When he was satisfied that he knew exactly what he intended to do, and in what order, he put a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked at Cimorene. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are," Cimorene said.

Mendanbar nodded and drew his sword. He heard Cimorene suck in her breath as he raised the weapon over his head and swung it in a slow circle. Carefully, he pointed the sword at the carpet and pushed a tiny bit of power out to label it for the next part of the spell. Then he pointed the sword at Cimorene and repeated the process even more gently than before.

Cimorene shivered, but she remained silent.

Turning, Mendanbar pointed the sword in the direction of the Enchanted Forest. Now for the tricky part. He drew on the power in the sword, feeling it hum through the hilt and into his hands. In his mind he pictured the giant trees of the Enchanted Forest, ranged in silent rows around the rocks that edged the Green Glass Pool, with the still water reflecting them like a green mirror. When he was sure he had the picture clear and steady in his mind, he gave the power in the sword the same twisting pull he used to move from place to place within the Enchanted Forest.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the rocks began to blur and fade. Mist rose, wavering, to veil the mountains and sky. Then, just as the landscape was about to vanish into thick, woolly grayness, the mist stopped condensing.

For a moment, everything was still. Then the mist thinned and the outlines of the rocks and mountains grew sharper.

Almost, thought Mendanbar. It must need more power because we're outside the Enchanted Forest. He clenched his hands around the hilt of the sword and pulled again, hard.

Gray fog slammed down around him like a window shutter dropping closed. Something hit him like a giant's hammer, and he felt himself falling. Now I've done it, he thought vaguely, just before everything went black. I hope Cimorene is all right. Then he lost consciousness completely. He didn't even feel himself land.

Mendanbar could feel it, even before he was fully awake. The magic of the Enchanted Forest floated all around him, but it seemed tenuous and tottery, almost disconnected. He thought he had better get up and fix it. He opened his eyes.

Cimorene's concerned face hovered a foot above him. Her braids had come loose from their tight crown and there was a worry line between her eyebrows. He didn't want her to be worried. He tried to say so, but all he managed was a coughing fit. Cimorene bit her lip, and her troubled expression intensified.

"Don't try to talk," she said unhappily. "Don't try to do anything yet.

Your sword is safe, and I'm all right, and everything else can wait for a few minutes. Just lie there and breathe slowly."

It occurred to Mendanbar that Cimorene was anxious about him. That was nice, in a way, but he still didn't want her to be unhappy. In fact, it was suddenly very important to him that Cimorene should not be worried or unhappy in the slightest. He closed his eyes to consider how best to convey this and fell asleep at once.

When he woke, the sky was the pale blue of late afternoon. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up carefully, remembering what had happened earlier when he'd tried to talk. Cimorene was at his side at once.

"Are you sure you should do that?" she said.

"It hasn't hurt so far," Mendanbar replied. "What happened?"

Cimorene studied him for a moment, then relaxed visibly. "I'm not sure," she said. "One minute we were going somewhere, and the next minute we weren't. When I picked myself up, you were lying there looking three-quarters dead and as white as cracked ice, and you've been that way for over four hours. If that's your transportation spell, I think I would have preferred the carpet."

"At least it got us to the forest."

"Not exactly."

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."