Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 01 (4 page)

“I came out to put up a sign to keep the knights away,” Cimorene said.

“That’s ridiculous.” The dragon sniffed. “I’ve been on patrol in this part of the mountains for the past week, and I haven’t seen or smelted even a hint of a knight.”

“You haven’t been by Kazul’s cave, then,” Cimorene said. “At least nine of them have shown up there in the past week. Though for the past couple of days it’s been mostly a prince.”

“Princes don’t smell any different from knights, and I’d have noticed if any of them were hanging around,” the dragon said flatly. “And what about that wizard you were talking to?”

“Chaaarrge!” shouted a familiar voice from the other side of the dragon.

“Therandil!” Cimorene shouted. “I told you to go
away!
”

The yellow-green dragon twisted his long neck and glanced back over his shoulder. He seemed to bunch together like a cat crouching. Then he sprang straight up into the air, and Cimorene was blinded by the cloud of dust raised by the flapping of his enormous wings. She had the presence of mind to flatten herself back against the rocks by the side of the path, and a moment later she heard someone blundering by. She stuck out a foot.

“Ow!” she said as Therandil fell over with a clatter. She’d forgotten that he’d be wearing iron boots along with the rest of his armor.

“Cimorene? Is that you?” Therandil said.

“Of course it’s me,” Cimorene replied, rubbing her ankle. “Open your eyes; the dust’s settled.” She looked up as she spoke and saw the dragon soar out of sight behind a cliff.

“I’m sorry,” Therandil said, and then in an anxious tone he added, “I hope I didn’t hurt you, stumbling into you like that.”

Cimorene started to say that it was nothing and that it had been her fault anyway, when she suddenly got a much better idea. “I think you’ve sprained my ankle,” she declared.

“Oh, no,” Therandil said. He sounded truly dismayed, though Cimorene couldn’t see his face because he was wearing his helmet with the visor down.

“I probably won’t be able to walk for at least a month,” she declared. “And there’s certainly no way I can climb down this mountain.”

“But if you can’t walk—” Therandil said, and paused. Then he squared his shoulders and went on, “—then I suppose I’ll have to carry you.” He didn’t sound as if he liked the idea.

“I don’t think that would work very well,” Cimorene said quickly. “How will you fight when all the dragons come back if you’re carrying me? No, you’ll have to leave me here and go back alone.”

“You can’t stay here!” Therandil protested, though Cimorene’s talk of
when all the dragons come back
had plainly made him nervous.

“I have to,” Cimorene said, trying to sound noble and long-suffering. “The dragons will make sure I get safely back to Kazul’s cave, and a month isn’t too long a wait, after all.”

“I don’t understand,” Therandil said, and he did look thoroughly puzzled.

“There’s no point in you or anyone else coming up here to rescue me for at least a month, not till my ankle’s better,” Cimorene explained patiently.

“Oh, I see,” Therandil said. He tilted his head back and scanned the empty sky. “You’re quite sure you’ll be all right? Then I’ll just be going before those dragons return.” He turned and started down the path as quickly as he could manage in full armor.

C
imorene watched Therandil go with feelings of great relief. Now she had at least a month to find a permanent way of discouraging the knights, for she was quite certain that Therandil would spread the news of her “injury.” She decided to put up her sign anyway, just in case, and after a little looking she found a scrubby tree beside the path and hung the sign on it.

On her way back to Kazul’s cave, she noticed that the two pieces of the ledge were still invisible, and she was very careful about crossing them. She looked down once, out of curiosity, and was immediately sorry. She was not comfortable with the sight of her own feet firmly planted on nothing at all, with the sharp, spiky tops of spruce trees in full view some fifty feet below

Kazul arrived only a few minutes after Cimorene herself. Cimorene was looking for some thread to mend her skirts (which had gotten torn and stained while she was climbing along the ledge) when she heard the mistakable sounds of a dragon sliding into the main cave.

“Cimorene?” Kazul’s voice called.

“Coming,” Cimorene called back, abandoning her search. She picked up her lamp and hurried out to greet Kazul.

“I’m glad to see you’re still here,” Kazul said mildly as Cimorene came into the large cave. “Moranz was quite sure you’d run off with a knight or a wizard. I couldn’t make out for certain which.”

“Is Moranz the yellow-green dragon who wanted to eat me?” Cimorene asked. “Because if he is, he’s just trying to make trouble.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Kazul said with a sigh that sent a-burnt-bread smell halfway across the cave. “But things would be easier for me if you didn’t provide him with any material to make trouble with. Exactly what happened?”

“Well, Morwen came to visit this afternoon,” Cimorene began. “We were talking about all the ... interruptions I’ve been having, and she suggested putting up a sign ...” She explained why she had gone to put up the sign herself and told Kazul in detail about her meetings with the wizard, the dragon, and the prince.

“So Morwen was here,” Kazul said. She sat back, and the scales on her tail rattled comfortably against the floor. “That simplifies matters. Did you bring the sign back with you?”

