“Right,” Mendanbar said with relief. “Do you want the front end or the back?”
Cimorene took the back end, and they hoisted the carpet to their shoulders and started off. Walking with the carpet was surprisingly easy. Cimorene was a good match for Mendanbar in height, and she was quite strong. Mendanbar supposed it must be from carrying around dragon-sized servings of lamb and beef, and before he thought, he said as much.
“Actually, it’s the chocolate mousse and cherries jubilee,” Cimorene said.
“I didn’t think chocolate mousse was particularly heavy.”
“It is when you’ve got a bucket full of it in each hand,” Cimorene retorted.
“Oh,” said Mendanbar. “Yes, I suppose it would be.”
He was trying to figure out how much a bucket of mousse would weigh when the carpet jerked suddenly. Mendanbar grabbed at it, thinking Oh, no, it’s going to start dancing around on its own! Then he realized that the carpet had jerked because Cimorene had stopped. He looked reproachfully over his shoulder.
“It’s time for lunch,” Cimorene said. “All this talk about food is making me hungry, and I don’t want to have to face a lot of wizards on an empty stomach.”
Now that she mentioned it, he was hungry, too. “Good idea,” Mendanbar said with enthusiasm. “And this looks like a nice spot to stop. Will you serve, or shall I?”
Cimorene laughed. They set the rolled-up carpet on a stretch of grass between two pines and got out Ballimore’s package, then sat down to see what the giantess had sent along with them. It was, as Mendanbar had expected, an enormous quantity of food—seven fat pastries stuffed with chicken and herbs, a large bottle of cold spring water, a round loaf of bread and a generous wedge of yellow cheese, four large red apples, and a small box filled with a wonderful, creamy chocolate fudge.
“My goodness,” Cimorene said when they had unpacked everything. “Ballimore certainly believes in feeding people well. Look at all of this!”
“No, no,” Mendanbar said, picking up one of the pastries and handing it to Cimorene. “Don’t look at it. Eat it.”
“I wonder where she got the fudge,” Cimorene mused. “Everything else is probably from the Cauldron of Plenty, but it doesn’t do desserts very well.”
“Maybe she made it herself.”
“I hope so.” Cimorene smiled at Mendanbar’s look of surprise. “If she did, I can ask her for the recipe.”
By an unspoken mutual agreement, neither Mendanbar nor Cimorene mentioned Kazul or the wizards during lunch, though they were both certainly thinking about them. Instead, they had a pleasant talk about some of the odd and interesting people they had each met over the past few years. Cimorene knew a lot of unusual folk. Many of them were dragons, of course, but her position as Kazul’s Chief Cook and Librarian meant that she had also met most of the visitors from outside the Mountains of Morning who came to pay their respects to the King of the Dragons or to ask her questions.
Near the end of the meal, Mendanbar noticed that Cimorene was gazing intently at him. No, not at him: at his sword.
“What is it?” Mendanbar asked worriedly.
“Have you been doing things with that sword again?” Cimorene demanded.
“No,” Mendanbar said, puzzled. “I used it on your sink, and to stop the nightshade, and when the carpet started falling, but that’s all. Why?”
“Because it’s leaking magic all over the place,” Cimorene said. “I thought so before, but now I’m positive.” She finished her second pastry and stood up, brushing crumbs from her lap. “That sheath must not be as good as I thought. Would you mind letting me look at it? Without the sword.”
“Not at all,” Mendanbar answered. He stood up and drew the sword. Cimorene flinched. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Cimorene said. “Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“Your sword. It isn’t the sheath after all; it’s that dratted sword. It’s gotten worse. Put it away, quickly.”
Thoroughly puzzled, Mendanbar did as Cimorene asked. “All right,” he said. “Now, would you please explain?”
