But,” he added, looking at Artus, “the first duty of a king is to rule for the benefit of his subjects, and not for himself. Your grandfather forgot that. If you survive this day, see to it that you do not.”
He placed his hand over Artus’s own in a gesture of support, followed quickly by Charys and more grudgingly by Eledir. Despite the official endorsement, their faces still showed the doubt and fear they felt.
“Cheer up, boy,” Charys said, bellowing with laughter at Artus’s crestfallen expression. “The way things are looking, none of us is going to survive anyway, so you won’t have to worry about it.”
Farther south on the beach, Charles was struggling with a leather-and-mail vest that one of the dwarves had offered him—which was three sizes too small. As he tried unsuccessfully to fasten the buckles, his little friend from Paralon plopped down on the sand next to him. “Ready when you are, Master Scowler,” said Tummeler. He still had the heavy knapsack, which he was dragging around inside the old bronze shield he’d arrived with, and he had fashioned a helmet from an apple pail. It kept slipping down onto his nose. “Tummeler!” Charles exclaimed. “No offense, but I don’t think badgers are suited for battle!” “Really, think as such, do ye, Master Scowler?” replied Tummeler. “We badgers be gentle creatures, true—but I be thinkin’ ye’ve ne’er seed a badger with his fur all adander.” “Now, now,” Charles began, keeping a nervous eye on the alltoo-close soon-to-be battlefield over the rise. “I know what ye be thinkin’,” said Tummeler. “My smallish happearance an’ happy-go-nancy nature bein’ what they is, ol’ Tummeler can’t possibly be a warrior. “Well,” he continued, “I’s hopin’ that th’ enemy thinks as such—then I c’n take ’em out with my secret weapons.” “Secret weapons?” said Charles. “Yup,” nodded Tummeler. “Gots ’em right here.” The small mammal opened his heavy carryall and showed its contents to Charles and John, who had been eavesdropping as he strapped on armor of his own. “Muffins?” Charles and John exclaimed together. “Your secret weapons are muffins?” “Not just any muffins,” said Tummeler. “Blueberry.” “I’m sorry,” Charles began. Tummeler ignored him and instead removed a fist-size (badger-fist-size) muffin from the bag, took careful aim, and lobbed it considerably farther than either of the men expected was possible. It soared into the air and landed with a thunk onto the helmet of a satyr who had been slinking around the Orange Dragon at the landing fifty yards away. The satyr dropped to the ground, knocked out cold. “Bloody hell,” said John. “Amazing,” said Charles. “Hard as rocks,” said Tummeler. “Whipped them up after I saw y’ off from Paralon, just in case.” “Amazing,” Charles said again. “You made a blueberry muffin into a weapon.” “Atchly, any kind of muffin will do,” said Tummeler, “but I found out that y’ needs t’ use blueberries if y’ wants t’ get it just so. It’s my own secret contribution,” he added. “Won’t breathe a word of it,” said Charles. Jack came running over to his friends, breathing hard. “What is it?” said Charles. “What’s happened?” “It’s the Goblins,” Jack panted. “The Violet Dragon has arrived at last.” The last of the Dragonships resembled an elaborate Chinese junk, which was in line with the elegant mannerisms of the Goblin King and his entourage. It was smaller than the rest, more of a size with the Indigo Dragon, but tall, and it had a beautiful mainsail that shimmered in the light. “I am very happy to see you,” said Bert, offering his hand in greeting. “My friend, Uruk Ko.” The Goblin King hesitated, then took the old man’s hand, giving it a single dignified shake. “I greet you also, my friend the Far Traveler.” “How many have you brought with you?” asked Nemo, looking with a barely disguised disdain at the Violet Dragon, which seemed manned by only a few officious types, none of whom were outfitted for war. “Are they coming by other means?” “Yes,” said Uruk Ko. “Other ships of the kingdom bore my warriors here—more than a thousand, to be exact.” Bert and Aven exchanged relieved glances. This battle would be more evenly matched than they’d first feared. “Do you realize,” Bert said, “that your goblins represent more than half of our defensive force?” “Yes, I do,” Uruk Ko said. “I am pleased you also realize that. It will make what must happen easier to bear.” “Whatever do you mean?” said Bert, scanning the horizon for a sign of the Goblin army’s ships. “When are they expected to arrive?” “You misunderstand me,” said Uruk Ko. “They are already here.” “Really?” Bert said, squinting. “How did I miss them?” “Because,” said the Goblin King, “you are looking in the wrong direction.” “What?” Bert breathed. As one, the other captains and kings turned, then made their way up to the first of the hills, where they could look out over the enemy’s encampments. There they saw the black standards of the Winter King, as well as the flags of Arawn—but also, to the north, they saw with rising dread the unmistakable silken banners of the Goblin King. “It was because of our friendship that I felt honor-bound to tell you myself, and in person,” said Uruk Ko, “and now I have done so. Please—as one who has stood with you as an ally, choose wisely, and leave the battlefield before we must come face- to-face as enemies.” The expressions of the other kings darkened, and a menacing growl came from deep inside Charys’s massive chest, as he moved defensively in front of Artus. Aven spit, cursed, and began to lunge forward, drawing her sword. “What kind of man…,” she began, just as Bert stopped her advance. “Not a man,” said Uruk Ko, as he turned to make his way back to the Violet Dragon. “A goblin, and a Child of the True Archipelago, who wishes only to drive out the usurpers that have ruled for far too long. “Leave, my friends. A new age is dawning, and it will be birthed in fire. A new age; an age of Goblin, Troll, and Shadow. “The age of Man is over.” 