“No, I found a tree and hung it by the path,” Cimorene said, wondering what this was all about, “in case Therandil doesn’t tell everyone about my ankle after all.”

“Better still,” Kazul said, and smiled fiercely, showing all her teeth. “Moranz is going to regret meddling.”

“Meddling in what?”

“My business.”

“I’d like a little more of an explanation than that, if you don’t mind giving one,” Cimorene said with a touch of exasperation.

Kazul looked startled, then thoughtful. Then she nodded. “I keep forgetting that you’re not as empty-headed as most princesses,” she said. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. This may take a while.”

Cimorene found a rock and sat on it. Kazul settled into a more restful position, folded her wings neatly along her back, and began. “It has to do with status. Dragons aren’t required to have princesses, you see. Most of us don’t. There are never enough to go around, and some of us prefer not to have to deal with the annoyances that come with them.”

“Knights,” Cimorene guessed.

“Among other things,” Kazul said, nodding. “So having a princess in residence has become a minor mark of high status among dragons.”

“A
minor
mark?”

Kazul smiled. “I’m afraid so. It’s the equivalent of, oh, serving expensive imported fruit at dinner. It’s a nice way of showing everyone how rich you are, but you could make just as big an impression by having some of those fancy pastries with the smooth glazed icing and spun-sugar roses.”

“I see.” Cimorene did see, though she found herself wishing that Kazul had found something else to compare it to. The talk of dinner reminded her too much of Moranz’s repeated desire to eat her.

“Moranz is young and not very bright, I’m afraid,” Kazul said, almost as if she had read Cimorene’s mind. “He seems to have the mistaken impression that if a princess behaves badly, it reflects on the dragon who captured her. Possibly it comes from his inability to keep any of his own princesses for more than a week. Some of the lesser dragons were very snide about it when he lost his third one in a row. I believe she sneaked out while he was napping.”

“I don’t see how he can blame his princesses,” Cimorene objected. “I mean, if most princesses are unwilling, it must be fairly usual for them to try to get away.”

“Of course, but Moranz doesn’t see it that way. He’s been trying to catch someone else’s princess in a similar foolishness for years, and he’s quite sure he’s finally done so. He’s undoubtedly spreading the story of your escape far and wide at this very minute.”

“Oh, dear,” said Cimorene.

Kazul smiled again, and her teeth glittered silver in the lamplight. “He’ll look extremely foolish when it becomes obvious that you’re still here. Which is one reason I’ve asked a few of my friends to dinner tonight.”

“You’ve
what?
” Cimorene said. All her worries about Moranz were instantly replaced by worries about fixing dinner on short notice for an unknown number of dragons. “How many? What time will they be here? Where are we going to
put
them all?”

“Six. Around eight-thirty. In the banquet cave. And you won’t be doing anything but dessert. I’ve already arranged for the rest of the meal.”

“Arranged? With whom?”

“Ballimore the giantess. She’s loaned me the Cauldron of Plenty that she uses when her twelve-headed son-in-law drops in for dinner unannounced. It’ll handle most things, but all it can produce in the way of dessert is burned mint custard and sour-cream-and-onion ice cream.”

“Ugh!” said Cimorene. “I see your problem.”

“Exactly. Can you manage?”

“Not if you want cherries jubilee,” Cimorene said, frowning. “I haven’t got a pot large enough to make seven dragons’ worth of cherries jubilee. Would chocolate mousse do? I can make two or three batches, and there should be time for all of them to chill if you’re not starting until eight-thirty.”

“Chocolate mousse will be fine,” Kazul assured her. “Come along and I’ll show you where to bring it.”

Cimorene picked up a lamp and followed Kazul into the public tunnels that surrounded Kazul’s private caves. She was a little surprised, but when she saw the size of the banquet cave, she understood. It was enormous. Fifty or sixty dragons, perhaps even a hundred of them, would fit into it quite comfortably. Obviously it had to be a public room; there simply wasn’t enough space under the Mountains of Morning for every dragon to have a cave this size.

Kazul made sure Cimorene could find her way to the banquet cave without help and then left her in the kitchen to melt slabs of chocolate and whip gallons of cream for the mousse. By the time she finished, she was hot and tired, and all she really wanted to do was to take a nap. But Kazul was expecting her to serve the mousse, and Cimorene wasn’t about to appear before all those dragons in her old clothes with sweaty straggles of hair sticking to her neck and a smear of chocolate across her nose, so instead of napping, she pumped a cauldron of water, heated it on the kitchen fire, and took a bath.

Once she was clean she felt much better. She checked to make sure the mousse was setting properly, then went into her own rooms to decide what she should wear. Unfortunately, she was afraid she didn’t have much choice. The wardrobe in her bedroom was full of neat, serviceable dresses suitable for cooking in or rummaging through treasure, but the only dressy clothes she had were the ones she had arrived in. She got them out of the back of the wardrobe and found to her dismay that the hem of the gown was badly stained with mud from her long walk. There was no time to clean it; she would have to wear one of the everyday dresses.

