Calling on Dragons (19 page)

As the mirror's surface reluctantly faded to white, Telemain stared at Morwen in disbelief. “You call that a spell?”

“It rhymes and it scans,” Morwen said. “What more do you want at this hour of the morning? And on the spur of the moment, too.”

“I agree with him,” the mirror said. “That was a
lousy
couplet.”

“If you'd found us the sword to begin with, you wouldn't have had to listen to it,” Morwen said, unperturbed. “Do your job.”

Cimorene leaned forward. “And this time, please don't—”

Whirling colors filled the mirror, and a soft but penetrating off-key hum echoed through the room.

“—hum,” Cimorene finished, half a second too late. “Bother!”

“As long as it finds the sword for us, I don't care if it sings an aria backward,” Morwen said. “If it annoys you that much, put your fingers in your ears.”

Trouble jumped onto the window ledge and curled his tail around his feet. Two seconds later, Scorn and Horatio tore out of the stairwell and raced around the room, startling Killer into wakefulness. A loud bray drowned out the mirror's humming, and Brandel winced. As the cats settled onto various pieces of furniture for their morning wash, Cimorene nudged Morwen's side. “Look! It's working.”

Morwen turned back to the mirror and smiled in satisfaction. The glass had cleared to show a large, ramshackle house with two chimneys and a steeply pointed roof. The windows were made up of small glass rec­tangles, and ivy covered most of them so thickly that it seemed unlikely that anyone could see out.

“
That's
the central office of the Society of Wizards?” Cimorene said.

“No,” Telemain replied. “Apparently I was wrong, and they aren't keeping the sword at the central office. It's a good thing I thought to check.” He sounded extremely smug. “Now all we have to do is find out where that house is.”

“It's about five miles past the edge of the swamp,” Brandel said. “Right outside the town where I grew up. But I don't think knowing that does you much good.”

“Why do you say that?” Morwen asked.

“Because you said the Society of Wizards stole this sword you're after.
That
house belongs to Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist.”

“What?”

“You mean it's the wrong
place?”
Cimorene said. “After all that?”

“It is
not
the wrong place!” the mirror said indignantly. “I've been a magic mirror for one hundred and forty-seven years, and I haven't made a mistake yet. Look here!”

The scene in the glass swooped and whirled dizzyingly, and then the view plunged through one of the ivy-covered windows into a dimly lit room. Inside, two men sat at a dusty table, drinking black coffee and contemplating a shiny sword lying on the table between them. One of them was bald and sharp faced, while the other—

“That's Antorell!” Cimorene said. “He's gotten himself back together awfully fast this time. It must be all the practice he's had.”

“That's Arona!” Brandel said at the same instant, staring at the bald man. “Is that the sword you're looking for?”

“It appears to be,” said Telemain.

Cimorene nodded. “That's Mendanbar's sword, all right. See how it looks twice as bright as anything else? I bet it's leaking magic all over.”

“Leaking magic?” said Killer, poking his long nose over Morwen's shoulder to peer at the mirror. “You never said anything about that sword leaking magic. It doesn't sound very safe.”

“It isn't,” Cimorene told him. “Which is another reason why we have to get it back to the Enchanted Forest quickly. The longer it's outside the forest, the worse it gets. That sword
belongs
in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Don't worry about it,” Morwen said to Killer. “It won't hurt you unless you try to eat it.”

“That would be fun to watch,” said Trouble, cocking his head to one side.

“Mrow?” said Horatio.

“Probably not,” Scorn said with some regret. “Even Killer isn't
that
stupid.”

Brandel was still staring at the mirror with a grim expression. “So that's it. That no-good, interfering, lousy little troublemaking weasel has gotten the Society of Wizards to help him!” His voice rose steadily until he was shouting, and on “troublemaking” his hair burst into flames.

