There was a flash of purple light, and the liquid began to glow. The glow spread outward, like fire creeping around the edges of a piece of paper, until it reached the rims of the dragon scales. Then it flashed once more and vanished.
Five identical scales lay side by side on the table, all of them bright green.
“I thought so,” Morwen said with satisfaction. “These scales all came from the same dragon. Someone altered them so that they would each look different.”
“Oh, good,” Mendanbar said with some relief. “How did you know?”
“The scales were the same shape, and very nearly the same size,” Morwen said. “Different dragons might have scales about the same size, if they were the same age, but there’s as much variation in the shape of dragon scales as there is in their color.”
“Really?” Mendanbar said, interested. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not many people do. But look at these—they’re all round, with one flat edge. If they’d come from different dragons, I’d expect one to be, say, squared off, another oval, another long and wiggly, and so on.”
“In that case, it shouldn’t be too hard to find the dragon who destroyed that chunk of forest,” Mendanbar said.
Morwen looked at him severely over the tops of her spectacles. “I’m not sure it was a dragon at all.”
“Why not?” Mendanbar asked. “Because the scales were changed? But if he didn’t want to be blamed—”
“If some dragon wanted to avoid being blamed for burning up a piece of the Enchanted Forest, he wouldn’t have left his scales lying around, changed or not,” Morwen said dryly. “Picking them up would be a lot easier than enchanting them. Besides, a healthy dragon doesn’t shed scales at this rate. Unless you think your rogue dragon burned down a lot of trees and then stood around looking at them for a week or two.”
“I see.” Mendanbar picked up one of the scales and ran his fingertips across it.
“It’s a good thing you were the one who found these,” Morwen went on, waving at the dragon scales. “If it had been one of the elves, there would have been trouble for certain.”
“Why do you say that? Whoever found them would have had to bring them to the castle—”
“And long before he got there, word would have been all over the forest that a lot of dragons had burned half the woods to powder,” Morwen said. “Most elves mean well, but they can’t keep a secret and they have no common sense to speak of. Flighty creatures.”
“Do you think someone was trying to make trouble between the Enchanted Forest and the dragons, then?”
“It’s possible,” Morwen answered. “If you hadn’t come to me, you probably would have thought the scales came from different dragons. Plenty of people know about the color variation. I doubt that you’d have figured out the transformation, though. Only people who are fairly familiar with dragons know about the differences in the shapes of their scales, and I don’t think anyone at the castle understands dragons very well.”
“How do you happen to know so much about dragons?” Mendanbar asked, nettled.
“Oh, Kazul and I have been friends for a long time,” Morwen said. “We trade favors now and then. She lets me have a spare scale when I need one for a spell, and I lend her books from my library and pots and pans that she doesn’t want to keep around all the time. In fact, Kazul was the one who convinced me that it would be a good idea to move to the Enchanted Forest.”
“Kazul,” Mendanbar said, frowning. “That name is familiar. Who is she?”
“Kazul is the King of the Dragons,” Morwen said. “Drink your cider.”
Automatically, Mendanbar lifted his mug. Then the implications of what Morwen had said sank in, and he choked. Morwen was a good friend of the King of the Dragons? No wonder she knew so much about dragon scales!
Morwen gave him an ironic look, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. To give himself time to recover, Mendanbar sipped at his cider. It was cold and sweet and tangy, and it fizzed as it slid across his tongue. He looked at the mug in surprise and took a longer drink. It was just as tasty the second time. “This is very good.”
Morwen looked almost smug. “I make it myself. You may have a bottle to take back to the castle with you, provided you take a bottle to Kazul when you go see her about these scales you found.”
“Thank—wait a minute, what makes you think I’m going to see Kazul?”
“How else are you going to find out who these scales belong to? I may know more about dragons than most people, but I can’t tell whose scales these are just from their color and size. Kazul can. Besides, you should have paid a call last year, when the old king died and Kazul got the crown.”
