Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (59 page)

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.

#

Katherina wiped the mirror and shook it a bit. Physically agitating it seemed to cause images to come into better focus. She had lost sight of Patrick and the images had been changing to scenes of that bubble-thing crossing the country side. It was now on the edge of a lake with stones in the middle of it.

But now she could see Sir Gawain mounting the last flight of stairs coming from darkness. He was approaching Loki, who sat calmly in that large chair.

“Be careful, Patrick,” she cried, hoping that he could hear her somehow. “He can turn into monster.”

#

“Greetings and salutations, sir knight. I commend your persistence,” Loki said, pouring himself a drink as Patrick appeared in the doorway.

Patrick entered quietly, sword drawn. He gazed about the room. “Where is the girl?”

“All in good time, Sir Gawain, all in good time.” Loki smiled, putting his legs up on the table. “I am pleased you have made it this far. It confirms your worthiness for what I am about to offer you. Please, won’t you have a drink? You look hot and thirsty.”

Patrick frowned in puzzlement. “An offer from you? Why on earth would I accept anything from you?”

Loki waved a hand theatrically. “Because I have been watching you. You are not like the rest. I believe that place, Greensprings, was misusing you, squandering your talents. They were not allowing you to realize your full potential. And most of all, as you may have surmised by now, I am more kin to the beings who once inhabited this place than to the people on the outside world—just like you.”

Patrick stopped. His eyes narrowed, a hint of guarded curiosity in his eyes. He remained silent.

“I can see in your eyes the vestiges of the Fair Folk who dwelt long ago under the hills of your Green Isle,” Loki continued. “They were driven there when man came, bringing their iron and their one true God. It doesn’t have to be like that anymore. There are some still there. You can go back to them as a hero, releasing them from the fear of the mortals about them who multiply like a sickness. All you have to do is accept my offer.”

Patrick’s frown deepened, and he looked inward away from the sound of Loki’s soothing voice.

Loki stood in a single smooth movement, hands held out in welcome. “You belong here, Patrick, not out there. You’ve always known it, haven’t you? Always feeling out of place, like you didn’t belong. Like you were meant for something better. It wasn’t chance that brought you here to me today. I can set things right for you. I can offer you the chance of a lifetime.”

Patrick felt that odd feeling come over him whenever he was in the presence of the Viscount; a disjointed discomfort, both physical and mental.

“What exactly are you talking about?”

Loki stepped forward, reaching for Patrick’s weapon. “Join me, Gawain, make the world right. As we speak, that sphere you saw is engulfing the isle, and soon the world. I will be all-powerful, and I will need men like you at my side. What do you say, Irishman? Join me. We are kin, you and I. We can rule this place. Make it better. Make it the way it should be. You can have Katherina, and a thousand like her. These things will be in my power to grant you. Only say yes.”

Loki almost had his hand on Patrick’s sword.

Patrick shook his head and jumped back. “
We
are not kin,” he said. He pointed the sword at Loki’s chest. “If indeed I have the remnants of the same beings that are of Faerie, then we be kin as the goblin is kin to the elf.”

Loki backed up, a mocking smile on his face. “You are right, Sir Gawain. We are nothing alike. You are weak, I am strong. You are gullible, I am shrewd. I am so much more than you ever will be. See...” Loki gestured at the hour glass. Only a handful of sand remained in the upper bell. “Soon the transfiguration will touch the walls of this world, and when that happens, you will witness an avalanche. Unstoppable. You will not be able to stop me.”

Patrick grabbed the hour glass and pulled. It was stuck to the table as if nailed down. Loki laughed.

Patrick froze, a smile curling on his lip. “You made a mistake.”

Loki laughed harder, his smile all condescension. “I doubt it.”

“What you just said. You just admitted that you are currently vulnerable. That would explain much.” Patrick stepped forward.

Loki took a step back, his smile wavering. “You can’t bluff me.”

Patrick raised his sword. “I do not think so, Viscount. The dragon? Minion? You have been stalling all along.”

Loki hissed. His eyes turned lavender and lightning jumped from his hands and engulfed the Irishman, who paused in surprise. The energy veered off and dissipated harmlessly about the room. Patrick continued forward and again Loki threw a spell at him. Green flame poured from his hands and covered the knight, yet again with no effect.