Mendanbar blinked at her, then looked around. The carpet, on which he and Cimorene were sitting, lay in the center of a twenty-foot circle of thin green fuzz. Seven saplings, pencil-thick and none more than waist high, poked randomly upward through the fuzz. Beyond the circle, patches of short, brownish-green grass alternated with mottled gray rock that rose quickly into cliffs and ridges and the sudden, sharp heights of mountains that shadowed them all. None of it looked familiar, though it still felt vaguely like the Enchanted Forest to him.
"Well, at least we went somewhere," Mendanbar said after a moment.
"Yes, but where? Those are the Mountains of Morning, but this bit"-Cimorene waved at the green fuzz and the saplings-"looks as if it belongs in the Enchanted Forest . So what's it doing here?"
"It feels like the Enchanted Forest , too," Mendanbar said. He shifted, and his hand touched cool metal. Even without looking, he knew it was his sword. He picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. "Cimorene, is this still 'leaking magic' the way you said it was earlier?"
"No," Cimorene said. "I can tell it's a magic sword, and an odd one at that, but only if I study it. It's not-not so obvious anymore."
Mendanbar pushed himself to his feet. It took more effort than he had expected, and by the time he finished, the worry line had reappeared between Cimorene's eyebrows.
"I'm all right," he told her. "Mostly." He waited a moment for his head to stop spinning, then walked cautiously to the edge of the circle of fuzz. He stepped over the boundary onto a patch of grass. The comforting sense of being surrounded by magic vanished, and although he had more than half expected it, he staggered slightly.
Cimorene was beside him almost at once. "What is it?"
"It was just the change. Can you feel my sword now?"
"Yes," Cimorene said. "But it's nowhere near as bad as it was this morning."
"I was afraid you were going to say that." Mendanbar looked at the circular area of green and sighed. "I hate to do this, but you're right. It doesn't belong here."
He started forward. Cimorene grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute! What are you talking about?"
"This." Mendanbar pointed at the saplings with his sword. "In a way, it really is part of the Enchanted Forest . That's why it feels like home to me, and that's why the sword doesn't feel 'obvious' when it's inside."
"That makes sense," Cimorene said. She still had hold of his arm.
"But how did it get here?"
"I don't think it did, exactly," Mendanbar said. "I think the sword made it for us when we couldn't get through to the real forest. That's why it's so-so new-looking."
"Your sword…" Cimorene paused, thinking. "Yes, you told me it was linked to the Enchanted Forest." She looked at the green area. "I didn't realize it could do things on its own, without someone directing it."
"Normally it doesn't," Mendanbar said. "Unless it's picking the next King of the Enchanted Forest."
"Picking the next…" Cimorene's voice trailed off and she shook her head. "I think you'd better tell me about that sword. All about it, not just dribbles of information when something comes up. I have a feeling we're going to need to know."
"I don't know that much," Mendanbar said. "And I have to take care of these things first." He waved at the saplings.
"What are you going to do?"
"If the sword did it, it ought to be able to undo it," Mendanbar said.
"I don't want to erase this patch, but I can't think of anything else to do with it.
It wouldn't be a good idea to leave a bit of my kingdom disconnected like this.
"No, I can see that," Cimorene said, releasing his arm at last. 'Just watch what you're doing with that spell. It's going to be dark soon, and I don't want to spend another four hours waiting for you to wake up."
"I don't like the idea myself," Mendanbar said. "Don't worry. I'll be "You'd better be."
Mendanbar smiled, raised the sword, and walked back into the tiny forest. He paced around the edge, getting the feel of the magic that was spread spider-web thin across the circle. Then he stopped. With his left hand, he lowered his sword so that the tip rested on the green fuzz that might one day have grown into moss. With his right, he reached out and touched the web, gathering in the threads. When his hand was full, he began to feed the threads into the sword.
It was touchy work, for the invisible strands were thin and fragile, and he knew that if he missed even one he would have to begin all over again.