“I’m not sure I can,” Cimorene said. “You didn’t know what I meant before, when I said your sword reeked of magic, so I suppose it’s reasonable that you can’t tell that the reek is twice as strong now. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Mendanbar looked down at the sword, thinking hard. “It’s linked to the Enchanted Forest, and I’ve never taken it out of the woods before,” he said at last. “Maybe it doesn’t like it. Maybe it’s trying to make the mountains more like the Enchanted Forest.” It sounded silly put that way, but he couldn’t think how else to say it. It would sound even sillier if he told her that he thought the sword was trying to stuff some magic into the empty, barren-feeling land around it.
“Um,” said Cimorene, gazing absently at the sword. After a moment, she looked up. “I’ll bet you’re right. Bother. That means we have to use the carpet.” She bent and started packing up the remains of their lunch.
“Wait a minute,” Mendanbar said. “What has my sword got to do with that carpet?”
“If being outside the Enchanted Forest is what makes your sword behave like a—a magic beacon, then we have to get it back inside the Enchanted Forest as fast as we can,” Cimorene explained patiently. “Otherwise every ogre and wizard for leagues and leagues around will come looking for whatever is making all the fuss. And the carpet is a lot faster than walking.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“We managed before. It ought to be easier now that we know what to expect. Here, help me.” She knelt and began unrolling the carpet as she spoke.
“Do we know what to expect?” Remembering the bumping, spinning, unpredictable ride, Mendanbar shuddered.
“Look, I don’t like it any better than you do, but we have to do something about that sword. Besides, the sooner we get to the forest, the sooner you can find out where those wizards have Kazul. And do we have any other choice?”
“I could probably use the sword to get us to the Enchanted Forest,” Mendanbar suggested.
Cimorene sat back on her heels, staring at him. “You can do that? Why on earth didn’t you say so to begin with? We could have gone straight to Kazul’s grandchildren’s cave and saved a lot of time.”
“I didn’t mention it before because I’m not really sure it will work,” Mendanbar said. “I’ve never tried that particular spell outside the Enchanted Forest before, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to test it for the first time to get somewhere I’ve never been. Especially somewhere that isn’t in the Enchanted Forest either.” Actually, he hadn’t tried any of his usual spells outside the Enchanted Forest before, for the very good reason that he hadn’t been outside the Enchanted Forest since he’d become King and started working magic, but he didn’t like to mention that in front of Cimorene. He was quite sure that if she had suddenly become the ruler of a magical kingdom, she would have tested all her new spells and powers and abilities immediately, under as many different conditions as she could come up with. He didn’t want her to think he was careless or neglectful.
“So we can either experiment with the carpet again or experiment with your spell,” Cimorene said. She scowled thoughtfully at the teddy bears, then looked up at Mendanbar and smiled. “Let’s try the spell. What do you want me to do?”
“Just stand there,” Mendanbar said, returning her smile. “I’ve never worked with another magician, and one experiment at a time is enough.”
“Why haven’t you?” Cimorene asked as she climbed to her feet. “Worked with another magician, I mean. From what you were telling me yesterday, you’ve got more than enough work for a couple of assistants.”
“I’ve never had time to find any assistants,” Mendanbar said. “Except Willin, my steward, and he’s never learned much magic.”
“You mean you’re trying to run the whole Enchanted Forest by yourself?” Cimorene said. “You’re as bad
as the dragons!”
“What?”
“It took me six months to persuade them that the King of the Dragons didn’t need to do everything all the time,” Cimorene explained. “And then it took me three more months to get a system set up so they wouldn’t keep running to Kazul with every little problem.”
“You set up a system? How? I mean, how did you know . . .” Mendanbar’s voice trailed off.
To his surprise, Cimorene flushed very slightly. “I studied a lot of unusual things when I was growing up,” she said. “Unusual for a princess, I mean. Politics was one of them.”
“It sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing for a princess to study to me,” Mendanbar said. “Look how useful it’s been for you.”
“Well, it’s not one of the things a princess is supposed to learn,” Cimorene said. “You wouldn’t believe the fuss they made when they found out I’d talked my protocol teacher into covering it.”
“What were you supposed to be learning, then?”
