Here, There Be Dragons

by James A. Owen

  “It’s the other ships,” Bert said, eyes glittering with barely contained excitement. “The Dragonships have come together once more.”

  The companions, together with Nemo and Tummeler, raced back to the beach where the ships were anchored, as the first of the other Dragonships began to arrive.

  “The Orange Dragon,” said Bert. “The Dwarves, I think, run that one these days.”

  It was a Viking longship, broad and flat across the middle, from which extended three steeply pointed prows and a tall mast with the largest sail John, Jack, and Charles had ever seen. It was also, Bert explained, the only one of the Dragonships with three dragonheads, one on each prow.

  “I suppose the Vikings thought that where one was good, three might be better. Although,” he added, “given their successful track record for looting and pillaging, I can’t say that they were incorrect.”

  The captain of the Orange Dragon, who Aven explained was also the king of the Dwarves, splashed through the shallows carrying a massive ax and a stern expression. He shook hands with Nemo and gave a curt nod to Bert and the others.

  “A little grim, isn’t he?” said Charles.

  “Grim?” said Bert in surprise. “You don’t know dwarves. For him, that greeting was positively giddy.”

  “That, I’m assuming,” said Charles, pointing seaward, “is the Blue Dragon, unless I miss my guess.”

  It was. The Elves had arrived with the greatest of the Dragonships, an immense vessel that towered over the other ships as if they were toys. It was fully five stories tall, and almost three times as long and as broad as the White Dragon. The sails were barely visible, but it obviously had other means of propulsion, much like the Nautilus.

  The Elders of the Elves disembarked through a hatch that appeared just above the waterline and came over to greet the companions. They were several of the same elves who’d been present at the Council on Paralon, and they greeted John, Jack, and Charles as if they were visiting dignitaries.

  “Ho, Caretaker,” the Elf King, Eledir, said in greeting to Bert. “The Ancient of Days told us that you could use our assistance.”

  Bert bowed his head. “And we are grateful for it,” he said with sincerity. “How many have you brought?”

  Eledir pointed at the Blue Dragon in answer, as dozens of elves, armored and equipped for battle, flowed out onto the beach.

  “Six hundred,” said the Elf King. “More ships will follow, but this number was the best we could arrange and still arrive in time.”

  “Every one is a help,” said Bert. “We won’t complain.”

  The next ship to arrive was the Green Dragon—which seemed to be under the stewardship of the mythological creatures of the Archipelago.

  It was not unlike the White Dragon in appearance, except for the fact that it seemed the timbers from which it was made had never lost their ambition to be trees, and had kept on growing accordingly. There were branches and tufts of leaves everywhere. And the sails were so overgrown as to nearly collapse with the weight. The occupants were not merely on the deck, but also clambered up and around the branches and spars as easily as walking on the ground.

  From their vantage point on the beach, the companions were able to make out fauns and satyrs (“Great,” Aven grumbled. “As if they’ll be a lot of help.”), more than a few animals (including several badgers, wolverines, and at least one creature Jack identified as a Tasmanian devil), and the core of their force, a herd of centaurs.

  The captain of the Green Dragon was a centaur whom Nemo greeted as Charys. He was massive, standing eight feet tall at the shoulder, and kicked up a curtain of sand as he trotted over to the companions.

  “Greetings, Sons of Adam,” said Charys. “Which one of you is the Caretaker Principia?”

  “That would be me,” John said.

  “Nemo told me of you when he came to Praxis to enlist our aid,” said Charys. “I like your style. ‘Let’s go thataway,’” he said with a deep horsey laugh. “Oh ho ho! Now that’s the way we navigated in the olden days!” He laughed again and trotted off to greet the dwarves.

  “I think he was poking fun at me,” said John.

  “He was,” Charles agreed, “but I don’t think it’s advisable to make an issue of it.”

  Bert was pacing the shoreline, watching the water for more arrivals. By their count, there were two more Dragonships that might still come.

