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Dealing With Dragons / Book One of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles

Patricia C. Wrede

Copyright 1990 by Patricia C. Wrede

1

In Which Cimorene Refuses to Be Proper

and Has a Conversation with a Frog

Linderwall was a large kingdom, just east of the

Mountains of Morning, where philosophers were

highly respected and the number five was fashionable.

The climate was unremarkable. The knights kept their

armor brightly polished mainly for show—it had been

centuries since a dragon had come east. There were the

usual periodic problems with royal children and un-

invited fairy godmothers, but they were always the sort

of thing that could be cleared up by finding the proper

prince or princess to marry the unfortunate child a few

years later. All in all, Linderwall was a very prosperous

and pleasant place.

Cimorene hated it.

Cimorene was the youngest daughter of the King

of Linderwall, and her parents found her rather trying.

Their first six daughters were perfectly normal prin-

cesses, with long, golden hair and sweet dispositions,

each more beautiful than the last. Cimorene was lovely

enough, but her hair was jet black, and she wore it in

braids instead of curled and pinned like her sisters.

And she wouldn't stop growing. Her parents were

quite sure that no prince would want to marry a girl

who could look him in the eye instead of gazing up at

him becomingly through her lashes. As for the girl's

disposition—well, when people were being polite, they

said she was strong-minded. When they were angry or

annoyed with her, they said she was as stubborn as a

Pig-

The King and Queen did the best they could. They

hired the most superior tutors and governesses to teach

Cimorene all the things a princess ought to know—

dancing, embroidery, drawing, and etiquette. There

was a great deal of etiquette, from the proper way to

curtsy before a visiting prince to how loudly it was

permissible to scream when being carried off by a giant.

(Linderwall still had an occasional problem with giants.)

Cimorene found it all very dull, but she pressed

her lips together and learned it anyway. When she

couldn't stand it any longer, sh^ would go down to the

castle armory and bully the armsmaster into giving her

a fencing lesson. As she got older, she found her reg-

ular lessons more and more boring. Consequently, the

fencing lessons became more and more frequent.

When she was twelve, her father found out.

"Fencing is not proper behavior for a princess," he

told her in the gentle-but-firm tone recommended by

the court philosopher.

Cimorene tilted her head to one side. "Why not?"

"It's . . . well, it's simply not done."

Cimorene considered. "Aren't I a princess?"

"Yes, of course you are, my dear," said her father

with relief. He had been bracing himself for a storm of

tears, which was the way his other daughters reacted

to reprimands.

"Well, I fence," Cimorene said with the air of one

delivering an unshakable argument. "So it is too done

by a princess."

"That doesn't make it proper, dear," put in her

mother gently.

"Why not?"

"It simply doesn't," the Queen said firmly, and

that was the end of Cimorene's fencing lessons.

When she was fourteen, her father discovered that

she was making the court magician teach her magic.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked

wearily when she arrived in response to his summons.

"Since you stopped my fencing lessons," Cimorene

said. "I suppose you're going to tell me it isn't proper

behavior for a princess."

"Well, yes. I mean, it isn't proper."

"Nothing interesting seems to be proper," Cim-

orene said.

"You might find things more interesting if you

applied yourself a little more, dear," Cimorene's

mother said.

"I doubt it," Cimorene muttered, but she knew

better than to argue when her mother used that tone

of voice. And that was the end of the magic lessons.

The same thing happened over the Latin lessons

from the court philosopher, the cooking lessons from

the castle chef, the economics lessons from the court

treasurer, and the juggling lessons from the court min-

strel. Cimorene began to grow rather tired of the whole

business.

When she was sixteen, Cimorene summoned her

fairy godmother.

"Cimorene, my dear, this sort of thing really isn't

done," the fairy said, fanning away the scented blue

smoke that had accompanied her appearance.

"People keep telling me that," Cimorene said.

"You should pay attention to them, then," her

godmother said irritably. "I'm not used to being hauled

away from my tea without warning. And you aren't

supposed to call me unless it is a matter of utmost

importance to your life and future happiness."

"It is of utmost importance to my life and future

happiness," Cimorene said.

"Oh, very well. You're a bit young to have fallen

in love already; still, you always have been a precocious

child. Tell me about him."

Cimorene sighed. "It isn't a him."

"Enchanted, is he?" the fairy said with a spark of

interest. "A frog, perhaps? That used to be quite pop-

ular, but it seems to have gone out of fashion lately.

Nowadays, all the princes are talking birds, or dogs,

or hedgehogs."

"No, no, I'm not in love with anyone!"

"Then what, exactly, is your problem?" the fairy

said in exasperation.

"This!" Cimorene gestured at the castle around

her. "Embroidery lessons, and dancing, and—and

being a princess!"

"My dear Cimorene!" the fairy said, shocked. "It's

your heritage!"

"Ifs boring."

"Boring?" The fairy did not appear to believe what

she was hearing.

"Boring. I want to do things, not sit around all day

and listen to the court minstrel make up songs about

how brave Daddy is and how lovely his wife and

daughters are."

"Nonsense, my dear. This is just a stage you're

going through. You'll outgrow it soon, and you'll be

very glad you didn't do anything rash."

Cimorene looked at her godmother suspiciously.

"You've been talking to my parents, haven't you?"

"Well, they do try to keep me up to date on what

my godchildren are doing."

"I thought so," said Cimorene, and bade her fairy

godmother a polite good-bye.

A few weeks later, Cimorene's parents took her to a

tourney in Sathem-by-the-Mountains, the next king-

dom over. Cimorene was quite sure that they were only

taking her because her fairy godmother had told them

that something had better be done about her, and soon.

She kept this opinion to herself. Anything was better

than the endless rounds of dancing and embroidery

lessons at home.

Cimorene realized her mistake almost as soon as

they reached their destination, for the King of Sathem-

by-the-Mountains had a son. He was a golden-haired,

blue-eyed, and exceedingly handsome prince, whose

duties appeared to consist entirely of dancing atten-

dance on Cimorene.

"Isn't he handsome!" Cimorene's lady-in-waiting

sighed.

