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  The Defenders of Dembroch

  BOOK 1: THE AGE OF KNIGHTS AND DAMES

  A Novel by Patrick Harris

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Patrick Harris

  Book Design by SunBurst Sagas

  Map by Rhys Davies

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Published in the United States of America. Hardcover and audiobook also available.

  ISBN: 978-0-359-81100-7

  Summary: Four long-lost friends take on daring, lethal, and magical quests to save a queen and her cursed kingdom.

  1. Young Adult Fiction / Fantasy / General

  2. Young Adult Fiction / Legends, Myths, Fables / Arthurian

  3. Young Adult Fiction / Fantasy / Epic

  www.AuthorPatrickHarris.com

  Once upon a time, King Arthur sought out his greatest foe, Morgan Le Faye and fought the final battle of their great war. After many days and nights, King Arthur bested the evil witch and offered her one final bequest. Rather than confess her crimes or show repentance, Morgan Le Fay cursed King Arthur and his lineage so that, by the age of thirty years, each would be stripped of their lands, people, and titles, and spend the rest of their days, however long, however short, fruitlessly seeking what they had lost.

  King Arthur slew the witch and, burdened with this curse and his spoils of war, returned home to Camelot. There, he assembled the finest knights of his Round Table and, together, they scoured the globe for a way to break the curse. They sought many relics and artifacts, even the Holy Grail, until at last, the good king discovered the secret means to break the curse. But it was too late. Shortly after his discovery, King Arthur perished to his curse at the hands of Mordred, and he passed on to Avalon.

  If only, if only, King Arthur had known earlier to seek out the kingdom of Dembroch, so that he and his family would have been spared the curse. For Dembroch is a wondrous place where a people toil, where the fairest magic burns around a castle royal. Where defenders protect flames six strong and seek out the helpless in need of healing their wrongs.

  Seek it if you must, hunt its distant shores. Waiting for you, good men and women, will be the Timeless Kingdom of Dembroch forevermore.

  – From the collection of recovered writings of

  Sir Percival, the last of King Arthur’s knights

  Circa 557 A.D.

  PROLOGUE:

  A New Tale of Dembroch

  On a cold winter’s night fit for carols and cheer, he told them a summer’s tale of a queen and her kingdom. Wild red flames crackled in the fireplace. The room swelled gently with light; the grandfather clock ticked softly. Flurries of white collected on the sill.

  Grandpapa sat in his chair, one giant bear claw of a hand holding up a book, the other twirling his gold-flecked pocket watch that always seemed to be stuck in the nine-o’-clock hour. A key dangled from the other end of the chain.

  On the couch, the grandchildren listened raptly, eyes wide, ears perked, hearts thudding. It may have been past their bedtime, but sleep was the last thing on their minds.

  The night had started like any other. After supper and games, Grandpapa had ushered them to the living room. From the shelf, he had pulled out a worn blue book and let it fall open wherever the pages would lie. As the grandchildren had curled up on the couch, he had begun another bedtime story of Dembroch.

  But just as he’d began, Robbie and Lucy stopped him. The winter winds outside seemed to hush.

  It wasn’t that the grandchildren didn’t want to hear a story, least of all one about Dembroch. They loved the Timeless Kingdom, you see, with its wild woods, towering castle turrets, wondrous magic, and nail-biting battles. But they had heard every story from Grandpapa’s blue book at least a dozen times. They knew by heart the battle of Lady Ansel and the dragons, Sir Solomon’s exile, Sir Tamas’ quest to touch flames without being burnt, and King Arthur’s search to break the curse on his lineage. The grandchildren loved these stories, one and all, but this night, they had longed for something new, something more.

  “Tell us a new tale of Dembroch,” the grandchildren pleaded. “A new bedtime story. One we’ve never heard before.”

  And so, with a sparkle in his eye and a mischievous grin, their Grandpapa left the room and returned with a new book, one the grandchildren had never seen before. It was a black leather journal, one you’d find in a used bookstore or left on the back seat of a bus. But the leather was dried and shabby, its cover dinged, scrapped, and burnt. Some of the pages were torn.