Cimorene made a face. “Embroidery and dancing and etiquette and proper behavior.”
“No wonder princesses are silly, if that’s all they’re supposed to know about,” Mendanbar said without thinking. He blinked and added hastily, “Not you. I mean, you aren’t silly, even if you are a princess. I mean—”
“Don’t try to explain any more; you’ll only make it worse,” Cimorene said, laughing. “Now, hadn’t we better try that spell? We are in a bit of a hurry, remember.”
“Right.” With some difficulty, Mendanbar pushed the discussion out of his mind and tried to remember how he had been planning to work the transportation spell. Usually he simply twisted one of the threads of power that crisscrossed the Enchanted Forest, pulling himself to his destination, but outside the forest there were no threads that he could feel. There was power in the sword, though, and it was linked with the Enchanted Forest. If he pulled on that, he should be able to move whatever he chose back to the forest.
Before he moved anything, however, he would have to indicate who and what he wanted to move. He didn’t want to arrive in the Enchanted Forest with a magic carpet covered with pink teddy bears and no Cimorene. Mendanbar suppressed a sigh. Spells were so much easier at home, where he didn’t have to think about them as much. He dismissed that thought and concentrated on figuring out the shape of the spell he wanted.
When he was satisfied that he knew exactly what he intended to do, and in what order, he put a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked at Cimorene. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are,” Cimorene said.
Mendanbar nodded and drew his sword. He heard Cimorene suck in her breath as he raised the weapon over his head and swung it in a slow circle. Carefully, he pointed the sword at the carpet and pushed a tiny bit of power out to label it for the next part of the spell. Then he pointed the sword at Cimorene and repeated the process even more gently than before. Cimorene shivered, but she remained silent.
Turning, Mendanbar pointed the sword in the direction of the Enchanted Forest. Now for the tricky part. He drew on the power in the sword, feeling it hum through the hilt and into his hands. In his mind he pictured the giant trees of the Enchanted Forest, ranged in silent rows around the rocks that edged the Green Glass Pool, with the still water reflecting them like a green mirror. When he was sure he had the picture clear and steady in his mind, he gave the power in the sword the same twisting pull he used to move from place to place within the Enchanted Forest.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the rocks began to blur and fade. Mist rose, wavering, to veil the mountains and sky. Then, just as the landscape was about to vanish into thick, woolly grayness, the mist stopped condensing. For a moment, everything was still. Then the mist thinned and the outlines of the rocks and mountains grew sharper.
Almost, thought Mendanbar. It must need more power because we’re outside the Enchanted Forest. He clenched his hands around the hilt of the sword and pulled again, hard.
Gray fog slammed down around him like a window shutter dropping closed. Something hit him like a giant’s hammer, and he felt himself falling. Now I’ve done it, he thought vaguely, just before everything went black. I hope Cimorene is all right. Then he lost consciousness completely. He didn’t even feel himself land.
11
In Which Mendanbar and Cimorene Are Very Busy
SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Mendanbar could feel it, even before he was fully awake. The magic of the Enchanted Forest floated all around him, but it seemed tenuous and tottery, almost disconnected. He thought he had better get up and fix it. He opened his eyes.
Cimorene’s concerned face hovered a foot above him. Her braids had come loose from their tight crown and there was a worry line between her eyebrows. He didn’t want her to be worried. He tried to say so, but all he managed was a coughing fit. Cimorene bit her lip, and her troubled expression intensified.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said unhappily. “Don’t try to do anything yet. Your sword is safe, and I’m all right, and everything else can wait for a few minutes. Just lie there and breathe slowly.”
It occurred to Mendanbar that Cimorene was anxious about him. That was nice, in a way, but he still didn’t want her to be unhappy. In fact, it was suddenly very important to him that Cimorene should not be worried or unhappy in the slightest. He closed his eyes to consider how best to convey this and fell asleep at once.
When he woke, the sky was the pale blue of late afternoon. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up carefully, remembering what had happened earlier when he’d tried to talk. Cimorene was at his side at once.
