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

by Adam Copeland

  “What’s in the trunk?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Open it,” she said.

  He did and peered down at the contents. His chest rose with a suppressed laugh.

  “Is this a joke?” he asked, twisting his mouth thoughtfully as he looked at the breastplate and crested helm. Both rested on a neatly folded blue cloak.

  “It represents what is to come if you accomplish your mission,” she explained, “Pope Theodoric will need men like you in positions of power. It is a promise.”

  “I don’t want a position of power,” Lucan said, frowning. “I want an end.”

  “And you will have it,” Lilliana replied, “but the end will not come quickly. You are a man of action. You will not want to sit idly by, waiting patiently to die. Between now and then you will want a hand in the biggest show of power on Earth.”

  Lilliana turned to leave, but Lucan caught her arm. “Stay a while.”

  “I cannot. I have several more visits this evening.” She hesitated in his grasp, then kissed his unblemished cheek before leaving.

  #

  Katherina answered the knock at her door. “Lilly!”

  The women embraced.

  “I would have thought you would have gone to the ships while the pavilions are being taken down,” she said as Lilliana stroked her hair and face.

  “It would appear that of all the Romans, I’m the only one still tolerated in Greensprings. And someone needs to coordinate the evacuation of benefactors loyal to Teo. Which is why I’m here—we haven’t much time.”

  The tall woman set about removing articles of clothing from Katherina’s armoire and throwing them on the bed.

  “Lilly, what are you doing?”

  “The ships will be leaving soon, and we must pack your things. Do you have a trunk or some such?” Lilliana replied, looking around.

  Katherina stopped Lilliana’s frantic arranging of her clothes. “I’m staying,” she explained. “Chansonne needs me.”

  Lilliana froze and stared with disbelief in her eyes. “You’re mad. Did you not hear what Teo said in the church? He means it.”

  Katherina drew herself up, resolute. “This is my home now. I’ve run enough in my lifetime. This is where I belong.”

  Lilliana’s eyes were full of a pleading hurt, but Katherina did not waver despite the tears gathering in her own vision. Lilliana dropped the dress she held to the bed in defeat. She removed a scarab-shaped lapis lazuli brooch from her dress and pressed it into Katherina’s hand.

  “To remember me by,” she said. She kissed Katherina and left.

  #

  “Good night, young sir,” Father Wulfric said to the Avangarde standing in the corridor outside his room. The young man saluted him.

  Sighing in relief, Wulfric closed and barred the door behind him.

  Though he doubted Teodorico would be so foolish as to have him attacked in the open, Wulfric had made it a point to stay in heavily trafficked public places for the rest of the day. When night came, he made certain to commandeer an Avangarde to stand watch near his room, knowing full well a locked door had made little difference in stopping the creature from killing Sister Abigail.

  Creature? He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe the lovely Lady Lilliana was a monster. Even when he had confronted her, he had hoped for a reasonable explanation, but she did not deny it.

  “What is she?” he mused out loud, but judged that detail unimportant for now. Currently, he needed to stay alive and wait for Teodorico to make his announcement, hoping the man was wise enough to know when to quit. If he didn’t, Wulfric didn’t know what to do for his next move. The humidor did not exist, nor did a preserved face in a box. Only a ruse. Wulfric hoped it was enough, because pleading his case to the other benefactors would only gain him raised eyebrows, at best.

  He shook his head again as drowsiness stalked him. “Awake. Stay awake. All the victims were attacked in their sleep. Stay awake and you will live.”

  He paced the room, noting he had chosen wisely by picking a room with no windows. One entrance, guarded by a knight.

  And he would not sleep.

  He paused to rub his eyes. When he opened them, he stood in a field under a blue sky.

  “I know this place,” he mumbled, “I haven’t been here in years.”

  He stood in a field near the monastery where he had undergone training for the priesthood, long ago. He had loved this field and visited often to clear his mind of doubts about committing his life to God.

