Damsel Knight

by Sam Austin

  The large man throws his sword onto the table in disgust. His eyes skirt worriedly over the King’s pale flesh. “We need magic to get this leech off.”

  Boone moves to the King’s other side. His lips are blue, his skin almost as pale as her dead arm. Timon’s touch may work slower than that of her arm, but he’s steadily draining the life out of him. The King has minutes, maybe seconds. “He should’ve thought of that before he killed everyone else with magic.”

  She can feel Angus’s glare burning through the side of her head. She holds out her sword toward Timon, hilt first. “Here use this. Your way is taking too long.”

  “Boone? What are you-”

  Boone turns her head to catch Neven’s eyes. He frowns, but grabs Alice’s hand again to keep the struggling girl at his side.

  “Traitor!” Angus yells, lunging forward to grab the sword. The motion takes him into the back of Timon, who dissolves into mist until the man staggers backward out of his space. The large man collapses to his knees, coughing. His body trembles as if he’d been running for miles.

  The reformed Timon looks at her in bewilderment. “Why would I-”

  “You want to avenge your mother, right?” Boone holds the hilt inches from his hand. Waves of cold drift off of him. She considers grabbing him with her cold hand. That would do something, judging by the way he had recoiled from it. It would stop him, but it would also hurt him. She doesn’t want that. “A man would use a sword to avenge his family. You are a man, aren’t you Timon?”

  He’s not. He’s younger than ever, barely three. He looks up at her with wide scared eyes, then nods.

  He holds the sword clumsily, but with a strength that shouldn’t be possible for his size. The King gasps as Timon releases his grip, but remains pale and lifeless. The boy raises the sword above the slumped man’s neck, and swings it down before Angus can recover himself enough to launch at him.

  The sword clangs to the floor. Timon backs away with fat tears rolling down his cheeks, his fingers held over his mouth as if he might be sick.

  The wound on the King’s neck gapes open, ugly and drooling blood. Then the blood around the wound dries into a dark crust. The frayed edges of skin stitch together as steadily and lovingly as a dress maker stitching a seam. It ends looking like a neater version of the dead boy’s necks. The only scar tissue is a smooth thin strip.

  Alice steps forward, blinking rapidly. “How?”

  “The barrier.” Of course Neven already knows the answer. “He was holding the sword. All the energy must have travelled into it.”

  She had hit Julius with her sword. It hadn’t taken because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. The creature had burned when it touched the sword hilt, because it wanted to hurt everything.

  “How did you know?” Angus stammers, leaning heavily against the table. “How did you know that would happen?”

  “Because Timon never wanted to hurt anyone.” She looks over the King, at the weeping toddler scrubbing his face. She can’t believe she ever considered him a monster. “He’s the best of all of us.”

  The King’s eyes open.

  Golden patterns appear around Timon’s body along with white, red, and blue. It’s a heartbeat before she realises what they mean. Her hand reaches for her sword before she remembers it’s on the floor near Timon’s feet. She throws herself at the King, shaking him. If she had her sword, she might’ve used it already, and it might have worked. Timon may be good, but that doesn’t mean she is. “Stop it. Stop!”

  The King continues chanting, ignoring her.

  Adrenaline coursing through her body, she sees the sword Angus had thrown down on the table. She grabs it by the blade, slicing several of her fingers. Spinning it around, she grips the hilt and raises it to use against the King.

  An unseen blow connects with her chest, knocking her backward across the room. She hits the curved wall hard enough to make a vase fall from a shelf above her, shattering on the marble floor.

  Pain flares through her body. Her head spins. Blinking several times, she sees Alice has taken her place by the King's side, pleading with him. Grabbing the wooden cup, she throws the remains of its contents into the man's face.

  A flick of the King's wrist sends her skidding backward along the marble floor. Neven's efforts to catch her are the only thing that stops her rolling right out the room into the hallway beyond.

