The Seven Swords

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  “I think Sami’ll be fine,” Artie replied. “He was crazy strong.”

  “Yeah,” Kay added. “I think he can look after himself.”

  “We shall see,” Merlin said.

  “Merlin, who was that guy Sami saved me from? I’m certain he’s the same guy who took Qwon.”

  Merlin held his chin in his hand and said thoughtfully, “Well, the coat of arms you described—the white-and-purple field with a golden double-headed bird—belongs to Mordred, the witch’s son.”

  Kay frowned. “The same Mordred who killed Arthur the First with the Peace Sword?” she wondered.

  “No,” Kynder answered for Merlin. “The history books say that the original Mordred died a long time ago.”

  “Correct,” Merlin said. “This is a new Mordred, just like you are a new Arthur.”

  Kynder’s ears perked up at this. Was Merlin trying to tell him something?

  Artie shrugged. “Whoever he is, I’m going to take care of him next time. No way he escapes again.”

  Thumb said loudly, “If you’re thinking of killing him, I wouldn’t, lad. A good king shows restraint, and Mordred will know much that we do not.”

  Merlin nodded gravely. “Yes, he could be quite useful if captured.”

  Artie silently conceded that they had a point while Kay asked, “Tommy, where the heck are you? A wind tunnel?”

  “Not exactly. I’m flying.” He flipped the camera around so they could see the back of Tiberius’s gigantic head framed by puffy white clouds. Thumb turned the camera back and said, “I’m glad things went well in Sweden, because I’m afraid there’s bad news from Leagon.”

  “Lord Tol wouldn’t agree to give us a spy?” Merlin asked anxiously.

  “No. He was eager to gift us the spy Bors le Fey. He’s the best. He can go completely invisible, which, needless to say, is a keen skill for a spy to have. The bad news is that Shallot le Fey and The Anguish were taken by the witch as well. Shallot has been imprisoned at the Castel for over a month.”

  “Oh, dear!” Merlin exclaimed.

  “We’ll have to try and free her too when we go for Qwon,” Thumb yelled over the wind.

  Artie said, “I guess on the plus side, we know where two of the Seven Swords are now. Excalibur and The Anguish are together, right?”

  “I’d think so,” Merlin said. “Hopefully Bors will be able to find out for certain.”

  “Where is this Bors dude?” Kay asked, eager to see an actual fairy.

  Thumb held his iPad high over his shoulder. Beyond Tiberius’s long tail was another dragon. A golden one. Riding on its neck was a lanky teenager with pink-and-black hair. Thumb brought his iPad back down and said, “The dragon is called Fallown. Tol loaned us him too. The lord of Leagon is not at all happy with Morgaine.”

  “Two dragons!” Artie exclaimed.

  “Aye, lad,” Thumb said knowingly. “The plan is to fly high over the witch’s castle and air-drop Bors. We should get there in the next twenty-four hours, leaving us eight days until the new moon. Bors has a scrambled radio texter that he’ll use to send regular updates.”

  “Nice! Someone behind enemy lines!” Kay exclaimed.

  “That’s right, lass,” Thumb confirmed.

  Merlin clasped his hands and said, “I should be able to help you with the airdrop, Mr. Thumb. The magical siphon that will produce the sangrealitic blackouts of Fenland is nearly ready. Another day should be sufficient to get it going. Wait until the dead of night, and Bors will be able to drop into a Fenland completely deprived of electrical—and magical—power. They won’t see him coming at all.”

  “Smashing, Merlin,” Thumb said. “We won’t move until Fenland goes dark. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to sign off. The connection on my end is atrocious.”

  “Fine, Mr. Thumb,” Merlin said.

  “Yeah, fine,” Artie added for good measure. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to say it was okay? He was the king, after all.

  “Cheerio, lads,” Thumb said to Artie and Kay. “Good luck, Kynder,” he added before terminating his feed.

  Merlin tented his fingers and asked, “Well, what’s left?”

  “Uh, the next of the Seven Swords?” Kay said bluntly. “We only have nine days to go!”

  “Of course!” Merlin said. “How ridiculously forgetful of me! The sword app will have more details, but Orgulus is in a very strange place called Mont-Saint-Michel.”