“Yow!” said Killer, jumping backwards. “Ouch! That was my
ear.
Whoops!” As he recoiled from Brandel's blazing head, his wings flopped open, catching air and throwing him off balance. Twisting frantically to keep his left wing tip away from the fire, Killer flapped twice and fell over in a tangle of legs and ears and feathers. The cats bounced away from him, startled and bristling.

“Hey, watch what you're doing,” said Scorn. “You could hurt someone.” Horatio gave her neck a reassuring lick.

Slowly, Killer settled his wings into place and climbed back to his feet. “I think I sprained something,” he said mournfully. “And my ear is singed.” He gave Brandel a reproachful look.

Brandel didn't notice. Hair still burning merrily, he turned to Cimorene. “If you want some help getting that sword back, just ask. That sneaking, repulsive little—”

“Are you done?” asked the mirror. “Or do you actually want to watch these two have breakfast?”

“Possibly,” said Morwen. “Telemain, is there any way we can hear what they're saying?”

“I doubt it,” Telemain said. “In any event, it would require considerable time to determine the precise adjustments appropriate to the subcategory. Antiques are not my area of specialization.”

“Watch who you're calling antique, buster,” the mirror said. “I'll have you know that I found that sword in less than half the time it'd take some of your newfangled hotshot mirrors.”

“And a good job you did of it,” Morwen said. “We're finished. Go to sleep.”

“‘Antique,'” muttered the mirror as the reflection faded into white and then cleared to show the tower room once more. “Bah phooey to ‘antique.' I'm just as good as I was a hundred years ago. Better! I've got more experience.
And
I give personal service. ‘Antique!' Some people . . .”

“I think he hurt her feelings,” Scorn said.

“What about
my
feelings?” Killer said loudly. “My ear is burned, I've bent three feathers and pulled a muscle in my back, and I'm
hungry.
”

“So are the rest of us,” Trouble said. “But you don't hear
us
complaining.” He glanced at Scorn and Horatio, and then all three cats looked up at the humans with matching expressions of starvation being nobly borne in a good cause.

Morwen sighed. “Brandel, would you be good enough to calm down, stop flaming, and see about a morning meal? Or if you'd rather not be bothered, at least tell us how to work the pantry spell?”

Setting up breakfast took nearly half an hour, mostly because everyone except Killer and the cats had other preoccupations. Brandel and Cimorene kept getting sidetracked into a discussion of Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist and his involvement with the Society of Wizards and the theft of the sword. Telemain was more interested in studying the mirror than in talking or food, and Morwen made a mental note to make sure he didn't skip breakfast. Backshock or not, he was still recovering, and he'd be a great deal more use if he ate well before they left. Morwen herself would have liked to join either Cimorene's discussion or Telemain's investigation, but for the most part she forced herself to stay out of them. After all,
someone
had to keep the others moving.

Finally, everything was ready, and they sat down to eat. “I still can't believe it,” Brandel said, tipping three sausage patties onto his plate and handing the platter to Cimorene. “Vamist never liked the idea of wizards. They weren't traditional enough for him.”

“Don't start on that again,” Morwen said. “You'll use up all your energy burning your hair.”

Cimorene swallowed a bite of toast and said, “Yes, what we need now is a plan. Can you give us directions to this Vamist person's house, Brandel?”

“I'll do better than that. I'll show you.” Brandel scowled and a wisp of smoke rose out of his hair. “The idea of that pompous, overbearing skunk helping wizards after he got
us
kicked out of town for being nontraditional . . .”

“I wonder what they offered him?” Telemain said.

“How about a warding spell powerful enough to protect him from half a dozen fire-witches?” Morwen suggested.

“You mean he was working with them all along?” Brandel said. “That little—”

“We don't know that for certain,” Cimorene said hastily. “Yet. And if you still can't go home, you can come back to the Enchanted Forest with us after we get the sword. I'm sure Mendanbar would be happy to have you, and the rest of your family, too.”

“It's
lots
nicer than a swamp,” Killer put in. “There's plenty of clover—at least, there's plenty for rabbits. I don't know if there's enough for six-foot donkeys with wings.” His ears drooped at the thought.