"Yes," Cimorene said without enthusiasm. "Un-

fortunately, he isn't anything else."

"Whatever do you mean?" the lady-in-waiting said

in astonishment.

"He has no sense of humor, he isn't intelligent, he

can't talk about anything except tourneys, and half of

what he does say he gets wrong. I'm glad we're only

staying three weeks. I don't think I could stand to be

polite to him for much longer than that."

"But what about your engagement?" the lady-in-

waiting cried, horrified.

"What engagement?" Cimorene said sharply.

The lady-in-waiting tried to mutter something

about a mistake, but Cimorene put up her chin in her

best princess fashion and insisted on an explanation.

Finally, the lady-in-waiting broke down.

"I ... I overheard Their Majesties discussing it

yesterday." She sniffled into her handkerchief. "The

stipulations and covenants and contracts and settle-

ments have all been drawn up, and they're going to

sign them the day after tomorrow and announce it on

Th-Thursday."

"I see," said Cimorene. "Thank you for telling me.

You may go."

The lady-in-waiting left, and Cimorene went to see

her- parents. They were annoyed and a little embar-

rassed to find that Cimorene had discovered their

plans, but they were still very firm about it. "We were

going to tell you tomorrow, when we signed the pa-

pers," her father said.

"We knew you'd be pleased, dear," her mother

said, nodding. "He's such a good-looking boy."

"But I don't want to marry Prince Therandil," Cim-

orene said.

"Well, it's not exactly a brilliant match," Cim-

orene's father said, frowning. "But I didn't think you'd

care how^big his kingdom is."

"It's the prince I don't care for," Cimorene said.

"That's a great pity, dear, but it can't be helped,"

Cimorene's mother said placidly. "I'm afraid it isn't

likely that you'll get another offer."

"Then I won't get married at all."

Both her parents looked slightly shocked. "My dear

Cimorene!" said her father. "That's out of the question.

You're a princess; it simply isn't done."

"I'm too young to get married!"

"Your Great-Aunt Rose was married at sixteen,"

her mother pointed out. "One really can't count all

those years she spent asleep under that dreadful fairy's

curse."

"I won't marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-Moun-

tains!" Cimorene said desperately. "It isn't proper!"

"What?" said both her parents together.

"He hasn't rescued me from a giant or an ogre or

freed me from a magic spell," Cimorene said.

Both her parents looked uncomfortable. "Well,

no," said Cimorene's father. "It's a bit late to start

arranging it, but we might be able to manage some-

thing."

"I don't think it's necessary," Cimorene's mother

said. She looked reprovingly at Cimorene. "You've

never paid attention to what was or wasn't suitable

before, dear; you can't start now. Proper or not, you

will marry Prince Therandil three weeks from Thurs-

day."

"But, Mother—"

"I'll send the wardrobe mistress to your room to

start fitting your bride clothes," Cimorene's mother said

firmly, and that was the end of the conversation.

Cimorene decided to try a more direct approach. She

went to see Prince Therandil. He was in the castle

armory, looking at swords. "Good morning. Princess,"

he said when he finally noticed Cimorene. "Don't you

think this is a lovely sword?"

Cimorene picked it up. "The balance is off."

"I believe you're right," said Therandil after a mo-

ment's study. "Pity; now I'll have to find another. Is

there something I can do for you?"

"Yes," said Cimorene. "You can not marry me."

"What?" Therandil looked confused.

"You don't really want to marry me, do you?"

Cimorene said coaxingly.

"Well, not exactly," Therandil replied. "I mean, in

a way. That is—"

"Oh, good," Cimorene said, correctly interpreting

this muddled reply as No, not at all. "Then you'll tell

your father you don't want to marry me?"

"I couldn't do that!" Therandil said, shocked. "It

wouldn't be right."

"Why not?" Cimorene demanded crossly.

"Because—because—well, because princes just

don't do that!"

"Then how are you going to keep from marrying

me?"

"I guess I won't be able to," Therandil said after

thinking hard for a moment. "How do you like that

sword over there? The one with the silver hilt?"

Cimorene left in disgust and went out to the castle

garden. She was very discouraged. It looked as if she

were going to marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-

Mountains whether she wanted to or not.

"I'd rather be eaten by a dragon," she muttered.

"That can be arranged," said a voice from beside

her left slipper.

Qmorene looked down and saw a small green frog

looking up at her. "I beg your pardon. Did you speak?"

she asked.

"You don't see anyone else around, do you?" said

the frog.

"Oh!" said Cimorene. She had never met a talking

frog before. "Are you an enchanted prince?" she asked

a little doubtfully.

"No, but I've met a couple of them, and after a

while you pick up a few things," said the frog. "Now,

why is it that you want to be eaten by a dragon?"

"My parents want me to marry Prince Therandil,"

Cimorene explained.

"And you don't want to? Sensible of you," said

the frog. "I don't like Therandil. He used to skip rocks

across the top of my pond. They always sank into my

living room."

"I'm sorry," Cimorene said politely.

"Well," said the frog, "what are you going to do

about it?"

"Marrying Therandil? I don't know. I've tried talk-

ing to my parents, but they won't'listen, and neither

will Therandil."

"I didn't ask what you'd said about it," the frog

snapped. "I asked what you're going to do. Nine times

out of ten, talking is a way of avoiding doing things."

"What kinds of things would you suggest?" Cim-

orene said, stung.

"You could challenge the prince to a duel," the

frog suggested.

"He'd win," Cimorene said. "It's been four years

since I've been allowed to do any fencing."

"You could turn him into a toad."

"I never got past invisibility in my magic les-

sons," Cimorene said. "Transformations are advanced

study."

The frog looked at her disapprovingly. "Can't you

do anything?"

"I can curtsy," Cimorene said disgustedly. "I know

seventeen different country dances, nine ways to agree

with an ambassador from Cathay without actually

promising him anything, and one hundred and forty-

three embroidery stitches. And I can make cherries

jubilee."

"Cherries jubilee?" asked the frog, and snapped at

a passing fly.

10

"The castle chef taught me, before Father made

him stop," Cimorene explained.

