The Chalice and the Blade (The Chalice Trilogy) Read Online Free

the caverns.
    “Come on.” Mychael pushed her, coming to his feet beside her. “Let’s go. ’Riath is in there. I saw her, and she can take us home.”
    Ceridwen gave the shaft a wary look. ’Twas narrower than the others and not as smooth. It did not look like the way home.
    “I didn’t see her.”
    “I did. Come on.” He pulled this time, wrapping his fingers in her cloak.
    She balked, holding her ground. The smell was stronger than it had been before, emanating from the shaft, sweet, and earthy, and warm. Rich.
    “No,” she said. “I’m not going in there.”
    “Now who’s acting like a suckling babe?” Mychael asked, indignant.
    She would have defended herself from his accusation, given time, but time ran out. A draft of wind swirled up from the shaft with a keening sound, extinguishing the oil lamps one by one in quick succession, leaving them in total darkness.
    “Damn, damn, damn, damn.” Ceridwen swore for every lamp they lost, grabbing Mychael and backing into the wall. Her eyes searched in vain to see anything other than black emptiness. “Damn, damn, damn.”
    “Yer goin’ to be in trouble. Yer goin’ to be in trouble,” Mychael taunted between gasping cries of fear, trying to climb on top of her and hide inside her cloak at the same time.
    She pressed them closer to the wall, two small bodies huddled together as the warm breath of the earth poured over them. Then, as suddenly as the wind had come, it retreated, and the glowing light of a torch bounced and weaved an erratic path out of the darkness to her right. The sound of stumbling footsteps came with the light, and soon, hard breathing and crying.
    Agony was in the voice, despair in the great gulping sobs. It was a woman. The pitch was unmistakable.
    “’Riath,” Mychael whispered, and Ceridwen believed. No matter that he’d found her behind them rather than in front of them; he’d found her.
    That it truly was Moriath became apparent the closer she got. Her pretty reddish hair was fallen from its crown of braids and was all mussed. Tears streaked her face, and her bloodstained clothes were half torn from her body.
    When she looked up and saw them, she fell to her knees with a cry of shock, the torch rolling out of her hands. Mychael reached her first and threw himself into her arms, with Ceridwen less than a hairbreadth behind.
    The maid held them so tightly they could hardly breathe, dampening the last dry places on them with her tears. Ceridwen took what comfort could be eked out of such a pitiful, but nonetheless heartily welcomed rescue, before allowing her curiosity to get the better of her.
    “Did you fall?” she asked, reaching out to smooth Moriath’s braid where it fell over her bared shoulder. The maid was dirty and scratched something awful, and Ceridwen thought she must have fallen all the way from the top of the cave. She gave the loose braid another gentle pat. Poor Moriath.
    The maid didn’t answer at first, but wiped her eyes with her torn sleeve, which did no good a’tall, because her tears kept falling. When it was obvious no progress would be made on that front, she took up the torch and rose to her feet with unnatural awkwardness.
    “Come, children, hurry. We must be away.”
    “Away where, ’Riath?” Mychael asked, lifting his head from where he stood buried in her skirts, his arms wrapped around her legs.
    “To the mountains and when the snows come, we will go south. ’Twill be an adventure.”
    Something was wrong, Ceridwen thought. Moriath was not one to cling and cry. Nor was she one to fall down and get dirty and tear her clothes. Moriath always looked nice. Her eyes were the prettiest green. Ceridwen had never seen them all red and puffy before.
    “You like adventures, don’t you, Ceri?” the maid said, caressing her cheek with a trembling hand. A watery smile graced her mouth. “No doubt ’tis how you came to be in the caves. Your instincts are good, little one, even when they are