Children of Avalon

by Meredith Bond

  It was definitely time Nimuë paid another visit to her beloved sister—just as soon as those children were dead.

  Richard stopped walking, pulling Nimuë from her thoughts. He pointed to a partially built house a little ahead of them from which was coming the sound of hammering. “There. Thomas and his brothers are building that house.”

  “I want the girls and their friends,” Father du Lac snapped, “not the carpenters.”

  Richard shrugged. “If you get the brothers, I’m sure it’ll be much easier to get their sister and the others.”

  Nimuë hated to admit he was probably right, so she did not. She merely gave a slight nod to her knights to advance.

  As soon as the knights and Father du Lac stepped on to the property, there was a piercing whistle and all work noises ceased. A man with pale brown hair approached them warily. As he did so, he was joined by four other men, all well muscled from their hard labor. A few were carrying pieces of wood with which they had been building the house. They clearly were not complete idiots, approaching a group of knights unarmed.

  “Good afternoon, Father, Richard,” the first man said. He eyed Father du Lac closely, barely acknowledging the five knights who surrounded him.

  “That’s Thomas, the eldest,” Richard whispered to Father du Lac.

  “Good afternoon, my son. I am looking for your sisters, as I am certain you are aware.” There was no reason to mince words here or play the innocent. It was abundantly clear Thomas knew exactly with whom he was dealing. His sisters had probably told him of Nimuë’s glamour. It was only the presence of the knights that kept her in the guise.

  “I’m afraid you’ve missed them. They left this morning,” he answered almost cheerfully.

  His honesty showed clearly through his words. Too clearly.

  Nimuë fought to keep herself from grinding her teeth together. “And how were they when they left?” she could not help but ask.

  “Very well, thank you for asking.” He smiled at her as if they were acquaintances exchanging pleasantries.

  “I am so happy to hear it,” the old priest said through a clenched jaw. “Clearly, their visit was much too short if they arrived yesterday and left this morning. A family should spend more time together than that.”

  “If only it were possible,” Thomas said, broadening his stance and preparing to fight.

  “But, of course, it is. I will be more than happy to reunite you all.”

  “You are much too kind. We could not impose upon your generosity.”

  “It would be no imposition at all, I assure you. Please, if you will come with me, I am certain your sisters and their friends will join us—perhaps in Saerdbury?” Father du Lac held out his arm, implying that the brothers should go with her to the wagon.

  “Again, I’m afraid I must decline your very kind offer,” Thomas insisted. His stance changed ever so slightly, clearly ready for a good fight.

  “Are you absolutely certain? It would be so much more pleasant if you were to simply come along. I would not want anyone to get hurt.”

  As if that was the word they had all been waiting for, the brothers and knights attacked each other—the brothers swinging their pieces of wood, the knights their swords. It really was not a fair fight, Nimuë thought to herself as she backed out of the way. It was a good thing she did not care.

  The men whacked at each other for a good five minutes, each trying to take down the other. While the carpenters had brute strength on their side, along with their wood, the knights had their swords. The trick was that they were trying not to kill the carpenters, so they just hit at the men with the flat and not the blade of their swords. The goal, they knew, was to capture the witches without actually harming them, but this was the first time they had truly had to fight those they were trying to capture.

  Nimuë could easily see where Bridget and Scai got their bravery. These men seemed to be fearless, attacking the knights, trying all sorts of tricks to gang up on them and take them down one at a time. Their games did not work, however; there were the same number of knights as brothers, making it nearly impossible to leave one unattended.

  She had thought that she had stepped back far enough to be kept out of the fight, but one of the brothers, a particularly tall one with dark blond hair reached out and grabbed her arm. One minute she was looking up into his thin, angry face, the next she was looking at her own guise. Oh, the fellow was clever. He stole her appearance! He then dragged her back into the fight.

  One of the knights turned to attack, but stopped dead at seeing two Father du Lacs. He did not know which one to hit.