With a sigh Cimorene turned back to the wardrobe and opened it once more to look for the nicest of the ordinary clothes. She gasped in surprise. The hangers were now full of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. Some were silk, and some were velvet; some were heavy brocade, and some were layers of feather-light gauze; some were embroidered with gold or silver, and some were sewn with jewels.

“Well, of course,” Cimorene said aloud after a stunned moment. “Why would a dragon have an ordinary wardrobe? Of
course
it’s magic. What’s in it depends on what I’m looking for.”

One of the wardrobe doors waggled slightly, and its hinges creaked in smug agreement. Cimorene blinked at it, then shook herself and began looking through the gowns.

She chose one of red velvet, heavily embroidered with gold, and found matching slippers in the bottom of the obliging wardrobe. She let her black hair hang in loose waves nearly to her feet and even dug her crown out of the back of the drawer where she’d stuffed it on her first night. She finished getting ready a few minutes early. Feeling very cheerful, she went to the kitchen to fetch the mousse.

*
         
*
         
*

It took Cimorene four trips to get the mousse down to the serving area just off the banquet cave. A dragon-sized serving was a little over a bucketful, and she could barely manage to carry two at a time. When everything was ready, she stood in the serving area and waited nervously for Kazul to ring for dessert. She could hear the muffled booming of the dragons’ voices through the heavy oak door, but she could not make out what any of them were saying.

The bell rang at last, summoning Cimorene to serve dessert. She carried the mousse into the banquet cavern, two servings at a time, and set it in front of Kazul and her guests. The dragons were crouched around a shoulder-high slab of white stone. Cimorene had to be very careful about lifting the mousse up onto it. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wonder which dragon to serve first. She could tell which dragons were most important from their places at the table, and she made a silent apology to her protocol teacher, who had insisted that she learn about seating arrangements. (Protocol had been one of the princess lessons Cimorene had hated most.)

As she set the last serving in front of Kazul, one of the other dragons said in a disgruntled and vaguely familiar voice, “I see the rumors are wrong again, Kazul. Or did you have to go after her and haul her back the way the rest of us do?”

Cimorene turned angrily, but before she could say anything, a large gray-green dragon on the other side of the stone slab said, “Nonsense, Woraug! Girl’s got more sense than that. You shouldn’t listen to gossip. Next thing you know, you’ll be chasing after that imaginary wizard Gaurim’s been on about.” Cimorene recognized the speaker at once. He was Roxim, the elderly dragon she had given four of her handkerchiefs to.

“I suppose it was that idiot Moranz again, trying to cause trouble,” a purple-green dragon said with bored distaste. “Someone should do something about him.”

“Kazul still hasn’t answered my question,” Woraug said, and his tail lashed once like the tail of an angry cat. “And I’d like her to do so if the rest of you will stop sidetracking the conversation.”

“Here, now!” Roxim said indignantly. “That's a bit strong, Woraug! Too strong, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Woraug said. “I asked Kazul. And I’m still waiting.”

“I’m very pleased with my princess,” Kazul said mildly. “And no, I didn’t have to haul her back, as you would realize if you’d given the matter a little thought. Or does your princess normally leave seven servings of chocolate mousse in the kitchen when she runs away?”

“Hear, hear!” Roxim said.

Cimorene noted with interest that Woraug’s scales had turned an even brighter shade of green than normal and that he was starting to smell faintly of brimstone.

“One of these days you’ll go too far, Kazul,” he said.

“You started it,” Kazul pointed out. She turned to the gray dragon. “What's this about Gaurim and a wizard, Roxim?”

“You haven’t heard?” Roxim said, sounding surprised. “Gaurim’s been raving about it for weeks. Somebody snuck into her cave and stole a book from her library. No traces, but for some reason she’s positive it was a wizard.
Achoo!
” Roxim sneezed, emitting a ball of flame that just missed hitting his bowl of mousse. “Gives me an allergy attack just thinking about it.”

“If it wasn’t a wizard, who was it?” the dragon at the far end of the table asked.

“Could have been anybody—an elf, a dwarf, even a human,” Roxim responded. “No reason to think it was a wizard just because Gaurim didn’t catch him in the act. Not with the amount of time she spends away from home.”

“Which book did she lose?” said the thin, brownish-green dragon next to Kazul.

“What does it matter?” the purple-green dragon muttered. “Some history or other. And that’s another thing— what would a wizard want with a history book? No, no, Gaurim’s making a lot of fuss over a common thief. That’s what I say.”

“It could have been a wizard,” said the dragon at the far end. “Who knows why they want the things they want?”

“Ridiculous!” Roxim replied with vigor. “A wizard wouldn’t dare come through this part of the mountains. They know what we’d do to ‘em, by George! Beg pardon,” he added to the silver-green dragon next to him, who appeared to have been rather shocked by his language.