The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  “You are strong, Lady Jennifer,” the seer said admiringly. “Perhaps with you, I can look upon the castle once more and face the dark future ahead.”

  They turned to face the castle and, together, they saw the future that had so terrified the seer.

  The castle of Dembroch stood in the middle of the island, solid and immovable, a crown upon the land, the immutable sigil of the kingdom. But as they watched, its future unfolded.

  The sky above darkened. Red lightning spiderwebbed across the sky and began to strike the castle. Chunks of stone and rock were blasted from the fortress. A thousand more bolts hit it and then, suddenly, terribly, the tallest tower collapsed. At the same time, the isles of Dembroch seemed to sink in upon itself like a black hole had formed underneath it. The castle fell, Dembroch was devoured…

  The vision ended, and Jenn could see no further. She looked again, willing the Sight to show her the future, but when the castle fell, the vision stopped.

  “The future,” the seer lamented. “It has not changed.”

  The images took Jenn’s breath away, but she could not abandon her cause. Not now. Not after all she’d learned. She had to run toward it.

  “We can change it,” Jenn said.

  “If anyone can, I believe it is you,” said the seer.

  “Come with me,” Jenn said.

  The seer looked terrified of the idea.

  “Together,” Jenn said.

  Impossibly, the seer nodded.

  “Together,” she said.

  They set off for the castle, a veritable force to be reckoned with, and nearly fell over walking into a black plinth bearing a golden flame.

  As Jenn had seen the irrefutable vision of the castle crumbling before her yet still decided to face it and, against all odds, change it, a magical spark had come from her. Her obstinance and determination in the face of fate was a hope, a goodness, that Dembroch had forgotten some twenty years ago.

  The fire from the spark stood before her now, the tongues flickering wildly. In the stone, written plainly for Jenn to see, was the word bonitas. She knew without understanding that this flame was fueled by goodness. Not just the benevolence of men and women, but the belief that there was goodness in the world, if you were brave enough to hope for it and bold enough to get a little dirty and fight for it.

  CHAPTER 45:

  The Final Flame

  While Jenn peeked into the future and started her magical flame, I stumbled across the barren foothills of Dembroch. My brain exploded like fireworks from everything the seer had said.

  “The fairest magic forevermore,” I repeated to myself.

  According to the seer and Page Hybore, the shores of Dembroch were safest because it had the fairest magic. And that magic? It was the truest traits of a defender, the very qualities my friends and I were exemplifying to spark six fires.

  My mind reeled. The flames of our quests were the way to break the queen’s curse.

  “…restore the safest shores,” the mage had instructed me. I’d had the answer all along. Page Hybore had whispered it in my ear—though I’d misheard him—the queen’s story had pointed me in the right direction, and the seer had revealed it for me to see fully.

  Suddenly, the way forward was clear. I had to relight my second flame. Not just to save this island, but to save the queen and whatever future we may have together. All I had to do was finish my quest: to mend the most broken heart of the kingdom. And at last, I knew exactly who it was.

  The mage was quite the trickster, I thought with a laugh. All this time, I’d been racing after the queen. But hers had never been the most broken heart of the kingdom, nor had it been the seer’s. It had been mine. The last twenty years had extinguished any love in my heart. I’d grown immune to it, uninterested, jaded even. It had taken finding out the truth from the queen to stir it, as a poker stokes the embers, but the seer had reminded me what love—true love—looked like. She had reminded me what Page Hybore had done for my friends and I.

  The page had changed my life, I realized. He’d meant to, even if the witch had bewitched him in the process. And even now, in his death, through his wife, he had changed my heart. He had shown me love for something greater, and I felt it within me now. My broken heart was healing with a deep love for the kingdom I served, the people here, and the queen I could save.

  Thinking of her, that spark rekindled within me. It came shooting out of my chest, a tiny speck of golden light. At my feet, the dead grass and sands shifted. A black rock rose from the ground, pyramidal in shape. My spark landed on the flat top and burst into flames. The word caritas carved into the rock.

