Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (21 page)

“Behind you, sir!” Dylan shouted.

I spun around to look and was immediately sorry. A second knight was coming around to attack Sir Dagonet from behind as he fought the one in front of him.

Sir Dagonet turned around, lunging with a speed and agility that I hadn’t known the old man possessed.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners, young man?” the older knight asked, as he swung his sword at his new aggressor. “Not the thing to attack someone from behind, wot?”

“Stand down, sir!” the knight in front of him cried out as he joined back into the fray, attacking Sir Dagonet even as he was fighting the second warrior.

“Stand down? Stand down, you say?” Sir Dagonet exclaimed, swinging his sword back and forth from one knight to the other. “Now how could I possibly do that when astride my horse? I am sitting. I cannot stand down, don’t you know?”

I slapped my hand to my mouth. Bridget looked as if she was about to burst out laughing.

And poor Sir Dagonet was somehow attempting to fight two knights at once. I could hardly bear to watch, and yet, somehow, I couldn’t turn away. Sir Dagonet thrust his sword at one man and immediately followed it up with a strike at the other.

But then I truly did have problems not bursting into laughter when I noticed Dylan standing by the side, hopping from one foot to the other, watching the fight intently. He clearly wanted to get into it, but there was nothing he could do. He was unarmed.

“Give up,” the first knight called out again. “We have you outnumbered.”

“Outnumbered?” Sir Dagonet stopped for the briefest of moments and looked between the two knights. “Ha! So you do.”

As Sir Dagonet lowered his sword, the first knight tried to take advantage and thrust out at Sir Dagonet with his sword. But before he knew it, Sir Dagonet had dodged his attack and thrust his sword forward, straight through a gap in the side of his armor. The man fell to the ground.

“There, that’s better. Now the odds are even, wot, wot?”

“Ha! Well done, sir!” Dylan exclaimed.

The remaining knight took a moment to look at his fallen comrade before turning his horse around and speeding back to the castle.

“Well! That’s rather unsporting of him,” Sir Dagonet said, sounding a little annoyed.

He sheathed his sword. Reaching his hand down toward Bridget, he said in his usual good–natured voice, “We’d better be off before he returns with reinforcements.”

Dylan, his face lit with excitement and triumph, was up on his horse in a flash, helping me up behind him. I barely had time for a thought before we were off, galloping down the road. The most I could do was hold on to Dylan for dear life, because I was certain that within moments I was going to be bounced right off his horse.

Chapter Twenty Eight

N
imuë muttered to herself as she refilled her silver bowl with the last of her precious water from Avalon. How could she let that girl get the better of her? She was no match for the great Nimuë. Did she not know that?

It had taken Nimuë a little bit of time to figure out how to get the children’s powers, but now she knew. They had to connect in three places—their hands, their eyes and their lips. Yes, that was it.

She was not entirely certain, but she had a niggling doubt that she might have to have the person’s consent as well—just as Merlin had yielded his own powers freely. Well, there would just have to be a way of getting that, too. Perhaps a suggestion like the foolish girl had tried to put into her mind?

“Anything wrong, sister?” Morgan asked, appearing in the water before her.

Nimuë pressed her lips together but kept her silence. The last thing she needed right now was her sister’s goading. She was almost tempted to pour the water right back into her water skin just to get rid of her.

“Have you not found a way to capture those three yet? Or have they eluded you once again?”

“I have them!” Nimuë snapped.

“Ah.” Morgan’s eyes grew bigger in surprise. “Congratulations.” But then they narrowed once more as she peered up at her sister. “Then why do you seem…unhappy? I would have thought you would be dancing with joy with your new powers.”

“I do not have their powers yet. I am still figuring out how to get them,” Nimuë admitted under her breath

“Oh, yes, I can see that would be a small matter of concern,” Morgan said, not even trying to hide her smile.

Nimuë scowled down at her. “I nearly have it, it is just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to touch their lips with my own,” she growled. It was that small catch that made this so much more difficult than it needed to be.

“Really? Is that how you do it?”

