Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1)

by Adam Copeland

She came to a stairway and ran headlong down it. She rounded a corner and came across Minion who was climbing the stairs with a platter full of food and wine. He barely had time to cry out before Katherina knocked him over. He tumbled down the stairs with the clatter of metal wares, the princess stepping over and around bouncing fruits and shattered glass.

  When she found the bottom, she exited another door and found herself in a courtyard underneath the green sky. Before her was a large gate that led out of the castle grounds.

  She dashed for it, but when only a heartbeat away, a wall of green flames burst up before her and cut her off from escape. She fell to her knees, and all the fear and anxiety she had repressed until this moment exploded from her; the specter of fear taking control. Her body betrayed her, and she sobbed in rage and anguish.

  Behind her came the inevitable sound of Loki approaching. His steps were like thunder, his howls like a storm. A shadow fell across the inner courtyard, and a thunderous footfall later, his form filled the arch. He was a giant, his eyes were not only lavender in color, but slitted and aglow with feral light. Horns curved up from his brow and fangs as big as tusks deformed his lip. Fire burned about him.

  “Woman!” he howled. “Thou art betrayal!” He towered over Katherina, who covered her head and whimpered, expecting to be struck down at any moment. “God was wise in casting your kind from Eden, you take council from snakes! And it shows from daughter to daughter!” Loki stomped his foot next to Katherina’s head. She cried out, broken by fear, and began to sob. The green fire plucked at her like fingers.

  Loki arched his back and drew in a deep breath. He clenched his fists and released his breath slowly, and it rattled as it left him. His stature shrank and he reached down and effortlessly pulled Katherina up by her arm. He turned and dragged her in the direction of the doorway.

  “I did not go through all this effort to bring you here so I could kill you in a rage.” Loki growled as he climbed the stairs. The horns on his head were now gone.

  “I won’t do it, I won’t have anything to do with you!” Katherina insisted. She cried out every time Loki yanked her arm.

  They crossed the chamber with the table, and ascended another set of stairs. “It really doesn’t matter what you think, I will take from you what I want.” Now his fangs were gone, his voice smooth.

  The stairs came to an abrupt end at a single door. Loki opened it and threw her in. Katherina sprawled on the floor of a small chamber with windows on all sides. It was the top story of a tower.

  “You can’t keep me here forever, someone will come for me!”

  Loki stood in the doorway. His eyes were now their usual dark color. He looked as before; a thin, sharp man in a black cape. “My dear Lady, the nearest knight in shining armor to come to your rescue is an icicle. There will be no one coming to your aid. There are no more heroes!”

  #

  Patrick Gawain stood, crossed himself, and opened his eyes.

  The weather was starting to change. A cold wind picked up and clouds slid toward the sun. He turned, and in the distance he could see the sphere’s relentless approach, heralded by lightning.

  The swan honked impatiently and dove into the gate.

  “All right, already,” Patrick said, mounting Siegfried and hoisting the shield and lance. He grumbled under his breath, “Stupid duck.”

  He stared at the shimmering pool of light, held his breath as if he were about to plunge into water, then put heels to the horse’s flanks.

  It was not unlike plunging into water as he passed through the air of Avalon like a thick curtain of mist and burst into a brilliant world. The swan was dashing before him and creating a trail on the silver glassy water.

  Patrick was amazed. It took him a moment to find his bearings; for one moment he was in familiar Avalon; now he was on top of a horse riding on the surface of a lake as if it were solid ground. The swan half flew, half ran in front of them. It kicked up water, yet its feet also seemed to land on it as if it were solid.

  He set a steady pace behind the bird. For all he knew it was the only thing keeping them afloat as they ran for a castle in the distance, their apparent destination. Siegfried charged along, snorting and whinnying with a vitality Patrick was not aware the beast had. He kicked up water like foam from crashing surf.

  The swan, the horse, and the knight raced for the castle. Patrick was feeling a vitality of his own and he cried out in exhilaration, his cape snapping in the wind.

