene’s exacting standards, she left Mendanbar to mull things over while she went off to investigate the treasury. Mendanbar was glad of the chance to think.

  “What is the Society of Wizards doing?” he muttered. Between the misleading things Zemenar had said to Mendanbar and the downright lies Antorell had told to Cimorene, it was clear that the wizards didn’t want them comparing notes. Cimorene might even be right about their desire to start a war between the Enchanted Forest and the dragons.

  Starting a war, however, would take more than a misunderstanding between the King of the Enchanted Forest and Kazul’s Chief Cook and Librarian. Were the wizards behind the mysterious burned area Mendanbar had found? They could have gotten hold of Woraug’s scales, and they certainly could have enchanted them.

  “But why would they do it?” Mendanbar asked the sink. “They’re not stupid, at least Zemenar isn’t, and a war would cause the Society almost as many problems as it would cause us. What could make them overlook the problems and try to stir up trouble anyway?” The sink did not answer.

  But if it wasn’t the wizards, Mendanbar wondered, who was it? Where had Kazul disappeared to? And was there really a dragonsbane farm in the Enchanted Forest, or was that just a rumor someone was spreading to add to the confusion?

  He was still trying to put his questions into some sort of order when Cimorene returned. She had exchanged the apron and the rust-colored dress for a dark blue tunic with matching leggings, a pair of tall black boots, and a maroon cloak. She had taken off her crown, and her braids were wound neatly around her head. A gold-handled sword hung at her side, next to a small belt pouch. She held out a sword belt and sheath, the leather gray with age.

  “I think this will do the job,” she said. “Try it and see.”

  “I’ve already got a sheath,” Mendanbar pointed out.

  “Yes, but this one blocks magic,” Cimorene explained. “It’ll keep your sword from being so—so obvious all the time. At least, I hope it will.”

  “If you say so,” Mendanbar replied, taking the scabbard. He held it a moment, testing. It didn’t feel magical, but then, that was the idea. He shrugged, pulled out his sword, and put it into the sheath Cimorene had given him.

  “Oh, that’s much better,” Cimorene said with evident relief. “I can hardly notice anything now.”

  “I can,” Mendanbar said, touching the hilt with a frown. The pulse of the Enchanted Forest was still there, ready for him to use.

  “Of course you can,” Cimorene said. “It’s your sword.”

  “Well, I suppose I don’t mind using it, then,” Mendanbar said. “As long as it doesn’t damage the sword.”

  “It won’t,” Cimorene promised.

  Mendanbar took off his sword belt and set it aside, then buckled on the belt and scabbard Cimorene had given him.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s go.”

  As they left the cave, Cimorene muttered something under her breath and waved at the entrance. Mendanbar jumped as a coil of strong, hard magic sprang into place behind them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a solid wall of rock. He transferred his gaze to Cimorene and raised an eyebrow.

  “What kind of magic was that?”

  “Just something Kazul and I worked out a while back,” Cimorene said. “It’s to keep wizards and knights and so forth from prowling around while I’m gone.”

  So Cimorene is a sorceress, as well as a cook and librarian and goodness knows what else, Mendanbar thought to himself. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him again.

  “It’s a good idea, but please warn me if you’re going to do anything like that again,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for being startled, if you know what I mean.”

  Cimorene nodded, frowning slightly, and asked just what it was about the spell that had startled him. This led to a long, technical discussion of the various ways of casting spells, detecting spells, and comparing spells other people had cast. Mendanbar found it both interesting and informative. He had always known that his own methods of working magic were not much like anyone else’s, but he had never had time to study other styles. Cimorene knew something about most kinds of magic, and she was naturally very well informed indeed about dragon magic. She was as interested in Mendanbar’s system as he was in everything else, and the conversation lasted all the way to Flat Top Mountain.

  The sun had slipped behind the mountains and it was almost dark when they came to the foot of the last slope. Mendanbar could see the giant’s castle at the top, large and dark and ominous against the graying sky. A broad road wrapped three times around the mountain as it wound its way to the castle gates.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” he asked.

  “Quite sure,” Cimorene said. “I’ve never been here myself, but Kazul has described it often enough. And that’s certainly a giant’s castle.”

  “Exactly,” Mendanbar said. “But is it the right giant?”

  “We won’t find out standing here. Come on.”

  Cimorene marched confidently up the mountain. Shaking his head, Mendanbar followed. By the time they reached the castle gates, the stars were beginning to come out and it was getting hard to see.

  “There ought to be a bellpull or a knob,” Cimorene said. “You check that side of the gate, and I’ll take this one.”

  “All right, but what—”

  A loud grinding noise interrupted Mendanbar in midsentence, and the gates swung open. Yellow light spilled across the road, making Mendanbar and Cim­orene squint.

