The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  I gave her a nod. If I still knew my sister, I knew she couldn’t stand being blamed for something, particularly something she knew she’d been responsible for. Without a doubt, she was staying to set the record straight and wash her hands of it.

  We looked back to the librarian, once four individuals, now unified as one.

  Sir Rignot didn’t smile or applaud. He gave us a curt nod and, from his desk of books, produced a map, which he unfurled for us. A hundred notations were scribbled across it, identifying beaches, villages, and homes.

  The librarian pointed at a tower on the northeast headland of the main island.

  “Cliffside Tower,” Sir Rignot told Clay. “You will find the Watchmaker there.”

  The seer pointed to a cottage in the northeastern forest.

  “My home,” she said to Jenn.

  “Page Trey will be here,” the librarian said to Meg, tapping the southeast area. “The Gate Grounds. Tread carefully.” He looked to me. “Sir Nicholas? Where are you headed?”

  “I know where I need to go,” I said.

  Sir Rignot gave me a nod, rolled up the map, and handed it to Clay. Then, he handed me the vial of golden liquid.

  “There may yet be more secrets within your book,” he said. “This magic, perhaps the last in the kingdom, may be what you need to find the answers you seek.”

  I obliged, storing the vial and book back in my satchel.

  “Come, Lady Jennifer,” the seer said.

  She gave each of us a strained, nervous look.

  “I love you,” Clay said to her.

  “Be safe,” I said.

  With a final wave, Jenn and the seer walked off into the aisles of the library.

  Clearly seeing we were at an end to our discussion, Sir Rignot bowed to each of us.

  “You have learned much, sirs and ladies,” he said. “Now, for the sake of an old man’s head and for our kingdom, please, be on your way. Save our kingdom before it is truly too late. And beware the Dreadnaught. It roams the woods. Take heed to not cross its path. It is indestructible.”

  With that, the roly-poly librarian bowed and disappeared into the aisles of bookcases. Clay, Meg, and I gave each other knowing looks and went on our way. It was time to save the kingdom we’d doomed.

  ◆◆◆

  A few bookstacks away, when sure everyone was gone, the seer tugged on Jenn.

  “What are we doing?” Jenn asked.

  “Escaping,” the seer replied.

  “What—no!” Jenn said. “I have to help you—”

  “That’s what the mage wants,” the seer replied. She guided Jenn toward a door, one that presumably let out of the library. “But I know what you will help me with. Leaving Dembroch!”

  ◆◆◆

  Clay, Meg, and I stopped just beyond the exit of the library.

  “Are we all on the same page?” I asked.

  “One more time,” Clay said. “Slower. In English.”

  I tried one more time. If anything, it helped my brain sort it out too.

  “Six flames were started on Dembroch by eight people who exhibited the truest traits of peace, love, joy, gentleness, goodness, and faithfulness,” I said. “The flames were tied to their creators, the SparkSources, who became the kingdom’s knights and dames. Anyone who joined their ranks shared in the bond of fueling the fires. We were part of those ranks. But…because we all gave up on our youth—the truest traits—the flames went out. Now, the only way to stop the witch, whatever she’s planning, is to go start new fires. We do these things—stop the Dreadnaught, free Ryderwyle, help the seer, mend the broken heart—and we exemplify the truest traits, and the flames get relit. We bring them back here to that Aerary thing and the kingdom is saved.”

  Clay sighed deeply, nervously. Meg bit her lip.

  “Alright, let’s do this,” I said.

  I took a step, prepared for the quest ahead, but there was one little thing we had forgotten: the witch.

  And she was standing at the end of the hall.

  CHAPTER 15:

  Light in the Library

  Sorgana the witch glowered at us. She looked like the queen again, but you could see her true self in her eyes. It was not royalty who stood before us. It was chaos personified, a woman who knew only suffering and the need to cause more. And her sights were set on us, the three would-be defenders trapped at the end of the hallway.

