Talking to Dragons (26 page)

I couldn't move very much or very fast, though, and if the wizards noticed, they'd just throw the spell at me again. I decided not to move at all until I was sure I could move the sword fast enough to block another spell, then whispered to Shiara, “Don't
do
that. They might notice.”

Shiara snorted. “If you don't want them to notice, you'd better try to notice sooner. That was the third time I called you.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“So am I. What are we going to do?”

“If you could—Nightwitch!” I broke off in midsentence as a small black streak darted toward the group of wizards. One of them raised his staff; Shiara cried out and Nightwitch dodged. The spell hit the marble floor in a ball of light, and a moment later the kitten was among the wizards' feet. I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear the wizards shouting.

“There it goes!”

“Stop it!”

“It got away.”

“Find it,” the leader of the wizards commanded. “You, Grineran, go after it. It may lead you to the one we seek.”

One of the wizards nodded and left, and I blinked. There were only three wizards left now: a short, round one, the one who was giving orders, and Antorell.

Antorell was staring at Shiara and me. “What about them?” he said suddenly. “They may know something.”

The leader of the wizards looked thoughtful. “For once, Antorell, you may have made a useful suggestion. Persuading them to explain what they know may be difficult, however.”

Antorell grinned nastily. “I think I can manage it.”

“Really.” The leader sounded skeptical. “The girl is a fire-witch, and the boy has the sword, remember.”

“Sword or no, he cannot be immune to spells or Silvarex would never have been able to bind him,” Antorell said.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Something like this.”

Antorell waved his staff casually in my direction as he spoke. Even if I'd been able to move, I wouldn't have been able to twist the sword into a position to block the spell before it hit me, especially since I didn't realize what he was doing until the pain struck. It felt as if I were fighting the fire-witch again, only this time the pain was all through my body instead of just in my arms. It was worse than anything I'd ever felt. I think I screamed, but I'm not sure.

Beside me, Shiara shouted, and a long ribbon of fire shot through the air in front of me, straight at Antorell. Antorell caught fire almost at once. As he slapped at his clothes and his staff, trying to put out the flames, the pain stopped abruptly and the key in my left hand got even hotter. Neither of the other wizards even tried to help Antorell. They just stood and stared at Shiara and me.

The ribbon of fire still hung in the air above the brazier, making a curtain of flames between us and the wizards. Slowly, reluctantly, it began to fade, and as it died, the heat from the key in my left hand faded along with it.
Fire,
I thought. Fire in the brazier, fire in the key; Kazul had said the key could open any door in the castle, and Shiara had said something about the key and fire . . .

I lifted my left hand, fighting the remnant of the wizard's spell, and threw the key forward into the brazier.

There was a
whoosh
of flame that leapt all the way to the ceiling, then died. I thought I saw something in it, but it vanished before I could be sure. The brazier began to glow, and the whole room was suddenly thick and heavy with magic, like the air just before a summer thunderstorm. I could feel the magic growing stronger, as if it was getting ready for something, but nothing else happened. I was sure there was something else I should do, but I couldn't think what.

“Stop them!” the leader of the wizards shouted.

“Move, Daystar!” Shiara cried, and ducked down behind the brazier.

I tried to follow her, but I couldn't move fast enough because of the remains of the binding spell and because I was worrying about what else I was supposed to do in order to finish the spell I'd started with the key. I saw Antorell and the other wizards bring their staffs up, and I tried desperately to move the sword far enough to block whatever they were throwing at me.

I made it, but only just.

The sword flashed as the wizards' spell hit it, and a tingle ran through me. The spell that had been binding me vanished. I could feel what was left of it flowing through the sword, along with the rest of the magic the wizards had thrown. It felt a lot like the jolt of power I'd gotten in the forest, when I'd used the sword on the spell the wizards had aimed at Shiara, except that this time I could tell where the power was going. It was flowing through me, into the magic of the Enchanted Forest itself. Back where it had come from in the first place, if Kazul was right about where wizards got most of their magic. Back to . . .

I felt my eyes widening and almost missed blocking the next spell. Then four more wizards appeared behind the three in the doorway. If I didn't do something soon, I wouldn't have time for anything except blocking spells. There was no way to find out whether I was right except to try.

I stepped up to the edge of the brazier, took a deep breath, and said loudly,

“Power of water, wind, and earth,

Turn the spell back to its birth.

Raise the fire to free the lord

By the power of wood and sword.”

As I spoke the last word, I thrust the Sword of the Sleeping King into the middle of the coals in the brazier.

As the sword touched the coals, all the waiting magic around me surged forward, and suddenly I knew where it had come from. It was the magic of the castle and the Enchanted Forest itself, alive and growing, running like a net through the ground and the trees and the air. Fire shot up to the ceiling, the same way it had when I threw the key into the brazier, but this time the flames didn't fade. They got brighter and brighter until all I could see was fire. I heard a rumbling sound like the roof of the Caves of Chance falling in, and the floor shook under me.

A voice said loudly, “All hail the Waker of the Sword!” and voices all around me shouted, “Hail!”

Echoes from the shout rolled around the room, like thunder rolling back and forth across the sky. I couldn't see anything except fire, I couldn't hear anything except echoes, and I couldn't feel anything at all. Then something in my head seemed to snap into place, and the noise stopped abruptly.

I let go of the sword and stepped back a pace. The light in my eyes started to dwindle into flames again, but now I could see pictures in them, outlined in fire: dragons fighting wizards outside the castle, and dwarves fighting elves, and elves fighting wizards and other elves. I couldn't tell who was winning. Sometimes it seemed to be one set of fiery little shapes, and sometimes it seemed to be the other.