  “Come in, travelers,” a woman’s voice said, much too pleasantly. “Come in, and make yourselves comfortable for the night.”

  Neither Mendanbar nor Cimorene moved. “This was your idea in the first place,” Mendanbar said softly to Cimorene. “What do we do now?”

  “Ask questions,” Cimorene replied just as softly. She raised her voice and said, “
Thank you for your kind hospitality, but we’re not just traveling. We’re looking for the giantess Ballimore, and we’re in a hurry. So if you’re not Ballimore, we’ll have to go on.”

  “I am Ballimore,” said the voice, still in an artificially pleasant tone that made Mendanbar’s skin crawl. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Princess Cimorene, Chief Cook and Librarian to Kazul, the King of the Dragons, and this is Mendanbar, the King of the Enchanted Forest,” Cimorene answered.

  “Cimorene?” said the voice in an entirely different manner. “Oh, good. I’ve been wanting to meet you for the longest time. Come on in, you and your friend, and I’ll have supper ready in a jiffy.”

  Mendanbar and Cimorene looked at each other. “I think it’s all right now,” Cimorene said after a moment.

  “Well, we won’t find out standing here,” Mendanbar said. He held out his arm. “Shall we go in, Princess?”

  Cimorene gave him a bright, almost impish smile, and laid her fingertips on his arm as if they were walking into a court ball. “I should be pleased to accompany you, Your Majesty.”

  Together they walked through the gate. The courtyard inside was high, wide, and empty except for two rows of blazing torches in iron holders lined up on either side of the path. Mendanbar and Cimorene paced slowly up to the door, which swung open just as the gates had, only without the grinding. As they went in, they heard the castle gates crunch shut. A moment later, the doors closed silently behind them.

  They stood in a stone hall three times the size of any Mendanbar had ever seen. A wooden table, surrounded by high-backed chairs, stretched the length of the hall. At the far end of the room a large fire burned in an open hearth. High on the walls, more torches lit the room. A brown-haired woman in a pale blue dress was bending over a cauldron that hung from an iron hook above the fire. It all looked very ordinary, until Mendanbar noticed that the seats of the chairs were level with his eyes and everything else was similarly oversized.

  The brown-haired woman sniffed at the cauldron, nodded to herself, and straightened. “Welcome,” she said, coming forward. “I’m Ballimore. You must be Princess Cimorene. I’m so pleased to meet you at last, after all that Kazul has told me about you.”

  The giantess bent over to shake hands gently with Cimorene. She was at least three times as tall as Mendanbar, but she moved with a grace that suited her size. Cimorene returned the handshake gravely, and said, “I hope Kazul hasn’t given you the wrong idea about me.”

  “Not at all, I’m sure,” said the giantess. “Is this your young man? You’re not running away from the dragons after all this time, are you?”

  “Certainly not,” Cimorene said with unnecessary vehemence. “I’m very happy with my job.”

  “Of course,” Ballimore said, sounding disappointed. She gave Mendanbar a speculative look, then leaned toward Cimorene. “If I were you, I’d reconsider,” she said in a loud whisper. “Your young man doesn’t look like the patient type.”

  “No, no,” Cimorene said, reddening. “It’s not like that at all. This is the King of the Enchanted Forest, and he came to see Kazul, only Kazul has gone to visit her grandchildren and isn’t home. That’s why we came to see you—to borrow a magic carpet, so we can find Kazul.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the giantess. “Strictly business. Well, you’ll have to wait until after supper. Dobbilan will be home any minute, and he hates it when his meals are late.”

  “Dobbilan?” Mendanbar said with some misgiving.

  “My husband,” Ballimore said.

  There was a loud crash from the courtyard outside, followed by the thud, thud, thud of heavy footsteps that shook the castle.

  Ballimore straightened with a happy smile. “Here he comes now.”

  8

  In Which They Give Some Good Advice to a Giant

  MENDANBAR AND CIMORENE TURNED TO FACE THE CASTLE DOORS as the footsteps drew nearer. A moment later, the doors flew open and the giantess’s husband stepped into the hall. He was a giant’s head taller than she, with wild brown hair and a beard like a large, untidy broom’s head. He carried a club that was as long as Mendanbar was tall.

  Just inside the door, the giant stopped and sniffed the air. Then he sneezed once, scowled ferociously, and said in a voice that shook the torches in their brackets:

  “Fee, fie, foe, fum,

  I smell the blood of an Englishman.

  Be he alive or be he dead,

  I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”

  Ballimore shook her head. “Nonsense, dear. It’s just Princess Cimorene and the King of the Enchanted Forest.”

  “And neither of us is English,” Cimorene added.

  The giant squinted down at her. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive,” Mendanbar said.

  “Well—” The giant sniffed again, experimentally, then lowered his club with a sigh. “That’s all right, then. I wasn’t in the mood for more work tonight, anyway. Sorry about the mistake. It must be this cold in my head.”