  “One, actually,” said Aven. “The Violet Dragon—the ship of the Goblin King.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bert. “I feel we may yet see the other as well.”

  “Is it possible?” said Aven.

  Bert scanned the horizon, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It was too much to hope for, I know, but still…”

  “What are you looking for?” John asked.

  “The first Dragonship,” said Aven. “The Red Dragon. It hasn’t been seen since shortly after Ordo Maas created it.

  “As Ordo Maas said, all of the ships—even our own Indigo Dragon, bless her spars—were made from existing hulls. They were not new-built, but created from ships that knew surf and storm and had proven themselves able to cross into waters of a new world. And the Red Dragon was the greatest of them all.”

  “What was the Red Dragon?” asked Charles. “Anything we might know?”

  “Yes,” said Bert. “In fact, it was the original ship that showed Ordo Maas the secret of passage between the worlds and led him to the idea of living mastheads—for it had one of its own.

  “Before it was remade as the Red Dragon, it was a ship known as the Argo.”

  The kings and captains of the ships sat together in a council of war, while the others helped to organize their troops and make themselves ready for whatever was to come.

  Jack immediately positioned himself alongside Nemo and Eledir as a representative of Man, although Bert had already explained Artus’s true identity and put him forth as the heir to the Silver Throne.

  Nemo seemed to accept this news with aplomb, but Eledir and Falladay Finn, the Dwarf King, were more reserved.

  “We’ve been through one round of false kings and queens, presented by the humans,” Eledir said, referring to the Council. “The Archipelago cannot continue to be supportive of a race that is unable to even police its own.”

  Falladay Finn nodded in agreement. “If what you say is true, you will have the support of the dwarves. But,” he added, looking at Artus, “the first duty of a king is to rule for the benefit of his subjects, and not for himself. Your grandfather forgot that. If you survive this day, see to it that you do not.”

  He placed his hand over Artus’s own in a gesture of support, followed quickly by Charys and more grudgingly by Eledir. Despite the official endorsement, their faces still showed the doubt and fear they felt.

  “Cheer up, boy,” Charys said, bellowing with laughter at Artus’s crestfallen expression. “The way things are looking, none of us is going to survive anyway, so you won’t have to worry about it.”

  Farther south on the beach, Charles was struggling with a leather-and-mail vest that one of the dwarves had offered him—which was three sizes too small. As he tried unsuccessfully to fasten the buckles, his little friend from Paralon plopped down on the sand next to him.

  “Ready when you are, Master Scowler,” said Tummeler. He still had the heavy knapsack, which he was dragging around inside the old bronze shield he’d arrived with, and he had fashioned a helmet from an apple pail. It kept slipping down onto his nose.

  “Tummeler!” Charles exclaimed. “No offense, but I don’t think badgers are suited for battle!”

  “Really, think as such, do ye, Master Scowler?” replied Tummeler. “We badgers be gentle creatures, true—but I be thinkin’ ye’ve ne’er seed a badger with his fur all adander.”

  “Now, now,” Charles began, keeping a nervous eye on the alltoo-close soon-to-be battlefield over the rise.

  “I know what ye be thinkin’,” said Tummeler. “My smallish hap
pearance an’ happy-go-nancy nature bein’ what they is, ol’ Tummeler can’t possibly be a warrior.

  “Well,” he continued, “I’s hopin’ that th’ enemy thinks as such—then I c’n take ’em out with my secret weapons.”

  “Secret weapons?” said Charles.

  “Yup,” nodded Tummeler. “Gots ’em right here.”

  The small mammal opened his heavy carryall and showed its contents to Charles and John, who had been eavesdropping as he strapped on armor of his own.

  “Muffins?” Charles and John exclaimed together. “Your secret weapons are muffins?”

  “Not just any muffins,” said Tummeler. “Blueberry.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charles began.

  Tummeler ignored him and instead removed a fist-size (badger-fist-size) muffin from the bag, took careful aim, and lobbed it considerably farther than either of the men expected was possible. It soared into the air and landed with a thunk onto the helmet of a satyr who had been slinking around the Orange Dragon at the landing fifty yards away. The satyr dropped to the ground, knocked out cold.

