"That was interesting," said Trouble.
"Interesting isn't the half of it," said Morwen. "That wouldn't by any chance have been Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist you were railing at a moment ago, would it?"
"That's the one," Brandel said, nodding vehemently. "And if I ever get my hands on the sneaking little-" "Yes, of course," Morwen interrupted hastily, hoping to forestall another outburst. "If talking about it won't upset you too much, would you mind telling me exactly how Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist was 'making life difficult' for you?"
"Not just for me. That weasel has it in for the whole family." The ends of Brandel's hair began to glow like embers in a high wind. With a visible effort, he controlled himself and went on. "He'd been going on about true magic and traditional forms for a long time, but nobody ever paid much attention.
Then he petitioned the Town Council to outlaw all 'nontraditional' magic, and somehow he got them to do it."
"And fire-witches aren't on his traditional list," Morwen said.
Brandel nodded. "He got us thrown out of our home, and there wasn't a thing we could do about it."
"Nothing?" Cimorene raised an eyebrow. "From what I've heard about fire-witches-" "Using our magic against him would only have made his arguments to the Town Council sound more reasonable," Brandel said.
Cimorene and Morwen just looked at him.
"All right, we tried? Brandel hit the arm of his chair with one fist, and little flames flickered in his hair. "Somebody was helping the little creep. He has a really first-class protective spell, one the whole lot of us couldn't get a handle on. When we found out we couldn't get at him, the others went to visit my uncle in Oslett. I came here, hoping Rachel would know where the sorceress had gone. I thought maybe she'd help."
"Rachel didn't know, I take it?" said Morwen.
"No, but she let me have the tower. She even warned me about all the knights and heroes before she left, but I didn't believe her." Brandel sighed.
"I do now. That's why I filled in the end of the sorceress's walkway."
"Walkway?" said Cimorene.
"The one lined with invisible dusk-blooming chokevines. Didn't you notice?"
"We noticed the vines. We didn't notice a walkway. Just mud."
Brandel shrugged. "I don't think she got out much, and when she did, she usually flew."
"So you've been living here ever since you got thrown out of your hometown?" Morwen asked.
Brandel nodded.
"How long is that?"
"Around four months, I think. I lose track. Not a lot happens, except knights, and the days sort of blur together. I don't even know what's been happening outside the swamp."
"Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist seems to have decided to move on from fire-witches to regular witches," Morwen said. "As near as I can tell, he's trying to get everyone to wear pointy hats and cackle a lot."
"You watch out," Brandel said. "He's up to something."
"I'm beginning to regret missing his call," Morwen said.
"You got a call from this Vamist person?" said Cimorene. "What did he want?"
"The cats didn't say."
Trouble let his eyelids close almost to slits. "Nothing important."
"That reminds me," Cimorene said. "Brandel, have you got a magic mirror around that I could use? I promised Mendanbar I'd let him know how things were going every once in a while."
"I think the sorceress left an old one in the storage closet," Brandel said. "I'll check."
The fire-witch disappeared down the staircase. Morwen and Cimorene looked at each other.
"This is not going well," Cimorene said.
"I wouldn't say that," Morwen replied. "We have somewhere dry to spend the night. Under the circumstances…"
"That's just it. The circumstances. We're goodness-knows-how-many leagues from where we ought to be, Telemain's hurt, and we still don't have any idea where Mendanbar's sword is. And we've wasted a whole day. Any minute now, that sword may start leaking magic and-" "-and fretting yourself into fits won't help a bit," Morwen said. "Magical pressure takes time to build up, and it's only been a day and a half since the sword was stolen. We probably have at least another day before the marc of the Enchanted Forest starts draining out."
"Probably. But what if we don't?"
Morwen sighed. "Perhaps we're approaching the problem from the wrong direction. Let me think about it."
"With Telemain to take care of, when will you have time?"
"I'll manage," Morwen said.
A muffled thump echoed from the stairwell. Another followed, then some scraping noises. "Ow!" said Brandel's voice. A moment later, the carved wooden rim of an enormous old mirror thrust up out of the stairwell.
"My goodness, it's large." Cimorene rose hastily and went over to help. "You should have said something."
"I'd forgotten how big it is," Brandel panted.
Together, they hoisted the mirror the last few feet up the stairs and propped it against the wall. "Will it do?" Brandel asked.
"I don't see why not," Cimorene said, but she sounded doubtful.
Morwen couldn't blame her. The sorceress's magic mirror was so old that the glass had uneven areas that distorted the reflection. Tarnish mottled the silver backing like black moss, and the wooden frame had deep cracks.
"Well, there's no point in waiting," Cimorene said.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I would like to make a call."
Leaning forward, she waited eagerly for the mirror's response.
15
In Which They Have Difficulties with a Mirror
Slowly, the splotchy reflection of the room faded into a smooth, even white. Then a voice from the mirror said, "Really?" It sounded hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long time. "Are you sure you don't want to leave me down in that storeroom for another twenty or thirty years, gathering dust and cobwebs and talking to the magic cloaks for company? Not that I'm complaining, mind, but cloaks don't have much in the way of conversation."
"I wish to speak to Mendanbar, the King of the Enchanted Forest," Cimorene said firmly.
"You're supposed to specify that in the verse, you know," the mirror said. "Though I guess I can make an exception, this once. Especially since you know exactly who you want to talk to. None of this 'fairest of them all' silliness. I hate that. I have to hunt through seven or eight hundred people, and in the end it's a matter of opinion anyway, and nobody is ever happy with the results. Now, you are clearly a woman of decision. 'I wish to speak to Mendanbar, King of-' Wait a minute. King? Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," said Cimorene. "Put me through to him, please."
"If you insist," said the mirror, "but I should warn you that in my experience kings don't talk to just anyone."
"He'll talk to me. I'm his wife."
"Well, sorry, Your Majesty," said the mirror in a hurry tone. "I'll get right to it. I suppose you know that there's mud on your cheek."
Before Cimorene could reply, the mirror filled with slowly swirling colors, and from it came the sound of someone humming a soft melody ever-so-slightly off key. "Mirror!" said Cimorene. "Mirror?"
The mirror did not respond. "I think you just have to wait until it comes back," said Brandel.
"Isn't there some way to make it stop humming?" said Cimorene.
"Morwen? You know about magic mirrors."
"Not enough to do that," Morwen said regretfully.
Finally, the humming stopped and the mirror cleared, but instead of the grinning face of the gargoyle in Mendanbar's study, or Mendanbar himself, they saw only the same milky whiteness as they had before.
"I'm sorry," said the mirror. "I don't seem to be able to get through."