The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  I was taken back in a flash to the moment Clay had first shown us the call for defenders on Dembroch. It seemed a million years ago. I’d been so naïve back then. Was I a fool now to think we had a chance of saving the queen and stopping the witch?

  Like an old movie reel flashing through my mind, I remembered when the witch had first attacked us, how vulnerable and defenseless we’d been in the face of her magic. Was I not doing the same thing now? Were we not headed toward certain death?

  Bolts of fear began to run through me. My courage and commitment faltered, as did the torch on my back.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” Meghan said, interrupting my panic. “Jenn found this in the catacombs. Thought you’d like it.”

  From her pocket, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper. I recognized it immediately. It was one of the letters I’d written to the queen in my youth. Intuition told me it was the one the witch had used to disguise herself, the one that had been the queen’s most prized possession.

  I opened the letter and was shocked to see it was the first one I’d ever written to the queen.

  Dear Queen Coralee,

  Hello. My name is Nicholas Hutchison. I’m very sorry to hear about the death of your husband and king. I’ve heard time heals all, but loved ones are always in our heart. My friends and I will be thinking of you, and I hope it hurts a little less each day.

  As for your kingdom, my friends and I are thankful to be part of the Reserves. It’s an honor, and we look forward to serving you someday. Hope you call us soon. You won’t regret it. I promise you that my friends and I will help you and make your kingdom safe again. Clay is brave, Jenn is smart, my sister Meghan is a warrior, and I love adventure. But we’re so much more than those things. We’re best friends and we keep our promises. Whether you need us now or down the road, I promise we’ll be there and we’ll save your kingdom.

  I can’t wait to meet you.

  Sincerely,

  Nick

  I smiled, remembering the chaste, loyal feeling in my heart I’d had as I’d written that letter. That burning loyalty had first endeared my queen. It gave me resolve now.

  Perhaps my friends and I were headed to death’s open arms, I decided. Maybe we were marked to die in our own ways. And if this had been twenty-four hours ago, my friends would have gone running the complete opposite direction. But we were different now. Younger, more resilient. We carried sparks of hope and determination in our hearts and in the torches we carried. Death may have been waiting for us in the castle, but we were going to put up a heck of a fight first.

  ◆◆◆

  When we arrived at the Gate Grounds, Meghan described the gateway we were looking for. Hands clasped, Jenn and the seer searched the barren land, guiding us through the invisible doors.

  The trek was unmercifully slow—each second seemed to be another minute gone off the clock—but no one fell through a gate and, at last, Jenn and the seer pointed.

  “It’s there,” Jenn said, a note of terror in her voice. Little did we know, looking into this door, she could also see the immediate past and future, full of swords, skeletons, Clay in the Aerary a moment away from death, Meghan screaming helplessly, the queen collapsing, me on the ground dead or dying.

  But none of us knew this. All we knew was that there, invisible to our eyes, was the door into the catacombs of the castle.

  “We just have to walk right through,” Meghan said.

  “Okay, once we’re in there, it won’t take long for the witch to find out,” I said. “Watch each other’s backs. Get your flames to the Aerary as soon as you can. I’ll get my flame from the courtyard and meet you in the Aerary.”

  “Are you ready?” Jenn asked the seer.

  She nodded wistfully. “We’ll see.”

  “Everybody else?” I asked.

  “Ready,” Clay said, gripping his sword.

  “Born ready,” Meghan said, swinging the dagger.

  “Hurry it on up,” the Watchmaker insisted.

  “Our blades are sharp, our wits sharper,” said Page Trey.

  “We’ve got this, guys,” Jenn said.

  “For Dembroch,” Master Malleator declared.

  I nodded.

  “For those who came before us and those who will come after us because of what we will do today,” I said. “Omnia Aeterno.”

  “Omnia Aeterno!” they all cried.

  Together, we stormed the gate.

