Chapter Twenty-one

I found my feet but couldn't move.

I just stood there in the center of the street while the dragon - yes, a real honest-to-God dragon - flew in low from the north, its massive, leathery wings outstretched like a bat on steroids. I should have run for cover. Heck, I should have done a lot of things. Mostly, I should have awakened from the nightmare I was living.

But I didn't.

The dragon opened its impossibly wide mouth and shot a stream of fire that twisted and curled ten feet above my head and obliterated a nearby hot dog cart, sending wieners and buns flying everywhere.

And as the smoldering shrapnel rained down around me, as processed meat splattered and plunked, as buns flitted down like dying birds, I finally got the hint:

This wasn't a dream.

And I wasn't waking up.

* * *

Like a low-flying jet, the dragon thundered by, veering over a church and began a wide, arching turn. Apparently, dragons didn't have much of a turning radius. The SUV's of the monster world.

With it gone for the moment, I now realized I had more pressing matters. Yes, even more pressing than a fire-breathing dragon. A very large horse was bearing down on me. And sitting atop the very large horse, was an insane-looking knight wielding a long and pointed joust.

Good God! I'm going to get gutted by something from Middle Earth.

I should have run; I should have done something. Anything.

But I couldn't move.

The ground beneath me rumbled. Someone nearby screamed. Actually, that someone turned out to be me. The horse veered slightly to the left to give its rider a good angle to pierce my heart. I closed my eyes. My bowels turned to water.

The horse snorted. Its hooves thundered.

I had just wondered if I would even feel the sharp lance, when someone tackled me off my feet, knocking me to the ground, just as a rush of air swooshed past me.

My fingers went straight to my heart, groping, feeling. Good news: everything was intact. Bad news: the attacker was turning back around.

Yet more good news: Arthur was standing over me and he was holding a glowing Excalibur.

Very, very good news indeed.

* * *

The rider tossed his javelin aside and withdrew his sword. He then snapped his reins hard and charged, leaning forward in the saddle, raising his sword high.

Arthur never flinched, and if he was scared, he didn't show it. Instead, he calmly raised Excalibur with both hands. He opened and closed his fingers around the leather grip.

The rider thundered hard, bearing down.

"Let's go, let's go!" I yelled.

But we didn't go, and Arthur never moved. Instead, he spoke to me without taking his eyes off the approaching rider.

"Do not move, James. Stay behind me."

"I couldn't move if I wanted to," I said.

"When I dispose of him, I want you to take his sword."

Dispose? Holy crap!

"And do what with it?" I asked.

"You'll know what to do with it, old friend," he said.

Old friend? I was about to ask him what exactly he meant by that, but the horse and rider were upon us.

* * *

The knight slashed down hard from high in the saddle, just as Arthur swung Excalibur around, heaving with all his strength. Both swords clashed with a mighty clang and a hail of sparks. To my amazement, the rider exploded out of his saddle, nearly flipping backwards, and landing hard on his shoulders. He lay in a motionless heap as his riderless horse continued on.

"Get his sword!" shouted Arthur. "Now, James!"

I was still on the ground and, at Arthur's urging, found myself crawling forward until I found my feet. Stumbling, I hurried over to the downed rider who still hadn't moved.

Was he dead? I didn't know.

His sword lay next to him. Not as nice as Excalibur, but a serious piece of weaponry. It also looked heavy as hell. Just as my hand reached for the well-worn grip, my feet were suddenly swept out from underneath me. In a blink of an eye, I was on my back. Air burst from my lungs.

I turned, half expecting the brute to pounce on me, but my assailant wasn't in any condition to do much assailing. The leg sweep was apparently all he had left in him. Now he lay in a pathetic heap, holding a broken arm, and watching me with pitiful eyes.

"The sword, James. Hurry!" Arthur shouted. From somewhere nearby came the sound of thundering of hooves. More guys on horseback. No doubt, more guys with swords on horseback.

Great.

Keeping an eye on my injured friend, I reached over and took hold of his fallen sword. It was as heavy as I thought; hell, even heavier. As I stood, I used both hands to heft the weapon. Recalling that the downed knight had wielded it with one hand made me feel less than manly.

Still, as I hefted it, he watched me closely. He was dressed in full chain mail. How he didn't roast to death in that thing I didn't know. He expected me to kill him, that much was obvious. Wherever he was from, apparently people played for keeps. He closed his eyes and muttered what appeared to be a small prayer. Or perhaps a really big prayer.

"Dude, relax," I told him. "I'm not going to hurt you. We really should get that arm of yours looked at - "

"Forget him, James. Over here!"

And forget him I did. Hey, his prayers worked! No doubt someone would call an ambulance for him, right?

Anyway, lugging the sword behind me, I was soon by Arthur's side. A good thing, too, because now two riders were bearing down on us. And the dragon was flying low just behind them.

"Mama."

Chapter Twenty-two

The dragon swept low over the street, its outstretched wings somehow just missing street lanterns and store awnings. Papers, leaves and various other debris swirled and trailed behind it like the tail of a comet.

