The Dragon King (2 page)

My brother, Artie thought. He could still hardly believe it.

Dred’s lips moved and he slowly opened his eyes. “I’m here,” he said hoarsely.

But before Artie could respond, Qwon dropped between them. “Are you okay?” she asked, taking Dred’s hand.

Dred stared at Qwon and smiled. Artie watched them, his heart beating hard. Somehow, in spite of all they’d been through, Qwon’s straight black hair was perfect. The skin of her rounded features was marred here and there with dirt, but she looked really, well, cute.

Artie turned his gaze to Dred. His brother had the same ruddy hair (though a little longer than Artie’s), the same hazel eyes, the same straight nose, the same thin lips.

“I-I’m so sorry, Artie,” Dred muttered.

“About what?” Kay asked. “You returned Excalibur to Artie! If you hadn’t we’d all be toast.”

“True. But my mother . . . Morgaine.” His eyes darted around the beach. “I’m sorry she kidnapped you, Qwon. And that she imprisoned you, Shallot.”

“You
should
be sorry for that, Fenlandian,” Shallot snapped. But then she smiled a little and said, “Though for my part, I’m sorry I wanted to kill you when we began our escape from Castel Deorc Wæters.”

Dred chuckled. “Looking back, I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

Shallot pointed her chin at Qwon. “She stopped me. She and Bors . . . ,” Shallot said, trailing off.

“I’m sorry we lost him,” Dred said. “If I could have, I’d—”

Shallot tried to put on a brave face. “It will be all right. He died for a reason.”

“And we lived for one,” Numinae said in his deep voice.

Artie stuck out a hand, and with Qwon’s help they pulled Dred to his feet. “That’s right, everybody. We
did
live for a reason. Right now that reason is to get Lance into a bed, find this King’s Gate thing, and then start on our next quest—for the Holy Grail.”

“Darn right,” Kay said weakly. She took a half step back and brought her hand to her forehead. Something felt different to Kay. Something felt off.

Artie leaned close to her. “You all right?”

“It’s our link, Artie,” Kay said just loudly enough that he could hear. “All of a sudden I can’t feel it anymore!”

Artie took her hand. She was right! Their peculiar connection was gone, or at least in Artie’s case, altered. Because he could feel
someone
—just not Kay. Artie frowned, searching his feelings, and then it hit him. Kay had been replaced by Dred. Artie could feel his breath and his arms and legs as they moved. This new sensation was not as intense as it had been with Kay, but it
was
there. Whether Dred had similar sensations, Artie couldn’t tell.

“Don’t worry, Sis. Maybe once we go home it’ll come back.”

Kay straightened. “I hope so.”

“Everything okay, lads?” Thumb asked.

“Uh, yeah, Tom. Just having a brother-sister moment,” Artie said.

“We’re fine, Tommy. Thanks,” Kay said without a trace of her trademark sarcasm.

“Peachy, lads.”

Just then Dred clapped Artie on the back. “So—is there more to Avalon than this beach?”

“Certainly, lad,” Thumb answered. “Castle Tintagel. I used to visit it in the olden days. . . .” He trailed off, lost in memories.

“Is it close?” Shallot asked.

“Avalon is not large, lady fairy,” Thumb answered. “It won’t be hard to find.”

“Good,” Artie announced. “Numinae, will you carry Lance?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And Sami—can you grab Kynder?”

“Of course. You know a little thing like crushing weight can’t stop me.”

“I sure do.” Artie looked over his friends—his
knights!—
and said, “The rest of us should check the beach for our things. When we’re done, we’ll head inland and find this Tintagel.”

“Sounds like a plan, lad,” Thumb said. “I’ll go check over—”

But Numinae slid a finger over Thumb’s lips and cut him off. The forest lord cocked an ear toward the mist as the others froze, their hands tightening around the hilts of their weapons. The only noise any of them could hear was that of the waves lapping at the unseen shoreline.

“Ready, friends,” Numinae warned in a fierce whisper. “Something approaches.”

Numinae, all seven-plus feet of
him, stepped toward the noise. “What is it, Noomy?” Kay whispered.

Numinae didn’t answer. His right hand began to glow with a spell.

Then the knights made out a faint, high-pitched squeak. Artie pointed Excalibur at the sound and peered into the mist. “Clear!” Artie ordered quietly.