  “Bloody hell,” said John.

  “Amazing,” said Charles.

  “Hard as rocks,” said Tummeler. “Whipped them up after I saw y’ off from Paralon, just in case.”

  “Amazing,” Charles said again. “You made a blueberry muffin into a weapon.”

  “Atchly, any kind of muffin will do,” said Tummeler, “but I found out that y’ needs t’ use blueberries if y’ wants t’ get it just so. It’s my own secret contribution,” he added.

  “Won’t breathe a word of it,” said Charles.

  Jack came running over to his friends, breathing hard.

  “What is it?” said Charles. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s the Goblins,” Jack panted. “The Violet Dragon has arrived at last.”

  The last of the Dragonships resembled an elaborate Chinese junk, which was in line with the elegant mannerisms of the Goblin King and his entourage. It was smaller than the rest, more of a size with the Indigo Dragon, but tall, and it had a beautiful mainsail that shimmered in the light.

  “I am very happy to see you,” said Bert, offering his hand in greeting. “My friend, Uruk Ko.”

  The Goblin King hesitated, then took the old man’s hand, giving it a single dignified shake. “I greet you also, my friend the Far Traveler.”

  “How many have you brought with you?” asked Nemo, looking with a barely disguised disdain at the Violet Dragon, which seemed manned by only a few officious types, none of whom were outfitted for war. “Are they coming by other means?”

  “Yes,” said Uruk Ko. “Other ships of the kingdom bore my warriors here—more than a thousand, to be exact.”

  Bert and Aven exchanged relieved glances. This battle would be more evenly matched than they’d first feared. “Do you realize,” Bert said, “that your goblins represent more than half of our defensive force?”

  “Yes, I do,” Uruk Ko said. “I am pleased you also realize that. It will make what must happen easier to bear.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” said Bert, scanning the horizon for a sign of the Goblin army’s ships. “When are they expected to arrive?”

  “You misunderstand me,” said Uruk Ko. “They are already here.”

  “Really?” Bert said, squinting. “How did I miss them?”

  “Because,” said the Goblin King, “you are looking in the wrong direction.”

  “What?” Bert breathed.

  As one, the other captains and kings turned, then made their way up to the first of the hills, where they could look out over the enemy’s encampments. There they saw the black standards of the Winter King, as well as the flags of Arawn—but also, to the north, they saw with rising dread the unmistakable silken banners of the Goblin King.

  “It was because of our friendship that I felt honor-bound to tell you myself, and in person,” said Uruk Ko, “and now I have done so. Please—as one who has stood with you as an ally, choose wisely, and leave the battlefield before we must come face-

  to-face as enemies.”

  The expressions of the other kings darkened, and a menacing growl came from deep inside Charys’s massive chest, as he moved defensively in front of Artus.

  Aven spit, cursed, and began to lunge forward, drawing her sword. “What kind of man…,” she began, just as Bert stopped her advance.

  “Not a man,” said Uruk Ko, as he turned to make his way back to the Violet Dragon. “A goblin, and a Child of the True Archipelago, who wishes only to drive out the usurpers that have ruled for far too long.

  “Leave, my friends. A new age is dawning, and it will be birthed in fire. A new age; an age of Goblin, Troll, and Shadow.

  “The age of Man is over.”

  “They will attack within the hour,” Charys said…

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Final Battle

  At noon the Black Dragon arrived.

  It eased along the eastern edge of the island, safely in the lee of the pull of the falls, where the Winter King could take stock of the allies before making his way to where his army was massing.

  “They will attack within the hour,” Charys said to the assembled war council, which was still reeling from the defection of the Goblin King.

  “How can you be sure?” said Bert.

  The centaur indicated the motion of the sun across the sky, moving westward, and the council saw what Charys had surmised. The terminus of the void, the edge to the darkness beyond, was only a few degrees away from the sun’s position and would soon engulf it.