  CHAPTER 49:

  The Catacombs Again

  We emerged in the enormous underground chamber of the catacombs. I saw a glimpse of broken, overturned coffins, glowing leaves of trees, and dozens of desecrated corpses, but it was all overshadowed by a roaring black flame. It rose high to the rocky ceiling, licking the upper windows. Dark sparks filled the air.

  Faces growing hot, we sidled around the flame. We’d hardly made it past when there was a scream from above and a flash of light. Jenn pulled hard on Clay, yanking him back with their locked hands. A blast of green, hard as a boulder, smashed into the ground ahead of him. Coffins were blown to smithereens.

  “Run!” a desperate voice cried from high above us.

  I glanced up just in time to see another flash of green light. It briefly highlighted the Aerary, a metal platform hanging from the ceiling of the catacombs. And standing up there, flinging blasts of magic at us, was the witch.

  “That way!” Meghan shouted, pointing toward the far wall of the catacombs.

  We ran for it. I raced past a few coffins and then jumped to the side as the witch’s magic disintegrated the ground I’d almost run over. My friends did the same, dodging and jiving around coffins. It was a strange kind of dance.

  But before we could get too far, the witch screamed an incantation and the black flame tore through the catacombs, expanding quickly, blocking our way to the far wall and the door out. My friends and I dove for cover behind coffins. Blasts of magic exploded over our heads as the black flames crept closer.

  “Whoa!” Meghan shouted.

  She had skid in between two coffins, one full of putrid jelly, the other lying upon the half-burnt corpse of an old knight. Her eyes were locked on the corpse, expecting it to rise and attack.

  “It’s fine,” Jenn breathed, hands still tight around the seer’s and her husband’s. “It’s Solomon.”

  The Dembroch Civium all muttered under their breath, casting suspicious eyes over their shoulders.

  “Shouldn’t he be alive or something?” Meghan asked.

  “He didn’t come to life when the witch first cast the spell,” Jenn said. “I think we’re okay.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” the Watchmaker grumbled irritably, wiping sweat from his face. “We’re about to be fried.”

  “My daughter,” the seer cried. “She was up there with the witch.”

  “So was the queen,” Page Trey said.

  “How do we get there?” I shouted.

  “The crest in the Rotunda,” Page Trey said. “It’s the only way into the Aerary.”

  “What about getting out of here?” Clay asked.

  “That was the only way,” Jenn gasped, waving at the wall of flames separating us from the staircase.

  I looked up.

  “What about the trees?”

  There were a half-dozen of them, their glowing leaves reaching high over the catacombs, the thick upper branches offering plenty of protection from the witch’s magic. None of them were close to the Aerary, but several of them grew toward the upper windows. That would be our way out.

  “We have to climb,” I explained. “Through the window, into the courtyard.”

  “The branches won’t hold our weight,” the Watchmaker observed.

  “We could climb them over the fire and drop down—” I began.

  “Too far a drop,” Page Trey said.

  I exhaled in anger. We were running out of options.

  “We have to get through the flame,” Jenn said.

  “It will burn us alive,” Master Malleator s
aid.

  “Not if we’re dead first,” Meghan said.

  With great effort, she kicked aside the coffin and tore the armor off Solomon’s half-burnt corpse. She threw it over her best she could, creating piecemeal armor. It wasn’t a foolproof idea, but it was the best we had. The rest of us dug into the nearby coffins, pulling out spare, leftover pieces of armor until we were all wrapped in chainmail, helmets, and breastplates.

  The Watchmaker picked up a coffin and held it in front of him like a shield.

  “We’ll need a distraction,” he said.

  Meghan held up Solomon’s corpse.

  “Got you covered.”

  ◆◆◆

  Solomon’s desecrated corpse launched across the catacombs. The next instant, his body was gone in a shock of green.

  I barely had time to watch. I was too busy racing the other way, chasing after my friends and the Watchmaker. We barreled like a freight-train at the expanding wall of black flame. Overhead, I heard the witch shriek after us. I braced myself for pain, prepared to be savaged by the witch’s wrath, but at that instant, we ran headlong into the black flames.

