“How are you feeling?” Cimorene asked Telemain anxiously.
“Squashed,” said Telemain. “And may I point out that as yet no one has answered my first question. Where are we?”
“The Smoking Swamp,” Morwen told him. “And this is Brandel. We were fortunate enough to find his tower in time to spend the night, or you’d be sleeping in mud.”
“I appear to have done that already,” Telemain said, picking flakes of dried mud from the left shoulder of his vest. Suddenly, he looked up, frowning. “Spend the night?”
“You got an unusually heavy dose of backshock when you lost control of the transportation spell,” Morwen told him. “You’ve been unconscious all day.”
“Ridiculous,” said Telemain. “I did not lose control of the transportation spell, and I am not suffering from backshock.”
“Well, this certainly isn’t the edge of the Great Southern Desert,” Cimorene said. “And something knocked you out for most of the day.”
“I had to carry you,” Killer said, bobbing his head up and down for emphasis. “You’re heavy.”
Morwen’s eyes narrowed. “If it isn’t backshock, what is it?”
“The opposite of backshock,” Telemain said. “I don’t believe there is a word for it.”
“Explain.”
“Backshock occurs when the accumulated magical energy contained within an enchantment-in-process rebounds upon the magician casting the spell due to his inability to maintain control,” Telemain said.
“He’s feeling better, all right,” said Trouble, glancing up from the sardines.
“Mrrow vrow?” said Horatio.
“Yes,” said Scorn. “Sometimes he’s even worse.”
“In this instance, both the disruption of the transportation spell and the prolonged unconsciousness that followed resulted from an expropriation of magical energy as a result of the partial absorption of my enchantment-in-process by a similar but much more extensive enchantment.”
“What?” said Brandel.
“You’re sure?” Morwen said, frowning.
“Positive,” said Telemain. “The sensation was quite unmistakable. And I must also point out that the normal secondary consequences of backshock are not in evidence.”
“What does that mean?” Cimorene said.
“It means I’m starving,” Telemain said, climbing to his feet. “Can we finish this discussion over dinner?”
“Most of us have eaten,” Morwen said. “You can have dinner while the rest of us discuss. About this other spell—”
“What other spell?” Cimorene said. “Morwen, will one of you please explain what you’re talking about?”
“Sorry,” Morwen said. “Telemain said that he didn’t lose control of the transportation spell. Somebody else was transporting at the same time—”
“A very large somebody else,” Telemain said, piling a plate with slices of roast boar and heaps of vegetables. “Or possibly someone moving a moderately large house.”
“—and the second spell sucked up enough of Telemain’s magic to break his spell right in the middle of things.”
“Sucked up Telemain’s magic?” Cimorene scowled. “That sounds an awful lot like wizards.”
“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Brandel said. “I know wizards have a bad reputation, but they aren’t thieves.”
“They took Mendanbar’s sword.”
“And they’ve been stealing magic on a small scale for years,” Morwen said. “Just ask the dragons.”
“But if it was wizards, where were they going?” Cimorene tapped her fingers nervously against the arm of her chair. “And what were they planning to do when they got there? Oh, I wish I’d been able to reach Mendanbar.”
Telemain made a questioning noise, so Morwen explained about Brandel’s magic mirror. “I thought the spell might be incompatible with the one in the castle,” she finished. “Do you feel up to checking, once you’re done eating?”
“I can certainly try,” Telemain said. “If that’s the problem, though, I doubt that I’ll be able to do anything about it until tomorrow. It takes time to rebuild magical reserves.”
But when Telemain examined the mirror, he shook his head. “It’s an old universal-application single-unit enchantment. Quite an impressive antique, and I can see that it’s been well maintained. The connective interface is pretty basic, therefore—”
“Can you fix it to get through to Mendanbar or not?” Cimorene asked.
