Thronegarden

by Andrew Dickerson

  Orion’s magic was based in the healing arts while Luyna’s had always taken on a darker purpose. To reverse the damage done to her brother was beyond Luyna’s capabilities.

  “If you cannot save me, at least save yourself,” Orion wished.

  “No, you cannot die,” Luyna fought. “Not while I hold time in the palm of my hand.”

  Damselfly felt a confliction of emotions, knowing that the sorceress’s words might be true. Perhaps Orion would not die, yet his body could not reconcile such a devastating injury and all but the faintest sign of life had already left his stricken body.

  “Please, Luyna, restart time and end his suffering,” Damselfly begged.

  “No, I have come too far and sacrificed too much,” Luyna refused.

  “My daughters will rule Fable after me and you, Princess Damselfly, will secure my victory.”

  Chapter 19

  End of Times

  Delridden had fought Tyten all around the castle as the soldiers slowly retreated before the zealous rebellion. Tyten knew he was the superior swordsman; several bleeding wounds on Delridden’s torso supported this theory, and yet his opponent would not stop coming.

  “Yield and I will not kill you,” Tyten offered.

  “You have not beaten me yet,” Delridden exclaimed, dodging another lethal thrust.

  They found themselves on a high level of the castle, meaning Tyten could no longer retreat without risking the uprising reaching Luyna and the royal apartments. The Captain of the Guard considered fleeing the duel, though his heavy armour would make it impossible to outrun his relentless opponent.

  Then an idea struck Tyten. He manoeuvred the conflict down a narrow, dark corridor, skillfully keeping his adversary at arm’s length. When they reached a dead end, Delridden thought he had his prey cornered until Tyten kicked in a wooden door and disappeared down a narrow spiral staircase. Without hesitation Delridden followed, unwilling to let his enemy escape. In his haste he almost slipped on a broken stair and had to grab hold of the stone wall to stop his descent. With his heart pounding against his chest, Delridden continued his pursuit, although Tyten had opened up a small lead. The staircase ended so abruptly that Delridden jammed his knee painfully.

  It was pitch-black and only the sound of scurrying rats broke the ominous silence.

  “I thought you were a man of honour,” Delridden shouted into the darkness. “I guess you are just another coward.”

  A blazing torch appeared up ahead, throwing a halo of light in what seemed like a cavernous room. Tyten’s bronze armour and golden hair shimmered in the firelight, making him look angelic.

  “I am right here,” the Captain of the Guard announced.

  Delridden took a moment to recover his composure before striding forward to meet his challenger. It was clear that Tyten was an expert swordsman, perhaps the best he had ever faced, and yet he was not scared.

  “You should reconsider who you are fighting for,” Delridden posed.

  “I am the king’s man,” Tyten vowed.

  “Really, because I have not seen the king give any orders since I arrived here,” Delridden questioned.

  “There is a chain of command. As a soldier you should understand that,” Tyten replied.

  “It only takes one weak link for the chain to break,” Delridden warned.

  As Delridden came within reach, Tyten whipped the flaming torch at him like a cudgel which only just missed his shoulder by inches and was close enough for him to feel the heat. Delridden was forced backwards, avoiding the torch and Tyten’s sword, which he swung alternatively. In desperation Delridden stood his ground, ducking at the last second as the torch passed over his head and driving upward with his own blade. Tyten reacted quickly, deflecting the blow with his own sword at the last moment. Delridden’s point drew blood just under the soldier’s right armpit where the armour was not as strong. Fueled by this small victory, Delridden pushed Tyten back, the captain showing doubt in his blue eyes for the first time since they had locked swords. Unfortunately, Delridden became over confident in his attack, allowing Tyten to lure him in with a well-disguised feint before countering with a flick of his wrist that left a bloody gash across Delridden’s collar bone. Seizing the moment, Tyten placed the burning torch into a wall bracket, allowing him to use both hands on the sword, which he now did. Each blow was delivered with greater force, shaking Delridden’s bones as he blocked first one and then another.

