The Dragon King (16 page)

In spite of his facial handicap, the man appeared shocked. “That’s . . . that’s correct. And now I remember: the question was, ‘Who had the Fisher King once been?’”

Kay pumped her fist silently. The guardian stepped to the side and said quietly, “You may pass.”

“Well done, lad!”

“Huzzah!” Bercilak buzzed.

Artie beamed, super proud of himself. But then he had a terrible thought. “Wait; all of us can go, right?”

“Yes, Grail King,” the guardian said.

“Whew!” Artie walked to the giant doors and put a hand on them. They opened easily, revealing a stone spiral staircase. Before leaving, he looked at the guardian and said, “Thank you. Thank you for keeping it safe.”

But the man didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His mouth had sealed shut. The zombies below wailed and cried as they were sucked into the muck, their bodies falling apart, as if some spell had released them from their misery. And then, right before Artie’s eyes, the guardian turned to dust and fell into a pile on the floor.

“Whoa!” Kay said. “Looks like you did everyone here a solid, Art.”

Artie tilted his head. “I guess so.” He grasped Kay by the arm. “Now let’s go revive our father.”

“Heck yeah!”

Artie bounded up the stairs, Kay on his heels. The rest followed in a tight formation, Numinae hoisting Thumb onto his broad shoulders. As Artie ran he tried a
lunae lumen
, but it still didn’t work. They ran for the equivalent of six flights of stairs before Artie stopped to catch his breath. “Man, I hope it’s not much higher,” Kay said.

“We’re getting there,” Thumb announced, even smaller. “If my size is any indication, we’re closer to somewhere on your side.”

They continued on. It was
way
more than six more flights. Twenty at least. By the time they reached the end, they were soaked with sweat. Even Bercilak, who had no obvious reason to get tired, announced, “That’s going to smart in the morning!”

The end of the line was a wooden trapdoor. Artie reached out and pushed. It was locked. No problem—he sliced it to pieces with Excalibur. Wood and nails rained down on them, but they didn’t care, for the light of a bright sunny day streamed into the stairwell. Artie clambered out.

The door opened atop a stone tower built on a tall, round hill, with a picturesque countryside sprawling out in all directions. Big clouds marched lazily across the sky like white elephants. To the west and north a far-off storm was brewing. Looking around, they found that the building was roofless and hollow, and that they were in fact standing on what was essentially the wall of a square tower. Driving home that they were not in the Otherworld, a few tourists with cameras and cell phones milled around at ground level taking pictures.

“Where are we, sire?” Bedevere asked.

“Looks like England,” Artie said.

“This is Glastonbury Tor,” Thumb said assuredly.

“Ah. Smashing,” Bercilak said.

Numinae took cover near one of the crenellations. “We shouldn’t stay. Can’t have any of those poor people seeing me.” He pointed at the tourists.

Artie shook his head. “No. Or you, Bercilak.”

But Bercilak didn’t hear him. He was too busy craning his torso over the edge, his massive metal hands planted on the stone. “It’s grand, sire! Just grand. Much nicer than I thought it would be.”

“Lad, we should be going,” Thumb said, staring at the dark part of the sky.

“I know, I know.” Artie prepared to open a moongate back to Avalon.

“No, I mean it. We should be going!” Thumb insisted. Numinae risked standing, and in that same moment the sky went completely dark, as if someone had switched off the sun.

“Merlin!” Kay yelped, pointing high above.

Artie spun frantically in every direction. “Where?”

And then a terrible form fell from the clouds—a giant birdlike thing shrouded in mist—and simply plucked Bercilak from the edge, pulling him into the sky, screaming like a child and clanking like the empty suit of armor that he was.

Kay reached after the Green Knight, but Bedevere restrained her. Lightning cracked overhead.

“Lads, now is not the time to save our friend. We must leave here, gather our army, and stick to the plan!” Thumb insisted.

It bothered Artie to abandon Bercilak so quickly, but Artie knew that Thumb was right. “
Lunae lumen!
” he said quietly, and the pommel stone glowed. A moongate crackled open and then closed around the group, carrying them away from the ancient hill called Glastonbury Tor and back to the secret isle of Avalon.

“The Grail! The Grail! Congratulations
to them, I suppose. But it won’t stop me. No, it won’t stop me at all!”