With ridiculous speed, it swept past the two riders and flew directly over us. Arthur never moved, staring up at it calmly. I nearly soiled myself. As it passed, I swear the thing looked down at me with eyes as big as bowling balls. Black smoke curled up from its flared nostrils. I shuddered like a frightened field mouse and made a conscientious effort to control my bladder. The dragon veered away, just missing a flag-pole. The flag itself whipped and snapped in the dragon's wake.

"Sweet mother of all that which is holy," I said.

"This is fun, no?" Arthur said, grinning.

"No," I said.

Back on terra firma, the ground shook as the two riders drew closer. One was shouldering a lance and the other wielded a sword. Both were bearing down on us.

"I'll take the one on the right," said Arthur.

"What about the one on the left?"

"He's all yours, James."

"What?"

"Simply parry the lance with your sword," said Arthur, shrugging. "You have more mobility than he does."

"Or I could just run like hell."

"Sure," said Arthur. "But why haven't you?"

Good question. I didn't have a ready answer. Perhaps I had a death wish. I looked at Arthur; he looked at me. He grinned.

"And it's not because I'm having fun," I said. "I assure you."

"If you say so, my friend."

"Well, I do say so," I said, but my words were nearly drowned by the thundering of approaching hooves.

Arthur tossed Excalibur from hand to hand. The fact that I could barely hold my own sword up with two hands, let alone toss it from hand to hand like a hot potato, wasn't lost on me.

I was doomed.

The ground shook some more. Pebbles at my feet bounced an inch or two off the ground. The rider on the left lowered his lance. Straight at my heart. I lifted my sword. Barely.

From my peripheral vision, I saw Arthur look over at me. I think he saw me struggling with the sword. He raised his voice loudly above the din of hooves. "Try using your right hand," he shouted.

I shouted back, "I'm having trouble with both hands, let alone using one hand. Besides, I'm left-handed."

"Trust me," he said, mouthing the words.

"But I don't understand," I said.

And somehow, amazingly, his words came to me clearly, easily, as if I were seated directly across from him at a quiet outdoor cafe. "Some things you don't have to understand, James. Some things can be taken on faith." He winked. "Besides, in this case, it's called muscle memory."

"Muscle what?"

"Just try it, James," he said. "Trust me."

Then the sounds of the galloping horses came rushing back at me, and I felt as if I had just emerged from a soundproof studio. Arthur, I was sure, had somehow been inside my head, and that was a troubling thought at best.

But trust him I did. I switched hands, and something amazing happened. The sword felt remarkably comfortable in my right hand. It even felt somehow lighter, too. I gripped it confidently, amazed.

"Heads up, James!" said Arthur loudly.

I snapped my head around in time to see the rider on the left lean forward in his saddle and thrust his lance straight for my heart.

* * *

Dressed in shining armor, complete with a fluffy red plume, the rider and lance came at me quickly.

I did the only thing I could think of: I turned my shoulders sideways just as the deadly tip of the lance passed me by.

The rider looked down at me as he charged on by. Although his eyes were hidden behind his visor, I sensed his perplexity at having missed such an easy target. Heck, I shared in his perplexity. I should have easily been on the wrong end of a shish kabob.

Beside me, metal clashed against metal. I turned in time to see Arthur spinning from the force of the blow. His own adversary charged on by, and now both knights pulled up together and turned to face us.

"Good job, old boy," said Arthur. He sounded slightly winded.

"How do you know I did a good job?" I asked.

"You're still talking to me, aren't you?" he said. I could hear the humor in his voice.

Something roared in the near distance. I was fairly certain I knew what that something was.

"You ready, James?" asked Arthur.

"Ready for what?"

As if on cue, both horses leaped forward again, spurred on by their riders who dug their heels deep into the creatures' flanks. The knights separated, one angling for Arthur, the other for me. And, as luck would have it, the one with the lance picked me again.

Oh, goody.

This time he seemed to come at me even faster, his lance even steadier. Actual steam billowed from the horse's flared nostrils. I wanted to run all the way home to Seattle.

"Easy, James," said Arthur next to me, as if reading my thoughts.

I took in some air and gripped my sword, and when the lance came at me this time, I did something that astonished even me.

First, I side-stepped it again, then I swung my sword around hard, and drove the lance straight down into the ground, wedging the point deep between the cobblestones.

To my utter amazement, the rider launched into the air like an Olympic pole vaulter. Except there was no blue mat waiting for him below. He landed hard on his back, his armor clanking against the cobbled street.

"Unbelievable," I muttered. Next to me, sticking out of the rocks, the lance quivered like an arrow in a bull's-eye.

"Unbelievable," I said again.

In that moment, out of my peripheral vision, I heard a great clash of metal and saw the second rider fly out of his own saddle, landing hard next to my rider. Both horses trotted off, riderless.

There was no time to rejoice our minor victory. Flying straight down the center of the street again, its wingspan impossibly wide, its cold, black eyes seemingly staring at me, was the dragon.

Arthur spun around. "Run, James!"