Alianora curtsied, murmuring something polite and inaudible. Antorell, who had stiffened in surprise when he realized that Cimorene was not alone, relaxed visibly. “Woraug’s princess? That’s all right, then. Though he really shouldn’t have sent you.”
“But Woraug didn’t—ow!” said Alianora. The “ow” was because Cimorene had hastily kicked her ankle to keep her from telling Antorell too much.
“Didn’t what?” Antorell asked, frowning suspiciously.
“Didn’t know you were going to be here,” Cimorene said.
“Well, of course he didn’t know!” Antorell said, looking annoyed. “That’s the whole point, after all.”
Cimorene would have very much liked to ask him what the point was, but she was afraid it would make him suspicious again. “I don’t understand,” she said instead, batting her eyes at him.
“Of course not,” Antorell replied in a condescending tone that made Cimorene’s teeth hurt. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not annoyed with you.”
“I’m so glad,” Cimorene murmured.
Antorell gave her an oily smile. “In fact, there’s no need for you to tell Woraug that you met me here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cimorene said with perfect truth.
“Excellent,” Antorell said. “Then may I escort the two of you back to the path?”
Alianora looked hopefully in Cimorene’s direction.
“But we can’t leave yet,” Cimorene said, opening her eyes very wide. “We haven’t picked any cornflowers or daisies.” Behind her, she heard Alianora making a smothered, choking noise, as if she were trying very hard not to laugh.
“Daisies,” Antorell said in a flat, incredulous tone. “You want to stay and pick daisies?”
Cimorene nodded vigorously. “And cornflowers, and flax, and all sorts of things,” she said, waving her hand at the flowers blooming all around. “They’ll look so pretty in a bowl of water in the kitchen.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Antorell said. He looked as if he would have liked to object, but couldn’t think of anything to object to. “Perhaps I could help you?” he said reluctantly.
“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of keeping you,” Cimorene said.
Antorell was clearly reluctant to leave the two girls in the valley, but Cimorene did not give him much choice. After another minute or so of conversation, the wizard was forced to go. He did not use a vanishing spell but trudged away on foot. Cimorene watched him until he was out of sight among the bushes, wondering whether he had some special reason not to use spells in the valley or whether he simply didn’t know the right spells to make himself vanish.
“That’s a relief!” Alianora said. “Why did you insist on staying when it was so obvious that he wanted us to leave? I was afraid he was going to turn us into toads or something.”
“I wanted to see what he was up to,” Cimorene said. “And I don’t think Antorell is a very good wizard. He probably couldn’t manage anything worse than a squirrel.”
Alianora did not appear to find this very reassuring. Cimorene checked to make sure Antorell was out of sight, then went over to the place where he had been standing when she peered around the bush. At first she did not notice anything unusual. Then she saw a purplish plant oozing sap from the places where several of its spiky, saw-toothed leaves had been broken off.
“Look at this.”
“What is it?” Alianora asked.
“I don’t know,” Cimorene said absently. “I saw a couple of other plants like this while we were picking feverfew, but I thought they were just weeds.”
“Maybe it is a weed.”
“A wizard wouldn’t sneak into the dragons’ section of the Mountains of Morning just to pick weeds. They don’t even use herbs to cast spells, so what does Antorell want with this prickly looking thing?”
Alianora shrugged. “Maybe he needs it for something he can’t do with magic.”
“I wonder what that would be?” Cimorene reached out and carefully broke off a spray of leaves. She wrapped them in her handkerchief and put the packet in her pocket. “Let’s see if we can find out whether he picked anything else.”
Antorell had left a dark trail of bent and broken plants to mark the way he had come, so his path was easy to follow. Cimorene and Alianora searched carefully along it for some way, looking for signs that the wizard had picked other herbs, but neither of them saw any.
“I don’t think there’s anything to find,” Alianora said, pushing her apricot-colored hair out of her face. “And it’s getting awfully warm.”
“Have you noticed that there aren’t any of those purple plants along here?” Cimorene said. “I’ll bet that was all he wanted.”
