The Knight

  THE KNIGHT

  A Fantasy Novel

  by

  KIM DRAGONER

  The Knight

  Published by Kim Dragoner

  Copyright © 2015 by Kim Dragoner

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Book One: Men of Earth

  510 A.D. — The Twelfth Age of the Glastenning Sisterhood

  Chapter One

  Avalon

  This morning has dragged on for long enough, Rhys thought as he took one last shot at the target board. The arrow hit the center with a loud thwack and wobbled for a moment. Still standing in the stirrups, he swung the bow onto his back and picked up Broderick’s reins. He tugged lightly and the horse began to slow. Rhys settled back into the saddle and took him around in circles until he had cooled off and then he reined the horse in to a stop.

  “He is in excellent shape, sir,” Erasmus called from the edge of the practice ring.

  Rhys nodded his response and vaulted easily from the horse’s back. He handed the reins to Celyn, the pageboy, and walked toward Erasmus, removing his riding gloves and shoving them into his pocket as he went. An armory steward ran up to take the bow and quiver from his back.

  “What do you have planned for the rest of my day, Erasmus?” Rhys asked.

  “Quite uncharacteristically, sir, there is nothing assigned to you by the Lady Morgana.”

  A broad smile spread across Rhys’ face. He was not a lazy boy but he knew how to show appreciation for a rest.

  “My Lady Aunt must be too busy with the celebration plans to be concerned with her lowly ward’s education today.”

  He feigned a look of disappointment, then burst out laughing. Erasmus smiled at the jovial eruption. It was nice to see Rhys happy; he rarely seemed to be so these days.

  “I shall row to the moors today then,” he announced. “Would you like to come? Maybe we could find some mushrooms or do some hunting; the forest pigs are abundant this summer.”

  “Thank you for the offer Sir Rhys, but I must decline. You go and enjoy your time away; I shall see you before dinner. Please do not be late.”

  Rhys smiled, but promised nothing. Exmoor Forest was calling him already as he turned toward the castle waterway. He anticipated the exhilarating row across the channel.

  With the boat tied securely to a tree, Rhys immediately took to his usual path into the forest, softly whistling a tune. He loved it here, it was so green and everything exuberated a feeling of being superfluous, a sort of overdone-ness that bristled his senses. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at his favorite tree. It was a huge oak so old it may have been planted by God at the beginning of time. He settled into the grass beneath the tree and closed his eyes and continued whistling his song.

  Eon

  “Pendrake, what are you going on about? I just want to read the books, not start a bonfire with them,” Naida shouted.

  “I would beg you to keep your voice down, young mistress. There are others in this library who would like to continue studying,” he replied.

  “I would like to study as well, sir, but you refuse to give the instruction I desire and moreover, you refuse to explain why that is so.”

  Naida’s cheeks were burning red with rage. She only wanted to get back to the research she was doing before nosey Pendrake came in and disturbed her concentration.

  “You are forbidden to read the Incantus Referus and that is by order of the queen. Speak to her if you are discontent about it. Good day, Naida-inya!”

  Pendrake turned his back on Naida to walk away but as quick as a bolt, she grabbed the book and said, “Away!”

  Immediately, she disappeared from the library, leaving Pendrake shaking his head in despair.

  Naida went directly to Earth; no one would follow her there, least of all to Exmoor Forest, where she walked through the glen at the Everlasting Pool. She felt so at ease here. It was always so quiet, one of the most magical places in the ancient forest. No one, not man or fae, ever seemed to come here. Soon she arrived at her favorite tree, a primeval oak that was so huge it would take eight fully grown men holding hands to circumvent its trunk. She whisked up to the middle and perched in the crook of the strongest tree branch, laying the stolen Incantus open across her lap. She began rooting through the book to find the chapter about muses. She read for hours and found nothing helpful.

  “I may never find a way around this,” she sighed. “Why should we be forced to live like ghosts in Earth’s plain?”

  Although being told repeatedly by the other faeries, as well as every scholar she had ever met, that there was no way to be seen by or communicate with humans, Naida had eventually found the right book that held the right spell and she had taught herself to cast her image onto the surface of water. She had used it to befriend a little human girl once; but the girl had grown up and stopped believing in her faery friend. The spell had been in the Tales of Melusin, an ancestral myth from France. As terribly cryptic as it was, she had managed to solve the puzzles put forward in the story and this was why she was so sure the answer to ending her days as an apparition on Earth was somewhere in the Merlinian Library. As far as she cared, she had a lifetime to find it and she would.

  Sounds below her on the forest floor broke her thoughts. She closed the book and set it aside. Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the branch and peered down through the leaves. At first, she saw nothing, but the distinct sound of whistling came to her again. Someone below her was whistling a bright tune and the sound was no longer moving. She heard a thud followed by a soft sigh and then more whistling. Curious, Naida started to descend from the oak tree slowly. Before she came to the bottom branches, she caught sight of someone lying in the thick grass under the oak. She sat and watched the figure for a while, wondering what it was. She admired the shape of his face as he lay back with his hands behind his head and watched as he plucked a blade of grass and put it in his mouth swishing it from side to side. She giggled. He was beautiful. Naida leaned further forward to get a better view, but then she lost her hold on the branch and fell to the ground. She landed right beside him and dashed quickly toward the pond and jumped in.

