The Dragon King

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  “Or irony, lad,” Thumb said glumly.

  “Right, or that. But here’s the thing: it won’t be Excalibur! It’ll be the Sword of David, disguised to look just like Excalibur. I’ll have it strapped to my back in battle just for show, but I won’t use it.” Artie’s hands were shaking now, and he slid them under the table to hide his nervousness. Erik, and Merlin, who was using him, had to understand this point perfectly. If not, the whole plan would fail.

  Kay, who was one of three who knew about the traitor, even though she was still ignorant as to who was the traitor, leaned forward. “Artie, that’s crazy. If you don’t fight with Excalibur, then that means no scabbard—and no scabbard means no healing power! You’re going to go into a full-on boss battle without that? Would you ever do something so stupid in Otherworld the video game?”

  Artie shook his head. “Of course I wouldn’t. But this isn’t a video game, Kay.” Artie realized in that moment that truer words had never been spoken. “None of you have a scabbard like Excalibur’s. It’s not fair to you guys if I can get healed on the spot. You’re putting your necks on the line too.”

  “Yes, lad. But you’re the king!” Thumb protested.

  Kay threw up her hands. “Artie, this is stupid.”

  Artie planted his hands on the table. “It isn’t. Once Merlin draws my sword—the one he thinks is Excalibur but is actually the Sword of David—he’ll be weak. He’ll strike out for me, and then, at the last minute, I’ll hit him with Carnwennan, which I’ll hide in my sleeve. This won’t kill him, of course. Only Excalibur can do that. So at that moment, Numinae will bring me my sword, which he will hold safe for the entire battle, and together Excalibur and I will free Merlin. Just like you said, Dad.”

  There was a silence. “It sounds like a good plan,” Erik said. It was the first thing Artie could recall him saying all evening.

  “Thanks, Erik,” Artie said, his heart racing. “Dred, Numinae—will you work on disguising the sword tonight?”

  “Gladly, Brother,” Dred said, uneasy about the whole idea.

  “Yes, sire. We will do an incomparable job of it.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Kay said, playing along a little to help sell this idea to the traitor. “I mean, maybe I’m being the protective big sister and all, but it sounds crazy risky. Outside of the fact that he’s been stealing kids, and mashing sabertooths with rhinos, we have no idea what Merlin is planning.”

  Artie stood. “Maybe not, but it’s all been moving to this moment. All of it, from the very beginning, even before Dred and I were born.” Which was true. Artie understood now that while he was a king, and a boy, he was also a cog in the machine of fate. They all were. Even Merlin. “We’ll find out what Merlin has planned soon enough—just as he will find out what we have planned for him. He told us: no more games, and he’s right. We’re not playing anymore.” Artie paused. “Now, if you don’t mind my giving an order: except for Dred and Numinae, I need all of you to go get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, at seven sharp, we gather the troops—and then, we go to war.”

  25

  ON THE MUSTER

  Kynder came to Artie’s room that night, intending to talk him out of the surrender plan. But Artie told Kynder everything—even that the unfortunate and unwitting traitor was Erik—and Kynder left feeling that maybe Artie was right. If Merlin had somehow used Erik to spy on their strategy session, then Artie had a chance. “Besides,” Artie added as Kynder left the room, “I think we can beat him. Remember, we have the dragons on our side. That’s not nothing, you know?”

  “Yes, but even dragons can be killed,” Kynder said, and then left.

  The next morning was bright and crisp. Artie went outside extra early, greeted the dragons, and wasted no time: he opened a gate to Leagon, and one to Fenland, and one to Sylvan, and King Artie’s army poured into the courtyard at Tintagel. Here came the bears; the dragonflies; the wolves; the saber-toothed tigers; and Shallot, with Chime, the golden dragon, at the head of a line of thirty fairies. As the forces arrived, the dragons took off and turned a multicolored wheel in the sky. The other knights arrived, and Artie assigned tasks to everyone: Kay briefed the fairies; Sami took charge of the war bears; Dred managed the dragonflies; Thumb, mounted on a new dog-size bunny from Sylvan, rallied the wolves; Bedevere attended to the sabertooths; and Lance and Erik handed out the last pieces of armor to whoever needed them.

