The Dragon King

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

The tent—the same gray color as sky and sea—was shaped like a circus big top and was three hundred feet across. Its flaps were closed. Merlin knew it was full, but no sound came from within.

  He pulled the cane from its holster and swiped it through the air. The flaps flew open. It was very dark inside. Little glints and round silhouettes could be seen here and there, but nothing was clear.

  “Food,” he called. A shuffling from within as two human figures came into view. They were each about four feet tall and skinny but covered in chain armor from head to ankle. On the feet of the smaller one—a girl—were pink-and-purple sneakers; while the other—a boy—wore scuffed Vans. A thin sword hung from the girl’s waist, and a mace nearly as long as the boy’s leg hung from his belt. They walked side by side, together holding something.

  “Like Artie and Kay, a brother and a sister. Beast, I give you Henry and Maggie Marks.”

  The Marks children stepped into the light. Maggie was eight or nine, and Henry was a couple of years older. They had fair skin and light hair and big, empty eyes.

  They did not speak. They held out their hands, which contained a rope. The rope led into the darkness of the tent.

  “Food,” Merlin repeated.

  The Questing Beast lowered its head, but the children, who appeared not to be aware of the hellish thing leaning over them, didn’t so much as budge. The snake head unhinged its jaw. Its fangs dripped. The tongue darted from its mouth and slipped over the crown of Henry’s head. It got closer and closer to the children. Its foul breath puffed visibly on the cool air.

  “Now, now, pet,” Merlin said. “You know they’re not for you.”

  Henry and Maggie raised the rope higher. With lightning quickness the snake head stabbed down and came back up, the strand in its mouth.

  The children still stood there, completely unfazed.

  The Beast sucked the rope into its mouth like spaghetti. It ran limply over Maggie’s shoulder before drawing tight. When it did, a squeal came from inside the tent. The Beast kept sucking. The thing at the other end came into view. It was a pig, fat and round, stolen from a nearby farm. The animal strained to get away from the monster pulling it closer, but it was useless.

  The poor creature wedged between Henry and Maggie and pushed them apart. It cried loudly now, aware of what was happening, and young Henry seemed to take a flicker of notice. His eyes widened when the pig finally reached the lips of the snake head. The Questing Beast bit down, impaling its prey with its long fangs. The pig stopped moving. The Questing Beast tilted its head back and in three gulps swallowed its meal whole.

  At this, Henry let out a small yelp, but Merlin chanted a low incantation and the boy’s arms fell limply back to his sides. Maggie, still oblivious, didn’t make a peep. The color faded from Henry’s face and his eyes once more took on the blank stare that he’d worn when the Marks siblings exited the tent.

  Henry and Maggie turned in unison and scuffed back inside.

  With a loud series of cracks, the meal slid through the snake’s neck and passed into the cat portion of the Questing Beast, directly beneath Merlin’s saddle. The wizard grinned.

  “Surprises, Artie, surprises.” He looked to the southeast. In the distance was the form of a great bird, made of clouds. In its talons Merlin could see the green dot that was Sir Bercilak. “And like I said—no more games.”

  23

  HOW THE KNIGHTS REALLY, REALLY HOPE THAT THE GRAIL WORKS

  Team Grail tumbled into Tintagel’s yard in a heap, Numinae heavily and uncomfortably landing on top.

  “Bercilak! Why Bercilak?” Kay whined as she and the others pulled out of the pile.

  “Better him than the king,” Bedevere observed.

  “Well obviously, but—omigod! The backpack!” Kay spun in a circle. “Artie, the backpack!”

  “This backpack?” Artie said with a grin. He sat on the ground, the bag between his legs, his arm in it all the way to the shoulder. “There you are!” He pulled out the Grail and let it fall in his lap.

  Kay dropped to her knees. “Man—we did it, didn’t we?” Artie nodded, a big smile on his face. “But we need to save Berc—”

  “He’ll be fine,” Artie said, cutting Kay off. “Merlin chose him on purpose.”

  “Yes,” Numinae said. “The wizard is sly.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bedevere asked.

  “Bercilak is a knight of Sylvan, Sir Kay,” Numinae explained. “And since I am the lord of Sylvan, he and I are connected. Wherever Bercilak goes, I will be able to find him—even on your side.”

