The Shadow Dragons (16 page)

As they talked, Artus ordered some food and drink to be brought in. A short time later Bert and Ransom joined them, and the philologist relayed the terrible news about Kor.

“This is awful,” Artus said. “Kor was one of the islands fighting against protectorate status.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “What does that mean?”

“The Senate has been preparing for an eventual attack by the Winter King,” Artus explained, “by promising increased protective measures from the republic in exchange for oaths of fealty. It was a plan presented by a very influential man on the rise named Chancellor Murdoch.”

“Chancellor?” said Jack. “Which land does he represent?”

“That’s the strange part,” said Bert. “No one seems to know. He appeared out of nowhere, with no history, no credentials that I can find, and yet all the primary leaders in the Archipelago—save for Artus and Aven—have embraced him and his counsel.”

“It’s surprising that I’ve never heard of him,” said Jack. “I consider myself very well up-to-date on events in the Archipelago.”

“We’ve also missed seven years,” Charles reminded him.

“I’m hoping you might still know something about him,” Artus said. “There’s a belief that he might actually be a leader from your world.”

“One of our people?” exclaimed Charles. “Here? That smacks of Burton’s involvement, if you ask me.”

“I hope not,” said Artus. “The Chancellor is proving to be very popular—and in a republic, that alone can carry the day. Burton is already a thorn in our sides, but if a world leader from the Summer Country is becoming our best ally against the Winter King, then I don’t see how he wouldn’t be involved.”

“What does the Chancellor look like?” asked Jack.

“Our agents, particularly Ransom, have managed to acquire a few photographs of him,” Artus said as he spread several pictures out on the table. “The one thing that’s peculiar about him is that in all of the pictures, he’s seen holding this spear.”

“That looks very familiar,” said Charles, “but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I can,” said Jack with a groan. “And I
have.
It’s the spear we took from Mordred in Camelot. It was called the Lance of Longinus, but you’d know it better as the Spear of Destiny.”

“Great Scott!” Charles exclaimed. “But what did
you
have to do with it?”

“John and I gave it to Chaz, when he became the first Green Knight,” said Jack. “And every Green Knight since has carried it, including . . .”

“Magwich,” Artus said.

“Well, now we know where that idiot Maggot went,” Charles fumed. “He threw in with this Chancellor, and he gave him the spear.”

“What’s the connection between the Green Knight and the Chancellor, though?” asked Jack. “How would someone from our world even know about Magwich or the spear?”

“Here’s your connection,” Charles said darkly. “Look at this photo—the close-up in profile. Do you recognize him?”

“Yes,” Bert declared. “I
have
seen him before!”

“The Red King,” said Jack. “From the Clockwork Parliament! But I thought they’d all been destroyed after our first trip into the Archipelago!”

Artus was crestfallen. “So did we,” he said. “Apparently, we were mistaken.”

“That’s not all we’ve overlooked,” said Ransom. “Look more closely at the photo.”

“Hmm,” said Charles. “That’s a puzzler.”

“You see it, don’t you?” asked Ransom.

“I think so,” said Charles. “The light source is on the right, so all the people are casting shadows to the left. But the Red King, Chancellor Murdoch, or whoever he is—well, he appears to have
two
shadows.”

“Lord preserve us,” breathed Jack. “Now we know where the Winter King’s Shadow went. It wasn’t destroyed after all.”

“The Chancellor isn’t preparing the Archipelago to
fight
the Winter King,” said Ransom. “He
is
the Winter King.”

PART FOUR

The Town That Wasn’t

There

There were other familiar faces as well . . .

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Legendarium

Richard Burton
was a man used to responsibility. What he was not used to was accountability, especially when the rules of the game he was playing suddenly changed.

“The last door was defective,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know what the problem was.”

“Define ‘defective,’” said the Chancellor.

Burton could always tell when the Chancellor was upset. There was a strange whirring sound emanating from his chest, and his neck made an odd clicking noise when he spoke. Not good.

“It didn’t open into a time, it opened into a place,” said Burton. “A small stone room that was completely empty. No exit, and no dragon. We’ve already discarded the door.”

“Fine,” said the Chancellor. “We’ll be done soon enough anyway.”

“What about the Caretakers?”

“They know where to look now,” the Chancellor said, glancing at Kipling. “And they will be coming, make no mistake.”

“Should I summon the others to return as well, before they’re found out too?” Kipling asked.

“No,” the Chancellor said after considering the question. “They may yet be useful where they are.”

“You realize I can’t go back. They’ll be watching now.”

“That’s what we want,” came the reply. “They’ll be looking for you, and not watching their backs. That’s how I was able to procure this.” The Chancellor held up an object.

Kipling went pale. “How did you get that?”

The Chancellor laughed, and it was a harsh, grating sound. “Let’s just say your report was useful, and two of your colleagues have finally redeemed themselves.”

“The timing of the attack on Kor is no coincidence,” said Artus. “The next scheduled referendum at the Senate is regarding whether or not to give increased powers to the Chancellor. And as the islands that have joined the protectorate remain untouched, while a powerful nation such as Kor is in flames, I have no doubt the motion will be overwhelmingly passed.”

