The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  It was then, as we trundled ever closer toward the castle and the queen and the imprisoned witch, that I fully realized that I, who had never thrown a punch to defend myself or fought to protect someone else or faced any type of violent threat, was extremely underqualified for the job I’d volunteered for so long ago and was about to undertake.

  CHAPTER 9:

  The Castle

  Our carriage crested the last hill and descended toward the edge of a steep inlet named Coral Canyon. Far below, Sir Liliford said, the Siege of the Shallows had taken place.

  The canyon was truly awesome in scope. Spreading from its broad opening to the ocean in the west to the narrow end in the trees around the castle, it was hundreds of feet across at our crossing and just as deep. Chunks of its walls had been blown away in several places, perhaps by erosion or a great rock slide or a battle. A treacherous path was carved into the steep sides, leading all the way down to an inlet of pools aquamarine in color. Way down there, I thought I could see a black rock, incongruous with the limestone rock and colorful coral.

  A drawbridge was lowered across the gaping canyon. Once we’d crossed, the horses stopped at a squat cabin. Other horses whinnied from nearby stables. A portly man who called himself the Bridgemaster—he too had green in his eyes—asked us to dismount the carriage and proceed by foot into Amaranthine, the capital city of Dembroch.

  Before we left, the Bridgemaster fished into a barrel full of water and pulled out a baby turtle with big eyes and cute little flippers. At the sight of the cute animal, Jenn cooed like a baby.

  The Bridgemaster handed the turtle to Sir Liliford.

  “An offering for the queen,” Sir Liliford explained when he saw my questioning glance. “She likes the little creatures.”

  He held the turtle gingerly and led us by foot back into the decayed forest. Behind us, the drawbridge retracted across the canyon with a mighty creek. The gnarled trunks swayed above us. I half-expected a werewolf or other bloodthirsty monster to jump out at us, but as before, there was nothing—no birds, deer, bugs, or people.

  Homes began to appear out of the woods, little cottages fit for fairytale characters. Empty wells interrupted the cobblestones, buckets and rope laying unused.

  Above, through gaps in the branches and the village’s rooftops, I saw flashes of blue steeples and golden flags, cobble walls and windows. In a few moments, I knew, the castle would be wholly visible in all its glory.

  And then, I saw her.

  Glimpsed just for an instant through the trees, but seared into my mind’s eye like a flash of light, I saw the castle’s tallest tower. There was a balcony near the top and leaning over its edge was a woman with long, golden hair.

  My heart skipped a beat and I nearly tripped. The next second, the canopy of dead branches became too thick and I lost sight of the tower, the balcony, and the woman.

  The queen, I thought to myself. It must have been the queen. And she was looking right at me.

  We rounded a final bend. Mighty stone walls stood before us, extending into the trees and out of sight. Directly ahead was a massive arch filled with gargantuan oak doors.

  Sir Liliford opened one of them and ushered us to enter. I expected a burst of cheers or a few people welcoming us, but beyond was an expansive, empty courtyard. Two massive water fountains sat in the center, dry.

  My eyes were drawn skyward. Towering above us all was the castle.

  It stood magnificently, an elegant mass of ornate columns and chiseled basalt-hued stones. Rounded windows overlooked the courtyard from every level. Flying buttresses and gargoyle sculptures punctuated the walls, awnings hung over various entrances. The main structure of the castle was directly opposite of us, stretching out around the courtyard like the open arms of a mother and forming the walls we’d entered through. The castle, I realized, was a giant, thick circle of stone.

  High above, towers were topped with rounded spires of sapphire blue. Golden flags bearing Dembroch’s sigil flapped to and fro. The tallest tower indeed had a wraparound balcony close to the top, but there was no woman up there anymore.