  “Merlin wants us to find him, doesn’t he?” Kay asked unenthusiastically.

  “Aye, lass.”

  “The others!” Bedevere said, pointing at the main building of Tintagel.

  “Artie! Kay! You’re back,” Qwon called, running full tilt, Dred right behind her.

  Artie waved as Kay slung the backpack over her shoulders. The two groups rushed toward each other, and as they did, Artie noticed the dragons. Six were perched along the walls, looking down on the knights like uncaring statues. There was Tiberius; another green dragon from Sylvan; the silver one, Darg; a black one, Snoll, plus a blue one and a white one.

  The sight of the dragons pumped Artie up, but it also made him a little more scared. Things were coming to a head. They had the Grail, the dragons were here, and the others had made it back from Turkey—presumably with the Sword of David.

  Which, of course, they had. Everyone was safe, and most of them were there—although Shallot had gone to Leagon with the golden dragon (making seven total) to gather the fairy platoon. To make up for her absence, Erik had returned with Sami, and when Artie saw the giant Swede, he gave him a huge hug.

  “I was wondering when you’d call,” Sami said. “This outfit needs a big man like me.”

  Artie laughed. “We’ve been fine without you, actually. But Merlin—we’ll definitely need you when we go up against him and his minions.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Kay tiptoed over. “Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering . . . Artie, should we—”

  “Dad.”

  “Yeah. Dad.”

  The Kingfishers turned toward the pair of black stones in the middle of the yard.

  “Should we do it now?” Artie asked, his gut churning with sudden nerves.

  “I think we should.”

  “You absolutely should,” Sami said, eyeing the plain cup that Artie casually held. “No reason not to.”

  Numinae appeared next to Sami and placed a hand on Artie’s shoulder. “I agree. The Grail is here. It should be used.”

  Artie turned to the group. “Everyone, please.” The hubbub of storytelling and catching up subsided. “We’re going to revive Kynder—now. There’d be no better way to celebrate getting the Grail and the Sword of David.”

  A hush fell over the group. Even the dragons became more solemn.

  “Dred, you’re the Pure Knight, and you need to be the one to do it,” Artie said, holding out the Grail. “Are you up to it?”

  Dred swallowed hard, conveying some trepidation. Artie understood—if for some reason it didn’t work, Dred might blame himself, which would be a terrible thing. Still, Dred said resolutely, “Of course I am, Artie.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  Artie and Kay led everyone to the stones. As they walked, Artie gave Kay a warm smile. But she did not smile back. “Artie, I’m so . . . scared.”

  “Me too.” He squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine.” And for maybe the first time in his life, Artie Kingfisher felt like he had helped his sister Kay, who was always so strong, to be stronger.

  It felt awesome.

  Tiberius came down from his perch and landed on the far side, while Numinae, Thumb, and Dred joined Artie and Kay next to the rocks. The others kept some distance, arranging themselves in a semicircle. Qwon held on to one of Pammy’s hands with both of hers, as if she would fall over otherwise. She had begun to cry.

 
Artie handed the Grail to Dred, who looked most nervous of all.

  Numinae knelt. “Do not fret. This is going to work. It has to.”

  “You got that right,” Kay said, immediately trying to guard her emotions.

  Artie squeezed her hand again. “It’s okay. Everyone here is family.”

  It was true. They’d been through so much together. Too much. Kay stood frozen for a few seconds and then did the most improbable thing ever: Kay Kingfisher started to bawl.

  Everyone was shocked. Artie wrapped her in a hug. Fighting through his own tears, he whispered over and over, “It’s going to work.”

  Finally Kay stopped and they pulled apart. “We’re ready,” Artie said. “Are you?”

  Dred held out the Grail. “Yes.”

  Artie looked at his dragon. “Do your thing, Tiberius.”

  “Hmmph. As you wish, lord kingling.” Tiberius stooped over Kynder and began to lick the rock away. After several minutes Kynder’s body revealed itself in bits and pieces. Numinae stepped forward, cradling Kynder’s listless head. Tiberius kept working. A few minutes more, and Kynder Kingfisher was there, on the ground, just as he had been in Fenland: his leg broken, his skin ashen, his breath nonexistent.