  “That’s why they have the fires and torches lit in broad daylight,” said Jack. “The Winter King is used to being here and knows it’s going to be dark soon.”

  Charys nodded. “We will be in absolute darkness, and it will be difficult to separate friend from foe, much less counter the attacks of the Shadow-Born.”

  Aven volunteered to start gathering torches, or anything that could be assembled into torches, from the ships, taking with her a company of fauns.

  “Despite the stated intentions of Uruk Ko,” said Bert, “we must remember that the Winter King has another agenda. He plans to attempt to summon the dragons back to the Archipelago.”

  Eledir gave what amounted to a restrained snort of derision. “Impossible. Only the High King has ever known how to do this. Even my own ancestors, who were confidants of the great Samaranth, did not know the secret.”

  “Yes,” said Falladay Finn. “When Archibald offended them, the dragons left the Archipelago forever. We need to deal with the army that has been assembled here and now, and not the imaginary one we worry may come.”

  “With respect, I disagree,” said John. “The secret of the summoning is in the Imaginarium Geographica, which was stolen and is now in the possession of the Winter King. He also has Archibald’s Ring of Power, which the Geographica says will allow the summoning to take place.”

  “Even I have a Ring of Power,” snorted Falladay Finn, extending his hand, which bore a ring identical to the one Magwich had stolen.

  “As do I,” said Eledir, “as do my lieutenants. Rings of Power, as you call them, are symbols of office and fealty, nothing more. My ancestor Eledin received his at the same time as the High King Arthur, and he never saw a difference in the two.”

  “It doesn’t matter if we believe it,” said John. “The Winter King does. And if he’s right, then we’ll be lost. But if he’s wrong, then maybe we can divert his attentions away from the battle long enough to gain an advantage.”

  The kings and captains exchanged knowing glances, and John realized that there would be no advantages to be gained by a distraction. Once joined in battle, the opposing force would be irresistible and would flow over the assembled forces of the allies like a wave.

  “We still do not know the real scope of his army,” said Falladay Finn. “As yet, we have not seen any of the Shadow-Born among the assembly.”

  “That’s a concern,” Eledir s
aid. “Perhaps greater than the Trolls and Goblins, who can still be killed.”

  “May I say something?”

  The council turned to look at the speaker—Artus, who had not ventured an opinion since they’d begun, instead allowing John, Jack, or Bert to speak for Men and Paralon.

  Charys nodded. “You are the heir to the Silver Throne,” he said. “Speak, and we will listen.”

  “Well,” Artus began, “I’ve been thinking—Ordo Maas told us that the Shadow-Born were created by that magic kettle, right?”

  “Pandora’s Box,” Eledir said. “A myth. Nothing more.”

  “Ordo Maas didn’t think so,” said Artus. “And besides, the Shadow-Born came from somewhere, didn’t they? Do you have a better explanation?”

  Eledir remained silent and indicated with a nod for Artus to continue.

  “If my grandfather—King Archibald—started creating the Shadow-Born by opening the box, and the Winter King created more of them and began taking over the Archipelago by keeping it open, then why don’t we just do what Aven suggested, and find it, and close it?”

  This suggestion was met with a resounding silence, which was then shattered by Charys’s booming laugh.

  “By my body and bones, that’s either the most kingly thing I’ve ever heard, or it’s the single stupidest plan on Earth,” he said, laughing and stomping his hind legs.

  “If that is the source of his ability to create Shadow-Born,” Artus continued, “then by closing it, we can prevent him from creating more.”

  “That’s a good plan,” said Nemo. “I wonder what effect closing the box would have on the existing Shadow-Born?”

  “Also,” said Artus, growing bolder with each comment of support, “it’s probably here, on the island. The Winter King wouldn’t have risked losing it to combat or weather by keeping it on board the Black Dragon, so if this is really his base, it’s probably somewhere around here.”

  Bert, Nemo, Eledir, and Falladay Finn exchanged glances of unabashed admiration over the boy king’s conclusions.