“I sent a note and a coronation present,” Mendanbar said. He sounded sulky even to himself, and he felt as if he were being lectured by his mother, who had died when he was fourteen. “I was going to visit, but the Frost Giants decided to come south early, and then some fool magician tried to turn a rock snake into a bird and got a cockatrice, and—”
“—and it’s been one thing after another, and you’ve never found the time,” Morwen said. “Really, Mendanbar. Haven’t you learned by now that it’s always one thing after another? Being busy is no excuse. Everyone’s busy. You take those scales and a bottle of my cider and go talk to Kazul. At the very least, you’ll get some good advice, and I expect you’ll get some help as well. You look to me as if you could use it.”
“The castle staff is very good,” Mendanbar said stiffly. “And my steward does an excellent job.”
“I’m sure he does,” Morwen said. “But one good steward isn’t enough to run a normal kingdom, much less one like the Enchanted Forest. It’s perfectly plain just from looking at you that you’re wearing yourself out trying to do everything yourself.”
“It is?”
Morwen gave a firm little nod. “It is. And it’s quite unnecessary. All you really need—”
“—is a wife,” Mendanbar muttered resignedly, recognizing the beginning of Willin’s familiar complaint.
“—is someone sensible to talk to,” Morwen finished. She looked at him sternly over the tops of her glasses. “Preferably someone who knows at least a little about running a kingdom. An exiled prince, for instance, though they don’t usually stay long enough to be useful. Someone who’ll do more than make lists of things you need to attend to.”
Mendanbar thought of Willin’s endless schedules and could not help smiling. “You’re probably right.” He suppressed a sigh; he didn’t have time to spend hunting for a capable adviser. “Do you know anyone suitable?”
“Several people, but they’re all quite happy where they are right now,” Morwen said. “Don’t worry. This is the Enchanted Forest. If you start seriously looking for good help, you’ll find some.”
“I hope I recognize it when I see it,” Mendanbar said. He took another long drink of cider and stared into the mug. “You’re the most sensible person I’ve talked to in days. I don’t suppose you’d consider moving to the castle?”
“Certainly not,” Morwen answered tartly. “I have quite enough to do here. However, I’ll have the cats keep an eye out for any more burned-out patches of forest, and if I think of anything that might be important I’ll let you know. Finish your cider and go see Kazul before you talk yourself out of it.”
“I won’t talk myself out of it,” Mendanbar said, taking another sip of cider. “It’s a good idea.” He picked up the dragon scales and put them back into his pocket. He hoped Kazul would be able to tell him something worthwhile. The Enchanted Forest was large, but it could disappear in a hurry if someone started punching holes in it. He frowned suddenly. “Do dragons eat magic?”
“Not that I know of,” Morwen said. “Why do you ask?”
“That burned-out place I told you about,” Mendanbar said. “There wasn’t any magic left in it. It had been sucked dry. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I don’t think dragons would have done that,�
�� Morwen said. She considered for a moment, then rose. “Wait here a minute; I want to look something up.”
She walked over to the back door, the one through which Mendanbar had come in. He watched, puzzled, as she opened the door and stepped through into a room full of tall, dark bookcases. Morwen left the door open and disappeared among the shelves. Mendanbar blinked. The windows on either side of the door looked out on the garden, and the one on the right still had a cat in it. Oh, of course, he thought. It’s one of those doors that go where you want them to. There was a door like that in one of the castle attics, which was convenient for getting back to the ground floor without actually climbing down seven flights of stairs. Unfortunately, you still had to climb up all seven flights in order to get to the attic in the first place.
Morwen reappeared, holding a red book with the title The Patient Dragon printed on the cover in gold. She closed the library door behind her and sat down at the table again. She flipped rapidly through the book, then slowed and read half a page with great care.
“I thought so,” she said. “Dragons don’t eat magic. They generate their own, the way unicorns do.”
“You’re sure?”
