“All right,” Artie said, taking the stones.
Merlin said, “May I suggest you leave one with me?”
“Oh, sure,” Artie said, handing one back. “I guess I’ll leave the other one at home.”
“Good idea,” the wizard said.
Merlin clapped his hands together and said, “Well, that’s it! I’m afraid today must mark the end of your esteemed visit to my caverns.” He placed a hand on Artie’s shoulder and intoned, “Tomorrow, my young king, you must leave for your destiny, and make your way to the Otherworld!”
16
AT THE COURT-IN-EXILE
The next morning the Kingfishers, Lance, Thumb, and Vorpal convoyed home to Shadyside, Pennsylvania.
Merlin, of course, stayed behind.
In addition to everything else he’d done for them, the wizard had given them a mini trove of useful items. There was a small sack of a dozen coins that could open oneway moongates on this side, a first aid kit that would heal wounds very quickly, an “infinite” backpack that made heavy and bulky items feel light and small, and two changes of underclothes for Artie and Kay that were woven with enchanted titanium and would act like suits of armor. For Kynder, Merlin provided a basic potion-making kit, some rare ingredients, and a little spellbook.
When they got home, they lounged around and got their stuff together. Kynder even let his kids ride their bikes to the store to get two freezing cold cans of Mountain Dew each. He figured they deserved them. They drank them in the backyard. The sweet forbidden soda pop was the best thing they’d ever tasted.
They had an early dinner that night and turned in.
Artie and Kay woke up the next day at five a.m., and went downstairs. Kynder, who hadn’t slept at all, was putting the finishing touches on a huge breakfast—complete with even more frosty-cold Mountain Dew. They dug into it like starving prisoners.
At six fifteen they were ready to go.
They went to the yard and stood in a circle. The rays of the morning sun spiked through the neighbor’s maple tree. Waking birds trilled and chased bugs over the suburbs.
Kynder handed Artie his infinite backpack. While the kids were sleeping, he’d packed it with food, changes of clothing, sleeping bags, a lighter, flashlights, a pen and paper, two small umbrellas, a picture of himself in the garden wearing those ridiculous wellies, the swordsmanship manual, the satchel of moongate coins, Merlin’s first aid kit, the clunky Otherworld cell phone, and a list of phone numbers. He also gave Artie and Kay six vials each of various potions he’d made: four nourishing elixirs each and four potions that would keep them from getting too cold.
“I know they’re not much, but I wanted to give you something,” Kynder said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Kay said, putting an especially sweet and un-Kay emphasis on the word Dad.
Lance said, “I wish I were going with you guys. If you can find a way for me to cross over, then come get me. I’m pretty good in a fight.”
“I believe it, Lance. I’ll ask around,” Artie assured him.
They stood in silence, staring at the ground. Then Artie placed a moongate coin in the middle of the circle. He looked everyone in the eyes, hoisted Excalibur, and said, “Well, here goes!”
He touched the coin with the sword’s pommel. Immediately twin circles of pale blue light shot up and rotated slowly around each other. Thumb rode Vorpal through first, not saying anything, just tipping his chin low to Kynder as he went. Kay patted her dad on the arm and said, “I’ll be fine, Pops. I’ll make sure Artie doesn’t get in too much trouble.” Kynder smiled. Tears welled in his eyes as Kay stepped through.
Artie nodded to Lance, then turned to the only father he’d ever known. Seeing Kynder on the verge of tears, Artie couldn’t help but think that his dad didn’t deserve any of this.
Artie gave Kynder a strong hug, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and said, “I’ll be back soon, Dad. Got to go save the worlds!”
He stepped through the moongate and was gone. All that was left was a dull bronze coin lying in the grass.
This time they went right where they were meant to: King Artie Kingfisher’s court-in-exile. Bercilak stood in front of it with open arms, his great battle-ax leaning into a rhododendron thick with pink flowers.
When he saw them, the faceless knight boomed, “Welcome, friends!”
“Hey, Bercilak,” Artie said. “Glad to see you.” The green knight made a flourish with his hand.