  While this happened, Artie consulted with Numinae, Pammy, and Kynder, pinpointing Bercilak’s—and therefore Merlin’s—location in Wales. Then Artie opened three huge moongates onto a Welsh bluff a mile south of the place called St. David’s Head, taking care to hide them in a depression. Artie dispatched Sami, three bears, and the blue dragon, called Azur, to keep watch. If Merlin showed any sign of an ambush, they would report back and everyone would spill through to fight.

  So far, though, the coast had stayed clear.

  During the night, Numinae and Dred had labored tirelessly to disguise the Sword of David, which had not been a walk in the park. Since it was going to stay sheathed until the last minute, they worked hard on the hilt. Dred stripped the Sword of David down to the tang and built the hilt back up to look just like Excalibur’s, and were lucky enough to get a glass bauble from Bran that looked exactly like Excalibur’s pommel stone. They then went to work on the scabbard, which wasn’t too hard to deal with: both were worn and unadorned and made of ancient leather; the Sword of David’s just needed a few tweaks here and there to make it convincing. When they were finished, the sheathed swords were dead ringers.

  Artie was talking quietly with a group of knights when Numinae approached, holding out the blades he would carry.

  “Here you are, sire. Avoid all temptation to draw it in battle.”

  Artie took the Sword of David and slung it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to die from stupidity.”

  Kay and Erik laughed. “No way,” Erik said. “You wouldn’t want the kids at school to learn that’s how you went down.”

  Kay punched Erik. “Ha! School. That’s a good one, Erikssen.”

  “What? We are going back there, right?”

  Artie clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Yes. We are. We’re fighting for a lot of things today, but that’s a big one. In my book, anyway.”

  “Sweet,” Erik said. He turned to the lord of Sylvan and, nodding at the sword in Numinae’s hands said, “Keep Excalibur safe, Numinae.”

  “I will, Sir Berserker.” And then Numinae repeated the painful-looking trick of pushing the sword—sheath and all—into his leg, leaving the hilt and pommel exposed just above his hip. “Just in case,” Numinae said with a wink.

  Artie scanned the yard. “Guys!” he announced, his voice sounding deeper than he ever remembered. The army came to attention. “Dragons!” He yelled into the sky, and all of them stopped cruising and pulled into low-altitude hovers. He thought of all the comics he’d read, all the heavy-handed stories in RPG video games, even a bunch of his favorite books. He was about to give a speech, and it had to be a good one.

  “Thanks for coming to Avalon! It’s an honor to have you here. We’ve been through a lot to get to this point. Some of us have been enemies”—he eyed the wolves and dragonflies and war bears—“others have always been friends. Now we will be united in war! Now we have to fight Merlin Ambrosius!”

  A general roar of fury at the wizard’s name.

  “We will stick to the plan. Expect anything! Numinae and the dragons will attempt to combat Merlin’s magic, but don’t count on it. He is treacherous! If at any time it looks to me like we cannot win, then we must give up so that I can get close to Merlin.” He held up Scarffern. “If I think we have to do this, I’ll blow the whistle three times, and Numinae will send up a green flare—this is the signal of our surrender.” The crowd grumbled. “But don’t think of that now! Think of victory! As long as I live, and as long as I hold this”—he tapped the hilt of the Sword of David that peeked over his shoulder�
�“we will win! Remember, we’re fighting not only to send Merlin packing, but for the fate of both sides of earth. For mine, which needs the clean energy that sangrealite can provide; and for the Otherworld, so that the sangrealite that Merlin has hoarded can be given back to you and your homelands—so that magic will not die! Now! Be ready! It is a good day for victory!” Since he couldn’t draw the sword from his back, he yanked the cutlass, Flixith, from its sheath and shook it overhead.

  The knights yelled out, and the soldiers rattled their weapons, and the creatures lowed and growled, and the dragons flapped their wings in support. Kynder and Pammy clung to each other, staring with a mix of pride and worry at Artie and Kay and Qwon. Both of the parents were staying in Tintagel, and it was clear from the looks on their faces that they wished that their kids were, too.

  Artie stood high on his toes. “I said—IT IS A GOOD DAY FOR VICTORY!”

