Tears of a Dragon Read online

  Ashley propped her arms on her knees. “I suppose so. But what good would one dragon be against nine?”

  Thigocia flicked her tail and thumped the ground. “He would likely divide and conquer,” she said. “He would try to isolate the females and pick us off one at a time.”

  Bonnie shifted her foot away from Thigocia’s tail. “But he wouldn’t be able to defeat you, would he, Thigocia? Didn’t Sir Edmund say you’re one of the greatest war dragons or something like that?”

  Edmund, who had squeezed between two dragons to draw close, squatted near Bonnie. “I said she was the second greatest I had ever seen.”

  “Was Clefspeare the first?” Bonnie asked.

  Sir Edmund let out a long sigh. “Indeed, he was.”

  Bonnie’s wings fanned out slightly. “Who rode Clefspeare in your battles?”

  Edmund stood and crossed his arms. “No one. He always refused to take a rider. He was the only dragon I have ever seen who could work well in a battle unit without a rider, and his heroism under fire is legendary.”

  Thigocia let out a throaty chirp. “He saved my life at least three times.”

  “And mine, twice,” another dragon chimed in.

  Hartanna snorted, sending a burst of flame into the campfire. The blaze erupted six feet high before settling down again, its cracks and pops echoing in the dome. “Self-sacrifice is the most honorable of attributes,” she said in a low rumble. “Clefspeare’s chivalry was unquestioned.”

  Billy glanced at his mother’s reddening face. It was time to change the subject. He smacked his palm with his fist. “The solution is simple. We just don’t let them get their hands on the candlestone.” He watched while Shelly deposited the gem back in Carl’s hands. “And, besides,” Billy continued, “it’s not just the body that goes into battle; it’s also the mind. There’s no way Devin could do what the real Clefspeare could do. He doesn’t have the experience.”

  The professor began walking again. “Good point, William, and on that note, we’ll move on in our discussion—how to locate your father’s spirit.”

  Sir Patrick raised a finger. “May I interrupt, Charles?”

  The professor paused, his eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. Patrick braced his hand on one knee and rose slowly to his feet. “I think the key to the mystery,” he said, straightening his back, “lies in Fama Regis and its ancient runes, so we must use the Great Key to decipher its contents.” He walked over to Billy and stared down at him, his protruding brow shadowing his eyes. “Have you discovered how to use the key, young Arthur?”

  Billy caressed the ancient leather cover. “I think so, but it’s not real fast at translating.” He raised Fama Regis toward Sir Patrick. “I was thinking maybe you’d be able to read it since you lived back then.”

  Patrick waved his hand at the book. “After I became human, I began to learn the written language, but I had to flee what is now Europe before I mastered it, so it faded from my mind centuries ago. The same is true with Hartanna and the other dragons. I believe only Clefspeare remained in Europe, so he would be the only one who could read it now.” He stepped over and joined Professor Hamilton. With both lanky men standing with their hands in their pockets, they seemed like mirror images, both strong and gentle, and both creased by time. “In any case,” Sir Patrick continued, “there may be much more to the key’s power than a simple reading of words. We shall see.”

  “What about the knights?” Billy flopped open the book and showed it to Edmund. “Think you can still read books from your time?”

  “No, William.” Edmund thumped his chest with his fist. “We were soldiers, not scholars. Although I have learned modern English quite well, back in our time, we were trained to fight, not to read.”

  Sir Patrick reached his hand down toward Billy. “I understand your desire to find an easier road, William, but I’m sure you’ve learned by now that scaling steep mountains leads to greater wisdom and strength.”

  Billy slipped his hand into Patrick’s and enjoyed the surprisingly strong grip as the old man vaulted him to his feet. Raising his voice so that all could hear, Patrick gestured toward the old log. “Please excuse us. This may take awhile.” He nodded at Walter. “I understand that the protective dome allows people to exit but not enter, so if anyone has to answer the call of nature, you will have to temporarily shut down the dome when he or she returns. Can you?”

  Walter jiggled the hilt. “Just stop waving it, right?”

