The Dragon King

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  “Call Tiberius, please, Numinae,” Artie said as they walked out of the dragon’s shadow.

  Without responding, Numinae pointed his face toward the sky and cooed. The green dragon’s rainbow eyes shot open, and his wings unfurled. He leaped off the roof and snaked to the ground, landing silently.

  When they were all together Artie clapped his hands. “First things first—Lance, would you cross over and get Qwon and Pammy?”

  “Now?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Lance stashed his bow next to Kynder. “Not at all. Any special instructions?”

  Artie nodded. “Have them load their laptop with whatever they can find on a place in Istanbul called Topkapi Palace. Come back quick. We’ll wait for you.”

  Lance gave Artie a funny look at the mention of Istanbul but took off at a jog and passed through the open crossover to the Kingfishers’ backyard.

  Artie turned to Tiberius. “How many dragons so far?”

  “Hmmmph. Three. The others’ll be here by nightfall. We’ll number seven.”

  Kay’s face brightened. “That’s good! That’s great!”

  “It is good,” Artie said. “When they arrive, have them gather on the castle walls, Tiberius. Tell them to be ready for battle at the drop of a hat.”

  “Hmmph. Dragons’re always ready.”

  “Excellent.” Artie spun to Erik. “I have a solo mission for you, Erik. It’s important, but I don’t think it will be very dangerous.”

  “What is it?”

  “Go to Sweden, find Sami, and bring him back. If he’s out hunting, wait for him. We’re going to need his strength when we confront Merlin, which will be sooner rather than later.”

  Erik shoved Gram into its sheath. “On it, Art.”

  “Good.” Artie used Excalibur to open a moongate to Sweden. “We won’t close this until you’re back. See you soon.”

  Erik smiled at everyone, slapped a few hands, and disappeared.

  A few minutes later Lance reappeared with Qwon and Pammy. Qwon gave Artie and Kay each a kiss on the cheek. Then she strutted over to Shallot and Dred and gave each of them a big hug.

  Artie went about introducing Pammy to everyone she hadn’t met. It was hard for her to accept Numinae and the dragons, and she squeezed Artie’s hand really hard when Tiberius first spoke, but all in all she took it pretty well.

  When they were finished, Artie knelt in the middle of the group. “Here’s the plan: Dred, Qwon, Lance, and Shallot—you’re going to Turkey, to a place called Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. Once you’re there you’ll have to find and retrieve the—”

  “Sword of David,” Dred interrupted.

  Artie nodded. “Bingo.”

  Shallot whined.

  “I know you don’t like our side,” Artie said, “but I need you there, Shallot. Think of it as, like, an honor. You’re the only fairy to go to our side in thousands of years! Not counting Tom, of course.”

  “Thanks, lad.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Lance added, “Your scentlock may be all we need to deal with any guards, Shallot. And you’re a heck of a fighter. I’d love to have you there.”

  Shallot grunted. “All right. I’ll go. But your side is strange to me. Too strange.”

  “Man,” Kay said, “talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You have pink hair, Shallot. It grows that way!”

  The group shared a much-needed giggle.

  “All right,” Artie continued. “Obviously, be careful with the sword once you find it. Remember, only Dred is allowed to touch it, okay?”

  They agreed.

  “Now, while you’re doing that, me, Kay, Bedevere, Bercilak, Tom, and Numinae will go for the Grail.” Artie paused.

  “And after we’re all back here, we visit Merlin.”

  Qwon snapped her fingers. “Good. He’s up to no good, Artie.”

  “Why? has something happened?”

  Qwon stepped to the middle of the circle as Pammy said, “The day you left, there was a news report that a girl in Peoria nearly disappeared while playing her Xbox.”

  “What do you mean, ‘nearly’?” Artie asked.

  “Well, she did disappear, but then she came back. She didn’t know where she went, but she went somewhere.”

  “Get out!” Kay said. “That sounds like when we flickered back and forth at Mont-Saint-Michel.”

  Qwon jumped in. “Minutes after that delightful news item, we learned of a boy in Paris, France, who was playing a game on his computer when his screen flashed and then his keyboard melted, almost burning off his finger.”

