The girl was approximately the same age as the Lady Christianne Morneau. She was slight of build and stature with dove colored skin. Her hair shined like platinum tied in plaits that ran down her back, though rogue bangs hung in her eyes. Her most striking feature was her eyes. They reminded Patrick of clear ice and were almost ghostlike in their infinite depth. Patrick had seen her many times, but she remained one of the few Guests that he had not been introduced to.
She smiled at McFowler and said a strange sounding word that Patrick did not catch. Jason tried to repeat it but found himself at a loss to do so.
“I'm sorry,” Jason said shrugging. “I can't pronounce her homeland.”
Patrick smiled and held out his hand. “That's quite all right, I probably couldn't either.” She placed her hand in Patrick's, and he kissed it gently.
“Lady Katherina, this is Sir Patrick Gawain, of Eire.”
She returned the smile. “Pleased to meet you, Sir Gawain.” Her accent was odd and heavy. “I heard that only barbarians came from Eire,” she said to the Irishman. McFowler laughed. Patrick maintained his smile, though he was a little peeved at the comment. “No, not really. At least you have heard of my country, I haven't heard of yours at all.” He slapped her lightly on the shoulder as if she were a boy. This action surprised her, and didn't seem to please her too much. Patrick's smile turned to one of mischief; he derived a certain pleasure from angering the girl. It was the least he could do after being essentially called a barbarian. “I will let you two get to work, good day, and nice meeting you Lady Katherina.”
As Patrick headed for the exit, McFowler thought of something else and rushed after him. “Patrick, old pal, could you possibly do me another favor?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Sure. But you owe me, Highlander.”
Jason grinned. “It's simple. Sir Corbin and I were to escort the Viscount Loki around the Isle. Would you be so kind as to take my place?”
“Certainly, but like I said, you owe me one.”
“But of course! All the beer you can drink!”
#
The following morning Patrick sat idly on Siegfried, waiting next to Corbin and his horse. The day was misty yet bright as the rising sun turned the vapor in the air pearlescent. Patrick and Corbin had originally tried talking Loki out of his scheduled tour of the isle, since there wasn’t much to see in the fog, but the Viscount had insisted. Now, though the landscape was veiled, the sun sent wonderful rays through the trees and undergrowth. Patrick also mused about Mark’s consent to the nobleman’s unprecedented request for an adventure.
A lone duck squawked as it flew over, headed inland.
Patrick stretched his lengthy arms to full span and yawned loudly.
“Didn't sleep much last night?” Sir Corbin asked, between bites of a carrot.
Patrick grunted, “Of course not. Not with Willy playing those damned pipes to all hours.”
“I thought you liked those damned pipes.”
“In Willy's hands they sound like a dying cow—say, where did you get that carrot?”
Corbin grinned. “From your saddlebag.”
“It must be one of the carrots that Siegfried spit out after I gave it to him,” Patrick said, straight faced. “I can't figure it out, some days he can't get enough of them, others he acts as if he couldn't care for another.” Corbin spat out the vegetable and wiped his tongue with his hand.
“What do you suppose he is looking at?” Patrick shaded his eyes and studied Loki and his valet. The Viscount stood on the shore of a lake, gazing at a mass of rocks that formed an island of sorts in the middle. His valet, Minion, seemed just as curious. It wasn’t much of a lake really, but still bigger than a pond.
“Beats me,” Sir Corbin, and spat one more time. “If it were a nicer day, I would say he was looking at the scenery, but with all this mist—you can't even see the bushes, let alone the lake.”
A carpet of mist rolled in, obscuring their charges. Although visible, their forms became elongated and warped. Their voices too were distorted, bouncing around the register of sound and made unintelligible. Corbin and Patrick made no moves, as the Guests seemed in no danger and it was certain the mist would soon part again.
“Ah, that’s better,” Loki said as he gestured with his left hand. The mist seemed to gather ever thicker with each wave of his hand. “We can’t have people listening in on everything I do.”