“Are you sure you should do that?” she said.
“It hasn’t hurt so far,” Mendanbar replied. “What happened?”
Cimorene studied him for a moment, then relaxed visibly. “I’m not sure,” she said. “One minute we were going somewhere, and the next minute we weren’t. When I picked myself up, you were lying there looking three-quarters dead and as white as cracked ice, and you’ve been that way for over four hours. If that’s your transportation spell, I think I would have preferred the carpet.”
“At least it got us to the forest.”
“Not exactly.”
Mendanbar blinked at her, then looked around. The carpet, on which he and Cimorene were sitting, lay in the center of a twenty-foot circle of thin green fuzz. Seven saplings, pencil-thick and none more than waist high, poked randomly upward through the fuzz. Beyond the circle, patches of short, brownish-green grass alternated with mottled gray rock that rose quickly into cliffs and ridges and the sudden, sharp heights of mountains that shadowed them all. None of it looked familiar, though it still felt vaguely like the Enchanted Forest to him.
“Well, at least we went somewhere,” Mendanbar said after a moment.
“Yes, but where? Those are the Mountains of Morning, but this bit”—Cimorene waved at the green fuzz and the saplings—“looks as if it belongs in the Enchanted Forest. So what’s it doing here?”
“It feels like the Enchanted Forest, too,” Mendanbar said. He shifted, and his hand touched cool metal. Even without looking, he knew it was his sword. He picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. “Cimorene, is this still ‘leaking magic’ the way you said it was earlier?”
“No,” Cimorene said. “I can tell it’s a magic sword, and an odd one at that, but only if I study it. It’s not—not so obvious anymore.”
Mendanbar pushed himself to his feet. It took more effort than he had expected, and by the time he finished, the worry line had reappeared between Cimorene’s eyebrows.
“I’m all right,” he told her. “Mostly.” He waited a moment for his head to stop spinning, then walked cautiously to the edge of the circle of fuzz. He stepped over the boundary onto a patch of grass. The comforting sense of being surrounded by magic vanished, and although he had more than half expected it, he staggered slightly.
Cimorene was beside him almost at once. “What is it?”
“It was just the change. Can you feel my swor
d now?”
“Yes,” Cimorene said. “But it’s nowhere near as bad as it was this morning.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Mendanbar looked at the circular area of green and sighed. “I hate to do this, but you’re right. It doesn’t belong here.”
He started forward. Cimorene grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute! What are you talking about?”
“This.” Mendanbar pointed at the saplings with his sword. “In a way, it really is part of the Enchanted Forest. That’s why it feels like home to me, and that’s why the sword doesn’t feel ‘obvious’ when it’s inside.”
“That makes sense,” Cimorene said. She still had hold of his arm. “But how did it get here?”
“I don’t think it did, exactly,” Mendanbar said. “I think the sword made it for us when we couldn’t get through to the real forest. That’s why it’s so—so new-looking.”
“Your sword . . .” Cimorene paused, thinking. “Yes, you told me it was linked to the Enchanted Forest.” She looked at the green area. “I didn’t realize it could do things on its own, without someone directing it.”
“Normally it doesn’t,” Mendanbar said. “Unless it’s picking the next King of the Enchanted Forest.”
“Picking the next . . .” Cimorene’s voice trailed off and she shook her head. “I think you’d better tell me about that sword. All about it, not just dribbles of information when something comes up. I have a feeling we’re going to need to know.”
“I don’t know that much,” Mendanbar said. “And I have to take care of these things first.” He waved at the saplings.
“What are you going to do?”
“If the sword did it, it ought to be able to undo it,” Mendanbar said. “I don’t want to erase this patch, but I can’t think of anything else to do with it. It wouldn’t be a good idea to leave a bit of my kingdom disconnected like this.”
“No, I can see that,” Cimorene said, releasing his arm at last. “Just watch what you’re doing with that spell. It’s going to be dark soon, and I don’t want to spend another four hours waiting for you to wake up.”