Free Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) by Adam Copeland

when the time comes, maybe they will take me into consideration before the rest.”
    Tricky fellow , Patrick thought. “So how do they choose from among the Reservists when an Avangardesman leaves?” Patrick asked.
    Jon shrugged. “I believe they just vote on it.”
    As they continued their journey through the keep, Patrick found the Englishman to be a great source of information. With Sir Jon’s help, Patrick found out where to have his travel-stained, smelly clothes washed and his arms and armor mended. He also received a thorough tour of Greensprings. Before the end of the day, he felt he had his bearings.
    Upon entering the main hall, he followed Jon to locate a place to sit in order to avoid a faux pas. Sir Jon took a seat among the men in the swan-embroidered surcoats, and Patrick sat beside him. There were nods in his direction. He ate the plentiful food and was silent, looking on occasion for a hooded figure lurking in the shadows.
    #
     
    After dinner, he took his leave of Sir Jon and decided to test his knowledge of the grounds. Not only that, he wanted time to reflect.
    He thought of David of York and his sudden departure, and whether or not he would see him again. He thought about the Apparition. He wondered if he would ever have a neat Avangarde surcoat. Then, deciding that he was brooding too much, he turned his thoughts to his time in the Crusade. As much as a trial the experience was, there were good times as well; the taste of a new spicy food, the sight of the veiled women, the high-pitched ululations the Muslims made before they attacked, and the sheer heat of the day. There was the camaraderie among the knights; tasting the same dust, getting bitten by the same insects, feeling the same fear and feeling the same thrill of victory. Sharing experiences with men he could relate to. He missed that here in Avalon, but it would probably change once the Guests arrived. He had heard at dinner tonight that they would arrive in less than a month. The last of the Reservists had come, and training would commence tomorrow. Once a routine was set, he would begin to fit in, feel comfortable.
    He leaned against one of the battlements and felt its coolness. Stone. Solid. Unmovable. Ah, to be a rock. What worries does stone have? He let his hand linger on the grainy surface and imagined it conducting the heartbeats of the inhabitants of the keep. Yes, soon there would be hundreds of new such heartbeats. New people who didn’t know him. People he could have a fresh start with. This new season would be better than the previous one. Anything would be better than what he had experienced. It had to be.
    #
     
    Von Fiescher stood at a lectern in the amphitheater.
    “Those of you, who cannot read, please listen carefully as we go over the Creed of Greensprings. Please refer to your text that should already be in your possession or that was recently given to you by Sir Marcus Ionus.”
    Patrick opened the book that he had meant to read so many times but never did. He felt a pang of guilt and hoped that it was not all that important.
    There were all manners of men in the amphitheater. They sat on the stone benches that formed ever rising levels in semi circles around the stage at which Wolfgang stood. There were close to a hundred in all. They came from many and varied backgrounds: English, Norman, Scottish, Flemish, and Bulgarians. As far as Patrick knew he was the only Irishman. It was a hodgepodge, not unlike his experience in the Middle East. Knights who might have been enemies elsewhere were friends here.
    He and Sir Jon sat with the other Reservists, Jeremiah and Gregory, a short blond, blue-eyed Londonite who had just arrived the previous day with a swan-sealed invitation. He had come through the gates much the same way Patrick had: in the company of Wolfgang von Fiescher and atop a new horse. There were two others. They sat together, but not because anyone had told them that they were supposed to.
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