Free The Dragon King by Nils Johnson-Shelton Page B

now and then a noise came from the dark cage. A hiss, a low grunt, a whine or whimper.
    Finally, Merlin reached out and grabbed the bowl and lifted it high overhead. He chanted, asking for guidance. He wanted to know where his enemies were—Morgaine; Excalibur; the king. Artie had said he would consider leaving Merlin alone, but they both knew that was not going to happen.
    Jealous, silly sword, Merlin thought. Excalibur belongs back under the water. Or better, to be destroyed. To be melted and used, just like this.
    He brought the bowl to his chest and stared into it. He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. His hands shook slightly. And then he greedily pressed the bowl to his lips and drank.
    He took less than a quarter teaspoon—less than a thimble would hold. He placed the bowl back on the table and held the liquid in his mouth, sloshing it around. Its taste—coppery yet sweet—was unexpected. As he let the liquid run over his teeth and gums, under and around his tongue, the flavor coated his mouth and rose into his head like a strong drink.
    He swallowed.
    The sensation was like having a star ignite inside his chest, its light radiating in every direction, filling him from the inside out. It started in his stomach and lungs, then moved to his heart, his ribs, his abdomen, and up to his neck and shoulders. The feeling was bright and overwhelming. Every finger and toe, every strand of hair on his head, each of his long eyebrows, his muttonchop sideburns, his teeth, his eyes—they all tingled and pulsed. He began to shake pleasantly, and his brain lit on fire. This fire cascaded over the top of his head and fell, like a waterfall, corkscrewing around his spinal cord and zipping along every nerve and back again. Then his body went ramrod straight, and he teetered on his heels and fell backward like a board. He hit his head hard on the ground.
    Which hurt, but pain was nothing now. It subsided quickly, and then he saw:
    Morgaine in Castel Deorc Wæters, in her cathedral-like boudoir, searching frantically for something. Then, znip , like a channel changing: Artie and his pesky knights slaying Merlin’s test subject in the Kingfishers’ kitchen. Znip : Artie and Kay and the girl, Qwon, appearing well rested and clean at the Onakea house in Shadyside. Znip : less certain things—a crumble of rocks; a high-pitched whistling; flashing steel and exploding clouds over the barracks of Castel Deorc Wæters.
    Merlin stirred. These last things were yet to happen. Future sight was always blurry like that.
    It appeared, however, that Artie and some of his twits of friends were off to Morgaine’s palace for some foolish, unfathomable reason. A confrontation was inevitable.
    He smiled. Why not take a few friends and join the fun?
    Yes. Why not.
    He stood as a drawn-out whine wended from the cage.
    Merlin turned his attention to the unseen thing within. “Wait, love. You are perfect, but not ready. Patience. Your time will come. Your time to eat is near.”
    Merlin rose from the ground and floated out of the room and through the cave, passing the side rooms and the data center. He turned into another passageway and passed over a narrow natural arch, a river of water beneath it, and finally arrived at a low opening sealed by a heavy steel portcullis.
    “ Agorwch ,” Merlin growled.
    His order was answered by the sound of bars dragging as the portcullis lowered into a gap in the floor, stopping with a clang and echo. Merlin drifted into the pitch-dark chamber and stopped in the middle of the room.
    He held out his right hand, palm side up. A blue flame ignited in a jet and cast a sickly light over the room.
    A harsh buzzing sound came from a large cage to Merlin’s left as the blue flame rose in the air like a little balloon, five, ten, fifteen feet, and stopped.
    Merlin grinned. His teeth were gray. “Hello, my little monstrosity. I hope you are angry. A witch and king are out there, waiting for us to pay them a