Talking to Dragons - Wrede Patricia Collins - Страница 15

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"Thank you very much," I said. I didn't really know what else to say.

After all, there are people in the Enchanted Forest who go around rewarding heroes and princes for noble deeds. Why else would all those heroes come here?

"Well, what would you like?" the wizard said after a moment.

"Like?"

"As a reward." He sounded a little impatient.

I thought about it for a moment. "I appreciate the offer," I said finally.

"But I really don't need anything. Thank you very much all the same."

"What? Isn't there anything you want?" he asked sharply. He didn't look nearly as friendly as he had at first.

"No, I don't think so," I said.

For a moment the wizard looked very disconcerted. Then he seemed to relax a little. "Perhaps I did not make myself clear enough," he said.

"You need not ask for something material. Information will do just as well. The word for sorcery in the tongue of the giants, or the location of the Well of Silver Storms, where the unicorns drink. There must be something you want to know, even if there is nothing you want to have."

The only thing I wanted to know was what I was supposed to do in the Enchanted Forest. Somehow, I didn't think Mother had told him. "No," I said. "I don't think there is anything."

The wizard looked at me, and his eyes narrowed. "Come, come! You need to know the name of your father, do you not?"

"No," I said, puzzled. I'd wondered about my father a few times, but I'd never asked Mother about him. She would have told me if she'd thought I ought to know. And I certainly couldn't think of any reason why I needed to know. "Why should I?"

"You're looking for him, aren't you?" the wizard snapped.

"No, not really." That might be one of the things Mother wanted me to do, but it certainly couldn't be the only one. Furthermore, I couldn't see how knowing his name would help much, even if I were looking for him. In the Enchanted Forest, looking for someone usually isn't the best way of finding him. You're much more likely to run into people by accident.

"You aren't? Then you must know! She told you! Who is it?"

"I thought you were going to tell Daystar that," Shiara said. "Don't you know?"

"Silence, fool! I have waited too long for this." The wizard turned back to me. "You will tell me now or regret it deeply: Who is your father?"

"I don't know," I said. "And if I did, I don't see why I should tell you."

"There are other ways of learning what I wish to know," the wizard said. He straightened abruptly. The Princess squeaked and fell silent.

Nightwitch hissed. Shiara started edging backward again. And the wizard changed.

He got a little taller and a lot younger; his beard and hair darkened and filled in. His eyes changed from brown to blue, but they still glared.

"Antorell!" I said, and drew my sword.

The steel rang as it came out of the sheath, and the blade shimmered and flashed in front of me. It made the whole clearing seem brighter.

Antorell's lips curled into a sneer.

"Fool! What use is a sword against a wizard?"

He raised his staff, and a globe of green light appeared at the lower end of it. A thread of green, dark and bright as the shine of a snake, reached out toward me from the staff. I raised the sword.

The green light touched the Sword of the Sleeping King. The sword hummed a little and the ray of light vanished, and that was all.

Antorell frowned, and another, larger ray of green reached out. This time, the humming was a little louder, and the light around the end of Antorell's staff vanished, along with the ray touching the sword. The jangling feeling lessened a little. I was considerably relieved.

Antorell looked shocked.

"You cannot! Not possibly! That sword can't…" His eyes moved to my face, then back to the sword, and he took a deep breath. "So! She must have known all along. But now I will have that weapon. I must have that weapon!"

"No," I said. "Mother wouldn't like it."

Antorell's eyes narrowed. "Cimorene has had her way long enough. If you will not give me that sword, I will take it." He started to raise the staff again.

The lilacs behind Antorell rustled noisily, and the wizard shifted.

"You, there? he called over his shoulder. "Show yourself at once!"

"Ach-ach-" said someone behind him, and the tops of the lilacs rustled again. I looked up at them, wondering how tall whoever-it-was was.

The branches that were rusting were a good ten feet off the ground.

Antorell frowned and turned around, raising his staff. "I will teach you to interfere-" The angry look on Antorell's face changed abruptly to one of mingled surprise and fear. He stepped backward very quickly and waved his staff through the air in front of him.

"Achoo!" said the voice, and an enormous ball of fire demolished the lilacs and enveloped Antorell. The wizard screamed and disappeared, and we could see the person who had been behind the bush.

It was a dragon.

It was about twelve feet tall, which is not very large, as dragons go.

But it was definitely a dragon. It sneezed again, which took care of the remains of the lilac bush, and slid forward over the ashes into the middle of the clearing.

The Princess fainted.

I put my sword away. Walking through the Enchanted Forest with a drawn sword is bad, but talking to a dragon with a sword in your hand is much worse. Fortunately, the dragon hadn't noticed it yet. As soon as the sword was sheathed, I looked up again, and my stomach went hollow.

The dragon was eyeing Shiara, and I didn't like the gleam in its eyes.

I didn't like the militant way Shiara was glaring back, either. There wasn't very much I could do, though. You just don't interrupt a dragon when it's busy with something else. They don't like being distracted.

The dragon slid closer and bent its head until it was staring at Shiara from about a foot in front of her face. Shiara jumped. The dragon blinked.

"Are you a princess?" it asked hopefully.

"No. I'm a fire-witch," Shiara said. "And if you bite me, I'll burn your nose off."

"Oh. I thought you were a princess." The dragon lost interest in Shiara. It looked around the clearing again and saw me. Its head moved over in my direction.

I bowed. "Sir or madam," I said, trying to recall all the proper ways of addressing a dragon, "I offer you greetings in the name of myself and my companions, and I wish you good fortune in all your endeavors."

"I beg your pardon?" said the dragon. Its voice reminded me of one of those wooden wind instruments, the deep kind that you have to stand on a chair to play. It eyed me doubtfully. "Are you a princess?"

"I-" I stopped and stared. Dragons just don't beg people's pardon.

Then I realized that this must be a very young dragon, and I relaxed a little.

Dragons don't usually insist on formality until they get old enough to decide which sex they're going to be. "I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not a princess. My Name is Daystar, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

The dragon sat back. "I had no idea princesses were so hard to find."

It blinked and seemed to look at me for the first time. "I'm sorry I burned your bush, but I couldn't help it."

"Oh, please don't worry about it," I said. "It really doesn't matter in the least."

"It was the wizard," the dragon said confidentially. "I'm allergic to them. All dragons are."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

The dragon looked at me. "You're very polite, Daystar." Its head swiveled back toward Shiara. "Say-you weren't polite at all!"

Nightwitch poked her head out from behind Shiara's ankle and hissed.

The dragon started and then peered down at the kitten. "You aren't polite, either," it said.

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