“Then let’s leave before that wizard thinks to circle around to check on what we’re doing,” Alianora urged.
Cimorene doubted that Antorell would think of doing such a thing, but she nodded agreement, and the two girls left the valley. Alianora was quiet and thoughtful for most of the walk back to Kazul’s cave. Cimorene was grateful for her silence. She had a lot to think about herself. From what Antorell had said, it seemed likely that Woraug was helping the wizards somehow, or at least that he had known what Antorell was looking for in the little valley. Cimorene found it difficult to imagine a dragon helping a wizard, but she couldn’t say with certainty that it was impossible. And if Woraug was involved with Antorell and Zemenar, it might explain why he had been so touchy lately.
When they arrived back at the cave, Cimorene shook herself free of her preoccupation. She and Alianora unloaded their baskets and tied the herbs in bunches to hang in a dark corner of the kitchen to dry.
“How long will it be before I can use the feverfew?” Alianora asked worriedly.
“I’m not sure,” Cimorene said in a considering tone. “It will take at least a week to dry thoroughly, but you might be able to use it in the spell before then. The directions don’t say how dry the feverfew has to be. We could try it every day with a pinch of leaves from one of these bunches if you like.”
Alianora nodded. “I really do need it.”
“I wonder if it would work without being dried?” Cimorene said. She pulled a leaf from one of the hanging plants and shredded it carefully between her fingers, then tossed it up in the air and recited the rhyme. “There! Now, light a candle or another lamp or something.”
Alianora had already lit a candle and set it on the table. Cimorene moved over and stuck her finger in the flame.
“I think it’s working,” she said, and moved the rest of her hand closer.
The sleeve of her dress caught fire. Cimorene hastily pulled her hand away from the candle and slapped at the flames, while Alianora snatched up a bucket of water from beside the sink and poured it over Cimorene’s arm. The fire went out and so did the candle, and both Cimorene and Alianora got thoroughly soaked.
“Oh, dear!” Alianora said, ignoring her soggy skirts. “Cimorene, did you burn yourself?”
“No,” Cimorene said, looking at her arm with a puzzled expression. “I didn’t feel a thing. I thought the spell worked, but nothing caught fire when we tested it before.”
“It must be because the feverfew is fresh instead of dried. And I had hoped that I’d be able to use it right away!”
“If you’re that low on dried feverfew, take some of mine,” Cimorene offered. “Kazul’s not particularly irritable. I only need to keep a pinch or two in case of emergencies.”
“Thank you!” Alianora said fervently, and Cimorene turned her soggy cuffs back and went to get the bottled spices.
11
In Which Kazul Is Unwell, and Cimorene Makes a New Acquaintance
ALIANORA DECIDED TO RETURN HOME by way of the path outside instead of through the tunnels because it was such a nice day and she hoped the sun would dry her skirt. Cimorene watched her go, swinging her basket happily and humming a little, her confidence and good humor completely restored by the possession of the fat little packet of dried feverfew i
n her pocket.
“I wish I had as little to worry about,” Cimorene muttered, thinking of Woraug and the wizards. She held the burned patch at the end of her sleeve up to get a better look at it in the sunlight and shook her head. Even the magic wardrobe would have a hard time fixing that. A puff of wind made her shiver in her wet clothes, and she turned to go back into the cave to change.
A dark shadow fell over Cimorene, and she stopped and looked up. “Kazul!” she said as the dragon landed on the open path beside her. “Am I glad to see you. Wait until you hear what’s been happening!”
“You do appear to have had a rather strenuous day,” Kazul said, eyeing Cimorene’s wet, stained skirt and the blackened end of her right sleeve. “Nothing serious, I trust?”
“I’m not sure,” Cimorene said. “Alianora and I went out to pick some feverfew, and we ran into that wizard Antorell.”
“Where was this?”