  “You cannot keep this up much longer,” Tyten grinned.

  Delridden knew the truth in his opponent’s words and sought to take him off his feet. Delivering a sharp kick to his adversary’s knee, Delridden was stunned to find Tyten’s armour absorb the blow and leave him open to a vicious backhanded slash that opened a long line across his chest that dropped him to the ground.

  “This armour was made by Bakka himself for the winner of a tournament long forgotten, only now it has found a worthy suitor,” Tyten bragged.

  Delridden attempted to rise though Tyten was quicker, aiming a fatal blow at his head. Delridden managed to block the strike at the very last moment, only to have his blade wrenched from his grip. Disarmed, Delridden was completely vulnerable so he charged forward, taking Tyten by surprise, and, grabbing him around the waist, pushed with all his might. Tyten was trying to thrust his sword into Delridden’s exposed back, though he found his enemy’s momentum dragging him backwards rapidly until they slammed into the wall. The torch was dislodged from its’ bracket where it fell to the floor, casting strange shadows as the two warriors battled for survival. Finally, Tyten regained his balance and threw his aggressor to the ground where Delridden’s face rested only inches away from the burning torch.

  “You have proved a worthy opponent,” the Captain of the Guard praised as he raised his sword for one final strike.

  “Kimson!”

  A voice broke through the duel causing Tyten to pause. Delridden remembered the sound of his true love’s voice and, seizing upon his assailant’s hesitation, rolled out of harm’s way and retrieved his own blade.

  “Uriel,” Delridden cried out, still unable to see her amongst the darkness.

  “I am sorry she will have to witness this,” Tyten stated.

  Delridden, coursing with adrenaline from hearing Uriel’s voice again, fought with a fresh vengeance, delivering a barrage of thrusts and parries so Tyten was forced to go on the defensive. Several times Delridden’s blade struck the bronze armour, only to find the blow deflected and the metal barely dented.

  Tyten was pushed backwards, though none of Delridden’s blows got through. With blood seeping down his adversary’s arms and chest, it was just a case of weathering this final storm. Delridden refused to surrender to his fatigue, although the sword in his hand felt heavier with each stroke. His knee was on fire and his grip was affected by the blood flowing freely from his multiple wounds. After a flurry, which would have defeated any other opponent, Delridden finally stopped to rest, his chest heaving, and his sword rested on the floor like a crutch.

  “It is over,” Tyten declared.

  “Kimson!”

  As Tyten thrust forward with his sword, Delridden left himself open until the last moment when he twisted his body, too late; the captain’s blade entered his flesh, just above the right hip, and went straight through.

  Now, though, Tyten’s weapon was stuck, and Delridden was still holding his own blade. A flash of doubt crossed the captain’s eyes as his challenger reared back and struck powerfully with his own blade straight at Tyten’s heart. Fortunately for the soldier, his armour absorbed the lethal impact, stopping the blade inches from Tyten’s heart. Delridden, drawing on his last reserves of strength, charged forward with his sword still pressed to Tyten’s chest. When they collided with the bars of Uriel’s cell, the blade finally punched through the breastplate of Tyten’s armour and impaled the soldier’s heart. So the prophecy was fulfilled and despite the absence of it in his own life, Tyten was killed by love.

  Wi
thout leadership, the castle guards had retreated as far as they could without breaking. The liberators, fueled by determination, had fought bravely though many were exhausted or injured. The Matriarch and Bakka were both attempting one last treaty while both sides took a breath. With the guards holding the higher ground just outside the royal apartments, it would take one giant effort from the invaders to break through. While the Peritwinkle growled intimidatingly, Bakka tried to reason with the remaining defenders. Before peace could be negotiated, Luyna emerged at the top of the staircase, behind her twin daughters, Celeste and Coral, who were followed by a shame-faced Rat. Lastly came Blakast who held Damselfly hostage so the rebels could see. Buttons, unwilling to risk anything happening to his friend, trailed behind obediently.

  “End this foolishness now,” Luyna threatened.