  I whopped with excitement. The flame of love had been lit once more.

  From the grass, I pulled a piece of wooden framing for the vineyards. I lit it from the flame. It sparked like a welding torch.

  I turned back toward Jenn. She was several hills away, holding a torch as well.

  I cried for joy. She called back.

  “Look!” the seer exclaimed, pointing.

  I turned. Over the fallen woods to the east, I could see a pinprick of flame headed toward the castle. And further north, Ryderwyle was free of its winter blizzard. Dual pinpricks of light were floating in the waters, approaching the main island of Dembroch.

  Meg and Clay had succeeded. They had three flames. Jenn and I had two right now, and I had another that I’d started in the castle’s courtyard. All six of the truest traits had returned to the kingdom of Dembroch.

  Though we were miles apart from each other, our hearts beat as one. We who had first destroyed the magic and doomed the kingdom were spreading new magic across the land. All that was left was to take the flames to the castle’s Aerary, then timelessness would return to the land, the witch would be powerless to achieve her vengeance, the kingdom would be saved, and the queen’s curse would be broken—

  My brain came to a screeching halt. Something seemed off.

  Six magic flames of the fairest magic had burnt once before on Dembroch and within the castle. Queen Coralee’s curse hadn’t been broken then, so just transporting the six flames back to the castle wouldn’t be enough. There must have been something else required, some different way of making the queen interact with the flames.

  Whatever the solution may be, I decided, my friends and I would riddle it out when the time came. But time was of the essence and we’d never been closer to achieving our goal.

  Holding my torch high, love in my heart, I began the journey back to the castle and my queen. Jenn and the seer followed. Meg and Clay converged from the north and east.

  I was struck with the odd notion that we were all converging for a birthday party for the queen. The thought would have made me laugh had the circumstances not been so dire. Because high above us all, the clouds were darkening to black. Flickers of red lightning flashed. It was almost noon and, indeed, nearly the hour of the queen’s thirtieth birthday.

  PART 3:

  The Queen’s Birthday

  CHAPTER 46:

  What the Witch Did

  Dead defenders escorted Queen Coralee to the castle throne room. Emily, daughter of Page Hybore and Lady Sinclair, was huddled in the corner, trapped by a wall of swords. Upon the throne was the witch. She was absolutely glowing.

  “Release her,” the queen demanded upon seeing the girl. “Lady Emily has no part in this, Edith.”

  The witch cackled. It was a high, shrill laugh.

  “Inducement to ensure your arrival and your seer’s departure,” the witch sneered. She flicked her wrist at the dead defenders. “Take her to the Aerary. When we’ve had our fun, we’ll cast her to the catacombs and let her rot like her father.”

  Emily was dragged kicking and screaming from the hall. Queen Coralee glowered at the witch.

  “You would doom an innocent child to death?” she spat.

  “Be lucky I did not eat her,” the witch crooned. “Though it would be for sport, not for longevity. Absorbing youth from humans is not so easy
. It has been quite painstaking to arrange all of this.”

  “Stop now,” Queen Coralee begged. “Please, Edith.”

  The witch raised an eyebrow. With a snap of her fingers, the defenders released the queen. Unhindered, she approached the throne slowly, stopping at the foot of the steps.

  “My sister,” she said, pouring every ounce of honesty that she could into her words. “I am sorry. I searched for you, but could not bring you here. I spoke for you, but was deterred. I gave up and left you to face the cruel world by yourself. And for that, I am truly sorry. As I ask for your forgiveness, I hope you accept mine. I forgive you for the lives lost, the terror spread. For my husband’s death. And as I have made you pay, I know I must. Though no penance shall ever absolve my sins, I willfully surrender to you. Take my throne. Take my life. The kingdom of Dembroch is yours, if you should have it. All that I ask is that you spare the people still on this island. They have suffered enough. Let them leave in peace. Let Dembroch live on.”

