Read Online Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) by Adam Copeland - Free Book Online
Authors: Adam Copeland
Tags: Fiction
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Jon fussed with his room, moving what little furniture there was, straightening out a framed icon, and rearranging his belongings. He seemed to take great pride in his new dwelling. After a while, Patrick apologized and left, as he was tired. The little nap had only primed him for more sleep. Jon promised to rouse him when it was time to go to the gathering, and this pleased Patrick. He had made a friend.
He slept soundly, but after some long seeming amount of time had passed, his subconscious began warning him that perhaps it was getting late. The notion that he should be at the gathering plagued him. What if he was missed? That would hardly be a proper first impression.
After some tossing and turning, he got out of bed and saw that the sun hovered over the horizon, and the shadows in the room had become much longer.
Patrick went to Jon's room and knocked. Probably fell asleep himself, Patrick mused.
Several moments passed and no one answered. It was evident that no one was home. A little peeved, Patrick stalked off in the direction of the stairwell and the exit of the Hall.
#
Patrick left the Hall for Guests, crossed a dusty corner of the training grounds and found his way into the keep via the gardens. That much he remembered. Upon entering the keep, however, he became instantly lost. He could not find his way to the dining hall but managed to find the front entrance with the ornate tree-shaped columns. From there, he decided to go to the stables and visit Siegfried.
He had no trouble finding either the stables or the horse. At the sight of the Irishman, the horse shook its mane, pawed at the ground and then trotted over to the side of the stall.
“What do you think, boy? Was it a mistake to come here?” Patrick asked. Siegfried neighed and shook his head in a flurry of black mane. Patrick smiled. “I will take your word for it.”
It was getting dark. Straightening his tunic and cloak, he resolutely walked back to the keep’s entrance.
In the courtyard, he came across a dark-haired knight in the black cape and swan-emblazoned surcoat of the Avangarde. Patrick asked where the dining hall was, and the knight offered to show him the way, explaining that he was going there himself. The knight introduced himself as Geoffrey.
He found the dining hall easily. It was just a matter of being familiar with the keep ― main entrance, down the hall, left, right, left. The room was two stories tall. The next level had columned openings so that spectators could gather on the higher floor, convenient for court affairs, since the hall was narrow and already crowded.
The hall was filled with all kinds of people: servants, priests and nuns, scholars, and of course Avangardesmen. Patrick noted almost immediately that the knights all sported the same black-and-white surcoat as Wolfgang von Fiescher. They looked professional. They looked like a unit. Perusing the room some more, Patrick saw there were also several men wearing their own family tabards or garbed in common dress like his. Patrick guessed that they were the other Reservists, and maybe did not receive the uniform.
“Would you care for a drink, monsieur?”
Patrick looked down and saw Aimeé holding a tray full of flagons, which she extended toward him. Her smile complemented her eyes and other considerable attributes.
“Thank you.” Patrick said, taking one of the cups. Aimeé did not move, but stood there smiling at Patrick. An awkward moment passed, one he did not know how to fill, so he moved away and just as quickly bumped into someone else.
“Hello, Gawain,” Jon said.
Patrick started to apologize for bumping into him, but then remembered something. “I thought you were coming to find me,” Patrick said.
Jon's eyes widened, and he slapped his hand over his forehead. “I completely forgot. I left to take care of another matter, and did not think to go back to the Guest Hall.” Jon was all smiles again. “Oh my, there is McFowler, I have been
He slept soundly, but after some long seeming amount of time had passed, his subconscious began warning him that perhaps it was getting late. The notion that he should be at the gathering plagued him. What if he was missed? That would hardly be a proper first impression.
After some tossing and turning, he got out of bed and saw that the sun hovered over the horizon, and the shadows in the room had become much longer.
Patrick went to Jon's room and knocked. Probably fell asleep himself, Patrick mused.
Several moments passed and no one answered. It was evident that no one was home. A little peeved, Patrick stalked off in the direction of the stairwell and the exit of the Hall.
#
Patrick left the Hall for Guests, crossed a dusty corner of the training grounds and found his way into the keep via the gardens. That much he remembered. Upon entering the keep, however, he became instantly lost. He could not find his way to the dining hall but managed to find the front entrance with the ornate tree-shaped columns. From there, he decided to go to the stables and visit Siegfried.
He had no trouble finding either the stables or the horse. At the sight of the Irishman, the horse shook its mane, pawed at the ground and then trotted over to the side of the stall.
“What do you think, boy? Was it a mistake to come here?” Patrick asked. Siegfried neighed and shook his head in a flurry of black mane. Patrick smiled. “I will take your word for it.”
It was getting dark. Straightening his tunic and cloak, he resolutely walked back to the keep’s entrance.
In the courtyard, he came across a dark-haired knight in the black cape and swan-emblazoned surcoat of the Avangarde. Patrick asked where the dining hall was, and the knight offered to show him the way, explaining that he was going there himself. The knight introduced himself as Geoffrey.
He found the dining hall easily. It was just a matter of being familiar with the keep ― main entrance, down the hall, left, right, left. The room was two stories tall. The next level had columned openings so that spectators could gather on the higher floor, convenient for court affairs, since the hall was narrow and already crowded.
The hall was filled with all kinds of people: servants, priests and nuns, scholars, and of course Avangardesmen. Patrick noted almost immediately that the knights all sported the same black-and-white surcoat as Wolfgang von Fiescher. They looked professional. They looked like a unit. Perusing the room some more, Patrick saw there were also several men wearing their own family tabards or garbed in common dress like his. Patrick guessed that they were the other Reservists, and maybe did not receive the uniform.
“Would you care for a drink, monsieur?”
Patrick looked down and saw Aimeé holding a tray full of flagons, which she extended toward him. Her smile complemented her eyes and other considerable attributes.
“Thank you.” Patrick said, taking one of the cups. Aimeé did not move, but stood there smiling at Patrick. An awkward moment passed, one he did not know how to fill, so he moved away and just as quickly bumped into someone else.
“Hello, Gawain,” Jon said.
Patrick started to apologize for bumping into him, but then remembered something. “I thought you were coming to find me,” Patrick said.
Jon's eyes widened, and he slapped his hand over his forehead. “I completely forgot. I left to take care of another matter, and did not think to go back to the Guest Hall.” Jon was all smiles again. “Oh my, there is McFowler, I have been
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