“I was getting to that.” Telemain looked at the expression on Cimorene’s face and sighed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t need adjusting,” he said with unusual gentleness. “There’s nothing wrong with the spell, and it shouldn’t be incompatible with the castle mirror. The problem is somewhere else.”
“I knew it,” Cimorene said. She rose and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “Something is wrong at home.”
16
In Which They Learn Something Worth Knowing
BOTH MORWEN AND TELEMAIN agreed with Cimorene, at least in part, but even if they had wanted to, they could not have done anything that night. Telemain was much too drained to cast another transportation spell, and they had no other way of getting back to the Enchanted Forest in a hurry. Furthermore, there was not much point in going back without the sword.
“Mendanbar has all the magic of the Enchanted Forest to use against the wizards,” Morwen said. “He doesn’t need more magicians. He needs his sword, so he can stop all of the wizards at once instead of attacking them one or two at a time.”
“Yes, but there are so many of them,” Cimorene said. “And there’s only one of him. And what if the sword has started draining magic out of the forest? The wizards will be getting more powerful and Mendanbar will be getting less.”
“If the sword has started leaking Enchanted Forest magic, the best thing we can do is to get it back to the forest quickly,” Morwen said.
“And anyway, there are only three of us,” Telemain pointed out. “That wouldn’t change the odds much.”
“There are six of us,” Trouble said indignantly. “What’s the matter, can’t he count?”
“I’ll admit that the rabbit isn’t good for much, even as a donkey,” Scorn said. “We, however, are another matter entirely.”
“Kazul will be far more help to Mendanbar than we would,” Morwen told Cimorene. “Our job is to get hold of that sword. And you are the only one who can do that.”
Cimorene sighed. “I know. I just wish I could be there with him.”
“Then we had better stop worrying about what Mendanbar is doing and start figuring out how to find his sword in the shortest possible time, so we get back as soon as we can,” Morwen said.
Everyone agreed that this was an excellent idea, but though they discussed the matter for another hour, no one had any suggestions. Finally, Morwen put an end to the discussion. “We are all getting too tired to think,” she said. “We will do much better in the morning.” Brandel supplied them each with a room and a warm bath—which the cats declined—and Morwen made certain that the others were settled in before she retired herself.
The following morning, Morwen rose early. Even so, Telemain was up before she was. She found him in the topmost room of the tower, sitting in front of the dead ashes of the fire and staring at Brandel’s magic mirror with an expression of concentration on his face. On the far side of the room, Killer slept with his head down and his oversized wings flopped awkwardly across his back.
“Good morning,” Morwen said as she climbed the last few stairs. “How are your magic levels?”
“Much better,” Telemain said absently. “Morwen, how much do you know about these old universal-application units?” He waved at the mirror.
“Using them or enchanting them?”
“Using them.”
“Quite a bit,” Morwen said. “Forty years ago they were standard equipment for witches, and learning to use them is still considered part of a witch’s basic education. Why?
”
“How universal is the universal application?” Telemain asked.
“It depends on the mirror. Can’t you figure it out from looking at the underlying enchantment?”
Telemain frowned. “Probably, but it’s not a good idea to take a working antique apart unless you absolutely have to. They’re old and fragile, and if I popped one of the main core links it could take days to repair.”
Morwen suppressed a sigh of irritation. There was no point in snapping at Telemain when he was in this mood. He wouldn’t notice. “It would help if you told me what you want to do with it.”
“I was considering the possibility of using the mirror as a locating device,” Telemain said. “If the universal-application portion of the enchantment is truly universal . . .”
“ . . . then we can use it to find Mendanbar’s sword,” Morwen said. “What an excellent suggestion. I should have thought of it myself. Back at the castle, perhaps, when it would have saved us some time.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good then.” Telemain bent over the mirror, oblivious to Morwen’s sarcasm. “The enchantment on the castle mirror is limited to animate, sentient beings, and while Mendanbar’s sword is occasionally temperamental, it is neither animate nor sentient. Now, if you’ll just show me where the external connectors are, I’ll hook this to a low-level identification spell and—”
“If all you want to do is find Mendanbar’s sword, you shouldn’t need an identification spell. The mirror is quite capable of handling the whole thing itself, if it’s approached correctly.”