“See for yourself.” Morwen held the book out. “Austen is very reliable, and the more obscure the fact, the more reliable he tends to be. If he says dragons make their own magic, they do.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Mendanbar said. “But the more I find out, the less sense any of this makes.”
“Then you haven’t found out enough,” Morwen said.
They talked for a few more minutes while Mendanbar finished his cider. Morwen told him how to find Kazul’s cave in the Mountains of Morning but refused to advise him on what to do when he got there. Finally, she packed him off with two bottles of cider, the red book about dragons, and a recommendation not to waste any more time than he had to.
Mendanbar headed straight back to the castle. Visiting the King of the Dragons was going to take more preparation than simply talking to a sensible witch, and Morwen was right about wasting time.
4
In Which a Wizard Pays a Visit
WHEN MENDANBAR GOT BACK TO THE CASTLE, the first person he saw was Willin, standing in the doorway looking relieved. By the time Mendanbar got within earshot, however, the elf’s expression had changed to a ferocious scowl.
“I am happy to see that Your Majesty has returned safely,” Willin said stiffly. “I was about to send a party out to search for you.”
“Willin, that’s ridic—” Mendanbar broke off as his brain caught up with him. Willin might fuss and complain about the king playing hooky, but he wouldn’t send someone out looking for him without more reason than irritation. “What’s happened?”
Willin unbent very slightly. “Your Majesty has an unexpected visitor.” He paused. “At least, I presume he is unexpected.”
“Don’t frown at me like that,” Mendanbar said. “I certainly didn’t expect anyone. If I had, I’d have told you.”
“So I had assumed,” Willin said, relaxing a little more. “And since Your Majesty is not forgetful, in the normal way of things, I felt sure you would not have, ah, left the palace so precipitously if you had had an appointment.”
“Who is it?” Mendanbar asked. “Not another complaint from the Darkmorning Elves, I hope? If it is, you can tell them I won’t see them. I’ve had enough of their whining, and I’ve got more important things to attend to right now.”
“No,” Willin said. “It’s Zemenar, the Head Wizard of the Society of Wizards.”
“Oh, lord,” Mendanbar said. He had only met the Head Wizard once before, at his coronation three years earlier, and he hadn’t liked the man much then. Still, the Society of Wizards was a powerful group, and its members were not the sort of people it was a good idea to offend. He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “How long has he been waiting? What does he want?”
“He’s only been here for a few minutes,” Willin reassured him. The elf’s frown returned. “He refused to tell me his business, Your Majesty. He said it was a matter for Your Majesty’s ears alone.”
“He would,” Mendanbar muttered. “As I recall, he’s got an exaggerated idea of his own importance.”
“Your Majesty!” said Willin, clearly shocked by such plain speaking. “The Head Wizard of the Society of Wizards is a person of great distinction.”
“He certainly thinks so,” Mendanbar said. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t say anything improper when I’m talking to him. Where is he?”
“I asked him to wait in the main audience chamber.”
“Good. I’ll go see what he wants. You take these down to the kitchen.” Mendanbar handed Morwen’s jugs of cider to Willin. The elf blinked in puzzled surprise. Before Willin had time to collect himself, Mendanbar grabbed a handful of magic and twisted hard.
The courtyard faded into white mist. An instant later, the mist evaporated, leaving Mendanbar standing in the middle of his study. The wooden gargoyle in the corner immediately began shouting at him.
“You! You’ve got a lot of nerve, waltzing in as if nothing’s happened. I bet you thought that trick with the soapy water was funny! You’ll be sorry for it when the wood up here starts to rot from the damp, you wait and see.”
“That’s why you’re there,” Mendanbar said as he set the book Morwen had given him on the desk. “You’re supposed to let us know if the wood starts to go bad or gets termites, so we can fix it before the castle falls apart.”
“And look at the thanks I get,” the gargoyle complained. “Water in my ears and soap in my eyes. How do you expect me to do my job if I can’t see?”