  The carpenter dodged around the knight and then put his hand on the man’s back. His appearance immediately changed to that of Father du Lac as well. The man was so stunned as he looked down at himself, he just stood there gaping.

  The carpenter dragged Nimuë forward, avoiding swipes of sword and swooshes of wood, touching every man and changing him into yet another Father du Lac. Within a minute the area was filled with replicas of Nimuë so that no one knew who was friend and who was foe.

  One of the priests holding a length of wood burst out laughing before attacking with renewed vigor another holding a sword. The man with the sword seemed unsure whether he should attack the priest or not. The idiot was confused, not knowing who the real Father du Lac was.

  Nimuë herself was so stunned, she wanted to both applaud the carpenter’s quick and clever thinking and scream at the imbeciles who were her knights. “You have a sword!” she shouted at the knight. “All the knights have swords! Attack anyone without one. But do not hurt them, I need them alive and well.”

  That got the knights fighting again. They were still hesitant, but at least they were trying. She could practically see their little brains working hard to be sure that they were hitting at the right person.

  Nimuë dodged the flat side of a sword. “I am the real priest,” she shouted before scooting herself away from the fight once again. One of the carpenters copied her, running to the side of the fight as well. Before yet another one could do the same, she called out to the nearest knight, “No! He has a piece of wood in his hands, he is a carpenter!”

  The knight attacked, but he moved hesitantly.

  The chaos of ten identical men fighting was almost comical. The knights and carpenters alike were tripping over their long robes and generally being extremely inefficient in the fight.

  Nimuë watched, her anger growing with each stupid mistake. Finally, one of the knights managed to get a carpenter down on the ground long enough to wind a rope around his wrists. It took some doing, but the knight managed to wrestle the carpenter into the cart and shackle him into place. Once he was there, the balance was in knights’ favor and the other carpenters fell quickly.

  Richard’s face was covered with a smile as he watched the men go down. Nimuë turned and gave a nod to one of the knights, who grabbed the two-timing Vallen and shoved him toward the wagon.

  “What? I’m not going with them,” he protested.

  “You’re a witch just like them. You’re going,” the knight said simply.

  “I am not! I’m Vallen. Father! You know this. You’re not going to…”

  “As he said, friend, you are a witch.” Father du Lac gave him a saddened look but could not keep the smile from his face as he turned toward the knights who were all returning to their original forms now that the carpenter who had changed them all had stopped the flow of magic.

  “You’re lying! You’re playing dumb,” Richard protested as he was shackled into the wagon.

  “Did you just call the king’s confessor—a priest—a liar? The knight shackling him asked.

  “I…I,” the man stammered.

  “But shut up while you can still do so voluntarily,” one of the carpenters suggested as they were loaded into the wagon after Richard.

  “Still believe that all the witches should be rounded up, Richard?” another one of the men said, practically growling at Richard.


  “Yes. But not the Vallen! We’re Vallen. We’re not witches. And you know the difference; don’t pretend that you don’t, Father,” Richard called out to the priest as Nimuë climbed up onto the front bench of the wagon.

  She turned around and looked at her captives. “I would listen to your fellow witches, if I were you.”

  “But…” he started to protest again.

  Father du Lac raised his scruffy eyebrows and looked toward the knight climbing into the wagon next to him. Richard shut his mouth. Nodding, the priest turned back around and gave the go ahead for the knight to set the horses in motion.

  Chapter Eleven

  A little before the sun reached its zenith, we stopped to feed the horses and ourselves. I took the reins of my horse and Sir Dagonet’s and was about to reach for Dylan’s when Aron said, “I’ll get his and mine.”

  I didn’t say anything but led the two horses down through the few trees that separated us from the stream while the others stayed by the road, settling themselves on a nice patch of grass.

  I didn’t want him to come with me. I just wanted him to go away and leave me alone. But I couldn’t tell him that and still maintain the fiction that everything was all right between us, so I led the way down to the stream.

