Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 01 (9 page)

“Don’t take any notice,” Morwen said. “It only encourages them.”

Cimorene nodded. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Morwen answered. “Don’t wait too long to come again.”

“You’d better take this. Princess,” Kazul said, reaching back over her shoulder to hand Morwen’s book to Cimorene. “I can’t carry it and run at the same time.”

Cimorene took the book and tucked it into her pocket. “I’m all set,” she said, and they started off.

*
         
*
         
*

Cimorene enjoyed the ride back to the Mountains of Morning. She was now sufficiently accustomed to riding on a dragon to be able to concentrate on looking at the forest as it flashed past. The trees seemed almost identical to one another, but Cimorene spotted quite s few odd-looking bushes and vines, and twice she thought she saw small faces staring out at her from among leafy branches.

They reached the threshold of the caves much sooner than Cimorene expected. Kazul waited while she slid to the ground, then said, “The entrance is a little narrow. I’ll go first and make sure there’s nothing unpleasant waiting for us.”

Cimorene nodded, and Kazul vanished into the cave. Before Cimorene could follow, she heard a shrill cry above her. She looked up and saw an enormous white bird plummeting toward her, its clawed feet extended to attack. For an instant, Cimorene was frozen by surprise and fear. Then she ducked and reached for her sword.

She was almost too slow. The bird was on top of her, shrieking and slashing, before she had done more than grasp the hilt of her weapon. But the sword seemed to leap out of the scabbard as soon as she touched it, and she swung clumsily as she rolled aside. She did not expect to do any damage, just to force the bird to back away a little, but she felt the sword connect and heard a wail of pain from the bird. Thanking all her lucky stars individually and by name, Cimorene twisted and scrambled to her feet, sword ready.

There was nothing for her to guard against. The sword stroke had been more effective than she realized. The bird was dying. As she stared at it, it raised its head.

“
You
killed me?” the bird said incredulously. “But you’re a
maiden
.”

“Actually, she’s a princess,” Kazul’s voice said from behind Cimorene. “
My
princess, so you’d have been in even bigger trouble if you’d succeeded in carrying her off.”

“I don’t think I could have done it if I hadn’t had a magic sword,” said Cimorene, who was beginning to wish she hadn’t. She had never hurt anyone before, and she didn’t like it.

“Just my luck,” the bird said disgustedly. “Oh, well, fair’s fair. You killed me, so you get my forfeit.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Cimorene said. “If you’ll let me near, I can try to stop the bleeding—”

“Not a chance,” the bird said. It was beginning to sound rather faint. “Do you want the forfeit or don’t you?”

“Take it,” Kazul advised.

Cimorene said nothing, and after a moment the bird said, “All right, then. Under my left wing, you’ll find three black feathers. If you drop one and wish to be somewhere else, you’ll find yourself there in the twinkling of an eye. Any questions?”

“Can I take anyone else with me?” Cimorene asked, thinking that if the bird was so determined to give her the feathers, she might as well cooperate with it.

The bird looked at her with respect. “Will wonders never cease. For once a human with sense is getting the forfeit. Yes, you can take someone with you, as long as you’re touching him. Same for objects; if you can carry it, you can take it with you. You get one trip per feather. That's all.”

“But—” said Cimorene, and stopped. The bird’s head had fallen back, and it was dearly quite dead.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Kazul said perceptively. “If it had succeeded in carrying you off, it would have fed you to its nestlings.”

“Fed me to its nestlings?” Cimorene discovered that she had lost her sympathy for the dead bird. “What a horrid thing to do!” She hesitated. “Won’t the nestlings starve, now that the bird is dead?”

“No, one of the other birds will take over the chore of feeding them for a few weeks until they’re big enough to catch their own food,” Kazul said. “Now, clean that sword and take your feathers, and let's get going. I want to have a look at that book of Morwen’s.”

