The seer lingered in the shadows above it all, watching the chaos unfold. She’d had her part in the fight and dropped the magic. But she was no warrior. She watched the defenders of old and new clash. And all the while, her Sight glimpsed the future. Her daughter falling. The witch victorious. The castle deteriorating upon them all. She wanted to stop it, but didn’t dare have the courage to fight.
◆◆◆
In the courtyard, I grimaced in the face of a dozen swords screaming through the air at my head. And just then, who should come to my rescue, but Meghan and Page Trey. They intercepted the blows of the dead defenders and knocked my attackers back.
“Up you get!” Page Trey cried, helping me up and giving my hurt shoulder an overly enthusiastic slap. “We’ll fend them off. Do your duty.”
Propping my one lit torch in the armpit of my injured shoulder, I grabbed a stray skeleton arm off the ground, ran to the plinth, and lowered the limb’s fingertips into the flame. With a burst of sparks, the bones lit. The sixth and final magical flame had been transferred.
“Got it!” I shouted.
A dame broke past Meghan and Page Trey. She snatched the freshly lit torch away from me and ran across the courtyard.
“No!” I shouted.
Meghan, Page Trey, and I chased after her, circling the courtyard. We pushed through the attackers until it was just the three of us and the dame.
It began to feel like cat and mouse. The dame couldn’t be cornered. I sensed that she was stalling, trying to prolong our efforts as long as possible.
“Hold on,” Meghan said. “Let me try something.”
I gave her a raised eyebrow, but she ignored me. She held one of her flames close to her mouth and spoke in a soft voice.
“Dead dame dancing, live no more,” she said. “Return your bones to where you were before.”
There was a burst of sparks from Meghan’s torch, but nothing happened to the skeletal dame. Instead, Meghan shouted in pain, grasping at her chest, and stumbled to the ground.
“Meg!” I shouted.
Before I could help her, Meghan had pushed me aside and gotten back to her feet. She looked pale and visibly shaken from the failed effort.
“It is as I told you, Lady Meghan,” Page Trey said. “Magic takes much practice and energy. Such an act is beyond most wielders’ abilities, least of all a dame who has just begun.”
“Right,” she mumbled. “I can make a trail of sparks and warm people up. Very useful.”
As we talked, the dead dame circled around us, trying to make a run toward the black flames. We shambled in between, blocking her way again.
Beyond, I saw the white smoke filling the castle Rotunda. Clangs of swords were still ringing.
“Take this,” I said to Meghan, handing her my vineyard torch. “Get it to the Aerary.”
“It’s your flame,” Meghan retorted. “I can’t spread it.”
“You can,” I insisted, sure of it. “I may have started it, but I know what this flame stands for, and I know it’s in your heart as well.”
This was clearly beside the point for Meghan.
“I’m not leaving you with her,” she said, waving her sword at the dead dame.
“We can get her together,” Page Trey said.
There was a sharp cry from the Rotunda of deep pain. It was undoubtedly one of our people.
“Go,” I insisted. “I can manage one dame. We have to clear the Rotunda.”
They finally obliged, my sister taking my torch.
“Meg,” I called after her. “No more magic. Not yet.”
“No more dislocated shoulders,” she said with a wink and disappeared into the white of the Rotunda.
I turned on the dead dame. My heart thudded painfully, alarmingly, in my chest.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said to the corpse. “Hand over the torch and I’ll let you live.”
The dead dame faked a run to the Rotunda and then spun the other way. I stumbled as she ran into one of the castle’s side entrances.
I made chase after her into the castle’s maze of corridors. Without that flame, the queen was as good as dead.
◆◆◆
Back in the Rotunda, there weren’t many dead knights and dames left, but the remaining fighters were the best. Their bodies were the least corrupted and their swordsmanship skills were the most perfected. It didn’t help that one of them had kicked the book, turning it several chapters ahead, and changing the surroundings in the Rotunda. The monster-ridden mountaintop of Ryderwyle had transformed into the salt flats of Morgan Le Fay and King Arthur’s final battle, making Jenn, Clay, Master Malleator, and the Watchmaker easily visible to the dead defenders.
