Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 01

by Dealing

  By morning, Cimorene was well outside the city and visible again, walking down the main road that led away from the mountains. It was hot and dusty, and she began to wish she had brought a bottle of water instead of the handkerchiefs.

  Just before noon, she spied a small grove of trees next to the road ahead of her. It looked like a cool, pleasant place to rest for a few minutes, and she hurried forward. When she reached the grove, however, she saw that the trees were made of the finest silver, and their shining green leaves were huge emeralds. In the center of the grove stood a charming pavilion made of gold and hung with gold curtains.

  Cimorene slowed down and looked longingly at the cool green shade beneath the trees. Just then a woman’s voice called out from the pavilion, “My dear, you look so tired and thirsty! Come and sit with me and share my luncheon.”

  The voice was so kind and coaxing that Cimorene took two steps toward the edge of the road before she remembered the frog’s advice. Oh, no, she thought to herself, I’m not going to be caught this easily! She turned without saying anything and hurried on down the road.

  A little farther on she came to a tiny, wretched-looking hovel made of cracked and weathered gray boards. The door hung slantwise on a broken hinge, and the whole building looked as though it were going to topple over at any moment. Cimorene stopped and stared doubtfully at it, but she had followed the frog’s advice this far, and she thought it would be silly to stop now. So she shook the dust from her skirts and put on her crown (so as to make a good impression). She marched up to the door, knocked three times, and snapped her fingers just as the frog had told her. Then she pushed the door open and went in.

  2

  In Which Cimorene Discovers the

  Value of a Classical Education and

  Has Some Unwelcome Visitors

  Inside, the hovel was dark and cool and damp. Cimorene found it a pleasant relief after the hot, dusty road, but she wondered why no sunlight seemed to be coming through the cracks in the boards. She was still standing just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, when someone said crossly, “Is this that princess we’ve been waiting for?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” said a deep, rumbly voice.

  “I’m Princess Cimorene of Linderwall,” Cimorene answered politely. “I was told you could help me.”

  “Help her?” said the first voice, and Cimorene heard a snort. “I think we should just eat her and be done with it.”

  Cimorene began to feel frightened. She wondered whether the voices belonged to ogres or trolls and whether she could slip out of the hovel before they made up their minds about eating her. She felt behind her for the door and started in surprise when her fingers touched damp stone instead of dry wood. Then a third voice said, “Not so fast, Woraug. Let’s hear her story first.”

  So Cimorene took a deep breath and began to explain about the fencing lessons and the magic lessons, and the Latin and the juggling, and all the other things that weren’t considered proper behavior for a princess, and she told the voices that she had run away from Sathem-by-the-Mountains to keep from having to marry Prince Therandil.

  “And what do you expect us to do about it?” one of the voices asked curiously.

  “I don’t know,” Cimorene said. “Except, of course, that I would rather not be eaten. I can’t see who you are in this dark, you know.”

  “That can be fixed,” said the voice. A moment later, a small ball of light appeared in the air above Cimorene’s head. Cimorene stepped backward very quickly and ran into the wall.

  The voices belonged to dragons.

  Five of them lay on or sprawled over or curled around the various rocks and columns that filled the huge cave where Cimorene stood. Each of the males (there were three) had two short, stubby, sharp-looking horns on either side of their heads; the female dragon had three, one on each side and one in the center of her forehead. The last dragon was apparently still too young to have made up its mind which sex it wanted to be; it didn’t have any horns at all.

  Cimorene felt very frightened. The smallest of the dragons was easily three times as tall as she was, and they gave an overwhelming impression of shining green scales and sharp silver teeth. They were much scarier in person than in the pictures she remembered from her natural history books. She swallowed very hard, wondering whether she really would rather be eaten by a dragon than marry Therandil.

  “Well?” said the three-homed dragon just in front of her. “Just what are you asking us to do for you?”

  “I—” Cimorene stopped short as an idea occurred to her. Cautiously, she asked, “Dragons are ... are fond of princesses, aren’t they?”