Minion scratched his head as he looked back and forth between Loki and the mounted knights. The Viscount began to pace back and forth along the lakeshore. He alternated between pacing with his head down and hands on hips, as if deeply pondering something and pausing to gaze out into the center of the lake at the stones. He became increasingly agitated. Minion followed his every footstep.
“What is it, Master?” Minion's odd voice was especially annoying at this particular moment. Loki stopped suddenly and grabbed the little man by his garments.
“I know this is the place!” He hissed. Minion's eyes were the size of wagon wheels. “The textbooks, the legends, even the winds blew in this direction. But where the hell is it!” Loki dropped Minion and continued to pace, running hands through his hair.
Finally he stopped and gazed at the rocks in the lake. “Maybe...” he whispered. He stood up straight as an arrow, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath, and began to hum.
“Master?” Minion said timidly.
Loki said from the side of his mouth, “Minion, assume the position.”
“Yes, Master.” Minion removed his cap and bowed his head and Loki quickly slapped it, eyes still shut.
“Bad Minion. Now be a good fellow and don't disturb me.”
“Yes, Master, bad Minion.”
The Viscount began to hum again. This time, uninterrupted, the hum evolved into more complex noises that originated in his sternum, forming into a song of sorts. He concentrated on this effort for some time, becoming lost to his environment, forgetting the presence of his valet.
After a moment, he exhaled long through his nostrils, lowered his head, opened his eyes and once again looked out into the lake.
“Ah, yes. That's a little better,” he purred. He now saw the rocks as part of a structure, and there even appeared to be more of them. It seemed truly to be an island in the lake now. And if he squinted hard enough, he could almost perceive ivy-covered walls, windows and other structures. But then he blinked and it was all gone. Before him now was only a pile of stones protruding out of a shallow lake. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but better.”
Loki was now smiling, ugly ear to ugly ear. He gathered Minion up in an embrace and kissed his head. From a distance, it was an odd little show.
“He certainly is an unusual fellow,” Corbin commented. Patrick grunted, but said nothing because Loki and Minion were hurrying away from the shore toward the trail.
“Let us go gentlemen, I've seen enough for today!” Loki exclaimed, walking back to his carriage. Minion was climbing up to the driver's seat.
“But Viscount, there is plenty of daylight left...”
“No, no. This is plenty for the day,” Loki stepped into his carriage. “I so wish that there were maps and literature and such that I could read about this fabulous island. That way I could plan my outings in advance...”
“Oh, but there is, Lord Loki,” Patrick pointed out.
Loki seemed incredibly interested. “You don't say? And where might I find such tidbits?”
“In the keep library, of course.”
#
Sir Corbin parried, jumped back, and made his own attack. He made several blows with his sword to Bisch's one. Bisch grunted and stepped out for a wide-arcing swing. Corbin anticipated the blow and held off, even though it rang in his bones.
“Damn, Eirech,” Corbin grunted, though a smile managed to escape his lips. He recovered and brought his sword up, intertwined the guard with Bisch's, and twisted violently. Bisch's sword was ripped from his meaty hands.
The assembled knights cheered and congratulated Corbin. Bisch laughed and exclaimed “Good! Good!” and slapped Sir Corbin on the back so hard the smaller man staggered forward a step.
From beyond the crowd of gathered men came a slow repetitious clap. The Avangardesmen turned in the direction to see the Viscount Loki sitting casually on a wall, putting hand to hand. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, then removed the book he had underneath his arm and began to read.
Sir Corbin, who had been struck silent as had everyone else, stepped forward. “Did you have something to comment on perhaps, Lord Loki?”
Loki looked up from his book as if just realizing he was being addressed. “No, not really.”
Corbin smirked, and turned to take his place on the bench.
“...except that it seems to me that you boys would have better things to do.”
Sir Corbin turned suddenly and gestured with his sword. “You don't approve of our leisure and exercise. Is reading books more admirable?”
“That's all relative to the individual,” he shrugged. “I suppose we exert ourselves where our abilities lie.”
