The Black Chalice

Forty-Five

Alymere fled the Great Hall. He clutched the book to his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly against it. And for a moment he could have sworn he felt its corresponding heartbeat pushing back against him. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

Nothing is impossible, Alymere. Don't you know that already? Can't you feel the possibilities bubbling inside you? Don't you feel the thrill of the stone and the dirt coursing up through you? That is creation. That is power. True power. Magic, if you will. It is the life blood of Albion, of the world. And the world is there for the shaping, for the taking. Together we have it in us to shape destinies and bring kingdoms crashing down. Together, Alymere, you and I. We could raise up armies out of the firmament. We could carve out the future in our own image… with the Chalice, anything is possible. Everything is possible. Bring it to us. Reclaim it. It was ours and it shall be again.

"I already said I would," Alymere snapped, barely recognising his own voice for the malice in it. "I cannot conjure it out of thin air. I am not a witch."

No. You are so much more.

Alymere bustled out of the main house, flinging the door open with his one free hand, and strode out into the rising sun. Dawn had taken the cold edge from the air but it still had that wonderful bite deep in his lungs as he breathed it in. It was going to be a glorious day. Dew sparkled on the grass.

And then he realised what was wrong: there was no dawn chorus. On any other day he would have emerged to incessant bird song, But today, nature was silent. That sent a shiver through Alymere that had nothing to do with the cold. He moved to make the sign of the cross then stopped himself. It didn't feel right to him anymore.

He put his head down and hurried all the way to the stables, clutching the book tight to his chest. "Saddle up my horse," he barked at the stable lad before he had half-stumbled out of the hay where he had been sleeping. The poor boy was reed-thin and looked like he would snap in two at the ferocity of Alymere's tone but that didn't stop him scampering about the stable. Alymere took advantage of the moment to slip the pack from his shoulder and stuff the book inside. "I don't have all day!" Alymere shouted at the lad's back as he struggled with the buckle on the saddle's girths. The boy jumped physically, causing the horse to startle. It took a full minute for him to coax it back under control and finish buckling the saddle firmly into place.

A few minutes later Alymere rode out, ducking beneath the low lintel of the stable door even as he spurred the horse forward. The animal snorted, steam billowing from its nostrils as it reared up and its hooves came down. And then it was off in a burst of speed. As they reached the shadow of the old sour-apple tree, Alymere drove his heels into the horse's ribs again, harder this time, urging the great animal into a gallop.

He guided it toward the road that would take them north, toward the Tay Loch and Dun Chailleann, through the deep woods of Coit Celidon, and up to the mountain ranges of Sidh Chailleann beyond that.

He did not look back once.

He had no interest in the past, only the future.