“We'll worry about that later,” Morwen told him. “Eat your breakfast. Brandel, how long will it take us to get to Vamist's house? And does anyone have any suggestions as to how we should proceed once we get there?”

“That's easy,” Cimorene said. “It looked like Vamist and Antorell were the only ones there. Brandel and Telemain can go to the front door and distract them while you and I sneak in through the back and grab the sword. And if Antorell tries to stop me, I'll melt him. Pass the salt, please.”

A
LTHOUGH THEY DISCUSSED THE MATTER
for the rest of the meal, Cimorene's plan was the best idea they had. Since only Cimorene could carry the sword, she had to be the person who sneaked in and took it. Morwen had to go with her because the cats were going to act as lookouts and no one else could understand them. Brandel was the logical person to distract Arona Vamist, and Telemain had to be with him in order to melt any wizards who might show up.

“What about me?” asked Killer.

“You get to stand outside the back door and stay out of mischief,” Morwen told him. “You'd be safer here, but we'll probably want to transport home right from Vamist's house.”

“You're
sure
you can manage that part, Telemain?” Cimorene asked.

“Quite certain,” Telemain said a little crossly. “The last error was due to a cross-matrix interference that is not at all likely to be repeated.”

“I might agree with you if we knew exactly what caused the interference in the first place,” Morwen said. “Since we don't . . .”

“If it will make you feel better, I'll put a screening mechanism in the bypass module.” This time, Telemain made no attempt whatsoever to hide his annoyance.

“Temperamental, isn't he?” said Scorn.

“A screening mechanism sounds like a very good idea to me,” Morwen told Telemain. “And we aren't questioning your competence, so stop frowning. Getting the sword back to the Enchanted Forest is too important to take chances, even small ones.”

“Then you'd better help me figure out what kind of adjustments to make to the springbase loader so that it won't ignore Brandel,” Telemain said. “Since I assume you don't want to leave him behind for the wizards.”

Brandel looked at Telemain with alarm. “Leave me behind? Why?”

“Fire-witches are immune to most spells,” Morwen said. “Including ordinary transportation spells. Telemain is quite right; if we don't make a few changes, you'll undoubtedly find yourself standing alone in the middle of Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist's yard when the spell goes off.”

“We can't let that happen!” Cimorene said. “If the Society of Wizards catches him, they'll do something awful.”

“But you just said he's immune to spells,” Killer said in a puzzled tone. “So what can the wizards do to him?”

“Break his legs, tie him to a tree for the nightshades to eat, stick him in a dungeon with no food,” said Trouble. “Wizards don't need magic to do nasty things.”

Horatio hissed. Killer's ears went stiff and the hair along his neck bristled. “No food! They wouldn't. Not really.”

“Yes, they would,” said Morwen. “
If
they caught him. Which they won't, because before we leave here, Telemain and I are going to make sure the transportation spell works on Brandel.”

Killer bobbed his head up and down in vigorous agreement. “That's good. We don't want to leave anyone behind. No food! Those wizards really
are
horrible.”

“You two work on the spell,” Cimorene said. “I'll get everything else ready to go. How far away did you say this place is, Brandel?”

“Two or three hours' walk,” Brandel said. “It'll take us an hour or so to get out of the swamp, but after that it should be easy.”

Trouble lowered his head and lashed his tail in disgust. “More mud. And no dragon to ride on this time, either.”

“Dibs on Morwen's shoulder,” said Scorn.

“Mrrow!” said Horatio in an emphatic tone.

“Will you need me for the changes you want to make in the transportation spell?” Brandel asked Telemain. “Because if you won't, I'd like to make a few calls. The rest of the family ought to know that the Society of Wizards is behind Vamist.”

Telemain removed a silver globe the size of a tennis ball from the pouch at his belt and studied it. “What? Yes, of course. Go ahead. Morwen, I think we should start with the shift alignment linkages. We'll have to add two or three interrupt vectors, and we may have to modify the invisible channel connection as well.”