The frog munched briefly, then swallowed and

said, "I suppose there's no help for it. You'll have to

run away."

"Run away?" Cimorene said. "I don't like that

idea. Too many things could go wrong."

"You don't like the idea of marrying Prince The-

randil, either," the frog pointed out.

"Maybe I can think of some other way out of get-

ting married."

The frog snorted. "Such as?" Cimorene didn't an-

swer, and after a moment the frog said, "I thought so.

Do you want my advice or not?"

"Yes, please," said Cimorene. After all, she didn't

have to follow it.

"Go to the main road outside the city and follow

it away from the mountains," said the frog. "After a

while, you will come to a small pavilion made of gold,

surrounded by trees made of silver with emerald leaves.

Go straight past it without stopping, and don't answer

if anyone calls out to you from the pavilion. Keep on

until you reach a hovel. Walk straight up to the door

and knock three times, then snap your fingers and go

inside. You'll find some people there who can help you

out of your difficulties if you're polite about asking and

they're in the right mood. And that's all."

The frog turned abruptly and dove into the pool.

"Thank you very much," Cimorene called after it,

thinking "that the frog's advice sounded very odd in-

deed. She rose and went back into the castle.

11

She spent the rest of the day being fitted and fussed

over by her ladies-in-waiting until she was ready to

scream. By the end of the formal banquet, at which she

had to sit next to Prince Therandil and listen to endless

stories of his prowess in battle, Cimorene was more

than ready to take the frog's advice.

Late that night, when most of the castle was asleep,

Cimorene bundled up five clean handkerchiefs and her

best crown. Then she dug out the notes she had taken

during her magic lessons and carefully cast a spell of

invisibility. It seemed to work, but she was still very

watchful as she sneaked out of the castle. After all, it

had been a long time since she had practiced.

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."

12

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

J,

nside, the hovel was dark and cool and damp. Cim-

orene found it a pleasant relief after the hot, dusty road,

but she wondered why no sunlight seemed to be com-

ing 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 fin-

gers 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 ex-

plain 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 Cim-

orene, 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

16

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

17

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 be-

fore his sneezing spasms finally stopped. "Much bet-

ter," 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!"

"Thafs easy for you to say," one of the other drag-

ons grumbled. "You already have a princess. What

about the rest of us?"

"Yes, don't be stuffy, Woraug," said another. "Be-

sides, what else can we do with her?"

18

"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 irri-

tably. "Why?"

"I like cherries jubilee," Kazul replied, still watch-

ing 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 din-

ner at seven. In the meantime, you can begin sorting

the treasure." The dragon nodded toward a dark open-

ing 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 sen-

sibly. I can never find anything when I want it."

"What about the library you mentioned?" Cim-

orene 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?"

20

"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

dandng 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 for-

ward 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

21

you walked down them you went a lot farther than

you thought you were going.

Kazul's section of the caves was fairly large. IP

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

dnnamony smell. Cimorene's first job was to air them

out.

Cimorene's rooms consisted of three small con-

necting 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 win-

dows. 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 mix-

ing bowl with a crack in it, a badly tarnished copper

teakettle, and an assortment of mismatched plates,

22

cups, and silverware, most of them chipped or bent.

Kazul seemed pleased by the request, and the fol-

lowing 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 sort-

ing 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 store-

rooms 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

-23

been right about their condition; not only were some

of them rusty, but nearly all of them needed sharp-

ening. 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 shout-

ing: "Dragon! Come out and fight! Fight for the Princess

Cimorene of Linderwall!"

"Oh, honestly," Cimorene muttered, and quick-

ened 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 ref-

erence? 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. Cim-

orene wondered briefly why he hadn't ridden, but de-

dded not to ask. The knight's visor was raised, and a

24

few wisps of sandy hair showed above his handsome

face. He was studying her with an expression of wor-

ried puzzlement.

"What can I do for you?" Cimorene said after sev-

eral 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 knighfs puzzled look deep-

ened. "But princesses always—"

"No, they don't," Cimorene said firmly, recogniz-

ing 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 chal-

lenge like that. It sounds like a child's dare. Dragons

are very consdous of their dignity, at least all the ones

I've met so far are."

"Oh," said the knight, sounding very crestfallen.

"What should I have said?"

" 'Stand forth and do battle' is the usual chal-

lenge," Cimorene said with authority, remembering her

princess lessons. She had always been more interested

in what the knights and dragons were supposed to say

than in memorizing the places where she was supposed

to scream. "But the wording doesn't have to be exact

as long as it's suitably formal. You're new at this, aren't

you?"

"Rescuing you was going to be my first big quest,"

the knight said gloomily. "You're sure you don't want

to be rescued?"

"Quite sure," Cimorene said. "I like living with

Kazul."

"You like—" The knight stared at her for a moment.

Then his expression cleared and he said, "Of course!

The dragon's enchanted you. I should have thought of

that before."

"Kazul has not enchanted me, and I do not want

to be rescued by anybody," Cimorene said, alarmed by

the knight's sudden enthusiasm. "This place suits me

very well. I like polishing swords and cooking cher-

ries jubilee and reading Latin scrolls. If you don't

believe me, ask anyone in Linderwall. They've been

complaining about my un-princesslike behavior for

years."

"I did hear something about fencing lessons," the

knight said doubtfully, "but knights aren't supposed

to pay attention to that kind of thing. We're supposed

to be above rumors and gossip."

'The fencing lessons were just the beginning,"

Cimorene assured him. "So you see why I'm perfectly

happy being a dragon's princess."

"Um, yes," said the knight, but he did not look

convinced. "Speaking of dragons, where's yours?"

"Kazul's not my dragon," Cimorene said sharply.

"I'm her princess. You'll never have any luck dealing

with dragons if you don't get these things straight.

26

She's gone to the Enchanted Forest on the other side

of the mountains to borrow a crepe pan from a witch

she knows."

"She's what?" said the knight.

"She's gone to borrow a crepe pan," Cimorene

repeated in a louder voice. "Perhaps you'd better have

your helmet checked when you get back. They're not

supposed to interfere with your hearing, but some-

times—"

"Oh, I heard you," the knight said. "But what does

a dragon want with a crepe pan?"