  Artie gulped. “What game were these kids playing?”

  “Otherworld.”

  Artie’s head fell forward. Pammy put a hand on his shoulder. “It gets worse.”

  “How?”

  “Last night,” Qwon said, “a boy in Fresno, California, did disappear from his bedroom. For good.”

  “Where did he go?” Dred asked.

  “No one knows,” Qwon answered.

  “Merlin knows,” Thumb said darkly. “As sure as he used that game to contact you, Artie, he is using it to get to these children.”

  There was a pause and then Qwon said, “Guys, since then hundreds of kids have gone missing while playing Otherworld. Hundreds.”

  Artie was disgusted. Why would Merlin do this?

  “Do you two have any good news?” Kay asked.

  Pammy tilted her head to the side. “Actually, we do.”

  Qwon opened the laptop. She clicked through some screens, and eventually a map of western Britain popped up. “Here’s a picture from a weather satellite taken a couple months ago.” It looked perfectly normal—it had been a clear day and they could see the patchwork farmland of the countryside. “Here’s one from yesterday.” It had also been a clear day, but the land below was blotted and blurred.

  “I don’t understand. Merlin’s taking out the countryside?” Artie asked.

  Qwon shook her head.

  “He’s not taking it out—it’s still there. He’s erasing it,” Pammy explained. “Not literally, but from the minds of people.”

  “Are you saying that as far as anyone is concerned, western Britain never existed?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re saying, Artie,” Qwon answered. “There are no news reports from this part of the UK dating back three weeks. Not one. We cold-called over five hundred numbers in the UK. In London, officials had never even heard of Wales. When we started calling places in Wales, people were clueless. None could say where they lived or worked, and a lot could barely remember their last names. The closer we got to here”—Qwon zoomed in on a jagged strip of coast called St. David’s Head—“the more incoherent people became. They could barely speak. When we asked if there was anyone nearby that we could talk to, the only words any of them mumbled were—”

  “Myrddin Emrys,” Artie interrupted. It was one of the names Excalibur had shared with him somewhere along the line. “Aka Merlin.”

  Pammy pointed at Artie. “Yes!”

  “That’s it, lads!” Thumb confirmed in a low voice. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten. . . . In the old days, Merlin would sometimes retreat to Wales. On the northern side of that headland there are several deep, fingerlike cuts into the cliffside. The sea gathers there. At the end of the third one, counting from the west, there is a small opening at low tide. In there was a cave. His cave.”

  “The Bunker,” Artie said.

  “Aye, lad.”

  Artie rubbed his thighs and stood quickly. “All right. That’s where we’re going to throw down. We’ll try to surprise him. But God, I hope he isn’t hurting those children. . . .”

  “Hmmmph,” Tiberius said, as if he knew the answer—but no one had the heart to ask if he did.

  “Tiberius—when the time comes, will you and the dragons cross over to Wales for me?”

  “Yes, lord kingling.”

  Artie breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll have that going f
or us at least.”

  “And the Seven Swords!” Qwon pointed out.

  “I will arrange for several packs of dire wolves from Sylvan,” Numinae said.

  “I spoke with the black dragon, Snoll, and she can muster a flock of Fenlandian dragonflies,” Dred added.

  Bedevere beamed. “And there’s my sabertooth!”

  Kay whooped as Artie said, “That’s a pretty decent army, guys. Thanks. We’ve got a shot at beating Merlin fair and square. But we can’t underestimate him. And for that, we’ll have the Sword of David.”

  As the group cheered, another dragon showed up and lit on the wall—a silver one they had never seen before. Tiberius eyed him. “’Tis Darg, from Surmik.”

  The sun shone bright as it reflected off the newest dragon’s scales. Artie held up Excalibur and saluted him. “Ho, Darg!” he shouted. The silver dragon lowered its head and roared, the ground shaking beneath Tintagel.

  Artie grinned hard. He was the Dragon King. “Friends, arms in.”

  A song of steel rang out as everyone produced their weapon of choice. Cleomede and The Anguish; Kusanagi and the Peace Sword; the Welsh wakizashi and Bercilak’s battle-ax; Lance’s bow (Orgulus stayed in its sheath); Bedevere’s claymore and Numinae’s gnarled, moss-covered hand. Tiberius came closer and raised his head over the group.