“Greenie,” Thumb said unenthusiastically.
Bercilak executed a small bow and replied quietly, “Thumb.”
Kay shook her head. She said, “Wow, you’re really headless, huh?”
The suit of armor shifted noisily in Kay’s direction and exclaimed enthusiastically, “Headless, bodyless, toeless, you name it. I am the Empty Knight! And I welcome you all to your wonderful home away from home!”
They looked past him at the court-in-exile. And…? It kind of looked like a dump.
Behind Bercilak stood a very large oak tree. Small doors and windows in various stages of disrepair were built into its ancient trunk. A pathetic hand-painted paper sign struggled in the wind above the doorway. It read, “Welcome Back, King Artie!”
So much for a reception fit for a king. So much for a castle, for that matter.
A gust shook the woods, bearing leaves and small sheets of paper. One of the papers caught on the flat side of Excalibur. Artie peeled it off. It read:
Ofhende!
One Byrnsweord!
If unearth’d pls. post at
Castel Deorc Wæters, Fenland
C.o.D.
It was partly Old English, and Artie understood it to say, “Lost! One Firebrand! If found, please send to Castle Dark Waters, Fenland. Cash on Delivery.”
Artie asked, “What’s this about?”
“Ah, a little flyer from the lordess of Fenland,” Bercilak answered. “Ever since you gathered Excalibur from the Lake, the continent of Sylvan has been utterly bombarded by those leaflets. They’ve been a plain nuisance and have very much irked my lord of Sylvan!”
The mention of Excalibur reminded Artie of his sword’s nanoparticle cloaking spell. He turned to Thumb, pointing to the sword. “You think Merlin’s spell thing is working, Tom?”
Bercilak shuddered and clanked.
“I’m sure it is, lad,” said Thumb.
“Really, master, we should endeavor not to mention that name,” Bercilak protested. “Wilt Chamberlain—wasn’t that what we’d landed upon?”
“Yeah, Wilt Chamberlain,” Artie confirmed.
Kay let this one go.
Bercilak continued, “Quite. I’m certain Wilt Chamberlain has been successful at hiding Excalibur from its Fenlandian seeker. At any rate, your quest is still in the offing, so we’ll find out soon enough!”
“You sure sound excited, Greenie,” observed Kay.
“Of course! I am thrilled to see you here. My goodness, where are my manners? Please, come in!” Bercilak turned to the oak tree and pushed open the door. He ducked through, and Artie, Kay, and Thumb followed the green knight inside.
As their eyes adjusted to the light, Bercilak stretched out his arms and boomed, “Welcome home, my liege.”
What they saw was more like it.
A long hall stretched before them. The floor was black stone and the walls were lacquered wood panels. Two rows of thick wooden columns supported a vaulted ceiling. Between each column on either side were empty suits of armor. Each column had a cloth banner hanging from it. The banners on the right showed three golden crowns on alternating backgrounds of dark red and royal blue; on the left were blue banners with two white keys and white banners with a red fist sticking its thumb up. In the middle of the hall was a huge, round wooden table. Just past this were several racks full of medieval weapons. And at the far end of the hall stood what appeared to be a statue of a knight in black armor sitting on a very large white horse.
It was such an impressive sight that they didn’t
notice the three short, ugly people standing in front of them.
“Ahem,” one of them muttered.
“Oh yes!” barked Bercilak. “These are the servants of the house. Three amiable little trolls that go by Bake, Scrub, and Hammer.” As he said their names he pointed to each.
All three bowed and intoned, “Sire. Sirs.” Then they shuffled into the darkness as if they’d never been there.
Bercilak led them down the long room.
“This, Artie, is your great hall. Down by the table you will find doors leading to your private quarters. Another door leads to a hallway connecting to the stables, the storage rooms, and Hammer’s shop and sleeping quarters. Down at the end of the hall”—and here Bercilak pointed toward the statue of the black knight—“you will find doors to the kitchen, the cellar, and Bake and Scrub’s quarters. If you need their assistance, simply ring one of the bells that can be found all over, and one will come.”