"She doesn't want it; I do. I found a recipe in the

library that I want to try, and the kitchen just isn't

equipped to handle anything but the most ordinary

cooking. Kazul will fix that eventually, but for the time

being we have to borrow things like crepe pans and

souffle dishes."

"You really do like it here," the knight said won-

deringly.

Cimorene refrained from replying that this was

what she had been trying to tell him all along and

instead said, "How did you know where I was?"

"Things get around." The knight waved a hand in

a vague manner. "In fact, I had to hurry to make sure

I was the first. Half of the Kingdom of Linderwall and

a princess's hand in marriage is a reward rich enough

to tempt a lot of people who wouldn't normally bother

with this sort of thing."

"Father's offered half the kingdom to whoever res-

cues me?" Cimorene said incredulously. "That's more

than all my sisters' dowries put together!"

"It's the usual thing in cases like this," the knight

said mildly.

"It would be," Cimorene said in tones of deep

disgust. "Well, at least you can go back and tell them

I don't want to be rescued. Maybe that will keep anyone

else from coming up here."

"I can't do that!" the knight said. "Ifs—"

"—just not done," Cimorene finished. "I under-

stand perfectly." She gave him a polite farewell, more

because she had been well brought up than because

she felt like being polite, and sent him on his way.

Then she went back into the cave and polished the

broadsword until it was mirror-bright, which relieved

her feelings a little.

There were two knights the following day, and four

more the day after that. On the fourth day there was

only one, but he was exceptionally stubborn, and it

took Cimorene nearly two hours to get rid of him. By

then she was thoroughly disgusted and even consid-

ered letting Kazul handle the knights from then on.

She could not quite bring herself to do it. The knights

would certainly attack Kazul as soon as they saw her,

since that was what they were coming for, and sooner

or later someone would get hurt. Cimorene did not like

to think that someone might be hurt trying to rescue

her, particularly since she did not want to be rescued,

so with a sigh she decided that she would continue to

handle the knights as long as Kazul would let her.

Prince Therandil showed up at the end of the third

week. He was limping a little, as if his metal boots

pinched his toes, and the feathers attached to the top

28

of his helmet sagged badly. He stopped and carefully

struck an impressive pose before issuing the usual

challenge.

Cimorene was not in a mood to be impressed.

Besides, she could see that his helmet was a different

style from his gold armor and that the armor had gaps

at the knees and elbows where it didn't fit together

quite right.

"Aren't you a little slow?" she asked irritably.

"There've been eight knights here before you."

"Eight?" the prince said, frowning. "I thought by

now there'd have been at least twelve. Perhaps I'd

better come back later."

Cimorene stared at him in surprise. "Why?"

"Well, it would look better," Therandil explained

seriously. "There's not much glory in defeating a

dragon that hasn't already beaten ten or fifteen people

at least. Sir Gorolax of Mirstwold won't even consider

going after a dragon whose score is less than forty-five.

I don't think I want to risk waiting that long, but eight

just doesn't seem like enough."

"You're going to go away and wait until Kazul has

defeated fifteen knights before you come back to rescue

me?" Cimorene said. She found Therandil's smug con-

fidence very annoying, but she didn't like to say so

straight out.

"Not if you'd rather be rescued now, of course,"

Therandil said hastily. "Though you ought to consid-

er the advantages, and I expect it won't be so very

long . . ." His voice trailed off, and he looked at her

hopefully.

'Tm afraid it will be a very long time," Cimorene

29

said with satisfaction. "You see, Kazul hasn't defeated

any knights at all yet."

"B-b-but I thought you said there'd been eight,"

Therandil spluttered.

"I said eight of them had come by; I didn't say

they'd fought anybody. I sent them away."

"You sent them away?" Therandil repeated, plainly

horrified. "But that's—that's—"

"—not done, I know." Cimorene smiled sweetly.

"But I've done it. And I intend to go on doing it, so

you might as well go home and warn your friends.

They'd feel so foolish, you know, if they came all this

way into the mountains to rescue me and then had to

turn around and go back home without doing any-

thing."

"They certainly would!" Therandil said indig-

nantly. "What do you mean by playing these kinds of

tricks? Don't you want to be rescued?"

"No," said Cimorene, losing her patience at last,

"I don't. And I'm tired of having my work constantly

interrupted. So please go away, and don't come back."

"You can't possibly mean that," Therandil said.

"Besides, everyone expects me to rescue you."

"That's your problem," Cimorene told him. "I'm

going to go fix dinner. Good-bye." Before he could say

anything else, she turned and ducked back into the

cave, hoping the prince wouldn't follow.

30

3

In Which Cimorene Meets a Witch

and Has Doubts about a Wizard

Iherandil left, but he came back again the next day,

and the day after that. It got so that Cimorene could

not even step outside the cave without running into

him. She might have been flattered if it hadn't been so

obvious that Therandil was only worried about how

foolish he'd look if he went home without fighting the

dragon. On his fifth visit Cimorene was very sharp with

him, and when he had not returned by midaftemoon

of the next day, she began to hope that he had finally

left for good.

Cimorene was in the kitchen taking the pits out of

cherries when she heard someone knocking at the

mouth of the cave.

"Go away," she shouted in complete exasperation.

"I've told you and told you, I don't want to be rescued,

and I'm not going to argue with you any more!"

"I didn't come here to argue," said a no-nonsense

female voice from outside. "I came to meet the person

who keeps borrowing my crepe pan. It's not something

there's normally much call for."

"Oh, dear," said Cimorene. She wiped her hands

hastily on a comer of her apron and hurried out to

greet her visitor. "I'm sorry," she said, coming around

the gray rock at the cave mouth. "But I've been having

a problem with knights lately, and I thought—" She

stopped short as she got a good look at her caller for

me first time.

The woman standing outside the cave was consid-

erably shorter than Cimorene. Her ginger hair was piled

in waves on top of her head. She had on a loose black

robe with long sleeves, which she wore unbelted. A

small pair of glasses with rectangular lenses sat firmly

on her nose, and she carried an extremely twiggy

broom in her left hand. Despite her unusual appear-

ance, she projected an air of great self-assurance.

