The Shadow Dragons

by James A. Owen

  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.

  As the Strange Attractor pulled up to one of the boulevards that led to the main part of the city, a badger jumped out of the brush next to the road and flagged them down.

  “Uncas!” Jack exclaimed.

  “Dad!” Fred shouted as he slammed on his brakes. “What are you doing out here?”

  “You can’t go into the city, and nowhere near the palace,” said Uncas. He was obviously very upset—he’d twisted his hat into a knot.

  “Why not?” said Artus. “What’s happened?”

  “The Senate convened early, and the Chancellor was granted sovereignty over the entire Archipelago!” Uncas cried. “He started by putting out a call to have you arrested for instigating the attacks on Kor!”

  “And so it begins,” Artus said, his face darkening.

  “This is a put-up job,” exclaimed Jack. “You’re being set up for a fall, Artus.”

  “What should we do?” Charles asked.

  “Already in the works,” Uncas said as he climbed into the back of the Strange Attractor. “We’re to meet everyone at Halsey Cove.”

  “Who’s everyone?” asked Charles.

  “Y’know,” Uncas said. “Everyone.”

  Halsey Cove was an old, seldom-used port several miles south of Paralon proper. It was more archaic, but architecturally more elegant than the main seaports. It was also occasionally used for covert meetings of any kind. Ransom was standing at the head of the docks when they pulled up.

  “I trust you heard there’s a party being thrown in your honor back at the palace,” said Ransom.

  “I heard,” Artus said. “I think I’ll skip it.”

  “While you’ve been having tea with a dragon,” Ransom said, grinning wryly, “I’ve been gathering a few friends.”

  The companions climbed out of the vehicle and realized that Uncas had been telling the truth: Everyone was indeed waiting.

  Five of the seven great Dragonships of legend were assembled at the docks. Their captains, along with many personages and creatures who remained loyal to the Silver Throne, were waiting in formation for the king. And foremost among these were the queen, Aven, and her son, Prince Stephen.

  The companions rushed forward and greeted them joyfully. Bert, Aven’s father, embraced her with tears in his eyes. She hugged him tightly, then stood up straight to take Jack’s measure as he was taking hers.

  She had aged, as had he, but she was still the pirate girl he had adored, and she still had the mettle in her eyes that made her the greatest captain in the Archipelago.

  “Hello, Jack,” she said, embracing him tightly.

  “Hi, Aven,” he said, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Well, um, yes,” said Artus. “Jack, Charles—you remember our son, Stephen.”

  Both men took turns shaking Stephen’s hand—and reeling. They’d known Artus at an age younger than this, and he was always a hero at heart—but Stephen was a heroic figure in every sense of the word.

  Artus had been thrust into the role of king as a young man, after a childhood that had consisted of being raised by three witches who occasionally dropped him down a well; one remarkable journey to become a knight and slay a dragon, which had turned out successfully at the time, but which became less so as years went by; and then a sudden revelation that he was the heir to the throne of the entire Archipelago. It was all very heady and would have been hard to process for anyone. For someone who preferred to be on an equal status with his own subjects, and who preferred his friends to call him “Bug” when in private, it was nearly impossible. But he had managed to survive, and to prosper.

  His son, Stephen, on the other hand, was born to authority, and he proved to be a stunningly effective commander. He was the perfect synthesis of leader, explorer, and inventor. It was he who first proposed that all the legendary Dragonships be converted into airships. And under the watchful eye of the shipbuilder Ordo Maas, and with the permission of the Dragonships themselves, he performed every conversion himself.

  Thus he had a personal rapport with every Dragonship that was second only to those they had with the captains who pil
oted them. This was more impressive when one realized that he had spent the last years of his childhood as a brainwashed prisoner of the King of Crickets, who was really the Winter King’s Shadow in disguise.

  As a young man, he had been impressive enough with his noble features and proud bearing. But as an adult, Stephen cut a majestic figure. He wore a leather vest and trousers that mimicked those of the Valkyries, but he also wore the symbol that marked him as a man of legend: the horns and pelt of the Golden Fleece. Together with the mighty double-edged ax he wielded, there were few men in any world who would not pause at his arrival.