  On its cover was a castle silhouette inscribed in flames. Now that, the symbol, the grandchildren knew well.

  “This is not a tale for the lighthearted,” Grandpapa told them, holding up the black book. “You’ll have wished I’d told you a sweet story you knew so you would be rocked gently to sleep. But this tale is only for those of brave stock, thick skins, and bold hearts.”

  “What is it about?” Robbie asked nervously.

  “Dembroch, of course,” their Grandpapa replied, “but so much more. Within, you shall hear of the last knights and dames, magic and a terrible curse, a queen and kingdom in peril, lies that comfort and truths that scar. In these pages, magic dies and dead men walk. There are fires and fights, a monster of your worst nightmares. Clocks that don’t tell time. Eyes that don’t see. Invisible doors that take you far away. A witch… Is that adventure enough for you both?”

  Robbie shuddered, but Lucy beamed.

  “Tell it to us, Grandpapa,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  “Only if your brother wants to listen, too,” Grandpapa said.

  Robbie hesitated. His sister elbowed him, and then he nodded vigorously.

  “Alright then,” Grandpapa said. “Let’s begin.”

  He pulled their blankets up to their chins and took his place in the seat by the couch. From his pocket, he again pulled out his tiny, funny watch with the key on the end, and in his other hand, he cracked open the black book.

  As the fire crackled and the grandfather clock ticked, as snow gathered on the sill and the cold winter’s night grew colder, he told them a summer’s tale they had never heard.

  PART 1:

  Finding Dembroch

  CHAPTER 1:

  The Siege of the Shallows

  Deep in the castle library, the witch appeared out of thin air. Her blood-slicked hands clutched the king’s chroniseal.

  She was an atrocious creature, human by all accounts, but ravaged by age and time. Her skin was thin and spotted with scabs. Her eyes were hard and cruel. She was the woman death had forgotten, a terror that no man or woman dared follow, a witch named Sorgana.

  It took a moment for Sorgana to gather her bearings. One second, she’d been surrounded by corpses and killers, caught in a vicious battle, and the next, she’d arrived here. The eerie calm after the chaos was unnerving. But she couldn’t help it. She smiled, her lips curling devilishly.

  She’d finally made it to Dembroch.

  The old fool was right, she thought. Good thing, too. She’d shed plenty of blood to get the answers. But her joy was fleeting. There was much to be done.

  She went on her way, as familiar with the library and the castle as a citizen of Dembroch would be. Before long, and after slaughtering anyone who crossed her path, she had exited the castle and gone to Coral Canyon, a
deep fissure on the western side of Dembroch’s main isle. She descended the canyon and, at the bottom, found turtles and fish playing among shallow pools. She snatched up a baby turtle and bit off its head, chewing ravenously. When she swallowed, her skin became fuller and her hair darker. The wrinkles disappeared; scabs healed.

  Reinvigorated and visibly younger, the witch strode through the pools to her prize. Amongst the shallows was a strange black rock, and on its flat top, a bright, orange flame. Golden sparks, small as the eye could see, hung around the fire like frozen fireflies.

  She approached the flame, holding a hand to it. Her fingertips grew warm and she had to pull away before she was burnt. But it was no matter. She had no need to touch the flame really, only to extinguish it.

  She began to bend the reality of the world around her, manipulating the magic to unveil the true nature of the flame—it was not an ordinary fire. Not by any accounts.

  No sooner had she discovered how to extinguish the flame—it was, as the old fool had said, quite complicated—the witch sensed a presence behind her. A large presence. She turned to find near one hundred of the kingdom’s defenders standing at the ready, swords brandished, armor shining, all focused on her.

  The witch could barely contain her glee. Formidable fighters though these knights and dames may be, they would be no match for her magic, her might, and…her monster.