"I quite understand," she said, studying Cimorene

shrewdly. "You must be Kazul's new princess."

"Yes, I'm Cimorene. And you are . . . ?"

"Morwen," said the black-robed woman, leaning

the broom against the rock. "Kazul and I have been

friends for a long time, ever since I moved to the En-

chanted Forest, so I thought I'd come have a look at

her new princess."

"You're the person Kazul's been borrowing dishes

32

from, aren't you?" Cimorene said, and blinked. "But

then you must be—"

"A witch," Morwen finished. "I don't see why you

find it surprising. It's not exactly an unusual profession

in these parts."

"It's just that I haven't met one before," Cimorene

said, not mentioning the fact that in Linderwall witches

were considered dangerous and probably evil and were

therefore avoided if at all possible. But then, people in

Linderwall didn't like dragons much, either. "Won't

you come in and have some tea?"

"I certainly will," said the witch, and she did. She

prowled around like a nervous cat while Cimorene put

the kettle on the stove and got out the tea things.

"Well," Morwen said approvingly as Cimorene

filled the teapot, "you're the first princess I've ever met

who has the sense to keep up with the kitchen."

Cimorene decided that she liked Morwen's down-

to-earth manner. She soon found herself telling Mor-

wen everything, from the fencing and philosophy and

Latin lessons to the seemingly endless stream of

knights. The story lasted through two cups of tea and

finished with Therandil's stubborn insistence on res-

cuing her.

"That is absurd," Morwen said decidedly when

Cimorene finished. "If this continues, you'll never get

anything done."

"I know," Cimorene said. "I keep telling them I

don't want to be rescued, but they're all so honorable

that none of them will tell anyone when they go back

because they think it would be gossiping."

33

"More likely they don't want to look foolish."

"Maybe, but even if they did tell people, I'm no;

sure anyone would believe it. I have a hard enougl.

time convincing the knights when they show up ir

person."

"Ifs just as well that your visitors have been hon-

orable," Morwen said, looking thoughtful. "Under-

wall's a prosperous kingdom. Sooner or later the chance

of getting hold of half of it is going to tempt someone

to try rescuing you whether you want to be rescued or

not."

"That hadn't occurred to me," Cimorene said witi'

a worried frown. "What can I do about it?"

"I'm not sure," Morwen replied. "The situation's

not at all usual, you know. I've never heard of a prin-

cess volunteering for a dragon before. Which rather sur-

prises me, now that I think of it. A dragon's princess

is practically guaranteed a good marriage, so you'd

think princesses from the smaller kingdoms would be

clamoring for the job."

"They're probably worried about being eaten,"

Cimorene said. "Do you think it would help if I sent

my parents a letter?"

"Probably not," Morwen said after a moment's

consideration. "But it can't hurt to try. I'll check my

spell books when I get home. It may give me an idea.

I suggest that you hunt through Kazul's library. She's

been collecting scrolls for centuries; you ought to be

able to find something useful. Meanwhile, we'll put up

a sign."

"A sign?" Cimorene stared at Morwen for a mo-

34

ment, then began to smile. " 'Road washed out,' " she

said. " 'Use alternate route.' Is that the kind of sign

you were thinking of?"

"Exactly," Morwen said with approval. "It won't

stop anyone who's really determined, but it will cer-

tainly slow them down. That should give us time to

come up with something better."

The two women set to work at once and in a short

time produced a large, official-looking sign. Morwen

offered to set it up on her way back to the Enchanted

Forest, but Cimorene thought it would be too awkward

for her to carry while riding the broom. So, once Mor-

wen had gone, Cimorene tucked the sign under her

arm and started down the path.

Cimorene had not had a chance to do any real exploring

before, though she had looked out at the mountains

every day and wondered. She was happy to have an

excuse to see more of the outside of her new home.

It was a lovely day, warm and sunny, and at first

the path was level and easy. Cimorene was just begin-

ning to wonder whether anyone would believe her

sign, once she got it put up, when the path swung left

around a boulder and narrowed to a tiny ledge that

sloped steeply upward.

Cimorene stopped. Now she knew why none of

the knights had ridden up to the cave. The ledge was

barely wide enough for a person on foot to edge along

sideways; the best rider in the world couldn't have

gotten a horse down it. Cimorene rolled her sign up

into a firm, tight cylinder and stuck it through her belt,

35

so she would have her hands free while she climbed.

Then she stepped out onto the ledge.

Sidling up the slope took a long time, for Cimorene

was careful to make sure that each part of the ledge

would hold before she trusted her weight to it. She

was also careful not to look down. Heights had never

bothered her before, but there was a big difference

between standing solidly on top of a tower in Under-

wall Castle behind a four-foot parapet and inching

along a ledge barely six inches wide with nothing be-

tween her and a long fall.

She had almost reached the top of the slope, where

the path widened again, when a portion of the ledge

disappeared just ahead of her. Cimorene pulled her

foot back and tried to figure out what had happened.

She hadn't seen or heard the rock crumble and fall

away; there was simply a two-foot gap in the ledge that

hadn't been there before. She studied it for a moment,

trying to think of a way of getting past. Nothing oc-

curred to her. She felt a twinge of annoyance at the

thought of all her wasted efforts, but cheered up at

once when she realized that this would solve the prob-

lem of the visiting knights. If she couldn't get around

or over the gap, an armored knight wouldn't be able

to get by, either. Cimorene smiled and turned her head

to creep back to safety.

There was another two-foot gap in the ledge on

her other side. Cimorene frowned. Something very odd

was going on, and she didn't like it.

"You look as if you are in need of assistance," said

a deep voice from above her. "May I be of help?"

Cimorene turned her head and saw a man standing

36

four feet away, oh the path at the top of the ledge. He

was tall and sharp-featured, and his eyes were a hard,

bright black. Though he had a gray beard that reached

nearly to his waist, his face did not look old. He wore

loose robes made of blue and gray silk, and in one

hand he held a staff as tall as himself made of dark,

polished wood.

