Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (23 page)

“There were white marble houses in my dream, too, and the bluest lake I’ve ever seen,” I added, finally able to get in a word as Bridget paused to take a breath.

“Yes! A blue lake with an incredible waterfall,” Dylan interjected. “I swam through the lake. It was warm and filled with such life and beauty. There was a woman dressed in white in my dream as well.” He paused. His eyes lit up as he added, “And there was the sword. Excalibur! It was held aloft by the Lady of the Lake. She said that I would wield it one day.”

I had never seen such joy in Dylan’s eyes before. His dream must have been as vivid and wonderful as my own.

“That’s incredible. Your dream and Bridget’s were so like my own! What did she look like, the woman?” I asked.

Dylan thought about that for a moment and then said, “Beautiful, with long reddish–blond hair and blue eyes. Young, but not very young.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes. I saw her, too. She’s the hawk. The one who welcomed me on my journey when I set out from Tallent and then saved me from the ravens that tried to kill me in Gloucester. I knew her in my dream, only…I don’t know who she was.” I paused trying to remember. “She called me daughter.” Then, just to confirm my thoughts from earlier, I turned to look at Bridget. “Do you think she could have been our mother?”

Bridget just shook her head, though. “Mother had brown hair, like Thomas’s.”

“But then…”

“It was the Lady Morgan, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, with a wistful tone to his voice that I had never heard before.

“Lady Morgan?” we repeated.

He nodded. “Morgan le Fey, the Lady of Avalon.”

“But how do you…” Dylan began.

“I don’t understand…” I started.

“You’re in love with her!” Bridget blurted out the loudest.

“What? No! I worship at her feet, but in love? Wouldn’t dare,” Sir Dagonet said, turning bright red.

Dylan laughed out loud at that, Bridget giggled, and I just couldn’t hide my amazement.

Sir Dagonet in love?

“Now you really must tell us who she is,” Dylan said.

“And why and how she’s appearing in all of our dreams,” I added.

Bridget rested her chin on her fist, her elbow on the table—ready and waiting for Sir Dagonet’s explanation.

He looked around at the three of us and turned an even deeper shade of red. “But, but you know! You know very well who she is, wot, wot?”

“Morgan Le Fey?” Bridget asked.

“The Lady of Avalon,” Dylan said, looking like he was trying to remember something. His face paled a little. “You don’t mean
the
Lady of Avalon. The one with whom King Arthur, er…”

“Yes! Precisely. That’s the one.” The knight slapped Dylan on the back.

Dylan sat up straighter. “But, sir, she’s…well, she was a contemporary of King Arthur’s. They had a child together.”

“Mordred. Pity that one. Not his fault, though—a tool of Lady Nimuë’s, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, shaking his head.

“That was a very long time ago, sir. Why would we be dreaming of her now?”

“First Lady Nimuë, and now Morgan le Fey,” I said, thinking.

Sir Dagonet turned his now twinkling eyes on me, a brilliant smile covered his face. “Go on, Scai, wot?”

I was a little startled at his encouragement. “Oh no, I’m just saying…” but then I didn’t say anything because I was trying to make sense of it all. They were both contemporaries of King Arthur’s. As was Excalibur, of which Dylan had dreamed. There had to be a connection there.

And I couldn’t help but wonder why all three of us had had similar dreams. Were we being manipulated? Someone had to have used magic to do this, but who and why?

“How do you know the Lady of Avalon, sir?” I finally asked. “Or do you?”

Sir Dagonet fiddled a little with his tankard of ale. “Well, yes, I have had the pleasure…”

“But she’s got to be dead. I mean, King Arthur!” Bridget exclaimed.

“Just like we thought Lady Nimuë would be dead, too,” I pointed out.

“Yes. She should be. That can’t have been…” Bridget’s words petered out at the serious look that had overcome Sir Dagonet.

“Afraid it truly was, don’t you know?” he said, quietly. “And now it looks as though the Lady Morgan is trying to get in touch with the three of you as well.”

I widened my eyes. “You think it was Lady Morgan who went into our dreams? Why would she do that? Why would she try to hurt us?” That couldn’t be possible. I just wouldn’t believe it, not after the warmth and love I’d experienced in my dream last night.