  Sweat popped onto my forehead. The heat of the flame bore down on me like a hot blanket. My injured shoulder felt it worst. The armor over my body seemed like it was about to melt. I pressed forward, following my friends and the Watchmaker, who bulldozed his way through dismembered bodies and coffins.

  My sword, heavy and sharp, fell into the dirt. I tripped, trying to grab it, and lost sight of my companions. Unable to find my sword, I ran in the direction I thought we were headed and bounced off a thick tree trunk. I stumbled, disoriented by the heat and black blaze. My friends were nowhere to be seen. I had no idea which way they’d gone.

  There was only one way out. I ran for the tree and scrambled up it. The tree’s trunk was knotted and wide, making it easy to scale with one good hand. A few seconds later, I was above the black blaze. I took a deep breath of blessed, cool air. My body felt blistered, but all of my limbs were still attached. The armor over my arms was indeed soft to the touch.

  I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. Black flame filled nearly all of the catacombs. Going back to the ground was no longer an option.

  “Nick!” Meghan cried.

  I spun around to where she’d been calling. The far wall we’d been trying to reach was quite close. A branch above me hung far over the flames and drooped down along the wall. My friends must have been there, wondering where I’d gone.

  “I’m coming!” I cried.

  Over the flicker of flames, I thought I heard a shout of joy from my friends.

  But my voice had also alerted the witch. Blasts of green light flew over my head, causing branches to explode. Glowing leaves fell like snow, losing their light as they tumbled.

  I disappeared into the branches, clambering up fast as I could, heart pounding in my throat and my injured shoulder. The witch kept firing away at me, unable to see exactly where I was.

  At last, I made it to the drooping branch that would offer me access to the exit of the catacombs, if not a long drop. I peeked out of the branches, looking up at the Aerary, hoping I was concealed. When there was no flash of green, I took off at a run—which was exactly what the witch was waiting for. A lance of green light sliced through the air. The branch was cleaved from the tree. Suddenly I was falling, the black flames reaching up for me. I reached out desperately—my satchel went flying—the tangles of armor on my arm caught a stray branch and snagged. Gravity tugged on me, causing my slung shoulder to scream in protest. I lifted myself back into the tree and, once again sweating, started to climb again. There was only one way out now.

  “Go!” I shouted at my friends. “Don’t wait for me!”

  My friends gave muffled shouts in dissent, but I couldn’t hear them. I climbed and climbed. The fire chased after. Green light flared around me. Leaves and branches fell. It was a miracle I wasn’t hit. The witch was throwing everything she had at me. It wouldn’t be long before she chopped the whole thing down, but all I had to do was reach the top.

  I made it unharmed, my shoulder aching. I could see the courtyard through the window. I ran along the tallest branch that could carry me—

  And with an arc of green light amongst the black flames, the tree began to fall. It fell toward the window, then steeply away. I leapt for all it was worth—and slammed into the rock wall just below the window. Through some Herculean effort, and surely quite a bit of luck, I managed to wedge myself into the craggy foot and handholds. But I wasn’t out of it yet. The fire was rising higher still. It wouldn’t be long before it burnt me alive or the witch located me.

  I climbed, crying in pain as my shoulder ached, finally reaching the window. I tried to climb through, but my armor was too bulky.

  “Foolish boy,” I heard the witch croon. “Watch, my queen, as your would-be defender falls to his doom.”

  I tore armor off me, casting the hot metal to the fire below. With each piece, I became more exposed. I nearly flung my torch off me, but I managed to grab hold, my heart racing.

  On the Aerary, the witch raveled her hands and muttered an incantation. The breath caught in my lungs.

  But she was too late. I heaved myself once more toward the window and slid out of her sight to the safety of the courtyard.

  CHAPTER 50:

  The Duels of Dembroch’s Defenders

  Clay led the charge into the library, only to find it empty. Still destroyed, but empty.

  They had shed their melted armor in the stairwell. Meghan held a half-burnt satchel close to her. Page Trey was nursing bad burns on his leg that would have warranted a hospital visit.

