The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  Without a second thought or hesitation, she dove deeper into the goo and pulled the sword free with a wet plop. She swung at the nearest incoming knight, cleaving his head from its shoulders, and kept swinging, determined to survive for Clay and for Dembroch. With each strike, bits of goo flew off the sword and her hands. In seconds, her clothes and face were spattered with it. She could have cried—this was going to take a lot of hand sanitizer to clean.

  The librarian was the last attacker to make it past Meg. Jenn hesitated for a moment, not wanting to hurt Sir Rignot. But, she realized, this was no longer the sweet, knowledgeable librarian. His soul was long gone, and he would not have wanted his body to be used against Dembroch and one of its last dames.

  She struck fast and true, freeing the librarian’s corpse from the witch’s magic.

  Free again of imminent attackers, Jenn plunged her hand elbow-deep into the goo and, with another sick plopping sound, pulled the Sight talismans free.

  “Got them!” Jenn shouted—right as an errant piece of flying goo landed on her lips. She doubled over, gagging and spitting.

  It took her a while, but Jenn finally regained her composure. She joined Meg, slicing and dicing their way through defenders. At last, they cleared a path to the catacombs exit. They slammed the door behind them, wedging their swords into the bars to keep the undead defenders locked up for a few extra minutes. Together, they raced up the stairs and through the library. The witch was nowhere to be seen, so they kept running, through the castle and to the Rotunda, out into the courtyard, and past the castle gates. Once through, they paused. Jenn was headed northbound toward the seer’s cottage; Meg was headed east toward the Gate Grounds.

  “I’ve got to—” Meg breathed, pointing over her shoulder.

  “I know,” Jenn gasped back. “I’ve got to—”

  “I know,” Meg called back.

  “Thank you,” Jenn managed to say.

  “Don’t mention it,” Meg said, her ego surprisingly mellow.

  “Wait,” Jenn said. She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to Meg. “You should have this. It’s Nick’s.”

  Meg took it with a raised eyebrow, opened it, and read. She smirked.

  “He’ll need to see this,” she scoffed. “Be safe out there.”

  “You too,” Jenn replied.

  With a nod, the two ran their separate ways.

  Back in the catacombs, the undead knights and dames—still at least one hundred strong—broke through the door. They surged out of the catacombs like rats out of a flooded sewer. A few moments later, the catacombs were empty, leaving only the corpse of Solomon that had never awoken and the hovering flurry of black specks. The mass sank to the ground and burrowed into the soil where it burst into a small tongue of black flame.

  CHAPTER 23:

  Escape the Castle

  “She’s coming,” I whispered to Queen Coralee.

  A second later, Sorgana burst around the corner. She had regained her natural appearance of ghastly pallor, but she looked significantly older than usual. Her eyes were bloodshot and frosted over. Her hands tremored. Her hair was grey. She hadn’t had any turtles lately.

  “My queen,” the witch simpered, her tone so thick that the distaste practically jumped off her tongue. “And Sir Nicholas. Of all the knights and dames, you were the last, best protector. When you fell, you took Dembroch’s magic with you.”

  She charged. The queen and I tensed. We’d have to fight. We were trapped in the open prison cell.

  Magic flew from the witch’s hands, right at us. The green daggers cut right into us—and shattered the mirror.

  Hiding in the corner, I ran the distance to the cell and slammed it shut. The walls jangled more than usual thanks to my work getting the queen out earlier.

  Sorgana turned, glaring at us.

  “Clever, clever,” she growled.

  She approached the bars, green light forming around her hand. The bars glowed in reply.

  “It is still sealed against magical interference,” the queen said, joining my side.

  “Time is running out for you, my queen,” the witch whispered. “You can’t keep me in here until the end. And your little knight is running out of time to finish his quest…if you let him.”

  “You know nothing about my kingdom or my heart, Sorgana,” the queen spat back at the witch.

  “Oh, but I do,” the witch replied. “I know you weep for your king. I know you pine for your knight. I know you would give anything to save this wretched little kingdom that took you in out of pity.”