  “‘New Knights of the Round Table’ on three! One! Two! Three!”

  “NEW KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE!”

  They hoisted their weapons, and a wind, cool and fierce, rose from the circle. It was dotted with golden sparkles like little stars. These went higher and higher and dissipated over Avalon.

  Artie looked each of his knights in the eye. “A storm is coming, my friends. A big one. Be prepared for anything.”

  19

  HOW TEAM SWORD ENJOYED THE PALACE SIGHTS IN TURKEY

  While the knights waited for it to be the middle of the night in Turkey, they made final preparations, copying maps and notes from Pammy’s computer about Topkapi Palace. The Sword of David mission looked like it might be relatively easy, because the item in question was a museum piece—just a relic from another age.

  When it was time, Artie opened a gate for Team Sword. Dred, Qwon, Shallot, and Lance wished everyone else good luck, and stepped through, Dred in the lead.

  They emerged from the moongate shoulder to shoulder in the recess of a large hollowed-out tree. The tree stood in a courtyard that was in much better shape than Tintagel’s. The night air was warm, and a few stars struggled in the sky against the relentless glow of Istanbul.

  Dred poked his head out and peered around.

  “Anyone there?” Qwon whispered.

  “Not a soul.” He stepped onto the packed dirt and walked halfway around the tree. A crisscross of white stone paths led to various buildings. It was unlike any palace Dred had ever seen. The buildings were low and long, with countless arches. Many had domed roofs, and a few minarets pointed at the sky like spears. There were tons of pillars, and ornate screens carved from stone or wood covered many of the windows.

  “All clear,” Dred said.

  After the others emerged from the tree, Qwon blurted, “Shallot—your hair! It’s glowing!”

  “What?” Shallot pulled her long ponytail around her neck and stared at it. Sure enough, her pink hair glowed brightly. “Ack. Another consequence of your world. I’m telling you, fairies don’t belong here.”

  She twirled and went invisible, as if in protest.

  “You’re still glowing!” Dred whispered.

  It was true. Shallot was all the way invisible except for her hair.

  “It looks like a jellyfish or something,” Qwon said, and Shallot hissed her disapproval.

  “What about your scentlock?” Lance asked. “Does it work?”

  Shallot tried. Rose and orange and anise and lavender and lemon filled the air, and her three companions went helplessly stiff. She released her invisibility and, perhaps foolishly, tossed her ponytail in pride. She’d retained her fairy essence—all was not lost.

  But as her hair traced through the darkness, a voice called out in a language she’d never heard before. She wheeled and released her scentlock. Her friends came back immediately. The voice yelled again.

  Weapons drawn and flickering in the night, all four hustled to a nearby bush. The voice continued to bleat in their direction, accusatory and urgent. It was far off. But another voice, closer and on their side of the courtyard, answered.

  “Anyone speak Turkish?” Lance asked.

  “Nope,” Qwon answered.

  “I can speak to the bird named turkey, but I don’t recognize any of those sounds,” Shallot said.

  “Why is this land called Turkey, anyway?” Dred wondered.

  “Got me. I always thought it was a funny name for a country, too.” Lance pulled a piece of paper from a pocket on his thigh, hastily unfolded it, and traced his finger over the map. “We need to go here.” He pointed at a mishmash of jammed-together buildings on the western side of the palace. “According to all the web pages, it’s in a room called the Privy Chamber. Qwon, you got our position?”

  Qwon fiddled with her mom’s smartphone, pulling up Google Maps to get a location. Within seconds a large circle pulsated over greater Istanbul and then got smaller. She held it out. “Sure do, Lance.”

  Lance peeked over the bush. “There should be a fountain in that direction. Just past it is the main section of the palace.”

  Lance trotted past a palm tree into a row of crape myrtles. The fountain—with a stone-and-concrete facade inlaid with gold and lapis—was on his left. Across the path was another bush, which had been cut into the shape of a cone. Qwon bumped into him as he scanned the low rooflines surrounding the courtyard for guards.