  My eyes came to a rest at the foot of the fortress. Steps led into the castle’s largest and surely main entrance, beyond which were a cluster of columns blocking my view of the interior. Sir Liliford led us across the courtyard, up those steps, through the columns, and into a very tall room. It was cylindrical in shape and stretched up at least ten stories. I automatically assumed it was the interior of the castle’s tallest tower. Walls were adorned with tapestries, staircases, and thresholds to the inner reaches of the fortress. A staircase wrapped from the bottom floor where we stood to the very top where the ceiling glistened with intricate paintings. Midday sunlight shone through windows, illuminating the circular floor where we stood.

  I spun around and around, marveling at the architectural wonder. At last, my eyes were drawn to the center of the floor. There, inlaid in a circular stone and about three feet in diameter, was the crest of Dembroch. It was made of beautiful, glistening gems.

  Drawn to it, I reached out to touch one of the colored stones.

  “Not yet, Sir Nicholas,” Sir Liliford called to me.

  I pulled my hand back as though scolded by a parent.

  The ferryman gestured to the hall around us.

  “This is the Rotunda,” he said simply. “The crest at your feet is our Aerary. For now, we are headed to the throne room.”

  We followed him across the Rotunda to another hallway and into a maze of corridors. I quickly lost my sense of direction as we twisted and turned through torch-lit hallways and past elaborate rooms. There were many closed doors and nary a person in sight. I saw an extravagant ballroom with chandeliers and foreign musical instruments, then a large, vacant space that seemed to be a hospital of types with cots, fresh linens, containers, and bowls with crushed herbs.

  At long last, we stopped. Before us was a large wooden door no different than any of the others we’d passed.

  “If you will stay here,” Sir Liliford requested, “I will prepare the queen for you.”

  He entered the room beyond, shutting the door quickly behind him.

  My friends and I exchanged glances. We all looked nervous, but it seemed for entirely different reasons. Jenn seemed ready to faint, Clay was running his fingers through his hair, and Meg was whispering under her breath. I thought I heard her say, “Two rights, left, straight, straight…”

  Before we could share our concerns or second-guess our meeting with the queen, Sir Liliford returned. The baby turtle he’d been holding was gone.

  “My sirs and ladies,” Sir Liliford said, holding open the door for us to enter, “the queen of Dembroch.”

  My friends and I entered a room long and rectangular in shape. Tables were pushed up against the walls. On the opposite side of the room was a throne, and sitting atop it was a woman with long, golden hair.

  I knew her instantly, even from across the room. It was the woman from the balcony, the maiden of my childhood daydreams. She was more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.

  It was Queen Coralee.

  CHAPTER 10:

  The Queen

  Seeing the queen, my stomach dropped. In my mind appeared the countless letters I’d written to her. Suddenly, I wanted to turn around and go die of embarrassment alone in the hallway.

  Behind us, the door shut. I glanced back—Sir Liliford hadn’t entered with us. A second later, I heard the slide of a lock.

  “Please,” the queen called, her accented voice echoing around us. “Approach.”

  We walked to her awkwardly, footsteps loud on the stone walls. My cheeks seemed to burn hotter with every step. I noticed an empty turtle shell on the arm of the throne, but my eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the queen.

  At last, we came to a stop before the throne. The queen stared at all of us, not smiling or frowning, just observing. But when she looked at me, her lips curled into a slight smile. My palms started to sweat.

  She w
as violently beautiful, in an overbearing, yet arresting kind of way. Oddly, though I’d always assumed she was much older, she appeared to be our age, perhaps her late twenties or early thirties, most likely thanks to the supposed timelessness of the island. She had thick locks of hair, a slim bodice gowned in green, and sharp features accentuated by the midday sun. There were white scars along one of her hands from a bad burn long ago. A sword hung from a belt slung low on her hips. From her poised posture to the filigree crown atop her brow, she breathed power and demanded respect. She was not the fair, mourning queen I’d imagined, but shrewd, calculating, and steely in the eyes.

  “My knights and dames, you are the last defenders?” the queen finally said, her smile twisting into a strange smirk. She paused, almost smugly, before saying, “It is a pleasure to meet you all. Where are your sigils?”