Cimorene nodded and did as she was told. The three black feathers were right where the bird had said they would be, and she put them in her pocket with Morwen’s book and the black pebble from the Caves of Fire and Night. She wiped the sword on the grass several times, then finished cleaning it with her handkerchief. When she finished, she left the handkerchief beside the dead bird and followed Kazul into the Caves of Fire and Night.

T
he rest of the trip home was uneventful. Passing through the King’s Cave seemed easier going in the opposite direction, and the impenetrable darkness only descended once. As soon as they arrived, Kazul took the book Morwen had lent them and curled herself around a rock just outside the mouth of the cave to study it while Cimorene made dinner. She pored over the book all evening, and Cimorene found it fascinating to watch the dragon delicately turning pages with her claws. Early the next day Kazul went off to consult with Roxim.

Cimorene was rather stiff from all the dragon riding she had done the previous day, so she decided not to do any more cleaning. Instead, she spent the morning in Kazul’s treasure room, sorting through likely looking bottles and jars for those that might possibly contain powdered hens’ teeth. Remembering Kazul’s advice, she started by setting aside all the bottles she could find that had lead stoppers. Since the light was not very good, she took the jars and bottles that looked as if they might be worth investigating and piled them in her apron, so as to carry them outside more easily.

She had nearly finished sorting when she heard a voice calling faintly in the distance.

“Bother!” she said. “I
did
hope they’d leave me alone a
little
longer.”

She bundled the last five bottles into her apron without looking at them and, not forgetting to lock the door behind her, hurried out through the maze to see who was shouting for her this time.

It was Therandil.

“What are you doing here?” Cimorene said crossly. “I told you I wasn’t going to be ready to be rescued for at least a month!”

“I was worried,” Therandil said. “I heard that you’d broken a leg, but you look fine to me.”

“Of course I haven’t broken a leg,” Cimorene said. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Some knight at the inn at the foot of the mountain,” Therandil replied. “He was up yesterday, talking to the princess he’s trying to rescue, and he came back and warned everybody not to bother with the princess that was captured by the dragon Kazul. Well, I knew that was you, so I asked why, and he said his princess told him you’d broken your leg and wouldn’t be able to walk for months.”

Cimorene smiled slightly. Alianora had apparently gone through with her plan to tell Hallanna about Cimorene’s “twisted ankle,” and Hallanna had decided to improve the story a little in hopes of reducing the competition. “Somebody must have gotten mixed up,” Cimorene said gently. “You can stop worrying. I’m fine. Is that all you came for? These jars are getting heavy, and I’ve got work to do.”

“Cimorene, we have to talk,” Therandil said in a heavy, deep voice.

“Then we’ll have to do it while I work,” Cimorene declared. She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen, full of annoyance. She had been feeling almost friendly toward Therandil—he
had
been worried about her, after all—until he said he wanted to talk. Cimorene was quite sure that what he wanted to talk about was rescuing her, and she was annoyed with him for being so stupidly stubborn and annoyed with herself for being annoyed when he was only trying to do the best he could.

Therandil followed her into the kitchen. “What is all that?” he asked as Cimorene put the apron full of jars on the kitchen table and began lining them up.

“Some things I’m checking for Kazul,” Cimorene said. She picked up a small jar made of carved jade and pried the lid off. It was half full of green salve. Cimorene put the lid back on and set the jar aside.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked, reaching for another jar.

“You. Dragons. Us. That looks interesting. Can I help?”

“As long as you don’t break anything,” Cimorene said. “Some of these are very fragile.” Maybe opening jars would make him forget about
You. Dragons. Us
, for a while.

“I’ll be very careful,” Therandil assured her. “This one looks like metal. I’ll start with that, shall I?” He picked up one of the larger jars, made of beaten copper with two handles. He frowned at the top, then reached for his dagger, and as he tilted the jar, Cimorene saw that the neck was stopped up with lead.

“Not that one!” she said quickly. She didn’t remember picking out that particular jar. It must have been one of the last four or five that she’d scooped up when she heard Therandil calling.

“Why not?” Therandil said, sounding rather hurt. “I said I’d be careful.” The tip of his dagger was already embedded in the lead.