An invisible jolt of energy leaped from the sword’s blood channels, wending around Numinae like a will-o’-the-wisp, and parted the mist.

After a few moments the mist revealed a grizzled old man, with a huge round nose like a turnip, dressed in a light cotton shirt and a heavy leather vest. Or it was half a man, anyway. He had a head and shoulders and arms and a chest and a stomach, giving him all the essential parts of a person, but he had no legs. His abdomen was strapped into a contraption that consisted of a single brass wheel, about two feet in diameter, covered with a black rubber tire. He propelled himself with a pair of weathered wooden sticks that attached to his wrists at right angles, leaving his hands free. In his right hand was a flare-muzzled musket like a pirate’s.

“Who’s that?” the man demanded, the black metal of the gun shaking like a leaf in a gale.

His eyes were open but they were as white as golf balls.

He was blind.

“I am Numinae, lord of Sylvan.”

The man stopped. “No, you are not. You cannot be here. It is not permitted.”

“I am not alone.”

The man’s blank eyes darted in their sockets as if he could see. “Who brings you here?”

Artie stepped forward. “Me.”

The man turned his ear toward Artie. “You sound a boy!” he exclaimed nervously. The man’s gun hand shook more. Numinae held up his spell, ready to let loose.

Artie said, “So was the first Arthur, when he found out who he was.”

The wheel squeaked as the legless man backed up a little. “Marvel! So you
are
—”

“Yes. I’m King Arthur Pendragon the Second. And I’m here to—”

In a startling burst the musket went off, blowing a cloud into the air. Numinae let his spell fly, but Artie stayed cool. He yanked Excalibur across his body and deflected the ball flying from the pistol at hundreds of feet per second. As the gray slug careened away harmlessly, Numinae’s spell exploded in a flurry of leaves and sticks and knocked the man onto the ground.

Artie held up a hand. “Wait!” He lowered Excalibur and approached the man. “Are you all right?”

“I-I . . .”

“You weren’t expecting me, were you, Bran?”

“How is it that you know my name?”

Artie knew because of Excalibur, but he didn’t see the need to reveal this. “I know because I’m king.”

Bran blinked. “I am sorry. It has been so long. I did not intend to fire. I am merely a decrepit guardian who has not been ’proximate to another living person for as long as I can recall. . . .”

Artie bent to help Bran get upright.

“It’s okay, Bran,” Artie said. “We’re a little shocked ourselves.”

“How came you here?”

“That’s a long story,” Kay said.

“Who is the lady?”

Kay blushed. “Kay Kingfisher. I’m the, uh, king’s sister.”

“Ah! A countess!”

She blushed some more. “Not exactly . . .”

Artie patted Bran on a shoulder. “There’re more here too.”

“Yes. I can hear them. And who might they be?”

One by one Artie introduced everyone, mentioning each of the Seven Swords when appropriate. Thumb was last.

“Thumb, did you say?
Tom
Thumb?” Bran asked excitedly.

Tom scrambled back onto the little dune. “That’s right, Sir Bran. Do you remember me?”

“Of course I do! All of the castle knights called you friend. ’Cept Lady Guinivere as I recall. She was not accepting of so little and amusing a person as yourself.”

“That’s right, Sir Bran.” Tom chuckled, lost in old memories.

“So there
is
a castle here?” Erik asked.

“Assuredly, Sir Erik, bearer of Gram. It is just yon, beyond the dunes, attendant—though it has been surrendering to gravity and the elements for many a century. A blind, legless caretaker is not always an adequate caretaker, if you follow.”

“We don’t care, Bran,” Artie said. “Are there beds? Is there water?”

“Yes. The inside of the castle remains in pristine condition, that much I have managed. And the larders are full of medicines and potions and food and—”

“Food?” several asked at once, and at the same time they all realized how hungry they were.

Bran smiled. “Yes, food. Fruit, butter, bread—”

“Mac and cheese?” Erik asked.

“Um . . .” Bran hesitated.

“Popsicles?” Kay wondered.

“I’m not sure I—”

“French fries?” Qwon asked, who, along with Shallot, was probably the hungriest of all of them.

“I do not know of these things, but I can guarantee you will be sated,” Bran answered.