  “He’s the first mate on the Green Dragon, under the new Captain, Rillian,” said Artus.

  “I don’t think I know him,” said Jack, looking around at the group.

  “He’s a unicorn,” said Uncas.

  “Really?” said Jack. “The only ones I’ve seen were those poor beasts in the Winterland. And what that Wicker Man had done to them,” he added, shuddering. “Awful.”

  “Unicorns?” Fred asked. “Oh, you mean the Houyhnhnms. The larger ones, probably pulling a cart, or some such.”

  “There are unicorns smaller than horses?”

  Fred laughed at this.

  “You human scowlers,” he said, “have always gotten that wrong. Unicorns aren’t another name for a horse with a horn. It’s a classification for any animal with one. In fact, most unicorns are mice. It’s just that no one ever really notices the ones here”—he crouched low and waved at the ground—“because they’re always looking for the ones up here.” He stood on tiptoe and pointed upward.

  “So this Captain Rillian . . . ,” Charles began.

  “Pleased t’ meetcha,” said a voice from below. Charles bent low and shook the unicorn mouse’s paw. “And I you, Captain.”

  “Ho, Caretakers!” said a tall, graying centaur. “Are we up to picking a fight?”

  “Charys!” Jack exclaimed, clasping arms with the centaur. “It’s a pleasure to see you again!”

  “The pleasure is mine, Caretaker,” Charys replied. “I very much enjoyed those books you wrote. Traveling to other planets, oh ho?” The centaur laughed and clapped him on the shoulders. “What an imagination you have!”

  “What books was he referring to?” asked Charles as the centaur trotted over to shout some orders at another group arriving in the cove. “When did you write about space travel?”

  Jack shrugged, bewildered. “I haven’t the foggiest. It’s something I’ve been toying with, and Ransom certainly sparked some interesting ideas. But I’m a blank slate.”

  “That’s the annoying thing about time travel,” said Charles. “You always feel like you’re late to the party, even when you aren’t.”

  There were other familiar faces as well: Eledir the Elf King; Falladay Finn, of the Dwarves; and the Valkyries, led by Laura Glue.

  “We have everyone,” she said to Aven and Artus. “Everyone still loyal to the Silver Throne. We’re almost ready to go.”

  “Are you abandoning the Archipelago?” Jack asked in astonishment.

  “No,” said Aven. “We’re moving the base of operations for the true government to a safer place.”

  “We’re consolidating our power,” said Bert, “and we’re going to do it in the Nameless Isles.”

  “Is this a coup?” asked Laura Glue. “I think we’re starting a coup.”

  “We might be at that,” said Aven. “We’re only waiting for one more ship to arrive.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Artus. “Of course.”

  “He came through with one of the Time Storms a year ago,” said Artus, pointing out into the cove. “I think you’re in for a real surprise, Jack.”

  Just past where the White Dragon was moored, the surface of the water had begun to bubble and roil about. A ship was surfacing. A very familiar ship.

  The great, gleaming bulk of the Yellow Dragon rose up out of the water, and the port hatch lifted. A man both familiar and not stepped out onto the hull and crossed his arms defiantly.

  Charles looked on in wonderment, while Jack reeled with the shock of the sight before them.

  The man was scarcely out of his teens, if that, but his manner and bearing—and his arrogance—were instantly familiar.

  “Speak, and be recognized,” called out Uncas. “Who be ye, and where be y’r allegiance?”

  “My allegiance is to my ship and crew,” the youth replied, dropping off the ship onto the dock, “and to the Archipelago and those who serve her. And as for me,” he finished, jabbing a thumb at his chest, “I am the seventh son of the seventh son of Sinbad himself, and I’m here to pick a fight.”

  He strode over to Jack and stuck out a hand in greeting. “Nemo is my name.”

  The gatekeeper was a blind man . . . covered in tattoos . . .

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Abaton

  Geoffrey Chaucer called the Gatherum of Caretakers to silence, then addressed the first order of business. “This is one of the reasons we required you to stay at Tamerlane House,” he said to John. “We are the historic Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica, but we are also past our times. Outside of these walls, we can influence very little, and for too short a time.