  “We have come too far,” the Matriarch warned.

  “You would risk harm coming to your precious princess?” Luyna questioned, her yellow eyes bright with malice.

  “No harm will come to her while I breathe,” the Matriarch vowed.

  “Then perhaps we should find out who is the strongest sorceress,” Luyna challenged.

  Damselfly wanted to scream a warning. She had witnessed Luyna’s terrifying rage at losing her brother and knew that the Matriarch could not win. Yet Blakast held her tightly so she could not speak or move, and painfully she watched as her friend stepped forward.

  “If it means no one else gets hurt I gladly accept,” the Matriarch responded.

  “You always believed yourself to be the authority on everything,” Luyna recalled. “Teacher or mentor, you always positioned yourself above others like you were special.”

  “I never thought my magical abilities were superior to anyone. I only hoped to guide and advise those with powers on how to use them for good.”

  “Then you failed.”

  Luyna unleashed a blast of energy that staggered the Matriarch. Damselfly screamed, although no one could hear it because Blakast’s hand was covering her mouth. Within moments it was over. The Matriarch was on her knees with greater streaks of silver in her hair and her robes tattered.

  “You are holding back, why?” Luyna asked.

  “Magic is running out. Soon there will be nothing left for any of us,” the Matriarch answered.

  “You lie,” Luyna accused, although there was doubt in her lupine eyes.

  “Without time, magic will disappear from Fable along with everything else,” the Matriarch prophesied.

  “What will we do without magic?” Celeste questioned.

  “Do not fall for her lies,” Luyna snapped at her daughter.

  “It is the truth and you know it,” the Matriarch posed.

  “I preserved existence by stopping time,” Luyna orated.

  While the sorceress was distracted, Damselfly desperately sought to gain the Matriarch’s attention. Making eye contact, the princess looked at Luyna before making an O with her fingers. It took a few moments for the Matriarch to comprehend the message.

  “If you preserved everything, why is your brother not with you?” the Matriarch inquired.

  Luyna, still raw with grief, retaliated, animating an infestation of creeping vines to tie up the Peritwinkle. Moving confidently down the stairs, the sorceress sneered at the Matriarch before releasing all her power at the stricken figure. Damselfly once again screamed. This time she slipped from Blakast’s grip, and her voice echoed around the stone walls. When the light faded Damselfly could see, to her relief, that the Matriarch remained untouched on the stairs.

  “Impossible,” Luyna queried.

  “I heard there was a contest to see who was the greatest magician in the land, and I cannot believe you forgot to invite me.”

  From behind the rebels came the Fairy King, wearing his dark green robes, and behind him a rabble of Sprites followed including their leader, Jinx, who was riding a large Baywolf. Damselfly was as surprised as anyone, although she remembered the hand on her leg as they entered the portal between Evergarden and here.

  “I got rid of you once and I can do it again,” Luyna threatened.

  “You may have tricked me from the shadows. Now I see clearly who my enemy is, I will not make the same mistake again,” the Fairy King promised.

  The stairway was bathed in brilliant light as Luyna and the Fairy King dueled. Bakka desperately hauled the Matriarch to safety while the Sprites worked on releasing the Peritwinkle from his restraints. Damselfly struggled against her captor until Blakast pressed a knife to her throat, and Buttons shook his head to ward off any further struggle. the Fairy King appeared to be the only person enjoying himself; he danced across the stairs, singing at the top of his lungs, as he exchanged fire with Luyna.

  “This, our proud Kingdom of Fable, is saved by the man with no equal. So if you have been living under a rock or at the bottom of a lake, or meet a traveller who took a wrong turn, be sure to advise them so they do not make a terrible mistake. For the name of their leader they must learn. For I am the Fairy King. For I am the Fairy King.”

  Luyna felt her powers waning; the pull of magic at her fingertips was fading, and the Matriarch’s words proved true. With one final assault, Luyna dropped to the ground, her body wasted by the power that she had stolen. the Fairy King stood triumphantly, a reminder of a distant past.