  “Onto the Aerary,” Clay instructed. “When we get there, Meghan and Page Trey, you should go help Nick in the courtyard.”

  They crept through the castle like thieves in the night, but their way was unimpeded until they reached the Rotunda. It took everything Clay had to not gasp in surprise when he peeked around the corner.

  Thick as hornets on a nest, hundreds of skeletons and corpses filled the Rotunda. It seemed that every knight and dame who had perished in the name of Dembroch now stood protecting the Aerary for the witch.

  Clay motioned for the group to back away. They retreated a few hallways.

  “Our flames will give us away if we wait too long,” he whispered. “We need a plan.”

  He was right. The torches were spitting sparks everywhere they went and were gathering thickly around them in the hallway. It would not be long before the glowing sparks traveled into the Rotunda and the corpse knights and dames went in search of their source.

  “We need a distraction,” Clay said. “Something to take them all by surprise or get them out of there.”

  Meghan patted the burnt satchel.

  “I’ve got just the thing.”

  ◆◆◆

  Out in the courtyard, I rolled to my feet just in time to see I wasn’t alone.

  Necks cracked as heads turned. A couple dozen pairs of eyes locked onto me. Skeletons and corpses of late Dembroch defenders raised their weapons and charged.

  I drew my torch—a feeble vineyard strut—with my good arm and knocked the closest assailants back. A skeleton jumped on my back. Its knobby, bony fingers tore at my throat. My shoulder screamed in pain. I dropped my torch, threw the attacking skeleton off, then scooped my torch up again to defend myself.

  For a millisecond, I could see the magical flame I’d started the previous day. It was twenty feet away, across the courtyard. Its orange flames danced, obscured by a thick cloud of suspended sparks. The word fides flickered in the light of the fire.

  I pushed through, fighting for the flame. Once I was near it, though, I realized there was no hope. The dead defenders kept getting back up and fighting. I was a one-armed combatant and I couldn’t keep my attackers at bay long enough to find another torch.

  One of the grislier corpses caught me while I was distracted. I tripped and slammed into the ground. Swo
rds raced at my face—

  ◆◆◆

  The dead knights and dames stood at attention in the Rotunda. Hands gripped their sword hilts, ready to draw and skewer.

  There was a strange sliding sound. The dead shuffled around as a worn book, open to its middle, slid across the Rotunda floor and stopped near the middle of the room. A second later, they caught sight of something overhead. A vial full of golden liquid fell out of midair and smashed onto the book. Golden liquid soaked into the pages, waterlogging it.

  For a moment, the dead defenders hesitated. This did not seem to be a threat…

  There was a war cry from the alcoves around the Rotunda. Clay and Jenn charged out first, hands linked, their free arms hoisting swords.

  The skeletons and corpses drew their weapons, surging toward the intruders—right as a wall of white smoke exploded out of the book. A moment later, the Rotunda was filled with the sight of a new location: the mountaintop of Ryderwyle. A tall, muscular dame stood at the center, raising her weapon toward a massive, many-toothed dragon. All around her, creatures of the deep and monsters of the night crawled up the cliffs.

  The corpse knights and dames fell into absolute disarray. Their poor, rot-muddled brains couldn’t determine true foe from illusion. As they scuttled around the Rotunda, bouncing off walls and columns, they attacked the illusory monsters and dragon, slicing through thin air and cutting one another down.

  Attached at the hand, Clay and Jenn ducked and weaved through the skeletons, cutting them down one by one with little effort. Their swords sparked against their foes and cut clean through their rotting limbs. Clay truly had a skill for it, one Jenn suspected he had harbored since his childhood.

  The Watchmaker and Master Malleator joined the fray. The combat master was a blur of speed and skill. Lethal as a scorpion, agile as a ninja, he mowed through the skeletons, leaving splintered bone behind. Beside him, the Watchmaker shouted with glee as he swung his axe through the attackers. Bodies and bones scattered like waves crashing over rocks.