“Who’s approaching what, and why do you have to be correct about it?” Cimorene asked, climbing the last few stairs into the room. Trouble, who seemed to have been escorting her, bounded over the last step and stopped dead in his tracks. Cimorene did not quite trip over him, but it was a near thing.
“Telemain wants to use Brandel’s mirror to find the sword,” Morwen said, giving Trouble a reproving look. Trouble looked away and wandered casually toward Killer, who raised his head and blinked sleepily at the cat.
Dubiously, Cimorene examined the mirror. “Can it do that?”
“I see no reason why not,” Morwen said. “You heard what it said last night about hunting for the fairest in the land. If it can do that, it ought to be able to look for a sword.”
“Good,” said Cimorene.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I would like to make a call.”
Nothing happened. “What’s the matter?” said Cimorene. “Is it broken?”
“Possibly,” Telemain said. “Antique spells are easily disrupted.”
“They’re also cranky,” said Morwen. Stepping forward, she tapped the mirror briskly on the left side.
Immediately, the mirror turned white, as if someone had thrown a large bucket of milk at the reverse side. “Now what?” it said, sounding extremely cross.
“I want to see where Mendanbar’s sword is,” Cimorene told it.
“Too bad,” said the mirror. “I told you yesterday, that has to be specified in the verse. Get it right, or don’t bother asking. I really can’t make any more exceptions.” Without waiting for an objection, the mirror turned its usual blotchy silver.
“Come back here!” said Cimorene, but the mirror remained obstinately silver.
“Hmph,” said Morwen. “I suppose I should have expected this. My first magic mirror used to be irritable in the mornings, too.”
“What can we do about it?” Cimorene asked.
“Give me a minute to think.”
“I could constrain a certain level of performance,” Telemain said, frowning. “However, the accuracy of the information obtained might leave something to be desired. On the other hand—”
“Better think fast,” Trouble said to Morwen.
Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. “You’re all up early,” said Brandel. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“I’d like your blasted mirror to cooperate,” Cimorene muttered under her breath.
“Got it,” Morwen said. “Move over, Cimorene.
“Mirror, mirror, on a hook,
Where’s the sword the wizards took?”
As the mirror’s surface reluctantly faded to white, Telemain stared at Morwen in disbelief. “You call that a spell?”
“It rhymes and it scans,” Morwen said. “What more do you want at this hour of the morning? And on the spur of the moment, too.”
“I agree with him,” the mirror said. “That was a lousy couplet.”
“If you’d found us the sword to begin with, you wouldn’t have had to listen to it,” Morwen said, unperturbed. “Do your job.”
Cimorene leaned forward. “And this time, please don’t—”
Whirling colors filled the mirror, and a soft but penetrating off-key hum echoed through the room.
“—hum,” Cimorene finished, half a second too late. “Bother!”
“As long as it finds the sword for us, I don’t care if it sings an aria backward,” Morwen said. “If it annoys you that much, put your fingers in your ears.”
Trouble jumped onto the window ledge and curled his tail around his feet. Two seconds later, Scorn and Horatio tore out of the stairwell and raced around the room, startling Killer into wakefulness. A loud bray drowned out the mirror’s humming, and Brandel winced. As the cats settled onto various pieces of furniture for their morning wash, Cimorene nudged Morwen’s side. “Look! It’s working.”
Morwen turned back to the mirror and smiled in satisfaction. The glass had cleared to show a large, ramshackle house with two chimneys and a steeply pointed roof. The windows were made up of small glass rectangles, and ivy covered most of them so thickly that it seemed unlikely that anyone could see out.
“That’s the central office of the Society of Wizards?” Cimorene said.
