ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (29 page)

“You need a larger space? Maybe an open space?” David asked.  He had been watching Jessy too and had a very good idea what else was occupying her mind.  He had his own concerns too about getting out to Mallory’s End as soon as possible; for several reasons.  They needed to make certain the children and Maureen were safe, the End was defensible, Sebastian needed to know about Trystan (sooner rather than later) and they needed an open area with no prying eyes to open these boxes.  The End would do perfectly.

“Mallory’s End,” Jessy echoed his own thoughts and he nodded his head at her in complete accord. “It’s Sean’s sister’s home in Chiswick,” she told

Sebastian, “a small manor. We will have to let Sean know too.  He will have to cancel the performances until further notice and I want him with us, as well as all my household.  He can use the damage from the fire as an unquestioned excuse.  He won’t be happy but, for Sean, family is always first and I can’t bear the idea of leaving him in possible danger.”

“I guess there are other adults there who can help with the defense if necessary and shoot down any ravens, one way or another? Oh. Remind me to stop and buy Tim a slingshot I promised him.” When they all stared at him he just shrugged and gave a ghost of a smile.

“We’ll have Mick load up my carriage with all the weapons we can gather and Sean can use the barouche to help ferry the staff,” David offered. “I’ll go get the carriage and the queen’s crown out of the safe too.  They know we have that,” David frowned. “I almost forgot about what we did last night in all this activity.  Hopefully we aren’t too late.”

“Don’t go alone David,” Jessy urged.  “What if they are waiting having failed to get their hands on these things?” she waved at the boxes and journals littering the parlor floor.

“Good thinking Jess darling,” Sebastian felt a nearly absurd happiness to be able to call her that again. “We will wait until Mick returns, lock the place
up and make sure you all are armed and ready.  David and I will go get it and the carriage too.”

“Good thing Maureen is such a big hearted woman, because when she sees the entourage about to descend upon her this evening? Any other woman would have hysterics,” Jessy pointed out.

‘Knowing Maureen,” Birdie finally spoke up, “She’ll already know we are coming. I think we can come out with it now and admit we all know she is a witch, even though she never calls herself so.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Maureen did indeed know something was in the wind.  She had kept the children close to the house, much to their complaints, and was beginning to become alarmed despite her best efforts not to be, that Boru would not stop pacing.  He had in fact seemed to have recruited the other four dogs of varying size and pedigree who made the manor home, into some sort of patrol.  A dog at a time was always with the children and Boru and Isabelle (Maureen’s normally preening lap cat) had brought her any number of dead ravens. Maureen honestly couldn’t remember a time Isabelle had ever killed so much as a mouse.  She was more often to be found in a spot of sunshine luxuriously lounging or bathing herself.  Isabelle as a killer was something entirely new.  

She made her way to her still room and pulled down a book she had rarely used, her mother’s grimoire.  She had not touched her scrying bowl, feeling no pull toward it and knew therefore it would be useless.  She had known the moment Trystan was born, when she had held him in her own hands, that destiny had cast its hand upon him.  She knew whatever was happening was related both to Michael’s death, his dying plea to keep the child a secret, and the appearance of that wondrous crown.  

The others had called it a circlet, but she had known with her sight it was the queen’s crown of Celtica, she had seen a vision blur between Jessy wearing it and another woman with luxuriant dark brown hair, nobly streaked with grey at the temples.  Instinct had told her it was the last queen of Celtica, killed, executed in the coup.  It had given her a deep shiver to see it upon Jessy’s head fitting as if made for her. She had her own thoughts about the supposed gypsy woman who had brought it to Michael, but she would keep that to herself as well. 

She had grown up in a family of magically gifted people, gifted for generations, and royal crowns did not turn up in the hands of gypsy’s for no reason.  Her heart told her Rhiannon herself or the Lady of Rhiannon had visited her brother for some reason she could not understand.  She knew Jessamy’s parents had served as part of the last embassy to Celtica and had in fact barely made it out alive when the coup had happened.  It still did not explain how strange life had become lately and today was by far the worst.