"Possibly," Cimorene answered. She was certain

that the man was a wizard, though she had never met

one before, and she did not want to agree to anything

until she was sure of what she was agreeing to. The

court philosopher had always claimed that wizards

were very tricky. "May I know to whom I am

speaking?"

"I am the wizard Zemenar," the man said. "And

you must be Kazul's new princess. I hope you're not

trying to run away. It's—"

"Not done," Cimorene said, feeling particularly an-

noyed because for once she was not doing anything

improper. "Yes, I'm Cimorene."

"I was going to say that it isn't wise to run away

from your dragon," the wizard corrected mildly. "I

believe ifs done all the time."

"I'm sorry," Cimorene said, but she didn't try to

explain. "And I'm not running away. How did you

know who I was?"

"It seemed unlikely that I would find any other

charming young lady walking so casually through the

Pass of Silver Ice," Zemenar answered. He smiled. "As

you see, it is easy to find oneself in difficulties if one

is not properly . . . prepared."

Cimorene decided that she didn't like him. He re-

37

minded her of one of her father's courtiers, a humor-

less, sneaky little man who had paid her compliments

only when he was after something and who couldn't

resist giving advice even when nobody wanted it. "The

ledge was all here when I started," she said. An idea

crossed her mind, and she looked hard at Zemenar. "I

don't suppose you know what happened to the two

missing bits?"

A flash of startled annoyance crossed the wizard's

face; then his expression smoothed back into pleasant

politeness. He shrugged. "The Pass of Silver Ice is a

strange place. Odd things frequently occur."

"Not like this," Cimorene muttered. She was sure,

now, that the wizard had made the ledge vanish so

that he could pretend to rescue her, but she had no

idea why he would want her to think she owed him a

favor. Actually, it surprised her that he had destroyed

the ledge. She didn't think the dragons would be too

happy when they found out. Unless he hadn't really

destroyed it.

"What did you say?" Zemenar said, frowning

uncertainly.

Cimorene ignored him. Without looking down, she

slid her right foot along the ledge. The rock felt firm

and solid. Slowly she transferred her weight and

brought her left foot up beside her right. She shifted

again, still careful not to look down, and slid her right

foot forward once again.

"What are you doing?" Zemenar demanded.

"Getting off this ledge," Cimorene replied. "I

should think that was obvious." One more step would

38

bring her to the path, but Zemenar was squarely in her

way. "Would you mind moving back a little so I'll have

somewhere to stand?"

Zemenar's eyes narrowed, but he backed up sev-

eral paces, and Cimorene stepped onto the path. She

wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but she did not. She

wasn't going to let Zemenar have the satisfaction of

knowing she had been worried. Instead, she gave him

her best royal smile and said with polite insincerity,

"Thank you for offering to help, but as you see, it

wasn't needed. Do stop by and visit some time."

"I will," Zemenar said as if he meant it. "And a

very good day to you. Princess Cimorene."

With that he vanished. There was no smoke or fire

or whirlwind. There wasn't even a shimmer in the air

as he disappeared. He was simply and suddenly gone.

Cimorene stared at the place where the wizard had

been and felt a shiver run down her spine. It took a

very powerful wizard indeed to vanish so quietly. And

she still didn't know what he wanted.

She shook herself and started down the path. She

would worry about the wizard later; right now she had

to find a place to put up her sign so she could get back

to the cave. She didn't feel much like exploring any

more.

She hadn't taken more than two or three steps

when a dark shadow passed over her. Looking up,

startled, she saw a flash of yellow-green scales. An

instant later a dragon landed on the path in front of

her, blocking the way completely. His tail hung over

the edge, and he had to keep his wings partly unfurled

39

in order to stay in balance. Cimorene recognized him

at once. It was the yellow-green dragon who had

wanted to eat her the day she arrived so unexpectedly

in the dragons' cave.

"I saw the whole thing," the dragon said with

nasty, triumphant glee. "Running away—and talking

to a wizard! Just wait until Kazul hears. She'll be sorry

she didn't just let us eat you and be done with it."

"I offer you greetings and good fortune on your

travels," Cimorene said, figuring that it was best to be

polite to anyone as large and toothy as a dragon, even

if he wasn't being at all polite to her. "I'm not running

away."

'Then what are you doing? Kazul doesn't have any

business that would bring you down this side of the

pass."

"I came out to put up a sign to keep the knights

away," Cimorene said.

"That's ridiculous." The dragon sniffed. "I've been

on patrol in this part of the mountains for the past

week, and I haven't seen or smelted even a hint of a

knight."

"You haven't been by Kazul's cave, then," Cimo-

rene said. "At least nine of them have shown up there

in the past week. Though for the past couple of days

it's been mostly a prince."

"Princes don't smell any different from knights,

and I'd have noticed if any of them were hanging

around," the dragon said flatly. "And what about that

wizard you were talking to?"

"Chaaarrge!" shouted a familiar voice from the

other side of the dragon.

40

"Therandil!" Cimorene shouted. "I told you to go

away!"

The yellow-green dragon twisted his long neck and

glanced back over his shoulder. He seemed to bunch

together like a cat crouching. Then he sprang straight

up into the air, and Cimorene was blinded by the cloud

of dust raised by the flapping of his enormous wings.

She had the presence of mind to flatten herself back

against the rocks by the side of the path, and a moment

later she heard someone blundering by. She stuck out

a foot.

"Ow!" she said as Therandil fell over with a clatter.

She'd forgotten that he'd be wearing iron boots along

with the rest of his armor.

"Cimorene? Is that you?" Therandil said.

"Of course it's me," Cimorene replied, rubbing her

ankle. "Open your eyes; the dust's settled." She looked

up as she spoke and saw the dragon soar out of sight

behind a cliff.

"I'm sorry," Therandil said, and then in an anxious

tone he added, "I hope I didn't hurt you, stumbling

into you like that."

Cimorene started to say that it was nothing and

that it had been her fault anyway, when she suddenly

got a much better idea. "I think you've sprained my

ankle," she declared.

