The Age of Knights & Dames

by Patrick Harris

  Jenn curtsied and, with a sword upon each shoulder, she reclaimed the title of dame. Her face glowed as she admired the medal pinned to her cloak.

  “I saw this!” the seer shouted. “I knew this day would come.”

  “Lady Meghan,” the queen said, holding a metal brooch before my sister. “You came to us hotheaded and impatient, yet, beneath it, you demonstrated cool logic and a sound mind. For patience and a generous heart, I restore your dameship.”

  The queen asked if Meghan swore loyalty, and Meghan did without hesitation. She was given the sigil of Dembroch and grinned like a child. She let out a breath in satisfaction and I knew, deep down, she knew this was exactly where she was meant to be.

  Then, the queen was before me. She held up a medal.

  “Sir Nicholas,” said Queen Coralee, her eyes saying more than words could share. “This kingdom will always be in your debt. It is a long, treacherous walk on Dembroch, and you have the steadfastness to take each step. For your initiative, your loyalty, and your unerring love, I bestow you with the knightship I once took.”

  The “yes” was playing on my lips, but she wasn’t finished.

  “Be warned,” she said, “it is a duty few comprehend and even fewer can fulfill. Do you so swear loyalty to the kingdom of Dembroch and fealty to your queen in all that the future may bring?”

  She looked at me meaningfully, searching for proof that I understood what I was being offered. It was the offer made to me as a child, now fully understood as an adult with a youthful soul, to be a defender. But, there was more to it. I could see in her eyes that it was not simply an offer to become a defender of Dembroch once more, but to be a defender of the queen’s heart.

  I proudly knelt, promising myself to the queen and Dembroch. Everyone cheered and my heart burst once more with pride. The queen knighted me and pinned the medal to my chest. Its weight was familiar—I had missed it.

  As one, my friends and I stood, once more the four defenders of Dembroch, its people, its land, and is magic.

  The Civium let out a cheer. The trumpets sang sweet tunes of victory. The magic sparks in the air burned brighter.

  Emily squeezed my hand. Her look said it all—Page Hybore would have been proud.

  Queen Coralee and I caught each other’s eyes. Her face lit with an infectious smile full of thankfulness, hope, and love.

  My heart swelled. I was head-over-heels. I could have kissed her, but knew there would be plenty of time for that later.

  In that moment, seeing that look on her face, I realized the truth.

  There wasn’t much I could have afforded to do back when I was young. The orange cream malts at Dave’s Diner seemed to be pretty good. But that $125 to become a knight, and all those struggles and heartbreak I’d experienced since, were worth every penny just to see my queen smile. She would be my queen, and I would be her defender, forevermore.

  EPILOGUE:

  The Hope Chest in the Attic

  The grandchildren slept sweetly by the fire. Grandpapa closed the black book and checked his pocket watch. Though it was long past midnight, his timepiece still read nine-o’clock. He snapped it shut and kissed the foreheads of Robbie and Lucy.

  “I love you both,” he whispered.

  “Littles and littles?” they would have replied had they been awake.

  “Lots and lots,” he would have confirmed.

  He looked wistfully upon his sweet grandchildren.

  Someday, he promised himself, he would tell them. Someday they would know. But six and seven were much too young. There was too much they did not know. And if they begged to go, he would not be able to deny them, despite the treacherousness of such a request.

  Belabored by the weight of these truths, Grandpapa wandered off to bed.

  But little Lucy and dimple-cheeked Robbie were not asleep. The moment Grandpapa left the room, their eyelids popped open.

  “Did you get it?” Robbie whispered.

  Lucy held up a tiny golden key, the one that had been hanging from the other end of their grandfather’s pocket watch chain.

  Quiet as mice, they snuck through the house. From Grandpapa’s room, they heard snores.

  Under the attic, Lucy grabbed the hook and pulled down the trapdoor. It creaked open and stairs descended from the ceiling to the floor with a dry screech of springs.

  “Come on,” Lucy whispered.

  “I’m scared,” Robbie said.

  “Me too,” Lucy said. “But we have to know.”

  Brother followed sister into the musty, dimly-lit attic. Lucy found the flashlight they had left close to the entrance after their last visit and lit it. The yellow light revealed a hidden world of furniture draped in sheets, framed photos caked in dust, and bookshelves stocked full of mementos. Dust spun lazily through the air like the snow falling in the cold winter’s night outside.

  The grandchildren probed the darkness, finding their way back to what they were looking for. In the furthest corner, where the spiders crawled over dense cities of cobwebs, was a hope chest. It was a beautiful thing, made of mahogany, expertly carved, and bound in metal framing. Set into its front was a lock.

  “Go on,” Lucy told her younger brother, handing him the key from Grandpapa’s pocket watch chain. “Be brave. Like Sir Clayton.”

  He took the key, fed it into the lock, and turned it. The lid popped open.

