The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  “Uh,” she murmured, the wind stealing her words. “Stolen sword from Ryderwyle, show me your resting place on this isle.”

  It felt as though her own body was powering the spell. Her veins ached and her fingertips went numb. She suddenly felt weak. But it wasn’t in vain.

  At the same instant, her torch flared wildly. There was a burst of sparks, but this time, they didn’t fly off with the wind. The glowing specks hovered for a moment and then pushed against the howling gales. They lined up one after another like breadcrumbs on a trail.

  Meg didn’t need telling twice. She trudged through the snow after the sparks, sure that they were leading her the right way.

  Above the roar of the wind, she heard a high shriek. At the last second, she saw a dark shape drop out of the sky. She ducked, narrowly avoiding a burst of fire from a dragon. The beast disappeared into the storm, shrieking madly. A hundred others called back, unseen, but alarmingly loud and angry. Meg pushed on, but the snow was getting too deep. She couldn’t run fast enough and she had no idea where she was going.

  Suddenly, out of the blizzard, a massive tree appeared, its thick, tangled branches wreathed in snow. The trunk had gaping holes resembling eyes and a fang-toothed mouth. At the foot of the tree, where the roots should have met the snowy ground, was a huge hole. The sparks from Meg’s torch disappeared into it.

  The Horror Hollow, Meg realized with relief.

  There was a swoop of wings behind her. She felt heat. The dragons were hot on her tail.

  Meg ran. She crossed the distance to the tree and, as she sensed a dragon right behind her, she dove into the hole after the sparks. She was airborne for a second, then landed hard on stone. She rolled down, bouncing off icy steps, and finally skid to a stop.

  Shaking the dizzies away, she took account of her surroundings. She was in a deep, cavernous hole under the tree, the bottom of which held a fifty-foot deep auditorium. Carved benches and steps circled the floor. At the very bottom, tunnels led off to dark nether regions and a car-sized boulder sat on a raised dais. Howling winds and ice chips came from the rock, rushing past Meg. Golden sparks from Meg’s torch gathered around the boulder, fighting to stay against the gales.

  Meg scrambled to her feet right as the hundreds of dragons shot into the Hollow after her. They circled the base of the tree, wings sweeping hard against the winter storm. One of them spotted Meg and the whole lot of the dragons nose-dived for her.

  The race was on. Meg ducked and dived, racing down the icy stairs. The storm pushed against her. Ice chips cut her cheeks. Dragons landed on her, biting and clawing at her hand, tearing her flesh. Her suit jacket lit on fire. She dropped her torch and tore it off, batting the dragons away with the sword that wouldn’t harm them.

  At last, she reached the bottom, stumbling toward the boulder. Through the snow and ice, she saw a dislodged dial on the rock’s face. It had foreign figures written around it and, in the middle, a slit where the sword must go.

  Dragons crawling over her like bees on their keeper, Meg lifted the fortissium blade and forced it into the boulder. It sunk in, snug as if she had put it into a sheath. She twisted the sword’s hilt, tightening the dial to the boulder and—

  There was a blast of heat. It threw Meg off the dais. The dragons scattered from her. Meg skid along the icy ground, slamming into the first step. The heat wave flew past her, instantly thawing the snow and ice. Her numb fingers and toes were warmed instantly.

  Overhead, the dragons beelined for the fortissium blade. They collected around the boulder and purred like gigantic, fanged cats, intoxicated by its scent.

  Meg got to her feet, nursing her burns and cuts. Assuming her work was done, she collected her still-burning, spark-spewing torch from the ground, walked to the top of the auditorium, crawled out of the tree’s roots, and was met by a glorious sight. What had once been a world of white was now turning into a colorful canopy of wildlife. Purple tulips unearthed themselves, pines shrugged off their snow. A towering mountain appeared out of the clouds. Far off in the distance she could see the main island of Dembroch.

  Meg breathed a sigh of relief. Ryderwyle had been liberated. The storm was over.

  With her exhalation, a single spark issued from her. It drifted away, gracing the top of a black plinth, and it burst into a flame.