“What? Lady Morgan’s not trying to hurt you. Never would. She is the most kindhearted soul, wot? She would never…No, no. But clearly, there is something important going on, or else why would she appear to all three of you? Maybe she’s trying to warn you against her sister, wot?”

“Her sister?” I asked.

“Lady Nimuë,” Sir Dagonet answered.

“Lady Nimuë is Morgan Le Fey’s sister?” Bridget asked.

“Yes. I learned about this,” Dylan said, clearly trying very hard to remember something. He began slowly, “Lady Morgan and the Lady Nimuë were sisters. Lady Morgan ruled Avalon, the island, while Lady Nimuë became the Lady of the Lake. She’s the one who created Excalibur, although Lady Morgan made its magical scabbard.”

“Its scabbard is magical, too?” I asked. I had heard of the fabled sword—who hadn’t? But I’d never heard anything about the scabbard.

“Oh, yes, anyone wearing it cannot be killed in battle.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a very useful thing to have.”

“Indeed. King Arthur wore the scabbard and used Excalibur throughout his reign. It was how he reigned for so long and so successfully,” Dylan said, his enthusiasm for the topic showing through his eyes.

“Well, King Arthur was also an excellent swordsman, field commander, and king,” Sir Dagonet said. “And a good friend,” he added under his breath.

“You still haven’t told us how you know Lady Morgan, Sir Dagonet,” Bridget said, narrowing her eyes at him.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yes, well…”

“You couldn’t have known King Arthur, sir,” Dylan said, although it almost came out more like a question.

I, and clearly Bridget and Dylan, was suddenly very curious about Sir Dagonet’s past. Could he have…? Well, but that was almost two hundred years ago that King Arthur reigned. What a ridiculous thought, I scolded myself. I nearly laughed out loud at how silly it was, thinking that Sir Dagonet could actually have known King Arthur, Nimuë, and Lady Morgan.

“Well, it’s a funny thing, you know,” the knight began.

“Sir, that was a
very
long time ago!” Bridget exclaimed.

Sir Dagonet sighed and lowered his eyes to the table. “Yes, a very, very long time ago.” When he looked up again, his eyes widened as he caught sight of something behind Bridget and Scai. He pushed his chair out and stood up. “Tell you about it on our way, wot, wot?”

I turned around to see three men entering the room—the same men who had sat next to us the night before. They also seemed intent on having something to eat before leaving—probably on their way to find more witches to murder. My body and mind shuddered.

Bridget and Dylan must have seen them as well, because we all got up together and followed Sir Dagonet out to the stables to retrieve his and Dylan’s horses.

“On the way where, sir?” Bridget said, running to catch up to Dylan and Sir Dagonet, who were striding ahead.

Sir Dagonet stopped, causing Bridget to nearly collide with him. “What? Why, to Avalon, of course, wot, wot?”

Chapter Thirty One

T
he hall had never been so colorful. The brightly colored tunics, embroidered with expensive gold and silver, were almost blinding to Father du Lac’s poor old eyes. Nimuë sighed at the peacocks strutting all around her, just as happy to be in Father du Lac’s plain brown robes. She didn’t mind a little finery every so often, but these men were as close to ridiculous as one could get.

A page of the court stomped his stick against the floor announcing the king. His Majesty, too, was dressed in his finery, outshining all of the deeply–bowing nobles in the room.

As young King Edward sat down at his place on the dais, the lords all found seats for themselves as well. Father du Lac seated himself at the farthest end of the table at which the king sat with his other advisers.

“My lords,” the king addressed the men, “it is disturbing to me that we have had to come together in this way.” And indeed, the poor boy sounded very sad and tired. Nimuë knew the truth of the matter, but had not expected the young king to show his weakness to his assembled lords. She was not entirely certain this was a good decision, but it was too late now.

“We had planned to face the Danes in less than a month’s time, but so far we have not the army with which to do so.” He leaned forward across the table. “Why is this?”

He paused and looked around at the now silent room.

“You, my Lord Stirling, promised me two thousand men and yet you have brought with you less than half that. Lord Barret promised three thousand and has brought two. Lord Lefevre, you also promised three thousand men and how many have you brought with you?”