  I released the horses to enjoy the water and then moved up stream a little bit to get a drink myself, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

  “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?” Aron asked, coming up from behind me. So much for my hopes.

  I sat up but didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wasn’t about to tell Aron why I was upset. I’d have to admit that I liked him. That I’d thought he liked me. I wasn’t in the mood to thoroughly embarrass myself.

  “You’ve hardly said anything since we left Gloucester. You’re upset because we had to leave so soon? Are you missing your family?”

  “I am missing my family,” I admitted, hoping that would end the conversation.

  “But there’s more.” He was much too smart. I wondered if he didn’t have some Vallen blood in him, but I thought it would be cruel to ask.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I thought of lying, but just couldn’t bring myself to do so. Being raised by Thomas, who always knew when someone was lying, had taught me too well.

  “Did I do something or say something to hurt your feelings?”

  I sighed. His persistence was getting annoying. “Can we just leave this alone, please?”

  I took one last gulp of the cool, refreshing water before getting up and going back to the horses. Round and round in my mind were all the reasons why I couldn’t say anything. Dylan’s pain. Scai’s duplicity. Aron… The importance of keeping the group together. Yes. It was that which I had to keep at the forefront of my mind. We wouldn’t be able to fight Nimuë with that kind of pain amongst us. I had to keep it to myself.

  “If I did something…” he started again.

  “Aron, stop!” I nearly shouted. I caught myself just in time, not wanting the others to think that something was wrong and come running. I quickly gathered up the reins of the horses and dragged them back to where the others were beginning to eat some of the bread and cheese Joan had packed for us. His concern was nice but unnecessary at this point. I knew where his affections lay and it wasn’t where I wanted them.

  Aron followed with the other horses.

  Scai and the others looked up as we approached.

  “Everything all right, Bridget?” Sir Dagonet asked.

  “Yes,” I answered letting go of the horses again so that they could nibble at the grass.

  “Thought I heard you shout,” the old knight persisted.

  “No. It’s all right.” This time I did lie. There was no way I was going to explain.

  Aron sat down next to Scai. I caught the end of a meaningful look passing between them, so I sat down on the side next to Sir Dagonet and tried to ignore them.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Dylan asked, looking deeply at me.

  He knew, of course. He could feel the confused emotions burning through me.

  “Yes.” No. But I couldn’t say that.

  “I asked her what was wrong,” Aron said, “but she refuses to talk about it.”

  “Are you sure, Bridget?” Scai asked, looking at me with concern.

  I could feel my sister trying to catch my eyes, but I was not going to put up with Scai trying to read my mind. “You can just stay out of my head, Scai,” I snapped. “All of you, just leave me alone.”

  “All right, now. Let’s leave her be.” Sir Dagonet was being wonderful, as always. I gave him the best smile I could muster.

  “We just want to help,” Scai said.

  “And I just don’t want it,” I shot back.

  “And this conversation ends now!” Sir Dagonet yelled, his voice harsher than I had ever heard it before.

  He stood up, towering over all of us. In two steps he had Scai by the throat, lifting her off the ground. “Nothing more!”

  Scai’s eyes widened and her face began to turn red as she clutched at his hand trying to get him to release her. We were all on our feet as Sir Dagonet began to draw his sword.

  Dylan and Aron jumped toward him at the same time. Dylan drew his own weapon. Aron slapped his hand firmly on Sir Dagonet’s shoulder stopping the older man from completing his intention.

  “I will kill her,” the old knight growled.

  “It’s the nectere,” I realized out loud. With deliberate slowness, I laid my hand on Sir Dagonet’s arm, not wanting to startle him into doing anything rash. “It’s okay, sir. These are not your emotions. Please, let go of Scai and put away your sword.”

  Dylan made eye contact with the old knight. “Sir Dagonet, please do as Bridget says.”