  Meg shook her head and gaped at it. Carved into the black stone was the word modestia. Sparks amassed around the flame, shining orange in the sun.

  “What? How?” Meg said to herself.

  Deep down, she knew the answer. For the first time since her youth, she’d done something kind and generous for someone other than herself.

  About time, she thought to herself with a small burst of pride that, for once, felt well earned. She had to get this flame and her other to the castle, but not without finding Page Trey and his master. But where could they be?

  She spun, taking in her new surroundings. The mountain of Ryderwyle soared high above her. The tree of Horror Hollow gaped in the sunlight, still haunting in its own right. To the east and down a steep slope, was a collection of wooden buildings on the shore. It must have been the Combat Encampment, Meg remembered, where the previous defenders had trained. If the combat master had survived the winter storm, he had probably holed up there.

  After lighting her new flame with a tree branch, Meg hurried down the slope toward the buildings. She slipped and fell several times, smearing her pants with mud and tearing her shirt.

  At last, she made it to the encampment. The buildings surrounded her, their wooden fronts sweating off the ice of a week’s winter storm. She shouted for Page Trey. There was no reply. She began kicking down the doors, searching for some sign of life—and that’s when she found them.

  In the building that seemed to be living quarters, she discovered Page Trey—white as a ghost, with frost in his eyebrows—shivering in the corner by a dying fire. Beside him wrapped in layers of clothes and fabric from cots, was an older, meatier man with several battle scars across his face. The older man, presumably his master, shivered badly.

  “Y–y–you came for us,” Page Trey said through his shudders.

  “Told you your plan was a little shortsighted,” Meg said, beaming at them. “Come on, let’s warm you up.”

  Feeling confident, Meg held her torches close, grabbed Page Trey’s hand, and thought up a stanza.

  “Cold begone with the storm, let these two once more be warm.”

  The sparks from the torch flared as Meg’s entire body was leeched of energy. She saw stars, but fought to hold on.

  Some of the sparks disappeared into the bodies of the page and master. A second later, their skin and clothes began to steam. The frost melted from Page Trey’s face.

  “You have magic?” he gasped.

  “Just the right words,” Meg said, fighting to hide her sudden exhaustion, indicating the torch in her hands.

  “You ought to have thought better,” said the master. “You have begun a treacherous path that few can remain on.”

  “He wields magic himself,” Page Trey said.

  Meg bit her tongue from the comments coming to her mind and ushered the two men outside into the sun.

  “How did you survive?” Meg asked when they were out.

  “We train defenders,” Page Trey replied, rubbing his arms. “We’re stronger stock than most. This is Master Malleator, the combat instructor of the kingdom.”

  Meg extended a hand to the master, but he did not take it.

  “And who are you, liberator of Ryderwyle and magic speaker?” the master asked, his tone harsh, eyeing her torches. “One of the last dames?”

  “Excommunicated,” Meg said jokingly.

  The master did not seem to find this funny. He frowned deeply.

  “I will have words with the queen,” Master Malleator glowered. “Our order has stood for millennia, and at her hand, we filled our ranks with fools and charlatans. And who should she choose to save our kingdom? The defenders she never saw
fit to summon?”

  He spat on the ground.

  “Master Malleator,” Page Trey said, “please. Lady Meghan saved us. And, after she saves the kingdom, the queen intends to exile them.”

  Meg shot the page a look while the master glared at her.

  “Good then,” he said. “Until such a time as we prevail and you leave, I shall repay your kindness of saving our lives. How shall we repay you?”

  From the corner of her eye, Meg saw rowboats rocking on a treacherous dock.

  Master Malleator saw what she was looking at.

  “To the queen?” he asked.

  “For Dembroch,” Meg corrected. “We don’t have much time.”

  Master Malleator considered her for a moment, as though trying to decide what Meg knew, then nodded curtly.

  “Then, to Dembroch, we shall escort you.”