  “Yes,” he said, “and there was a...” He turned and sure enough, a beautiful white horse approached him. He loved that horse, too. He had often brought it carrots or turnips to eat. He would lie in the grass, admiring the beautiful animal’s snowy coat.

  “But not alone,” a feminine voice said. “I was here, too.”

  A beautiful blond stopped from behind the horse and stroked his mane.

  Wulfric joined her in stroking the beast. “Yes, the farmer’s daughter who taught me so much about horses.”

  “Not just horses.” She winked.

  Wulfric sat up in bed, startled. He didn’t remember lying down on the bed.

  “Dreaming,” he breathed, “I was dreaming. I mustn’t sleep. Must stay awake. All the victims were asleep.”

  He looked to the door as he repeated this mantra, noting the crossbar in place. Movement from the side caught his attention. When he looked, the white horse stood in his room.

  “I’m still dreaming,” he muttered. “I have to wake.”

  “Are you in such a hurry to forget me?” the farmer’s daughter said, making a pouty face.

  “Oh, I’ll never forget you,” Wulfric replied, smiling and touching her face. He stood again in the sunlight. “If not for you I would have always wondered what worldly pleasures were like. That curiosity would have always been a distraction. You saved me from that.”

  “Aye, you told me all your worries and doubts. You told me all your secrets,” she said, joining his hand against the horse’s muzzle. She squeezed his fingers. “Tell me another secret. Did you really see her face in the skin?”

  “What? Lilliana? Yes, of course. Just long enough to...” Wulfric said, but caught himself.

  “Just ‘long enough?’” the farmer’s daughter said, and she laughed.

  Her face shifted, her hair turned dark, and she grew in stature. Lilliana stood in her place.

  “No, I must wake,” Wulfric said, shaking his head.

  “You will, but for now, enjoy the moment.” Lilliana shrugged her robe off, revealing her nude glory. “For in a dream, you can do all manner of things your worldly vows will not allow. You cannot be held accountable for what happens in a dream.”

  He lay in his bed again, but now paralyzed. A mist filled the room.

  She came forward and rolled up his robe past his thighs. His arms lay weakly at his sides. He wanted to move, to sit up, but couldn’t.

  He made the mistake of looking at her directly, for when he did, his body grew hot at the sight of her. Her skin so smooth. Her smell intoxicating.

  “Just relax, Wulfie, you’ve earned this. You’ve been lonely for so long, with no one to appreciate your sacrifices, but now you will be rewarded.”

  She climbed on top of him, straddling him with her warm body, moving rhythmically. He became lost in the pleasure of the moment. Even when bat-like wings extended behind her, spanning the room, and her eyes turned to feline slits, he did not want her to stop.

  “I will resist... in a moment,” he told himself. He turned his head and reached for the silver writing quill on the desk near his bed. His hand faltered just short of it. “I will resist in a moment. In a moment.”

  The white horse hung its head, turned, and faded away.

  When they found him the next day, baby’s breath filled his cold mouth.

  #

  “You’re late,” Teodorico snipped at Lilliana as she boarded the ship.

  “Somebody had to organize
those who wished to depart with us,” she replied, stepping aside for the porters. They brought luggage, crates, and boxes up the gangplank, hurrying to depart. “Besides, I wanted to make one more attempt with Katherina.”

  “And she said no, didn’t she?” Teodorico smirked.

  Lilliana’s disappointed look was all the answer he needed.

  “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back. I cannot believe it has come down to this. I gave them every chance, every reason to do the right thing. Victor, are the preparations in place?”

  Victor nodded, “They are, Your Holiness.”

  “Good,” Teodorico responded, shaking his head at the all-but-useless Cardinal Guard he had brought with him. “It is time we try a different quality of soldiery to get what I want.”

  “Yes, Your Holiness,” Victor replied, “those waiting for you come highly recommended.”

  Teodorico gazed long in the direction of Greensprings.

  “A pity it comes to this, and at such an expense! I’ve been more than generous, don’t you think, Lilly? Lilly?”

  Lilliana herself stared thoughtfully back toward Greensprings.