  #

  In the castle, Loki paced upon the flagstones. Not that they were stone at all. They had the opalescence of a mollusk shell. The entire edifice was hewn from the substance, and the mortar that bound them was as translucent as quartz. The mirror was once again flashing images of its own accord. Loki slapped the side of it, causing the images to flutter. He cursed it, but suddenly froze. He waved his hand at it for better reception.

  He stood up straight. “Minion!” he bellowed.

  The little man came running. “Yes, Master?”

  Loki stabbed a finger at the mirror.

  Puzzled, Minion gazed upon the device, then gasped.

  There was Patrick Gawain charging over the lake like a hero. His shield and helm flashing, his cape billowing, and a stern look on his face. The white swan emblem blazed on his chest.

  “‘Don’t worry Master, I took care of him,’” Loki said, his face contorting along with his voice in order to mimic Minion’s. He slapped the dwarfish man several times. “I guess if you send an idiot to do a man’s job, you will just end up doing it yourself!”

  “But Master, I do not understand.”

  “Enough, silence!” He began to pace again, stopping occasionally to gaze into the mirror. He stopped the pacing and did his characteristic meditation. He drew a deep breath and looked into the mirror, his eyes flaring, and then he intoned:

  Here me in the cavern darken,

  and to me harken.

  You vestige of the fire wyrm,

  whose breath doth burn.

  Rise you son of Nidhug,

  and destroy this man-cub!

  There was a momentary tremor throughout the castle. Loki threw back his head and laughed menacingly at the end of the command. Lightning flashed from his hands and danced throughout the chamber.

  And just as suddenly as this production started, Loki ceased it and he was the image of calm.

  He looked to the gaping Minion solemnly. “Was that a little much?”

  #

  Siegfried came to a halt and reared, pawing at the air. Patrick held on tight and watched the swan also flutter about uneasily. He had felt a tremor that reminded him of a giant’s foot coming down, and evidently the animals, being more sensitive, had felt it more keenly.

  Siegfried came to rest and continued to paw at the water they stood upon. They were almost to the edge of the glass mountain, yet the swan hesitated.

  “Well, let’s get on with it,” Patrick said, and just then a ripple emanated from the glass isle, sending a small wave over the horse’s hooves. “What the hell was that?”

  They waited for a long moment and nothing happened. Patrick put heels to Siegfried and continued forward. The swan honked in protest, but he took no heed.

  They came to the edge of the isle. It rose from a white sand beach, and a crystal silt roadway began on the other side, leading up the side of the mountain to the castle. Patrick led his horse onto the road and began to climb. The swan was still honking.

  Siegfried halted, and again Patrick felt the tremor. The horse took to pawing at the ground and snorting. The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stood on end, but nothing more happened after some moments. So he put heels to the horse again.

  But before he could move on, glass exploded just above the road with the sound of a thousand crystal chalices shattering.

  Siegfried bucked and whinnied, and the swan took flight. Glass was pushing up like earth before a mole, and like a mole, a creature burst forth.

  “Oh my God,” he m
outhed.

  Siegfried was evidently just as shocked, for not only was he frozen in place, but there was a plop followed by the unmistakable smell of manure.

  The creature was huge. Three times again the size of knight and mount that stood dumfounded before it. It slithered out of the hole that produced it, indifferent to the shards of glass it dragged itself over. It scales rippled over brawny muscles. It had no wings, which Patrick thought dragons were supposed to have, but it had a sufficiently long muzzle and terrible enough teeth, and a spiny ridge that ran the length of its body. It was a rusty color, had eyes yellow and blazing around dark slits, and when it opened its mouth it revealed an evil purple tongue. It came forward, slowly and deliberately, on legs that only minimally aided its serpentine body.

  It halted several body lengths from Patrick and Siegfried (the swan was nowhere to be seen) and stood on its back haunches, gazing at the would-be hero. Soon, this curious gaze turned predatory and the dragon drew in a breath.