  Barely breathing, Lucy pushed the lid open all the way. The flashlight illuminated the contents within. There were no jewels or mounds of coins inside, but the belongings of a younger man from a younger time. There were navy blue clothes soft as silk but heavy as armor, swords of all lengths and widths, and black-and-white photos of people the children didn’t know and places they’d never visited.

  “Look!” Robbie squeaked.

  He dug into the blue clothing and withdrew a medal. It was the size and shape of a silver dollar, the silhouette of a splendid castle inscribed in an ornate, red-hued circle that looked like a ring of flames. Carved along the bottom of the ring were the words Omnia Aeterno.

  Lucy and Robbie exchanged a glance. Their breath caught. It was the sigil of Dembroch. A real sigil.

  They dug deeper into the hope chest, finding more and more treasures. There was a complex drawing that looked like a star chart, a map of Dembroch’s three isles, a blank diary smeared with blood and oil, and sheets of paper covered in half-finished maps.

  Under these, Lucy found an old, yellowed certificate bordered with filigree and wax seals, confirming Sir Nicholas Hutchison as a Reserve Knight on the 13th of November, 1989.

  Robbie and Lucy exchanged a glance, one full of incredulity and awe. These items were from hundreds of years ago—it was the year 2353 after all—and the subject of the papers, Sir Nicholas, was their Grandpapa.

  “Dembroch is real,” Lucy breathed.

  “And Grandpapa has been there,” Robbie realized.

  “The story he told was his.”

  Robbie pointed. “And there’s more.”

  Nestled into the very bottom of the hope chest were several leather-bound books, each a different color and bearing the Dembroch sigil on their front. There was a small space on the far left where Grandpapa had pulled out the black book of his first adventure.

  Lucy and Robbie shared a knowing smile.

  “Let’s do it,” they agreed.

  They shut the trunk, Robbie holding tight to the Dembroch medallion. Down from the attic, the two tiptoed to Grandpapa’s room. He was still snoring, his eyes moving under their lids.

  His pocket watch sat atop his bedside dresser. When Robbie wouldn’t go, Lucy slunk into the room. Grandpapa gave a stir. Lucy froze. But the old knight didn’t wake.

  She grabbed the pocket watch and crept back to Robbie.

  He held up the sigil. She held up the watch. They connected the two, forming the chroniseal.

  “Together?” she asked. “Like the defenders?”

  “Omnia Aeterno,” Robbie agreed.

  They
clasped hands together and pressed the winding crown on the pocket watch. There was a shock of electricity. The world blurred around them. Colors blended. They started to spin. And the next moment, Robbie and Lucy were gone, leaving the cold winter’s night for a summer’s timeless kingdom.

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Though writing a novel is solitary work, its development takes a village. In that way, I must thank my editors (Fran, Matt, Jon, Mom, and Charles) and my consultants (Dwight, Lisa, Sarah, and of course, Melissa). You truly made this tale into something magical and you all have a place in Dembroch.

  Truly, the concept of this tale came from my wife, who heard a story at work about the world’s smallest country: the Principality of Sealand off the coast of Norway in international waters. Built during World War II to defend the shores against potential German invasions, the small military platform was later claimed by a retired British major who used the space to broadcast his radio show (Radio Essex). The Major, Roy Bates, and his family declared the platform a country in 1967, claiming the No Man’s Land as their own. Several years of litigation and attacks followed, and in an interesting twist in 2012, the country allowed the world’s public to become knights and dames to defend the principality in times of need.

  My wife, her brother, and I discussed this over family dinner with fascination. What if we became knights and dames? Could we put that on our business cards? But wait—if we had said title, what if we were called into action? Would we be able to?

  And thus, the story of Dembroch was born: a small country much in need of knights and dames to defend its honor. Plus…some magic.

  I hope you enjoyed reading this first tale with Clay, Jenn, Meg, and Nick. Don’t lament the end of this book, though. There are more adventures to come for our defenders, their queen, and the Civium of Dembroch. After all, the king’s killer is out there somewhere.

  As an aspiring bestselling author, I humbly ask you to spread the word about Dembroch. Tell your friends, write a review, and check out some of my other books at AuthorPatrickHarris.com. I can’t wait for you to read what’s coming next.

  Until next time, Omnia Aeterno!

  *obligatory chest thump*

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patrick Harris is the author of the action-packed superhero series The Waterman Chronicles and acclaimed sci-fi suspense novel Silver Rain. He loves to explore the outdoors, laugh at his own Dad jokes, and plot how he can live permanently in Disneyland. Patrick does his best writing with his toes buried in sand, the sun shining on the waves, and a Blue Hawaiian in one hand with his wife’s hand in the other (example: the novel you just read).

  Patrick makes his home in Reno, Nevada, with his wife, Melissa, and their two puppies, Dixie and Penny. If you want to know more about Patrick’s upcoming novels, including additional tales of The Defenders of Dembroch, you can visit his website at AuthorPatrickHarris.com or connect with him on social media: @AuthorPatrickHarris.