Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (18 page)

“Well, I don’t,” Bridget said vehemently. “I don’t trust him.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I think that we should go out on our own to find the chalice.”

“Do you really?” James asked, quite surprised.

Bridget looked at him for a moment before answering, but then she said firmly, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“You really want to leave us?” Matthias asked.

Bridget’s eyes softened. “No! Oh no, of course not. You all know that I love you and would hate to leave you, but…”

“But this is something that you’ve got to do,” Thomas finished for her.

She gave him a little smile, her spark returning. “Yes.”

“Well, but we can’t do it on our own,” I persisted. “Let’s try talking to Dylan first, and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll try it your way, all right?”

Bridget didn’t look happy at this, but she had begun to look tired. Clearly, although she claimed that she was fully recovered, she still needed some more rest. “Very well,” she said, reluctantly.

I turned to Sir Dagonet. “Perhaps after dinner you can go and see if you can find Dylan?”

“If he hasn’t already left to find the chalice,” Bridget added in a sulky voice.

“Yes, of course. Happy to, wot, wot?”

Chapter Twenty Four

P
ower,” Father du Lac said almost to himself, “it is all about power.”

He leaned against the battlements and looked out with a scowl at the rolling green pastures that surrounded Lord Lefevre’s castle. “That is why I learned all I could from Merlin—everyone knows that he was the most powerful wizard ever. And he taught me everything. He shared his power with me.” Du Lac turned to the wide–eyed cleric who stood next to him.

The man had paled considerably. This was a good sign.

At first the fellow had only looked worried, as du Lac had outlined for him the nature of the position for which he had been called. Spying was not something clergymen were typically asked to do, and certainly not from one of the most powerful priests in the land. Du Lac was known for being secure in his position.

“Surely, Father,” the man had stated, “the King would never set you aside. I should not think you have anything to fear.”

Father du Lac nodded, conceding his excellent point. “No, you are right. The King never would set me aside.”

“But then why do you need me? Are you certain…” the man began.

“Am I certain? Am I certain that I am behaving in a reasonable manner? Is that what you are asking?”

“Well…”

Du Lac cocked his head at the man and studied him for a moment, reading him. “What is it,
Father
?” He tried to keep the mocking tone from his voice.

“It’s just that…well, sir…”

“You think I am getting too old,” du Lac stated. He nodded, pulling his thick grey eyebrows down over his eyes—almost as if he were in agreement. “You worry for my sanity.”

“Well, Father, it’s…it’s just that…” the younger man began to stammer but could not bring himself to lie.

Du Lac laughed. “But you see, I am actually much older than you think. If I mention Merlin, it is because I knew him, personally. I assure you, however, that my mind is fully alert. And it is not Father du Lac for whom you are going to spy,” she said as she turned fully toward the man—the façade she had worn for so many years falling away.

Even as the man watched, du Lac lost nearly a foot in height. His broad shoulders narrowed and a bosom swelled beneath his costly, albeit plain, tunic. His face softened into a woman’s face—the sagging jowls turning into a firm jaw line, the old wrinkles smoothing out to reveal sharp, high cheek bones, piercing green eyes and full lips caught up in a sneer. She was not as fair as her sister but knew herself to be beautiful, even as wisps of her long, curly black hair fought with the light wind that swirled around them.

“Oh yes, I am quite, quite old.” She paused, but then, ignoring the abject terror on the priest’s face, continued with her earlier train of thought as if nothing had happened. “They all cried for poor Merlin when I trapped him in that tree, you know,” she said softly, enjoying the fact that the cleric had begun to shake visibly. He backed himself against the outside wall of the parapet, trying to get as far away from her as he dared.

“But he knew what was coming. He knew very well what was happening, and yet he did nothing to stop it. He knew I had the one thing he could not control—his heart. It was mine from the moment we met and he was powerless to do anything about it. He accepted that and I respect him for doing so.”