  Fast as a cobra striking its prey, the witch swept down the steps to the queen and slapped her to the floor. She laughed at her sister. A blast of rancid breath assaulted the queen’s nose, her ears rang.

  “You think I want your kingdom?” the witch crooned. “Your throne? You think I killed your king for it? Oh, little sister, you know nothing.”

  The witch took the queen’s hands, squeezing unmercifully tight, and led her out of the throne room. Through the corridors they went, the dead knights and dames trailing, all the way to the upper balcony of the tallest tower. For a moment, the queen thought she would be thrown over, but the witch stopped right at the edge.

  “This is where we stood just a week ago,” the witch simpered. “Look how far your kingdom has fallen, my queen. How much it has suffered. Just as I did not kill your wretched husband, I have not killed your kingdom. Your defenders have done that. You have done that. Your curse has done that. But I have done something more. There is beauty amongst the chaos. Look closely. Do you see it?”

  Queen Coralee had already spotted it. Scattered around the castle—bursting from the Bridgemaster’s home, from the shores of Whittlesea, from the seer’s cottage, licking the fallen timber in the middle of the forest, and peeking out of a lower castle windows from the catacombs—were five black flames. They burnt wildly, spitting black sparks thick as gnats.

  “What have you done?” the queen breathed.

  The witch cackled again.

  “While your daft defenders were wandering about trying to restart the kingdom’s magic with the dalliances of children and fools, I created some magic of my own.” She pointed to the fire below them, its black tongues poking out of the catacombs. “That one was started by showing your librarian how futile his actions had been. What woe he felt before I snapped his neck. And I started another by butchering the Bridgemaster while he still breathed. What cruelty! And the flame on the far island? I stalked your ferryman across the land, strung him up, and left him for the Gangrene. How he cried for mercy, how he cursed my wickedness. And the flame in the seer’s home? The other in the woods? I showed the girl her worst nightmares and filled her with dread, then I convinced her mother to leave Dembroch forever. Five flames of licentiousness, of the darkest traits. Of misery and cruelty and wickedness, dread and treachery. And, though I took some small part in their creation, they truly came to be thanks to the people of your kingdom and how far their hearts could fall.”

  “How dare you!” the queen cried.

  “There’s no use lamenting it now,” the witch sneered. “Your Civium are dead or gone. They’re actions have spurred on their kingdom’s destruction. Look upon your kingdom with pride, my queen. It was so easily manipulated. All five of these flames are the antithesis of everything your realm stands for.”

  “Why?” the queen screamed, at a complete loss. “Why do you work so ardently to destroy this kingdom and create such evil? Take the throne! Take it and harm us no more!”

  “I don’t want your kingdom, your isles, or your thrones,” the witch spat. “I told you from the beginning. It’s all for you.”

  The queen frowned.

  “For abandoning you?” she asked. “For the cold ignorance you believed I held in my heart for you, my own sister?”

  The witch laughed a cruel little giggle.

  “Oh, my sweet, simple sister,” Sorgana sighed. “Have you not figured it out? All of this, the roots of sin spreading through your kingdom, the fires no one can quench, the spilled blood. It is to take back what could never be replaced.”

  The queen didn’t understand.

  “I gave my life for you,” the witch spat. “I gave up my youth to help you all those years after your parents died.”

  “They were your parents too,” Queen Coralee argued.

  “They were my kidnappers, and I their hostage,” spat back the witch. “And I wasted away my life raising their daughter. And what did I get for my years of servitude? What thanks did I receive? You left me. You disappeared. And I, an adopted orphan, was removed from Camelot. Only then did I begin the hunt for my true parents and discover that I, the daughter of Morgan Le Fay, had no obligation to love my dead father King Arthur or miss my sister. All those years, I’d spent my time fawning for the family I didn’t even belong to. The family that left me. But now, I know who I should have been. Who I will be. Here and now, I have the chance to reclaim my youth from its thief and, when young again, live the life I never led. To be the daughter I never knew I was. When the sun is highest in the sky, sister, and your curse unfolds, I shall take your youth as my own and walk this world as the rightful daughter of Morgan Le Fay—as I was always meant to.”