  It's too late. Where Timon once stood is a mass of white mist, and it's screaming. It screams the agony of a fifteen year old boy burned alive by his father, his mother nowhere in sight. It might scream forever here. The torches make the room brightly lit. There's no place for a lost one to hide from the light and the memories.

  Then Alice screams, her voice almost as shrill.

  Neven has hold of her arms, teeth gritted with the strain. Boone's stomach flips. She scrambles to her feet, head still throbbing.

  As if the marble around her had changed to quicksand, Alice is disappearing into the floor.

  ***

  King Robin raises a hand to his thick black hair. His mouth open in shock, he looks to the ground, where behind the white mist of Timon glints the red rubies of his crown.

  He hadn't been wearing the crown when he'd cast the spell, and without payment, the magic had taken that most precious to him. Alice.

  Angus joins Neven, trying to pull Alice out of the marble floor. Nothing they do seems to make any difference. No matter how hard they pull at her arms, her lower body continues to sink into the floor. First her feet, then her legs, then her thighs.

  When Boone reaches the King, he's still sitting in his chair, gaping.

  Frustrated, she pulls him to his feet. "Come on. Fix this."

  "I..." He shakes his head, looking stupid with drops of wine gathered in his beard. "I did this, Alice."

  She gives him a push in the right direction, then leans over the chair to retrieve her sword. It's hard to think with all the screaming. "Angus!" She shouts, and throws the weapon through the air.

  He catches it neatly. Alice is stuck in the marble to mid chest. Her eyes roll with fear. He places the tip of the sword to the floor around her. The dark metal glows, its red hint growing until it looks like it's been fetched straight out of the fire.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Neven is at her side. He glances back at Alice nervously, but the King is finally staggering over to her. Angus and the King will do their job. It's up to her and Neven to do theirs, and quickly. There isn't much time.

  "This is complex. I'm not sure I can do it." Neven looks at the screaming mist. She has to watch his lips to make out the words over the noise.

  "You can." She presses the crown into his hands. "Make sure you use it all."

  Taking it, he frowns and shoves it into the mist. White tendrils wrap around his fingers. He shivers.

  Lifting Angus's weapon with her cut fingers, she turns her back to him, blocking him from view as much as possible. Standing this close to the screaming makes her head feel like it might explode. Fiddling with the sword, she tries to get an idea of its weight in case it comes to a fight. She hopes it doesn't.

  Angus is still holding her sword to the ground around Alice. The girl comes loose from the ground slowly, the parts of her that had been submerged covered in a slimy black residue. The King tears away a piece of his purple shirt and wipes it off her arms and hands.

  Finally the girl's foot comes free from the marble and she collapses into her father's arms, both of them panting with exertion. At the same moment the screaming behind Boone stops abruptly.

  The King looks up.

  "It's not enough Boone," Neven whispers frantically. "I need more, and quick, before it..."

  He doesn't need to say before what. She saw enough from Alice what could happen if you don't pay the price. Without hesitation, she offers her dead arm. So far it's done nothing but take, but there must be energy stored in there. It wouldn't move if there wasn't.

  A cold feeling spreads through the numb limb. Like the bone
is turning into ice from the inside out. It's painful enough to make her grit her teeth.

  "No good," Neven says. "More. I need more."

  Her dead arm flops back to her side, truly dead again. She levers the blade, eyes Angus carefully. If there is magic to be had, it's in her sword.

  The King reaches out for the sword. Her heart drops. If there's a way to channel the magic into some other purpose, he'll find it.

  Alice doesn't give him the chance. She throws her whole body weight against him, sending both of them skidding away from Angus and the sword.

  Spinning Angus's sword in a way she hopes looks intimidating, she charges.

  He's taken off guard by the first blow, slipping a little on the black muck left on the floor. He meets the second blow solidly, and the third, and fourth.

  He's strong, but she's fast. She manages to angle most of the hits so his swings skirt off the blade instead of meeting it straight on. She can only take so many direct hits without her arms tiring.