She turned back toward the meadows. “Yes, I, Nimuë, bested the most powerful wizard ever,” she said, wistfully. “My sister, Morgan, tried to take my power from me. She tried, but she was not clever enough. I enjoyed destroying her reputation—she went from the beautiful, kindhearted and talented Lady of Avalon to the villain of Arthur’s reign.” Nimuë laughed, remembering. But then her smile slipped off her face. “And now some children think they can just come and kill me? Ha! They do not stand a chance.”

“Ch–children?” the priest stammered. He looked at the door that led down into the courtyard then back at Nimuë.

She took a few steps toward the door before he could move in that direction. She wasn’t finished yet. “They’re not actually children,” she said, with a negligent wave of her hand. “They are powerful, all three of them, but they shall not best me. They shall not!” Nimuë calmed herself and turned back to the cleric. “You will watch them. I want to know what they are doing, where they are going, and what they are planning. And then you will lure them outside Gloucester’s northern gate.” She paused and then added, “I will have a little…surprise waiting for them.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“Oh, just a few friends to help convince them that they should come with me. That is all,” she said airily, as if she were planning a day in the park.

But the man’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. From somewhere deep inside him, the fellow seemed to have found his backbone. “What do you plan on doing to these children?” he asked.

“Not children!”

“What are you planning to do to these people?” the priest corrected himself.

“I shall capture them,” she replied, switching to a lighter tone of voice.

The man’s shoulders lowered with relief.

“Then steal their powers and kill them, naturally,” she finished.

The cleric’s jaw dropped. “But you can’t just…”

“I can’t? I can’t just what?”

“Kill innocent children—people!” he corrected.

Nimuë smiled. She laughed. The man’s eyes widened.

“But…but why?” the cleric stammered out.

“Why? Why do I want them destroyed?” she snapped. She took a deep breath to regain her composure. “Because with their powers I will become the most powerful Vallen in history, idiot. I am the most powerful one here, but I will be the most powerful ever, anywhere.”

“But then why do you fear…”

“I fear nothing and no one!”

“And yet you plan on killing these innocents,” the man argued.

“It is the prophecy,” Nimuë growled. “
This power will render her accursed, unless the trio all die first. Or she will be…destroyed by one and children three,”
she recited. “Clearly I have to kill them before they kill me.”

“I…I can’t allow you…” His whole body once again began to tremble with fright, but he stood his ground.

Nimuë took the two steps that separated them, anger flaring in her gut. “You cannot allow me? You cannot allow me to what?” she whispered, closing the distance between them.

“To…to kill these children,” he whispered.

“Oh, really?” she said, putting her fingertips on his shoulders.

He nodded, leaning away from her. His hands fumbled behind him, trying to find the wall that pressed against his legs.

“No one,” she said, leaning forward, “no one tells me what I can and cannot do.”

The cleric leaned backwards even more, trying to get away from her, but there was nowhere to go.

“You do understand, do you not?”

The fellow’s arms began to windmill behind him as he fought to keep his balance.

“I will simply have to find someone else,” she said, stepping back as the man finally lost his fight with gravity and fell over the wall. She paused to watch as he fell, his face twisted in terror.

Just as he was about to be shattered on the hard ground, she gestured with her hand. The man stopped his descent in mid–air. Smiling grimly, she twisted his body so that his feet were nearly touching the ground and then released him so that he dropped the rest of the way, landing lightly on his toes.

With only the briefest look back up at her, the priest fled for the nearby woods, running so fast he almost tripped over his robes.

As her anger calmed within her, Nimuë wondered at her generosity. Would he tell anyone what he had seen and heard? Perhaps she should have just let him die.

No, even if he did tell anyone, who would believe him?

Determined and possibly a little power–hungry she might be, but a petty murderer she was not—she only killed when she had to.

Chapter Twenty Five

F
ollowing Sir Dagonet’s directions the next morning, Bridget and I drove out of the city in our brothers’ wagon. I rubbed the cold perspiration from my palms, yet again. I hated this feeling of sweating in the chilly autumn air, but I just couldn’t help feeling apprehensive.

