Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) by Adam Copeland Page A

rings of toad stools and stones come and go, just like good old grandma used to talk about,” Geoffrey took another drink of wine. “When we do our annual bush–beating, some of us catch fleeting glimpses of something from the corners of our eyes. Occasionally, although I have only heard rumors, an Avangarde will come back alone, sword drawn and eyes the size of this goblet, gibbering like a madman.” He took another drink. “Such knights often pack up and leave Avalon. Which is good...” Geoffrey shook his head and slapped Gregory on the back,”for you gentlemen, for then you can take their places and become full-fledged Avangardesmen.” He took yet another drink from the goblet. His cheeks were turning pink now.
    “Is it really all that eerie around the isle?” Patrick asked.
    Geoffrey laughed. “A forest is a forest is a forest. I would rather not go galloping about in search of adventure. I prefer to stay inside the walls of Greensprings and do my civic duty of protecting the Guests, particularly the more attractive ones.” He winked at Patrick. “And there is plenty of adventure there for the taking.”
    The Irishman frowned. “I thought we were discouraged from having romantic liaisons with the Lady Guests.”
    Geoffrey smiled into his wine. “Details, details. There is no harm in a little fun every now and again. Just be discreet about it, or those women in habits will have you saying the rosary until Kingdom come.” He jerked his head in the direction of the table where the nuns of Greensprings sat at their dinner.
    Jeremiah smirked. “Sounds like trouble to me.”
    “Nonsense,” Geoffrey rolled his eyes at Jeremiah. “Why, I am engaged to be married to a former Guest.”
    “Really?” Jon asked.
    “Why, yes, a lovely young woman by the name of Amy du Lac.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “At her father's court in Normandy, but she will be returning here later this season before the sailing gets bad.” Geoffrey drained his cup, filled it again, gathered up his gloves, and bowed to the Reservists.
    “Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I think I will go apply myself to my civic duties.” He turned and walked up to a table full of attractive Guests in colorful gowns.
    “What a scoundrel,” Gregory said. Jon nodded. “But he does have the right idea. We ought to be mingling and not hiding in a corner like this.”
    “Hear, hear,” Jeremiah added, and they departed together. Patrick had no intention of leaving the safety of his table, and fortunately, Jon stayed with him. Patrick was glad for that, because he did not want to be alone at this banquet.
    #
     
    Patrick awoke to the sound of bagpipes. Time and time again he had heard the sound outside his window at dawn, but he was unable to pinpoint its origin. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. Pity he was not capable of creating his own peace of mind, as a disciplined man should.
    That sound was soon lost over the noise in the corridor. Boy Guests were waking up. Laughter, shouting, and roughhousing had become the norm every morning.
    Patrick groaned and folded his pillow around his head. The raucous Guests cavorted about like students in a boys’ school. This was basically it—the dormitory of a fancy school. And he was their glamorized guardian. Or at least, one of them. The Guests were attending classes with the resident scholars and priests. They collaborated in religious plays and choir concerts, although it was too early yet to see the fruits of their work.
    Patrick groaned again and threw his pillow at the wall that separated his chamber from that of William of Monmouth. The stocky merchant's son had entirely too much energy and liked to rise early every morning to vent it. Patrick could hear the boy moving noisily around his room as if he were moving heavy wood furniture. Patrick found that he liked the Hall for Guests much better when it was empty. The Avangarde didn’t have to put up with such indignities every morning.
    He was