  Numinae ran a huge hand over Kynder’s head. “Now, Sir Mordred. Artie, bring Excalibur’s scabbard.”

  The twins stepped forward and the other dragons began to hum eerily. Artie pulled Excalibur from its scabbard. The steel hissed. He handed the leather sheath to Numinae as Dred held the Grail directly over Kynder. Numinae put the scabbard on Kynder’s leg and then reached down, repositioning the broken limb, pushing the bone back into place with a gnarly snap.

  One minute passed. Two. Two and a half.

  Kay fidgeted. “What’s hap—”

  “Sh!” Thumb hissed, grabbing Kay’s hand.

  The dragons’ humming grew louder, and a flock of small dark birds burst into the sky beyond the castle wall.

  Three minutes. Three and half. Four.

  Dred looked inside the Grail. It was still empty. Dred shook his head slowly.

  Artie stared at Kynder’s unseeing eyes. It wasn’t working. Frustrated and scared, Artie said, “It’s me, Dad—it’s Arthur.”

  The dragons went suddenly silent.

  “There!” Numinae whispered.

  Dred leaned over the Grail. A few drops of red liquid—blood? wine? cranberry juice?—seeped from the bottom of the cup. Then, very quickly, it filled.

  “Give it to him, Dred!” Numinae implored.

  Dred and Artie knelt at the same time, like mirror images. Artie parted Kynder’s lips, and Dred tipped the Grail. The liquid poured in, filling Kynder’s mouth. Artie stroked his dad’s hair. Kay fell next to him and grabbed Kynder’s hand.

  And then his body seized. It shook so violently that Artie, Kay, and Dred had to hold it down. Numinae slipped one of his long wooden fingers between Kynder’s teeth so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue off. Kynder foamed at the mouth; his eyes shot open; his voice returned in a harsh rattle.

  “Come back to us, Dad. Come back!” Kay begged through tears.

  “It’s me, Dad. Your son.”

  Then Kynder’s body froze and went completely limp. Artie and Kay ran their hands desperately over his face and body. There was no breath, no life. Dred stood, full of fear and shame, the Grail slowly slipping from his fingers. “I . . . I . . . ,” he stammered.

  The Grail fell to the ground. When it hit, a great sound rang over Tintagel, like a huge church bell had been struck.

  Kynder’s mouth opened wide as he inhaled fully. His pupils contracted and his hands gripped those of his two children. His chest began to rise and fall, and his skin filled with living color.

  “Dad!” Artie and Kay yelled. Numinae pressed the scabbard hard onto Kynder’s leg wound. Blood flowed from it for a few seconds before the skin and muscles magically closed and reformed around the exposed bone.

  Kynder’s kids fell forward, and the three of them locked in a tight embrace. Dred jumped up and down and pumped his fist. Pammy and Qwon ran forward, followed by all the others. When Pammy got there, she dropped to her knees, pushed Numinae out of the way, and grabbed Kynder’s head. She stroked his hair and planted a huge kiss on his forehead.

  Lance, Bedevere, Erik, and Sami stood abreast, their arms thrown over the next man’s shoulder. They laughed and cried all at once, without a dry eye among them. Sami got so caught up that he squeezed Erik’s shoulder a little too hard, and Erik had to remind him not to crush his arm.

  Kynder’s eyes darted over the group before landing back on his children. “How long . . . Who . . . What . . . Where’s Merlin?”

  Artie said, “Merlin’s not here, Dad. You’re safe.”

  Kynder nudged his kids off his chest. He was equal parts happy and confused and desperate. “Arthur—I have to tell you something. I realized it right before I . . . I . . . Did I die?”

  “Almost, my friend,” Numinae said. “But Tiberius preserved you. It nearly killed him, too.”

  Kynder’s gaze swept the yard. “Thank you, Tiberius.”

  “Hmmmph. My pleasure to’ve done it. Thanks be to the kingling for calling me back.”

  Then Kynder sat bolt upright, as if stricken by something. “Arthur—you have to confront Merlin.”

  “I know, Dad. We’re going to. Tomorrow. We had to bring you back first.”

  “He’s half devil, Son.”

  “We know.”

  “And Excalibur—”

  “We know, Dad,” Artie said. “Excalibur wants to kill him. And I have to be the one to do it.”