A group of dames swarmed Jenn. They attacked savagely, taking advantage of her occupied hand. Clay was pulling against her too, busy with his own attackers. Their joined hand tugged back and forth, but Jenn refused to let go. She would rather die than let go of Clay’s hand, thereby cursing their marriage, and it looked like death rather fancied her for it.
Across the room, the Watchmaker howled in pain and toppled. A dozen dead defenders surged over him like ants, fingers tearing at his flesh, broken swords raising for killing strokes.
Master Malleator tried to get to him, but he was held off by a few stubborn knights. Clay and Jenn fought their best, but they couldn’t bat away their opponents.
Meghan and Page Trey burst onto the scene, Meghan holding three torches and her sword. They saw the unfolding catastrophe and ran to the Watchmaker, but they knew they would not be fast enough.
A savage cry rang through the Rotunda. Everyone looked skyward as Sinclair the seer, pacifist at heart and timid as a mouse, fell from the upper stairs and swept over the Watchmaker’s attackers. She was no warrior, but she knocked them all away, plucking eyes from one corpse and throwing them at another with enough force to knock it over. The Watchmaker got back to his feet, pulling the broken swords from his torso and swung them at the corpses.
Invigorated by the seer’s action, Jenn managed to dismember and decapitate the dead dames fighting her. She swung around and took out Clay’s attackers as well. She kept spinning and spinning and spinning—right into his arms, heart thudding fast, hand still clinging tightly to his.
“I love you,” he said.
She couldn’t even form the words, her head was spinning so fast. All she could do was smile dreamily and—though it surely wasn’t the best time—pull him into a kiss. If possible, her world swung faster.
When they parted, the last dead defender had fallen. The deceased warriors all lay still once more.
“Where’s Nick?” Clay asked.
“Trying to get his torch back,” Meghan replied. “He’ll be here.”
“Let’s clear his way,” Jenn said determinably.
Clay stooped to pick up the book. The second he closed it, the salt flats disappeared. The book twitched in his hands, gold light shining between the pages as the oversaturation of magic fought to be released. He handed it to Meghan who stowed it in her bag. Her hand shook with the effort.
The Rotunda returned into view around them. In the center was a gaping black hole where the castle crest had once been.
“She’s waiting for us,” Jenn breathed, her eyes dancing with a future only she and the seer could see.
The Watchmaker surveyed the entrance to the Aerary. The wrought iron staircase was just visible, disappearing in the shadows.
“Apologies for the bluntness, my ladies,” he grunted, “but my portly figure will not squeeze through such a tight space. I had best keep watch here.”
“We shall as well,” Master Malleator said. “It will be too tight of confines if we all get into a fight.”
Page Trey looked helplessly at Meghan—he had to obey his master, though he wished to fight beside her.
“Ten minutes,” he warned, tapping Meghan’s watch. “Remember, no magic unless it’s the last resort. One more could wipe you out.”
Meghan nodded, bitin
g her lip.
“I will join you,” the seer whispered. “My daughter will not be alone.”
The Watchmaker handed his gigantic axe to Clay.
“She’ll hit you the second she sees you,” the Watchmaker said. “This won’t hold for long, but it’ll protect you just long enough.”
“You remember what I did with the last weapon you let me use?” Clay said, but the joke was lost in the seriousness of the moment.
“Save our queen,” the Watchmaker said. “Save us all.”
Clay thanked him again and, holding the axe as a shield, gripping Jenn’s hand all the tighter, five torches blazing around him, led his friends into the Aerary.
CHAPTER 51:
Firefight
I chased the dead dame into the Rotunda, several stories up. The Watchmaker, Master Malleator, and Page Trey lingered below, circling the gaping entrance of the Aerary.
The dead dame raced up the steps toward the balcony above. My heart pounded from the exertion and fear—what if the dame got to the top with enough time to throw the torch over the edge? Where would it go? Would I be able to retrieve it? What if it got beyond the wall of black flames or rolled into the catacombs? There would be no hope of retrieval then.
