Talking To Dragons Page 16

  “Run!” I yelled. I started to follow my own advice and saw a large rock shifting in the wall of the tunnel just above Shiara’s head. I shouted again and swung the sword at it, hoping it would be deflected like the other rocks the quozzel had tried to drop on me.

  The flat of the sword hit the rock, and everything seemed to slow down suddenly. There was a lot of creaking, and the top of the tunnel started to sag, as if it were trying to fall in again but couldn’t quite manage it. The sword got very heavy for a minute or two, and then there was an angry-sounding rumble and the whole tunnel shook. The rock that had been heading for Shiara went bouncing off the opposite wall of the tunnel, and all the creaking and rumbling stopped very abruptly.

  I didn’t move for several seconds at least. I kept thinking that something else was going to happen; the quozzel wasn’t going to give up this easily. Then I saw a thin trickle of dark purple stuff dripping down the wall of the tunnel, where the quozzel had disappeared. I watched it for a minute or two and decided that we probably didn’t have to worry about the quozzel anymore. I looked at Shiara.

  “Are you all right?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” Shiara said. “My arm is broken!”

  “I mean, you didn’t get any more hurt than you were already, did you?”

  “No,” she said. She looked at me for a minute. “Thanks.”

  I was so surprised that I couldn’t think of anything to say for at least a minute. “Um, you’re welcome,” I said finally. I realized suddenly that my sword still had some wet purple stuff on it from hitting the quozzel, and I started digging in my pocket for my handkerchief so I could wipe off the sword.

  I couldn’t find it. I sighed; it had probably fallen out of my pocket somewhere on the trip through the caves. I didn’t really mind losing it, except that now I didn’t have anything to get the purple goo off my sword with. I turned to the dwarves. “Excuse me, but do any of you—”

  I stopped. The dwarves were standing in a tight group, and all of them were staring at the sword. “Now, why didn’t you think to mention you had that?” one of them said.

  17

  SHIARA AND I looked at the dwarves. “He’s been holding it since before you got here!” Shiara said finally. “Why should he have mentioned it?”

  “It would have saved a lot of bother,” one of the female dwarves said in an aggrieved tone.

  “Time, too,” said another.

  “Inconsiderate, I call it.”

  “Well, not inconsiderate, exactly. A little thoughtless, maybe.”

  “After all, we aren’t elves.”

  “Of course you’re not elves,” the dragon said. “Anyone can see that! What difference does it make?”

  “Elves can recognize that sword just by looking at it,” one of the dwarves said in a resentful tone.

  “So can some other people,” said another darkly. “But not dwarves.”

  “Unless we get a good look at it, of course. Which we couldn’t, because of the light, not to mention the fact that you were standing there talking and distracting our attention.”

  “Which is why you should have mentioned it,” a dwarf in the back finished triumphantly.

  “I didn’t mention it because there seem to be a lot of people who want it,” I said. “One of them is a wizard.”

  About six of the dwarves started talking so fast it was hard to tell whether they were all speaking at the same time or whether they went one after another.

  “Of course there are a lot of people who want it!”

  “Particularly wizards.”

  “It’s the King’s sword, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe it isn’t; he hasn’t said.”

  “It has to be the King’s sword, silly. There aren’t any other swords that the earth obeys.”

  “What about Delvan’s blade?”

  “That’s not a sword, it’s an ax.”

  “And the earth doesn’t obey it, it just shakes a lot.”

  “So this has to be the King’s sword.”

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “What do you know about my sword?”

  “It’s the King’s sword,” one of the dwarves said indignantly. Another dwarf shushed him, and a dwarf near the front of the crowd stepped forward and bowed.

  “We follow the sword,” she said, as if it explained everything.

  The other dwarves all smiled and nodded. I sighed and gave up. Either none of them really knew anything else, or they weren’t going to tell me, and I didn’t think it mattered much which it was. “If you aren’t going to tell me about my sword, could one of you do something about Shiara’s arm?” I said. “And after that, we’ll be going.”