"Oh, no," Therandil said. He sounded truly dis-

mayed, though Cimorene couldn't see his face because

he was wearing his helmet with the visor down.

"I probably won't be able to walk for at least a

month," she declared. "And there's certainly no way

I can climb down this mountain."

41

"But if you can't walk—" Therandil said, and

paused. Then he squared his shoulders and went on,

"—then I suppose I'll have to carry you." He didn't

sound as if he liked the idea.

"I don't think that would work very well," Cim-

orene said quickly. "How will you fight when all the

dragons come back if you're carrying me? No, you'll

have to leave me here and go back alone."

"You can't stay here!" Therandil protested, though

Cimorene's talk of when all the dragons come back had

plainly made him nervous.

"I have to," Cimorene said, trying to sound noble

and long-suffering. 'The dragons will make sure I get

safely back to Kazul's cave, and a month isn't too long

a wait, after all."

"I don't understand," Therandil said, and he did

look thoroughly puzzled.

"There's no point in you or anyone else coming

up here to rescue me for at least a month, not till my

ankle's better," Cimorene explained patiently.

"Oh, I see," Therandil said. He tilted his head back

and scanned the empty sky. "You're quite sure you'll

be all right? Then I'll just be going before those dragons

return." He turned and started down the path as quick-

ly as he could manage in full armor.

42

4

In Which Kazul Has a Dinner Party,

and Cimorene Makes Dessert

G

..imorene watched Therandil go with feelings of great

relief. Now she had at least a month to find a perma-

nent way of discouraging the knights, for she was quite

certain that Therandil would spread the news of her

"injury." She decided to put up her sign anyway, just

in case, and after a little looking she found a scrubby

tree beside the path and hung the sign on it.

On her way back to Kazul's cave, she noticed that

the two pieces of the ledge were still invisible, and she

was very careful about crossing them. She looked down

once, out of curiosity, and was immediately sorry. She

was not comfortable with the sight of her own feet

firmly planted on nothing at all, with the sharp, spiky

43

tops of spruce trees in full view some fifty feet below

Kazul arrived only a few minutes after Cimorene

herself. Cimorene was looking for some thread to mend

her skirts (which had gotten torn and stained while she

was climbing along the ledge) when she heard the ur.

mistakable sounds of a dragon sliding into the main

cave.

"Cimorene?" Kazul's voice called.

"Coming," Cimorene called back, abandoning her

search. She picked up her lamp and hurried out to greet

Kazul.

"I'm glad to see you're still here," Kazul said mildly

as Cimorene came into the large cave. "Moranz was

quite sure you'd run off with a knight or a wizard. I

couldn't make out for certain which."

"Is Moranz the yellow-green dragon who wanted

to eat me?" Cimorene asked. "Because if he is, he's

just trying to make trouble."

"I'm well aware of that," Kazul said with a sigh

that sent a-burnt-bread smell halfway across the cave.

"But things would be easier for me if you didn't provide

him with any material to make trouble with. Exactly

what happened?"

"Well, Morwen came to visit this afternoon," Cim-

orene began. "We were talking about all the ... in-

terruptions I've been having, and she suggested putting

up a sign. ..." She explained why she had gone to

put up the sign herself and told Kazul in detail about

her meetings with the wizard, the dragon, and the

prince.

"So Morwen was here," Kazul said. She sat back,

44

and the scales on her tail rattled comfortably against

the floor. "That simplifies matters. Did you bring the

sign back with you?"

"No, I found a tree and hung it by the path,"

Cunorene said, wondering what this was all about, "hi

case Therandil doesn't tell everyone about my ankle

after all."

"Better still," Kazul said, and smiled fiercely, show-

ing all her teeth. "Moranz is going to regret meddling."

"Meddling in what?"

"My business."

'Td like a little more of an explanation than that,

if you don't mind giving one," Cimorene said with a

touch of exasperation.

Kazul looked startled, then thoughtful. Then she

nodded. "I keep forgetting that you're not as empty-

headed as most princesses," she said. "Sit down and

make yourself comfortable. This may take a while."

Cimorene found a rock and sat on it. Kazul settled

into a more restful position, folded her wings neatly

along her back, and began. "It has to do with status.

Dragons aren't required to have princesses, you see.

Most of us don't. There are never enough to go around,

and some of us prefer not to have to deal with the

annoyances that come with them."

"Knights," Cimorene guessed.

"Among other things," Kazul said, nodding. "So

having a princess in residence has become a minor mark

of high status among dragons."

"A minor mark?"

Kazul smiled. "I'm afraid so. It's the equivalent of,

45

oh, serving expensive imported fruit at dinner. It's a

nice way of showing everyone how rich you are, but

you could make just as big an impression by having

some of those fancy pastries with the smooth glazed

icing and spun-sugar roses."

"I see." Cimorene did see, though she found her-

self wishing that Kazul had found something else to

compare it to. The talk of dinner reminded her too

much of Moranz's repeated desire to eat her.

"Moranz is young and not very bright, I'm afraid,"

Kazul said, almost as if she had read Cimorene's mind.

"He seems to have the mistaken impression that if a

princess behaves badly, it reflects on the dragon who

captured her. Possibly it comes from his inability to

keep any of his own princesses for more than a week.

Some of the lesser dragons were very snide about it

when he lost his third one in a row. I believe she

sneaked out while he was napping."

"I don't see how he can blame his princesses,"

Cimorene objected. "I mean, if most princesses are un-

willing, it must be fairly usual for them to try to get

away."

"Of course, but Moranz doesn't see it that way.

He's been trying to catch someone else's princess in a

similar foolishness for years, and he's quite sure he's

finally done so. He's undoubtedly spreading the story

of your escape far and wide at this very minute."

"Oh, dear," said Cimorene.

Kazul smiled again, and her teeth glittered silver

in the lamplight. "He'll look extremely foolish when it

becomes obvious that you're still here. Which is one

46

reason I've asked a few of my friends to dinner to-

night."

"You've what?" Cimorene said. All her worries

about Moranz were instantly replaced by worries about

fixing dinner on short notice for an unknown number

of dragons. "How many? What time will they be here?