I raced after her, my heart thudding more and more painfully, brain spinning with a thousand terrible possibilities, wishing for perhaps the umpteenth time that I’d made better use of my gym membership.
◆◆◆
Green energy blasted into the axe, flecking its edges. The weapon shook in Clay’s hands as the forces of magic fought against it. Jenn, Meghan, and the seer pushed against him, holding the axe upright.
At last, the magic let up. The axe was rent from Clay’s hands and spun wildly at his neck. The women pushed Clay down as the weapon twisted over their heads and disappeared into the darkness.
Breathing hard, they got back to their feet. They had reached the Aerary. It was a metal platform hanging from the ceiling of the catacombs, some twenty feet under the stone floor of the Rotunda. Far below, the catacombs were flickering with black fire. Its heat and sparks moved around them. Glimmers of torchlight danced in the corner of their eyes from twirling mirrors.
Immediately before them was a ring of six plinths. Five of them bore black flames. Sparks dark as coal exploded out in violent, discordant eruptions.
In the center of the circle was the witch, returned to her former glory. Her skin was smooth and supple. Her green gown sparkled. She had the air of a conqueror who knew the spoils of war were hers.
At her feet was the queen, bound and gagged to the point of immobility, and Emily, the seer’s daughter, a tiny little thing with round cheeks, pig tails, and a blade against her throat. Her scared eyes pleaded for her mother.
“Release them,” Clay commanded, passing between the plinths to stand in the inner circle.
The witch held the blade tighter to Emily’s throat.
“Surrender,” she replied.
“You can’t want this,” Jenn implored. “To harm an innocent child. To hurt your sister and your own blood—”
“She’s not my blood!” the witch screeched. “She’s—”
“Your stepsister,” Clay interrupted. “You gave her everything and she left you.”
“Telling secrets, sister?” the witch spat at the queen.
Clay held up the pocket watch.
“We know you, Edith,” he said. “We may not understand it, but we know your suffering. Causing more won’t make it stop.”
The witch exhaled sharply at the sight of the watch. “You…killed…my pet?”
Clay stiffened. This wasn’t going as he’d expected.
“You’ll die for that,” she growled.
“Not if you go first,” Meghan replied, and she lunged.
The witch flicked her wrists and sent Meghan flying over the Aerary’s railing. Her torches clattered to the ground.
Jenn shrieked in horror as Meghan flew out of sight, but Clay couldn’t spare the chance to look. He dove at the witch, pulling Jenn with him. The fight was on.
◆◆◆
The dead dame made it to the upper trapdoor. She took too long to get the door open, and I grabbed her ankles as she stepped through. Surprisingly strong, the dead dame kept moving, pulling me after her.
We emerged into the open-air balcony. The corpse dame stumbled toward the edge, raising the torch over her head. I’d been right—she was going to throw it.
“No, you don’t,” I gasped.
I wrapped my body around her feet and twisted, pulling her to the ground. The skeleton arm torch clattered to the stone, its burning fingers moving on their own accord.
The dead dame rolled onto me, her bony hands wrapping around my neck.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the skeleton arm crawling toward the edge of the balcony. There was enough of a gap in the ballasts that the arm could walk right through.
I bucked my body hard, throwing the dead dame’s weight off of me. She flew and smacked into the balcony’s railing, her body exploding apart as I scrambled across the ground. I reached for the torch—it crawled like a burning, bony spider toward the edge—and grabbed it just in time. Heart pounding, I held it tight, breathing a sigh of relief. The flame was mine. I just had to get to the Aerary before it was too late.
Body aching, heart pounding, I got to my feet and headed for the trapdoor back into the Rotunda. But there was something in my way.
◆◆◆
Clay punched the witch square in the nose. Her dagger fell from her hand. Jenn, dragged along in the process, squirted the whole bottle of her hand sanitizer into the witch’s face. They swung sword and torch, pushing her back, keeping her from speaking a spell that would unleash her magic. She didn’t even seem tempted though. She fought like a caged animal, swinging viciously for their knees and throats, reserving her stamina.