  “You are defeated. Tell your men to lay down their arms,” the Matriarch instructed.

  “I still have this.” Luyna produced Death’s timepiece for everyone to see.

  “Hand it over,” the Matriarch instructed.

  “You want me to restart time? Perhaps I will,” Luyna teased.

  “We want you to return time,” Bakka concluded.

  For two individuals this statement was incorrect; the Fairy King had a frozen mask of fear imprinted on his face, and Damselfly struggled desperately in Blakast’s grip as

  she remembered Death’s ultimatum:

  You have one second to retrieve my timepiece or I will take your mother to the other side.

  With a look of pure malevolence, Luyna pressed down the crown on Death’s timepiece and restarted time. the Fairy King clutched his heart, where Death’s scythe had made a fatal wound, before collapsing on the stairs. Jinx along with all the Sprites crowded around their fallen leader, hoping for some response; they were disappointed. “I defeated all my enemies, except time!” the Fairy King whispered, before falling to the ground.

  The Fairy King was dead.

  Damselfly, slipping from Blakast’s grip for a moment, screamed; her voice was high with fright, and from nowhere Trigger, the Dalmatian, leapt at the usurper who was forced to release his grip. Freed, Damselfly slipped away from her captors with Buttons and entered the royal apartments, which felt haunted. It was cold, dark and unfamiliar as if Damselfly had never walked these corridors before. The princess ran through the empty halls with Buttons struggling to keep up. She burst into her mother’s room and headed straight for the bed where her mum lay.

  She was too late.

  Death stood by her mother’s bed, almost indistinguishable from the shadows if not for the frigid atmosphere that made the hairs on Damselfly’s neck stand up.

  “No, I did what you asked,” the princess pleaded.

  “I restarted time. Luyna has the timepiece, go and take it from her. Please, do not take my mother.”

  Damselfly may only have been twelve years old, yet she had learnt that no one can barter with Death as her mother’s spirit was taken away by the old king. Damselfly placed her head on her mother’s cold hand and cried until there was nothing left inside. After everything they had been through, it was all for nothing; her mother was gone. Luyna still held sway over the castle, and although time had restarted, it still felt like it was stopped to Damselfly.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Damselfly wiped her tears away to discover Buttontail sitting beside her solemnly.

  “Did you say something, Buttons?”

  The rabbit looked
up to the ceiling where Phoebus, the owl, was hovering with some difficulty due to his age and large wing span.

  “Oh, Phoebus, I did not see you there,” Damselfly replied. “I am crying because my mother is dead. Death gave me one second to return his timepiece and I failed.”

  “You have not failed yet,” Phoebus contradicted.

  “What do you mean?” the princess questioned.

  “Here.” The owl dropped something from his foot onto the bed.

  To Damselfly’s astonishment, she discovered her uncle Abeldine’s bell, the one they had won from the leviathan back in Shadowgarden.

  “Where did you get that?” Buttons asked incredulously.

  “Pariah retrieved it from the Hall of Bells,” Phoebus managed to remember.

  “What does it do?” Damselfly questioned, reaching for the instrument.

  “Don’t touch it, Damselfly,” Buttons warned. “You recall what happened to the Shades.”

  Princess Damselfly retracted her hand, although the desire to touch the bell remained intense.

  “That bell has magical powers,” Phoebus revealed.

  “In the right hands it could do a lot of good, even potentially bring the dead back to life.”

  For a brief moment Damselfly considered the possibility of bringing her mother back from the grave, though when she remembered Death’s presence it was surely too late.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Damselfly stated.

  “It might be the only way to stop Luyna,” Buttons considered.

  “Perhaps there is a way to control the magic infused within this bell,” Phoebus offered.

  “The lore of bell magic has been lost for decades. How could I possibly find it now?” Damselfly pondered.

  “Maybe you should do what worked before,” Phoebus hinted.

  The princess ruminated on this conundrum, repeating the owl’s words until an idea popped into her head.

  “According to the tale I swallowed it last time.”