  “Going where?” the dragon said. Some of the dwarves jumped; evidently they’d forgotten the dragon was behind them. I was surprised; if a dragon were standing behind me, I certainly wouldn’t forget it was there.

  “We have to find another way out of the Caves of Chance,” I told the dragon. “I don’t really think we can dig through this one.”

  “That will not be necessary,” said the dwarf closest to me. “Had we known you were the Bearer of the Sword, we would not have objected to your request.”

  “Not at all,” said the dwarf next to him. She turned and waved at the others. “Lord Daystar requires this tunnel cleared. Begin!”

  I stood and stared while the dwarves all grabbed their picks and shovels and things and started toward the rocks that were blocking the tunnel. In a few minutes they were all digging furiously except for one, who came over to Shiara and bowed. “I am Darlbrin,” he announced.

  “That’s nice,” Shiara said sarcastically. I sighed, but I didn’t say anything. You can’t really expect a fire-witch with a broken arm to be particularly polite.

  Darlbrin didn’t seem to notice. “I have some skill at mending things,” he said, and bowed again. “If you will permit it, I would like to look at your arm.” Darlbrin looked at Shiara a shade anxiously and added, “To see if I can mend it.”

  Shiara rolled her eyes, but she walked over to the edge of the tunnel and sat down so the dwarf could see better. Nightwitch followed, alternately purring reassuringly and meowing anxiously. I watched for a minute or two, then turned away. I couldn’t do anything to help, and I wanted to think.

  I didn’t get the chance. As soon as I turned, the dragon stuck its head over a couple of dwarves and said, “I didn’t know you were a lord. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’m not a lord!” I said. I think I sounded a little desperate; I know I felt desperate. I didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on, except that it had something to do with my sword. Everything seemed to have something to do with my sword; I was getting tired of it and more than a little worried.

  “Well, if you aren’t a lord, why did they call you one?”

  “Because he has the King’s sword,” said a dwarf, who was walking under the dragon’s chin with a boulder more than half as big as he was. The dragon pulled its head back far enough to eye the dwarf, who ignored it and kept walking.

  “Oh,” said the dragon at last. The dwarf continued to ignore it.

  “I really wish you’d explain a little more,” I said to the dwarf, and then I thought of something. “Why did you call me the Bearer of the Sword?”

  “I didn’t call you anything,” the dwarf said without stopping. “That was Cottlestone.” He set the boulder down and headed back toward the pile of rocks, which was beginning to look smaller already.

  “Excuse me,” I said loudly in the general direction of the crowd of dwarves, “but would one of you tell me which one of you is Cottlestone? I’d like to talk to him, please.”

  “Cottlestone!” shouted half a dozen voices. For a minute I thought the roof was going to cave in again, but all that actually happened was that one of the dwarves stepped out of the crowd and bowed to me. He looked as if he really meant it, not as if he were just being polite. “Don’t do that,” I said.

  “As you wish,�
� the dwarf said, bowing again. “What do you want to know from me?”

  “Why did you call me the Bearer of the Sword?”

  Cottlestone looked surprised. “It’s obvious. When the Bearer of the Sword holds the King’s sword, the earth obeys it. So when you held up the sword and the earth obeyed, we knew you were the Bearer of the Sword.”

  “Oh.” I thought for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the Holder of the Sword? Or the Wielder of the Sword?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “How do you get to be the Bearer of the Sword?”

  “No one knows,” Cottlestone said, looking at me curiously.

  “Oh,” I said again. I was trying to think of something else to ask, when there was a shout from the top of the caved-in section of the tunnel. Cottlestone bowed again. “If you will excuse me, I think they’ve gotten through to the other side. I ought to go help. It’s my job.”

