Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2)

by Adam Copeland

  “Unnoticed?” Patrick cried. “Like Jon? No. There must be another way.”

  “Patrick, I will do this,” Aimeé said.

  “No,” Patrick all but shouted as he came towards her. “Find another way.”

  “Like what?” Aimeé asked. “Send Chansonne? You know I cannot allow that.”

  “I can’t let you go.” Patrick’s voice fell to a whisper.

  Aimeé leveled a sharp gaze at him, bordering on anger. “You ‘forbid’ it? This is not your decision to make. I have benefitted unnaturally from an object that was never meant to be among us. I should be the one to take it back. Only when the balance of nature has been reset will our fortunes change for the better.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Patrick confessed, coming even closer to her. He looked her in the eyes and his lips trembled. “I can live without you. I have most of my life. I’ve already been sad and lonely for so long I know it’s possible to go on living without you...” Aimeé frowned, confused by the argument, but then Patrick fell to his knees and took her free hand with his two shaking ones. Tears welled up in his eyes and his voice quavered. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want to live without you. I love you. I want to marry you, have thousands of children with you, whether they’re mine or not, and spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t do that if you die today.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and a bittersweet smile spread across her face. She stroked his dark hair.

  “My dearest Patrick, how I love thee,” she said between laughing tears. She kissed him on the lips. “We are all going to die this day unless I take the cup to where it belongs, and unless you stop that machine from crushing everything we love. We must do these things. We must play our parts.”

  After a heartbeat, Patrick nodded, conceding.

  “Still, someone must go with you to protect you. Corbin?”

  “Not I.” Corbin gripped his sword hilt. “I have a rendezvous with a Spaniard.”

  “I will do it,” Geoffrey said, stepping forward.

  Patrick stood and placed himself between Aimeé and Geoffrey, scowling.

  A hurt look crossed Geoffrey’s face. “I know I am undeserving,” he admitted, looking around Patrick to Aimeé’s face. “I have wronged you, and I cannot change that. All I can say is that I am sorry, and I am willing to die for you to prove it.” He took a knee before her and lowered his head. “I beg your forgiveness. Will you give me the chance to prove it?”

  Aimeé’s mouth hung open, a bewildered look on her face.

  “Yes,” she whispered after a pause. Her tone sounded more like a question.

  “Aimeé...” Patrick started to say, but Fletcher ran into the church then, shouting.

  “The trebuchet is almost in position,” he cried.

  “We’re out of time,” Corbin said, and though he was every inch the confident leader again, he looked to Patrick. “What would you have us do?”

  All eyes in the room fell on him. He met Aimeé’s determined gaze, then he nodded and addressed the crowd. “We will attack the engine! Corbin is right, if Aimeé has any chance of returning the cup, we must draw all attention to us. Geoffrey, take Aimeé and the cup to the end of the rainbow after all have sortied out the gate. Smith, affix the spearhead to a shaft and bring it to Lucan, who will carry it into battle just as at Antioch. Fletcher, if your men are up for it, they are welcome to join us on the battlefield with swords after they have spent every last arrow. Father Hugh, Mother Superior, and all the clergy of Greensprings; pray. Loudly. Finally...” Smiles bloomed across the faces of all in the building when he beat his chest. “Fight strong!”

  “Live stronger!” came the roaring response.

  Even as the echo from the mantra faded it became replaced by the sound of marching boots, jangling spurs, clinking armor, and creaking leather as the knights poured out of the church.

  Patrick intercepted Geoffrey.

  “I know, you’ll kill me if I let her down,” Geoffrey preempted.

  But Patrick thrust out his hand. “I meant to say thank you, and Godspeed.”

  Geoffrey tentatively took his hand, then shook vigorously when he saw Patrick’s sincerity.

  #

  Not long after assembling in the courtyard, dark clouds started to fill the sky.

  Patrick kissed Aimeé long and deeply before lifting her onto the back of Geoffrey’s horse, Samson.

  “Come back to me,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  She nodded and returned the squeeze. Patrick finally broke away, letting their touch linger as long as possible.