  The action could only mean one thing. Patrick swallowed hard.

  And indeed the creature did lean forward and breathe on Patrick and his mount. He instinctively put up the round shield and closed his eyes.

  Elemental fire belched forth from the dragon’s mouth and engulfed them in a crimson shower. Then, the dragon squeezed its eyes shut and threw back its head, letting the last of its blaze exhaust skyward, triumphant. When it looked back down, the almost human expression of satisfaction turned to surprise and disappointment at the sight of unscathed prey.

  Patrick realized he wasn’t dying painfully. The fire had been deflected on an invisible bubble. Patrick was sweaty, but unharmed.

  The dragon drew another breath. Patrick raised his shield again.

  Again the dragon breathed flame, but this time it was a thin stream of fire that shot forth like an arrow fired. This flame, so condensed it appeared to be liquid, struck the golden shield and splashed away.

  Though grateful for whatever enchantment kept them safe, Patrick could tell it was not all-powerful or inexhaustible. The heat grew more intense with each attack. He had to do something, and quick, before the magical protection collapsed.

  The dragon gave up on the fire, having run out of breath, and bellowed in frustration. Patrick kicked at Siegfried’s sides. The horse did not have to be told twice; he shot forward, and Patrick leveled his lance.

  The dragon reared up on its haunches again, pulling itself beyond the lance’s reach, and swatted. The blow struck Patrick just below his shield and sent him and Siegfried hurtling.

  Smart animal that he was, Siegfried used the inertia of the blow to continue forward without falling. Patrick pulled hard on the reins to turn him around for a second attack. Siegfried was more than happy to; his shod hooves made sparks on the smooth glass as he about-faced. They barreled again towards the dragon.

  Again the flames engulfed them, and this time the fire was hotter and the bubble about them was closer. Patrick gritted his teeth and made a battle cry, and plunged the lance into the creature’s chest.

  The monster spasmed and swatted at them again. Claws struck Patrick, and he flew a long way before finally striking the glassy surface of the mountain. The wind was knocked out of him. The all-protecting shield was gone from his arm, and the lance was snapped off halfway into jagged splinters. Siegfried was nowhere. The flames were still everywhere, spraying in all directions.

  Patrick struggled to his feet and made to grab his sword. The dragon thrashed in pain, its chest rent, and flame plumed out from a fiery, punctured lung. The creature tried to stand, slipped and fell down a smooth glass knoll into a ravine.

  The plume from its gaping chest licked against the side of the ravine and was melting a streak of glass. Patrick tried to watch, but the heat was so unbearable he had to turn and stagger away, coughing from the fumes.

  After some minutes, the flames and unearthly cries subsided. The Irishman approached, sword drawn, to the place where the dragon had gone over.

  The area was leveled. Little fires burned everywhere, leaving pools of molten glass. A sulfurous stench filled the air and Patrick had to cover his face with his arm to muffle the stench of rotting eggs.

  Before and below him was the dragon, caught in melted glass like an insect in amber. Patrick's helm and shield were entombed there, too. He lowered his sword.

  A familiar whinny brought his attention back from the ravine. Siegfried bounded over a glass hill, mane a little singed and a gash in his neck, but otherwise healthy.

  Patrick hugged the horse about the neck, as the white swan glided down from the green sky.

  #

  Once Katherina’s heart had calmed and she realized that she was alive and largely unhurt, she set to the matters at hand: escape, survive.

  She yanked on the door handle but found it secure. She kicked it, finding the action at least cathartic.

  Light streamed through one of the high windows. Studying the window, she wrote it off as well. It was much too high and the wall too smooth to ascend. No matter, even if she could get to the window, there was the matter of getting to the ground. Judging from the number of stairs Loki had dragged her up, she had a long way to fall.

  With that realization, she decided to inspect her prison.

