Calling on Dragons Read online

  “He’s the one,” Morwen said to Telemain. “Very good, Fiddle. You may back up now. I don’t think he’ll do that again.”

  “Fascinating,” Telemain murmured, his eyes fixed on the cat. “Did you see the sparks, Morwen? He cast a basic warding-off spell, but it didn’t affect the cat at all!”

  Morwen frowned in concern. “Fiddlesticks?”

  “Well, of course it didn’t do anything to me.” Fiddlesticks eased slowly off Antorell’s chest and sat down very close beside him. “Wizards don’t know how to handle cats. I don’t think they’re very smart.”

  “Get that beast away from me!” Antorell cried as Fiddlesticks raised a paw and flexed his claws.

  “See?” said Fiddlesticks, and began washing wizard germs out from between his toes.

  “Calm down,” Morwen told Antorell. “Fiddlesticks won’t hurt you. Unless I tell him to, of course. What are you doing in the Enchanted Forest?”

  “I won’t tell you.” Antorell was plainly trying to sound defiant, but all he managed was sulky.

  “Morwen?” Scorn wound her way around the far edge of the bush. “How long are we going to have to watch this staff? It’s not doing anything, and Jasper wants to take a nap.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as we finish with Antorell,” Morwen said.

  “What is it?” Telemain asked.

  “Scorn wants the staff taken care of,” Morwen told him. “Antorell—”

  “That presents no difficulty,” Telemain said. “If you’ll just fetch it here, Scorn, I’ll do it for you.”

  Scorn gave him a long look. “Dogs fetch.” She turned her back and lay down, her tail thrashing indignantly.

  “That means ‘no,’ I take it,” Telemain said with a sigh.

  “It does. And I told you I didn’t want the staff anywhere near the wizard,” Morwen said.

  “A proper spirit of scientific investigation—”

  “I’m more interested in self-preservation. Study the staff later. Antorell—”

  “Ha!” said Antorell. “You are too late! Behold!”

  With a flourish, he raised his right arm. As he did, he began to glow. Fiddlesticks pulled his head back in surprise, and the glow began pulsing, first bright, then dim. After three pulses, Antorell started growing. He gained an inch on the next pulse, two on the one after that, and then he had grown to a foot in height.

  “Bother,” said Morwen, and grabbed for the bucket.

  “Argelfraster,” said Telemain, and pointed at Antorell.

  “Eeeaugh!” said Antorell, his expression changing from sinister to shocked. He continued to glow and pulse, but he was no longer getting taller. A puddle of brown goo began to spread out from under his robe where his feet should have been. “No! Help! You can’t do this to me!”

  “Wow!” said Fiddlesticks. “Look at him go!”

  Morwen nodded, but she kept the bucket of soapy water ready to throw, just in case. Antorell was now melting faster than he was growing. In another minute, all that was left were his robes and the puddle of goo sinking slowly into the moss. Fiddlesticks edged up to it and sniffed, then backed away rapidly.

  “What was all that noise?” Killer said from behind Telemain. “Part of it sounded like another donkey.”

  “No, it was a wizard, though in this case it’s much the same thing,” Morwen said. “You needn’t worry. He’s gone now.” She set her bucket down once more and gave Telemain a nod of approval. “Congratulations. It works.”

  “Yes, and did you notice the echo effect on the size-amplification spell?” Telemain shook his head. “Remarkable. The theoretical ramifications—”

  “Are very interesting, I’m sure,” Morwen said. “How permanent is this?” She waved at the gooey robes.

  “Not very, I’m afraid,” Telemain said. “He’ll be back in a day or two.”

  Killer ambled over to the puddle. “Is this edible?” he asked in a doubtful tone.

  “No!” said Morwen and Telemain together.

  “What an awful idea,” said Fiddlesticks, wrinkling his nose.

  “What a mess,” said Scorn.

  “Don’t touch it,” Morwen said to Killer. “With two spells on you already, you shouldn’t take any chances with wizard residuum.”

  “Oh,” said Killer. He looked at the puddle again and sighed. “But I’m hungry. And thirsty. What do donkeys eat?”