Grimoire in hand she searched for what she needed; protection spells and one her mother had sworn would repel all evil around a boundary.  She was pretty certain it worked as once when she was a child her mother had been threatened by a vagrant who had tried to attack her when she had taken out the pony trap.  She had beat him off with a whip but he had screamed he would get her, lady of the manor or not.  Mother had immediately come home and performed this spell from the book handed down through generations. 

Carrying the book, handfuls of sage, salt, vervain, fennel, and wormwood

Maureen walked outside to gather what else she needed.

In the back of the garden she raised the circle and called out the watchtowers as she had been taught as a child.  She could feel the wind begin
to rise and, as was part of her gift, she felt the earth pushing power up through the souls of her feet ‘til she felt like a tree running fast with green sap.  She felt the strength flooding her, until it poured from her and her curly hair rose and tossed wildly about her face.  With her blessed staff topped with her quartz, found on the beach as child in Ireland, she drew the rune for protection and chanted the spell known to the women of her family. 

Next she spun in a circle widdershins, the salt flying from her fingers and then the holly leaves she had plucked too rose up along with the fennel, sage, wormwood and vervain increasing in speed as they all spun.  With a flick of her hand and following the directions of her staff the mixture flew across the grounds like a bird circling the entire property, growing finer and finer as it circled until the pieces were so small the eye could not see them and then she released them to settle with a tap of her staff on the earth.  

Every inch of the property was now as impenetrable to evil as she could make it.  The man who had threatened her mother found out the hard way what it meant to cross that invisible barrier.  The moment, with evil in his heart, he tried to step onto their property his face, hair, clothing had burned as if on fire, yet without fire.  Smoking and screaming he had run away.

She turned, ready to close the circle, when she saw Trystan standing outside the boundary she had raised and his dark hair blew about his head and his eyes glowed an unnatural gold in the afternoon light. The light burning
in his eyes was more than a reflection of sunlight and seemed to be seeing something far beyond where he stood.

“Many are coming Aunt.  Mama will be here soon,” and with that he walked away.  Maureen had seen touches of it before but now had no doubts that Jessamy had given birth to a very special and powerful child.  She had never sought to teach him, knowing whatever he had in him was beyond her knowledge, something as natural as the wind blowing and trees growing.  She could only pray it would serve him well as he grew, and that there would come someone with the knowledge and power to train him.

Magic of another kind was beginning to be worked at the shop in London and on the bell over the door the very unique salamander had both bright eyes wide open.  Emrys had cast a dome of invisible protection over the building to hide his work from the priests he still knew, could feel, where lurking in the city.  This work was too complicated to be disturbed and he had no intention of having those nasty creatures bursting in on him.  They had overlooked him, known nothing of his existence in all these centuries and he needed to keep it that way for now.

With great concentration and care he began his work, drawing a series of complex runes and symbols so powerful and secret only he and Nimue knew them.  Within his circle he was an artist dancing and drawing. Pulling and gathering the power to him as the sun began to set outside, the salamander kept watch. The vortex of power grew so strong that windows in nearby
buildings began to rattle.  He had taken the precaution of bewitching the few inhabitants to ignore anything that happened, and as people ate their supper they seemed not to notice anything strange at all as drinking cups danced across their dining tables. 

When he felt the moment, like a bolt of lightning through his spine and belly he turned in a movement like a discus thrower and tossed with all his might the power he had raised.  It shot like a beam of invisible light across London, across the meadows and wooded hills and down into the heart of the house called Menwith.  For a moment Conal’s ears rang and then an eerie silence prevailed.  He felt as if he stood in a world where time had stopped, as indeed it had.  The dust motes themselves hung motionless in their beams of sunlight. He moved quietly through the rooms finding servants frozen in place in mid movement, nothing stirred, nothing breathed and he knew help had miraculously come.

With relief he found his small band unaffected and, not knowing how long the magic would last, they rushed to gather their ready packs and strapped on their weapons.  At a dead run they made for the stables and found here too the people frozen but the animals peacefully stalled and enjoying their dinner of hay and oats.  Quickly they saddled mounts and galloped from Menwith with all speed.  With only the compass to follow, Conal held it tightly in his fist and prayed to Rhiannon and Llyr it would lead them true.