Cimorene pointed. “Up that way. There’s a little round valley off to one side that looks as if dragons never go there, and—”
“You found a wizard there?” Kazul sounded deeply disturbed. “How did he get in? How did you get in?”
“We climbed through a crack in a boulder,” Cimorene said. “I don’t know how Antorell did it. When he left, he was heading for the far side of the valley.”
“This is serious,” Kazul said, getting to her feet. “I’d better warn the King. He’ll have to use the crystal now.”
“You’d better hear the rest of it first,” Cimorene said. “Antorell wasn’t too happy to see us, but when he found out that Alianora was Woraug’s princess, he relaxed. He seemed to think that Woraug had sent us.”
“What?”
Cimorene involuntarily stepped back a pace at the anger in Kazul’s voice. “He thought Woraug had sent us,” she repeated, and gave a quick summary of her conversation with Antorell.
“Woraug!” Kazul’s tail lashed, sweeping a small boulder from one side of the path to the other. “But Woraug’s not a fool, and only a fool would let a wizard into that valley. Unless he was sure that they didn’t know . . . What was Antorell doing?”
“Cutting plants,” Cimorene said. “Or rather, cutting a plant. It didn’t look as if he took more than one.”
“He wouldn’t need more than one, if it was the right one,” Kazul said tensely. “What did he pick?”
“It was a prickly looking purple thing, with sawedged leaves,” Cimorene said, reaching into her pocket. “I didn’t recognize it, but I thought you might, so I brought a piece back for you to look—”
“What?” Kazul roared.
Flame spurted from the dragon’s mouth, enveloping Cimorene. Steam hissed from her wet skirt, and the thinner material of her sleeves vanished in a crackle of sparks. The handkerchief-wrapped spray of purple leaves, which she had just taken out of her pocket to show Kazul, disintegrated into a dark, greasy-looking cloud of smoke.
Cimorene stared at the ashes in her palm, feeling very, very glad that she had decided to test the way fresh feverfew would work in the fireproofing spell. She felt a little warm, and her clothes had been reduced to a few charred rags, but that was nothing compared to what might have happened.
“Now I understand why Alianora ran out of feverfew,” she muttered.
A puff of wind brushed Cimorene’s arms, and she heard a choking sound from Kazul. She looked up, expecting to find the dragon laughing at her remark, and her eyes widened. Kazul’s head was thrown back, and her mouth was wide open, giving Cimorene an excellent view of the dragon’s sharp silver teeth and long red tongue. Cimorene skipped backward out of reach; then she realized that the dragon was gasping for air.
“Kazul! What’s the matter?”
“The smoke!” Kazul coughed. Her voice was so hoarse that it was hard for Cimorene to understand what she was saying.
“What can I do?” Cimorene said, trying not to feel frightened.
“Green jar—shelf in last treasure room,” Kazul managed between coughs. “Hurry.”
Cimorene was already running through the mouth of the cave as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not even pause as she snatched up her lamp from the floor just inside the door. It seemed to take forever to get through the twisty passages and the first two caves full of treasure. She skidded to a halt in the doorway of the third room and stood panting, scanning the walls for the shelf and the right jar. She found it quickly and ran back at once, the jar clutched tightly in her right hand.
The sound of Kazul’s coughing grew louder as Cimorene sped back the way she had come. At the mouth of the cave, Cimorene paused and set down the lamp, then unscrewed the top of the green jar. Inside was a thick, emerald-colored liquid about the consistency of honey. She looked out at Kazul. The dragon’s head jerked with each cough, and the scales on her neck were beginning to turn pink around the edges. For a long, careful moment Cimorene studied Kazul’s movements. Then she leaned back and threw the emerald liquid, jar and all, into the dragon’s open mouth just as Kazul took another gasping breath.
The jar landed on Kazul’s tongue. The dragon’s mouth closed, and she swallowed convulsively. Sudden silence descended.
“Are you all right now?” Cimorene asked after Kazul had taken several deep breaths without a renewed bout of coughing.
“I will be,” Kazul said. She sounded exhausted, and her movements as she slid into the cave were slow and uncertain.