  She uses her lessons from Julius to dance around him. He follows more gracefully than she'd thought from his size, but seems to tire quicker than her. Her attempts to hack at his kidneys are stopped at the last moment. If she keeps this up she'd wear him down, but she doesn't have time for that.

  Magic is impatient, and even if it wasn't, Alice wouldn't keep the King away for long.

  She spins around too slow, leaving her right side wide open. He sees it and grins. She ducks the swing at the last moment, and moves lightning fast to deliver one of her own.

  A crack rebounds throughout the large room as she uses the flat of Angus's own sword to break his wrist. Her sword clatters from his grip to the ground.

  The King, having got away from Alice, runs toward her. Acting quickly, she places a foot on the hilt of the sword and propels it toward Neven. The boy picks it up and places it next to the transparent but visible Timon.

  A moment later it's over. Timon is as solid as he's ever looked.

  King Robin takes hold of her shoulders and shakes her. The bits of skin that can be seen around his beard are bright red. "Do you realise what you've done?!"

  She wriggles out of his grip, panting. "I do. Do you?" She tilts her head toward the balcony.

  Without the screaming, the commotion outside is possible to hear. War cries, shouts of fear, and the roar of flame. In a daze the King opens the glass doors that separate the balcony from the feasting hall. Immediately he backs away, shaking his head.

  Barbarians swarm over the walls. Gelert flies overhead, a tiny figure on his back barely visible in the dark sky. And everything in view, from the palace gardens to what can be glimpsed of the stables is on fire.

  ***

  "It can't be lost." King Robin rubs his hand over his thick hair, clearly unused to the feeling of no crown. "I worked for a thousand years to keep the circle safe."

  Alice walks out ahead of them to the balcony. Fighting rages below. Her limbs shake, and her dress is still covered in black muck. But when she speaks her voice is steady. "You worked for a thousand years to make sure the circle didn't change. That's not the same thing as keeping it safe."

  Angus hesitates, then walks out to stand next to her. A giant of a man beside a little girl. His mouth drops in horror as he takes in the carnage below.

  Neven stands beside Alice, his face grim. Timon is nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he's gone somewhere safe to wait things out.

  Boone stays near the glass doors, gripping tight to Angus's sword in case anyone tries something. "I know one of the leaders. I can negotiate terms of surrender if you tell your men to put down their weapons."

  "And give up?" The King gives a humourless laugh. "They would never do that. What would happen to the women and children if they left them to the mercy of the barbarians."

  "A lot less worse than what might happen if they get caught in the middle of a battle. Or if the women try to fight."

  "The women won't fight." His eyes stray to the pictures on the walls. "They are docile. They will stay safe where I put them."

  From the balcony Angus clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Actually my King. They may fight."

  King Robin looks from Angus to Boone, narrowing his bright green eyes. "I see."

  "Surrendering is the only way to keep them safe." Boone catches his eyes with her own, refuses to look away. "And to keep Alice safe."

  Neven leans against the railing, keeping his body as far away from Angus as he can, and close to Alice. There's something hard about the set of his eyes "Mattis is gone. The crystals are gone. Your army is a few hundred boys and old men against a dragon. The only question you need to ask yourself is, when the barbarians find you, and they will, do you want your life and Alice's to be in the hands of Boone's reasonable leader, or a mob of bloodthirsty soldiers?"

  Gelert flies over, his giant form blocking out the sky a moment as he sprays flame over the palace grounds. The smooth marble walls of the palace seem unaffected, and little heat reaches the balcony. A neat trick for a palace with a history of being attacked by dragons, but she doubts its protection extends to enemy soldiers.

  Below the barbarians wait in the shadows of the wall, their bronze shields glimmering with firelight. As one they move across the golden road toward the palace. Around them the blackened grass smoulders.

  The King turns his attention back to the pictures, placing a hand on the painting of his mother. He sighs. "How long would it take you to contact this leader?"

  "I did it once before," Neven says, something hopeful creeping into his voice. "But it took a lot of magic."