  And the crowd went wild. Artie beamed; his heart filled; his eyes welled. Kay stepped next to him, Cleomede shining in the morning light. “You’ve come a long way, Art.”

  “I know.” Together they looked at Kynder.

  “I love you,” their father said loudly, tears in his eyes. “Now go get that wizard. Make his evil side pay for what he did to me—for what he did to us all.”

  26

  IN WHICH THE BATTLE AGAINST MERLIN GETS UNDER WAY

  Wales was cold and lashed with freezing rain. A stiff wind blew in from the sea, taking their breaths away if they faced it. The clouds were low and dark and spun in a vortex whose center was off to the northwest. Artie’s army gathered in a stretch of open field between a footpath and a low ridge of bald, pockmarked rocks. To the south were emerald sections of farmland; to the east the craggy outlook called Carn Llidi. A mile to the west, past a shallow valley and over a thin stream, was the stony peninsula of St. David’s Head. The land between was open and overgrown with purple scrub brush and green-and-brown grass. Lichen-covered rocks of all sizes—from pebbles to rough slabs as big as school buses—were littered everywhere.

  It was harsh but also beautiful. Too bad it was going to be marred by battle in about thirty minutes.

  Artie took Kay, Numinae, Thumb, Dred, and Lance to an outcropping to survey the field. Tiberius followed, sauntering along on all fours, careful to keep his head and body as low to the ground as possible.

  “Specs,” Artie said, lying on his stomach in the grass.

  “You talking to me, Your Royalness?” Kay asked.

  “Uh, yeah—the binoculars, please.”

  Kay rummaged in the backpack. She passed out three pairs of binoculars and kept a fourth pair for herself.

  They scanned the countryside. Over Merlin’s field tent were about a hundred dark, winged creatures turning in the air.

  “You guys see Merlin?” Kay asked.

  Lance shook his head. “Could be in that tent.”

  Artie clicked his tongue. “I doubt it. My bet is that whatever nasty army we’re about to go up against is in there. Probably a bunch of hybrid animals that have been snacking on the kids he stole.”

  It was a gruesome image that no one wanted to entertain. “Speaking of nasties—what are those things in the sky?” Kay asked.

  “I can’t be sure,” Numinae said a little ominously. “But they appear to be—”

  “Hmmmph. Questlings. The wizard has made Questlings.”

  Kay looked back at Tiberius, whose eyes were darting all around, looking for signs. “I kinda don’t want to ask, but what’s a Questling?”

  “The Questing Beast was a mythical creature from the old days, Sir Kay,” Thumb said. “Head of a snake, midsection of a leopard, hind section of a stag.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Kay said.

  “None of those animals have wings, though, Tom,” Lance observed.

  “No, lad. Merlin must have added them. And it was bad, Kay. It was a magical thing that was nearly impossible to take down—or so the rumor went. Not many ever fought the Questing Beast, though many searched for it.”

  “Hence the name,” Artie observed, lowering his binoculars.

  Before Thumb could respond, Numinae exclaimed, “There!” and pointed across the plain.

  The others followed Numinae’s finger, bringing their binoculars back to their faces. It took a few seconds to find what he was pointing at, but then they saw it. Bercilak. He had been divided into two sections, which hung on two tall wooden posts twenty feet apart. The arms of his top half and the legs of his bottom half kicked and whirled in pain or protest.

  “Poor Bercy!” Artie said.

  “Why would Merlin do that?” Kay demanded.

  “Why wouldn’t he, Sister Kay?” Dred asked. “He’s part demon, after all.”

  “Not for much longer,” Artie said. “It’s time to let Merlin know we’re here.”

  They slid back down the embankment and formulated a plan of attack. The wolves, bears, and saber-toothed tigers would make a bowl-shaped formation around the fairies and knights. This central column would be flanked by two dragons—Snoll, the black one, and Chime, the golden one. On the front line would be the dragonflies. They would create cover and confusion on the ground, and try to engage the flying Questlings. “I will ride Tiberius,” Numinae said. “The silver dragon, Darg; the white one, Smila; and the other green, Aquilia, will accompany us. Together we will knock those beasts to the ground, if we can’t kill them outright. We have to use the dragons to take and hold the sky.”