  I traded looks from queen to witch.

  “Answer me, witch,” the queen said. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

  The witch drew close to the bars, and though she whispered, I heard every word.

  “You didn’t recognize me the day you locked me up,” the witch seethed. “You didn’t recognize me when I took your throne from you. And you don’t recognize me now. No surprise. I don’t recognize myself most days. But I hoped your heart would tell you. You see, blood is thicker than water. It stands the test of time. Even still, you don’t know me. Did you try to forget? Did you try to bury me in the sea of time while you sat on the throne of opulence?”

  “I don’t know who you are!” the queen implored.

  “Did you ever try to find me?” Sorgana inquired, her voice growing in volume. “Did you ever search for me? Did you ever seek me out? No. I know the truth. You forgot about me. You left me behind and washed me from your memory. You abandoned me—your own sister!”

  It was a second that lasted a lifetime. My jaw dropped. Queen Coralee’s knees went weak.

  “Edith?” she gasped.

  I looked between queen and witch, sister and sister, hearing but not comprehending the information.

  The witch took advantage of our surprise. She summoned up a blast of magic—her wrinkles furrowed deeper. Green light flashed and when it cleared, the prison cells had disintegrated to ash. Sorgana lunged at us, swatting me aside and taking the queen by the throat. She circled around Queen Coralee, holding her in a headlock.

  “You forget,” the witch seethed. “You enchanted the prisons against ordinary magic. Not mine.”

  I got to my feet but didn’t act. The witch could kill the queen in an instant. I had to reason with her.

  The witch turned her murderous eyes back on me.

  “Don’t you see, Sir Nicholas?” she crooned. “This is not a kingdom worth saving, not a queen worth loving. She has lied to you from the moment she asked for volunteers to defend her. The truth you cannot see is that her mere presence has cursed the kingdom and doomed its people. That’s why they have all fled. They know it. Do you? To save this land is to preserve a petty little girl who will cast you to the winds when it best suits her.”

  My heart ached, I felt dizzy. Horribly, terribly, the witch was making sense.

  “Walk away, Sir Nicholas,” the witch demanded. “I can see it in your eyes—you don’t want to be a part of this. Do what you do best. Run. Get off this island and save yourself from helping this treacherous queen.”

  It was as though the witch had been the dark voice in my head all these years, insisting that I forget it and walk away from anything too troublesome. I’d done it all these years, why break the habit? This situation was getting more complicated by the second. Why not just run away?

  I locked eyes with the queen. She looked so small in the witch’s hold.

  “I looked for you,” I choked out. “I spent two years searching for you. And I wrote to you every day, asking to be part of your world. I thought you didn’t get them. That you were ignoring them. That you had better things to do. But you had them? All of them?”

  The queen deflated right before me. It was as if I was striking her on the cheek with each word.

  “Was I like Sorgana?” I asked. “A drowning victim waving their hands while you looked away? You knew I wanted to be here all this time, but you only call me when you need saving?
When it best suits you?”

  Actual tears were streaming down my face. The queen was crying quietly, and the witch had unwittingly loosened her grip on the queen. Best of all, neither had realized how close I stood to them.

  I acted quickly. I swung a fist, punching the witch where there was already a bruise. She stumbled back as I pulled the queen from her grasp.

  “Come on!” I shouted.

  I pulled the queen after me, disappearing down the hallway. The witch roared behind us.

  We ran for all it was worth, emerging into the Rotunda several stories above the Aerary. I led the queen upward.

  “No, Sir Nicholas,” she breathed. “We will be trapped.”

  “And if we go down, she’ll catch us,” I replied.

  We staggered up the stairs. Right as the witch burst into the Rotunda, we shimmied through the upper trapdoor. I slammed it shut and ran to the balcony’s edge. Though there wasn’t time to look around, it was a stunning place to be. The whole kingdom isles lay beneath us, separated from us only by a balcony railing. The tip of the tower was above us, held up by a dozen columns.