  Earth

  Rhys jumped to his feet as a rustling in the branches above him ended in a soft thud behind the tree. He looked around wildly, but saw no one, nothing. He was about to sit down in the grass again when he heard a splash a short distance into the forest.

  I must be losing my mind, he thought to himself. Just then a bubbly giggle came from the direction of the splash. He walked toward the sounds and heard the rushing of water. “There must be a river up ahead. Maybe someone is swimming there.” Rhys walked until the path disappeared. Weeping willows with branches hanging low to the ground formed a barrier in his way. Rhys carefully pushed through the greenery and found a sprawling clearing before him. The glen was almost a perfect circle butting up against a steep hillside. In the center of it was a clear pond. The water rushing into the pond was coming out of the hillside behind it through a large crevasse. The water had carved little steps in the rocks where it fell and then overflowed to the next. Rhys looked around, but he found no one in or around the little pond. He shrugged his shoulders; he must really have been dreaming. He picked up a stick and lay down at the water’s edge dipping the stick into the water and drawing little ripples on the surface. He paused what he was doing and allowed the water to settle to its glassy smoothness again. Looking at his reflection, Rhys sighed.

  He peered at his face in the water and thought of the legend of Narcissus, wondering if he suffered from such vanity. His hand cupped h
is smooth chin, feeling as he searched for a much anticipated sign of the sprouting of a beard. Of course his face was remarkably smooth. He continued to look at the oval shape of his face, childishly framed with ringlets of raven hair. His vivid green eyes were hooded and gave his face a mysterious look that would complement the chiseled jaw he would develop later in life. A straight nose and full mouth completed the picture. He sighed again. Then he heard a rustling at the water’s edge.

  He jumped to his feet and backed away from the pond but then he stopped and slowly walked back to the edge and peered in. All he saw was his own reflection. He laughed, throwing his head back. He felt like such a fool.

  “I should probably get started looking for some mushrooms and herbs for Amarelle anyway,” he said to himself.

  As he stood to leave, he caught sight of something moving behind the small waterfall. He squinted against the sun’s reflection on the water and for a split second thought he saw someone watching him.

  A girl, he thought.

  He looked closer, but saw only shadows flickering against the falling sheets of water.

  “My mind must be playing tricks on me,” he decided, then turned and left the glen.

  A few moments later, Naida emerged from a shallow cave behind the cascading water.

  “He saw me, but how?” she wondered.

  Naida didn’t wait for anything else untoward to happen; she was petrified at the thought of being seen on Earth. Everything she knew about being a fairy stated that it was not supposed to be possible. She grabbed the book and disappeared.

  Rhys spent an hour in the forest searching for fallen logs and gathering the hen-of-the-woods mushrooms that grew on them. They were rare, but he had a good understanding of their habitat, which translated into a flair for finding them. He had twelve very large ones in his pack already, so he proudly turned around and went back to his boat. Throughout his quiet row across the channel, he could not stop thinking about the glen and the faint image of the girl he thought he saw behind the falls. The more he thought about it, the more the details stood out in his mind, things he had initially missed. A whisper of a lilac dress, golden hair and unearthly violet eyes.

  “I knew it!” he exclaimed.

  His reverie ended as a shout came from the castle’s ornate barbican asking him to identify himself.

  “It’s Rhys, Ywain. Who else has left Avalon all week but me?” he scoffed.

  Ywain laughed and retorted, “That is very true but it is my job to ask, young master.”

  “Ah! So it is good, Ywain, so it is!”

  Avalon

  Rhys tied the boat up on a peg inside the waterway and hopped over a ledge up to the street level. As he walked toward the castle, the perfume of fruits wafted over the city from the house gardens and castle orchards alike. It was heady and accompanied by the incessant buzzing of bees. Soon he arrived at the kitchen orchard and walked through the herb and vegetable gardens toward the kitchen entrance to the castle. His stomach was rumbling; he had missed his lunch. He stopped at the kitchen door and looked around the room to find the cook. Amarelle was generously basting a roasting bird in a shallow pan on the stove. He stepped in and emptied the contents of his pack on the table.

  “Rhys, what’s all this?” Amarelle, the huge head cook asked.

  “Some mushrooms for your pantry, ma’am. Is there anything left from lunch, I am so hungry,” he said, flashing his handsomest smile at her.

  He knew as well as anyone that Amarelle’s weakness was a hungry man in need of good food.

  “Alright, even though I know you’ll spoil your supper. I’ve got some slices of mutton in broth and some bread,” she relented.

  “That sounds fantastic; is there any ale?”

  “A little, but only for you. Are you serving at supper tonight?” she asked.

  “No, thank the gods. I am waiting at my aunt’s table during the Apple Festival, so I have been excused from service for the next few days,” he replied.

  “Well, that’s good for you. You’re the right man for the job, Rhys.”

