The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [74]
“Hello, Jack,” she said, embracing him tightly.
“Hi, Aven,” he said, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”
“Well, um, yes,” said Artus. “Jack, Charles—you remember our son, Stephen.”
Both men took turns shaking Stephen’s hand—and reeling. They’d known Artus at an age younger than this, and he was always a hero at heart—but Stephen was a heroic figure in every sense of the word.
Artus had been thrust into the role of king as a young man, after a childhood that had consisted of being raised by three witches who occasionally dropped him down a well; one remarkable journey to become a knight and slay a dragon, which had turned out successfully at the time, but which became less so as years went by; and then a sudden revelation that he was the heir to the throne of the entire Archipelago. It was all very heady and would have been hard to process for anyone. For someone who preferred to be on an equal status with his own subjects, and who preferred his friends to call him “Bug” when in private, it was nearly impossible. But he had managed to survive, and to prosper.
His son, Stephen, on the other hand, was born to authority, and he proved to be a stunningly effective commander. He was the perfect synthesis of leader, explorer, and inventor. It was he who first proposed that all the legendary Dragonships be converted into airships. And under the watchful eye of the shipbuilder Ordo Maas, and with the permission of the Dragonships themselves, he performed every conversion himself.
Thus he had a personal rapport with every Dragonship that was second only to those they had with the captains who piloted them. This was more impressive when one realized that he had spent the last years of his childhood as a brainwashed prisoner of the King of Crickets, who was really the Winter King’s Shadow in disguise.
As a young man, he had been impressive enough with his noble features and proud bearing. But as an adult, Stephen cut a majestic figure. He wore a leather vest and trousers that mimicked those of the Valkyries, but he also wore the symbol that marked him as a man of legend: the horns and pelt of the Golden Fleece. Together with the mighty double-edged ax he wielded, there were few men in any world who would not pause at his arrival.
“He’s the first mate on the Green Dragon, under the new Captain, Rillian,” said Artus.
“I don’t think I know him,” said Jack, looking around at the group.
“He’s a unicorn,” said Uncas.
“Really?” said Jack. “The only ones I’ve seen were those poor beasts in the Winterland. And what that Wicker Man had done to them,” he added, shuddering. “Awful.”
“Unicorns?” Fred asked. “Oh, you mean the Houyhnhnms. The larger ones, probably pulling a cart, or some such.”
“There are unicorns smaller than horses?”
Fred laughed at this.
“You human scowlers,” he said, “have always gotten that wrong. Unicorns aren’t another name for a horse with a horn. It’s a classification for any animal with one. In fact, most unicorns are mice. It’s just that no one ever really notices the ones here”—he crouched low and waved at the ground—“because they’re always looking for the ones up here.” He stood on tiptoe and pointed upward.
“So this Captain Rillian . . . ,” Charles began.
“Pleased t’ meetcha,” said a voice from below. Charles bent low and shook the unicorn mouse’s paw. “And I you, Captain.”
“Ho, Caretakers!” said a tall, graying centaur. “Are we up to picking a fight?”
“Charys!” Jack exclaimed, clasping arms with the centaur. “It’s a pleasure to see you again!”
“The pleasure is mine, Caretaker,” Charys replied. “I very much enjoyed those books you wrote. Traveling to other planets, oh ho?” The centaur laughed and clapped him on the shoulders. “What an imagination you have!”
“What books was he referring to?” asked Charles as the centaur trotted over to shout some orders at another group arriving in the cove. “When did you write about space travel?”
Jack shrugged, bewildered. “I haven’t the foggiest. It’s something I’ve been toying with, and Ransom certainly