  "You're sloppy." The King doesn't take his eyes from the painting. "A spell is like a fine piece of art. Get it right and you only pay the minimum. Finger paint and the price is higher."

  Neven pushes himself off the railing. "Show me then, and we can send the message here and now."

  King Robin huffs, finally taking his eyes off the wall. "For Alice, you understand. And the lives of the women and chil-"

  The words break off. A thin line of red paints over his lips and beard. His fingers rise to his stomach with an air of confusion. Just above his navel protrudes a point of metal. It glows like heated coals.

  "Boone what is it?" Alice hurries in, brow furrowed in worry. The princess follows her gaze to the King, and freezes. "Daddy?"

  Boone grabs Alice and pulls her back, guessing what's likely to happen next. She's right. No sooner had she pulled the girl's reaching arms from her father than flames roar to life, eating him from the inside out. In a moment all that's left is ash and badly charred bone.

  Angus takes his sword from her hand. She barely notices.

  Behind where the King had stood is her sword, still glowing red. Holding it is the page boy she and Neven found dead seven days ago. His dark hair is caked in dirt, and a thin rope of scar tissue winds around his neck. A manic grin distorts his otherwise normal features.

  And in his fist is clenched a handful of white blond hair, so long it drags on the floor. Her hair.

  Chapter 39

  The hair drifts from his hand and disappears into the marble as if it'd never been there. But it had. She had seen it. And it seems incredible that here in a place where light hair is seen as something 'other' there could be another with hair so pale who had grown it to that length.

  Barbarians see light hair as part of their culture, but she'd seen none of them with hair that length. Then again, her hair hadn't been that length for a long time either.

  Alice collapses in her arms, wailing. Boone holds her up as best she can. Thoughts race around in her mind, and she can't erase the impossible feeling that the hair that faded into the floor was hers.

  "Bonnie."

  Boone's head snaps up. The dead boy watches her with something strange in his eyes; a peculiar kind of strained joy. Though smaller than her he holds himself as if he were much taller. Something about how he holds the sword seems familiar.

  She holds it the same way. Most grip it awk
wardly, not used to such a large sword being so light, but he holds it as if that's the only kind of sword he's ever known.

  "I watched over you." His voice has a clumsy edge to it, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time. "As you asked me to. It was so very dark, and it took so very long to get here, but I'm here now sweetheart. No one will ever take me away from you again."

  Angus pauses at her side, sword ready in his hands. He looks from the charred bones to the dead boy with barely contained fury.

  Boone settles Alice on the ground by her feet. Neven kneels beside her, wrapping his arms around the weeping girl. He pulls her away from the body, across the marble floor. Sensible. Whatever the dead boy is now, he is no page boy.

  Angus's hand shakes around his sword. "You know him? Was this your plan all along?"

  "You know me too Angus." The dead boy tilts his head, his stance making him look like a puppet moving jerkily on its strings. That's more or less the truth. Seven days is a long time for an innocent child to wait around after death. Whether or not there's something of the page boy hidden, someone very different is in control of the strings. "Brutish and arrogant as ever I see. Don't try anything with that sword of yours. You never could beat me, and that won't change now."

  "Drop your weapon." Angus growls out the words. "Kneel and I'll make it quick."

  The way he holds the sword. The way he speaks to her. What had he said? He watched over her because she asked him to. When she'd offered her hair to the stream, she'd asked the ancestors to give her luck. Her ancestors.

  It couldn't be. He should've moved on long ago.

  She steps forward, acutely aware she has no sword. "Papa?"

  The dead boy's smile turns into one she remembers. Soft. Warm. "That's right sweetheart. I'm back. I'm sorry it took so long, but I can fix things now."

  It's as if she's dreaming, and it's not a nice dream. Only the angriest spirits refuse to move on for that long. Her father was never angry. The worst she had ever seen him do was worry after her mother pushed herself too hard to clean, or cook, or make dresses. He's supposed to be safe and happy, perhaps in another life as a little boy somewhere.