The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [88]
“It is one of mine as well, milady,” said Quixote, “and that is the reason I have come. I seek a boon.”
Her eyes flared up briefly before she softened again. “Of all who seek me out to ask for favors,” she said, “only you have the right to do so. What do you seek?”
“Milady,” Quixote said, “we seek the return of the sword Caliburn.”
The Lady drew back a few feet, then drew back again, holding her hands to her chest. “My son’s sword?” she exclaimed. “You wish me to give you the sword of Arthur?”
“We do.”
She shook her head. “It is shattered. It is useless to you.”
“Surely there must be a way to repair it?” Quixote asked. “It is a matter of the gravest importance.”
“You are speaking of the Prophecy, are you not?”
He nodded. “I am.”
The Lady seemed to shrink in on herself at this. “The only thing more destructive than limitless ambition,” she said, “is a Prophecy, and the fools who follow it.”
Turning, she sank into the water and disappeared. For a moment Quixote and Rose were worried that they had offended her, but an instant later she rose back through the water and approached them again, arms outstretched.
In one hand she held the hilt, in the other, the blade. She handed them both to Quixote.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Now that we have the sword, we can repair it and—”
“Repair it?” said the Lady. “It cannot be repaired by any smith in the Archipelago or in the Summer Country. It was forged in a time before the age of the Old Gods was over, and none remain who can match the work.”
“There must be someone,” said Rose. “Taliesin, perhaps?”
“If it were only that, then it might be possible,” said the Lady, “but this sword was not shattered by force—it was shattered by a breaking of the Old Magic. And only by Old Magic may it be restored.
“There is only one way to repair Caliburn,” she continued, with a tone in her voice that defied argument. “Only he who broke it may restore it. Only Madoc.”
“Madoc!” Rose exclaimed. “My father? But he may be the very enemy we are fighting against—or at least, an aspect of him.”
“I told you that you would not be so happy to hear the answers I had to give,” said Nimue.
“I am not sad,” said Quixote. “I asked for a boon, and you granted it. We needed this sword, and you gave it to us. We needed to know how to restore it, and without seeking more for yourself, you shared the secret with us. There is nothing that has happened here today that has saddened me.”
“Just remember,” Nimue said as she turned and began fading back beneath the water, “do not make the mistakes your forebears made. Do not sacrifice that which you want the most, for that which you want the most at that moment.”
“And do not forget,” she said, almost gone.
“Only Madoc may repair Caliburn. Only Madoc.”
“But he’s dead—isn’t he?” asked Shakespeare. “The great Dragon dropped him over the waterfall at the Edge of the World.”
“His Shadow survived, and plagues us still,” said Bert, “so we believe that somehow, somewhere, he must still be alive.”
The war council had been reconvened to decide what to do. They had the sword—but making it whole seemed impossible.
“There’s no way to even find him if he lives,” said Defoe. “No one’s ever gone over the Edge of the World. No one who has returned, that is.”
“That’s not exactly correct,” said Twain, “is it, Professor? It is indeed possible that Mordred—pardon, Madoc—survived, and it’s equally possible to find where he is.”
“What does he mean?” John said, turning to his mentor.
“It’s very simple,” said Professor Sigurdsson. “Rose must find Madoc, and I must accompany Rose as her guide. There is no other alternative.”
The room went silent, as every Caretaker to a man looked over at the professor.
“That makes sense,” John said reasonably, not realizing how much more gravitas was evident in the faces of