“When is the referendum scheduled?” asked Bert.

“Tonight.”

“Can’t you stop it?” asked Jack. “Or postpone it? Or something? You’re the king!”

“An honorary title within the republic,” said Artus. “I have more influence than power, and with the Chancellor’s allies, I have far less influence than he.”

“I’m guessing his allies include the Goblins and the Trolls?” asked Charles.

“The Goblins remain apart from the rest of us,” said Artus, “but the Trolls were early participants in the protectorate.”

“And this didn’t set off any alarm bells for you?” asked Jack.

“Why would it?” Artus replied. “While war has run rampant in the Summer Country, we’ve had relative peace here—and the protectorate initiative has been taking care of the lands rather than invading them. We’ve been watching for an attack from the Winter King, not a fruit basket.”

“He’s attacked you now, though,” said Charles. “Can’t you use that against him?”

“How?” asked Artus. “The Chancellor will decry the attack and want to rally to Kor’s aid! Anything I say, with only suspicion and photographs as evidence, will look like a personal attack.”

“Not to mention that it will alert the Chancellor—uh, Winter King—whatever he is that we know what he’s up to,” Bert put in. “I have an alternate suggestion. We should consult Samaranth for advice. Outside of Verne or Poe, he’ll have a better idea of what to do than anyone.”

Reluctantly, Artus agreed. It felt a bit like cowardice, to slip away from the palace to plan and prepare, but it was the only sensible option if their beliefs proved true. “We’ll leave shortly,” he said as he threw the photos into a leather satchel. “I’ll take some precautions here first, and I’ll meet you at the badger’s garage.”

“I have other matters to attend to for the Caretakers,” said Ransom, “but I’ll stay close.”

“Let’s go,” said Bert. “The clock is ticking.”

Fred was more than happy to see the scholars again, particularly Charles. He took great pride in showing the Caretaker every part of the garage where the principles were maintained, while Jack and Bert outfitted a vehicle for the trip to see Samaranth.

“So, Fred,” Charles said, “other than the family traditions of publishing and automotive care, tell me what else you’ve been studying these years past.”

“As much as I can of just about everything, Scowler Charles,” replied Fred. “I read what I can when I’m not working with my father at the press—although if it were up to my grandfather, I’d still be in cooking school.”

“If it hadn’t been for your grandfather, we would never have defeated the Winter King,” Charles explained, “and if not for you and your father, Jack and John would never have been able to rescue Hugo Dyson.”

“T’ be fair, Scowler Charles,” Fred said, “it was partially our fault Hugo got trapped in time t’ begin with.”

“Sure,” said Charles. “And your willingness to acknowledge your mistakes, and to learn from them, is one of the main reasons I’ve decided to give you this.”

Fred looked down. In Charles’s hand was a silver pocket watch, emblazoned with a red dragon. The symbol of an apprentice Caretaker.

“A Samaranth watch!” Fred exclaimed, still unsure of what was happening. “But—but—Scowler Charles—you don’t really mean t’ give that t’ me?”

Charles nodded. “I do. Jack has told me how much help you were to Hugo, and of how diligently you were studying to become a true scholar. So I know of no one who deserves it more.” He placed the watch into the small mammal’s trembling paw, then closed his fingers over it.

“You know what this means, and you understand the responsibility that comes with it. So don’t disappoint me.”

Fred was shaking with excitement. “I won’t! I promise!” He stopped and furrowed his brow. “Does this have to be a secret? Or can I tell someone? I mean, someones?”

“It’s supposed to be a very secret thing,” said Charles, “so just be careful about who you do choose to tell. I’m guessing your father and grandfather?”

The badger nodded. “Yes, Scowler Charles.”

“That should be fine. And Fred—you’re my apprentice now. You can just call me Charles.”

“Thank you Scowl—I mean, thank you, Charles!” Fred said as he walked away in as dignified a manner as he could without appearing to want to run.

“Holy hell, lad,” Charles called after him. “Run. Run and tell them!”

Without a backward glance, the badger broke into a dead run, his feet barely touching the ground.

In short order, Bert, Artus, and Jack had joined Charles and his newly appointed apprentice in a spacious six-wheeled principle called the Strange Attractor. Fred took the wheel and soon revealed himself to be an expert driver. The trip was innocuous enough, and the engine loud enough, that the companions could talk without being overheard as they traveled.

The first time John, Jack, and Charles met the great dragon Samaranth, he was the only dragon left in the Archipelago. All the other dragons had abandoned the lands and the service of the king, because he had proven himself to be unworthy to call on them.

Now Jack and Charles were again going to see Samaranth, and again he was the only dragon left—but this time, it was because Artus, as the king, had sent them away in the belief that as long as the dragons were always there to solve any problems, he and his people would never fully mature as a race.

“Of course I went to Samaranth first,” Artus explained to Jack and Charles, “and when I told him what I planned to do, he was quiet for a very long time. Then, when he finally answered, he asked a question.”

