The Shadow Dragons

by James A. Owen

  “Get into the airship,” Artus said to Nemo and Jack as he stepped forward and drew his sword. “Protect Aven.”

  “We’re not leaving you,” Jack began.

  “I know that!” said Artus. “But we have to hold on! I believe! Do you?”

  “Yes,” said Jack, as he eyed Kipling. “I believe.” But he didn’t climb into the ship, and neither did Nemo or Stephen.

  “Stay clear of his reach,” Jack warned. “He has the spear, and we don’t have anything that can defeat it. Not yet. All we can do is try to hold him off,” he finished grimly, with a silent prayer.

  “Come, let us reason together,” said Artus.

  “No reasoning, no discussion,” said the Shadow King. He glanced up at the Dragon shadows circling overhead and smirked. “You may have delayed my plans for the Summer Country, but that is all you have done—delay. There is nothing to discuss but your defeat. And you have nothing that can overpower my spear.”

  “I don’t have to defeat you myself,” said Artus. “I just have to hold you back long enough for Rose to get here, to do what she’s destined to do.”

  “I’ve read your Prophecy,” the Shadow King hissed, “and it means nothing to me.”

  “It means something to him,” said Kipling, “and you shouldn’t underestimate that.”

  “Kill him,” the Shadow King said. “Kill him now.”

  “You know,” Kipling remarked, “I really don’t think I’m going to be able to do that.”

  The Shadow King looked at him in confused fury. “What about that order didn’t you understand?” he shouted. “Kill him!”

  “What about my refusal didn’t you understand?” said Kipling. “I’m not a violent man, and I detest war.” He dropped the sword to the grass. “I quit.”

  “You forget what I promised you, Caretaker,” the Shadow King said as he touched a contact on his chest and a circlet of mist began to swirl behind him. “You forget what I can do, whom I can return to you.”

  Kipling paused, and started to look back. In the swirl of mist, a face began to appear—a young man, a soldier.

  Kipling steeled himself and bit his lip. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ve just managed to keep the things that are truly right ahead of the things that I want for myself.”

  “Your son, Kipling—”

  “Is dead.”

  With a snarl, the Shadow King released the contact, and the young soldier vanished.

  Kipling walked around the reach of the Shadow King and stood behind Jack. “Greetings, Caretaker.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jack hissed, “but I won’t argue with your choice.”

  “I see,” said the Shadow King. “There are more traitors than I knew, here in the Nameless Isles.”

  “Not traitors,” Artus said, turning to smile at Kipling, “just friends. And that’s how I know we’re going to win.”

  “You won’t,” the Shadow King replied. With a single motion, he thrust the Spear of Destiny through Artus’s heart before anyone could cry out a warning. “I’m not going to take your shadow, boy,” he rasped. “I’m just going to end your life.”

  “Ah, me,” Artus said, looking down at the spear sticking out of his chest. “Aven, I—”

  The King of the Silver Throne dropped to his knees, then fell over on his side, dead.

  When Defoe stepped out of the wardrobe secreted away in the uppermost room at Tamerlane House, a contingent of Caretakers was there to greet him.

  “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do,” he said, “to borrow a phrase. How in Hades did you find me out?”

  “Traitors are themselves easily betrayed,” Poe said softly. “Friends may quarrel, and the bond may remain unbroken. But a traitor can have no friends who will not eventually side against him.”

  “I can see that,” said Defoe. “You welcomed Burton into your midst easily enough.”

  “Don’t take my name in vain, Daniel,” Burton said as he strode into the room. “I knew there were more moles about, but I thought you’d at least have been brave enough to be up-front about it.”

  “Says the original traitor,” Defoe spat. “Physician, heal thyself.”

  “Oh, I’m feeling just fine,” said Burton. “I finally realized that there was a price too high to pay to achieve my goals. It serves no one and nothing to seek after truth as an ally of evil.”

  “You got cold feet, you mean.”