  Kynder shook his head. “No, Artie. Not exactly. The sword doesn’t want to kill him. It wants to free him.”

  The knights stared at Kynder with wild eyes.

  “You have to cut the devil out of him, Artie. You must save Merlin—from himself!”

  Artie frowned and let his fingers rest on Excalibur. The sangrealitic metal of the blade buzzed at his fingertips, as if to verify Kynder’s words.

  “Of course!” Thumb yelped. “Why couldn’t I see that?”

  “He enchanted all of us,” Kynder said.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Numinae took Kynder and, with Artie, helped him to his feet. The other knights welcomed Kynder back, giving him hugs and handshakes and a few more kisses. Finally, Kynder looked to Artie and said, “Arthur, not to ruin the mood, but I’m starving.”

  Artie laughed out loud. “I am too, Dad. Come on, everyone, let’s eat.”

  24

  IN WHICH ARTIE DONS HIS TRICKSTER CAP

  Bran had gone all out and made quite possibly the best platter of mac and cheese in the history of mac and cheeses. It was smooth and buttery on the inside, flaky on top, and crunchy at the edges where the cheese and pasta pushed against the roasting pan. For dessert each got a custom-made ice-cream sundae. Most were typical flavors—chocolate, vanilla, butterscotch, strawberry—but Numinae’s was green and brown and sprinkled with dirt and leaves. “Whatever floats your boat,” Kay said as the forest lord dug in.

  As they ate, they told each other the gritty details of retrieving the Sword of David and the Grail. Since Team Sword had gotten to Tintagel first, and since they were super anxious waiting for Team Grail to arrive, they had busied themselves.

  Along with Shallot going to Leagon on the newest golden dragon, Dred had taken the black dragon, Snoll, to Castel Deorc Wæters to gather some war bears and dragonflies. He did all right on the insects—he got a contingent of 143—but he could find only a dozen able bears. Tiberius had done a similar thing in Sylvan, rounding up two packs of dire wolves and three saber-toothed cats, including Bedevere’s. All of these groups were ready, and they would take moongates opened by Artie directly to Tintagel, where everyone would muster before heading off to Wales.

  Naturally, they were thrilled that things were going so well.

  After dessert came tea, coffee, and an endless supply of Mountain Dew. While the knight
s drank, Dred went to the far side of the room and showed off the Sword of David, forbidding anyone else to even come near him. “It works,” Lance confirmed. “It works really fast.” They toasted the poor guard who’d had the misfortune of pulling it from the scabbard, and Artie promised that he would not have died in vain. Kay wondered if it would work as quickly on Merlin, and Numinae answered, “Doubtful, because his magic is so strong. But it will compromise him. All we have to do is convince him that it’s Excalibur.”

  “But how?” Sami asked. “If he’s as powerful as you say he is, won’t he know what we’re up to?”

  Artie’s palms went clammy as he said, “You’re right, Sami. He might figure it out. We just have to hope he doesn’t. As to how—this is how.” Artie was nervous because he knew that Merlin had done something to Erik, something that, Artie guessed, enabled Merlin to see or hear whatever Erik did. And now it was crucial that Merlin heard what Artie was about to say. Everything hinged on it—it was essential.

  “Merlin will expect me to have Excalibur, the sword he wants more than anything. We have to fight and really try to beat him, but if we can’t, then eventually we should surrender.”

  “What?” a few of the knights asked together.

  “Arthur,” Kynder said, leaning forward. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Artie held up his hands. “I know it doesn’t sound smart, Dad. I saw what he did to you on that beach, but hear me out. If we surrender, then Merlin will want to speak to me. He’s too much of a jerk to just kill me. He’ll want to say something all evil-wizardy, rub defeat in my face and all that. Trust me. I know how bullies operate.”

  “Artie,” Lance said, “I think your dad’s probably right.”

  Artie took a sip of black coffee. “Let me finish, Lance. So as a last resort we surrender, and Merlin and I, we’ll be close to each other. Merlin will take my sword, thinking it’s Excalibur, and try to cut my head off with it.” A chorus of startled breaths went around the table. “Wait—think about it: there are a million ways for him to kill me, but what better way than to do it with my own sword? It’s—what do you call it—poetic justice, right?”