  “Right,” Billy said. “That’ll kill the dome, but not the beam. Don’t zap anyone with it.”

  Walter flashed an “Okay” sign. “Gotcha.”

  Sir Patrick, Professor Hamilton, and Billy walked side by side to the log. Since it had been moved from its original spot, hundreds of beetles and multi-legged arthropods skittered to and fro along the damp, bare ground. Billy gently rolled the log back in place, allowing the professor and Sir Patrick to sit.

  Instead of crowding into the narrow space between the two men, Billy sat cross-legged in front of them and opened Fama Regis on his lap. Flipping to the poem the rubellite had translated for him, he held it up for his two mentors to see. “Look. The English words are still there. They used to be like those stick figure things on the next page.”

  The professor and Sir Patrick craned their necks forward, reading the strange words in the dim firelight. Patrick pointed at one of the lines. “This part is similar to a prophecy I heard Merlin speak in person. It’s how I learned about the key.” He read it out loud.

  A dragon’s key unlocks the truth

  Of light’s redeeming power to save.

  Its eye transforms the red to white;

  It finds the lost, makes wise the knave.

  “But Merlin’s poem was in the old language,” Patrick continued, “and, frankly, I don’t remember the words, just what it taught me.”

  Billy moved the pendant’s light to the next page. “Let’s see what this one says. It’s not divided into lines like a poem this time.” The blinking red glow settled on the top half of the page, focusing most of its energy on the title. Without the pressure of a flooded cave threatening to drown him, the characters seemed to morph more quickly than before. Within seconds, the strange runes wiggled out of place, squirming like thin black worms until they created new letters, spelling out “The History of Excalibur.”

  “Cool.” Billy shifted the light down to the first line. “It’s about Excalibur.” As the “worms” continued to form new letters, Billy read out loud, the squiggling spellers keeping just ahead of him.

  The story covered several pages, vividly describing how Arthur obtained the sword from a dark sorceress who claimed to be a water goddess, the Lady of the Lake. Once she bequeathed Excalibur to him, its powers could only be summoned by the king and his descendants, or by a trusted companion and his descendants. Once chosen, that companion could not be changed. Naturally, Arthur chose Merlin. Whom could he possibly trust more?

  Sir Patrick laid his hand on the book’s page. “Stop!”

  Billy jerked his head up. “What’s the matter?”

  “Bonnie is in Arthur’s line,” Patrick said, “and Charles is a descendant of Merlin, so it makes sense that they were able to use the sword.” He slowly turned his head toward the campfire. “But why does it work for Walter?”

  Professor Hamilton leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees. “Perhaps I can explain. Walter’s father came to Oxford to research ancient documents. He had some evidence that he is a descendant of King Arthur, but he was never able to prove it. Since I am an expert in the field, he took several of my classes, and we became friends. Unfortunately, we never made the final genealogical connection.” He nodded toward Walter. “Apparently we now have empirical evidence without the paperwork to back it up.”

  Billy dipped his head and whispered, “Walter’s an heir to the king?”

  “Yes,” the professor replied, “and apparently a natural one, so he would supercede you in the line
.”

  “That’s weird,” Billy said. “Why couldn’t he pull Excalibur from the stone back when we first found it?”

  “A good point, William. At that time, I considered his failure as final proof that he was not in the line.”

  “There are many heirs,” Patrick said, “but only the one who could draw out the sword is destined to lead. God knows whom he has chosen and why he has chosen him. At least for now, William, you are the sword-bearer and the chosen one.”

  Billy picked up a stick and twirled it thoughtfully in his fingers. “That’s too bad. I didn’t want to be a king.” He snapped the stick in two and tossed the pieces to the ground. “What about Shelly? She’s older than Walter. Maybe she would come ahead of me. Maybe she could have pulled out the sword.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Patrick replied. “The British royals would never recognize you anyway. But since Shelly’s an heir . . .” His eyes grew dark. He thrust himself to his feet, his gaze searching the camp. “Where is she?”