“What did he ask you?” said Jack.

“He asked if I had ever seen a baby bird that pushed past its parents and tried to leave the nest before it was ready. I told him I had. And then he asked if I knew what birds like that were called, and I said no.”

“What did he say they were called?” asked Jack.

“Lunch.”

“That’s terrible,” said Charles. “Is that all he said to you?”

“No,” said Artus. “He told me that I was the King of the Silver Throne, and the dragons served at my pleasure and could be released from service by blowing a horn that he kept in his cave. He said it was very old, and then he said something I didn’t understand—he told me it was from a time and place before he was a dragon.”

“That’s interesting,” said Jack. “So what did you do?”

Artus sighed. “I blew the horn. Then I came back to the castle and formed a republic. Everything has been utter chaos ever since.”

“Well,” said Jack, “sometimes the magic works.”

“And sometimes, you really wish it hadn’t,” said Artus. “I wonder if it’s possible to unblow a horn?”

“It isn’t possible to unblow a horn,” Samaranth said disapprovingly. “You’re intelligent enough to know that, Artus.”

It had not taken the companions long to reach Samaranth’s cavern, and once they were there, it took even less time for them to realize that he was not pleased to see them.

“The Caretakers have not remained steadfast in their jobs,” he said in a raspy voice, “and the King of the Silver Throne has handled his stewardship with even less aplomb.”

“We’ve dealt with every crisis we’ve been called to,” Jack pointed out. “Minor and major. And we’ve always emerged triumphant.”

Samaranth snorted one, twice, and then three times—and they realized he was laughing. “Triumphant? Really? With the Keep of Time nearly destroyed, the Morgaine and the Green Knight gone from Avalon, and a new power rising in the Archipelago who may in fact be the enemy you were brought to defeat to begin with? In what way do you consider that triumphant, little Caretakers?”

“We’re learning the value of persistence,” said Charles. “That’s a start.”

Samaranth sighed heavily and regarded the companions with weary eyes.

“That you are,” he said, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. “I’ll tell you this much. The Prophecy you are meant to fulfill is true—and you have been in the midst of it since the first time we met.

“So, consider everything that has passed before now to be a test. A test of your worthiness to survive.”

“As Caretakers?” asked Jack.

“As a king?” said Artus.

“No,” Samaranth replied. “As a
race.”

“We’ll meet the test,” said Charles. “We just need to know if we’ll be seeing it through alone.”

“You aren’t alone unless you believe you are,” said Fred.

“The Child of the Earth speaks wise,” Samaranth said to Artus. “Ask what you’re here to ask.”

Artus swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Can I still summon the dragons?”

The great red dragon ambled over to one of the metallic compartments that lined the walls of the cave and removed a horn. It was stained ivory and curved in on itself like a lily.

“There’s one call in it left,” he said as he handed it to Artus. “Do not use it until there is no other option. Once the horn is blown, it will be useless to you. So choose your time wisely and well.”

“It will bring back the dragons?” said Artus.

“It will do whatever you wish for it to do,” said Samaranth. “The Horn of Bran Galed was one of the great treasures of the world. It was acquired by Merlin before he became the Cartographer, and it originally belonged to a centaur who was slain by Hercules. Most of those whose hands it passed through believed that its particular value lay in the fact that it would contain any drink one wished for. The truth was, it gave one
anything
one wished for, and stupid, stupid man-creatures wasted almost all of its wishes on ale and wine.”

“So when you told me that blowing it would free us from our dependency on the dragons . . . ,” said Artus.

“That’s what it gave you, because that’s what you wanted the most,” said Samaranth. “The desire for independence. It’s one of the qualities that makes you a good leader—but you also lost the ability to use the Rings of Power. Not because you were no longer worthy, but because you wished for it.

“Far too much has been made about royal blood meaning more than noble worth, and there is far too much concern about spells and summonings and process and prophecy. If you want something, ask. If you are willing to pay the price, to earn what you desire, then pay it, and take what is rightfully yours.

“Some of the Caretakers have touched on one of the great truths of creation,” Samaranth continued, “and like all great truths, it is elegant in its simplicity.”

“Believing is seeing,” said Fred.

“So believe,” said Samaranth. “Good luck, and farewell.”

The drive back to the palace was much quieter, as each of the companions was digesting what the great old dragon had said. Of them all, only Fred was certain that the visit had yielded great results. None of the others were quite so sure. The Caretakers, including Bert, were stinging from the dressing-down Samaranth had given them. And Artus was told in so many words that he had essentially made a bad decision for good reasons. But the one thing they all understood was that there was still a chance to win—for all of them.

In his first years as King of the Silver Throne, Artus had proven to be surprisingly effective at governing the vast, eclectic kingdom that was the Archipelago of Dreams. A large part of his success came from his willingness to delegate to others who were more qualified in certain areas than he was. Another factor was his declaration of equal status for his queen, Aven. But the greatest part of his accomplishments came from the fact that he was unafraid to take risks and then stand behind them. There was little point in being responsible if one could not also be accountable.