  “Yeah,” Kay said. “Didn’t you say something about it being in both our world and the Otherworld at the same time?”

  “That’s exactly right, Kay,” Merlin said.

  Kynder said, “If you mean the Mont-Saint-Michel in France, I went there before you guys were born. It’s pretty spectacular.”

  “That’s the one,” Merlin confirmed.

  “And in the Otherworld?” Artie wondered. “What’s it like there?”

  “Let’s just say it’s not at all spectacular,” Merlin said seriously.

  “Wonderful,” Artie said.

  “Wait,” Kynder interjected. “I read a story about Mont-Saint-Michel a couple weeks ago while we were waiting for you, Merlin. Didn’t the first Arthur go there? To defeat someone who was terrorizing the French countryside?”

  “Yes,” Merlin said, “but not someone. Something. A giant. A nasty, ravaging, homicidal giant who liked to make his clothing out of the beards of men. Arthur the First cut off his head with Carnwennan. For a while the beast’s offspring surreptitiously lived in the castle in France. But now—”

  “Let me guess,” Kay interrupted, “they moved to the Otherworld.”

  “Precisely,” Merlin confirmed. “They had to. Giants were banished from your side not long after Arthur the First died.”

  Artie said, “No problem. We’ll just stay in the French one to get Orgulus. Should be easy!”

  Merlin frowned and said, “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. Mont-Saint-Michel has a special quality it shares with only a few other places. You see, there aren’t two castles built on two islands in two different worlds. There’s only one castle and one island; it’s just that in the Otherworld it appears one way, and in your world it appears another. But for you, because you are King Arthur, I’m afraid the castle will not be very reliable.”

  “What are you trying to say, Merlin?” Artie asked.

  “That while there, you will randomly switch back and forth between the two Mont-Saint-Michels without warning.”

  “So one second we could be in the French one, with tourists and whatever, and the next we could be in some nasty giant’s castle?” Artie tried to clarify.

  “Right, and then back again,” Merlin said. “And then repeat,” he added apologetically.

  “Sounds fun,” Kay said sarcastically.

  “It may not be, but we have to get Orgulus,” said Artie.

  “Right, my boy,” Merlin said proudly. “I think that’s it then. I’m going to sign off. By this time tomorrow Bors should be ready to drop into Fenland and, with any luck, you’ll be on your way back with the legendary rapier. See you, guys. Merlin out!” And before anyone could say good-bye, Merlin was gone.

  After a few moments Kynder raised his eyebrows and said, “Be careful, guys.”

  “We will,” Kay said.

  “Check in with me as soon as you’re back.”

  “Will do,” Artie said.

  Kynder reached out for his kids. “Okay, bye!”

  “Bye!”

  “Love you! Bye,” Kynder said one last time, but his kids had already gone.

  He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

  What had they gotten into? It was all too much, and as special as his kids were, he couldn’t shake the fact that they were still kids. Wasn’t he supposed to be protecting them? But how could he at this point?

  Kynder stood, shook out his limbs, and tried to gather his wits. He knew how to help them. Forget trying to find out why Excalibur wanted Merlin dead. He was going to switch gears
and find out anything he could about this Peace Sword, and the person who had it, and Qwon’s kidnapper, Mordred.

  Kynder looked around the huge and Byzantine reading room. There were probably a hundred thousand books in the Library that would be useful in some way. He needed months to review them all, not days.

  He needed help.

  And it was at that exact moment that a bell rang.

  At first Kynder thought it was the iPad again. But it wasn’t. It was the doorbell.

  Kynder grabbed an electric lantern and made his way into the hallway.

  It took him a while to get to the main entrance. He passed door after mysterious door along the Library’s long hallway—the same hallway down which Lavery had led Artie and his knights several weeks back. But Lavery was gone now—Kynder had watched as Merlin angrily shrank the wood elf to the size of a grasshopper and then stepped on him—and Kynder was totally alone.

  Finally he reached the entrance. He hung the lantern on a peg and peered through a peephole. Sylvan was regarded as pretty safe, and with Lavery gone the Library was very safe, but Kynder didn’t want to let any monsters in. That would just be foolish.