  “All right,” I said uncomfortably. Cottlestone turned away, and I watched him melt into the crowd of dwarves. I wasn’t sure what I’d found out, except that I didn’t like people bowing to me. I found myself hoping that the rest of the dwarves wouldn’t imitate Cottlestone.

  “Did he say they’re almost finished?” said Shiara’s voice behind me. “Wonderful! I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  I turned. Shiara was standing, holding Nightwitch in the crook of her left arm. Her right arm was covered from her fingers almost to her shoulder in something smooth and grey and shiny. She looked a little white, but it might have been the torchlight. “Well, what are you staring at?” she demanded.

  “I wasn’t staring,” I said. “I was just checking to see if you were all right.”

  Darlbrin stepped up beside Shiara and bowed. “Not quite all right,” he said. “But not bad; not bad at all.”

  “I wouldn’t call a broken arm ‘not bad,’“ Shiara said sourly.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that!” Darlbrin said hastily. “I was referring to the mending.”

  “I’m sure you did a very good job,” I said. “And I really appreciate it.”

  “I suppose I do, too,” Shiara said. “Thanks.”

  “It isn’t really mending yet, you know,” Darlbrin said with a touch of anxiety. “People aren’t as easy to fix as ax handles. It’ll be a month or so before you can take the sheath off.”

  “Yes, I know,” Shiara said impatiently. “I’ve had a broken arm before.”

  “Then you’re very welcome!” the dwarf said, beaming. “Happy to be of service!”

  Shiara snorted, but quietly. Darlbrin didn’t notice; he bowed to each of us and went off to help the rest of the dwarves finish clearing the tunnel. I looked at Shiara. “I didn’t know you’d broken your arm before.”

  “That’s because I didn’t tell you about it,” Shiara said. She looked at me for a minute, then sighed. “I was stealing apples from the Prince’s gardens and fell out of the tree, all right?”

  “Oh. What Prince, and why were you taking his apples?”

  “The Prince of the Ruby Throne,” Shiara said after a minute. “He had a house and garden just outside town, and he never picked any of the apples. He just left them to rot. And I was hungry. So I sneaked over the wall and climbed the tree, but there was a big snake in it, with wings. So I fell out of the tree and broke my arm, and the snake went away.”

  “Shiara,” I said, and stopped. She obviously had no idea what she had almost done. I sighed and changed what I was going to say. “Shiara, the Prince of the Ruby Throne raises magic apples. All kinds of people have been trying to steal them for years and years, but he’s a very powerful magician, and there are hundreds of spells protecting his gardens.”

  “That must be why he was so upset,” Shiara said in a tone of sudden enlightenment. “I’m pretty sure he was the one who told the Society of Wizards about me. I thought it was a lot of fuss to make about a few apples, but now I understand.”

  I looked at her for a minute. “I don’t want to be nosy or anything, but, if you wouldn’t mind telling me, I’d really appreciate knowing if there’s anyone else who’s mad at you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Shiara said, frowning.

  “I’m glad,” I said. “I don’t think I want any more powerful magical people chasing us. It wouldn’t be so bad if you could use your fire-magic.”

  “She can!” said the dragon, and Shiara and I both jumped and turned around. “She burned the dragonsbane, and she can make her hair burn.”

  “When did you see Shiara’s hair burning?” I asked. The only time I’d ever seen Shiara’s hair on fire was when she’d gotten mad at me right after we’d met, and the dragon hadn’t been there then.

  “Just a few minutes ago,” the dragon said. “You were fighting that dessert thing, so you might not have noticed.”

  I looked at Shiara, and she blushed. “I was trying to do something to the quozzel,” she said. “I thought it would work, because it worked with the dragonsbane.”

  “It worked on the dragonsbane,” I repeated slowly. “And remember that first wizard, the one who made a water monster out of the stream? You did something to it while I was fighting it! That’s at least twice that you’ve made your firemagic do something you wanted it to. Can you think of any others? Maybe we can figure out how it works.”