“Half the number, Your Majesty,” Lord Lefevre said, almost too quietly to be heard. “But, Sire,” he spoke up quickly, “the men who swore their allegiance to me, they are deserting. There is nothing that I can do to stop them.”

Lord Barret spoke up. “It is the same with me, Your Majesty.”

“And I, Sire. The men were enthusiastic at first, but then something, and I wish I knew what it was, something is turning them against our cause,” Lord Stirling said.

Nimuë saw her chance and did not hesitate for a moment. Standing up, Father du Lac spoke loudly and clearly. “Your Majesty, I know the reason for these desertions.”

All eyes turned to him, including those of the king. Edward looked troubled, as if his trusted confessor had just betrayed him, when it was in fact just the opposite. Du Lac was going to help him, and help himself—or rather Nimuë—in the meantime.

“Sire, these men have deserted their lords for one reason and one reason only. It is as I said to you not too long ago—it is the witches, Sire. The witches are turning our young people away.”

There was laughter in the room at du Lac’s words, as well as a lot of murmuring. Clearly these noblemen did not take him seriously, but that was about to change. This time Nimuë was not going to take any chances.

Reaching inside of herself, she pulled forth a touch of magic and intertwined it with du Lac’s words. “My lords, it is the witches who are turning our young men away from what they know to be their duty. They are corrupting them. Teaching them the ways of the devil. It is the witches who are the disease at the heart of our society and they must be destroyed!” Father du Lac’s voice grew louder and more impassioned as he spoke. The magic woven into his words grew stronger as well.

She had their attention now. There was not one sound in the hall. She moderated du Lac’s voice and the magic. “It is up to you, my lords. It is up to you and your men to see that these witches are destroyed—for if you do not, you will see more and more of your men deserting you. But without the witches to teach them, without the witches to guide them, the young men will come back to you. They will fight for you because that is the good and Christian thing to do. Only, first, they must be torn from the sway of these witches.”

She paused for the words to take effect and then turned to Lord Lefevre. “My Lord Lefevre knows of what I speak. He has been working with me, helping me to capture a trio of witches. It is most unfortunate that they were able to escape, but you saw them, my lord.”

The man nodded solemnly.

“They looked like ordinary young people, did they not?”

Lord Lefevre sighed, but nodded his head.

“And yet, they were able to escape from a locked room, walk through a castle full of knights, and escape in the middle of the day. This is magic. This is evil. This is the devil’s work! And it is
this
that is stopping your men from joining you in your fight against the Danes! Tell them it is not so, Lord Lefevre.”

“It is so, Father. They looked like ordinary people. Two young women, not more than twenty years old, and a young man. They were witches of the most evil kind. They wove their spells on my men, deceived them, and thereby gained their freedom before we could put them to death.” Lord Lefevre looked rather sick. “If it is they who are responsible for my men deserting me, then I will double my efforts to find and kill them!”

“Yes, my lord, it
is
they,” Father du Lac said. “It is those innocent–looking people—and many more like them. They are the disease in this realm! But once they are eradicated all will be well, Your Majesty. Once the witches have been destroyed, you will see the ranks of your armies swell just as they should.” Father du Lac ended his passionate speech, looking directly at the king. Nimuë had added an extra thrust of magic to the final words—then worried for a moment that it was too strong.

The king’s eyes were unfocused, but he pulled himself together. Standing up before his noblemen, he said, “So be it. I charge you, my loyal nobles, to take your men and search out the witches. Search for them in every town and village of your domains. Search for them, find them, and give no quarter. They must be found and killed. Each and every one!”

A cheer erupted in the great hall, rebounding among the rafters, bouncing from the stone walls. It was music to Nimuë’s ears. Sweet, beautiful music. In no time at all the three Children of Avalon, many more insignificant Vallen, and perhaps a few of those who called themselves witches, would be caught and killed. She alone would rule over the few Vallen who would be left. Oh yes, and very possibly over the country itself, as would be her right as the most powerful Vallen ever.

Chapter Thirty Two

D
o you know the way, sir?” Dylan asked, guiding his horse a little closer to Sir Dagonet’s.

“Know the way? Of course I know the way. Traveled this way quite a few times, don’t you know?”