  “We’ll take care of you in a minute or two,” Morwen promised. “Finish up quickly, Telemain. We’re leaving.” Beach or no beach, King Mendanbar and Queen Cimorene had to be found and informed as soon as possible. Morwen started back toward the clover patch to collect her broomstick.

  “Don’t forget about that staff!” Scorn called after her.

  Getting ready to leave didn’t take long. Morwen picked up the staff—and Jasper, who was still guarding it—on her way back to Telemain. She noticed with interest that the staff was over three feet long and expanding slowly. Apparently the shrinking spell was wearing off it even without Antorell’s help.

  When she reached him, Telemain was just stowing the last of his shiny instruments back in one of his pockets. “Have we got everyone?” the magician asked.

  “Everyone but the wizard,” Scorn said. “And good riddance to him, I say.”

  “Yes,” Morwen replied to both Telemain and Scorn. “If you’ll take the staff, Telemain—”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Jasper said, jumping down from Morwen’s shoulder.

  Morwen paused, frowning, then saw Killer standing by the bucket of soapy water. He lowered his head and sniffed experimentally. “Why not? It smells nice.”

  “That’s the lemon juice,” Morwen said.

  “It’s got soap in it,” Fiddlesticks said, lashing his tail. “It’s for melting wizards.”

  “There aren’t any wizards around, and I’m thirsty.” Before anyone could stop him, Killer took a large slurp. His ears stood straight up and he reared back, shaking his head. “Blea-eea-eaugh! That tastes terrible.”

  “Fiddle warned you,” said Scorn, with a visible lack of sympathy. “So did Jasper. Serves you right for not listening.”

  “What’s it doing to his nose?” Fiddlesticks said, poking his own nose forward until he had to stand up and follow it. “Look at his nose, Morwen. It’s turning blue.”

  “Not just the nose.” Jasper stared in fascination. “His whole face is changing color.”

  Killer gave a frightened snort and shook his head, sneezing soap bubbles in all directions. The color went on spreading. Soon his head and neck were a bright, clear sky blue that continued to inch up his ears, down his forelegs, and across his back.

  “Help!” Killer cried. “Morwen, you’re a witch. Make it stop!”

  “That would be inadvisable,” Telemain said. He, too, was watching Killer’s changing color with great interest. “The synergistic action of the original wizardly enchantment, which was itself an unstructured mechanical surplus and therefore liable to produce unpredictable side effects, and the secondary vegetation-based enchantment has rendered you vulnerable to the wizard liquefication fluid while also, fortunately, mitigating its effects.”

  “What?” said Killer.

  “You’ve got a leftover bit of a wizard’s spell on you and you don’t know what all it may do. You’re lucky you aren’t melting, the way the wizard did,” Scorn summarized.

  “But just look at me!”

  “I think it’s an improvement,” Morwen said. “Much better than being blotchy.”

  “Blue? Blue is better than blotchy?” The color had spread to Killer’s hindquarters. Only his tail and his back legs were still a patchy white-and-brown.

  “Not much,” said Scorn.

  “Settle it later,” Morwen said. “We have to go. Telemain—”

  “Everyone still here? Good.” Telemain raised a hand and made a circle in the air with his left forefinger. The wide silver band on his finger sparkled as he said in a low voice,

  “Convey this crowdr />
  On wind and cloud

  To the castle of the King

  By the power of this ring.”

  On the last word, Telemain clapped his hands together loudly. The trees melted and ran like soft wax on a hot stove. To her surprise, Morwen felt no sensation of movement. It was more as if she were standing still while everything around her shifted. As she nodded in approval, the blur flowed into a new shape and solidified.

  They now stood on the paving stones of the castle courtyard, in the relatively narrow strip between the moat and the main door. A large dragon lay along the left side of the castle, basking in the sun. Her head, with the three stubby horns that proclaimed her a female, rested at the edge of the moat; most of her body was hidden by a tower with two staircases running around its outside. Her wings were partway open to catch the sun, and her green scales glittered, even where they were beginning to turn gray at the edges.

  “Eee-augh!” Killer brayed in terror. “A dragon!”