  “She used it at that invisible castle,” the dragon offered. “The one where that other fire-witch lived.”

  “I did not!” Shiara said. “I didn’t have time. We ran into the castle, and she came out, and bang! I was a statue.”

  The dragon sat back, looking smug. “You said you wanted to know what the castle was, and then you did. That’s firemagic, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is,” Shiara said slowly.

  “Then that’s three,” I said. “Can you think of any more? Before you came to the Enchanted Forest, for instance?”

  Shiara frowned and was silent for a while. “No,” she said finally in a very positive tone. “Those are the only times I’ve ever gotten my magic to do what I wanted it to, ever.”

  “So it’s only been happening since you came to the Enchanted Forest,” I said.

  “And met you and got bitten by that stupid sword,” Shiara added, and stopped. We looked at each other for a minute.

  “Not again!” I said. I thought for a minute. “It can’t be the sword alone, or you would have been able to do something to the quozzel. There has to be something else, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Did you do anything differently when it worked?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then did you do anything differently right before it worked?” I said. “There has to be some—” I stopped, remembering. “Oh,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “I think I know what makes your magic work,” I said. I didn’t think Shiara was going to like it much, but I couldn’t just keep quiet about it, either. “I think you have to be polite to people.”

  “What? That’s stupid!”

  “It makes sense,” I said. “You apologized to me after we got out of the hedge, and then when the first wizard came along your magic worked against the snake thing. You were nice to the Princess because you felt sorry for her, and right after that you knew about the invisible castle. And you said thanks to Suz and apologized to Telemain, and then you made the dragonsbane burn.”

  “But that other fire-witch wasn’t polite!” Shiara objected.

  “I didn’t say all fire-witches have to be polite to people before their magic will work,” I said. “I only said your magic works that way. And I’m not positive. I mean, it could be something else.”

  “Well, I’m not going to go around being nice to people just so I can do magic!”

  “I don’t think it would work, anyway,” I said unhappily. “I mean, I don’t think you can just say things, I think you have to really mean them. You meant it when you apologized to me, and when you were nice to the Princess, and when you wer
e talking to Telemain.”

  “Oh, great,” Shiara said disgustedly. “I bet this is all that stupid sword’s fault. It sounds like something it’d do.” She glared at me for an instant, then turned her back. I sighed.

  “Excuse me. Lord Daystar,” said a voice by my elbow. I looked down; the dwarf bowed as soon as I turned.

  “Don’t do that,” I said.

  “Certainly, my lord,” she said, and started to bow again, then stopped and looked confused. “The tunnel is clear; you may continue your journey whenever you wish.”

  I looked around. She was right; the pile of rocks that had been blocking the tunnel was nearly gone. A few boulders were left along the sides, but there was plenty of room to walk through, even for the dragon. “Thank you very much,” I said. “But I really ought to tell you: I’m not a lord.”

  The dwarf smiled tolerantly. “Of course not, my lord. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  “I’d appreciate it if we could borrow one of your torches,” I said. “Our lamp got lost in the cave-in.”

  “We would be pleased to offer you a torch,” the dwarf said. “You can leave it by the exit, and someone will get it later. It isn’t far.”

  We gathered up what was left of our things, and the dwarves did some more bowing. One of them handed Shiara a torch. She grumbled a little because she had to put Nightwitch down in order to take it, but she was the only one of us who could carry it. I had the sword in one hand and the key in the other, and the dragon couldn’t hold a torch.

  Fortunately, Nightwitch didn’t seem to mind walking. We thanked the dwarves and said good-bye, and they all bowed again, and finally we started off.

  The tunnel started slanting upward almost as soon as we were past the cave-in, and shortly after that we stopped seeing side passages. Eventually we came to a flight of stairs that curled around and around until all of us were dizzy. Just when I didn’t think I could climb anymore, the stairs ended against a hard, rocky surface, like a trapdoor made of stone.