Calling on Dragons (18 page)

“If you have a better idea, I'd like to hear it,” said Morwen. “Besides, we haven't got the slightest idea where we're going, so rushing off won't get us there any quicker. We'll be better off if we take time to plan.”

“I suppose so,” Cimorene said, but she didn't sound happy about it.

“As I was saying: By tomorrow morning, I'll have some idea when Telemain will be able to do a proper transport spell again. Without Kazul, he can take us considerably farther each time and still stay within the safety limits.”

Cimorene swallowed a mouthful of potato. “That's good. The faster we go, the sooner we'll get the sword back to the Enchanted Forest.”

“Exactly.” With some regret, Morwen set down her fork. “For tonight, the best thing we all can do is rest. Brandel, will you help us with Telemain?”

“I don't need help,” Telemain said unexpectedly from the floor in front of the fire. “I need dinner. Where are we, and why is there a cat on my chest?”

“He was supposed to be making sure you stayed asleep,” Morwen said, turning to give Trouble a reproving look.

“It's not
my
fault,” Trouble said. “He doesn't react right. I've never had to use that spell on a magician before; maybe that's why.” He rose and stepped carefully down from Telemain's chest. “Are there any sardines left?”

Telemain sat up and looked at Trouble with dislike. “That animal is remarkably heavy for something that looks that skinny.”

“That's gratitude for you,” said Trouble. “He should be glad I'm not Chaos.”

“How are you feeling?” Cimorene asked Telemain anxiously.

“Squashed,” said Telemain. “And may I point out that as yet no one has answered my first question. Where are we?”

“The Smoking Swamp,” Morwen told him. “And this is Brandel. We were fortunate enough to find his tower in time to spend the night, or you'd be sleeping in mud.”

“I appear to have done that already,” Telemain said, picking flakes of dried mud from the left shoulder of his vest. Suddenly, he looked up, frowning. “Spend the
night?
”

“You got an unusually heavy dose of backshock when you lost control of the transportation spell,” Morwen told him. “You've been unconscious all day.”

“Ridiculous,” said Telemain. “I did not lose control of the transportation spell, and I am not suffering from backshock.”

“Well, this certainly isn't the edge of the Great Southern Desert,” Cimorene said. “And
something
knocked you out for most of the day.”

“I had to carry you,” Killer said, bobbing his head up and down for emphasis. “You're heavy.”

Morwen's eyes narrowed. “If it isn't backshock, what is it?”

“The opposite of backshock,” Telemain said. “I don't believe there is a word for it.”

“Explain.”

“Backshock occurs when the accumulated magical energy contained within an enchantment-in-process rebounds upon the magician casting the spell due to his inability to maintain control,” Telemain said.

“He's feeling better, all right,” said Trouble, glancing up from the sardines.

“Mrrow vrow?” said Horatio.

“Yes,” said Scorn. “Sometimes he's even worse.”

“In this instance, both the disruption of the transportation spell and the prolonged unconsciousness that followed resulted from an expropriation of magical energy as a result of the partial absorption of my enchantment-in-process by a similar but much more extensive enchantment.”

“What?” said Brandel.

“You're sure?” Morwen said, frowning.

“Positive,” said Telemain. “The sensation was quite unmistakable. And I must also point out that the normal secondary consequences of backshock are not in evidence.”

“What does
that
mean?” Cimorene said.

“It means I'm starving,” Telemain said, climbing to his feet. “Can we finish this discussion over dinner?”

“Most of us have eaten,” Morwen said. “You can have dinner while the rest of us discuss. About this other spell—”

“
What
other spell?” Cimorene said. “Morwen, will
one
of you please explain what you're talking about?”

“Sorry,” Morwen said. “Telemain said that he didn't lose control of the transportation spell. Somebody else was transporting at the same time—”

“A very large somebody else,” Telemain said, piling a plate with slices of roast boar and heaps of vegetables. “Or possibly someone moving a moderately large house.”

“—and the second spell sucked up enough of Telemain's magic to break his spell right in the middle of things.”

“Sucked up Telemain's magic?” Cimorene scowled. “That sounds an awful lot like wizards.”

“Aren't you jumping to conclusions?” Brandel said. “I know wizards have a bad reputation, but they aren't
thieves.
”

“They took Mendanbar's sword.”

“And they've been stealing magic on a small scale for years,” Morwen said. “Just ask the dragons.”

“But if it
was
wizards, where were they going?” Cim­orene tapped her fingers nervously against the arm of her chair. “And what were they planning to do when they got there? Oh, I
wish
I'd been able to reach Mendanbar.”

Telemain made a questioning noise, so Morwen explained about Brandel's magic mirror. “I thought the spell might be incompatible with the one in the castle,” she finished. “Do you feel up to checking, once you're done eating?”

“I can certainly try,” Telemain said. “If that's the problem, though, I doubt that I'll be able to do anything about it until tomorrow. It takes time to rebuild magical reserves.”

But when Telemain examined the mirror, he shook his head. “It's an old universal-application single-unit enchantment. Quite an impressive antique, and I can see that it's been well maintained. The connective interface is pretty basic, therefore—”

“Can you fix it to get through to Mendanbar or not?” Cimorene asked.

“I was getting to that.” Telemain looked at the expression on Cimorene's face and sighed. “I'm afraid it doesn't need adjusting,” he said with unusual gentleness. “There's nothing wrong with the spell, and it shouldn't be incompatible with the castle mirror. The problem is somewhere else.”

“I knew it,” Cimorene said. She rose and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “Something is wrong at home.”

B
OTH MORWEN AND TELEMAIN
agreed with Cim­orene, at least in part, but even if they had wanted to, they could not have done anything that night. Telemain was much too drained to cast another transportation spell, and they had no other way of getting back to the Enchanted Forest in a hurry. Furthermore, there was not much point in going back without the sword.