  “Very,” said the dragon, and smiled. The smile showed all her teeth, which Cimorene did not find reassuring.

  “That is, I’ve heard of dragons who have captive princesses to cook for them and—and so on,” said Cimorene, who had very little idea what captive princesses did all day.

  The dragon in front of Cimorene nodded. One of the others, a yellowish green in color, shifted restlessly and said, “Oh, let’s just go ahead and eat her. It will save trouble.”

  Before any of the other dragons could answer, there was a loud, booming noise, and a sixth dragon slithered into the cave. His scales were more gray than green, and the dragons by the door made way for him respectfully.

  “Kazul!” said the newcomer in a loud voice. “Achoo! Sorry I’m late, but a terrible thing happened on the way here, achoo!”

  “What was it?” said the dragon to whom Cimorene had been talking.

  “Ran into a wizard. Achoo! Had to eat him; no help for it. Achoo, achoo. And now look at me!” Every time the gray-green dragon sneezed, he emitted a small ball of fire that scorched the wall of the cave.

  “Calm down, Roxim,” said Kazul. “You’re only making it worse.”

  “Achoo! Calm down? When I’m having an allergy attack? Achoo, oh, bother, achoo!” said the gray-green dragon. “Somebody give me a handkerchief. Achoo!”

  “Here,” said Cimorene, holding out one of the ones she had brought with her. “Use this.” She was beginning to feel much less frightened, for the gray-green dragon reminded her of her great-uncle, who was old and rather hard of hearing and of whom she was rather fond.

  “What’s that?” said Roxim. “Achoo! Oh, hurry up and give it here.”

  Kazul took the handkerchief from Cimorene, using two claws very delicately, and passed it to Roxim. The gray-green dragon mopped his streaming eyes and blew his nose. “That’s better, I think. Achoo! Oh, drat!”

  The ball of fire that accompanied the dragon’s sneeze had reduced the handkerchief to a charred scrap. Cimorene hastily dug out another one and handed it to Kazul, feeling very glad that she had brought several spares.

  Roxim went through two more handkerchiefs before his sneezing spasms finally stopped. “Much better,” he said. “Now then, who’s this that lent me the handkerchiefs? Somebody’s new princess, eh?”

  “We were just discussing that when you came in,” Kazul said, and turned back to Cimorene. “You were saying? About cooking and so on.”

  “Couldn’t I do that for one of you for a while?” Cimorene said.

  The dragon smiled again; and Cimorene swallowed hard. “Possibly. Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because then I wouldn’t have to go home and marry Therandil,” Cimorene said. “Being a dragon’s princess is a perfectly respectable thing to do, so my parents couldn’t complain. And it would be much more interesting than embroidery and dancing lessons.”

  Several of the dragons made snorting or choking noises. Cimorene jumped, then decided that they were laughing.

  “This is ridiculous,” said a large, bright green dragon on Cimorene’s left.

  “Why?” asked Kazul.

  “A princess volunteering? Out of the question!”

  “That's easy for you to say,” one of the other dragons grumbled. “You already have a princess. What about the rest of us
?”

  “Yes, don’t be stuffy, Woraug,” said another. “Besides, what else can we do with her?”

  “Eat her,” suggested the yellowish green dragon in a bored tone.

  “No proper princess would come out looking for dragons,” Woraug objected.

  “Well, I’m not a proper princess, then,” Cimorene snapped. “I make cherries jubilee, and I volunteer for dragons, and I conjugate Latin verbs—or at least I would if anyone would let me. So there!”

  “Hear, hear,” said the gray-green dragon.

  “You see?” Woraug said. “Who would want an improper princess?”

  “I would,” said Kazul.

  “You can’t be serious, Kazul,” Woraug said irritably. “Why?”

  “I like cherries jubilee,” Kazul replied, still watching Cimorene. “And I like the look of her. Besides, the Latin scrolls in my library need cataloguing, and if I can’t find someone who knows a little of the language, I’ll have to do it myself.”

  “Give her a trial run first,” a purplish green dragon advised.