  He touched her face and looked sympathetically into her amber eyes.

  “I hope you haven’t become too attached,” he said, “because they’re all going to die soon.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Though the sun crested at midday, a darkness filled the woods. Siegfried’s hooves thudded on the mossy forest floor. Patrick reined him in and looked frantically about.

  “I thought you said you could find the cave?” Aimeé said from behind him, struggling for comfort on Siegfried’s back.

  Patrick grumbled and gave up scanning the trees, which all started to look alike. “When last I did, I could not enter. The guardians met me outside. Now it would appear they do not want me to visit at all.”

  Aimeé shifted positions. “Can we at least take a break? My arse hurts from sitting on Siegfried’s arse.”

  Patrick smiled and let her down onto a fallen log.

  Aimeé looked around, rubbing her rump. “Plenty of aspens, hillocks, and rocks just as you described, but nothing big enough for a cave.”

  Patrick grunted in agreement. He climbed down from Siegfried’s saddle and took Aimeé’s hand. “Even if we found it, I’m afraid Chansonne is scared to death to touch the cup, let alone carry it here for us. Still, I wanted to ask the guardians if she was the key to returning it.”

  “Well, I’d say their absence is answer enough,” Aimeé replied sadly.

  “Perhaps not,” Patrick said with a spark of hope. “You said when you played that tune on the flute it brought the Fair Folk to the garden that night. Maybe if you played it now they will come.”

  Aimeé scrunched up her nose at him. “I thought you brought me so we could we spend some time together now that His Evilness is gone.”

  Patrick grinned and kissed her. “I’m killing two birds with one stone.”

  After a few more kisses and a pinch on her rump, she conceded to playing the tune.

  After they waited many minutes, still nothing happened.

  “Drat, just when I get the right tune, I’ve forgotten how to play the wrong one,” Aimeé lamented, frowning at the tiny combination flute and crucifix. Her eyes brightened and she addressed Patrick. “You know, we have time now. Would you be willing to listen to your mother’s music?”

  Patrick stiffened slightly, but sat down hard on the log. He gripped his knees. “Why not? Ready when you are.”

  Aimeé frowned. “A little less sarcasm in your compliance, if you don’t mind?”

  “Still ready,” Patrick said through a strained smile.

  “Fine,” Aimeé replied, and set to playing the music.

  He had to admit that the music did soothe. His eyes drooped and he felt his chin come to rest on his chest. His mind, which had roiled with anxieties from Teodorico to the cup to the baby to his guard duties, suddenly calmed and became a blank canvas.

  That is until one image assaulted him like an arrow shot from the darkness. An image of a blond woman with blue eyes. She was covered in blood.

  “Patrick! Stop!” Aimeé’s voice broke through the fog.

  He startled into wakefulness, not even realizing he had fallen asleep, and saw he now stood and had forced Aimeé to her knees by a harsh grip he had on her wrists.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he choked out. He helped her up. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  Aimeé rubbed her wrists. “You fell into a... trance. You were peaceful at first, but then resisted. You shouted names.”

  Patrick hugged her and apologized profusely.

  “Patrick,” Aimeé said, looking deeply into his eyes, “who is Philip?”

  Patrick froze, rigid with the memory of that name and the barbarian it belonged to. “I don’t know.”

  Her accusing look told him she did not believe him, and that he wouldn’t be able to lie. “Patrick...” But her eyes grew wide as her attention turned to the forest.

  He followed her gaze. The rocks and trees moved, rising and taking a step forward on the likeness of legs. They bobbed and weaved, and seemed to stare curiously at the two strangers in their midst.

  A mote of light darted from the trees and buzzed near their faces.

  “Talia!” Aimeé cried, holding her hand out for the fairy to land on her palm.

  Patrick squinted at the tiny girl who lit on Aimeé’s palm. “It’s like my mother’s name.”

  Talia smiled and made a trilling sound at the declaration.

  Aimeé nudged Patrick. “Go on, ask.”