“Mendanbar has all the magic of the Enchanted Forest to use against the wizards,” Morwen said. “He doesn't need more magicians. He needs his sword, so he can stop all of the wizards at once instead of attacking them one or two at a time.”

“Yes, but there are so
many
of them,” Cimorene said. “And there's only one of him. And what if the sword has started draining magic out of the forest? The wizards will be getting more powerful and Mendanbar will be getting less.”

“If the sword has started leaking Enchanted Forest magic, the best thing we can do is to get it back to the forest quickly,” Morwen said.

“And anyway, there are only three of us,” Telemain pointed out. “That wouldn't change the odds much.”

“There are six of us,” Trouble said indignantly. “What's the matter, can't he count?”

“I'll admit that the rabbit isn't good for much, even as a donkey,” Scorn said. “
We,
however, are another matter entirely.”

“Kazul will be far more help to Mendanbar than we would,” Morwen told Cimorene. “Our job is to get hold of that sword. And you are the only one who can do that.”

Cimorene sighed. “I know. I just wish I could be there with him.”

“Then we had better stop worrying about what Mendanbar is doing and start figuring out how to find his sword in the shortest possible time, so we get back as soon as we can,” Morwen said.

Everyone agreed that this was an excellent idea, but though they discussed the matter for another hour, no one had any suggestions. Finally, Morwen put an end to the discussion. “We are all getting too tired to think,” she said. “We will do much better in the morning.” Brandel supplied them each with a room and a warm bath—which the cats declined—and Morwen made certain that the others were settled in before she retired herself.

The following morning, Morwen rose early. Even so, Telemain was up before she was. She found him in the topmost room of the tower, sitting in front of the dead ashes of the fire and staring at Brandel's magic mirror with an expression of concentration on his face. On the far side of the room, Killer slept with his head down and his oversized wings flopped awkwardly across his back.

“Good morning,” Morwen said as she climbed the last few stairs. “How are your magic levels?”

“Much better,” Telemain said absently. “Morwen, how much do you know about these old universal-application units?” He waved at the mirror.

“Using them or enchanting them?”

“Using them.”

“Quite a bit,” Morwen said. “Forty years ago they were standard equipment for witches, and learning to use them is still considered part of a witch's basic education. Why?”

“How universal is the universal application?” Telemain asked.

“It depends on the mirror. Can't you figure it out from looking at the underlying enchantment?”

Telemain frowned. “Probably, but it's not a good idea to take a working antique apart unless you absolutely have to. They're old and fragile, and if I popped one of the main core links it could take days to repair.”

Morwen suppressed a sigh of irritation. There was no point in snapping at Telemain when he was in this mood. He wouldn't notice. “It would help if you told me what you want to do with it.”

“I was considering the possibility of using the mirror as a locating device,” Telemain said. “If the universal-application portion of the enchantment is truly universal . . .”

“ . . . then we can use it to find Mendanbar's sword,” Morwen said. “What an excellent suggestion. I should have thought of it myself. Back at the castle, perhaps, when it would have saved us some time.”

“It wouldn't have done any good then.” Telemain bent over the mirror, oblivious to Morwen's sarcasm. “The enchantment on the castle mirror is limited to animate, sentient beings, and while Mendanbar's sword is occasionally temperamental, it is neither animate nor sentient. Now, if you'll just show me where the external connectors are, I'll hook this to a low-level identification spell and—”

“If all you want to do is find Mendanbar's sword, you shouldn't need an identification spell. The mirror is quite capable of handling the whole thing itself, if it's approached correctly.”

“Who's approaching what, and why do you have to be correct about it?” Cimorene asked, climbing the last few stairs into the room. Trouble, who seemed to have been escorting her, bounded over the last step and stopped dead in his tracks. Cimorene did not quite trip over him, but it was a near thing.

“Telemain wants to use Brandel's mirror to find the sword,” Morwen said, giving Trouble a reproving look. Trouble looked away and wandered casually toward Killer, who raised his head and blinked sleepily at the cat.

Dubiously, Cimorene examined the mirror. “Can it do that?”

“I see no reason why not,” Morwen said. “You heard what it said last night about hunting for the fairest in the land. If it can do that, it ought to be able to look for a sword.”

“Good,” said Cimorene.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

I would like to make a call.”

Nothing happened. “What's the matter?” said Cim­orene. “Is it broken?”

“Possibly,” Telemain said. “Antique spells are easily disrupted.”

“They're also cranky,” said Morwen. Stepping forward, she tapped the mirror briskly on the left side.

Immediately, the mirror turned white, as if someone had thrown a large bucket of milk at the reverse side. “Now what?” it said, sounding extremely cross.

“I want to see where Mendanbar's sword is,” Cim­orene told it.

“Too bad,” said the mirror. “I told you yesterday, that has to be specified in the verse. Get it right, or don't bother asking. I really can't make any more exceptions.” Without waiting for an objection, the mirror turned its usual blotchy silver.

“Come back here!” said Cimorene, but the mirror remained obstinately silver.

“Hmph,” said Morwen. “I suppose I should have expected this. My first magic mirror used to be irritable in the mornings, too.”

“What can we do about it?” Cimorene asked.

“Give me a minute to think.”

“I could constrain a certain level of performance,” Telemain said, frowning. “However, the accuracy of the information obtained might leave something to be desired. On the other hand—”

“Better think fast,” Trouble said to Morwen.

Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. “You're all up early,” said Brandel. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“I'd like your blasted mirror to cooperate,” Cim­orene muttered under her breath.

“Got it,” Morwen said. “Move over, Cimorene.

“Mirror, mirror, on a hook,

Where's the sword the wizards took?”