  The queen’s heart fell. Her sister was truly beyond reason.

  “Five flames have been lit,” the witch mused. “Only one remains. A flame of utmost hatred. Of murderous intent. And what deeper hate, what more treacherous intent, is there than killing your own sister.”

  A single spark, dark and foreboding, flew from the witch. It hung in the air, multiplying.

  Flickers of light caught the witch’s eye. She glanced over the balcony.

  “Oh, what a surprise,” she simpered. “There they are.”

  Golden flames raced across the kingdom, beelining for the castle.

  “Your defenders have lit their flames,” the witch spat. “But it is for naught. There will be no Aerary for them to spread the magic to. No castle to protect. No queen to save. They will only find a fallen castle and your corpse. Sir Nicholas will see your body and his heart will break beyond repair…and he shall be mine forever.”

  “No!” Queen Coralee cried.

  The witch began to speak an incantation, a terrible one about walls and fire, to keep out intruders while she fulfilled her heart’s desire. In reply, dark flames rose around the castle. Red lightning crackled across the sky. Thunder boomed ominously.

  “Happy thirtieth birthday, my sister,” the witch said. “My gift to you is the end of your precious kingdom. The end of Dembroch.”

  CHAPTER 47:

  Flames and Friends

  Right as Clay and the Watchmaker arrived at the entrance to the castle, black flames encircled the fortress. They scrambled back, the tongues hot in their face.

  Jenn, the seer, and I came running to them from the west. We shouted in delight at seeing one another. Jenn and Clay reunited with a passionate kiss. I watched enviously, thinking of the queen.

  But Jenn and Clay had forgotten something. Their hands started to slide toward each other and then, before they realized what was happening, their hands clasped firmly together.

  “Shoot,” Clay said.

  He started to pull away, but Jenn stopped him. There was something different about their handhold now. They weren’t forcefully stuck together as though by magnetic forces. Now they were only tenuously connected. It felt as though they were holding hands like any other couple. But this time, to simply let go would turn Clay’s promise into a curse. Neither wanted to know what t
hat would mean for their rekindled relationship.

  “Don’t let go,” Jenn said.

  They nodded to one another, a promise made in silence.

  “What do we do about this?” I asked, gesturing at the wall of black flames.

  “Can’t walk through it, that’s for sure,” the Watchmaker grumbled, rubbing his singed beard.

  “How will we get to my daughter?” the seer bemoaned.

  “Your daughter is in there?” the Watchmaker shouted.

  As the seer and I explained to Clay and the Watchmaker, Jenn dared to look at the flames and the castle beyond. As she did, she glimpsed the future once more—fracturing stone, the red lightning, the crumbling castle, the black flames growing stronger, the swaying tower. She willed the Sight to keep looking as she peered up at the tallest tower. A group of people appeared there, ghosts of the future. She recognized herself, Meg, the queen… For an instant, she thought she saw Clay, but the world around him fractured. Half of him disappeared as though he was both on the balcony and not.

  A bolt of fear ran through Jenn. Whatever future they were headed to, it led to the upper balcony, and Clay might make it, and he might not.

  “Let’s give this a try,” I said, breaking Jenn’s thoughts.

  I leveled my torch at the wall of flame and pressed forward. The orange and black spat at one another, neither snuffing out the other. My torch started to get hot, followed by my hands and face. Finally, I backed off. There would be no getting through this wall.

  Just then, Meg arrived. She bore two torches and had two people with her: Page Trey and Master Malleator.

  “Combat extraordinaire,” she said as she introduced the master.

  “Good to see you again,” the Watchmaker said warmly, clapping Master Malleator hard on the back. “Thought you’d be a snowman next I saw you.”

  Master Malleator glanced at the wall of flames.

  “What has our queen wrought, Watchmaker?” he lamented. “Did I not warn you all of crowning a foreigner.”