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

this is Sir Patrick Gawain of Eire. He is to be a Reservist with us here in Avalon.”
    Aimeé, who had been sheepishly looking at the floor up to this point, dared to look up and smiled. She curtsied, looked into Patrick’s eyes with appreciation, and then looked down again. Her eyes were light green, not unlike the color of the hills of his homeland.
    “I am pleased to meet you,” Patrick said.
    “Well, Sir Gawain,” said Wolfgang. “I hope your lodgings are satisfactory. Later this evening, around sundown, there will be a gathering in the dining hall, that is the throne room, and your presence is required. You will have the opportunity to meet most everyone here in Greensprings. In the meantime, you can situate yourself. I will see you then.”
    Patrick nodded and expressed his gratitude.
    “You best be going as well, Aimeé,” von Fiescher said to the maid. Aimeé’s eyes had found their way back to the Irishman, and she started at the verbal prodding from the old knight.
    The gaze had not gone unnoticed by Patrick, who also noted that Aimeé's chest was heaving ever so slightly and that there was a distracting beauty mark above the globe of her left breast. Despite these enticing visual pleasures, Patrick averted his eyes as he bid good afternoon to his guests.
    #
     
    After Wolfgang and Aimeé left, Patrick went about putting away his things. What earlier seemed an inordinate load for one man to carry now appeared paltry as Patrick tried to fill his room with his personal items out of the saddle bags that held his possessions. It was impossible, and the room was lonelier, and had nothing to adorn it. The chamber was perhaps four paces by five paces, with a simple wood armoire, a bench with a washbasin, the large bed that took up most of the room, and a wood rack for accommodating a fighting man’s gear.
    When seeing this, he unclasped his sword belt and hung it over one arm of the roughly man-shaped rack, with the sheathed sword dangling. This was followed by draping his armor over it after the laborious process of shedding himself of the mail. After digging his helm out of one of the bags, he placed the bowl-shaped item on top of the rack’s center beam, nose guard facing the center of the room. He hung his great-cloak on a hook in the armoire and was thankful to be rid of it. It was warmer here in Avalon, much more agreeable than it had been at sea, and the heavy garment was damp and smelled of sweat.
    Next he washed his hands and face in the washbasin, wanting to sink his entire body into it. Afterwards, he removed his old garments and put on a fresh tunic and leggings. At this point, he realized that he had plenty of time before going to the dining hall, yet he had no desire to explore the new environment in which he found himself. He sat on his bed. It was awkward being here. Von Fiescher had clarified a great deal about the nature of Greensprings and the Avangarde, but Patrick still was not clear as to what he would be doing. What were his responsibilities and duties? Were they different from those of the regular Avangardesmen? If not, then why was he not given full compensation or the right to live in the same hall as the others? What if he wanted to leave? Would that be dishonorable?
    Would anyone believe him on the outside if he told them that he had been part of an order of knights of Avalon? Patrick shook his head sadly.
    He no longer felt sleepy, though he was still exhausted. He tried to lie down and sleep, but could not. He stood up and paced between the bed and armoire. His heart was beating fast with the prospect of having to start all over in some place that was neither Eire nor in the company of Crusaders.
    He stopped. Something had distracted him, and he remained motionless to catch the sound again. After a brief moment, he did. It was a short, strange whining noise that came from outside his window, followed by an even longer one. This became a full-blown, eerie, harmonious wail. It was not