The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [38]
“He’s not going to be there,” said Charles dismissively. “He never liked it in there to begin with, and after the Morgaine left, I doubt he had any reason to go in at all.”
“Where did they go?” asked Rose, obviously crestfallen. She was hoping that some aspect of her memories had survived on the island, but it was becoming more and more clear that the place was completely abandoned.
“I don’t know where they went,” Charles said. “After the, ah, accident that caused all the trouble at the keep where your Uncle Merlin resides, the Morgaine told us we had unraveled time itself—and we thought we had put things right, but the next time we came here, they were gone. No one knows where.”
“Most intriguing,” said Quixote. “And no one in the castle could tell you where they went?”
Charles looked at John, then Jack in confusion. “You mean on Paralon?” he said. “No, no one there had any clue, not even Samaranth.”
The old knight shook his head and pointed into the cave. “Not on Paralon,” he said plaintively. “The castle. The castle in the cave.”
“We’ve been in there, more than once,” Jack said, grimacing slightly at the hint of condescension he heard in his own voice, “and there’s nothing in there but dust and cobwebs. Hasn’t been for over a decade.”
“Pardon,” said Quixote, bowing slightly. If he’d taken offense at Jack’s tone, it didn’t show. “I would not presume to teach such esteemed scholars as yourselves, but I have a special knowledge of this cave. You see, I have been in it before. There is a wondrous meadow there, and a great castle made of crystal. Inside the castle there are wondrous halls of alabaster marble, where the great heroes of history are interred. It is my hope to one day rest among them.
“And,” he said in conclusion, “in that place, sometimes, it is possible to commune with the dead. So if we choose to enter, it may very well be there that we shall find the answers you seek.”
John blinked, then blinked again. “I’m sure we don’t know what you’re talking about, my good knight.”
Quixote sighed, then smiled knowingly. “I am well used to those around me not believing the stories I tell,” he said, gesturing broadly with his hands. “My tales of the adventures in the Archipelago saw me painted with the brush of a teller of falsehoods, never mind that to tell a lie would be ignoble of a knight. So I understand and I tell you with no rancor that it was prophesied that I would sleep until the call came to serve once more. And I believe that I was destined to be here, now, to aid you on your quest.”
John pondered the knight’s words silently for a moment. In the keep, he had told them that he possessed special knowledge that would be needed by them on their journey. None of them had really believed him, and they had taken him with them out of compassion more than anything else. To do otherwise would have meant his death. But they had never actually considered that he might have been sincere all along.
“Don Quixote de la Mancha,” John said, bowing, “I have spoken in haste, and we have not availed ourselves of the counsel you might offer. If you have a special knowledge of this place, I beg you share it with us.”
Quixote bowed gravely and blushed at John’s respectful speech. He was not accustomed to being spoken to so well, and it took him a few seconds to compose himself.
“To enter the meadow where the castle stands, we must first fall asleep. . . .”
“Fall asleep?” Charles said. “All of us?”
Quixote nodded. “It is through the realm of dreams that we may cross through to the castle.”
Charles and Jack each sighed heavily and slumped against the stones lining the entrance of the cave.
“You mean, you dreamed it all,” Charles began.
“I’m so glad you understand,” said the old knight in obvious relief. “Most people regard it as insanity.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Uh, begging your pardon, but I’m on the fence regarding that myself.”
“To be fair,” Charles pointed out, “he has been sleeping in the keep for the better part of four centuries. To him, all of this might seem as if it were a dream.