The task took a lot of concentration, for the sword accepted the threads with great reluctance. He was not at all sure he would have the strength to do it twice, so he worked with painstaking slowness.
When he was halfway through, the saplings began to shrink. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the little trees grew shorter and more slender, until they disappeared into the green fuzz. For a moment, nothing more seemed to happen. Then the circle of green began to shrink. Like a drop of water being sucked up by a napkin, the green edge drew back toward the sword, leaving bare rock behind. In a moment, the retreating border was out of sight beneath the carpet.
Mendanbar continued feeding magic into the sword. There were only a few threads left, and he slowed down even more. A puddle the size of a wagon wheel was all that was left of the original circle. It shrank to the size of a dinner plate, then a pancake, then a penny. Then it was gone.
For a heartbeat longer, Mendanbar held his position, checking to be certain he had not missed anything. Finally he let go of the end of the spell and lifted the point of the sword from the ground. He felt much better than he had when he began. He looked up and smiled at Cimorene.
"That was extremely interesting," Cimorene said. She eyed the bare ground around the carpet. "Is that all of it?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Because if we don't want to spend the night here, we're going to have to leave quickly. It'll be getting dark soon." Cimorene paused, then added, "You'd better put that sword away. It's dripping magic again."
"Sorry," Mendanbar said. "Why don't we-" With a rattle of small stones and a vicious hiss, a long, gray-black snake shot out of a crevice at the top of the nearest cliff and dropped toward Cimorene. Mendanbar jerked his sword up and sent a crackling bolt of power to meet the serpent. The hiss became a choking gurgle as the snake flared into a bright line of fire and disintegrated. Flakes of ash drifted the last few feet to fall around Mendanbar and Cimorene.
Three more snakes launched themselves from parts of the cliff, and another slithered from behind a boulder. From the corner of his eye, Mendanbar saw Cimorene yank her sword out of its sheath. He hoped briefly and intensely that she was good at fighting, and then he had no time or attention for anything except the snakes.
A second blast of magic disposed of two of the three in the air, and a single sword-stroke chopped the third in half. By then four new snakes were in the air, and Mendanbar could hear more hissing on all sides.
He sent another spell skyward, and another, then swung at two snakes that had leaped from a crack barely shoulder-high above the ground.
After that he lost track of how many he burned or blasted. He had no time for anything but fighting. He swung his sword until his arms were tired and his head hurt from concentration and spell-casting. And then, suddenly, there were no more snakes.
The ground was dusted with ashes and littered with pieces of snakes, and the air smelled of charred meat. Slowly, Mendanbar lowered his sword.
A few paces away, Cimorene was straightening up from a fighter's crouch with the same wary hesitation. Her sword was covered with dark blood, and there were quite a lot of dead snakes around her.
"Oh, wonderful," Mendanbar said with heartfelt sincerity. "I was hoping you were good with a sword."
"You aren't bad with one yourself," Cimorene replied a little breathlessly.
"It's a magic sword," Mendanbar reminded her, but he felt absurdly pleased nonetheless.
Cimorene grinned. "So is mine. I know a little about fencing, but not enough to do me any good against most of the things in the Mountains of Morning. That's why Kazul lets me carry this." She lifted her sword, and a drop of snake blood fell from the tip. She frowned and began fishing in her pockets with her free hand. "It's supposed to make the bearer impossible to defeat."
"Sounds good to me," Mendanbar said, looking at the bits of snake near Cimorene's feet. "What's the catch?"
"Getting killed isn't the same as being defeated," Cimorene said. She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, smiled, and began cleaning the sword with it. "Not always, anyway. And it doesn't keep you from getting hurt, either. So I still have to be careful. Do you want to use this?" She held out the stained handkerchief.
"Thank you," Mendanbar said, taking the square of cloth. He wiped his sword carefully, resheathed it, and hesitated. "Do you want it back? I'm afraid it's ruined."