  When he arrived at the front of the assembled Avangarde and mounted Siegfried before the gate, Smith stood nearby with the reins of Lucan’s white horse in one hand, and the Spear of Destiny on a fresh shaft of ash wood in the other.

  “Where is Lucan?” Patrick asked.

  “He’ll be here soon,” Corbin said as he approached with two long swords, one resting on each shoulder. “He said he had a more comfortable suit of armor in his room. What do you think?” Corbin asked this last part while slashing at the air with the two swords. “I think your little friend out there has the right idea using two swords, but he’s too small to wield the grown-up-sized ones.”

  “Excellent,” Patrick responded, happy to see Corbin’s spirit back.

  Lucan arrived then, wearing a bronze breastplate with elaborate artwork, a blue cape, and a bronze helmet with cheek guards and a red crest. Armored greaves covered his forearms and shins.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Corbin asked, admiring Lucan’s regalia.

  Lucan snatched the spear from Smith and responded, “I am Lucien Gaius Aurelius.”

  “Very well,” Corbin said, nodding favorably. “Mount up, centurion.”

  The three of them mounted up and guided their horses toward the gate.

  “I must know something,” Patrick said, leaning towards Lucan. “When it comes to Lilith, can you do what needs to be done?”

  “I can’t kill her simply because she cannot die,” he admitted, but his lips curled into a roguish smile as he hefted the spear, “but I’ll be very happy to hurt her.”

  Satisfied, Patrick nodded.

  The gates rattled open just as the bells of the church tolled. They could hear the monks and nuns begin their hymns.

  #

  Teodorico winced as Victor applied healing balm to a cut above his eye.

  “That will be quite enough,” Teodorico said irritably, pushing Victor away. “Just get me a glass of wine, hmm, yes?”

  Victor bowed, smiling his smug smile, and left with the medical box.

  “It’s only a scratch, my love,” Lilliana quipped. “You act as if you lost a limb.”

  “A scratch I wouldn’t have received in the first place if you had been present when they attacked,” Teodorico snapped.

  “Sorry, my love,” she pouted. “Count on me to be of more direct help now.”

  “Help?” Philip der Rhinelander scoffed, plucking at a bandage that covered one of his own wounds. “How could you possibly have been helpful?”

  Teodorico scowled and turned to Philip. “Sir Philip, I should have told you about the girl and her powers. That was my mistake. I underestimated the depths of our enemy’s desperation, hmm? Imagine that—using a child on the battlefield? You were unprepared for the possibility, and that was my mistake. Likewise, there is something you should know about our Lilliana. She is not what she seems, hmm, yes?”

  Philip frowned, looking the beautiful women up and down.

  “She is an Amazon?” He sniggered.

  Lilliana’s eyes flickered between the amber eyes of an attractive woman and the yellow slits of a monster.

  To his credit, Philip merely backed up a step. He regarded her with suspicion.

  “You needn’t worry, hmm?” Teodorico chuckled. “She is firmly on our side and can be a great asset on the battlefield should the need arise, but you and your men should be prepared to witness an extraordinary sight
should she take to the field in her true form, hmm, yes?”

  “Her true form? What are you?” Philip’s left hand rested on the hilt of his sword. squeezing the pommel.

  Lilliana smiled as she received a wine goblet from the returning Victor.

  Teodorico took a goblet from Victor, too. “Let’s just say there are all kinds of angels, and to gaze upon one in their true form with human eyes can be... confusing, hmm? God used a giant sea-beast to teach Jonah a lesson. I, too, have wondrous creatures at my disposal to achieve what I want. So, inform your men, hmm, yes?”

  “I don’t care what sort of sorcery you use,” Philip said, his lip curling at the edge, “so long as I get what I want. If she is going to take to the battlefield in any form, natural or unnatural, I’d appreciate her keeping her distance.”

  Bells started to ring from Greensprings, drawing Philip’s attention to the gate.

  “Starting now,” he said, strapping on his helmet.

  #

  When the last of the Avangarde thundered out the gate, Geoffrey’s great white warhorse reared and pawed at the air before bolting across the drawbridge. Aimeé almost fell off the back, her grip complicated by the chalice in her hand, and by the alien and odious sensation of clinging to the man who had raped her.