  CHAPTER 44:

  The Terrible Gift of Sight

  Jenn and I ran for all it was worth. The back of her leg started to bleed, but even after I warned her, she kept running. I hurried after, my potbelly jiggling, my sides aching, my slung arm throbbing with my jolting heartbeat.

  We raced past falling trees and across trembling ground, across the bridge over Coral Canyon and down the path that cut through the meadows and shriveled vineyards. At long last, as the sun rose behind gathering clouds, we huffed and puffed to a stop on the crest of the hill overlooking the southern dock and ocean. Down below, the ferry tugged hard against its ties. The seer was a switchback down, face shining with tears.

  “Lady Sinclair!” Jenn shouted. “Wait!”

  We ran to her. The seer was distraught, covered in tears and stumbling along the path. We held her still. I gasped for breath, hoping the pain in my shoulder and chest would fade.

  “Where is your daughter?” Jenn asked.

  “Gone,” she moaned. “Like her father.”

  Jenn shot me a horrified look.

  “She isn’t—”

  “She’s as good as,” the seer cried in distress. “The witch took her. She promised to return her to my side if I left the island. I flee this land and its empty promises to save the last of my family.” She grabbed onto Jenn. “And bless you, dear child. You have come as I Saw you would. You shall take me to safer shores. To reunite me with Emily.”

  “Please,” Jenn breathed. “You can’t go. Not yet.” From her pocket, she pulled the mirrored Sight talismans. “I found them. We have to look. Just one more time. Like I promised. We’ll find your daughter and save her. We will save your home.”

  The seer shook her head obstinately.

  “There is no way to change what is coming,” she bemoaned. “Dembroch is—”

  Jenn refused to believe that anymore.

  “I’ve been where you are,” she interjected. “I know the pain you feel deep inside. The bleakness. The despair. The overwhelming knowledge that you and the world around you is doomed no matter what you do. But you can’t listen to that. You can’t let it stop you from striving to fix it. If you don’t try, the war is already lost.”

  The seer stammered incoherently.

  “The future is scary, we both know that,” Jenn said. “But we can’t let uncertainty and fear of the future dictate our actions of the present. What you saw about the castle falling, the sky going dark… It’s terrifying. But we can’t let that possibility influence how we act. We must press on. The only way to make a brighter tomorrow is to build a better foundation today. So I won’t back down. I will save your daughter, even if the castle falls on me in the process. At least then she will be free. We all will be. If we die today, we’ll die ourselves.”

  True realization, heartfelt understanding, crossed the seer’s face. Jenn felt a swell of pride. In all her years of psychiatry, she had never seen her words have such an impact. And now, Jenn knew, to fully convince the seer, she had to talk to someone else.

  Jenn looked to me, a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen in decades, and nodded. I realized it was my time.

  “Your husband,” I said. “Page Hybore. I was with him when he passed.”

  “I know,” the seer said wretchedly.

  “That wasn’t the end for him,” I said, sensing that she had seen the page’s first death before I resuscitated him. “I brought him back, just for a moment. His last wish was for me to find you and your daughter and remind you both just how much he loved you. That he did it all for you.” I tried to remember his exact words. “He wanted you to find the safest shores where…”

  My voice drifted off. I couldn’t remember what else he’d said, but it didn’t matter. The seer knew. She had covered her mouth, choking on tears.

  “He always said…” After a few sobs, she tried again. “He always said that the safest shores were—” She was raked with joyful tears. “Whether a summer’s day or winter’s night, he swore Dembroch was the best place to be. If the flames are burning, there is good in the kingdom.” She hung her head. “When the fires were flickering, I looked to the future and saw despair, but my page…he kept his eyes on the light. As the realm slipped into chaos over the decades, he conferred with the mage and learned of the defenders who would have a chance to save us all. Though it was not his station, he discovered the identities of you four, stole your watches, and prepared to summon you. And he knew that in doing it, he would die. He wasn’t well before time stopped, you see. But he was going anyway.”

  The seer touched her lips where surely she and her husband had parted a week ago.