  “Here,” I said, fishing the medal from my satchel. My friends did the same. The queen took each brooch and placed them on the throne’s armrest, right beside the empty turtle shell.

  She descended the steps leading up to her throne and began to circle around us, all the while still smirking. It seemed to me she was sizing us up.

  “I will admit,” she said, her voice echoing around the chamber, “you are not what I expected. You wrote to me with such conviction and heart. I had heard much tell of your skills and abilities. Yet, you four seem—”

  “Hey!” Meg suddenly shouted.

  The queen flinched, as though terrified we would suddenly lash out and become violent.

  “You’re the one who called us,” Meg said, her voice loud and obstinate.

  “Indeed I did,” the queen replied, still circling us.

  As she passed, I thought I saw an edge of paper sticking out of her neckline. It was old and wrinkled with the scrawl of a child’s messy handwriting. I couldn’t have been sure, but I thought I recognized it. Was that one of my letters? She had it? On her person? Why was I even looking that closely at her neckline?

  “So let’s get to it,” Meg said. “What do you need us to do? Are you going to convince us there’s magic that needs saving too?”

  I couldn’t believe my sister’s nerve, nor could I fathom why the queen was treating us like street rats. Or why she had my letter held so close.

  “Oh, fix the magic?” the queen said. “You’re doing all you need to do right now. I called you and you came running.”

  The queen smiled, sinister now.

  All thoughts of my letters and the queen’s odd behavior fled my mind. I sensed danger.

  The queen drew her hand back as though reaching for her sword.

  “Watch out!” I shouted.

  But the queen wasn’t reaching for her sword, nor were my friends the quick-minded and swift-footed heroes we’d been in our youth. We stood there dumbly, me cringing, as the queen whispered words I didn’t hear and racked a clawed hand through the air. Mirages of green light flew from her hand and blasted us off our feet. I was flying, twirling through the air, and then I slammed back onto the stone ground.

  “Taking your titles didn’t do the trick,” the queen said. “But taking your life certainly should.”

  Suddenly, I was flying again. My friends and I were launched across the room. I slammed into the ground hard. My back lit on fire.

  The queen marched toward us. Green light gathered around her hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement and suddenly Meg had me by the leg and was pulling me behind the throne. A blast like a grenade went off where my head had been. Chips of stone bit my scalp.

  The next second, I was behind the throne with my friends. Blood ran from Jenn’s hairline. Clay’s jacket was torn on the shoulders. We were all shaking from head to foot.

  “Don’t hide, my knights and dames,” the queen sneered. “It’s unflattering of your reputation.”

  Meg glanced over the edge of the chair and her eyes got wide. The queen was coming, I knew, and there was no way to stop it.

  “I could have sent assassins to kill you in your sleep or poison your drinks,” the queen called, her voice growing ever nearer. “But I heard of your strength and skill. I knew only I could rid the kingdom of you. I had to have you here before me, see the whites of your eyes, and then I could face you. But where is your strength? Where is your skill? You cower behind the throne like little children. You seem little more than amateurs pretending to be soldiers. Do not make me work too hard for the slaughter. If you are warriors, face me now, and give me a show, or suffer a thousand pains cowering for your lives.”

  The throne we hid behind suddenly lifted off the ground and exploded into a thousand pieces. Our Dembroch sigils and the empty turtle shell went flying. The queen glowered at us and then, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her fingers twitched like she was playing an invisible instrument. Green light danced around each digit.

  “Bleed you dry of air so sweet,” she said, “death will approach with swiftest of feet!”

  As if bidden by the queen’s words, the air left my lungs. My throat tightened. I clutched at my windpipe, but there was nothing there constricting my airway.

  My friends collapsed too, raking at their throats. We gulped like fish, unable to inhale. Green light danced around their necks, untouchable yet compressing upon their flesh.

  Suddenly, a loud voice roared through the room.

  “Silence, witch!”