  Lance pointed past the fountain. Wedged between two older colonnaded buildings was a white building with a wooden double door under a plain triangular pediment. “There,” Lance said.

  Just then two beams of light streaked the courtyard. More nonsense in Turkish as the guards called back and forth.

  “Think they have guns?” Qwon asked nervously.

  “Most likely,” Lance answered.

  Dred turned to Shallot. “Distract them, fairy. Go invisible and streak that pink hair of yours all around.”

  “But they’ll see me, Fenlandian.”

  “That’s the idea! While they’re watching you, we’ll head into that building.”

  Qwon snapped her fingers. “He’s right. They won’t shoot. They’ll think you’re a ghost—or something from another world.”

  “Which technically you are,” Lance pointed out.

  Shallot clicked her tongue. “Oh, fine.”

  Lance nocked an arrow. “Don’t worry. If they do decide to shoot, I’ll wing ’em.”

  “Stay clear. I’m throwing scent too.” Shallot stepped onto the white paving stones and spun like a top. Then she took off, bolting between the trees. She did look like a ghost. The flashlight beams honed in and tried to follow her without much success. She flashed to the far side and slalomed between some pillars. The guards continued to shout in suddenly awestruck voices.

  “C’mon!” Lance trampled over a bed of flowers onto the path, Dred and Qwon hustling behind him. They made the double doors in seconds, but they were locked.

  “I got this.” Qwon slid Kusanagi’s thin and beyond-razor-sharp blade between the doors and jerked it up. The bolt and latch were cut effortlessly. She brought her sword out and pulled open the right-hand door. “After you, gentlemen.”

  Lance slipped into the darkness, Dred following.

  Qwon turned to the courtyard and whistled like a bird. The fairy stopped dead. She was twenty feet away to Qwon’s left. “Wait,” Qwon said quietly. She knew from her captivity with Shallot at Castel Deorc Wæters that Shallot le Fey had incredible hearing.

  Qwon held out Kusanagi with both hands, pointing its gray tip at the treetops. “Kaze!” she hissed.

  Immediately, the trees bent ov
er like they were actors taking bows. A whirl of sound shot from Qwon’s blade as well, and debris was thrown into the air. Qwon had better control over Kusanagi’s power this time, and as she moved the blade over the yard, the breeze moved with it.

  The flashlights swung from Shallot’s rose-colored hair to the treetops. The men called out again, now more desperate, wondering what was going on.

  Within seconds Shallot slipped into the doorway and disappeared, taking her scent with her. “Shizume’ru,” Qwon said. The breeze died. The trees sprang back up. Qwon stepped through the door and pulled it shut.

  Lance flicked on a small flashlight mounted to his bow. An arrow nocked, he swept the room. It was empty. He eased out the string and pulled the paper map from his pocket. “There.”

  Qwon stepped toward the door to the north. “I’ll lead.”

  “I’ll cover you,” Lance said. “Shallot, you take the rear. You hear anyone, freeze ’em.”

  “With pleasure.”

  They moved out. The first door was padlocked, but Kusanagi made quick work of that. They passed through a plain room with white marble walls and high windows. On their right side they saw the guards’ lights dancing through the trees.

  They came to another set of double doors. These were tall and regal-looking. An expanding pattern of stars was carved into each, and each was fitted with elaborate brass rings. Qwon carefully tried to open them, but they were also locked. She got ready to slide Kusanagi into the breach when Shallot said, “Wait. There are voices on the other side.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Qwon whispered. She pushed Kusanagi between the doors only an inch and carefully slid it up, searching for resistance. When she hit the bolt, she flicked the blade, pulling the sword free. She reached out and grasped one of the rings. Lance pulled his bowstring. Shallot held out The Anguish, and Dred readied the Peace Sword.

  Qwon inched the door ajar and peeked in.

  The dimly lit room contained several glass display cases. The walls, covered with ornate blue-and-white tiles, stretched high into the second story of the building. The ceiling was arched and covered with more tiles and painted all over with geometric patterns in gold and green and red. Flowing Arabic script wrapped around the room at the ten-foot mark. It was beautiful—something right out of a Middle Eastern dream. At the far end of the room was a low stage, on either side of which were two more glass cases. Inside these cases were swords.