  “You have been immensely helpful,” the witch said, her voice harsh and unbecoming of her alluring form. “You ended the magic for me and now, so helpfully reveal its true nature. Six flames tied to defenders. But not their lives, rather their age…”

  She slunk closer, slow and confident. Clay drew behind me. Meg breathed hard. I prayed she didn’t do anything stupid. At any minute, I expected the witch to fling us through the air or choke us to death with the flick of a finger.

  “Love,” the witch spat. “Patience. Joy. These are the virtues of children, of weak minds and bent spines, those who kneel and bow to higher powers while refusing to claim it as their own. It is no wonder this pitiful kingdom fell if its magic was built on such weak foundations.”

  She sneered at us.

  “Rest easy, destroyers of Dembroch,” the witch said. “The kingdom will have magic once more. I will do it. And I will rebuild upon firmer foundations. Your skeletons.”

  This was the moment, I knew it. She was about to attack. Unless we attacked first.

  I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled my book out of my satchel, threw it open on the ground, and, quick with the vial, spilled several drops of golden magic onto its pages.

  The effect was instantaneous. Smoke exploded out of the book. I was bathed in white light.

  Not waiting to see what happened next, I turned and ran through the door into the library. My friends followed, as did the smoke. It filled the library in an instant, blocking our view.

  Suddenly, the scene materialized—sun beat down on us, crusty white earth spread as far as the eye could see. There was a black castle set far away in ivory cliffs. It was the setting of the one story from the book I still remembered well.

  I glanced back. Meg and Clay were right behind me, but Sorgana was there too. And she could see us.

  She glowered at us, easily overcoming the sudden change in scenery. If we were to live, I had to distract her.

  “Once,” I shouted, “King Arthur fought his greatest foe, Morgan Le Fay!”

  Two beings—a knight in shining armor and a witch in swirling rags—materialized out of thin air, appearing between us and the witch. The two fought viciously across the salt flat.

  Sorgana gave the two figures a strange look, almost one of recognition, then she returned her focus to us. She made to walk through the duelers after us, but she bounced off an unseen wall. I nearly laughed—she was still in the hallway outside the library.

  “Come on,” I said to my friends.

  We ran the opposite direction, holding out our hands to feel any obstacles that would get in our way. The witch went the easier route. There was a flash of emerald green and the entrance to the library blew apart.

  “Any last words?” King Arthur asked from behind us.

  “I curse you,” Morgan Le Fay replied, her aggressive voice carrying all the way to my ears, “and I curse your lineage.”

  There was a burst of green over my head. I spun around to see the witch—she was much closer, in the library now, and charging right for us.

  “Shoot,” I said under my breath. We had to get better concealment than this salt flat. In a commanding voice, I said: “Burdened with the curse and his spoils of war, King Arthur…uh…”

  I couldn’t remember what came next, but it didn’t matter. The salt flats disappeared, and King Arthur was walking into a dark, stone room. There were loud cries of a child or infant…or worse. My friends and I were concealed in darkness.

  Huh, that isn’t how the story goes, I thought, but that didn’t matter. The witch did.

  �
��You can’t hide forever,” the witch crooned, her voice echoing off the walls around us.

  “This way,” I whispered to my friends, feeling an opening between two aisles of bookcases.

  We crept along. It was so dark, we could hardly see anything. The only light was from the room King Arthur had entered. A second later, King Arthur walked out of it, clutching something to his chest. Shocked by his sudden appearance, Clay hit a stack of books. They tumbled to the ground.

  The witch jumped out of the darkness, appearing right in front of us. Clay yelled, I cringed. Sorgana muttered an incantation and sent green daggers right at us—

  They exploded before they hit us, colliding with a bookcase in between the witch and us.

  “Go!” I cried.

  We were off running, carelessly this time. I bounced off bookcases and tables. The witch was right behind us, muttering enchantments that couldn’t find their mark.

  “Bleed you dry of air so sweet,” I heard her say.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Meg cried.

