Here, There Be Dragons

“Perseus,” said Charles, as a connection clicked in his mind. “The shield belonged to Perseus.”
“That’s it!” Tummeler said excitedly. “Samaranth said that even th’ smallest o’ us c’n be a hero, if they have th’ chance—and he said this shield would give me th’ chance.”
“Did he now?” said Charles as a smile began to cheshire over his face. “I think he’s right—and I think we’re about to deal a nasty blow to the Winter King.”

“It only makes sense,” John said as he and Artus climbed the low rise of the ridge. “Arthur created the Silver Throne to rule in both worlds—our world and the Archipelago. If part of his power was the ability to summon the dragons, he would want to be able to do it no matter which realm he was in.”
Artus nodded, mute. It was beginning to be evident to him that John really believed he could make something useful happen—and Artus didn’t believe that himself. In the last few days, he’d seen a sharp line drawn between his boyhood fantasies about being a knight and the realities of living in a world where actions had real consequences.
It took only a minute for them to ascend to the rough circle of stones. As they stepped inside, a chill wind began to rise, concentrated within the circle itself.
“I think this was maybe a bad idea…,” Artus began.
John gripped him by the shoulders and spun him around. Artus expected a lecture, but John just smiled at him, as the wind grew in speed and intensity. “Think of it this way—if it works, it works. If it doesn’t, we tried. If knights only went on quests they were sure of, they’d never go at all.”
“Good point.”
The wind swirled about them as if it intended to rip them from the very Earth and fling them into the abyss. The roar of the falls echoed against the stone of the bluff, and the spray plastered their hair to their faces. The elements seemed to be conspiring to drive them back as John opened the Geographica and turned it to the page Artus needed.
“John,” Artus called out, “are you certain of this?”
“As certain as I can be of anything,” John called back over the violent storm.
“How can I do this, John?” Artus yelled. “I can’t! I’m not ready for this!”
John thrust the Geographica into Artus’s hands.
“You wished all your life to be a knight,” he said, his voice firm and his eyes clear. “Now claim your destiny, and become a king.”
Artus drew a deep breath and began to calm down. His eyes darted back and forth from the desperately earnest face of his friend to the near-holy book in his hands—a book that could create a king, that would create a king, if only he so chose.
Reading a few lines from a book to claim his heritage, his throne, and his destiny. As simple an action as drawing a sword from an anvil.
Artus looked over the lines a final time, then closed the book and began to recite:
By right and rule
For need of might
I call on thee
I call on thee
By blood bound
By honor given
I call on thee
I call on thee
For life and light your protection given
From within this ring by the power of Heaven
I call on thee
I call on thee
With the last word, the tempest around them suddenly began to fade.
Finished, Artus looked at the darkness, then at the book, then again out into the void. “Did I do it right?”
“You did just fine,” said John. “You certainly did something.”
“How long is it supposed to take?”
“It doesn’t say.”
They waited for five heartbeats, then ten.
Then twenty. Then twenty more.
Nothing happened.

Too much ground had been given in the effort to use Jack’s offensive. Charys and Eledir had trusted Nemo and Nemo had trusted Jack, and the line had been irrevocably moved. The allies had lost more than half of their soldiers to the Shadow-Born, and although the Wendigo had at worst killed only a small number of the fallen, it was going to happen to the rest sooner or later.
What remained of the elves, dwarves, animals, and mythbeasts had come together in a hollow just opposite the beach, where they were ringed in by Charys and the centaurs, who stood as the last line of defense.
The Shadow-Born had swarmed past, and for a few moments Aven and Bert thought that some miracle had occurred—but it was no miracle, just more strategy. The dark specters had cut off the path of retreat to the ships. There would be no escape.
At the command of the Winter King, a Wendigo sounded a hunting horn and summoned the Troll and Goblin armies back to the field.
The battle was over.

Artus and John had not seen the events of the battlefield. They had fixed their attention outward, toward the void.
Artus drew in a sharp breath, then glanced quickly at John, who held his gaze steady.
“Something’s wrong, John.”
“Have patience, Artus. I believe in you.”
Artus seemed to shrink inward. “I don’t know if I do.”
“That’s all right,” John said, gripping the younger man’s shoulder. “I believe enough for both of us.”
Then the world shifted. Something changed. The air was stilled, and even the eternal roar of the falls became muted, as if the world had begun to hold its breath.
The eye of the storm had opened up around the small, noble ring of standing stones, and it extended its pull into the distant reaches of eternity—and there, something entered the open doorway of the eye.
“Look!” said John. “Look to the void—there, in the darkness! Do you see it?”
Far above their heads, deep to the west, a single point of light had appeared, small, but sharp and bright.
A star.
“I see it,” said Artus. “But what does it—”
“Another one!” said John, pointing. “And there! Another!”
As they watched, the sky beyond began to fill with stars that flickered and flared into bright life. Then, unexpectedly, some of the stars grew brighter. And brighter. And then they began to move.
“John,” said Artus breathlessly, “those aren’t stars…
“…those are dragons.”
At last—at long last, the dragons had returned to the Archipelago.
Part Six

The Summer Country