  “Right,” Patrick said, clearing his throat. “Talia, there is a cave about here where three Fey abide. They are tall like me. Three sisters, perhaps. They once guarded a cup, which I’d like to return. Can you show us the way?”

  Talia’s smile faded and her trilling turned to what sounded almost like a whine. Her bright almond eyes were heavy with regret. “No need. They sent me to deliver a message: ‘The cup is of your world, not ours, and we were only caretakers of it for a while. If it wants to return to us, it will have to make that decision for itself.’”

  She shrugged sadly, turned into a mote of light, and shot off into the woods.

  The trees and rocks returned to normal, and Patrick’s wonderment faded.

  “That wasn’t very helpful,” Aimeé said, scowling into the woods. “They didn’t even let us ask about Chansonne. How do we know when the cup wants to come back?”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” Patrick said, only hearing an echo of Aimeé’s words. “When I was a child, the other children tormented me because of my mother’s origins. I prayed the Fair Folk would make them stop, protecting me as one of their own. But they didn’t help me then, either.”

  #

  “He did not confide in me directly what his next move would be, but I’m certain he has one and it will involve much pain and suffering,” Lucan confessed at a council of the Greensprings hierarchy. He had been generous with the information he had, which affected little—Teodorico had been private with his plans, and Lucan knew little. Nothing save that which Lillian had conveyed to him in his quarters.

  “You should have killed him when you had the chance,” he added vehemently. They seemed to believe him.

  “Avalon may weather one errant holy man,” Father Hugh replied nervously to Lucan’s suggestion, “but perhaps not so the wrath of an emperor if we should kill his appointed pope.”

  Wolfgang nodded. “We have a modicum of protection here with the wall of mist, King Henry of England, and Pope Paschal as our patrons. Killing Teodorico would have nullified much of that.”

  “You have simply delayed the inevitable,” Lucan replied, “or have you forgotten Teodorico has a swan feather that will help him lead a fleet of warships here?”

  “No doubt he will come with an army,” Corbin said, “but the question is: how large of one?”

  “Hopefully not so large we can’t hold out lo
ng enough to get word to the King of England. Regardless of the politics, he will not tolerate a foreign army in his backyard. We have a swan feather, too,” Abbot Herewinus pointed out.

  “That is problematic,” Lucan replied. “Even before we left Rome, Robert of Normandy was moving his army against his brother in England. London is going to be very busy and will not have the time or resources to help us.”

  “I don’t doubt Teodorico had his hand in that, as well,” the Abbot responded. “The timing is too convenient for him.”

  Grumbles of agreement.

  “If nothing else, we need to evacuate the Guests to a safer place,” Mother Superior said.

  Herewinus agreed. “I am happy to house them at Glastonbury. From there we can send them to their homes. Also, we can send messengers on to London for aid.”

  “Better to send the messengers to Rome,” Lucan urged. “Pope Paschal is your best chance for aid. I’m sure he will be eager to punish his traitorous cardinal.”

  “But that will take weeks longer, perhaps months,” Wolfgang mused, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in concern over his nose.

  Lucan suppressed a nod, Exactly, then added out loud. “Then let us pray God loves Greensprings. May I suggest our newest knights be our messengers?”

  This suggestion upset his former squires, who lined the wall behind his chair.

  “But, sir,” Sir Jakob protested, “Greensprings will need all the help they can get if this place should fall under siege.”

  “Yes, I would like to volunteer to protect the cup,” Sir Josef added.

  “We could use their help,” Corbin admitted. “Evacuating Guests will require an Avangarde escort, leaving us shorthanded here. We can only spare one of them.”

  Lucan nodded solemnly. “Then let it be Charles, and just as well. His Uncle Robert, Count of Flanders, and especially his mother, the Lady Adele, would have my head if I let anything happen to him. I’m sorry, Charles, but we all must do our duty.”

  Charles hung his head in disappointment, but obeyed.

  “Very well, then,” Wolfgang finished, “let’s get to it. We have much to do.”