  “Agreed. Azur, though, will stand guard at the moongates,” Artie said of the blue dragon. “One sabertooth, two wolves, and a fairy will stay with her. I don’t care if we lose the gates, but we have to watch our butts.”

  “What about Merlin? What if he doesn’t show up?” Kay asked.

  “This is Merlin’s moment, lass,” Tom said. “He won’t miss it.”

  There was a pause before Artie said, “No, Tom. This is our moment.”

  They nodded confidently and then walked down to the other knights. Qwon looked nervous. Erik jumped back and forth in anticipation, ready to go berserk. Bedevere talked quietly with Shallot. Sami sat cross-legged on the ground, his eyes closed, as if in meditation.

  Artie drew Flixith. “Knights of the Round Table, listen!” They huddled together, the other animals and soldiers itching for action. Artie put his cutlass in the middle of the circle, and the knights’ weapons instantly joined it. “I’ll say it again: our goal is to win today. But until we know what we’re up against, we won’t know if we can. If we can’t, we surrender and I try to get close to Merlin. Remember, dragons: three blows of Scarffern means surrender. If we do have to surrender, then we must make it look convincing. Now: let’s roll!”

  They raised their swords to the sky and screamed. When the war cry died down, Artie said, “Kay, Tom, Numinae, Lance, Dred—relay the orders.” The knights scattered. As the formation came into shape, Artie turned to Tiberius and said, “Give them a shot.”

  “Hmmph. M’pleasure, lord kingling.”

  Numinae climbed onto Tiberius, and then the great green dragon darted straight into the sky, disappearing for several moments in the clouds before reappearing a few hundred yards away. He hovered over the plain and let out a spine-tingling roar that sounded like a car crash. Black smoke sprayed from his mouth and resolved into little pebbles that pelted the huge tent. The Questlings were tossed into a frenzy and flapped wildly before drawing into a line over the tent.

  The swirling clouds crackled with lightning, which was followed immediately by claps of thunder. “He’s in the clouds, Brother,” Dred shouted.

  “No more games!” Artie screamed. “Do you hear me, Merlin? I am the Dragon King! No. More. Games!”

  A hearty laugh boomed from the sky above.

  The other green dragon, Aquilia; the silver one, Darg; and the white, Smila, shot into the air to join Tiberius. The dragonflies buzzed out of the depression where Artie’s army had gathered, their wings making a noise like a thousand pi
eces of paper being torn at once. And then Artie’s impressive and motley army moved out. They were over two hundred strong, not counting the seven dragons, which counted as a hundred soldiers or more each. Chime and Snoll marched with the ground forces, keeping the formation tight. Behind the dragonflies, Artie walked at the head of his battalion, a general and a king.

  This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

  27

  HOW MERLIN’S ARMY IS REVEALED

  The sounds of the advance were intoxicating. The snorts and huffs of bears. The howls and whines of dire wolves. The roars of tigers. The march of feet. The swish of clothing. The jangle of armor. The staticky hiss of rain across the field.

  Artie smiled, and Kay did too. “This would be really awesome if it wasn’t so freaking scary!” Kay blurted.

  “It’s awesome because it’s scary, Kay!” Artie said.

  As Artie’s forces covered the first hundred yards, Tiberius and Aquilia took turns spraying the ground with their breaths, creating short walls for cover here and there. Smila and Darg made circles around each other, waiting for something to happen.

  And for a little while, nothing did.

  But then, as the ground forces crossed a small stream, half of the Questlings burst forward, and as many dragonflies launched up to meet them.

  The dragonflies used their powerful mouths to snap off the wings of several Questlings, sending them hurtling to the ground, but the advantage did not hold. Merlin’s strange creatures used the hooves of their hind legs to kick holes in the dragonflies’ exoskeletons, and the claws on their forepaws to tear into the papery wings, and their long snake necks to wrap up the bugs’ abdomens and crush them like fruit. For a time the fight seemed even, but then three of the Questlings did something unexpected. They broke above the melee and began to breathe a white mist over it. The Questlings were immune to whatever this was, but the dragonflies definitely were not. Their very bodies began to disintegrate, falling to the ground in slimy chunks.