As I stared at the fire, I realized that I could feel the jangling from all the wizards' staffs and the deep rumbling of the magic of the Enchanted Forest and the purring of the castle itself, even though I wasn't holding the sword anymore. I could even feel the shape of the wizards' spells inside and outside the castle, including the one around and over the brazier. I could feel the magic of the sword, too, weaving a bright pattern through all the other types of magic. I followed the pattern until I saw how it worked, and then I reached out toward all the different kinds of magic and
twisted.

The jangling of the wizards' staffs stopped abruptly as the power of the Enchanted Forest swallowed up the power of the staffs. Immediately, the flames in front of me swirled and pulled together, so that the pictures I'd been watching disappeared, and I found myself staring at a crowd of very angry ex-wizards through a shifting curtain of fire.

At least two of the wizards were wearing swords, and they were reaching for them. The leader started to point in my direction, and I ducked instinctively. Almost every wizard who's any good carries a spell or two outside his staff, just in case the staff gets stolen. The wizards at the castle didn't have any magic in their staffs anymore, but they could still make trouble with their spare spells.

I dove behind the brazier just in time to avoid something like a large lightning bolt. I swallowed, hoping these wizards didn't have very many more spells like that. I heard shouts, and I peered around the edge of the brazier, expecting to see the wizards with the swords coming after me.

Wizards were running in several directions, but none of them seemed to be heading for me. For a moment, I was puzzled, but then I saw Morwen, Telemain, and a couple of elves charging into the room from the hallway. I didn't stop to worry about how they had gotten there. I turned back to the brazier, to pull the Sword of the Sleeping King out of it so I could join the fight—and stopped.

The flames were still swirling in the air above the brazier, but they were denser somehow, and brighter. All I could see was a mass of white-and-yellow light, shot with power. Then something flashed so brightly that I had to cover my eyes. When I could see again, there was a door in the center of the brazier, right on top of the place where I had thrown the key, and facing the point of the sword. The door hung between two pillars that looked as if they were made of solid light, and I couldn't see anything around it except light and flames.

I stared at the door for a moment as it grew even more solid. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what was on the other side. Doors like that are even worse than the one in Morwen's house; they can go
anywhere.
I reached for the Sword of the Sleeping King, but before my hand touched it, the door opened and a man stepped through.

He didn't look at all like the simulacrum. He was taller, with black hair and tired-looking gray eyes, and he didn't have a beard. He was dressed in plain clothes, but there was a feeling of strength about him, and power. Even without the thin gold circlet he wore I would have guessed who he was. I took a deep breath of relief as he stepped down from the brazier and onto the marble floor in front of me.

As he did, the doorway behind him melted back into leaping flames, which faded quickly until there was nothing there except the brazier and the glowing coals. The room was utterly silent. I looked up at the King of the Enchanted Forest for a moment, then turned to the brazier and reached for the hilt of the Sword of the Sleeping King.

The sword wasn't even warm from the fire, but the blade shone even more brightly than it had the day Mother brought it out of the Enchanted Forest and gave it to me. I looked at it for a minute, then turned back to the King and held it out.

“I've come to return your sword, Father,” I said.

F
OR A LONG MOMENT
the King of the Enchanted Forest looked at me over the hilt of the sword. Then he reached out and took it. He held it up for a moment, then turned and brought it down hard on the edge of the brazier.

The brazier split and fell apart, scattering embers. As soon as it hit the floor, it started to melt and vanish, and in a few seconds there was nothing left of it except the key. The King bent and picked it up, then turned back to me and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” I said automatically. Then I noticed Shiara sitting on the floor, where she had dived when the wizards started throwing spells around. She was looking from me to the King and back, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. “Oh, I'm sorry,” I said. “Shiara, this is the King of the Enchanted Forest. Father, this is my friend Shiara. She's a fire-witch.”

Father bowed. Shiara looked at him and cleared her throat, then cleared it again and said, “Hey, um, are you really Daystar's father?”

The King smiled slightly and nodded. “Of course. Only the Kings of the Enchanted Forest can use the sword.” He raised it so that the light flashing from the blade filled the room, then in one fluid motion he sheathed it in the empty scabbard at his side. He looked at me and smiled again.

Shiara blinked, then turned her head and glared at me. “Why didn't you tell me the King of the Enchanted Forest was your father?” she demanded.

“I'm sorry, but I didn't know it myself until just now,” I said.

“Ha!” said Shiara. “Why—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Nightwitch pounced on her.

“Nightwitch!” Shiara sounded relieved. “Where did you come from?”

“I believe she came with them,” Father said, nodding toward the doorway.

Shiara and I turned. A dozen wizards were sprawled on the floor in a tangled pile. Some of them were wrapped in vines, some of them seemed to be frozen, and some of them had elves and cats sitting on them. As soon as we turned to look at them, the elves all got up and bowed, then sat down again quickly before the wizards could get up and do anything. The cats just sat and blinked at us.

“I don't think you need to be quite so careful,” the King said to the elves. “If you'll let them up one at a time, I'll decide what to do with them.”

The elves nodded, and one of them stood up and bowed politely to the King. Father walked over to the wizard the elf had been sitting on and started asking him questions. The wizard didn't answer. Finally, Father shrugged and waved a hand. The wizard disappeared, and Father went on to the next one.

As soon as they got off the wizards, the elves started gathering up the staffs into a big bundle. Most of the cats just sat down and washed their paws. None of the wizards would say anything to Father, and he didn't waste much time on any of them. In a few minutes, there were only three wizards left. I was watching them when Shiara poked me.

“Daystar, where's Morwen?” she asked when I turned around. “Those are her cats; she has to be around somewhere.”

“I don't know,” I said. “I remember seeing her right before Father showed up, and Telemain was with her.” I looked toward the door, where the last few wizards were, and blinked. “Shiara, where's Antorell?”