  Woraug snorted. “Latin and cherries jubilee! And for that you’d take on a black-haired, snippy little—”

  “I’ll thank you to be polite when you’re discussing my princess,” Kazul said, and smiled fiercely.

  “Nice little gal,” Roxim said, nodding approvingly and waving Cimorene’s next-to-last handkerchief. “Got sense. Be good for you, Kazul.”

  “If that’s settled, I’m going to go find a snack,” said the yellowish green dragon.

  Woraug looked around, but the other dragons seemed to agree with Roxim. “Oh, very well,” Woraug said grumpily. “It’s your choice, after all, Kazul.”

  “It certainly is. Now, Princess, if you’ll come this way, I’ll get you settled in.”

  Cimorene followed Kazul across the cave and down a tunnel. To her relief, the ball of light came with her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that if she had tried to walk behind Kazul in the dark, she would have stepped on her tail, which would not have been a good beginning.

  Kazul led Cimorene through a long maze of tunnels and finally stopped in another cave. “Here we are,” the dragon said. “You can use the small room over on the right. I believe my last princess left most of the furnishings behind when she ran off with the knight.”

  “Thank you,” Cimorene said. “When do I start my duties? And what are they, please?”

  “You start right away,” said Kazul. “I’ll want dinner at seven. In the meantime, you can begin sorting the treasure.” The dragon nodded toward a dark opening on the left. “I’m sure some of it needs repairing. There’s at least one suit of armor with the leg off, and some of the cheaper magic swords are probably getting rusty. The rest of it really ought to be rearranged sensibly. I can never find anything when I want it.”

  “What about the library you mentioned?” Cimorene asked.

  “We’ll see how well you do on the treasure room first,” Kazul said. “The rest of your job I’ll explain as we go along. You don’t object to learning a little magic, do you?”

  “Not at all,” said Cimorene.

  “Good. It’ll make things much easier. Go and wash up, and I’ll let you into the treasure room so you can get started.”

  Cimorene nodded and went to the room Kazul had told her to use. As she washed her face and hands, she felt happier than she had in a long time. She was not going to have to marry Therandil, and sorting a dragon’s treasure sounded far more interesting than dancing or embroidery. She was even going to learn some magic! And her parents wouldn’t worry about her, once they found out where she was. For the first time in her life, Cimorene was glad she was a princess. She dried her hands and turned to go back into the main cave, wondering how best to persuade Kazul to help her brush up on her Latin. She didn’t want the dragon to be disappointed in her skill.

  “Draco, draconem, dracone,” she muttered, and her lips curved into a smile. She had always been rather good at declining nouns. Still smiling, she started forward to begin her new duties.

  * * *

  Cimorene settled in very quickly. She got along well with Kazul and learned her way around the caves with a minimum of mishaps. Actually, the caves were more like an intricate web of tunnels, connecting caverns of various shapes and sizes that belonged to individual dragons. It reminded Cimorene of an underground city with tunnels instead of streets. She had no idea how far the tunnels extended, though she rather suspected that some of them had been magicked, so that when you walked down them you went a lot farther than you thought you were going.

  Kazul’s section of the caves was fairly large. In addition to the kitchen—which was in a large cave near the exit, so that there wouldn’t be a problem with the smoke from the fire—she had a sleeping cavern, three enormous treasure rooms at the far end of an intricate maze of twisty little passages, two even more enormous storage rooms for less valuable items, a library, a large, bare cave for eating and visiting with other dragons, and the set of rooms assigned to Cimorene. All the caves smelled of dragon, a somewhat musty, smoky cinnamony smell. Cimorene’s first job was to air them out.

  Cimorene’s rooms consisted of three small connecting caves, just off Kazul’s living cavern. They were furnished very comfortably in a mixture of styles and periods, and looked just like the guest rooms in most of the castles Cimorene had visited, only without windows. They were much too small for a dragon to get inside. When asked, Kazul said that the dwarves had made them in return for a favor, and the dragon’s tone prevented Cimorene from inquiring too closely into just what sort of favor it had been.