“Yes. Some very sick mind must have thought up that little twist.”

Morgan laughed. “Oh, dear, yes. Somehow I do not think these three would be overly eager to kiss you. I know I would not.” She laughed again.

Somehow Nimuë could not see the humor in this. In fact, it was not funny at all—only frustratingly maddening.

“I almost had her. I had Scai in my grasp. Our palms were together, our eyes, but…” She stopped. She had been so close. So close and yet unable to complete that last step needed to attain her powers.

“But you just could not lay your lips on her,” Morgan said, sympathetically—understanding just what she was feeling, as always.

“No,” Nimuë admitted with a sigh. “She managed to squirm away from me at the last moment. But do not worry, I will get her. I have plenty more…”

“Father! Father!” Someone pounded on the door to her room.

In the time that it took Nimuë to walk to the door, she had resumed the form of Father du Lac. “What is the matter?” he asked as he swung open the door.

A footman stood there, panting, in a hall filled with smoke. “The three people you were holding, they’re gone!” he said, as the smoke curled into the room.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“Somehow the door to their chamber caught fire. When I and a few others came running with water, the room was empty.”

“You idiot! Have you looked for them? Have you checked the grounds, the castle, the perimeter?”

The man opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“Why do you just stand there? I want them found!”

The man saluted and then left to carry out his orders.

When Nimuë closed the door once again, she could hear her sister chuckling.

“I will thank you…” Nimuë started.

“Oh no, I think this is very funny. You finally capture them, and within no time at all, they have tricked you and escaped. They are very clever indeed.” Morgan laughed.

Nimuë did not find this so amusing. “I will get them again.”

“You think they will fall for the same trick once more?”

Nimuë paused. Of course not. So how would she manage to capture them? Perhaps she would not.

“Next time I will not capture them,” she said, thinking out loud. “Next time…”

“What?” Morgan asked, no longer laughing.

“Next time, I will just kill them,” Nimuë said, thoughtfully. If she could not capture them, then there really was not much choice. It was either kill or be killed, and frankly, she did not relish the idea of being killed by three young people—barely more than babes—and becoming the laughing stock of the Vallen world for the rest of eternity. It was not how she wanted to be remembered.

“They are barely more than
children
, Nimuë. One of them of your own blood,” her sister reminded her needlessly. “You cannot—”

“It will not be a problem,” Nimuë snapped. But deep down inside of her, Morgan’s words were having their intended effect.

Would she be able to kill the three? She had never really killed anyone before. She was not a murderer.

But if she did not….

Chapter Twenty Nine

T
here was pounding once more on Nimuë’s door.

“Sir, the three have gotten away,” a man called from the other side of the door before she even had a chance to open it.

Nimuë cursed silently to herself. Opening the door, Father du Lac addressed the man standing outside. “What do you mean, they got away? They are on foot. You just have not looked properly.”

“No, sir. A knight met them on the road, fought three of our men, and then rode off with the prisoners. They could be anywhere by now, sir.”

“A knight? One of Lefevre’s men?”

“No, sir. He was no one we knew.”

Nimuë began to turn away, thinking. Who could this be? Who would have come to their rescue?

Surely not…she nearly laughed out loud but caught herself just in time, remembering that she was not alone. She had seen old Dagonet traveling with Scai and the boy. It could not have been he who had bested three of Lord Lefevre’s knights.

“You did not learn his name?”

“No, sir. But he killed two of our knights before the third returned to the castle for reinforcements. When they set out again, it was too late—the captives were gone.” The man paused and then added, “I’ve sent scouts out looking for them, but, as I said, they could be anywhere.”

Nimuë thought fast, the cold facts pushing the old knight from her mind. They had truly escaped!

She turned away from the man for a moment to hide her fury, but it took two or three deep breaths before she could face him with any sort of control. “I want them found. They are witches of the worst sort. It is why I captured them. I want them found and killed, do you understand me?” she said, doing her best to keep her voice even.

The man’s lips formed a grim line, but he nodded.