  She didn’t know how to feel. Things had happened so fast and her mind whirled.

  She bounced and slid from side to side, feeling the pain torturing her body afresh. Heedless, the horse sped across the field toward the forest where the rainbow disappeared. Geoffrey reached down and touched her where her free hand clasped the wrist of the hand holding the cup. She almost recoiled, but he was only urging her to hold on tighter.

  “Are we being followed?” he shouted over the thunder of hooves and wind.

  Behind, the diamond-shaped Avangarde regiment smashed into a wall of mounted Lost Boys. Despite being outnumbered, the Avangarde plowed through the cavalry, trampled the infantry that came next, and continued to the giant wood machine. Aimeé thought she perceived a brightness at the tip of the arrow the Avangarde formed. She hoped Patrick always stayed close to that light.

  “Well?” Geoffrey groused, and then, “Never mind, I see them.”

  As Geoffrey put spurs to Samson again, Aimeé saw what she had missed during her first glance: horsemen had peeled away from the battle and pursued them, about five in all. Unencumbered, and on fleeter horses, they quickly made up ground on them.

  Rain started to fall. First a fine mist, then a downpour. Mud kicked up by Samson’s hooves began to plaster Aimeé’s backside. Yet the rainbow still shone brightly against the thunderheads, leading them on like a torch. Even after they entered the forest, it appeared and disappeared through openings in the canopy, eventually bringing them to a wide meadow. The rainbow met the forest just beyond the clearing, so bright it seemed to push aside the branches like a solid band of light. Aimeé’s heart jumped at the sight of it, realizing how close it and the cave must be.

  Geoffrey crossed the meadow and pulled up just short of the tree line.

  “This is as far as I go,” he said, and took Aimeé by the wrist and gently let her down from the horse.

  “What are you doing?” Aimeé almost shouted, looking around fearfully for their pursuers.

  “The rainbow ends very near,” Geoffrey explained, setting his lance against Samson’s neck while he tightened the straps on his helmet, “and the forest is thick. You will make better time alone than with an armored knight and his horse. The enemy is close, and our tracks in the mud leave no doubt about our path. Our best chance is for me to stay and fight, and buy you as much time as possible.”

  “Geoffrey,” Aimeé said, reaching up and touching his leg, “there are at least five of them, you will not survive.”

  Geoffrey laughed, flashing his perfect teeth. “My lady, you wound me. I can handle seven on a good day, six with my eyes closed.” He took his shield from where it hung on the saddle and pulled it onto his forearm. “Besides, I’d gladly fight ten if it meant dying a holy and glorious death.”

  “Geoffrey, if this is some sort of misguided attempt at redemption, it is wholly unnecessary.” She met his eyes. “Come, I need you to accompany me to the cave.”

  “It is necessary,” Geoffrey responded somberly, taking up his lance again. “Do you understand me, my lady?”

  “I’d be more inclined to believe you if you would stop calling me that. Do not mock me in such an hour,” Aimeé replied.

  Geoffrey’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Call you what?”

  “‘My lady,’” Aimeé said. “You know I am low-born.”

  Geoffrey’s smile was free of its old malicious humor. “Some women are born into nobility,” he explained, “and others are simply born noble. I believe you are the latter. Now, do I truly have your forgiveness, Lady Aimeé?”

  Emotions played across Geoffrey’s face as if his heart might break at any moment.

  A knot choked Aimeé’s throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “You have my forgiveness.”

  It seemed then a weight lifted from Geoffrey, taking with it a dark shadow.

  “You best go now, Lady Aimeé,” he said.

  When she had passed back into the tree line, she glanced over her shoulder. Five horsemen appeared in the clearing. They reined their horses to a stop, taken aback by the scene. They looked around, then from one to the other. They then spread out as they slowly approached, as if anticipating a trap.

  “Goodbye, Sir Geoffrey, and Godspeed,” Aimeé said, and ran into the forest.

  “Dragonetti,” Geoffrey called to one of the men who came towards him, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am you’re here. You just made my day.”