Where are we going to put them all?"

"Six. Around eight-thirty. In the banquet cave.

And you won't be doing anything but dessert. I've

already arranged for the rest of the meal."

"Arranged? With whom?"

"Ballimore the giantess. She's loaned me the

Cauldron of Plenty that she uses when her twelve-

headed son-in-law drops in for dinner unannounced.

It'll handle most things, but all it can produce in the

way of dessert is burned mint custard and sour-cream-

and-onion ice cream."

"Ugh!" said Cimorene. "I see your problem."

"Exactly. Can you manage?"

"Not if you want cherries jubilee," Cimorene said,

frowning. "I haven't got a pot large enough to make

seven dragons' worth of cherries jubilee. Would choc-

olate mousse do? I can make two or three batches, and

there should be time for all of them to chill if you're

not starting until eight-thirty."

"Chocolate mousse will be fine," Kazul assured

her. "Come along and I'll show you where to bring it."

Cimorene picked up a lamp and followed Kazul

into the public tunnels that surrounded Kazul's private

caves. She was a little surprised, but when she saw the

size of the banquet cave, she understood. It was enor-

47

mous. Fifty or sixty dragons, perhaps even a hundred

of them, would fit into it quite comfortably. Obviously

it had to be a public room; there simply wasn't enough

space under the Mountains of Morning for every drag-

on to have a cave this size.

Kazul made sure Cimorene could find her way to

the banquet cave without help and then left her in the

kitchen to melt slabs of chocolate and whip gallons of

cream for the mousse. By the time she finished, she

was hot and tired, and all she really wanted to do was

to take a nap. But Kazul was expecting her to serve the

mousse, and Cimorene wasn't about to appear before

all those dragons in her old clothes with sweaty strag-

gles of hair sticking to her neck and a smear of chocolate

across her nose, so instead of napping, she pumped a

cauldron of water, heated it on the kitchen fire, and

took a bath.

Once she was clean she felt much better. She

checked to make sure the mousse was setting properly,

then went into her own rooms to decide what she

should wear. Unfortunately, she was afraid she didn't

have much choice. The wardrobe in her bedroom was

full of neat, serviceable dresses suitable for cooking in

or rummaging through treasure, but the only dressy

clothes she had were the ones she had arrived in. She

got them out of the back of the wardrobe and found

to her dismay that the hem of the gown was badly

stained with mud from her long walk. There was no

time to dean it; she would have to wear one of the

everyday dresses.

With a sigh Cimorene turned back to the wardrobe

48

and opened it once more to look for the nicest of the

ordinary clothes. She gasped in surprise. The hangers

were now full of the most beautiful gowns she had ever

seen. Some were silk, and some were velvet; some were

heavy brocade, and some were layers of feather-light

eauze; some were embroidered with gold or silver, and

some were sewn with jewels.

"Well, of course," Cimorene said aloud after a

stunned moment. "Why would a dragon have an or-

dinary wardrobe? Of course it's magic. What's in it de-

pends on what I'm looking for."

One of the wardrobe doors waggled slightly, and

its hinges creaked in smug agreement. Cimorene

blinked at it, then shook herself and began looking

through the gowns.

She chose one of red velvet, heavily embroidered

with gold, and found matching slippers in the bottom

of the obliging wardrobe. She let her black hair hang

in loose waves nearly to her feet and even dug her

crown out of the back of the drawer where she'd stuffed

it on her first night. She finished getting ready a few

minutes early. Feeling very cheerful, she went to the

kitchen to fetch the mousse.

It took Cimorene four trips to get the mousse down to

the serving area just off the banquet cave. A dragon-

sized serving was a little over a bucketful, and she could

barely manage to carry two at a time. When everything

was ready, she stood in the serving area and waited

nervously for Kazul to ring for dessert. She could hear

the muffled booming of the dragons' voices through the

49

heavy oak door, but she could not make out what any

of them were saying.

The bell rang at last, summoning Cimorene to serve

dessert. She carried the mousse into the banquet cav-

ern, two servings at a time, and set it in front of Kazul

and her guests. The dragons were crouched around a

shoulder-high slab of white stone. Ciniorene had to be

very careful about lifting the mousse up onto it. For-

tunately, she didn't have to wonder which dragon to

serve first. She could tell which dragons were most

important from their places at the table, and she made

a silent apology to her protocol teacher, who had in-

sisted that she leam about seating arrangements. (Pro-

tocol had been one of the princess lessons Cimorene

had hated most.)

As she set the last serving in front of Kazul, one

of the other dragons said in a disgruntled and vaguely

familiar voice, "I see the rumors are wrong again, Ka-

zul. Or did you have to go after her and haul her back

the way the rest of us do?"

Cimorene turned angrily, but before she could say

anything, a large gray-green dragon on the other side

of the stone slab said, "Nonsense, Woraug! Girl's got

more sense than that. You shouldn't listen to gossip.

Next thing you know, you'll be chasing after that imag-

inary wizard Gaurim's been on about." Cimorene rec-

ognized the speaker at once. He was Roxim, the

elderly dragon she had given four of her handkerchiefs

to.

"I suppose it was that idiot Moranz again, trying

to cause trouble," a purple-green dragon said with

bored distaste. "Someone should do something about

him."

"Kazul still hasn't answered my question," Wor-

aug said, and his tail lashed once like the tail of an

angry cat. "And I'd like her to do so if the rest of you

will stop sidetracking the conversation."

"Here, now!" Roxim said indignantly. "Thafs a bit

strong, Woraug! Too strong, if you ask me."

"I didn't," Woraug said. "I asked Kazul. And I'm

still waiting."

"I'm very pleased with my princess," Kazul said

mildly. "And no, I didn't have to haul her back, as you

would realize if you'd given the matter a little thought.

Or does your princess normally leave seven servings

of chocolate mousse in the kitchen when she runs

away?"

"Hear, hear!" Roxim said.

Cimorene noted with interest that Woraug's scales

had turned an even brighter shade of green than normal

and that he was starting to smell faintly of brimstone.

"One of these days you'll go too far, Kazul," he