“No,” Telemain replied. “Apparently I was wrong, and they aren’t keeping the sword at the central office. It’s a good thing I thought to check.” He sounded extremely smug. “Now all we have to do is find out where that house is.”
“It’s about five miles past the edge of the swamp,” Brandel said. “Right outside the town where I grew up. But I don’t think knowing that does you much good.”
“Why do you say that?” Morwen asked.
“Because you said the Society of Wizards stole this sword you’re after. That house belongs to Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist.”
“What?”
“You mean it’s the wrong place?” Cimorene said. “After all that?”
“It is not the wrong place!” the mirror said indignantly. “I’ve been a magic mirror for one hundred and forty-seven years, and I haven’t made a mistake yet. Look here!”
The scene in the glass swooped and whirled dizzyingly, and then the view plunged through one of the ivy-covered windows into a dimly lit room. Inside, two men sat at a dusty table, drinking black coffee and contemplating a shiny sword lying on the table between them. One of them was bald and sharp faced, while the other—
“That’s Antorell!” Cimorene said. “He’s gotten himself back together awfully fast this time. It must be all the practice he’s had.”
“That’s Arona!” Brandel said at the same instant, staring at the bald man. “Is that the sword you’re looking for?”
“It appears to be,” said Telemain.
Cimorene nodded. “That’s Mendanbar’s sword, all right. See how it looks twice as bright as anything else? I bet it’s leaking magic all over.”
“Leaking magic?” said Killer, poking his long nose over Morwen’s shoulder to peer at the mirror. “You never said anything about that sword leaking magic. It doesn’t sound very safe.”
“It isn’t,” Cimorene told him. “Which is another reason why we have to get it back to the Enchanted Forest quickly. The longer it’s outside the forest, the worse it gets. That sword belongs in the Enchanted Forest.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Morwen said to Killer. “It won’t hurt you
unless you try to eat it.”
“That would be fun to watch,” said Trouble, cocking his head to one side.
“Mrow?” said Horatio.
“Probably not,” Scorn said with some regret. “Even Killer isn’t that stupid.”
Brandel was still staring at the mirror with a grim expression. “So that’s it. That no-good, interfering, lousy little troublemaking weasel has gotten the Society of Wizards to help him!” His voice rose steadily until he was shouting, and on “troublemaking” his hair burst into flames.
“Yow!” said Killer, jumping backwards. “Ouch! That was my ear. Whoops!” As he recoiled from Brandel’s blazing head, his wings flopped open, catching air and throwing him off balance. Twisting frantically to keep his left wing tip away from the fire, Killer flapped twice and fell over in a tangle of legs and ears and feathers. The cats bounced away from him, startled and bristling.
“Hey, watch what you’re doing,” said Scorn. “You could hurt someone.” Horatio gave her neck a reassuring lick.
Slowly, Killer settled his wings into place and climbed back to his feet. “I think I sprained something,” he said mournfully. “And my ear is singed.” He gave Brandel a reproachful look.
Brandel didn’t notice. Hair still burning merrily, he turned to Cimorene. “If you want some help getting that sword back, just ask. That sneaking, repulsive little—”
“Are you done?” asked the mirror. “Or do you actually want to watch these two have breakfast?”
“Possibly,” said Morwen. “Telemain, is there any way we can hear what they’re saying?”
“I doubt it,” Telemain said. “In any event, it would require considerable time to determine the precise adjustments appropriate to the subcategory. Antiques are not my area of specialization.”
“Watch who you’re calling antique, buster,” the mirror said. “I’ll have you know that I found that sword in less than half the time it’d take some of your newfangled hotshot mirrors.”
“And a good job you did of it,” Morwen said. “We’re finished. Go to sleep.”
“‘Antique,’” muttered the mirror as the reflection faded into white and then cleared to show the tower room once more. “Bah phooey to ‘antique.’ I’m just as good as I was a hundred years ago. Better! I’ve got more experience. And I give personal service. ‘Antique!’ Some people . . .”