Jenn dared to look forward, to see what was to come. She stiffened in fear.
“Clay!” she cried. “We need to—”
But her words were lost as the future she feared burst into the present.
While they fought, the seer tore at the ropes tying her daughter to the queen. Once she’d freed her daughter, they embraced.
“Help me now, Emily,” she implored, starting to undo the ties on the queen.
The two of them freed the queen. As they pulled the gag from her mouth, the queen gasped in thanks.
“Lady Sinclair,” she said. “You have returned.”
“I should have never run,” the seer replied.
“Right now, you must. Take your daughter. Run!”
Grabbing her daughter, the seer ran for the staircase. At the same exact moment, the witch let out a burst of magic at Clay and Jenn. They were flung through the air and hit the seer and her daughter. The four of them went sailing, flying over the plinths and smacking into the balcony’s far railing.
Jenn, the seer, and Emily tumbled over in one big mash of limbs. Clay managed not to go over and squeezed his hand with all his might around Jenn’s, fearing the worst. There was a great pull as the weight of the three women tugged on Clay. He felt his shoulder scream, but he managed to hold them. They dangled over the great expanse of the catacombs. Black flames reached for them. Clay grasped tighter, refusing to let Jenn slip away. His fingers bled, digging into the metal of Jenn’s wedding ring.
The witch giggled manically at the sight. She wound up her hands—but the queen jumped in her way. The witch barely batted an eye. She smacked her sister away and kicked her hard. She advanced on Clay again, immobile from holding up Jenn, the seer, and Emily over the catacombs and roaring black flames. She raveled her hands together, willing to spare some extra magic to put an end to them—
Suddenly, the castle trembled. The Aerary shook. The mirrors swung like pendulums.
The witch beamed at Clay, stopping her advance.
“It’s time,” she said.
Her eyes rolled into her head and she began to chant.
&nbs
p; ◆◆◆
I was trapped ten stories above on the balcony. My way down, the trapdoor, was blocked by a mass of black particles. I’d missed it during my skirmish with the dead dame.
As I watched, the hovering mass burrowed into the stone ground and trapdoor and, with an explosion of black sparks, burst into a dark flame. It roared into life, growing across the balcony.
I backed away, the heat of the flame singeing my eyebrows. My clothes grew warm and my skin felt tight. The castle trembled.
◆◆◆
Knowing the flame had been lit, the witch chanted. Far below, under the black flames and charred coffins and trees of the catacombs, red lines began to glow. They spiraled wildly across the ground, forming an ornate design of a pentagram.
Meghan hung from the dangling mirrors a dozen feet from the Aerary balcony. Having been thrown off it earlier, she’d managed to catch a mirror and swing her way from one to the next. She was one more jump away from the balcony, but the pentagram below gave her pause. It was sinister. The blood-red lines beat like a heart. Could she stop it somehow? Could she use the magic of the torches, speak a verse, and undo what the witch had done? What would it cost her? She was already exhausted from her magical attempt in the courtyard. Would it knock her out? What if she was still needed? If she was going to risk using the magic of the torches, thereby depleting her own energy, she had to know her actions would matter. But first, she had to get back to the balcony.
At the same time, Jenn pleaded with Clay as he held her above the catacombs.
“Let go of me,” she begged. “Please.”
“No!” Clay cried.
“There’s a beam under here,” she cried. “I can swing to it. We’ll be safe.”
“No!”
The witch stopped chanting and advanced once more on Clay, giggling frenziedly.
From the corner of her eye, the witch spotted Meghan hanging from a nearby mirror. With a wave of her hand, a bolt of magic flew at Meghan—crash! The magic bolt crashed into the mirror, exploding the glass, but there was no Meghan.
The witch shouted in surprise and, with a screech of rage, let a wave of magic fly from her. It rose at Clay like a tidal wave, sure to crash upon him and obliterate his very being.
The Age of Knights & Dames Page 28