  His mouth was too full of mutton to respond but he smiled his answer back at her. She reminded him of his grandmother, Irelli, back home in Worwick’s Shire. She was just as plump and just as jolly. In fact, it was some of Irelli’s kitchen keeping tricks that Rhys had shared with Amarelle that had endeared her to him so much. He had shown her how to turn the vegetable peelings from the kitchen and other such refuse into proper fertilizer for the herb garden after he had overheard her complaining to Glaber, the gardener, that the animal manure was too harsh for the delicate herbs. He also showed her how to mull wine. Which Amarelle did with whatever wine was left in the barrel after it was opened and would otherwise go sour. A blend of citrus peel, honey and spices made the wine taste fruity and preserved it for months more. It pleased Amarelle even more to find out that Morgana and her sisters enjoyed the mulled wine very much, especially when it was served warm at night after supper, declaring what a wonder it did for their digestion.

  Morgana also insisted that only mulled wine be served during the Samhain festivals from then on. This had since turned Amarelle, or Amy, as everyone in the kitchens called her, into somewhat of a household celebrity. She loved Rhys for that. He stood up from the table and went over to the bucket to take a drink of water.

  “No, no, no!” shouted Amy. “I have a new draft of ale for you to try.”

  “How delightful.” He laughed and put out his hand to take the cup she offered. He sipped and swished the liquid over his tongue repeatedly, rolling his eyes the whole time. Amy giggled at his theatrics.

  “This is really very good, Amy. It has a fruity flavor. What have you done with it?”

  “Well, I added some of our mulling spices and all the end of season berries and lemons to the mash. I had too many of them. I’d pickled and preserved as much as the two pantries could hold. I even made up all the gifts and goodwill baskets with fruit jams and pickles for the Apple Festival this year. The mistresses loved them. But I still had too much fruit left over, so I put them in with the barley to be mashed and then brewed it. I like the taste of it; I just don’t have a name yet.” Amy was beaming with pride. She really was a clever cook.

  “Well, I think it is delicious,” Rhys praised. “The flavors are fresh and crisp like summer lemonade. Aha! What about summer ale?” he said.

  “Yes, that’ll do,” Amy agreed. “We just may have another seasonal hit on our hands, Rhys.”

  “I think you should allow me to serve some at my Aunt’s table tomorrow,” he suggested. “I believe that she will love it.”

  “Very well, I trust your opinion,” Amy said.

  “Well then, I’m off, Amy. I have to go find Erasmus; he warned me specifically not to be late today.”

  “Thank you for the mushrooms, I’ll make tomorrow’s broth with them so do not miss your lunch.”

  “I most certainly will not,” he replied, dashing out of the kitchen before Amy could respond.

  He made his way toward the servers’ hallways and into the main banqueting hall of the castle, crossed the hall and proceeded to the main staircase, climbed the three flights of stairs to the secondary landing and opened the doors which led into the East Wing. There was no corridor on this floor. The entire area was an open space lit by huge glass windows down the length of the eastern wall from ceiling to floor. The library’s shelves went in floors along all the other walls, each floor with its own corridor that ran the length of it. Ladders specially designed for rolling along the shelves were installed on each floor of books to allow one to reach the highest shelf. The floor of the room was also covered with rows of standing shelves filled with books. Rhys had been in the library almost every day since he had arrived at Avalon. Presently, he had every type of tutor imaginable. Both his father and his aunt were determined to see him educated and polished so that a good marriage could be made for him. He had lessons in Art, Latin, French, English and Politics, but Rhys’ favorites wer
e the horticultural classes he had with Glaber, the orchard keeper, and the swordsmanship lessons he had when his uncle Caradoc came to Avalon once a month.

  Rhys looked forward to those days with his uncle with an eagerness that tended to cause disruptive spells of daydreaming. He trained regularly with his charger, Broderick, in jousting techniques and vaulted archery, where he shot arrows into a target while standing in the saddle. He had a great aptitude for both. He also learned to serve at his aunt’s tables and in her presence chamber. She said that it taught humility to young people. His father and mother agreed with her, adding that service to others meant one would have appreciation for the service of others in later life. He didn’t mind it, he found the company of his aunt and her sisters quite interesting. They discussed matters of importance openly while he was with them, making him feel more like family than a servant when he conducted his duties. He was the only page boy at his aunt’s table and in her presence chamber. This made for a lot of work, but Rhys knew it was because Morgana valued her freedom of speech so much she opted to have total control over whose ears were around to hear what was said. Sometimes she asked him for his opinion and he felt proud when this happened. She told him that at times she wanted to know what he was thinking to ensure that he was learning well and developing into a proper man; knight material.

  Once she invited Rhys to her presence chamber to listen to a topic that she was debating with her sisters. Elaine felt that too much gold had been set aside for the midsummer celebrations that year and that costs should be cut by at least one hundred gold pieces. That was a full quarter of the budget. Morgana felt that they were being as frugal as possible, then Rhys cleared his throat.

  “Something to say, Nephew?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” he replied.

  “Of course you do. I can see it on your face, boy. Your lips are practically trembling trying to hold back your words,” she laughed.