  “But you are still young and vital—and you are the current Caveo Principia. The Principal Caretaker. And so while we may debate, and offer opinions and counsel, the ultimate decision must be yours.”

  “Which decision is that?” asked John.

  “Whether or not,” Chaucer said evenly, “Richard Burton is right.”

  The concept stunned John into silence. Right about what? About the Archipelago? Were they actually considering the position of their enemy as being more worthy than their own?

  “I understand what you must be thinking,” Charles Dickens said. “After all, I was the one who recruited him as my apprentice. But ever since your first clash with him, we have been debating whether or not there might not be some merit to his point of view.”

  “Secrecy has been the mandate,” added Twain. “It always has been. But there comes a time when we must acknowledge that the horse may have left the stable long before we barred the doors.”

  “What do you mean?” asked John.

  “These,” Hawthorne said, tossing a copy of Tummeler’s Geographica on the table. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Everywhere in the Archipelago,” John corrected. “We were very clear about that. Tummeler was more than happy to comply, and I know Artus was keeping an eye on his operation.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” said Chaucer. “This move Artus made to turn the kingdom into a republic has only made his affinity for the ways of our world grow stronger. We fear that an embargo may not be sufficient.”

  “Copies are bound to slip across the Frontier,” said Irving, “and we no longer believe that Artus would see that as a threat to the Archipelago.”

  “Wasn’t the Silver Throne established to unite both worlds?” John asked. “Under the rule of Arthur?”

  “That was the original plan, and one of the reasons to have Rings of Power in both,” said Chaucer, “but that was effectively ended when Mordred returned and killed Arthur. His heirs were able rulers, but they constrained themselves to rule in the Archipelago, not in the Summer Country. And as the years passed, the divide simply grew broader.”

  “And now,” continued Twain, “we fear that Artus may seek to reestablish a foothold in the Summer Country. And if that happens, even in the attempt, he will compromise everything that is here.”

  John leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “If it’s as risky as you say, then isn’t the debate about Burton moot?”

  “Burton cares less about rule and authority than he does about the welfare of the Archipelago itself,” said Dickens. “He was, and is, an explorer at heart—and he simply wishes to share his discoveries with the world.”

  “That’s something I’ve often wondered about,” said John. “If Burton believes so strongly that
the truth of the Archipelago should be known, why hasn’t he spread copies of the Geographica far and wide a long time ago? All he’d have to do to expose all of us is tell the truth—so why bother with the cloak-and-dagger machinations and plotting?”

  “For the same reason that Houdini and Conan Doyle chose discreet silence,” said Twain. “Without the permission of either the dragons, the king, or the Caretakers, Samaranth would hunt them down and roast them otherwise.”

  “Which alludes to my point about Artus,” said Chaucer. “Our oath of secrecy was to protect the Archipelago as well as the atlas itself.”

  “It seems to me we’ve strayed far afield from our point,” said Twain, “which is that as the Geographica becomes more widely known, it becomes far less rare—and less dangerous.”

  “There are still many things within the actual atlas that are secret,” said John. “We certainly didn’t allow Tummeler access to those.”

  “There will always be secrets, just as there will always be mysteries,” said Chaucer. “But stories will go on regardless. All we are really given is the opportunity to shape how the stories are told.”

  “There is one great difference between them,” a soft voice said from somewhere above. Poe was watching, listening.

  “Mysteries are meant to be solved, to be discovered. But secrets are meant to be kept, to remain hidden,” he said, “and sometimes one doesn’t discover a secret was actually a mystery until it’s too late.”

  “What is it?” asked Twain. “What’s happened?”

  “The book,” said Poe. “Someone has stolen the Last Book.”

  The entire room was pin-drop silent for a few seconds before it exploded into an uproar. Caretakers were yelling at one another, and yelling for order, and one or two were simply yelling.

  “That’s done it,” said Irving. “We’re done for.”

  “Someone should be flogged,” said Shakespeare.

  “It was bound to happen,” said Defoe.

  “Will everyone please be quiet!” said Chaucer.

  Suddenly a shot rang out, and the entire room went silent again.

  Mark Twain blew the smoke off the barrel and pocketed his small silver gun.