The Englishman's face gained a little color. “I see you fancy yourself a swordsman,” he said, gesturing at the weapon hanging from the Viscount's belt. “Would you care to join me in an exercise to see whether you find sword play or reading more to your liking...as an ‘individual’?”
Loki pondered the invitation. He then said, “Why, that would be splendid. This particular tome is rather dull and not quite what I was expecting in any case. I could use a diversion.” Loki jumped from the wall and removed his dark cape to reveal a clean white shirt and black vest. His cape he threw over the wall next to the book and he strolled over to the circle of men. Cheers and catcalls went up from the Avangarde.
Sir McFowler leaned over from the crowd, squeezed Loki's thin upper arm, and shouted, “Careful Corby, go easy on the old fellow, he is a Guest after all.”
Loki brushed the place on his arm where Jason's hand had rested. Then he pulled free his sword and took a defensive stance. Sir Corbin circled him; a moment later, he made the first attack by lunging with blade straight. Loki struck the opposing blade with a clang. Corbin used the momentum gained from the counter blow and spun around and bore down on the Viscount.
Loki countered, then the next blow, and then the next. Corbin attacked in a flurry but all was deflected. His face was bright red, and perspiration slicked his brow. Loki seemed relaxed and calm.
Finally, Loki took the offensive. His blade was a silvery blur and Corbin was backing up and clumsily holding his sword in both gloved hands. Corbin attempted a counter blow, but he lost his balance and turned his back to his opponent. In that brief moment Loki poked the knight in the buttocks with the point of his sword. The Avangarde laughed and Sir Corbin's face flushed to purple.
The Englishman raged forward and took a wild swing at the Viscount, missed, and his sword was violently knocked away by a flash of gleaming blade.
Loki lowered his blade to Corbin's throat. The two men stood squared, Corbin's chest heaving. Loki didn't appear to be removing his blade anytime soon and Corbin didn't appear to be lowering his defiant gaze. A hush fell on the Avangarde.
There was a flash of movement and a clang, and Loki's sword was knocked from Sir Corbin's throat. Sir McFowler stood between Loki and Corbin, claymore drawn. “Well done, Lord Loki. Would you care to go at it again? With moi, perhaps?”
Loki grinned. “I'd be delighted.”
Without further preamble, the two exchanged blows in such a manner Corbin barely had time to back pedal out of their way. McFowler gripped his great weapon at both ends of the hilt for better leverage and whirled the weapon in wide, fast circles. Loki dodged and parried. Though the Viscount was swift, he could not match McFowler's reach and strength, and the burly Highlander wore Loki down quickly. It was just a few minutes before his weapon was wrenched from his grasp. It was now Loki who stood with a point at his throat.
He pulled the collar from his neck and grinned sheepishly. “Well, it seems I stand humbled. I salute you, Sir McFowler. And you too Sir Corbin: I agree that swordplay is much more exciting than reading.”
McFowler lowered his claymore and shook hands with the Viscount. The Avangarde gathered around to pat all swordsmen on the back and they mobbed Loki, requesting that he show them some of his maneuvers.
#
Loki stormed into the stables and kicked over a bucket full of water; the closest thing he could find. He threw his cape down and commenced to kick everything in sight. After a moment, he calmed himself by stopping, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths.
“Boy!” He called. The stable hand came running. “Go fetch my man Minion, tell him to meet me in our chamber, because I know he is not there; no doubt trying to poke around some woman's dress. And if you delay, I will find you and beat the skin off your back!” The stable hand scurried off.
Loki went to a bucket that had escaped his wrath and put his head into it. He pulled it out, and whipped the dark, heavy strands of hair from his eyes.
Damn those goody-goody knights, he thought. Who do they think they are? Wait until they meet the real me! His ears still burned from the humiliation.
Several stalls down, his carriage-horses became agitated. They reared their heads, snorted and pawed at the ground. His ears perked up like a rabbit’s at this development. Somebody had entered the stables to disturb the beasts. He silently stalked along the stalls in the shadows and watched the newcomer.