  The defenders called for her surrender. The witch cackled, thirsty for more blood, and with a snap of her fingers, her monster was released and the battle began.

  In the massacre that followed, which would be known as the Siege of the Shallows, the witch decimated the forces of Dembroch’s defenders. Her magic, both quick and razor sharp, cut through dozens. The witch’s unleashed monster, the horrific Dreadnaught, devoured bodies whole before charging up the canyon walls and disappearing over the side to wreck more havoc.

  The battle raged on. The flame on the black rock seemed to flicker with each fallen knight and dame.

  Not long after it had begun, it was just the witch and a half dozen of the kingdom’s last, best defenders. They were as talented at combat as the witch was at sorcery. She fought cruelly, but was soon subdued and at their mercy. After a lengthy argument about whether to kill her or not, the defenders took her back to the castle and to the queen.

  Only the witch saw that, amongst the corpses and reddened shallows, the flame atop the black rock had diminished in strength and was now a flickering, wavering tongue, sputtering for life. A second later, it died. The frozen fireflies of sparks fell like stars from the sky.

  Sorgana was dragged all the way back into the castle to a grand chamber with tables for dining and a throne for two. Only one person sat on the throne, a slender woman with long, golden tangles of hair, a sword hanging from her hip, and a fine metal crown atop her brow. In her hand, she held a metal contraption covered in dried blood—the king’s chroniseal, the device that had brought the witch to Dembroch, which she had dropped in the library.

  The witch sneered at the woman. This was Dembroch’s last living monarch, Queen Coralee.

  The remaining defenders, a scant half dozen, informed the queen of the witch’s transgressions, including unwelcome infiltration of the kingdom, the murder of numerous defenders, the release of the Dreadnaught, the tampering of the flame, and the attack on the king, whose true fate was yet to be discovered.

  “Lies! All lies!” the witch cried. “I have come to this kingdom to free you. All of you. A curse looms and anyone who remains shall be consumed by it.”

  There were murmurings, a stirring of fear.

  “Silence,” the queen interrupted. She observed the witch, measuring her words before speaking. “How do you know of this kingdom and its flames?”

  “Your secrets are not so well kept,” the witch replied.

  “And who, pray tell, has shared the secrets of Dembroch with you?”

  “Anyone will speak when enough blood has been shed,” the witch replied, eyeing the king’s chroniseal.

  The queen screwed up her face to mask her true emotions. She kneaded her hands.

  “What have you done with the king?”

  “Wait and see,” the witch simpered.

  Queen Coralee jumped to conclusions: “Why would you dare strike this kingdom? Its people? Its leaders?”

  “Have you no inkling?” the witch snarled. “Have you no memory of your transgressions? Don’t you even recognize me?”

  Queen Coralee’s brow furrowed.

  “I do not know you, witch,” the queen said. “Enough with your trickery. What do you intend for my people?”

  The witch’s expression was the only answer anyone needed. It was full of bloodlust and contempt, a thirst for suffering.

  “Take her away,” the queen instructed. “Lock her in the last cell, seal it against any magic. I shall speak with her in due time.”

  And so, the witch was taken away, but she didn’t mind. Her work was done for the time being. No cell could hold her any longer than she wanted to be held, and when the moment was right, she would strike again.

  Back in the throne room, the queen consulted her viziers about the ongoing crisis. While the witch had been apprehended, the Dreadnaught was running loose on the main island and the flame in Coral Canyon was out.

  “We must act quickly,” Queen Coralee said. “Call upon the Watchmaker. He must find this witch’s watch and discover what she intends. Consult the seer, see what must be done. Recover the fallen from the canyon. Prepare a proper service for the catacombs.”

  She held up the blood-coated chroniseal.

  “And someone find my husband.”