Merlin paced in the computer room near the array of sangrealite stones and still-humming mainframes.

“It
can’t
stop me,” he said to himself. “And now that the fool Green Knight, the one called Bercilak, is on his way to me, Lord Numinae will know exactly where to find me. Ah, I am good. And I am ready.”

He clapped his hands greedily and stopped pacing. The floor between the stones was pockmarked and worn as black as pitch. The wires leading from them were frayed and the sangrealite in the stoup was gone, used up.

Merlin looked over this array proudly. “I am
very
ready.”

It had worked. He’d mustered the foot soldiers of his army. They were aboveground, waiting in a giant field tent overlooking the sea. They had been outfitted with simple armor and all manner of weapons. Battle was in their future. A strange battle that Merlin knew he would win.

He reached over and threw a big electrical switch. Lights twinkled off and fans ceased to spin and drives stood still. The computers shut down, having served their purpose. All the years spent learning code and programming had paid off. The game called
Otherworld
had been an unequivocal success. It had brought him Artie Kingfisher, and now it had done this.

He left the computer room and made his way to the chamber with the huge cage. “
Agorwch
,” he said when he reached it, and the cage door swung wide. Lights simultaneously beamed on from all corners of the enclosure. The creature had never seen so much light. It jostled and hissed as its black eyes adjusted. The hooves of its hind legs banged the cage’s floor. It reared, scratching the air with forepaws each the size of a compact car. Its neck writhed, and its head knocked into the cage’s uppermost bars.

“Easy, pet, easy.” Merlin pointed his cane at the earthen roof of the chamber. It cracked open, revealing a gray sky. Rain fell into the room.

The creature roared and then settled.

“Come out. You are free now. Free to serve me.”

Its head emerged from the cage. From the tip of its nose to the base of its neck it was a black snake, scaly and smooth. Pale, cambered fangs as long as scimitars dived from its upper mandible, dripping with a translucent liquid like mother-of-pearl. Its head was the size of a dinner table. The snake tongue darted in and out as it sniffed the air.

Merlin rubbed his fingers together. “It’s all right, dear. Come out and play.”

From the shoulders to its sternum the creature was a giant, dark-spotted leopard. Its fur was nearly black, its darker spots like ebony eyelets. The head lowered to Merlin’s level and the tongue sniffed some more.

A gurgle came from its stomach.

“Hungry, eh? Let’s go inspect our forces. There is sure to be a morsel or two for you.”

The creature exited the cage completely and switched its short white tail back and forth. From the sternum to the rump it had the high, powerful body of an enormous white stag. Merlin held out an open hand, and the snake head lowered over his fingertips. He scratched its chin. Its eyelids drooped with pleasure.

Merlin peeked around his creation. From nose to tail it was sixty feet long. A thin line of sangrealite marked where the snake met the leopard, and where the leopard met the stag, as if the animal were stitched together with the mercurial element.

“My Questing Beast. The dragons will have met their match with you and your Questlings.”

On cue, a chorus of wails and bleats erupted from a room in another section of Merlin’s caves where the Questlings were kept. All together there were one hundred creatures just like the Questing Beast in every way but size.

The worlds had not seen a creature such as this since the days of Arthur the First. But this beast was different from that medieval monster. In addition to its increased size, Merlin had outfitted it with a set of massive wings identical to those found on a magnificent Argentine bird. This Questing Beast could fly. Best of all, at the back of the creature’s mouth, there was a small tube that curled into its throat, through its sinuses, and into its ear canal. Plugged into its ears were little receptors that were sensitive not just to sound but also to Merlin’s spellcasting. At his choosing, Merlin could channel any magic through the creature’s head and out of its mouth. It was like having a dragon with unlimited breath attacks. Fire, ice, poison, acid, slime, mud, bees, snowflakes, odors—the attack was only limited by Merlin’s imagination and his ability, the latter of which had no limits, not now, not since he’d reached full strength.

Fifty of the little Questlings had similar contraptions built into their heads.

All together they would be unstoppable. “Bring your dragons, King,” Merlin cooed. “I have them beat.” Then Merlin thrust his owl-headed cane to the ceiling. “Up, pet!”

