7 - IN WHICH ERIK TELLS OF HOW HE USED TO BE A DRAGON SLAYER . . . KINDA

“If the witch is that active, then it’s time to get this show on the road,” Merlin said over a choppy video link on Artie’s iPad. He’d left Kynder at the Library that afternoon to sequester himself in The Bunker.

“Totally,” Artie said. “Not cool that she almost got another one of us with those freaky dragonflies.”

Artie, Kay, Thumb, and Bercilak were gathered around the tablet inside the court-in-exile, and they’d just finished telling Merlin about the attack. Erik sat alone on the far side of the table, still recovering from his berserker rage, which he couldn’t remember a thing about.

Bercilak leaned forward and said to Merlin, a little more loudly than necessary, “Tiberius and I have found her antics to be quite inconvenient of late! She’s even been able to hit Sylvan with rolling blackouts!”

Merlin smiled. “Two can play at that game, Sir Bercilak.”

“What do you mean?” Kay asked.

“Using some of my old tools here at The Bunker, I’ve devised a magical siphon that will tap Fenland’s sangrealitic power lines,” Merlin explained.

“Sangrealitic power isn’t just for electricity, Artie,” Thumb added. “It’s also a major source of Morgaine’s power. She has knowledge and magical skills on her own, of course, but without a steady supply of sangrealitic juice, her abilities will be greatly diminished.”

“Sweet,” Kay said.

“Quite sweet, my dear,” Merlin said. “Opening crossovers will help curb her power as well, which you will do when you retrieve Gram. Speaking of Gram, I wonder how Master Erikssen is getting along? Is he ready to claim his sword?”

They turned to Erik, who held himself by the shoulders and rocked back and forth. When he realized they were staring at him, he blurted, “What?”

Bercilak said, “Wilt Chamberlain wants to know if you’re ready to retrieve Gram.”

The color drained from Erik’s face as he said, “I guess. And why do you call . . . Merlin”—he was having trouble accepting the fact that there was a real Merlin—“Wilt Chamberlain?”

Kay chuckled as Bercilak turned to Artie and asked, “I can’t remember. Can you, sire?”

“Nope,” Artie said. “Just one of those things.”

“Uh, all right,” Erik said uncertainly. “Yeah, I guess I’m ready. I did see a dragon today. It can’t be worse than that, can it?”

Merlin clapped his hands. “I hope not. I’ll leave you to it then. So long, knights!”

Artie shook his head. “You’re supposed to say, ‘over and out,’ Merlin.”

“Aha.” Merlin smiled. “Over and out!”

Bercilak rattled his armor and asked, “Over and out of what?” but no one bothered to explain as the video hiccupped and Merlin disappeared from the screen. “Truly, how does that work again?” Bercilak wondered, studying the iPad.

“I really don’t know,” Artie said. “Science. Lots of science.”

“Fascinating,” Bercilak uttered, shaking his empty helmet.

Artie elbowed Kay and pointed his chin at Erik. “Hey, Erikssen,” Kay said gently. “Why don’t you come over here?”

“Yes, why don’t you?” Bercilak said, taking pains to sound super nice. “There’s a very comfortable chair here. It’s got pillows.”

Erik shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“Suit yourself, lad,” Thumb said, unwilling to treat Erik with kid gloves. “Bring up the sword app, Artie.”

“All right.” Artie reluctantly turned away from Erik and touched the sword app icon. The app popped up and revealed a stonework background with a banner across the top depicting Artie’s coat of arms. Below the banner, in illuminated text, was the title The Seven Swords.

Below this, in smaller but still fancy type, were the names of the unique weapons: Excalibur, Cleomede, Gram, the Peace Sword, Kusanagi, Orgulus, and The Anguish. Behind each of these was a silhouette of the weapon in question.

Artie touched Gram and a block of text faded in next to two maps: One was of Sweden, with a red star in its northern region; the other was a detail of the starred location.

Artie read: “‘In Old Norse, Gram simply means “wrath.” It was forged at an unknown time by a mythological figure named Wayland the Smith.

“‘In many ways, Gram is the Norse equivalent of Cleomede. Instead of a stone, it was stuck in an ancient tree—a tree that still stands, though in a very secret place (see map at right)—and like Cleomede, only one person could pull it out. In the case of Gram, this was the hero Sigmund.’”

At this, Erik leaned forward slightly.

“‘It was eventually used by Sigmund’s son, Sigurd, to kill the dragon Fafnir.’” Artie paused. “Good thing Tiberius didn’t hear that.”

“Please,” Thumb said. “Each of these swords has slain at least one dragon.”

“Quite true, sire,” Bercilak added. “I half expect that’s why Tiberius is so moody all the time. Not much fun being surrounded by dragon slayers—if you’re a dragon.”

Artie continued: “‘Like most of the Seven Swords, Gram fell into obscurity, and eventually found its way back into the ancient tree. It is to the tree that you must go. It is called—’”

“Barnstokk,” whispered Erik.

Artie’s chair creaked as he turned to his friend. “That’s right. You’ve heard of it?”

“My great-uncle used to tell my brother and me those stories about Sigmund and Sigurd,” Erik recounted, trapped in reverie. “We loved them. He was a Minnesota wheat farmer. Big guy, long hair, a beard. Looked just like a Viking. We used to take turns pretending we were Sigurd. His dog was always the dragon, Fafnir. Obviously we never killed the dog, but in our imaginations he died a thousand times.”

Kay approached Erik and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her. He was too exhausted and overwhelmed to be happy that Kay Kingfisher was actually touching him. Still, he smiled. She smiled back. “Welcome to the club, sport.”

“So, what, I’m actually a Viking?” Erik asked.

“Not yet, I’d wager,” Bercilak said. “You’re quite scrawny.”

“Erik, it was the same with me,” Artie said, ignoring Bercilak’s comment. “I couldn’t believe any of this at first. But that started to change once I got Cleomede. And it really changed when I got Excalibur.”

Erik stood. He was shorter than Artie, but outweighed him by about twenty pounds. He may have seemed scrawny to Bercilak, but he wasn’t. He was strong.

“So,” Erik said slowly, “if I go with you to find Gram—in Sweden—then maybe all this will make a little more sense?”

“Exactly,” Artie and Kay answered together.

Erik looked around the great hall, eyeing the weapon racks at the far end. “Okay. But can I borrow some of those in the meantime? And maybe some armor? I mean, you guys look like you’re ready for a pretty big tussle, and I look like I’m about to go to school.”

“Of course!” Artie said, happy to hear that his friend was coming around.

Kay clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Erikssen, let’s get you set up and then let’s get our butts to Sweden.”