  “Sir Nicholas,” the queen said, following me as I circled the balcony. “I am sorry—”

  “I didn’t mean it,” I said quickly, wiping the tears off my cheek. “I had to fool the witch somehow.”

  “But—” the queen began, unconvinced.

  I spotted what I was looking for. There were a couple turrets below us, protruding from the exterior of the Rotunda. One of them was only a dozen feet below the balcony we stood on.

  “Follow me!” I cried.

  I climbed over the edge. A bolt of vertigo hit me, but I lowered myself down. When I was positioned over the turret, I let go of the railing. For a heart-stopping second, I was freefalling, then I hit the shingled tower. I scrambled quick, grabbing onto the edge and stopping the fall. After I’d steadied myself, the queen followed suit. Right as she dropped onto the lower turret, the witch emerged from the trapdoor.

  “Come back here, you fools!” she cried. “I won’t kill you…yet!”

  “The walls,” the queen breathed at me.

  I realized what she meant: there were nooks and crannies between the large stone blocks of the castle’s outer walls. They were just big enough to fit our hands and feet into.

  We started our descent, hugging the wall and climbing down the Rotunda’s exterior. My arms ached more with each second.

  “Suffer the consequences, Sir Nicholas!” the witch cried after us.

  She mumbled an incantation, but nothing happened. The witch shrieked in rage and began to climb after us. Queen Coralee and I descended faster, skipping stones in the rush to escape.

  Another three stories below us was the catwalk of the castle walls. The queen and I inched toward it as the witch called after us.

  “Don’t slip, sister!” she crooned. “Or perhaps you’ll use your knight as a pillow. Go on, flatten him like you have every other citizen of this kingdom! Use him until he gives his life for you!”

  “Ignore her!” I insisted. “We can beat her.”

  And we did. Though the witch was strong of tongue and magic, she was slower and less sure of her movements. We beat her to the catwalk with time to spare.

  I raced for the door back into the castle, but it burst open. A mob of skeletons and bloody corpses charged out at us.

  Queen Coralee and I turned and ran, now pursued by the undead defenders of Dembroch and the witch. But there was nowhere to go. The catwalk circled around the courtyard, terminating at the wall of a tower over the entrance. I couldn’t see a door or window. We were running straight for a dead-end.

  I glanced over the edge.

  “Queen Coralee,” I yelled over the shouting mob. “Do you trust me!”

  “If you trust me!” was her breathless response.

  “Jump!” I shouted.

  I grabbed her hand and pulled her hard. We both leapt over the edge into the courtyard. In midair, I slung out my satchel. The strap caught around a protruding gargoyle’s head. I held tight to the satchel and the queen—

  There was a sickening pop. The queen’s weight pulled hard on my arms, and my shoulder popped out of place. I screamed in agony. My whole body seemed to wrench with pain. My heart pulsed sharply.

  The satchel strap tore. We plummeted to the ground, now only a few feet away. We landed hard, rolling with the impact.

  For a moment that seemed several minutes, we lay on the cobblestones. My shoulder screamed in agony, but deep inside, my heart hurt. Each beat seemed painful and fast, but thankfully, mercifully, it began to fade.

  The queen got to her feet first and extended her hand to me. I sat up and we locked eyes.

  It was a split-second decision full of meaning. If I took her hand, I showed my agreement to follow her and help her, to overlook previous accusations, and believe in the best of her. It was not a choice I took lightly. There were so many questions that I needed answered, so much anger and resentment burning inside, and so much fear about the path ahead and how complicated it could all become, but even with all these reasons to not follow the queen, I felt compelled to trust her. She was extending her hand to me in this moment to show once and for all, despite her past choices, she needed help. That she wanted to tell the truth, even if it scared her. That she needed…me.

  I took her hand with my good arm. She pulled me up.

  At the same moment, there was an eruption of sparks. The golden-red embers shot out from our hands. Beside us, a pyramid-shaped rock grew out of the courtyard cobblestones. The sparks gathered at its tip and a fire burst into being.