  “Oh, good,” Morwen said at the same moment. “That will save some time.”

  “Good?” Killer seemed to be trying to hide behind Telemain and to watch the dragon at the same time. “A dragon is good?”

  “Not a dragon, you idiot,” said Scorn. “That’s Kazul, the King of the Dragons.”

  Killer edged away. “Does he eat rabbits? Or donkeys?”

  “She prefers cherries jubilee,” Jasper said.

  “She?” Killer looked thoroughly confused, as well as alarmed. “But—the ‘King of the Dragons’?”

  “‘King of the Dragons’ is the name of a job,” Jasper said. “It has nothing to do with gender.”

  “Dragons are very sensible about things like that,” Fiddlesticks put in, nodding. “Almost as sensible as me. But they don’t like fish.”

  “I’d be happier if they didn’t like donkeys.”

  “Don’t worry about King Kazul,” Morwen said to Killer. “She doesn’t eat friends of friends.”

  “Not even if she’s hungry?” Killer’s ears pricked forward nervously. “She looks hungry to me.”

  Before Morwen could respond, the castle door creaked open. From the dark hallway inside, a voice called, “Madame Morwen! Magician Telemain! Welcome to the castle.”

  6

  In Which the Plot Positively Curdles, and the King of the Dragons Loses Her Temper

  AS EVERYONE TURNED TO LOOK, a three-foot elf wearing a gold lace collar and a crisp white shirt under a green velvet coat with gold buttons, white silk hose, and green shoes with chunky gold heels stepped into view in the doorway of the castle. “Welcome, all of you,” he added, bowing low.

  “Hello, Willin,” Morwen said. “We need to see King Mendanbar and Queen Cimorene right away.”

  “In regard to what?” the elf asked.

  “Technical difficulties,” Telemain said. “We have discovered a possible disruption in the obstructive enchantment fabricated by King Mendanbar and myself, and—”

  “Er, yes, of course,” said Willin. “I’ll tell the King immediately. You needn’t give me the details.”

  Telemain caught Morwen’s eye and winked. Morwen suppressed a smile and said, “And while we’re waiting, Killer’s hungry.” She nodded at the donkey. “If your kitchen could put something together that would suit him . . .”

  “Certainly,” Willin said. “Just trot around back, er, Killer, and the cook will take care of you.” He waved toward the left, where Kazul was sleeping.

  “I’m not that hungry!” Killer said.

  “Go around the other way, then,” Morwen told him. “It doesn’t really matter. Just go.”

  “I’ll show him!” Fiddlesticks bounded across to Killer. “The kitchen is this way. They have cream, and butter, and fish, and . . .” His voice faded as they rounded the crooked tower by the stone bridge.

  Scorn stood up and stretched. “What a pair of idiots.” She looked at Jasper. “Maybe we should go after them and make sure they don’t get into trouble.”

  “An excellent idea,” Jasper agreed. With an air of determined casualness, the two cats strolled off, following the donkey.

  Willin looked after them with a worried frown. “Did I offend them?”

  “Not at all,” Morwen assured him. When his expression did not clear, she added, “They’re hoping the cook will give them some cream. Now, we’ll just go have a word with Kazul while you let Cimorene know we’re here. Oh, and would you put this bucket somewhere? I’ve enough to carry without it.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” Willin said stiffly. He accepted the bucket and vanished into the castle, closing the door carefully behind him.

  “Morwen, Mendanbar’s the one we really need to see,” Telemain said softly. “King Kazul—”

  “Has good reason to be just as interested in the doings of wizards as the rest of us,” Morwen said. “Besides, it wouldn’t be polite to go in without at least saying hello.”

  “I suppose not,” Telemain said, and the two walked across the courtyard to talk to the dragon. Up close, Kazul was an even more impressive dragon than she looked from a distance. Standing, she was at least six times Morwen’s height, even without her wings, and every inch was muscle and armor scales. The sleepy, contented expression on her face vanished as Morwen and Telemain drew nearer, and by the time they were close enough to talk, the dragon was wide awake and ready for them.