He had given them as much time as he could and when the spell could be held no longer, Merlin Emrys first lowered the circle and then his old form into a comfortable chair.  He smile to himself; this old Druid still had it in him.  Whether the king made his destination was now up to him, and Nimue’s compass.

The salamander over the door closed his jewel green eyes and prepared to nap, his job too done.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

David and Sebastian had sidled into the longer shadows at the west side of David’s house where a narrow alley separated his home from the next. They had carefully attempted to see Armstruther through any of the windows.  David had said at this time of day he was usually enjoying a small break in the kitchen with a very tiny glass of sherry.  He would then begin preparing for his duties of the evening.  So far there was no sign of Armstruther in any room they could see and David was worried.  He could only hope the older gentleman was safe.  Armstruther had been with him since he first bought this house, when he came home wounded from Waterloo, a little lost, and trying to build a new life for himself after the army.  He had been a steady anchor for a young man adrift. He didn’t want to think that being in his service could bring the old fellow to harm.

They had decided to enter through the cellar door and both sent up a silent prayer before pulling on the handle, hoping it was well oiled and would not make a screech that would give them away.  The amethyst in Sebastian’s pocket was humming steadily; he knew at least one priest was inside.  Having failed to acquire what Jessy had removed from the bank it made sense they had decided to try for the crown David had in the safe.  

Sebastian had his Cauldron blades and had given one to David.  Each of them carried two pistols with silver coated bullets.  Sebastian had expended precious time in the kitchen melting silver from flatware so that everyone had at least a few of the special bullets.  Whatever it was that Olav did to these men when he initiated them, their black blood responded badly to the purity of silver.  He had also used the stone to contact Bishop again to let him know he wanted him to meet them at Mallory’s End.  There seemed little point in meeting at Emrys’ shop now.  

“Ready?” David whispered.

Sebastian simply nodded and they pulled.  The doors opened smoothly and silently.  The cellar door was fairly well hidden from the house and he had hopes they had not yet been spotted.  As silently as possible they entered the dark of the cellar, carefully feeling for each step and letting their eyes adjust to the dark.  The amethyst emitted a pale purple glow and Sebastian used it to light their way.  It did not increase its humming but both men carefully cleared the dark, cool room before agreeing, with wordless gestures, to head up to the kitchen.  

The door was slightly ajar and, without touching it, David pressed an eye against the crack getting a partial view of the room.  He could see most of the table where the familiar small glass of sherry sat untouched.  He looked across to the opposite door which was open, and then he looked lower and saw shoes and black trouser covered legs laying half in and half out the door.  It was his valet.  He closed his eyes for moment and moved to allow Sebastian to take his own look.  

He felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder in comfort and then they slowly pushed open the door, each taking a different point of the room.  Seeing the kitchen was clear, David knelt to get a look at his loyal valet and was grateful to find he was not dead, a thready pulse was visible in his thin, aged neck.  He silently mouthed
alive
to Sebastian who looked almost as relieved as he felt.  

Crouching low they moved to peer around the door to the hall and once again saw no priests.  They did see drawers pulled out of tables and shattered on the floor, vases knocked over and the glass of the display cabinet smashed.  As they held still, listening intently, they heard a muffled curse and then breaking wood from David’s library.  They would need to move fast now if the priests had figured out the armoire was the cover for the safe.  He hadn’t been certain what kind of magical arts this group might have to assist them but from the sounds of destruction coming from the other room they were only using brute force; for now.

Together he and David stood and, watching for debris underfoot that could give them away, crept silently down the hall.  Sebastian wondered where Hercules was and hoped he too was alive.  They neared the door of the library which stood wide open and the amethyst was gyrating wildly in his pocket.  He knew now that whoever Olav had sent to retrieve the Queen of Celtica’s crown was of high rank.  He may have just walked David into a fight that could get him killed.  He felt the green stone around his neck and wondered if this might be the time he would need it.  