  The queen and I exchanged a quick glance. I scanned the courtyard for some type of torch—there were frayed banners and empty torches—but I couldn’t get to any of them fast enough. Dozens of skeletal defenders emerged from the castle’s Rotunda and charged at us.

  “Later,” the queen insisted.

  “Later,” I agreed.

  Abandoning the freshly made magical flame, the queen and I ran. My chest ached dully with each footfall. The mob of skeletons were hot on our heels, but slow and rickety. We quickly outpaced them, passing the courtyard’s barren fountains.

  A terrible shriek echoed down to us. I glanced back to see the witch hanging from the tallest tower. She raked her hands at us as though to pull us down, but her magic was drained. There was no green light; nothing happened.

  The queen and I raced out of the courtyard, the witch’s screeches following us deep into the forest, the king’s death unavenged, the queen’s home abandoned to the witch.

  CHAPTER 24:

  Cliffside Tower

  Clay and the Watchmaker emerged from the dead forest into bright moonlight. Yellow grass meadows stretched out to steep bluffs. Waves crashed far below.

  Cliffside Tower stood over them, stunted and twisted. The grounds around it were saturated with moisture and the tower had sunken into it, blocking most of the entrance. Its outer walls were coated in dried blood. Several cobblestones were missing, there were deep claw marks on the walls inside, and the top of the tower seemed to howl slightly in the wind.

  “This is where it gets hairy,” the Watchmaker said. “It’s tight quarters in there. No telling how many beasties are hiding. Keep with me, stay safe, and be brave.”

  Clay chittered nervously.

  “You mock me?” the Watchmaker grunted.

  “No,” Clay blurted out. “Not at all. Just trying to find where I left my courage.”

  “You’re scared?”

  “Of course not,” Clay boasted, avoiding eye contact with the mountainous man.

  “You’re a fool if you aren’t,” the Watchmaker said. “The bravest men and women fight their deepest fears. There are no acts of courage without horror. Just need the right tools to take it on.”

  He pulled the axe from his back and flipped it expertly in his hands.

  “An axe is all it takes?” Clay asked.

  The Watchmaker shrugged. “That’s
the trick, isn’t it? Get the right tools, nothing is too scary. My weapon is an axe, my reasons are my own. But truly, to fight the good fight, you need something in here.”

  He thumped his chest.

  “If a good man or woman of Dembroch passes,” he mused, his tone no longer grumbling, but deep and pondering, getting dangerously close to sentimental, “we knock our hearts and whisper our kingdom’s motto, Omnia Aeterno. Means ‘all things under God, forever’. It doesn’t mean we expect everything to last forever. We hope, certainly, but don’t expect it. Everything goes in the end. Truly, when we pound our hearts and speak those words, it’s a promise and a prayer that we carry the fallen in our hearts forever. Their lessons, their love, within us keeps us going. Keeps us fighting, keeps your heart beating. And maybe it’s not just loved ones we carry in our hearts. For some, it may be aspirations and ambition. Others, it may be treasure or prized possessions. Whatever it is that matters most to you, keep it close, hold it deep within. You’d best have your own for what lies ahead.”

  Clay didn’t know what tools he relied on, but knew he must follow the Watchmaker. He nodded nervously.

  “Right, then,” the Watchmaker said. “Stay close.”

  They entered the tower, shimmying through the narrow, rounded entrance. It was strangely warm inside; the ceiling hung low. The flame and plinth of the past were nowhere to be seen, likely buried under the moist ground.

  On the far side was an ascending stairway, which they crawled toward. The ground was spongy. Clay’s hands and clothes became damp and maroon. He tried not to think about its source.

  At the stairs, Clay heard whispers of snarls. He got to his feet shakily.

  Come on, he told himself. Get it together.

  “Age before beauty,” the Watchmaker said, pushing Clay forward.

  “I don’t have anything to fight the…the monster things,” Clay said tremulously. “Can I have—”

  The Watchmaker chuckled. “This is my axe, boy. You should have brought your own weapon. Now, hurry on. We have places to get.”