“No, wait!” Nimuë changed her mind. It would be so much more fitting if they were caught and brought to her first. She could then decide just how to rid the world of these pesky children. Yes, she would need to think about this.

“No, do not kill them.” She looked down at her hands, remembering her role. “No, we must grant them leniency. They are God’s children, after all. For now, just do your best to find them then report back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Looking back at the man, she added, in a voice she filled with sorrow, “I will see to the knights who have fallen in my service. Have them brought into the chapel. I will spend the night praying for their souls.”

“That is very good of you, Father,” the man said more quietly, clearly touched by Father du Lac’s generosity. He bowed low as Nimuë began to close the door.

Before Morgan could even say a word or laugh in her face again for having lost the children, Nimuë looked down into the water and said, “You know I cannot let them get away like this, Morgan.”

But her sister was not there.

<><><>

“Well, I will be the first to admit I would never have believed that Sir Dagonet could fight like that,” Dylan said, sitting back in his chair and taking a long drink of the ale the barmaid had just placed before him—not without a wink and a smile, I noted with a breath of annoyance.

I reprimanded myself, though. There was no reason why that should annoy me—only it did. It
really
did.

“Well, who would have ever believed an old man could move like that?” Bridget agreed.

Dylan sat forward again. “But, no, you don’t understand. The man is a buffoon—or at least, he always
plays
the fool.”

“He is not a buffoon!” I argued.

Dylan paused for a moment to look at me oddly. Did he sense my annoyance? “Come now, Scai, you of all people know…” Dylan started.

“I know that he is a very sweet, very witty gentleman,” I said, sticking to my defense of the kind old knight and trying to calm my unreasonable anger.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, but, really, some of the things he says…” he broke off with a little laugh. “Never in my life would I have believed he was the kind of man capable of fighting the way he did today.

“The courage he showed. The strength and agility. Everything. He is a true knight,” Dylan said, with unmistakable awe in his voice.

Bridget caught my eye with a look that nearly made me burst out laughing—and if I hadn’t been so nervous and preoccupied, I probably would have.

Sir Dagonet had assured us that we’d ridden far enough that Lord Lefevre’s men wouldn’t find us, but I just couldn’t help but worry. I was sure Lady Nimuë would be furious when she found out we had escaped. And with such a powerful Vallen after us…

“Boys! This is all they ever talk about,” Bridget exclaimed, interrupting my worried thoughts. “My brothers rehash every fight they see, talking about it incessantly. Did you see the way he did this, and the way the other fellow parried?” She slumped back into her chair. “Yes, Dylan, I saw the whole fight as well as you. I saw every blow Sir Dagonet made and every blow he received.”

“All right, I get the point,” Dylan said, cutting her off. “I just think it was pretty amazing.”

I jumped as a group of men came into the taproom, talking and laughing loudly.

“Scai, it’s all right,” Dylan said quietly, leaning forward and putting his hand on top of mine, which were clenched together on the scarred table. “We’re perfectly safe here.” Warmth rushed through me from my hand where he touched me. The feeling was more relaxing than a gentle summer breeze.

I looked into his reassuring eyes and began to breathe again. Forcing a smile to my lips, I said, “Yes. I know. I’m sorry, I just can’t help it.”

Bridget turned and looked toward the men as well. “They are loud, that’s all. I don’t think they’ll bother us.”

I forced my mind back to Sir Dagonet. “Well, it was quite a fight. I’ve never heard of anyone fighting two knights at once.”

“Most people couldn’t,” Dylan said, clearly happy to get back to the topic. “I tell you, even my foster–brother, Sir Patric, couldn’t have done what Sir Dagonet did today.”

“Well, but isn’t Sir Dagonet a great deal more experienced than your foster–brother?” I asked.

“Yes, naturally, but usually people get slower with age, not faster.”

That idea swirled around in my mind. It was so much more pleasant to think about Sir Dagonet than Nimuë or Lord Lefevre’s men. I leaned forward and said quietly so that only Dylan and Bridget could hear me, “Do you think it was his magic?”