  Luckily for him, the visitor outside the door looked pretty harmless.

  To be sure, Kynder pushed a button on a staticky intercom and asked, “Who’s that?”

  The little creature said, “Evening, sir. Name’s Clive, sir.”

  “What do you want, Clive?”

  “Are you Kynder Kingfisher?”

  “I am,” Kynder said, a little taken aback.

  “I want to help you,” Clive rattled. “My lord Numinae sent me as his emissary. I am at your service.”

  Kynder leaned away from the peephole. Could he be so lucky? Help was exactly what he needed. Since he didn’t have the luxury of time, he figured he had to take a chance. He pushed the button again and said, “One second, Clive.”

  He grabbed a giant ring of keys, threw the locks, and heaved the door open.

  “Hallo, sir,” Clive said in a raspy voice.

  “Hello,” Kynder returned, bending low to shake the little man’s hand. “Numinae, you said?”

  “Yessir. My lord thought it bad manners to leave you alone in his Library.”

  “Well, your timing’s impeccable, I’ll give you that.” Clive had a slight hunchback on his left side, his eyes were uneven, and his wiry beard grew in splotches. His brownish skin was awful—riddled with pockmarks and scars—and while it was hard to tell, Kynder was pretty sure that his hair was dark green. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you?”

  Clive lowered his gaze, letting it come to rest just above Kynder’s knees. “Mostly gnome, some wood dwarf and troll. All unlucky,” he explained while gesturing at his gnarled body.

  “Ah, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clive.”

  “Just Clive, if you please, sir,” he said.

  “Not a problem, Clive. And it’s just Kynder for me. The only person who ever called me ‘sir’ was my granddaddy.”

  Clive smiled. “Understood, Kynder.”

  “Tell me, Clive, what kind of help did Numinae think I needed?”

  “Well,” Clive rasped, “he figured you might be needing some help finding things. I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I do know a fair amount about the Otherworld.”

  “Do you read any of the Otherworld languages?”

  “Most passably. More than two dozen fluently,” Clive said with a knowing smile.

  A wave of relief surged in Kynder’s chest. “And how do I know that I can trust you?” he asked.

  Clive winced. “You don’t. I can only give you my word that whatever I help you with will stay between you and me. I won’t even tell the wizard, if you wish it.” Kynder couldn’t fathom why, but he felt a little uneasy at the mention of Merlin. “My lord and I also know that the witch made your son,” the gnome said conspiratorially.

  Kynder straightened. “Go on.”

  “We know something else that perhaps you don’t. I’d like to share it with you, as a token of good faith.”

  “What’s that, Clive?” Kynder liked this little creature.

  “The witch—she’s made others too,” Clive said deeply.

  That did it. “Please, come in,” Kynder said. “Come in and make yourself at home.”

  14 - IN WHICH DRED GETS AN EARFUL AND QWON GETS SOME TREATS

  The gate fizzled shut as Dred and Sami crashed through it, landing hard on the barracks’ earthen floor at Castel Deorc Wæters. As they materialized in the room, a group of off-duty soldiers hooted and clambered to grab their weapons.

  Dred felt like snot. He’d had the wind knocked out of him and had probably broken a few of his ribs.

  Worse, Dred had come this close to capturing that Artie kid, but no.

  Epic fail.

  Which meant that Morgaine was going to be pretty miffed.

  But Dred couldn’t think about that just yet. He had Sami to deal with first.

  Immediately after they’d come to a stop, Sami pushed up and straddled Dred, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. “You leave that boy alone!” Sami shouted in a mysterious accent.

  Apparently he hadn’t noticed the change of scenery.

  “Seize this fool!” Dred wheezed to the soldiers in the barracks as he tried to regain his breath.

  A dozen soldiers descended on Sami. He let go of Dred and flung the first few men away like he was shooing flies. It was then that it dawned on him that he’d been transported to a place he didn’t recognize.

  Dred slid out of the melee and stood. He watched as the strange man’s expression went from one of unmitigated fury to one of stark confusion.

