The Seven Swords (9 page)

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!”

Dred stepped closer to Morgaine. “Please, Mum, give me another chance. Let me use his own sword against him!”

Morgaine's eyes went wide. “Use Excalibur? You? I wouldn't let you within fifty feet of that sword now. Besides, how smart do you think that would be, letting him get so close to
his
weapon? He'd take it from you, and you'd be in pieces before you could count to two.”

Dred slumped. “All right, maybe you're right. But give me another chance. Please,” he pleaded.

Morgaine spun away in disgust. “Proxies!” she spit.

“What's that, Mum?” Dred asked.

“Lavery, Twrch Trwyth—neither could stop him. My tornadoes nearly had him, but that damned Sylvanian dragon had to whisk him away. Now you—who were raised to be his equal!—you can't stop him either.”

“His equal?” Dred asked. This was the first time he'd ever heard anything like that. “Mum, I'm sorry, but—”

“Oh—never mind,” Morgaine said, shaking her head like she was trying to rid her mind of unwanted thoughts. She waved her staff through the air in front of her son. “I'm just mad. Forget it,” she said softly.

Dred felt a little queasy, and quite suddenly did forget what she'd just said about proxies and Lavery and monsters. And being the king's equal.

“You're too dim to understand anyway,” Morgaine added in a dulcet tone.

Dred stepped back, confusion covering his face. He remembered saying that he'd almost captured Artie, but . . . then what? Still angry, Dred clenched his teeth and said, “I'm so sorry I couldn't get him, Mum. I didn't want to let you down.”

Which was true.

Morgaine said, “It's okay, dear. So long as we have his sword and The Anguish, he can't get to Avalon. Eventually, he will have to come to us. Now it's clear
I
must be ready.
You
will never be. Come. Tell me what happened. It will be helpful,” Morgaine said, squeezing his arm.

Dred hesitated but then followed her and told the story of how he'd fought and nearly captured King Artie Kingfisher. Morgaine didn't say a word, and her silence made him angry. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt like she was toying with his feelings. Literally.

Sometimes parents were really a pain in the butt.

He finished as they came to her room. Morgaine turned to Dred and he could tell that he wasn't going to be let in. He gathered his strength and said, “Can I ask a question, Mum?”

“Of course, dear,” she said.

“What's wrong with Artie's face? Is there a spell on my helmet that prevents me from seeing it?”

Morgaine lowered her eyes. “Don't concern yourself with that, pet. I mean it.”

Dred wanted to ask more, but couldn't. He knew when his mother was finished talking about something.

“Leave me now, child. Go check on the prisoners.”

“They need blankets,” Dred said quietly, remembering Qwon's request. “It
has
been cold at night.”

“Fine,” Morgaine said. “Give them blankets, but not tonight. I only need them for nine more nights anyway. Now go. I'm done with you for today.” She turned away, and then added, “I don't need you anymore.”

Dred stood there as his mother disappeared into her room, her final words ringing in his ears.

 

As evening descended, a jarring screech reverberated around the portico.

Qwon sat up quickly and was mildly startled when Shallot's disembodied voice whispered in her ear, “Some-thing's happened.”

After a few minutes of silence, Qwon lay back on the grass. The sun was down, but an army of great, puffy clouds could still be seen as they marched across the twilit sky. She played that game of looking for shapes in them. She tried to force herself to see animals or famous buildings or cars or boats, but all she really saw was food: a fried egg, onion rings, a banana, a bunch of grapes.

Man, she missed food.

It was getting cold. She moved and huddled in a corner, pulling her knees to her chest. She really, really wanted a blanket.

But Dred still hadn't brought one.

 

Breakfast was late the next morning. For whatever reason, the little door had remained shut, and no tray with porridge or water had appeared.

Qwon waited in a patch of warm sun, letting the night's cold melt away. Her eyes were closed and the sunlight made the inside of her eyelids glow like embers.

Embers that could be used to grill hamburgers, zucchini, or hot dogs.

Man
, she missed food!

Finally the door slid open. She lifted her head and looked down the length of her body as the tray was being pushed out.

Something was different. Previously, Dred had used a stick to push the tray out. Today, he used his hand. His fingers lingered on the edge of the tray and even turned it a little bit, as if to put it in place.

Qwon got up. And when she got close to the tray, Dred's hand bent up and gave her a little wave!

Qwon plopped onto her knees and said, “Hey.”

Dred rested his hand back down, and then, as though he realized that he'd made a mistake, pulled it back quickly and shut the little door.

“No, wait!” Qwon said, lunging forward. But it was too late.

Not like she knew what she would have done with it, anyway. Was she going to hold it? That would've been weird. Slap it? No. Pull it toward her? Also no.

Maybe she
did
want to hold it.

Whatever. Being alone was doing funny things to her.

She picked up the cup. Something was different with it too. It wasn't tea. Something brown was floating on top of it. She brought it to her nose.

It was apple cider! Hot apple cider!

With cinnamon!

Qwon slurped the liquid. It burned the tip of her tongue, but it was like a revelation. Memories of Christmas and ski trips to the Poconos crashed over her. She remembered her mom and dad when they were still together, and her grandfather and grandmother on vacation from Hawaii (she never could understand why someone would leave Hawaii to come to Pittsburgh in the winter, but they did). She remembered her grandfather's strange and amazing stories of their ancestors.

“Thanks, Dred. This is amazing.”

And to her surprise, a muffled “You're welcome” came through the wooden door.

Bingo.

The food door cracked open again. Qwon leaned over but couldn't see anything on the other side.

“There's something under the porridge too,” Dred said. His voice was clearer, and Qwon could tell that he had lain down on the floor and put his mouth near the slot.

It instantly occurred to Qwon how stupid Dred was being. If Shallot had wanted, she could have reappeared and thrust her staff quickly and violently through the little crack, crushing Dred's face. Qwon desperately hoped Shallot wouldn't do anything like that, because it would ruin whatever was happening.

“What is it?” Qwon asked, picking up the bowl. She cautiously pulled the small spoon from inside her shirt.

“Just look,” Dred said.

Qwon pushed the porridge around and found two absolute treasures: a thick mass of melted chocolate and a soggy but well-cooked strip of bacon.

She looked over her shoulder, as if Shallot might try to steal her treats. Then she dug into the bottom of the bowl, breaking the meat into smaller pieces, and scooped up a spoonful of chocolaty bacon.

Ahhhhhh.

That was more like it.

She took another bite. And another. And another.

“You like it?” Dred asked quietly.

“Oh my god,” Qwon said with her mouth full. “I love it. Thank you.”

“Slow down. Others watch you guys from time to time too.”

Oh, right. In her excitement Qwon had momentarily forgotten she was a prisoner.

She turned and slumped against the wall and faked nonchalance, even disgust. She covered the treats with porridge and ate slower.

Qwon finished her cider and then everything in her bowl. She desperately wanted to lick it clean, like she had on her first day there, but thought that might draw attention.