  “Hello, Morwen, Telemain,” Kazul said. “Wizards again?” She flicked a claw in the direction of the staff Morwen held.

  “Hello, Kazul,” Morwen said. “It’s a wizard, at least.”

  “I thought you’d shut them out of the forest,” Kazul said to Telemain.

  “What one magician can do, another can find a way around,” Telemain said with a shrug. “Unless the quantity of energy involved reaches a magnitude that renders—”

  Kazul cleared her throat pointedly. Telemain stopped. “Unless what?” asked the dragon.

  “Um. Unless you . . . put so much power into a spell that nobody can, er, examine it closely enough to, um, figure out how to break it without getting fried by the backlash,” Telemain said carefully.

  “Ah. Well, I suppose nothing’s perfect.”

  A bell chimed, and all three turned to look at the castle. The door swung open, and Willin marched out. “Their Majesties King Mendanbar and Queen Cimorene of the Enchanted Forest,” he announced, and bowed low.

  “Hello, Morwen, Telemain. We were just trying to get you on the magic mirror.” The speaker was a tall young woman in a loose cream-colored shirt and a pair of baggy gray pants tucked into short leather boots. Her black braids were wound around and around her head like a crown, and her face was both lovely and intelligent.

  As she came down the steps and into the courtyard, a man emerged from the door behind her. He was equally tall and dark-haired, and he wore a plain gold circlet that he had pushed back off his forehead. It gave him a rakish look.

  “Yes, the gargoyle said something about wizards,” the man said, coming forward. “Is it urgent?”

  “Important, certainly,” Morwen said. “Urgent, possibly. I don’t think it’s an emergency. Not yet. Hello, Cim­orene, Mendanbar.”

  There was a brief round of greeting, and then Mendanbar said, “I thought something was wrong in the forest. It’s been niggling at me ever since we got home.”

  Cimorene frowned. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Cimorene rolled her eyes. “Mendanbar, I haven’t suddenly turned to glass just because I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Well, but—”

  “I believe that can wait,” Morwen interrupted tactfully. “The wizards shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, now that we’re all here, tell us where you came across that.” Kazul waved at the wizard’s staff in Morwen’s right hand.

  Morwen nodded and launched into a summary of the events following Killer’s appearance in her back garden. Cimorene, Mendanbar, and Kazul listened without inter
rupting, though their expressions grew more and more serious. When she finished, Mendanbar turned to Telemain.

  “These dead spots. I thought the spell we worked out prevented them.”

  “It should have,” Telemain said, nodding. “And since the spell has worked perfectly well for over a year, it seems unlikely that the breakdown is due to an inherent flaw; nonetheless, I think the initial phase of our investigation should involve an examination and analysis of the primary linkages.”

  Cimorene blinked and looked at Mendanbar.

  “He doesn’t think there should be anything wrong with the spell, but he wants to check and make sure,” Mendanbar translated. “In that case, we’ll need the sword, won’t we? I’ll go get it.” He snapped his fingers, and a small gold key materialized out of the air in front of him and dropped into his hand. An instant later, Mendanbar and the key vanished. A quiet huff of air rushed in to fill the space he had vacated.

  “Now that is a transportation spell that has everything,” Telemain said with a touch of envy. “Power, elegance, and economy of style. I wish I could determine exactly how he does it.”

  “I wish he could get it to work properly outside the Enchanted Forest,” said Cimorene. “It would make visiting Kazul much easier.”

  “A little walking in the mountains is good for you,” Kazul said.

  Cimorene looked at the dragon with fond exasperation. “It may be a little walk to you, but it takes a good deal longer for us. And as I recall, you usually fly most of the way. You shouldn’t give advice you don’t follow.”

  “When I was your age, I did follow it.”

  “When you were Cimorene’s age, you were a rambunctious dragonet barely out of the egg,” Morwen said. “None of which has anything to do with our present problems.”

  Air puffed outward as Mendanbar reappeared. His face was set in grim lines and his hands were empty. “It’s gone,” he said. “The lock on the chest has been melted to a puddle, the lid is up, and the sword is gone. And there are tangles of wizard magic all over the armory. It’ll take me a week to straighten them out.”