  “I came to my senses,” said Burton, “and you’ve let the Shadow King’s hunger for power color your judgment.”

  “Chain it,” Poe ordered, pointing at the wardrobe. “I’m guessing wherever the other one is, we’ll find Houdini and Conan Doyle.”

  Defoe just glared at him.

  “That’s answer enough,” said Poe. “We’ll strand them, and retrieve them when this is finished.”

  “It’ll be finished soon enough,” snarled Defoe. “I agree,” said Poe. “It will.”

  “I’ll take responsibility for the Detective and the Magician,” said Burton. “They’re my apprentices, not the Shadow King’s. They’ll be penitent enough, I think.”

  “You didn’t bring them with you,” said John. “Why?”

  Burton grinned. “Self-preservation first. I am a barbarian, after all.”

  Suddenly Defoe ripped a mirror from the wall and smashed it against Archimedes, who’d been perched atop the wardrobe. The owl screetched and flapped his wings, scattering silvered glass all over the Caretakers. John shouted to Bert, and together they calmed down the bird, who was ruffled but unharmed—but the distraction had served its purpose. Defoe had disappeared down one of the endless hallways.

  “Never mind,” said Poe. “We’ve cut off his means of escape. We’ll find him later.”

  “If Archimedes is here,” said Bert, “does that mean Stellan and the others are too?”

  “Not Stellan,” said Poe, looking at his watch. “It’s been too long.”

  “We must mourn later,” Bert said, grabbing John’s shoulders. “We have to find Rose!”

  “I agree. I’ve had enough of debate,” said John. “We’re going out to join the battle.”

  The Tin Man, staunch as he was, was being overrun.

  The masses of children were finally proving too much, so others of the allies, still under the instruction to delay and not harm, tried to aid his efforts.

  The Valkyries were the most effective of the allies’ forces, because they were more mobile and flexible than any of the other groups. But they were also the most vulnerable, because they couldn’t wear armor and still fly—and any blow that could knock them out meant a fall to the death, unless one of their companions caught them.

  The warrior children started hurling stones with slings when they realized their closest enemies were airborne. Sadie Pepperpot had taken a terrible blow to her shoulder, and her left arm was hanging nearly useless at her side. Several others were also injured.

  The Tin Man started to pull back, and the others realized that combat with the children might be inevitable.

  Stephen cried out when the Shadow King had speared Artus, and he rushed forward, but Jack held him back.

  “Look!” Jack cried out. “There! Down the hill!”

  The companions, keeping one eye on the Shadow King, edged away from him and risked a glance to where Jack was pointing.

  It was Ransom, Quixote, and Rose. And she was holding Caliburn. The sword was whole again.

  On the opposite side of the beach, John and Bert had landed and were coming forward at the same time.

  Across the bottom of the cliffs, Charles was leading Charys, Falladay Finn, and Eledir to where the fallen king lay in the grass. And Aven leaped down from her airship to stand next to her son.

  “Now we’re going to finish this,” Aven said, drawing her sword. “You can’t take all of us, demon.”

  “I don’t need to,” said the Shadow King, indicating the children in the pass. “They can.”

  His words were confident, but the companions
noticed that he had not taken his eyes off Rose—and the sword.

  “We’re going to get him,” Stephen called up to Laura Glue, reaching for her. “Can you give us a little more time?”

  “We’ll keep them off you as long as we can,” gasped Laura Glue, swooping down to take his hand.

  “Thank you,” Stephen said. He gripped her hand tightly for a moment, as words unspoken passed between them in a long, lingering glance. Then she pulled free and rose into the air like a shot.

  “Valkyries! To me!” she called out with a loud, trilling battle call. “Norah! Sadie! Abby Tornado!” The Valkyries, aided by the centaurs Charys had summoned, were holding the pass, if barely.

  Rose and Quixote reached the top of the hill.

  “I don’t believe it!” said Charles. “You did it!”