  The viziers and remaining defenders did just that, heeding the queen’s instructions to a tee. But much was for naught. Shortly after the Watchmaker received his instructions, the Dreadnaught attacked and every watch was taken, including the witch’s. Defenders sought out the king, only to find his body lifeless and savagely beaten. His corpse was returned to the kingdom, as were his guard of defenders. A service was organized, but all the while, the kingdom was on high alert. A monster roamed their woods and a witch, unwilling to spill her secrets or admit to killing the king to gain access to the kingdom, remained locked in the castle’s prison. Worst of all, the other flames of the kingdom were starting to flicker. The queen consulted the seer, but she had seen such a terrible future, she refused to look again and offered only tidings of doom. Desperate, the queen turned last to the mage, the elucidator and observer, first born of the island and long forgotten by its people, and he alone saw a path forward. He laid out four tasks that must be accomplished. They were daunting and nigh impossible. The few remaining defenders began to fall. Only a few remained. Civium began to whisper nervously to one another in the halls.

  With nowhere else to turn, Queen Coralee issued the order. The kingdom needed help, and they needed to prepare for the worst. A scant trio of defenders could not protect Dembroch domestically and abroad, let alone hope to accomplish the mage’s proposed courses of action.

  “Send out the call to every corner of the globe,” the queen commanded. “Every able-bodied, good-spirited man and woman, whosoever believes themselves worthy and able, are asked to become defenders of Dembroch and save our timeless kingdom.”

  CHAPTER 2:

  We Four Friends

  Dembroch’s request for aid was published in every paper around the world. Millions saw it, a few took it seriously. And my friends I were one of them.

  We were about ten or so, little firecrackers of energy and imagination. There was Clay, taller than the rest of us and bold as brass, an all-American kid who had everything going for him. He liked Jenn, the new girl from the big city, who was brilliant and beautiful and happy. We came to tease Jenn for her uncanny eye to spot all things sparkly and shiny and her equally strong dislike of mud, goop, and germs. Meghan was my younger stepsister, a little pill sometimes, a couple years younger than the rest of us, but so confident and cool and sure of herself.
She often did her own thing, but when it came down to it, she stood with us through thick and thin. And then there was me, Nick, the starry-eyed adventurer always looking to escape my classes and play in the woods with my friends.

  We couldn’t afford much back then, so playing pretend in the woods was our favorite thing to do. But if there was one thing worth saving up for, it was the orange cream malts at Dave’s Diner.

  Well…that was, until Dembroch.

  We were in Dave’s Diner that fateful day, sipping our well-earned malts, when Clay came charging through the door. Normally quite reserved, Clay was beside himself, insisting we read the listing he’d found in the newspaper’s classifieds:

  Immediate Assistance Needed

  Dead is the king of Dembroch, as are many of our knights and dames. We call upon the noblest members of the public to aid our kingdom during this trying time and volunteer for our sovereign military order. Defenders are expected to guard the kingdom, the dowager queen, and her people at any cost. If you find yourself willing and able, deliver your statement of intention, letters of mark, $125, and a lock of your hair by post. Join the defenders of Dembroch. Save us.

  Ah, I still remember the feeling when I first read it. I couldn’t wait to be a knight. A defender of Dembroch. I yearned for it with every fiber of my being. And, in my heart, I thought about the queen, the desperate dowager seeking help. How I wanted to be her knight, I realized. How I needed to be. And all I had to do was save $125. That would be worth every penny.

  My friends must have felt the same way. Jenn, Clay, Meghan, and I helped one another save up our money. Once we’d made enough, we collected everything we needed to apply and mailed it to Dembroch. We waited for ages it seemed until, finally, we received a reply.

  We’d been accepted. Each of us were given a certificate naming us knights and dames of the kingdom by authority of the ruler, Queen Coralee. She gave us metal brooches, the seal of Dembroch, to wear at all times. They were beautiful, shining medals of a castle silhouette, encircled by a ring of flames with the kingdom motto, Omnia Aeterno, inscribed in the bottom. Lastly, she wrote each of us a letter. I thought for sure it was our summons, our call to the kingdom. But in it, we discovered a less amazing truth. Though my friends and I had been named knights and dames of Dembroch, we were placed in the Reserves.