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

misguided.”
    “My ‘stincts’?” Ceridwen repeated, confused. Nothing was making sense.
    Mychael laughed and pointed his finger at her. “No, silly Ceri. ’Riath said you stink.”
    “Did not.” She hit his hand away, then looked to Moriath for reassurance. The woman was not paying them any attention. She had the torch lifted high and was staring down into the winding shaft. She stood very still for a long time, as if unsure of what she should do next, until Ceridwen grew uneasy and Mychael pulled at her skirts.
    “Aye. We must go,” she said softly, then turned the torch on the white marks etched into the stone. She dragged the fire across the strange word, obscuring it with a layer of smoke and soot, making it indistinguishable from the rest of the wall.
    Ceridwen watched as the letters and symbols disappeared, turning from gray to black and melting back into the stone, and she wondered what Moriath was hiding, and from whom.
    ~ ~ ~
    From the shaft to fresh air and freedom was not overly far for one who knew the way through the maze of tunnels. Moriath had said no more in the caverns, only sometimes burst into a fit of sobbing and tears that she eventually controlled, until the next fit hit. Ceridwen thought the whole adventure one big, miserable disaster, and she didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go back to their bed, or at least the keep. She didn’t want to go to the mountains. She was tired and hungry, and she wanted to go home. She wanted her mother.
    A bramble thicket covered the cave entrance when they reached it, one more unpleasantness to add to her day. They fought their way through the thicket, getting pricked and stabbed, except for Mychael. He was safe in Moriath’s arms, his cheek resting on her shoulder, his soft snores making Ceridwen’s exhaustion nearly unbearable.
    “Damn,” she said under her breath. A bramble thorn caught in her gown, ripping the cloth, and she swore again. “Damn.”
    “Child,” Moriath said, stopping on a small rise just past the thicket and reaching a hand back. For an instant Ceridwen thought she was going to be reprimanded for her language, maybe even boxed on the ears.
    That was when she heard it, the distant clang of metal on metal and the popping and hissing of a great fire. She pushed forward and came to a sudden, horrified stop by the maid. Her heart started beating furiously. A flush of fear washed down her body.
    Below them, Carn Merioneth was burning, its palisades, the keep, and all the life within being devoured by flames and war cries.

A Trace of Magic

’Tis written thus in the annals of time—
    naught tempers a blade like chalice wine.
    Chapter 1

    March 1198
    Wydehaw Castle,
    South Wales
    “J esu. Sweet Mary.” The groom, Noll, crossed himself as he cowered in the darkness at the bottom of the tower stairs. He’d gotten through the bailey under the power of fear alone, but his legs would take him no farther. Rain-slickened stone supported his back. Nothing would support his knees—not muscle, nor sinew, not bone, nor his faith in the Virgin, Holy Mother of God.
    His lord had said to fetch the sorcerer, but his lord had asked for too much. Noll tilted his head back and stared up at the malevolent shadows of darkness that deepened with each curved step into the tower. Rain ran in rivulets down his hair to his face, obscuring his vision and adding to the torment of the godforsaken night.
    There! Where the gray stone changed to black! Was it a trick of the light, that bare flicker of movement and scratch of life? Or was it the sorcerer, Dain Lavrans, conjuring up demons out of the mists of fog and sending them down the stairs to greet him?
    Noll’s heart stopped in a moment of terror, then his blood ran cold and fast on a track of pure fear. He could take no more and turned to run, or to crawl on trembling knees, if need be, back to the great hall where only minutes before he’d had the pleasure of pinching a comely maid with sprigs