  “It’s a fraud,” the Shadow King hissed. “This is your last chance to surrender.”

  “No,” said John, as he and Bert topped the hill, “it’s yours”

  Rose looked at Artus’s fallen body and winced. Then she looked up at Stephen and offered him the sword.

  “You brought it back,” Stephen replied. “It’s yours to wield, just as the Prophecy said.”

  “There is no Prophecy!” the Shadow King said as he took another step back. “I don’t believe!”

  Rose drew the blade across the palm of her hand, leaving Caliburn’s edge slick with her blood.

  The winds of the Time Storm suddenly increased and began to howl around the island, as high above, the shadows of the Dragons circled, waiting.

  “What are you doing?” the Shadow King whispered, his voice full of menace. “What do you think you are doing, girl?”

  “I’m fulfilling my destiny,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the howling winds. “I’m going to heal my family. I’m going to heal my father.”

  “I am your father!” the Shadow King spat. “Give me the sword! Give me Caliburn! It is mine! It always was!”

  “You are not my father,” Rose said calmly.” You are the darkness in his soul, which he chose to set aside. You are the strength, which takes no responsibility, and the will, which has no desire but to consume. You are his spirit, and when you have joined with him once more, it will be his choice what kind of man he is. Now, and forever.”

  She leaped forward and pressed the tip of the sword against the Shadow King’s armor—right at the point where it curved into shadow.

  The Shadow King froze in place. Caliburn had trapped him in the shell of the Red King.

  “What are you doing, girl?” he screamed. “Stop! Stop this! Release me! I command you!”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” said Rose. “I’m going to release you, from everything.” With both hands, she drew the sword across his chest, making a lopsided figure eight. The point of the sword never left his armor, and where it passed, it left a mark of blood.

  “I Bind you, Shadow,” she said softly, not caring if he or anyone else could hear. “With the mark I have chosen for myself, I Bind you.”

  Then, as the Shadow King continued to scream, she spoke the words:

  Shadow of my father

  By right and rule

  For need of might

  I thus bind thee

  I thus bind thee

  By blood bound

  By honor given

  I thus bind thee

  I thus bind thee

  For strength and speed and heaven’s power

  By ancient claim in this dark hour

  I thus bind thee

  I thus bind thee

  Rose stepped back and lowered the black sword to her side. On the Shadow King’s armor, the infinity symbol she had drawn glowed briefly with a blue fire, then faded.

  “Let me see who’s really in charge,” said Rose. “Show yourself, King of the Shadows.”

  A tearing sound ripped across the hilltop as a thick, dark form pushed its way out of the Red King’s body. It had no face, only roiling hatred that crackled in the air.

  “That’s good enough,” she said, gripping the sword with both hands. “I just wanted you to see my face.”

  Rose swung the sword through the middle of the dark form, and it shattered apart, screaming, at the touch of Caliburn.

  “Now,” she said to Stephen, “avenge your father, as I’ve avenged mine.”

  “Gladly,” Stephen said. He stepped forward as the Shadow King’s body howled in dismay.

  “I’m sorry!” the frozen king cried. “I—I didn’t mean for all of this to happen!”

  “Good or evil,” Stephen said, clenching his jaw, “that’s the first thing you’ve said that I really believe.”

  He swung the ax and cleanly lopped off the Shadow King’s head.

  A burst of sparks and flame shot out of the neck as the body dropped to its knees, then fell over onto its right side, unmoving. The head went spinning down the hill and bounced several times, before at last coming to rest against a petrified log.

  The body had only its own shadow. The second shadow had been destroyed by the touch of Caliburn.

  Charys approached the spot where the head had fallen and looked down. Nothing remained of the countenance of the Shadow King—all that was left was the original clockwork once called the Red King.

  “This is all very unorthodox,” the head of the Red King said. “Is the Parliament out of session?”