  The soldiers took advantage of Sami’s disorientation and attacked him with maces, staffs, and whips. They knocked him furiously on the head and shoulders, where welts and bruises popped up like giant goose bumps. Two soldiers managed to get the ends of their magical whips looped around his ankles.

  These were about to coil themselves around Sami when his instincts replaced his confusion. Ignoring the flurry of weapons, Sami reached down and tore the silver strands from his legs like they were made of straw. Then he whipped his arm through the air and with a single haymaker laid out five men.

  Dred drew his sword. The remaining soldiers drew theirs too.

  “Show no mercy!” Dred commanded.

  Sami crouched and bounded across the room on all fours, bowling over half a dozen men. He headed for a huge anvil that hadn’t been moved in a hundred years. He jumped over it, turned, and then picked it up with ease, brandishing it like a shield. As the remaining soldiers attacked, their swords hit the anvil uselessly. Without letting go of it, Sami pushed the anvil into the chests of a pair of men, knocking them on their butts, and then he mercilessly dropped it on the feet of two more. They cried out in pain.

  Only five able soldiers remained.

  “Morgaine!” Dred yelled.

  But she was already there. The jaybird, Eekan, flapped wildly on her shoulder as she stood in the entryway between Sami and Dred. Beside her were a couple of their fierce short-faced war bears.

  The animals—one brown, the other black with a few gray spots—sprang forward. They were huge, bigger than sabertooths or aurochs by an order of magnitude. Aside from dragons and a handful of other mythical beasts, Dred knew that they were the largest land predators in all of the Otherworld.

  The bears landed a few feet from Sami and growled. The Swede squinted and lowered into a defensive position.

  They attacked simultaneously. Both scored hits, drawing deep gashes in Sami’s arms with their sharpened claws, but the blood didn’t faze him. Sami counter-attacked, smacking the bears hard on their heads with his open hands, hitting the brown one so forcefully that its legs buckled. Sami quickly grabbed this bear around the neck and squeezed. A great snapping sound filled the low-ceilinged room, and the bear collapsed. Sami effortlessly swung the ursine body at its partner, knocking it back a dozen feet.
>
  Then Sami screamed.

  No.

  He roared.

  The remaining bear understood and took a step back and sat on his haunches, like a dog brought to heel.

  “A beast master,” Morgaine hissed lowly.

  Sami’s rabid gaze swung to the witch.

  “Enough!” she wailed, as Sami hoisted the dead bear and hurled it at her.

  Morgaine calmly held up her hand. Her form flickered, and so did Sami’s, and in an instant they switched places, causing the bear to come crashing into Sami instead.

  Dred saw the look of surprise on Sami’s face as he was violently knocked back by the very animal he’d just thrown!

  Morgaine raised a bejeweled staff. Her form flickered again, and suddenly she was standing above Sami. She brought the point of her staff down on his forehead. His eyeballs bulged and spittle sprayed from his lips as he was shot through with thousands and thousands of volts of electricity. The dead bear, lying on top of him, convulsed reflexively, and some of its thick, musky fur began to singe.

  The fight was over. A few guards emerged from the margins and made their way closer to the witch.

  “Take this filth to the tower!” she barked at a gigantic soldier. “I’ll be there shortly to cast a dragon’s bubble on him. Tell the jailer no food or water. I want this man broken.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the soldier barked.

  He rolled the bear’s smoking body over, and heaved Sami onto his shoulder with a bunch of grunting. Then he slowly made his way to the tower.

  Morgaine wheeled on Dred and said, “Where is Cleomede? Where is the boy-king?” She banged the ground with her staff, and a spine-tingling screech rang out from the impact.

  “Mum, I tried, but you saw what I had to deal with,” Dred explained, waving his hand at Sami. “And it wasn’t just him. The boy’s knights—and the boy-king himself—they’re excellent fighters.”

  “How many were there?”

  Dred tried to remember. “Six, I think. I almost had the boy, Mum. I almost did!”

  Morgaine huffed. “Six? My sweet boy, are you joking? And what difference does it make that you ‘almost’ had him, hmm? I need him! I don’t ‘almost’ need him!”