Free Avalon Rising by Kathryn Rose Page B

the Lady of the Lake, though in the woods behind me, there are occasional thunderous slams to the earth, like lightning bolts striking the ground. Strange lights appear, too bright, and for a moment, I watch. “Oh, Merlin.”
    The blacksmith takes the reins from my hands. “We have to hurry.” His eyes are all knowing, like perhaps he anticipated our shared mentor would return to ensure our escape. And, at that, I have to be resilient against the path my father designed for me, or the Lady of the Lake. Because if it is true that Merlin is my only ally other than Rufus, then by God, I’ll hold onto what I can.
    My aeroship’s wings have been strengthened and tightened, and they wave about in the skies, ready to combat the wind. Almost ready: Rufus will have to reinforce the vessel with Arthur’s Norwegian steel. And I should help.
    But my eyes catch sight of the clock tower, and a tug at my heart won’t let me leave this soon. Besides, “His journals.”
    Merlin told me to bring them. Though I’m not sure why. Beyond the obvious fact that the instructions to make Azur’s jaseemat have evaded me, I found in his journals no maps or blueprints.
    Rufus glances back at the castle. The guards patrolling the walls are plentiful now that they’ve heard of the Spanish rogues’ attack on Jerusalem, and from this distance I can see my father’s window in our quarters and the illuminated gas lanterns. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll notice I’ve left. He might send guards after me to ensure I find myself on the aeroship he sent for.
    It can’t matter, I decide. “I’ll return as fast as I can,” I promise Rufus. I have to get Merlin’s journals, even if it might bring me face to face with my father one last time.
    “Wait, my lady—”
    But I’ve already seized my horse’s reins and ridden off.
    Mornings in Camelot have been silent as of late; the gardens and courtyard are akin to graveyards. I reach the wall and tie my horse to the brambles hiding the break. My hood atop my hair, I rush for the village by way of the gardens, running past each snowy tree along the path I know all too well. I keep to the outskirts of the village, avoiding the few serfs who stayed after Morgan’s war to assist in the infirmary. The fully-healed squire Stephen helps two priests ease a hurt knight to his feet, slowly back to walking. Finally, I reach Rufus’s shop and climb the steps to Merlin’s clock tower.
    At the top, the heavy winds have fallen asleep, letting me sift through stilled papers and journals and scrolls and tools on the sorcerer’s desk. Merlin’s leather holster I blasphemously buckle around my waist, and his long, antiqued blade goes inside with a spare firelance secured at my hip. The goggles embroidered by my mother I hang around my neck. I’ll need them as I steer my aeroship through the clouds. My stomach flits with excitement at the thought— the wind, the skies, the world outside Camelot.
    A slow, sputtering puncturing of air splits the blue and gray of the sky, growing louder and louder. I duck toward the window just as a large body of polished wood with bird-like sails soars by. It sends a gust of frozen wind into my hair, freeing it from its steel netting. The aeroship ordered by my father to take me north.
“No,” I think I whisper, but do not hear. “No!”
    I have to move faster. There was never any time to come back. Damn you, Merlin!
    On his work desk is his leather satchel. I pour inside all the tools and journals and scrolls—familiar or not—I can find. Scrolls which, God willing, might contain maps to the land of the Fisher King. Steel wire, a knife, Azur’s reserve of jaseemat . If only I had Merlin’s pistolník …
    My viewer is on the table where I built my long-lost mechanical falcon, Terra. I seize it. Caldor, with its broken wing because of my stupid wrath—I cannot leave it behind. Besides, if Rufus and I are to be flying over the seas, we’ll need something to