  “I told you yesterday to take something for it,” Ballimore scolded. “And I told you this morning to wrap some flannel around your throat before you went out. But do you listen to me? No!”

  “I listen,” the giant protested uncomfortably. “But I can’t ransack villages with a piece of flannel around my neck. It wouldn’t look right.”

  Cimorene snorted softly. Mendanbar got the distinct impression that she didn’t think much of doing things for the sake of appearances.

  “Well, really, Dobbilan,” Ballimore said, “how do you think it looks if you’re coughing and sneezing all over everything while you’re ransacking? Have a little sense.”

  “I’d rather have a little dinner,” Dobbilan said, and sneezed again.

  “If you sound like that tomorrow, you’re staying home in bed,” Ballimore informed her husband.

  “I can’t do that! I’m scheduled to pillage two villages and maraud half a county.”

  “You’re in no condition to pillage a henhouse, much less a village,” Ballimore declared. “Besides, you’ve earned a bit of a rest, what with all the extra time you’ve been putting in lately, looting and marauding and I don’t know what all.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s precisely the point. You’re just being stubborn because you think having a bad cold is un-giantlike.”

  “Well, it is.”

  Ballimore shook her head and looked at Cimorene. “Men!” she said in tones of disgust.

  “And don’t you say ‘men’ to me,” Dobbilan said. “It’s my job we’re talking about.”

  “Maybe you should try a different line of work,” Mendanbar suggested.

  “Eh?” Dobbilan peered down at him with interest. “Like what?”

  “Consulting,” Mendanbar said at random, because he hadn’t actually thought about it.

  “Consulting?”

  “You know,” said Cimorene. “Giving advice to people. You could teach other giants the best ways of—of ravaging and pillaging and marauding, and you could tell villages the best ways to keep giants away. With all your experience, I’ll bet you’d be good at it.”

  “I never thought of that,” Dobbilan said, rubbing his chin.

  “I don’t know why not,” Ballimore said. “It’s a very good idea. And you wouldn’t be out in all sorts of weather, catching colds and flu and goodness knows what else.”

  “Plundering has gotten to be an awful lot of work lately,” the giant admitted. “It would be a relief to stop. I’m getting too old to tramp through fields.”

  “I understand consulting pays very well, too,” Mendanbar told him.

  “I’ll do it!” Dobbilan said with sudden decision. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. Thank you for the suggestion. What did you say your names were?”

  “If you’d listen once in a while, you wouldn’t have to ask me to repeat everything,” Ballimore said. “This is Princess Cimorene, the one who’s been with Kazul for the last y
ear or so and gave me that marvelous biscuit recipe you like so much. And her young man is the King of the Enchanted Forest, who she’s not running away with yet.”

  Mendanbar choked and shot an apprehensive look at Cimorene. She rolled her eyes and made a face at him but did not say anything, having apparently decided it was a waste of effort to correct the giantess.

  “Pleased to meet you, Princess,” Dobbilan said solemnly. “Nice to see you, King. What brings you to Flat Top Mountain?”

  “They say it’s business,” Ballimore said before either Cimorene or Mendanbar could answer.

  “Then it will have to wait until after dinner,” Dobbilan announced. “I never discuss business at dinner. Or with dinner, for that matter.” He winked at Cimorene. “Besides, I’m hungry.” He sneezed a third time. “Excuse me.”

  Ballimore began scolding again as Cimorene and Mendanbar nodded politely. Mendanbar was beginning to wonder how long they were going to have to stand next to the table, when Ballimore shooed her husband to a seat at one end and started for the other herself, saying over her shoulder, “Cimorene, dear, you and the King are on the right. Just walk around to the chair; it’s all set up.”

  With some misgiving, Mendanbar escorted Cim­orene past Dobbilan’s chair toward the seat Ballimore had indicated. As they approached, he saw that the giantess had not been exaggerating. A set of normal-sized wooden steps, equipped with wheels so as to be easily movable, stood next to the giant right-hand chair, and two ordinary chairs were perched side by side on the seat at the top. The combination was, Mendanbar discovered, exactly the right height to reach the table. Apparently, Ballimore was accustomed to having smaller people at dinner, for the plates and glasses were the usual size as well. As long as Mendanbar did not look down, it was easy to pretend he was sitting at an ordinary dinner table.

  The food was very good. They started with fresh greens and went on to roast pig with cranberries, mushrooms in wine, and some sort of lumpy vegetable in a thick brown sauce that disguised it completely and tasted marvelous. There was a great deal of everything. Mendanbar supposed this was only to be expected at a giant’s table, but Ballimore did not seem to realize that a person who was only a third her size would have a smaller appetite as well. She filled and refilled Mendanbar’s plate until he was ready to burst.