“Woraug!” Kazul’s tail lashed, sweeping a small boulder from one side of the path to the other. “But Woraug’s not a fool, and only a fool would let a wizard into that valley. Unless he was sure that they didn’t know . . . What was Antorell doing?”

“Cutting plants,” Cimorene said. “Or rather, cutting a plant. It didn’t look as if he took more than one.”

“He wouldn’t need more than one, if it was the right one,” Kazul said tensely. “What did he pick?”

“It was a prickly looking purple thing, with sawedged leaves,” Cimorene said, reaching into her pocket. “I didn’t recognize it, but I thought you might, so I brought a piece back for you to look—”

“What?” Kazul roared.

Flame spurted from the dragon’s mouth, enveloping Cimorene. Steam hissed from her wet skirt, and the thinner material of her sleeves vanished in a crackle of sparks. The handkerchief-wrapped spray of purple leaves, which she had just taken out of her pocket to show Kazul, disintegrated into a dark, greasy-looking cloud of smoke.

Cimorene stared at the ashes in her palm, feeling very, very glad that she had decided to test the way fresh feverfew would work in the fireproofing spell. She felt a little warm, and her clothes had been reduced to a few charred rags, but that was nothing compared to what might have happened.

“Now I understand why Alianora ran out of feverfew,” she muttered.

A puff of wind brushed Cimorene’s arms, and she heard a choking sound from Kazul. She looked up, expecting to find the dragon laughing at her remark, and her eyes widened. Kazul’s head was thrown back, and her mouth was wide open, giving Cimorene an excellent view of the dragon’s sharp silver teeth and long red tongue. Cimorene skipped backward out of reach; then she realized that the dragon was gasping for air.

“Kazul! What’s the matter?”

“The smoke!” Kazul coughed. Her voice was so hoarse that it was hard for Cimorene to understand what she was saying.

“What can I do?” Cimorene said, trying not to feel frightened.

“Green jar—shelf in last treasure room,” Kazul managed between coughs. “Hurry.”

Cimorene was already running through the mouth of the cave as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not even pause as she snatched up her lamp from the floor just inside the door. It seemed to take forever to get through the twisty passages and the first two caves full of treasure. She skidded to a halt in the doorway of the third room and stood panting, scanning the walls for the shelf and the right jar. She found it quickly and ran back at once, the jar clutched tightly in her right hand.