“Kazul said to leave the ones with lead stoppers alone,” Cimorene said. “So put it back.”

“If you insist,” Therandil said, shrugging. He pulled on his dagger, but it was stuck fast in the lead. “Drat!” he said, and twisted the handle. The dagger came free, and the lead stopper came along with it.

“I should have known,” Cimorene said in a resigned tone.

A black cloud of smoke poured out of the jar. As Cimorene and Therandil watched, it condensed into a dark-skinned giant wearing only a turban and a loincloth. He was more than twice as tall as Therandil, and the corners of his mouth were turned down in a stern frown.

“What is it?” whispered Therandil.

“Trouble,” said Cimorene.

“Thou speakest truly, 0 Daughter of Wisdom,” said the giant in a booming voice that filled the cave. “For I am a jinn, who was imprisoned in that jar, and I am the instrument of thy death and that of thy paramour.”

“My
what?
” Cimorene said, outraged.

“Thy lover,” the jinn said uncomfortably. “The man who stands beside thee.”

“I know what you
meant
,” Cimorene said. “But he isn’t my lover, or my fiance, or my boyfriend or anything, and I refuse to be killed with him.”

“But Cimorene, you know perfectly well—” Therandil started.

“You hush,” Cimorene said. “You’ve made enough of a mess already.”

“If he is not thy paramour, nor any of those other things, then what is he?” the jinn asked suspiciously.

“A nuisance,” Cimorene said succinctly.

“Cimorene, you’re not being very kind,” Therandil said.

“What he is matters not,” the jinn said grandly after a moment’s heavy thought. “It is enough that thou and he shall die.”

“Enough for whom?” Cimorene said.

The jinn blinked at her. “For me. ‘Tis my will that thou and he shall die by my hand. Thou hast but to choose the manner of thy death.”

“Old age,” Cimorene said promptly.

“Mock me not! Thou and he shall die, and by my hand, ere this day draws to its close!” the jinn cried.

“Do you suppose he means it?” Therandil said nervously.

“Why would he keep bellowing it at us if he didn’t mean it?” Cimorene said. “Do be quiet, Therandil.”

Therandil lowered his voice. “Should I offer to fight him, do you think?”

“Don’t be silly,” Cimorene said. She saw that Therandil was distressed, so she added, “You came up here to fight a dragon. You aren’t prepared for a jinn, and nobody could reasonably expect you to challenge him.”

“If you say so,” Therandil said, looking relieved.

Cimorene turned back to the jinn and saw that he, too, was looking perturbed. “What’s the matter with you?” she said crossly.

“Dost thou not wish to know
why
I will kill thee?” the jinn asked plaintively.

“What difference does it make?” Cimorene said.

“Yes, actually,” Therandil said at the same time.

“Therandil!” Cimorene said in exasperation. “Shut up!”

“Hear my story, 0 luckless pair!” the jinn said with evident relief. “I am one of those jinn who did rebel against the law of our kind, and for my crimes I was sentenced to imprisonment in this bottle until the day should come when human hands would loose me. As is the custom of my people, I swore that whoso should release me during the first hundred years of my imprisonment I would make ruler of the earth; whoso should release me during the second hundred years I should make rich beyond all dreams of men; whoso shall release me during the third hundred I should grant three wishes; and whoso should release me after any longer span of time I should grant only the choice of what death he would die.”

“You’re going to kill us because it’s
traditional?
” Cimorene asked.

“Yes,” the jinn said. His eyes slid away from Cimorene’s, and she frowned suddenly.

“Just how long were you in that jar?” she demanded.

“Uh, well, actually .. .” The jinn’s voice trailed off.

“How long?” Cimorene insisted.

“Two hundred and seventeen years,” the jinn admitted. “But nobody
ever
releases a jinn before the three hundred years are over.”

“You’re trying to get around your oath!” Therandil said, plainly shocked by the very thought. “You pretended you had to kill us so you wouldn’t have to give us the wishes!”