“Okay,” Artie and Kay said.
Bercilak continued, “Now, I suppose you’re wondering what those banners on the wall are about, and the weapon racks, and the guards?”
The idea of a bunch of invisible guards got Artie pretty psyched. “So, what, these aren’t just suits of armor?” he asked.
“Of course they are, sire! What else do they look like? Bananas?” Bercilak crowed.
“Ha-ha. Funny,” Kay said flatly. “What he means is, are they like you?”
“Oh! Well, yes, Sir Kay. These are the court guard, and they will help you if this compound is ever overrun by your enemies.” At that, each suit of armor, in perfect and deafening unison, moved as if called to attention. Those wielding swords whipped them point-up to their shoulders; those gripping polearms thrust them forward; those holding menacing maces and morning stars stuck them out fist first, parallel to the ground.
Bercilak carried on as if nothing had happened. “The weapon racks are for them, except for the silver and golden racks, which are for you. These hold additional fighting implements should you care to supplement your swords. A dagger, for example, don’t you think, Sir Thumb?”
“Yes, everyone needs a good dagger,” Thumb said curtly.
“The banners are also for you. The ones with the crowns are King Arthur’s. The ones with the keys are Sir Kay’s. Sir Thumb’s, if it wasn’t obvious enough, are the ones with the fist and the thumb extended.”
Finally they reached the table, nearer to the back. Kay asked, “What’s that statue down there? He part of the court guard too?”
“Oh, that,” Bercilak said, trying to sound like it was nothing. “That is—”
“ENOUGH!” a voice boomed from the far end of the hall.
Then they saw the large horse with the black rider begin to move. They looked closer, and that’s when they realized it wasn’t a horse at all.
It was a white saber-toothed tiger.
It stretched and yawned silently, revealing massive tusklike teeth.
“Tell the boy, Sir Bercilak!” the mystery voice ordered.
Kay frowned and asked, “Who’s that?”
“I am Sir Bedevere the Sixty-Ninth!” the voice boomed again. The cat lowered itself and the knight in all-black armor leaped off.
He took two long strides and drew his sword. Artie knew this kind of weapon was called a claymore. It was huge. “Tell him!”
“Oh, all right, Bedevere. Calm down.” Bercilak turned to Artie and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, as he said, that is Sir Bedevere the Sixty-Ninth. His direct forebear, Sir Bedevere the First, returned Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake after the first Arthur passed. He and all of his line have been the guardians of the court of Arthur. You remember when you called me and implored me to open the gate?”
“Of course,” Artie said.
“That gate is back there, behind Bedevere the Sixty-Ninth. It is a powerful gate that hadn’t been touched for an age. Cracking its seal released an amount of energy sufficient to distract the lordess of Fenland, turning her attention from the fields of your Ohio back to Sylvan. And when I opened it, Bedevere and his kitty came out. They’ve been waiting here ever since.” He motioned to the knight and the tiger.
“Waiting for what?” Artie asked.
“For you,” Bercilak said matter-of-factly.
Artie swallowed hard. “Why?” he asked.
“Because I’m the guardian of this court!” Bedevere announced. “Not just anyone can march in here and claim it. You first must prove yourself worthy!”
“Prove myself?” Artie whined. Hadn’t he taken care of that already?
Apparently not. Because before he could explain about the stone and the dragolings and the Lake and the dragon and everything else, the cavernous hall filled with the awful sound of clanking metal. Clanking metal moving very quickly in Artie’s direction.
Artie’s first sword fight was under way.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, when he turned to Kay and Thumb for help, he saw the green knight restrain them with his giant battle-ax. He could barely hear Bercilak as he whispered, “I am sorry, sire.”
Artie was on his own.
Tingling with fear and excitement, Artie gingerly stepped toward the challenging knight, hoisting Excalibur with a two-handed grip. And that’s when the sword wordlessly urged him to charge. Excalibur was no chicken, and Artie shouldn’t be either. Artie knew the sword was right, and so he began running blindly toward the black knight.