This was great news, and the group immediately went nuts over the idea of eating. Artie moved to the front of the pack and wrapped an arm over Bran’s shoulders. “Lead the way, buddy,” he said, and they filed out.

As they left the beach, the sand gave way to an earthy loam covered in grass and wildflowers. The sun began to break through the mist, revealing a rolling, treeless countryside. The party walked uphill for nearly a mile following a winding gravel path. Aside from this, there was no sign of any people.

As they walked, Artie told Bran how they’d fought Morgaine and arrived at Avalon. Kay told of retrieving Kusanagi, and Erik of pulling Gram from the tree, and Sami of being tricked by the trio of kids who’d infiltrated his camp and changed the course of his life. Thumb gloomily recounted Merlin’s betrayal. Qwon, unable to forget for even a second all the grub Bran had promised, pined out loud for a cheeseburger and pickles and a Coke.

“Again, m’lady, I haven’t the slightest idea what you speak of,” Bran said apologetically.

“Good food, Bran,” Qwon tried to explain. “Not good
for
you, but man,
good,
you know? I haven’t had a burger in weeks.” She paused. “What I really want is Red Lobster.”

“Preach, Q!” Erik exclaimed. “I love the salad bar there.”

“Mmm,” Kay hummed. “Bacon bits.”

“As promised, I will treat your appetites duly, my knights,” Bran said comfortingly. “I can conjure or cook anything your heart desires at the castle. Speaking of which . . .”

The gravel path took a steep turn and just like that, as if it had been shrouded by some kind of magical veil, a modest stone fortress appeared in front of them. Bran announced, “Welcome, good knights. Welcome to Tintagel.”

While there was no doubt it was a castle, it was nothing like Mont-Saint-Michel—either the lovely French version or the terrifying Otherworld one—where Artie and his knights had to go to retrieve Orgulus from the den of that horrible giant. Tintagel was smaller and tumbledown and neglected—in parts more ruin than stronghold. “Wow,” Kay said sarcastically. “Nice.”

“It was, once upon a time,” Bran murmured. “Come.”

He led the way down the path and over a rickety bridge, passing through the wall under a gateless arch and into a wide courtyard. At the far end stood a tall stone building with a peaked roof framed by a pair of towers. A tattered flag of indeterminate color wafted on the breeze at the apex of the building’s gable. Scattered around the yard were outbuildings and storehouses, all in various states of decay. As the knights crossed the yard, Bran explained how the castle had been relocated rock by rock via crossover gate directly from Cornwall, England. Fairies and sprites, men and knights, had all lent a hand. “Arthur the First decreed that it be moved,” Bran said over the squeak of his wheel. “It was the place of his birth and the home of his parents, Uther Pendragon and Lady Igraine. He wished it preserved for posterity, by sooth, from the destructive hands of the Saxons, who were nothing less than a blood-rotten scourge in those days.”

Artie didn’t care about Saxons. But he was curious about the parents. It occurred to him then that maybe Thumb had met them. “Did you know them at all, Tom?” Artie asked. “My biological parents?”

Dred raised his eyebrows. “
Our
biological parents.”

Artie shot Dred a look. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“All I know of your parents, lads, is that Igraine died not long after the birth of Arthur, and that Uther subsequently succumbed to a lonely heart.” He paused. “Did you know them, Sir Bran?”

Bran grunted. “Not formally. On occasion I have seen their apparitions, though. They sometimes wander the parapet walls in the nighttime, holding hands. Even in death their love has endured.” Everyone looked at the jagged castle walls, half expecting to see a pair of blue ghosts. “I cannot recall when I saw them last. Time is not one of my, er, specialties. I have spent too many days here to understand time’s passage anymore.”

“My parents are
ghosts
?” Artie blurted.

Qwon said, “Maybe we should have a séance. You’d like that, right, Dred?”

Dred was more serious. He shook his head. Thinking of Uther and Igraine only made him remember the finger bone and the lock of hair hidden under Castel Deorc Wæters—those same parental relics from which Morgaine had extracted Artie’s and Dred’s DNA so that she could biologically engineer the twins in that horrifying subterranean lab. “No,” Dred said to Qwon. “They are dead as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s the spirit,” Shallot said coolly. “No pun intended, of course.”