The Questing Beast gathered its haunches and peeled its wings from its body. As it took off, Merlin grabbed a hind leg. Up it went. Spry as a cat, Merlin climbed onto the Beast’s rear end. He worked his way over its back and dug his fingers into the leopard fur at its midsection. “There!” he pronounced, indicating an opening in a crisscross of leather and rope strung across the chamber. The Questing Beast flew for it and threaded its long neck through the opening. The straps and ties met its skin and drew tight. At the apex of this arrangement was a simple leather saddle with a high horn, shiny and smooth as if it had been ridden for years. Merlin waved his cane left then right, and the straps wrapped around the neck and behind the front legs and buckled themselves. Merlin jumped into the saddle and effortlessly slipped his feet into the stirrups. Blunt metal spurs extended from his heels like claws. He kicked the creature so hard he drew blood. “Go!” Merlin shouted, pointing the cane toward the heavens. The creature bellowed and beat its wings and pulled into the sky, rain pelting Beast and rider.

Merlin deposited his cane in a sheath at his ankle so that it stood upright and at the ready. He grabbed the saddle horn with both hands and guided the creature toward the field tent that fluttered in the sea-borne wind.

They reached it in seconds, and the Beast pulled up and settled on the ground.

The tent—the same gray color as sky and sea—was shaped like a circus big top and was three hundred feet across. Its flaps were closed. Merlin knew it was full, but no sound came from within.

He pulled the cane from its holster and swiped it through the air. The flaps flew open. It was very dark inside. Little glints and round silhouettes could be seen here and there, but nothing was clear.

“Food,” he called. A shuffling from within as two human figures came into view. They were each about four feet tall and skinny but covered in chain armor from head to ankle. On the feet of the smaller one—a girl—were pink-and-purple sneakers; while the other—a boy—wore scuffed Vans. A thin sword hung from the girl’s waist, and a mace nearly as long as the boy’s leg hung from his belt. They walked side by side, together holding something.

“Like Artie and Kay, a brother and a sister. Beast, I give you Henry and Maggie Marks.”

The Marks children stepped into the light. Maggie was eight or nine, and Henry was a couple of years older. They had fair skin and light hair and big, empty eyes.

They did not speak. They held out their hands, which contained a rope. The rope led into the darkness of the tent.

“Food,” Merlin repeated.

The Questing Beast lowered its head, but the children, who appeared not to be aware of the hellish thing leaning over them, didn’t so much as budge. The snake head unhinged its jaw. Its fangs dripped. The tongue darted from its mouth and slipped over the crown of Henry’s head. It got closer and closer to the children. Its foul breath puffed visibly on the cool air.

“Now, now, pet,” Merlin said. “You know they’re not for you.”

Henry and Maggie raised the rope higher. With lightning quickness the snake head stabbed down and came back up, the strand in its mouth.

The children still stood there, completely unfazed.

The Beast sucked the rope into its mouth like spaghetti. It ran limply over Maggie’s shoulder before drawing tight. When it did, a squeal came from inside the tent. The Beast kept sucking. The thing at the other end came into view. It was a pig, fat and round, stolen from a nearby farm. The animal strained to get away from the monster pulling it closer, but it was useless.

The poor creature wedged between Henry and Maggie and pushed them apart. It cried loudly now, aware of what was happening, and young Henry seemed to take a flicker of notice. His eyes widened when the pig finally reached the lips of the snake head. The Questing Beast bit down, impaling its prey with its long fangs. The pig stopped moving. The Questing Beast tilted its head back and in three gulps swallowed its meal whole.

At this, Henry let out a small yelp, but Merlin chanted a low incantation and the boy’s arms fell limply back to his sides. Maggie, still oblivious, didn’t make a peep. The color faded from Henry’s face and his eyes once more took on the blank stare that he’d worn when the Marks siblings exited the tent.

Henry and Maggie turned in unison and scuffed back inside.

With a loud series of cracks, the meal slid through the snake’s neck and passed into the cat portion of the Questing Beast, directly beneath Merlin’s saddle. The wizard grinned.

“Surprises, Artie, surprises.” He looked to the southeast. In the distance was the form of a great bird, made of clouds. In its talons Merlin could see the green dot that was Sir Bercilak. “And like I said—no more games.”