A maidservant, a buxom blonde with green eyes, carried in her pulled-up apron a load of carrots; which she almost dropped when the carriage horses startled her. She stood with wide eyes against the wall as the horses wildly kicked and cried in their stalls. She made several attempts to move by the fiery eyed creatures, but fell back against the wall each time.
“They won't hurt you,” Loki said, coming out of the shadows. The maidservant cried out in surprise. “And neither will I.” Loki gestured slightly with one hand and the horses were suddenly calm. “You see. Harmless. Come, touch them if you like.” Loki approached his horses and stroked their muzzles. The maidservant smiled meekly and shook her head. The Viscount approached her and offered his hand. She took it timidly, and when she did, he escorted her by the dark animals. “There you go, now that wasn't so bad, now was it? I'm Loki. And you?”
“Aimeé de la Chasse, my lord.”
“Do they have you working doubly so, as maidservant and stable hand?”
Aimeé smiled and shook her head. “No, I just come here after my duties and do a favor for a friend.”
“What might that be?”
“I feed his horse carrots.”
Loki smiled. “Why that is admirable of a friend. Your friend must appreciate it very much.”
Aimeé looked abashed. “Actually, he doesn't know that I do it.”
Loki looked puzzled. “Then why do you do it? Wait, don't tell me,” he paused, thoughtfully tugging at his goatee “You are soft on this particular friend and he is a nobleman, and you are afraid of what he, or others for that matter, might think, correct? Don't be shy, you can tell me. I won't tell.” Loki placed a finger to his lips.
“Yes,” Aimeé said shyly.
Loki bent forward, looked around as if there might be listeners, and whispered. “May I ask who it is? I might be of assistance someday.”
Aimeé smiled coyly and dug her slipper into the straw. “I don't know...”
“Oh come now, I just rescued you from yonder fierce beasts.” Loki stroked her cheek.
“Sir Gawain,” she said at last.
The Viscount feigned surprise. “The Irishman! Well, If the opportunity ever arises, I will certainly steer him in your direction. A lovely young lass like yourself is certainly deserving of such a catch.”
Aimeé smirked as if Loki's melodramatic tone suddenly became too much. “I must be going. Thank you Lord Loki.” She skipped off to feed Siegfried.
#
He found the ugly little man waiting inside their chamber. Loki stormed in and commenced to beat Minion with his wadded up cape.
“Master, why are you angry?” Minion said, cowering.
Loki laughed. “I'm not angry, fool! If I was angry I would have placed a rock inside the cape, and then beat you with it!” He pummeled Minion a few more times and then handed him the cape along with his shirt and vest. “Wash these, they are soiled.” He sighed deeply. He always felt better after beating Minion.
The Viscount went to the window, opened the wooden shutters and gazed upon the scene below his window; a servant pushing a wheel barrow, two Lady Guests sitting on a bench deep in gossip, and the many knights leaving the practice field.
“Soon, Minion, I will not have to pretend any longer. I will find that which I seek and all will be like the days of old. I will be my former self, as powerful as I was before The Deluge. And these—these people will bow before me as of old.” Loki spied the knight McFowler crossing his view below. The Viscount put up his thumb and forefinger and caught the sight of Jason between them. He squeezed his fingers together repeatedly as if crushing the Highlander between the digits.
“Ooh, ouch, it hurts, stop it...” Loki squeaked.
“What's left for us to do, Master?” Minion piped.
Loki finished his virtual attack on the Scotsman. “First, we must find alternate means of coming and going from this fortress. It just won’t do constantly begging permission to leave.” He paused, smiling. “Next, and more importantly, I need to pay a little visit to the librarian to find valuable information. The discovery at the lake the other day shows that we are on the right track, but we must be certain.”
Minion rubbed his hands together impishly.
#
Patrick sat motionless while Father Benis wrapped a measuring tape around his head. “You really think you can discern anything about me by doing this?” he asked, head still, eyes up.
Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) Page 18