Read Online Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) by Adam Copeland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adam Copeland
Tags: Fiction
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looking all over for him! I must go. Enjoy the morsels, and I will see you about.” Jon waved a hand as if to catch someone’s attention and left.
The knight Geoffrey had made off, too. Patrick looked around. There was a wide circle of space around him in the sea of people. After an indecisive moment, he made an effort to bridge this gap between himself and the other guests by stepping over to the nearest group and throwing out an innocuous comment. He was unsuccessful. Even after mild initial success, they seemed to lose interest in him quickly. He spied Wolfgang von Fiescher in a small group of people deep in conversation. He tried getting close to be a part of the talk, or at least listen. But after long, awkward moments, the Irishman concluded that he probably just looked obvious and pathetic and moved on.
There was a long table at the side of the room and he sat down. He stared for a long time into his flagon of wine, pretending that it held something of great interest. Someone bumped into him while seating himself and a lady at Patrick’s table, which was rapidly becoming crowded. The man, a Reservist by his appearance, apologized politely.
Patrick pounced on the chance and introduced himself, and started to ask the usual get-acquainted questions. He didn’t get very far before the conversation dwindled off to nothing. The man seemed more interested in his lady friend. All Patrick learned was that the man was a Reservist named Jeremiah.
Patrick watched the people. They all looked so happy. They were laughing, and the noise in the hall was almost deafening. They all seemed to know one another, all old friends. Jon was across the room talking with a burly man in a kilt who had a shock of red hair and a mischievous smile. People surrounded him, listening and laughing at his jokes. Patrick went into another fascinating study of his wine cup. Something drew up beside him and waited. He turned.
There was the Apparition.
Patrick's blood froze, and the hair on his body prickled. He did not move, just stared. An indeterminate amount of time passed before he moved his eyes to see if anyone else had seen the Apparition. Nobody acknowledged its presence. They carried on, merry, unaware of the creature in their midst. Patrick slowly rose from his seat.
The thing did not move.
Patrick moved ever so slightly toward an exit.
The Apparition glided toward him, passing through people in the hall as if they were mist.
Patrick bolted. He slammed into people and knocked a tray of drinks out of a servant’s arms. He cleared the door and ran helter-skelter down the corridor. He found the garden, then the Hall for Guests, and then his room. He slammed the door and placed the wooden bar across it. He then sat in the nearest corner, gathered his knees to his chest, and let his body shake. His heart beat in his brain and pounded in his ears.
Heavy, booted footsteps slowly approached down the hallway. The Apparition was coming, and with every step it took, Patrick's heart beat faster and louder. He had nowhere to go. There was nothing he could do. How can you hide from something that passes through walls?
Patrick cupped his face in his hands. His hair was limp and wet against his brow.
The steps stopped before the door, and the Apparition pounded heavily on it, causing the wooden crossbar to shake. Patrick cowered in his corner, crying out and scraping his boots on the floor. All he could hear was his own deafening heartbeat.
The door stopped shaking.
Patrick paused in his thrashing and spread his fingers enough to see a blade appear between the door and frame which knocked the wooden crossbar off its pegs. It clattered on the floor. And then, the door opened.
“Gawain?” a voice said.
Patrick looked up. It was Jon, holding a long dagger. “Are you well? Forgive me for breaking in, but I was worried.”
He propped his elbows on his knees and gazed at the other knight.
“I am fine,” Patrick said. He ran his hand through
The knight Geoffrey had made off, too. Patrick looked around. There was a wide circle of space around him in the sea of people. After an indecisive moment, he made an effort to bridge this gap between himself and the other guests by stepping over to the nearest group and throwing out an innocuous comment. He was unsuccessful. Even after mild initial success, they seemed to lose interest in him quickly. He spied Wolfgang von Fiescher in a small group of people deep in conversation. He tried getting close to be a part of the talk, or at least listen. But after long, awkward moments, the Irishman concluded that he probably just looked obvious and pathetic and moved on.
There was a long table at the side of the room and he sat down. He stared for a long time into his flagon of wine, pretending that it held something of great interest. Someone bumped into him while seating himself and a lady at Patrick’s table, which was rapidly becoming crowded. The man, a Reservist by his appearance, apologized politely.
Patrick pounced on the chance and introduced himself, and started to ask the usual get-acquainted questions. He didn’t get very far before the conversation dwindled off to nothing. The man seemed more interested in his lady friend. All Patrick learned was that the man was a Reservist named Jeremiah.
Patrick watched the people. They all looked so happy. They were laughing, and the noise in the hall was almost deafening. They all seemed to know one another, all old friends. Jon was across the room talking with a burly man in a kilt who had a shock of red hair and a mischievous smile. People surrounded him, listening and laughing at his jokes. Patrick went into another fascinating study of his wine cup. Something drew up beside him and waited. He turned.
There was the Apparition.
Patrick's blood froze, and the hair on his body prickled. He did not move, just stared. An indeterminate amount of time passed before he moved his eyes to see if anyone else had seen the Apparition. Nobody acknowledged its presence. They carried on, merry, unaware of the creature in their midst. Patrick slowly rose from his seat.
The thing did not move.
Patrick moved ever so slightly toward an exit.
The Apparition glided toward him, passing through people in the hall as if they were mist.
Patrick bolted. He slammed into people and knocked a tray of drinks out of a servant’s arms. He cleared the door and ran helter-skelter down the corridor. He found the garden, then the Hall for Guests, and then his room. He slammed the door and placed the wooden bar across it. He then sat in the nearest corner, gathered his knees to his chest, and let his body shake. His heart beat in his brain and pounded in his ears.
Heavy, booted footsteps slowly approached down the hallway. The Apparition was coming, and with every step it took, Patrick's heart beat faster and louder. He had nowhere to go. There was nothing he could do. How can you hide from something that passes through walls?
Patrick cupped his face in his hands. His hair was limp and wet against his brow.
The steps stopped before the door, and the Apparition pounded heavily on it, causing the wooden crossbar to shake. Patrick cowered in his corner, crying out and scraping his boots on the floor. All he could hear was his own deafening heartbeat.
The door stopped shaking.
Patrick paused in his thrashing and spread his fingers enough to see a blade appear between the door and frame which knocked the wooden crossbar off its pegs. It clattered on the floor. And then, the door opened.
“Gawain?” a voice said.
Patrick looked up. It was Jon, holding a long dagger. “Are you well? Forgive me for breaking in, but I was worried.”
He propped his elbows on his knees and gazed at the other knight.
“I am fine,” Patrick said. He ran his hand through
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