“What happened?” Cimorene said, backing out of the way so that Kazul would not have to exert herself to go around.
“I got a breath of the smoke when the plant in your hand burned,” Kazul said as she settled to the floor just inside the entrance. “Lucky it was only a breath. I’ll need a few days of rest, but that’s better than being dead.”
Cimorene stared at her, appalled. “What was that plant?”
“Dragonsbane,” said Kazul. Her eyes closed and she slept.
Kazul continued to sleep for most of the next three days. She woke only long enough for Cimorene to pour a couple of gallons of warm milk mixed with honey down her throat from time to time before she lapsed back into unconsciousness. Cimorene was very worried, but there wasn’t much that she could do. Sick dragons are too large and heavy for normal nursing to be of much use.
On the afternoon of the third day, Kazul woke up completely for the first time since her collapse.
“Thank goodness!” said Cimorene as Kazul shook her head experimentally and sat up. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep for a month.”
“I might have if I’d gotten more than a whiff of that smoke.” Kazul stretched her neck in one direction and her tail in the other, trying to work out some of the kinks.
“If I’d known it was so dangerous, I’d never have brought any of that purple plant back with me,” Cimorene apologized. “You might have done worse than sleep for a month. You might have—” She stopped, unwilling to complete the thought.
“I might have died?” Kazul said. “Unlikely. If a dragon isn’t killed outright by something in the first five minutes, recovery is only a matter of time. That applies as much to dragonsbane as to a knight’s magic sword.”
“Then why did you want that goo in the green jar?” Cimorene asked.
“The antidote? I wanted it because I didn’t like the idea of spending a month recuperating when I didn’t have to. And since—” A fit of coughing interrupted Kazul in mid-sentence.
Cimorene skipped backward out of the way. Frowning worriedly, she tossed a pinch of feverfew into the air and recited the verse from the fireproofing spell in case Kazul should lose control of her flame again. “Maybe you won’t need a month to recover, but three days obviously isn’t enough,” she said to the dragon. “You’d better lie back down before you choke.”
“I can’t,” Kazul said. “I have to warn the King. If the wizards have had dragonsbane for three days already—” She started coughing again and had to stop talking.
“You stay here,” Cimorene s
aid in a firm tone. “I’ll warn the King.”
“Tokoz won’t listen to you,” Kazul said, but she settled back to the ground. “Roxim will, though. Start with him.”
“Roxim?” Cimorene said doubtfully. She was afraid the gray-green dragon would want to go charging out after the wizards as soon as he heard they were up to something.
“He’ll listen to you, and the King will listen to him,” Kazul said. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do.”
“All right, I’ll go see Roxim. You stay here and sleep.”
“When you get back—”
“I’ll wake you and tell you what he said,” Cimorene promised. “Now, go to sleep.”
Kazul smiled slightly and closed her eyes. Cimorene caught up a lamp and almost ran to the exit at the back of the cave. She was afraid that Kazul would think of something else and start talking again, and she didn’t think talking would be good for her.
In the tunnel outside, Cimorene paused, trying to remember the directions to Roxim’s cave. She had memorized a map in the library that showed most of the twists and turns of the dragons’ tunnels, but she knew from experience that in the miles of gray stone corridors it was difficult to keep track of where she was.
“Left, left, fifth right, past the little chamber, right again, on past the iron gate, two lefts to the third cave down,” she muttered to herself. “I wish Roxim’s cave were closer.” Still muttering, she started off.
Though she was being very careful, Cimorene had to backtrack twice during the first part of her trip when a mistake in counting corridors led her to a dead end. When she finally saw the iron gate that led into the Caves of Fire and Night, she sighed in relief. The tricky part was over, and the rest of the trip would be easy. She held her lamp up and quickened her step, hoping to make up some of the time she had lost on her detours. Then, as she reached the bars that blocked the entrance to the Caves of Fire and Night, she stopped short. There was someone sitting on the ground on the other side of the gate.