  It was circular, being many strides wide, and smooth all about, made from the same strange and beautiful material as the rest of the castle. A high dome capped the chamber, with six equal spaced windows just beneath it, filtering in light from the outside world. She could see aquamarine sky through them. A single door was the only means in and out.

  The place was heavy with dust, and carried a musty smell that made her sneeze. There were several objects covered in cloths, which she slid aside.

  The first was a pile of old chairs and a table. The next was a beautiful statue made from the same iridescent white material as the castle. It was the image of a woman in a robe, but carrying a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, a bow in one hand and a free arrow in the other. Katherina noted that the arrow, though a prop, was made of bronze and fitted in a hole in the hand. She admired it for a moment, but finding no use in it, moved to the next covered item.

  A large mirror. It leaned against the wall, but showed her nothing but her reflection. She used the cloth to wipe the dust off of its surface. Her hair was a mess, her bangs had come out and were falling in her face as they were apt to do, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying and from being angry.

  Suddenly she gasped and jumped back a bit.

  The mirror quivered and her reflection disappeared as another image came into focus. The image was not in the castle, but definitely in this world of green sky. There were three figures gathered on the slope of a mountain of glass. Katherina peered closer and she gasped anew at what she saw.

  It was Sir Gawain, his warhorse, and a...duck? They were standing in a place that looked like a scene of Armageddon. It was all sparkling otherworldliness, with flames and pools of molten material. Katherina couldn’t believe her eyes. She smiled and cried out in joy despite herself. Someone was coming for her after all. And Patrick of all people. She had heard last that he had disappeared. Yet there he was, looking knightly.

  “Oh, Patrick. I am here. Please come get me,” she cried, touching the mirror.

  #

  Loki tapped his temple with a finger, regarding the mirror with a blank stare. Minion didn’t like it when Loki was this quiet.

  “What are you going to do now, Master?”

  Loki turned so quickly that his cape took a moment to catch up with him. “I? What am I going to do?”

  Minion backed up, swallowing.

  “As I see it, it is your responsibility, little man. You had told me that he was eliminated, along with the rest of the Avangarde.”

  Minion swallowed hard.

  “Yet, there he is come knocking on our door with a bunch of animals. And what about the maidservant? Will she be coming along next, with an army of maids?” Loki walked over to
the long table piled with supplies from the carriage. He picked up the crossbow and held it out. “Now do it right this time!”

  Minion swallowed hard again.

  #

  Minion slipped silently off the stairs and into the huge, empty trophy chamber holding the bow before him like a holy object.

  This was the only passage from the gatehouse to the castle. Sir Gawain would come eventually. Minion would wait in the dark with bow at the ready. By then, his eyes would be accustomed to the dark, the knight’s would not be, and he would shoot him dead.

  He moved from pillar to pillar, trying to find a good angle at the entrance.

  A noise. Minion froze.

  His breath became shallow, and he wiped the sweat out of his eyes. Patrick was already here. He knew it. The knight must have ridden like a madman to be inside the castle already. Yes, the Irishman was here, and he was going to gut Minion. He didn’t care for Loki or the princess. He wanted to avenge his woman.

  The noise again. Somebody else was definitely in the room, moving about. He moved silently from pillar to pillar, sneaking up on the noise, and stopped at the pillar closest to it.

  Minion smiled. Have you now.

  He jumped out from the pillar and fired. The bolt sailed off with a whistle and clicked deep in the stony darkness.

  There was nobody. A rat scurried along the wall and disappeared.

  Minion put a hand to his face and laughed nervously. How stupid could he be? Gawain couldn’t be here already.

  A shadow slid across the light, sending a chill up his spine.

  He turned and his heart stopped. There, silhouetted in the doorway stood a hooded man. He moved in to the room, slipping from the light to the darkness, his appearance transforming as he did so. Changing from the hooded figure to the baleful countenance of Patrick Gawain, a sinister smile at the corners of his mouth.

  #

  Upstairs, from the stairway door, came a short, muffled scream.

  #