  Billy pushed off the ground. “I don’t know. Call of nature, maybe?” He shouted over the pattering rain. “Walter! Where’s your sister?”

  Walter, seated between Ashley and Karen, pointed toward the forest. “She had to visit the trees.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Ever since you started your super secret meeting. About twenty minutes, I guess. She said she was cramping up, so it might be awhile.”

  Sir Patrick’s face turned rubellite red, a taut vein pounding near his temple. “Dragons!” he shouted. “All but one of you search the forest from the sky! You must find Shelly immediately and bring her back by force if necessary! Knights, search from the ground. Split into pairs, and never leave your partner! She is a villain to be reckoned with!”

  The dragons took to the air, plunging upward through the dome, leaving Hartanna behind. The knights charged into different sections of the woods, two by two.

  Carl leaped to his feet, his face matching Patrick’s crimson hue. “Villain?!” He stormed up to Patrick, meeting him almost nose to nose. “How dare you call my daughter a villain!” Sweat beaded on his balding head as curls of vapor rose from his scalp into the air.

  “No time to explain!” Patrick backed away, continuing to shout commands. “Walter! Douse the dome, or it will block the dragons and knights from returning.” He quickstepped over to Hartanna, who dipped her head as he spoke into her ear. Walter loosened his grip on Excalibur, and the beam blinked out. Billy gave Walter a healthy slap on the back, and Walter returned the sword to Billy’s scabbard. With rain cascading again in violent sheets, Marilyn huddled under Hartanna’s wing with Bonnie, Ashley, Karen, and Shiloh.

  Carl stood in the rain, his eyes darting all around and his mouth wide open. He seemed paralyzed by anger and fear. Billy and Walter joined him. Billy pulled up the collar on his jacket, feeling colder than ever. “I’m not sure how to explain all this, Mr. Foley, but . . .” A sudden brisk wind bit through his wet clothes. He wasn’t sure what to say, and the chill made it hard to think.

  “Carl.” Professor Hamilton jogged over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think I can help.”

  Carl swept the professor’s hand aside. “I have to find Shelly before the dragons do!” He took a long step toward the forest.

  “Wait!” The professor grabbed Carl’s bicep, nearly falling over as he strained to keep him in place. “There’s something you have to know!”

  Carl’s nose flared, his voice sharpening. “What?”

  Rivulets streamed into the professor’s bushy eyebrows. He had to shout to be heard over the pounding storm. “Walter’s ability to use Excalibur proves that you and he are descendants of King Arthur!”

  “Yeah?” Carl replied, crossing his arms. “So? We suspected that for a long time.”

  “Exactly.” The professor leaned closer to Carl’s ear and lowered his voice. “But what you didn’t know is that Morgan needed to possess a female in the royal line in order to survive. Since Shelly is also in the line, she is a prime target. She could be Morgan’s hostiam.”

  “A hostiam?” Carl kept his voice low to match the professor’s. “What are you talking about?”

  The professor hugged his trench coat closer to himself. “There is no time to tell the entire story, but your daughter’s behavior points to the probability that Morgan has taken control of her body. She left the airport with a stranger, only to reappear exactly where I was driving on a deserted mountain road. She shamed you into letting her hold the candlestone, and now she has disappeared.”

  “Ridiculous!” Carl fished in his pocket and withdrew the candlestone. It lay in his palm, a pool of water quickly gathering around it. “Isn’t this what she was after?”

  Billy laid his hand on his stomach. Nausea brewed inside, sending a burning swill into his esophagus.

  Carl closed his fingers around it again. “Shelly could have stolen it, but she didn’t.”

  Walter stepped in front of his father and held out his hand. “I need to look at it. It’s important.”

  Billy couldn’t see around Walter’s body, but he guessed Carl was giving Walter a peek at the gem.

  “When I dug it out of the wall of the abyss,” Walter said, “I accidentally put a little notch in it with the sword. I guess these gems aren’t as tough as diamonds.” Although his hands were hidden, Billy saw his arms jiggling, like he was combing the candlestone for a flaw. “It’s not the same one.” Walter’s voice sank with his drooping head. “Shelly . . . uh, Morgan, I guess . . . must have pulled a switcheroo.”