  She wrapped her hands around a book, invisible to our eyes, and heaved it at the witch. There was no obstacle in the way this time. It smacked her face, silencing her incantation. We ran off, finding another aisle, and running further into the darkness. Behind us, the witch shrieked. Flashes of green flew all around us. Unseen bookstacks exploded, peppering us with splinters.

  Suddenly, I slammed into something hard and solid. Part of it gave. I saw a brief rip in the scene, a hallway lit by torchlight. We’d found a door out of the library!

  Meg and Clay saw it too. They pushed through it, I followed. We emerged into a hallway of the Dembroch castle and slammed the door shut. The sounds of breaking bookcases and shredding books were muffled behind the door.

  We raced down the hallway. At an intersection, I looked back. The witch hadn’t made it out yet.

  Down one of the other hallways, I saw a wall of white clouds. My book must have been down there.

  Fighting the impulse to run, ignoring the pleadings of Clay and Meg, I ran down the hallway. At the bank of clouds, I stooped to the ground and reached around for my book. I found it and snapped it shut. The second I did it, I knew it was a mistake. The cloud of white disappeared with it, revealing the hallway and the broken door leading into the library. Within, the crashes of the witch’s rage ceased.

  “Nick! Run!” Clay shouted at me.

  I turned and booked it, fast as my unexercised body could carry me. Clay and Meg ran too, leading me into the labyrinth of castle halls. We didn’t stop, even when we ran into Sir Liliford. We all screamed. Meg wound up to force the ferryman out of the way.

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  There was no green in the ferryman’s eyes anymore. He was free of the witch’s enchantment, though ashen and disoriented.

  “She’s coming!” I shouted at Sir Liliford. “Run!”

  This he understood. He turned tail and ran, leading us on. We chased after him, our sides aching.

  —

  Sorgana the witch fumed, barely containing her rage. She paced the destroyed library.

  The defenders had escaped her for the second time. Despite their overall lack of composure and fighting prowess, they were resourceful and fortunate. They would pay for that. If her Dreadnaught did not devour them, she would personally see to their demise.

  But to do so, she knew, would be costly. Her internal magic was intrinsically tied to her stamina and lifeforce. The more she used, the weaker she became, particularly when she used it upon a living being—because murder and harm were the hardest acts to produce and inflict. She did not need to kill the defenders anymore. She only wanted to kill them out of coldblooded wanton and revenge, but to do so would have been wasteful. There were greater things to be accomplished—and now, thanks to the defenders, she knew the final puzzle piece that even her informant hadn’t known: the kingdom’s flames had been started by the truest traits. And with this knowledge, she now knew how to complete her spell. She would have to work quickly if she were to beat the defenders.

  There was a sharp gasp across the library. The witch froze.

  “Help,” a weak voice said. “Help me.”

  The witch spotted the source: the librarian lay under a pile of splintered bookcases and torn pages. He was bleeding from his nose. She could drown him in it if she wanted. But to do so would be wasteful of her energy.

  She stepped back into the shadows of the last standing bookcases. Someone would return for the librarian and when they did, her own quests would begin.

  —

  At long last, we burst back into the Rotunda. Dying sunlight cascaded down from the upper windows. The inlaid kingdom sigil flashed by as we ran—the Aerary was down there, I knew now.

  Sir Liliford ran through the columns and off into the coming night. Meg and Clay noticed I’d stopped. They turned, demanding I come with them.

  “My quest is here,” I explained. “Go. Watch your backs.”

  “Same,” Meg said.

  They disappeared into the cluster of columns that led to the courtyard. I ran off in search of the prison where I knew a certain broken-hearted woman lay wait.

  It may have taken a deadline to doomsday and a few blows to our egos to rekindle our friendships, but at long last, the quests of the last defenders of Dembroch had begun.

  PART 2:

  The Quests of the Last Knights and Dames of Dembroch

  CHAPTER 16:

  The Seer Who Would Not See

  “We can’t just leave,” Jenn said.

  “We most certainly can,” the seer replied, tugging Jenn through the castle.

  “The mage told us—”

  “Yes, yes, I know what he wants.”