  There was a distant clang and bang. The queen shrieked words my oxygen-deprived mind didn’t understand. There were bursts of ivy green light. It looked so familiar, so bright and shining—and that’s when it all clicked. The queen was wielding magic, real magic. It had physicality, an emerald green that sparkled in the light. It was the same color of green I’d seen in Page Hybore and Sir Liliford’s eyes. Somehow, she’d been controlling them to lure us here, just as it was killing us now.

  My eyesight got blurry. My limbs felt heavy. My heart beat painfully, obstinately.

  This was the end, I knew. I had reunited my friends and brought them here just to die. I had finally made it to Dembroch, this awful, trick of a kingdom, just to suffocate to death.

  All at once, there was a great quake. At first, I thought it came from me, some internal fracture of sanity or final tremor of death throes. But then I realized I could breathe again. Air, blessed air, was rushing back into my lungs. At the same time, my friends gasped, sucking in the air.

  The world came back into focus. I realized the castle was shaking. Far off, a horn was sounding. Somewhere in the room, a deep, booming voice was crying out in agony. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it ended. The castle and air lay still.

  “What have you done, witch?” shouted a new voice.

  I sat up. What was going on?

  Across the chamber I saw the queen, but she was facing off with five newcomers.

  “Your defenders are dead,” cried the queen at the five strangers, her voice a shrill cackle. “Your magic is gone!”

  “You’re going to have to try harder than that!” Meg exclaimed, her voice raspy.

  The queen spun around, face contorted in confusion and loathing. Before our very eyes, her blonde hair was turning white and her fair face was wrinkling. She seemed to be aging on the spot.

  “Curious,” the queen mouthed. She wiggled her fingers. They moved like spiders, green light dancing around them.

  “Don’t you dare!” one of the newcomers, a humanoid creature covered in moss, croaked. “Civium, provide the defenders care.”

  The moss man lunged at the queen. She swatted him away with lances of green magic, but he kept pressing on.

  Meanwhile, the other newcomers ran to my friends and I.

  “Off your arse,” a mountain of a man with a thick beard and axe hollered at me.

  I tried, but too slow apparently. The behemoth grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder.

  Across the room, there were shouts and bangs. A flash of green light. A pained shriek. The moss man stumbled back, but he got back to his feet, eyes locked o
n the queen. His persistence knew no bounds.

  “Come on, mage!” my rescuer cried.

  We—whoever we were—made it to the door. My helper held it open, ushering everyone through. Hanging over his back, I had a good view into the throne room. It was a disaster, tables shattered to splinters, the walls impacted and torn apart. Quite a battle had been waged while I’d been incapacitated. In all the chaos, there was a yellowed, folded piece of paper laying on the ground.

  The queen was still fighting the man of moss, but she didn’t look the same. She wore the same green dress, but she was shorter and her face was completely different. It was a totally different person, except she wore the same garb.

  I saw a flash of waxy, gaunt skin and sunken eyes, a hideous woman that should have only been in haunted houses or horror stories. My would-be murderer. Somehow, she’d become someone new.

  “Mage!” my rescuer cried again.

  The man of moss body-slammed the queen, green daggers cutting right through his chest. While the queen was down, he half-ran, half-limped over to us and ran through the door. He looked winded from the battle, though the holes in his chest did not bleed. My rescuer followed the moss man, slamming the door shut. He stepped over a fallen body—I recognized it as Sir Liliford, knocked out on the ground—and took off at a run after my friends and their saviors, followed by the fading shrieks of the defeated queen.

  CHAPTER 11:

  Magic and its Mage

  The moss man, who was apparently a mage as his comrades kept calling him, let out a sharp gasp of pain and crashed to the ground. When he hit, it sounded like a rock slamming down and breaking, though he appeared to be made of nothing but moss.

  “What’s going on?” Meg shouted.

  “Quiet,” my rescuer replied, his voice a gruff whisper. “Mage, we must hurry.”

  But the mage wasn’t getting up.

  “Get off,” my rescuer said to me, sliding me off his shoulder. He went to the mage’s side, followed by our other rescuers.