  Carl slid the gem into his pocket. He grabbed Walter’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Did she hear me say where your mom and Pebbles are?”

  Walter nodded vigorously. “She asked you, remember? You told her exactly where they are.”

  Carl jerked his cell phone from his belt and pressed a button. Snapping it up to his ear, he waited, bouncing on his toes. “Come on! Come on!” He rolled his eyes and let out an angry snort. “Voice mail.” He nodded impatiently through the greeting. “Honey, listen! Get yourself and Pebbles out of the motel now! And don’t go back. Just find another motel, any motel, and try to call me.” He slapped the cell phone closed and spun toward Hartanna. “Karen? Can Larry get the number of the motel for me?”

  Karen pressed the computer to her lips and marched out into the rain. “You listening in, Larry?”

  “Yes. I have already found the motel and alerted the police in the community. I am now making the call to the motel itself. Please speak up if you want to add anything.”

  Karen gave the computer to Carl and slid her hands into her pockets. Ashley joined her and stood by her side in the downpour.

  The sound of a ringing phone buzzed through the speaker. A young male answered. “Thank you for calling the gold-award-winning Comfort Inn and Suites in La Vale. This is Brian. How may I help you?”

  Larry’s voice morphed into an exact replica of Carl’s, even copying his exasperated tone. “This is an emergency call from Carl Foley. I checked my wife, Catherine, and a little girl in there earlier, and someone is stalking them. Get me through to their room immediately!”

  “Right away, Sir.”

  Another purring sound of a ringing phone repeated several times.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. There’s no answer.”

  “Then go to the room and leave this note on the door. ‘Do not enter this room under any circumstances. Leave immediately and call Carl for further instructions.’” Larry paused. “Got that?”

  “Got it, Sir. I’ll put a note up there right away.”

  “I called 9-1-1,” Larry continued in Carl’s voice. “The police are on the way. Show them the room and give them this number.” Larry recited Carl’s cell phone number. “Have them report to me as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll watch the lobby door and catch your wife if she comes back.”

  “Good. Thank you very much.”

  “You�
��re welcome, Sir. I’ll take care of it.” A click followed.

  Carl’s arms hung limp. “Larry, that was brilliant. I was so nervous, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

  “I knew your emotions had rendered your brain relatively incapacitated. My programming instructs me to help humans when they reach that point.”

  Carl shook his head slowly. “You’re right.” He gave the computer back to Karen and sloshed through the drenched leaves, raising his shaking hands. “I’d better go away and think for a few minutes.”

  Billy stood next to Walter. His friend’s head drooped, rain dripping in front of his face. Billy wasn’t sure if it would be manly to give him a hug, but he didn’t care. He draped his arm over Walter’s shoulders and pulled him to his side, then released him with a pat on the back. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure out how to save them all.”

  Walter kept his gaze low. His voice spiked with anger. “That witch has my sister, and now she’s after my mom.” He lifted his head toward Billy, his eyes red and his jaw tight. “I’m not going to let her keep them.”

  Billy patted his back again. Everything he thought to say sounded trite or sermonized, but he needed to say something to reassure his friend. “Have faith, Walter. God’s never let us down before.”

  Walter nodded, drooping his head again. “Yeah. I know. Keep reminding me.”

  Sir Patrick returned, splashing through the puddles, apparently unaffected by the cold even though his light jacket clamped to his skin. “Hartanna and I are in agreement. Morgan is likely ready to execute the next step in her plan, so we must move ahead with plans of our own.”

  The professor nodded and crossed his arms. “But what is her next step?”

  Patrick copied the professor’s stance and raised a finger. “The flooding crisis brought Shelly to her in a way that would procure the candlestone, but I think she intended more than that.” He tilted his head upward and sniffed the air. “Hartanna’s senses are more acute than ours, and she says she has never smelled such a foul rain. There is something evil in the water.”