  “Right before he left,” she said, “the witch captured him, bewitched him, and forced him to deliver you. How ironic it was, that he was forced to do the very thing he intended to do from the beginning.”

  “The witch never had a true hold on him,” I said. “In the end, when he broke out of the enchantment, he was so strong, so determined. He knew what he was doing and he didn’t regret it.”

  The seer wiped her tears away.

  “He got what he wanted in the end,” she said with a wistful smile. “He found the defenders that Dembroch needed.” She looked between us with newfound admiration. “This is the moment I saw. The grasses, the wind, the island dying all around us. And you, Lady Jennifer and Sir Nicholas, standing here, helping me find safety. I thought you would be taking me away from Dembroch, but I can see it now…you are bringing me back. To the kingdom I love. To my daughter. To the safest shores.”

  The seer touched Jenn’s cheek affectionately, surely seeing the face she had drawn in her sketch.

  “You truly are a dame and a lady,” the seer said. “And you, Sir Nicholas. You have a love for this land and its people and its queen that has healed your heart. I need no Sight to see that, within both of you, are the sparks of flames, the Fruits of the Spirit. As God gave these gifts to us, you have rekindled them within yourselves and brought them once more to our kingdom. Your hearts overflow with those powerful, invisible truest traits. Goodness, patience, peace, joy, generosity, faithfulness, and, the greatest of all, love.” The seer beamed at us. “And rightly so. The safest shores are restored by the fairest magic this world will ever know.”

  I shook my head, not sure I’d heard correctly.

  “What?”

  “My faith is restored,” the seer said courageously. “Dembroch may fall this day, but it will not be without a fight. Not before I hold my daughter in my arms one more time. Page Hybore will smile upon us, whether we reunite this day or another.”

  “No, before that,” I said. “The safest shores…”

  The seer gave me a coy smile. “It is what my dear page told you before he passed. He said it to me for years as I slipped into despair, but not until today do I see he was right. The safest shores, he said, were the ones upon which the fairest magic burns forevermore.”

  My words caught in my throat. It was too much to process.

  “I… I need a minute,” I stammered.

  “Nick?” Jenn asked.

  “Just give me a minute,” I said, wandering away from them, my
mind spinning.

  As I walked off, Jenn turned back to the seer. She held out the eyeballs once more. The seer hesitated.

  “The Sight is a terrible and wonderful gift,” the seer said. “I cannot bear it alone. But if you will join me, Lady Jennifer, I shall See once more.”

  “As you wish,” Jenn replied without batting an eye.

  The seer took one of the mirrored spheres in her hand and held it in an open palm. Jenn did the same.

  “We shall See, we shall See,” the seer chanted, “what shall be, let it be.”

  The eyeballs sunk into their hands. There was a flash through Jenn’s sight and she started to shake. She stumbled, dizzy, blinking hard. Her eyesight seemed to vibrate. In her palm, a mirrored eyeball swiveled to and fro. The one in the seer’s hand did the same.

  “Relax,” the seer told her. “Breathe.”

  Jenn took deep breaths, trying to understand what she was seeing. The world shook around her, auras of color oozing from every blade of grass and mote of dirt. When she looked at the seer, the woman’s body tripled, creating three seers—one moving backward, one standing still, and one moving back up the hill.

  “Give me your hand,” the seer said. “I will guide you.”

  They linked hands and, together, their vision cleared. Jenn blinked furiously, but it was much easier to see. The world around her still seemed to vibrate and bleed multiple colors, but it was subtler and more controlled, a faint image she could overlook if she focused.

  “Look to the docks,” the seer commanded.

  When she did, Jenn saw the ferry tugging against its moorings. But now there were two other boats. One crashed into the dock, splintering the wood, rupturing the boat’s hull, and it sunk out of sight. The other ghost of the ferry pulled free of its ties and, manned by an unseen captain, cruised out into open water.

  “Do you see it?” the seer asked. “Their immediate past, present, and foreseeable future. The ferry left unattended will crash. Guided properly, it shall sail away from the dock. But it currently floats, waiting.”

  “I understand,” Jenn breathed.