  He put spurs to his horse and charged.

  #

  The Lost Boys expected the Avangarde to make another attempt on the trebuchet, even so soon after the attack on the pontiff’s tent. Therefore, they were already lined up in battle formation about the engine. The ferocity with which the Avangarde attacked, however, came as a surprise.

  The spear did not light up, nor did lightning flash from it. Patrick claimed no visions of a host of angels, such as what he believed he saw at Antioch. None of that seemed to matter, however, because its mere presence made the Avangarde feel righteous and invincible.

  The cavalry met them head-on, lance for lance, yet could not stop the wave of white swans breaking through their ranks. The Lost Boys who survived the wave had to turn and chase the Avangarde who now rampaged through the infantrymen.

  Bodies bounced off Siegfried’s armor as the horse barreled through the mercenaries. Patrick stabbed at the occasional enemy who slipped between him and Lucan. Lucan held his right hand high, holding the spear. Together they dug a channel to the trebuchet whose water wheels were turning again, spooling chain. The counterweight hung high in the air, almost in a position to allow the launching arm to cast its deadly load.

  When they arrived, the majority of Avangarde raced their mounts around the engine in a continuous and circular fashion. A knight is most effective when on horse, and even more so on a moving horse. Therefore, to keep the mercenary army at bay, they formed a ring of whirling blades about the trebuchet, acting as a meat grinder when the enemy came near. While doing so, others would permanently disable the device.

  A company of Lost Boys, however, had already positioned itself against the engine to protect the vulnerable water wheels and the launching mechanism.

  Waylan changed his grip on his lance and hurled it like a spear into one of the turning wheels. The weapon slipped just between the moving spokes and impaled the walking man inside who turned the contraption. The wheel on the opposite side continued to move the counterweight, but at a slower rate.

  Regardless, the counterweight had nearly reached its position.

  Brian tossed his lance as well, striking down a Lost Boy who ran with a torch toward the missile sitting in the trench.

  “Cut the launch chain,” Patrick called to Lucan. �
��I’ll guard the launch mechanism.”

  Lucan nodded and they urged their horses closer to the device.

  As they pulled up next to the base to step from their saddles, a mob of Lost Boys tackled them, knocking them to the ground. Siegfried went wild, kicking and biting. The big horse brained two of them before they could plunge their pikes into Patrick’s prone body. The rescue bought time for Patrick to struggle to his feet. He set to hacking a path back to the engine.

  Just then, Siegfried let out a shriek of pain.

  Patrick turned in time to see several adversaries lasso Siegfried with whips. Others dove on the horse, driving pikes into the beast.

  “No!” Patrick cried.

  Siegfried stumbled to his front knees, struggled to rise while kicking with his rear hooves, but succumbed to the pikes driven into his flanks and shoulders. Bloody froth hung in strands from his muzzle as his cries turned to whimpers, then to a labored wheeze. He fell to his side.

  Patrick leaped forward and hacked to death anyone who had touched his horse, but it came too late to save his oldest friend in Avalon. Siegfried lifted his head one last time, rolling his eye to Patrick one last time before he lay down forever. There would never again be a loving nuzzle from him.

  Patrick set his jaw and turned back to the battle.

  “Amigo!” Diego cried, standing before him. The little Spaniard twirled his twin short swords and swung at Patrick, taking advantage of his pain.

  Before his swords could make their full arcs, however, a pair of blades scissored Diego’s head off in a fountain of blood.

  Corbin stood behind the falling body, his twin long swords dripping gore. He winked and turned to find new victims.

  Patrick made his way toward the engine again, taking stock of the battle.

  Lucan had recovered from the tumble and fought toward the engine, as well. The Avangarde’s “ring of blades” around the trebuchet grew tighter and thinner as the enemy pressed in. The number of unhorsed Avangarde fighting on foot matched the number still in the saddle. Too many swans lay on the ground. The smell of blood and waste hung in the air, heralding death. The counterweight hung in position. The launch basket was full of Greek fire begging to be ignited. The launch lever needed nothing but a pull before it flung its deadly mass at Greensprings.