  The old man blinked a few times and then exhaled. Slipping his sword back into its sheath, he put Scai back down on to her feet.

  She stumbled, but Dylan caught her and pulled her close.

  Sir Dagonet dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s her.” He looked at Scai, his eyes glistening with tears. “I am so sorry. All right, then, Scai?”

  She took a step away from Dylan and put her hand on the old knight’s shoulder. “I’m fine. She took you by surprise.” Amazingly, Scai managed a tremulous smile.

  Sir Dagonet nodded. “Yes. My God, but she’s angry.”

  Dylan put away his sword. “Any idea at what, sir?”

  “No. Well, wait, it’s Scai. She’s angry at Scai.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Don’t know that, wot, wot? Just know that she is.” Sir Dagonet sat down again. He rubbed vigorously at his face as if trying to wipe off Nimuë’s emotions.

  “Maybe we should continue on,” Dylan said, looking at the old man with concern in his eyes. “If she’s that angry…”

  “You want to get to her even faster?” I asked. “Why? If she’s so angry at Scai for whatever reason, don’t we want to give her time to cool down before we reach her?”

  Dylan frowned at me, then slid his eyes over to Sir Dagonet. I didn’t understand. Was he trying to keep an eye on the old knight to be sure he didn’t attack Scai? “No, Bridget. I just want to get moving, all right?”

  “But…”

  He looked over at Sir Dagonet again.

  Aron came up behind me and put his arm around my shoulders, sending heat surging down my traitorous body. “I think Dylan is right. We should really get on the road.” He began to lead me to my horse, but I dug in my heels. I hated being led around like a child. There was clearly something going on here that I wasn’t getting.

  “Why? Why do we need to go right now?” I turned on Aron. I certainly wasn’t going take anything from him. But he just did the same thing that Dylan had done, and shifted his eyes pointedly at Sir Dagonet.

  Okay, so this had to do with the knight. Dylan and Aron wanted to get Sir Dagonet on the road.

  Sir Dagonet was fidgeting with his bracelet
and staring hard at Scai. His angry glare then shifted to me. His usual, kind, friendly expression was nowhere to be seen. In its stead was a hard, intense stare.

  “Right? So shall we go? Now?” Aron’s voice was getting impatient and he tugged on my shoulders again.

  Okay. Now I got it. They wanted to redirect Sir Dagonet’s attention from Scai. Make it so he couldn’t act on Nimuë’s anger. And there was a possibility that it was beginning to transfer to me.

  I moved into action, grabbing my sister by the hand. “Come on, Scai, what are you waiting for? Let’s go. Do you want to ride in front this time, or can I?”

  Scai almost fell forward as Sir Dagonet suddenly released her from his look. “Oh, um, you can be in front. I’m fine riding behind,” she said, keeping as close to me as she could.

  We all mounted our horses and took off within minutes. Scai and I rode ahead, but I kept getting the feeling that Sir Dagonet wasn’t following us, so much as pursuing us. I rode faster, and he kept right on our tail.

  Well, in a way this was good. We would certainly get to Saerdbury much faster this way. It just wasn’t a very pleasant sensation. Eventually, though, Nimuë must have calmed down because Sir Dagonet did as well.

  As he did so, he began to fall behind. Eventually, we all slowed down to our regular pace, but no one mentioned a thing. I imagined Sir Dagonet felt bad enough as it was. We didn’t need to dig it in by discussing the matter.

  The road to Saerdbury turned and brought us into one of the larger towns we’d seen for a while. It was the screaming and shouting up ahead that made us all slow our horses at first, before kicking them into a gallop. Not even Sir Dagonet was left behind as we sped down the eerily empty main road toward the shouts. I prayed it wasn’t another bonfire.

  About half way down the road, a man came running out of the local pub, violently waving his arms at us. We pulled to a halt.

  “Don’t go. You may want to help, but don’t go.” As he talked he kept looking over his shoulder as if he was expecting someone to come out of the pub at any moment.