Mendanbar listened with half an ear while he rummaged through the desk. The gold circlet he wore for official business was in the bottom drawer under a pile of old envelopes and out-of-date invitations to balls, dinners, birthday parties, cricket games, and teas. As he put the circlet on, Mendanbar frowned at the drawer, wondering why he was saving all that useless paper. He resolved for the hundredth time that week to clean everything out someday soon, shoved the drawer closed, and glanced around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Are you listening to me?” the gargoyle yelled.
“Of course not,” Mendanbar said. “I never do when you’re being insulting.”
“Insulting? You want insulting? I’ll give you insulting. You always dress funny! You’ve got feet like an elephant! Your nose is too big and your ears stick out!”
“Not much, compared to yours,” said Mendanbar cheerfully as he crossed to the door. “Stop grousing; if you can see my nose from up where you are, there’s nothing wrong with your eyes.”
“Your hair is a bird’s nest!” the gargoyle shouted just before the door closed behind Mendanbar. “A bird’s nest, do you hear me?”
Mendanbar rolled his eyes and headed down the corridor toward the main audience chamber. He supposed he would have to apologize to the gargoyle sooner or later, unless he could figure out a way to muffle the noise while he worked. Maybe he could enchant a pair of earplugs to keep out the gargoyle’s voice and nothing else. A spell that specific would be tricky, but it would be worth it just to see the gargoyle’s face when it realized Mendanbar didn’t mind its chatter. Mendanbar smiled and pushed open the rear door of the audience chamber.
Zemenar turned as Mendanbar entered, and the blue and gray robes he wore flared out around him. His face was just as sharp and angular as Mendanbar remembered. Giving Mendanbar a long, appraising look, Zemenar bowed his head in greeting. “Your Majesty.”
“Welcome, Head Wizard,” Mendanbar said, bowing slightly in return. Something tugged gently at his mind, distracting him. The strands of magic, which were always particularly plentiful inside the castle, were drifting slowly toward the staff Zemenar carried. In another minute or two, they would begin winding around Zemenar’s staff like thread winding onto a spool. Before long, the wizard’s staff would absorb them, leaving a tangled knot in the orderly net of
magic, and Mendanbar would have to spend hours straightening it out later.
It happened every time a wizard came to the Enchanted Forest, and it was very inconvenient. Mendanbar had gotten tired of asking wizards to keep their staffs from soaking up magic. They hardly ever understood what he was talking about, and if he did manage to make it clear, they generally got upset and indignant. He didn’t want to upset the Head Wizard of the Society of Wizards, but he didn’t want to spend his afternoon cleaning up a magical mess in the middle of his castle, either. He reached out with a mental hand and nudged the invisible cords away from the staff.
Zemenar did not seem to notice. “I have come to see you about a matter of much urgency to the Society of Wizards,” he said, stroking his long gray beard portentously. “I hope you will be willing to assist us.”
“That depends on what kind of help you’re asking for,” Mendanbar replied. “There are some things I won’t do, and a few that I can’t. I’m sure you understand.”
“Entirely,” Zemenar said, though he sounded a little put out, as if he had hoped to get Mendanbar to agree quickly, without asking any awkward questions.
Mendanbar felt like rolling his eyes in exasperation. Everybody who lived in the Enchanted Forest knew better than to make a promise without knowing what they were promising. Did this wizard think that Mendanbar was stupid just because he was young?
“We in the Society of Wizards have been having a great deal of difficulty recently with the dragons in the Mountains of Morning,” Zemenar went on. “That is the root of the problem.”
“I don’t think I can help you with the dragons,” Mendanbar said. The strands of magic were drifting toward the wizard’s staff again. He gave them another nudge. “The Mountains of Morning aren’t part of the Enchanted Forest, so I can’t just order the dragons to behave. If you were having trouble with elves, now, I might be able—”
“Naturally, we don’t wish to involve you in our dispute,” Zemenar interrupted smoothly. “However, one of the results of our quarrel is that the King of the Dragons has cut off the Society’s access to the Caves of Fire and Night.”
Searching for Dragons Page 4