  By the end of the first week, Cimorene was sure enough of her position to give Kazul a list of things that she needed in the kitchen. The previous princess— of whom Cimorene was beginning to have a very poor opinion—had apparently made do with a large skillet with three dents and a wobbly handle, a wooden mixing bowl with a crack in it, a badly tarnished copper teakettle, and an assortment of mismatched plates, cups, and silverware, most of them chipped or bent.

  Kazul seemed pleased by the request, and the following day Cimorene had everything she had asked for, except for a few of the more exotic pans and dishes. This made the cooking considerably easier and gave Cimorene more time to spend studying Latin and sorting treasure. The treasure was just as disorganized as Kazul had told her, and putting it in order was a major task. It was sometimes hard to tell whether a ring was enchanted, and Cimorene knew better than to put it on and see. It might be the sort of useful magic ring that turned you invisible, but it might also be the sort of ring that turned you into a frog. Cimorene did the best she could and kept a pile in the corner for things she was not sure about.

  There was a great deal of treasure to be sorted. Most of it was stacked in one of the innermost caves in a large, untidy heap of crowns, rings, jewels, swords, and coins, but Cimorene kept finding things in other places as well, some of them quite unlikely. There was a small helmet under her bed (along with a great deal of dust), a silver bracelet set with opals on the reading table in the library, and two daggers and a jeweled ink pot behind the kitchen stove. Cimorene collected them all, along with the other things that were simply lying around in the halls, and put them back in the storerooms where they belonged, thinking to herself that dragons were clearly not very tidy creatures.

  * * *

  The first of the Knights arrived at the end of the second week.

  Cimorene was busy cleaning swords. Kazul had been right about their condition; not only were some of them rusty, but nearly all of them needed sharpening. She was polishing the last flakes of rust from an enormous broadsword when she heard someone calling from the mouth of the cave. Feeling somewhat irritated by the interruption, she rose and, carrying the sword, went to see who it was.

  As she came nearer to the entrance, she was able to make out the words that whoever-it-was was shouting: “Dragon! Come out and fight! Fight for the Princess Cimorene of Linderwall!”

  “Oh, hon
estly,” Cimorene muttered, and quickened her step. “Here, you,” she said as she came out into the sunlight. Then she had to duck as a spear flashed through the air over her head. “Stop that!” she cried. “I’m Princess Cimorene.”

  “You are?” said a doubtful voice. “Are you sure? I mean—”

  Cimorene raised her head cautiously and squinted. It was still fairly early in the morning, and the sun was in back of the person standing outside the cave, so that it was difficult to see anything but the outline of his figure against the brightness. “Of course I’m sure,” Cimorene said. “What did you expect, letters of reference? Come around here where I can see who you are, please.”

  The figure moved sideways, and Cimorene saw that it was a knight in shiny new armor, except for the legs, where the armor was dusty from walking. Cimorene wondered briefly why he hadn’t ridden, but decided not to ask. The knight’s visor was raised, and a few wisps of sandy hair showed above his handsome face. He was studying her with an expression of worried puzzlement.

  “What can I do for you?” Cimorene said after several moments had gone by and the knight still hadn’t said anything.

  “Well, um, if you are the Princess Cimorene, I’ve come to rescue you from the dragon,” the knight said.

  Cimorene set the point of the broadsword on the ground and leaned on it as if it were a walking cane. “I thought that might be it,” she said. “But I’d rather not be rescued, thank you just the same.”

  “Not be rescued?” The knight's puzzled look deepened. “But princesses always—”

  “No, they don’t,” Cimorene said firmly, recognizing the beginning of a familiar argument. “And even if I wanted to be rescued, you’re going at it all wrong.”

  “What?” said the knight, thoroughly taken aback.

  “Shouting, ‘Come out and fight,’ the way you did. No self-respecting dragon is going to answer to a challenge like that. It sounds like a child’s dare. Dragons are very conscious of their dignity, at least all the ones I’ve met so far are.”