“No!” the jinn said. “Thinkest thou that the granting of wishes alone would so trouble me? Needs must I kill thee and thy fair companion, for I cannot return home and say that thou didst release me and I left thee living! I would be a laughingstock. Never in three thousand years has such a thing occurred!”

“Then you shouldn’t have sworn an oath,” Therandil said sternly.

“I had to!” the jinn said miserably. “It is the custom of our kind. Twould be ... ‘twould be ...”

“Improper?” Cimorene murmured.

“ Twould be improper to do otherwise,” the jinn said, nodding. “But now thou hast found me out, and what am I to do? If I kill thee, it will violate my oath; if I kill thee not, the remainder of my life will be a torment.”

“You could go back in the jar for another eighty-three years,” Cimorene suggested delicately.

“I could ... go back?” The jinn blinked at her for a moment. “I could go back. I could go back!”

“And in eighty-three years we’ll both be dead of old age,” Cimorene said. “Since that was my choice of death, your oath will be fulfilled and you can go straight home without killing anyone else or giving men any riches or power or anything.”

‘Truly, thou art a jewel among women and the very Queen of Wisdom’s daughters!” the jinn said happily. “Thou hast found the perfect solution to my difficulties!”

“Wait a minute!” Therandil said. “What about those wishes?”

“Therandil!” Cimorene said in a shocked tone. “I’m surprised at you! How can he give us wishes if he’s going back in the jar for eighty-three years? It wouldn’t be right at all.”

Therandil frowned. “Are you sure? After all, we
did
let him out during his third hundred years.”

“I suppose I could let thee have one wish at least, in token of my thanks for thy help,” the jinn said. “As long as thou dost not tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Therandil assured him. “And my wish is to defeat a dragon and win his princess’s hand in marriage!”

The jinn waved a dark hand over Therandil’s head. “There! When next thou dost fight a dragon, thou shalt surely defeat him. And thou?” he said, turning to Cimorene.

“I could use some powdered hens’ teeth,” Cimorene said.

The jinn blinked in surprise, but he waved his hand again, his face a mask of concentration. Then he bowed and handed Cimorene a fat brown jar. “There’s thy desire. Farewell!” With an elaborate salaam, the jinn dissolved back into a cloud of smoke that poured back into the copper jar from which it had come. Cimorene leaned over and plucked the lead stopper from the end of Therandil’s knife. She jammed it back into place and heaved a sigh of relief.

Therandil was not paying attention. “What did you want something like that for?” he asked, looking at the jar of hens’ teeth and wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“I don’t believe I shall tell you,” Cimorene said, putting the jar carefully into one of her apron pockets. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me? I like that!” Therandil said indignantly. “I’m going to marry you, just as soon as I beat that dragon of yours.”

“I don’t think you’re going to beat Kazul,” Cimorene said in a considering tone.

“But that jinn just said—”

“He said that if you fight a dragon, you’ll defeat him. But Kazul is a her, not a him,” Cimorene pointed out. “And you ought not to be trying to rescue me anyway.”

“Why not?” Therandil asked truculently.

“Because there are other princesses who’ve been captives of dragons for much longer than I have, and they have seniority,” Cimorene explained.

“Oh,” said Therandil, looking considerably taken aback. “How do you know?”

“They came to visit and told me all about it,” Cimorene said. “I think you should try for Keredwel. She’s from the Kingdom of Raxwel, and her hair is the color of sun-ripened wheat, and she wears a gold crown set with diamonds. You ought to get along with her very well.”

Therandil brightened perceptibly at this description but said, “But everyone expects me to rescue you.”

“As long as you defeat a dragon and rescue a princess, no one will care,” Cimorene said firmly. “And Keredwel will suit you much better than I would.”

“Are you sure her dragon isn’t female, too?”

“Positive,” Cimorene said. “Gomul’s cave is two down and three over. If you follow the path outside, you can’t miss it. He ought to be there now, and if you leave right away, you’ll be able to get everything settled before dinner.”