The last time I’d really seen Dylan, aside from the few moments after the fire, he’d been doing everything he could to stop me from meeting my family. Now I was trying to put that behind me. Father Llewellyn had always taught me to turn the other cheek, and somehow, despite the teasing and cruelty of the village children, I had learned to do so. So now, I dredged up all of my learned patience and fixed my eyes firmly forward. I refused to let my anger and hurt color my relationship with Dylan. We were going to have to work together to find this chalice. It would do me no good to hold on to negative feelings.

I took a deep breath and felt the wind ruffle through my hair. Opening my heart and mind to it, I let all my emotions blow away on the breeze. I would do much better with a clear and open mind this morning.

I glanced over at Bridget, wishing that I could teach her the same trick. Her eyes stared fiercely ahead as she navigated our way out of the city. Her mouth was pinched, and I could see the embers of anger in the pink of her cheeks.

I took another deep breath, preparing myself for this meeting, as we drove out of the city’s Northern gate. Bridget had insisted we come to meet Dylan alone, without our brothers to act as a buffer—as they, apparently, always did. Sir Dagonet had offered to stay back as well.

Dylan was waiting for us when we arrived. I could hear Bridget’s tension in my mind. Thank goodness she was reminding herself to watch her tongue.

“How is your head?” Dylan asked, as we approached him.

“Fine, thank you,” Bridget said. She might have had her teeth clenched, her voice was so tight.

Dylan was obviously aware of Bridget’s suppressed anger and matched it with a tension of his own. He stood with his head held high and his thick arms crossed in front of his chest, just in case either of us girls forgot for one moment that he was the man.

Bridget clearly wasn’t impressed, and to prove it she turned away and began looking around. We were in a clearing not even fifty yards from the town entrance, and there was no one in sight. I supposed this was a less–used entrance, with more traffic coming from London in the east and Cardiff and Bath to the south. A forest encroached from one side, but didn’t look menacing—or perhaps after my journey from Wales, I had just gotten used to forests.

“Why did you want to meet here?” Bridget asked.

Dylan frowned in her direction. “It’s quiet and we can speak openly. Are you unhappy with it?”

Bridget blinked at him innocently. “No. It’s just an odd spot. I would never have thought to come outside of the city.”

“Well, someone suggested it to me, all right?” He was already beginning to get angry and defensive. This talk was not going well, and we hadn’t even truly begun.

I wished I could do or say something that would make Bridget like Dylan more, but just now my mind was blank as to how I would go about such a task. I was grateful when Bridget gave a careless shrug and asked, “So what do you know of the chalice?”

Unfortunately, Dylan raised both his eyebrows and his chin, clearly not liking her question or the tone with which she asked it. Even I had to admit Bridget sounded much too suspicious, as if she didn’t trust Dylan one bit. That may have been true, but surely she shouldn’t show it so blatantly.

Before Dylan had a chance to answer her, though, there was a snort and a grunt, and a wild boar came bearing down on us from the forest. Its horn was drawn down aggressively as it charged straight at us.

I froze, unable to move as the terrifying beast came at us at an alarming speed. Both Dylan and Bridget each grabbed one of my arms at the same time—and pulled in opposite directions. A scream burst from me as power jolted through me. I could feel every hair on my body stand on end, but suddenly I was energized like nothing I had experienced before—to say nothing of the pain of having my arms nearly pulled from my body.

Dylan pulled again, harder, just as Bridget stopped, and we all went flying off to one side. This only disconcerted the animal for a moment as it ran past. It paused to turn and charge at us again.

Dylan was on his feet right away, turning toward the forest, his hand held out expectantly. A branch from the closest tree tore itself away. Dylan caught it and turned back to face the boar once more.

Bridget hadn’t waited for a weapon. She curled her hand up over her shoulder as if it contained a ball and threw something at the animal. Whatever it was turned into a ball of fire as it flew. The boar dodged at the last moment, but Dylan stood ready with his stick in his hands.

I wanted to help but was wavering over what I could do, when a screech from above caught my attention. A hawk! My friend had come…no, wait—this hawk wasn’t white like the one who had saved me from the ravens. It flew with amazing speed straight at us, reaching out with its razor sharp talons to grab at Dylan just as he was about to strike the boar.