Free Silver Silence by Joy Nash Page B

roofs created a patchwork of charcoal and gold. The settlement appeared to be prosperous.
    Whatever this island was, it was not the Avalon he knew. He allowed himself a grim smile. He had not failed. The wall of fire had indeed led to the Lost Lands. Which, for him, at least, had manifested as eerily similar to the place he’d once called home.
    He began a slow circuit of the meadow, combing the ground for remnants of Breena’s aura, or that of the Druid who’d led her astray. A short time later, his cautious optimism had deserted him. He could discern nothing.
    Fighting his frustration, he considered his options.At one point, he looked skyward, reflexively, for Hefin. But the merlin was nowhere in sight—Hefin had not followed Rhys into the Lost Lands. Rhys felt the bird’s absence keenly. Hefin would have been an invaluable ally in the search for Breena.
    Where to look? The logical place to begin his search, he supposed, was on the island that looked so much like Avalon. Hiking his pack onto his shoulder, he set out down the trail to the shore.
    It was well past noon on the following day by the time Rhys drew close to Avalon. His first obstacle had been the swamp—unlike in his own world, there were no Druid rafts, conveniently hidden along the shore. He’d been forced to follow the high ground in a wide arc along the water’s edge.
    His next problems had been the starless night, and his fatigue. He’d tried to walk in the dark, but succeeded only in stumbling. He’d sat down to await the dawn, and had fallen asleep. When he’d awakened, it was nigh onto midday.
    At least the delay meant his magic was once again at full force. That gave Rhys a measure of confidence. He only prayed he would find Breena on the isle that was not Avalon.
    The island came into view as he rounded a corner. The low waters revealed a spit of sandy land that reached from the foothills to the isle. A long bridge, over sparkling water, spanned the last part of the distance.
    Across this lake, the settlement looked even more extensive than it had from the mountain. A gatehouse stood at the end of the bridge; beyond it lay an unpaved plaza, bordered by a stable and several windowless storehouses. A gated, arched entryway led to what looked like a courtyard, enclosed by several long,squat, buildings. He could see the top of the tower beyond the slate roofs. An apple orchard spread across the upper slope, just as it had in Rhys’s Avalon. And a great, ancient yew stood in the precise location of the similar, younger tree that shaded the Grail spring on the island he knew.
    The juxtaposition of familiar and strange elements disturbed him. He approached the bridge warily, traveling on a dirt track from the north. A wider, paved road to the south was clearly more frequently traveled; a rather large party was visible now, moving toward him. Rhys summoned a lookaway spell and eased behind a screen of tall grass.
    Two men on horseback rode in the lead, carrying standards marked with a white cross. Six mail-shirted cavalry soldiers rode behind, flanking a silk-draped litter carried on the shoulders of eight stout porters. A cluster of dark-garbed riders followed. Four baggage-laden mules brought up the rear.
    Subtly, Rhys cast his senses toward the travelers. His attention sharpened on the litter. A crimson glow clung to the edges of the hangings. Magic.
    It was not, however, the blue glow of Breena’s abductor. This magic was sparkling crimson. Whoever was inside the litter possessed fire magic, not air magic.
    Rhys’s eyes narrowed as the party turned onto the bridge to Avalon. The structure was a sturdy affair of logs and planks, wide enough for two men walking abreast. The lead riders called ahead; a brown-robed figure immediately appeared in the doorway of the gatehouse. A bell was rung, prompting more robed figures to appear, along with a few men dressed in more familiar garb.
    The entourage moved past the gatehouse and into the plaza. The