The First Dragon(48)
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Edmund said to Rose. “It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever witnessed!” He looked up at Madoc. “Uh, except your transformation. That was most excellent also.”
Madoc didn’t respond. He was watching Rose, and the tears in her eyes mirrored his own.
“This is where their lives as Dragons began,” she said softly. “And I remember where they ended—I just wish I could forget.”
Fred hugged her leg in sympathy. In one of the greatest battles of the Archipelago, all the Dragon shadows had been turned to serve a new master: the Shadow of the Winter King, her father, when he was known as Mordred. The only way to release the Dragons was for her to sever the shadows’ link to the earth with the sword Caliburn—but that also meant the end of the Dragons’ days as guardians of the Archipelago.
“It is not your fault,” Madoc whispered to her as he hesitantly reached out to take her hand. “It was mine. My choices brought about their end. Not yours.”
She didn’t reply, or look at him—but she didn’t let go of his hand, either.
♦ ♦ ♦
It went more quickly than any of them could have expected, this transformation of angels into Dragons. But when it was complete, the terrace and the sky above the tower were filled with them.
“Uh, Samaranth?” Fred said, hesitant to address the Dragon directly, but doing so anyway. “I want to ask—out there, in the desert, there is a huge ship. On it are all the Children of the Earth.”
“The animals,” Samaranth rumbled. “We had made no provisions for them. . . .” He stopped, realizing what the little badger had actually said. “They are all on a ship, you say?”
Fred nodded so enthusiastically the others thought his head might fly off. “Several of every kind,” he said, “gathered together by Ordo Maas. Uh, I mean, Deucalion. Or, uh, Utnapishtim.”
“Ah,” the Dragon responded, with what seemed to be a smile. “The old king from the Empty Quarter. I had wondered what it was he was building out there.” He gestured with one hand and summoned another Dragon, a giant creature with the aspect of a cat in his countenance.
“Kerubiel,” Samaranth told the Dragon. “Go, find the ship, and make certain it crosses over safely.”
“Samaranth,” the god Prometheus implored, “that . . . is my son. There are things he will need, things he must be given.” He gestured at the flame. “May I accompany the Dragon?”
Kerubiel did not speak, but simply nodded at Prometheus. The god climbed atop the Dragon, who launched himself into the air and winged his way at top speed toward the desert.
“Thank you,” said Fred. “That’s very gentlemanly of you to do.”
“It will take a long time for this world to recover,” Samaranth told the companions, “but when it does, it can be as it once was, as the Garden was, in the beginning.”
“Yes,” said Madoc. “It will be the true Summer Country.”
“The Summer Country,” Samaranth said, growling in satisfaction. “So mote it be, little Namer. So mote it be, little king.”
Madoc stared, shocked at the title. “I am no king, Samaranth,” he murmured back, “as you will discover for yourself, in time.”
At this, the Dragon rose up to his full, terrifying height and began to beat his wings to rise aloft. Even Rose flinched at the looming sight of the red Dragon. “I am a Namer, little king, and I know my own. You may not be a king in fact, but you have it in your countenance to be. You have it within you. Just remember—a king who commands by force may rule, but a king who is followed because he is loved, and trusted, will rule forever.”
The Dragon turned to the rest of the former Host and indicated that it was time to leave, to attend to the responsibilities they had just taken on.
“Samaranth, wait!” Charles exclaimed. “I want to ask you something. Please!”
The great Dragon lowered himself to the ground and a growl rumbled deep inside his chest. “What is it, little Son of Adam?”
Charles shuddered inwardly and realized suddenly that this might not have been the wisest thing to do. This was not the old, tempered, world-wise Samaranth he’d met as a young Caretaker-to-be. This was a newborn Dragon, who had just sacrificed his life as an angel of the Host of Heaven in order to create the Archipelago and safeguard the entire world. Still, he couldn’t help himself—he had to ask.
“The book,” said Charles, “the one my colleagues call the Telos Biblos. It contains all the names of those angels who became Dragons—except for yours.”