  “So we should stay—”

  “We should leave. The Civium left in droves years ago, taking all the Hospites with them to safety. A few loyal remained, but they left a week ago, after the witch escaped. So many chances, but I knew I had to wait for you. You alone, Lady Jennifer, can escort us to safety.”

  Jenn wasn’t sure what to make of this.

  “Don’t be so surprised,” the seer said. “I saw it long ago.”

  Seeing Jenn’s confused expression, the seer stopped tugging and dug into her shawl, pulling out papers. She unfolded each of them and, after looking closely at them, cast them to the ground one-by-one. Jenn saw hand drawn sketches of the Dembroch insignia, sparking flames of red and others of black, knights and dames fighting a giant worm and dragons and walking skeletons. There were so many, she lost track.

  “Ah-ha!” the seer cried.

  She unfolded a paper and showed it to Jenn. It was a scenic picture of Dembroch’s main island from a southern viewpoint. The castle stood above a fallen forest. Dark figures lingered on the tallest tower’s balcony. But in the forefront of it all was a stunning portrait of Jenn herself. Her face was wrinkled, and her golden hair was the same as it was now, but her eyes were unusually youthful and exuberant. It seemed the artist, presumably the seer, had taken Jenn’s younger face and drawn it onto her thirty-two-year-old body.

  “See? See?!” the seer pleaded. “This is the moment. You take me to the docks. To the ferry. We flee.”

  “You saw this?” Jenn asked, reading between the lines. “Is that the power you have come to fear?”

  The seer’s face fell. She folded up the paper and hid it within her shawl again.

  “I won’t,” she said darkly. “I can’t. I mustn’t.” She grabbed her hair exasperatedly. “It was a burden, Lady Jennifer, that none should bear. I rid myself of it and shall never seek it again.”

  “Again?” Jenn goaded.

  The seer hesitated for a moment as though scared to explain herself, but finally spoke.

  “When I was a young, foolish girl, I sought out the Sight,” the seer said, still playing with her hair. “The last seer passed them on to me. Two mirrored talismans. Every time I held them in my hand…I could See.”

  “What could you See?” Jenn as
ked, sensing that this type of sight was far different from standard twenty-twenty vision.

  “The invisible,” the seer explained, her face becoming stony. “Recent pasts. Potential, immediate futures. In the present, I could see emotions. Strong thoughts. Things that wished to remain hidden. It was a more densely populated world around us than you realize. And with the Sight, I could see all of it.”

  The seer closed her eyes and grimaced.

  “But it was a terrible gift,” she continued. “I saw beautiful things…and terrible things. My mind became so crowded, I tried to draw much of what I saw. And then…all futures turned dark. I saw what it was all leading to. I began to fear looking. I began to leave my Sight unattended.”

  The seer let out a sob and sank to the stone floor. Jenn sat with her.

  “I’m here to listen,” she said, “if you want to talk about it.”

  The seer didn’t need much more prompting.

  “Some twenty years ago,” the seer said through her tears, “I had left the Sight unattended. The queen arrived and requested I look to the future for a way to safeguard the kingdom. I had already seen much more than I wished, but I obliged. But my sight had been taken by another. My little Emily found them. What she saw…” The seer shuddered. “I found her screaming and tried to pull the Sight from her. But in so doing, I saw everything she was seeing. Pain. Failure. Untold sadness. Death. The sky turns red and the tallest tower falls. The isles crumble into the sea and sink into the earth. The queen, the defenders, the Civium…no one can stop it. There is death, doom unstoppable, a curse no one can break. Dembroch falls. The queen falls. The defenders fall. My husband…”

  Jenn swallowed hard. It was as Sir Rignot had mentioned: the seer had seen a glimpse of the future—of Dembroch’s end, of her lover—and the terror of it had turned her into a shut-in. The same thing had happened to Jenn, but with less magic and more nightly news.

  “It has all come to pass,” the seer muttered. “There has been little I’ve seen that I could prevent. To recover the Sight…it would do more harm than good.”