When he and Bedevere were only a dozen feet apart, Artie saw the knight’s face below his raised visor. It wasn’t pretty. His teeth were yellow, and a thick purple scar ran from above his forehead to below his cheek.
Artie tensed and wailed in defiance.
Their swords struck each other. Excalibur didn’t slice through the huge sword or the man wielding it the way Artie half hoped it would. Sparks flew from their scraping weapons while Artie and Bedevere were driven apart by the force of their impact. Bedevere succeeded in remaining on his feet. Artie did not.
He sprawled on his back and slid along the stone floor. But miraculously the impact with Bedevere didn’t hurt that badly. Excalibur, at the precise moment of impact, had made him stronger. He had never felt anything like it in his life.
Bedevere heaved his gigantic sword over his head and ran at Artie full tilt.
In a flash he was above Artie, bringing down his claymore to cleave him in two.
Artie moved defensively, and the weapons met again in a song of steel. The sound spoke volumes to young King Artie, as if he’d been waiting to hear these notes of metal on metal his whole life.
Artie’s block deflected Bedevere’s claymore to Artie’s right. Bedevere straddled him, and Artie managed to push himself very quickly between the knight’s legs. Once free from the prospect of getting cut in half, Artie popped to his feet with catlike speed.
The saber-tooth growled. Kay yelled her brother’s name. The two sounds echoed through the great hall.
Artie lunged, but Bedevere pirouetted and parried Excalibur with his great sword pointed down, its tip tracing an arc of electricity along the floor.
Then Bedevere did something unexpected. He punched Artie in the shoulder. And man, did that hurt.
Artie backpedaled. Just as his feet were about to give out, the golden rack of armor caught him.
Artie grabbed a small metal-and-wood shield—a buckler—from the rack. It practically strapped itself to his forearm. Excalibur instantly taught Artie everything it knew about bucklers, and in a flash Artie was an expert.
Bedevere was in midlunge, and Artie raised the little shield. The blade nicked the wood as it glanced it away.
Artie took a deep breath and sidestepped. As his lungs filled, he felt the stones under the soles of his sneakers go bumpity-bump. He was full of electricity and power.
He homed in on Bedevere. The distance between them was exactly the length of Excalibur, which rendered Bedevere’s obscenely long claymore less effective.
Artie stared into his adversary
’s narrowed eyes. The black knight backed up to get more room, but Artie slid toward him in unison.
And that’s when Artie noticed that the mighty crossguard on Bedevere’s sword had a slit in it. A slit that Excalibur would fit perfectly into.
Artie feinted a thrust at Bedevere’s midsection, and the black knight brought his hands to his chest, putting the cross-guard in perfect position for Artie.
Quickly Artie stepped back, and then jab-stepped forward once more. Excalibur slid perfectly into the exposed slit. Bedevere glanced down and shook his claymore, but it was no use. Excalibur’s grip on his sword was firm.
Artie raised Excalibur and Bedevere let out an “Arghh!” as his menacing claymore rattled from his hands and onto the ground at Artie’s feet.
Artie deftly kicked it away. The knight fell to his knees. Artie wedged Excalibur’s tip in between two metal plates on a soft part of Bedevere’s rib cage. He did not push the sword through.
Artie breathed heavily.
His first sword fight was over. And he had won it.
Kay jumped up and down and screamed, “Woo-hoo! Go, Artie!”
Bedevere turned to Artie. The knight smiled. With reverence, he dipped his head and said deeply, “Nicely done, my liege. Welcome home.”
17
CONCERNING THE FONT OF SYLVAN
Artie lowered Excalibur and Bedevere removed his helmet. It turned out he was about sixteen or seventeen. He had long black hair pulled into a ponytail and high cheekbones. He might have been scary-looking in the heat of battle, but even with his yellow teeth he was as goodlooking as one of those rugged types from the Twilight movies Kay liked so much.
“Sorry if I hurt you,” Artie said. Blood dripped from the back of Bedevere’s hand. Excalibur must have nicked it during the fight.
The Invisible Tower Page 11