  “It is now,” said Charys. He reared up with his forelegs and brought them smashing down onto the head, which exploded into gears and wheels and wires.

  At that moment, all the Timelost Dragonships and the thousands of spellbound children crusaders, including young Stephen, vanished.

  A cheer rose up from the hovering airships and the allies alike.

  “The clockwork!” Bert said in amazement. “It was a giant Anabasis Machine, like the pocket watches! That’s how he was able to manipulate the Time Storms to capture the children and the ships!”

  “That machine is no more,” Charys bellowed, “and I think all debts have been settled!”

  “Not entirely,” a voice called out from farther down the rise. “There are still other claims to be made, and I’m claiming the Archipelago as my own.”

  It was Defoe. And in his hands he held the Spear of Destiny.

  He looked at John and smirked. “You should act more swiftly against those you discover to be your enemies.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Daniel,” said Bert. “You cannot do this!”

  “I think I can, and I shall,” said Defoe. “We’ve often searched for the means to make the Society dominant over the Caretakers, and I always believed it would be in the service of Mordred. But I realize now that it was my destiny all along to do it myself.”

  “Rose has Caliburn, Daniel,” said John. “You’re outmatched.”

  “Ah, I think not, young Caretaker,” Defoe replied. “I have the shadows of the Dragons. And that makes me the victor, even before the battle is begun. You are trapped here in the Nameless Isles, and I get the rest of creation. That sounds like a fair exchange.”

  “Overconfidence was Mordred’s downfall,” said John. “It will be yours, too.”

  “It’s hard to be overconfident when I control all the Dragons,” said Defoe.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say all of them,” Bert noted, looking up. “You missed one, Daniel.”

  With a terrifying rush of speed and a sickening crunch, Samaranth dropped out of the sky and crushed Defoe beneath his feet.

  “I learned my lesson about banishment last time,” said Samaranth. “This is now done and done.”

  The battle was finally over.

  “Why didn’t the Shadow King go after you?” Jack asked the Dragon. “I’d have thought he would have made certain to get you first.”

  “He tried,” said Samaranth, “but he could never find my True Name to bind me. His mistake was in believing it was in the book. It wasn’t.”

  “Where is it?” asked Jack.

  “That would
be telling,” said Samaranth.

  “We saw something similar happen in the battle with Peter Pan,” said Jack, referring to the destruction of the Shadow. “How is this time different?”

  “Dissipated is different from destroyed,” said Bert, “and silver pixie dust is different from the sword of the gods. The Shadow is gone. Forever.”

  “That begs an interesting question,” said Charles. “The Shadow could not survive if the owner was dead—but what about the reverse? With his Shadow destroyed, what will happen to Madoc?”

  But Bert didn’t answer. He smiled grimly, then strode off to find Aven to move Artus’s body. The king had been the only casualty.

  Jack wondered if Bert hadn’t answered his question because he couldn’t . . .

  . . . or because he wouldn’t.

  “Answer my question,” said John. “Which side are you on?”

  Kipling’s only response was to reach into his breast pocket and pull out a silver pocket watch. A pocket watch with a red dragon on the cover.

  “How did you get that?” John exclaimed. “Haven’t you turned traitor?”

  Kipling smiled. “I got it in the usual way, and no,” he said blithely, “I have not become a traitor.”

  “The Shadow King had Defoe and poor Jakob in our camp,” said Bert with a weary smile, “but we had Kipling in theirs.”

  “Don’t worry, lad,” Kipling said. “We’ll explain it all to you by and by. Just know that everything’s gone as it was supposed to go.”

  “Everything?” John said, looking at Artus’s body, which they had moved to the deck of the Blue Dragon.

  “Yes, John,” Bert said sadly. “Everything.”

  John gestured skyward at the shadows. “The Shadow King created this terrible army, and he never even used it.”

  “He tried,” said Kipling, “in the Summer Country. But we summoned them away, then defeated their master. We won, lad.”