“Whatever,” Artie said. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little disappointed he probably wouldn’t be seeing his parents floating around Castle Tintagel’s halls. “Maybe now that me and Dred are around, they’ll show up and we can ask for some ghost stories.”

“Maybe,” Dred said quietly.

“Regardless,” Bran said, “I have not seen the Pendragons in decades.” He stopped before a huge set of double doors. “Or perhaps centuries. But lo, here we are. Time for you to see what this castle keeps.”

“The King’s Gate?” Kay asked eagerly.

“But maybe we could eat first?” Qwon asked quietly. All this talk of food had set her imagination—and her taste buds—on fire.

“Seriously—I’m starving,” added Erik.

“Of course,” Kay said, punching Erik in the shoulder and making his pale cheeks blush. “But Artie here needs to make it official. That’s one of the things we’ve been fighting toward, remember—making Artie king.”

Much less eagerly, Artie said, “Kay’s right. As soon as we’re full of food and have gotten some rest, I need to find this King’s Gate, Bran. And then, we need to figure out how to bring our dad back.”

“Do not fret, sire. The King’s Gate is not hard to find. Let’s inside.” Bran pointed one of his sticks at a spot on the wall and, with exact precision, pressed an inconspicuous button. He brought his stick down, and the doors, which were painted with King Arthur’s seal—a red field with three yellow crowns—swung inward.

A pitch-black hall appeared before them. Bran entered first, followed by Artie, who drew Excalibur and asked for some light. The blade began to glow, and the inside of Tintagel was revealed.

As promised, this part was not tumbledown at all. The floor was covered with an ornate rug that ran the length of the hall, and the stone walls were hung with tapestries showing all manner of woodland scenes and battle motifs. Bran wheeled farther in, sweeping his hand through the air. “Down there to the left is a staircase that leads to the bedrooms. There is one for each of you and more to spare. You can put your ailing friend in the nearest one to rest.”

“If you’ll open me a moongate, sire, I’ll go to Sylvan to get what I need to help Lance recover more quickly,” Numinae said, referring to the moongates that Excalibur’s pommel stone could open for Artie and his knights to get around both worlds.

“Consider it done,” Artie said.

Bran continued, “Past the staircase are halls leading to various storerooms that you will find not at all interesting, but at the end of the hall is a special room that you must visit.”

“The King’s Gate?” Artie asked.

“I cannot say, sire. It is for you—all of you—to see firsthand.”

Just then they reached the staircase, and Artie stopped. He eyed Lance, who moaned in Numinae’s arms. “Numinae—you and I’ll go upstairs and help Lance. The rest of you get some snacks. Bran, when we’re done, we’ll go together into this surprise room of yours. Is there a place to sit in there?”

“Assuredly, sire,” Bran said with a smirk.

“Then we’ll be eating dinner there too.”

“I will start on your meal posthaste.”

Kay nudged her brother and whispered, “So authoritative.”

Artie winked at her and said, “All right, see you guys in a few.” And then he strutted up the stairs, Numinae following.

As the others watched them, Artie heard Qwon whisper to Kay, “Hope this king thing doesn’t go to his head.”

Kay paused a second and said, “Yeah, me too.”

An hour later, after stuffing themselves with bread and cheese and almonds and dried fruit, the knights reconvened in front of a heavy metal door at the end of a long hallway.

“Have at it, Bran,” Artie said.

The caretaker nodded and reached into the contraption attaching his body to the wheel. His hand clanked around in the metal innards and came free holding a long spike with a series of holes bored through it. “The key,” he explained. “The key to the Royal Chamber.”

“Sweet,” Erik whispered from the back.

The rest were silent as Bran inserted the spike into a small circle set in the middle of the door. Sounds of locks being thrown came from within and it began to open. It was not a normal door, though. Not at all. It didn’t swing in or out, but instead it sort of came apart as an intricate series of interwoven metal bars slid into the wall at all angles. It took thirty seconds for it to finish opening, and when it was done Artie stepped into the dark and cavernous room. As soon as he crossed the threshold a host of lights beamed on, and a huge fire leaped to life in a stone hearth so big even Numinae could have walked into it without ducking. It was as if the chamber was a living thing that knew they were there.