He could see David was sweating heavily due to the three layers of leather aprons and coats he had made him put on topped with one of Mick’s much broader cut jackets.  David had balked at first until Sebastian had explained, in minute detail, exactly what would happen if he was so much as nicked by one of the priest’s blades.  The poison would literally eat skin, muscle and then bone away as if a corrosive acid had been applied. That had been enough for him to stop complaining and do as Sebastian wished.

The priest’s poison was the most agonizing death Sebastian had ever seen and they were too far from Emrys’ shop to be treated in time.  It would mean death for either of them.  Which had led David to ask why Sebastian was not similarly clothed.  He had pulled aside his jacket and shirt to reveal the finely woven undershirt he wore that gleamed and moved like silk but could not be punctured.  It had been woven with the magic of the Ladies of Rhiannon and gifted to him when his training was completed.  It would protect his torso, arms and throat but all else was vulnerable.  They each where taking a huge risk, but one Sebastian was used to and David was not.  He had been a soldier, not an assassin experienced in battling magically powered priests.

Sebastian took a deep breath and prepared to pull the gloom about them both.  He had never tried to include another person in shadowdark before but, he had to try.  Hopefully the priests inside that room were so intent on getting into that safe they would not notice the sea-like pull of the shadows being gathered in the hall.  When he had covered them as best he could, he could
barely see David.  He stood no more substantial than a grey silhouette in the hall and he saw David’s eyes widen as he looked at Sebastian and then himself. 

David made as if to move to the doorway, but he held up a shadowy hand.  He was listening to the ancient Norse language being spoken in the room beyond.

“I know it is there you fools! Stand aside, I tire of you and your useless efforts,” and he could hear someone shoved roughly aside.   The crystal in his pocket begin to quiver as if it would burst apart.  He felt the movement of air, the swirl of electricity gathering and David’s eyes turned toward him again with a look of wonder and worry.  This priest was going to be a serious problem. He felt and then heard the concentrated bolt of energy that slammed into the armoire and that was when he gave David the sign to charge in.

David went low, throwing one of the silver tipped knives as he rolled across the floor landing behind the couch.  A single strangled breath sounded after the blade left his fingers.  He had found his mark and the priest to the left went down clutching at the blade in his chest, screaming as the silver penetrated his bloodstream. David now clutched the pistol with the two silver bullets in his right hand as he watched Sebastian move in a way he had never seen anyone move in his life.  It was if his body had turned to water as he fluidly leaped and twisted across the room, knives flashing.  Black blood flew to splatter the walls and furniture and his hands were a blur of blades that gleamed unnaturally.  

David felt something against his knee where he crouched behind the couch and realized it was the body of Hercules.  He could see a great gaping gash where his belly had been and now he could smell the blood like iron in his nostrils.  Rage rose up like molten lava erupting into a flame and he found himself leaping the couch to take on the priest who stood between him and what could only be the leader. 

He didn’t hesitate or even think about his instructions from Sebastian.  He had been a soldier for years, had fought at Waterloo in those long bloody days and his body remembered the heat and movements of hand to hand combat. He dodged without even having to think about it, the bolt of blue black light that had been aimed at him. It tore into the far wall blasting a deep hole. He had felt the bolt miss him by a hair and it had burned with extreme cold.

Sebastian had taken out three priests to David’s one, leaving the leader ‘til last as the priest, after a sneering look over his shoulder at the intrusion, had reached into the safe to grab the box holding the crown.  It was clear he cared not at all what happened to the lesser priests as long as he made away with the prize.  That could not be allowed to happen and the friends found themselves shoulder to shoulder engaged in a vicious battle of blades with the last priest guarding his master.  He moved fast, with moves, a style of fighting unfamiliar to David, his black blades meeting and deflecting both their blades with unnatural swiftness.  He lashed out at David with a lightning fast kick that sent a bolt of anguish up his leg and it nearly buckled under him.

He still held the pistol in his hand but feared hitting Sebastian in the speed of the fight.  The three dodged, ducked and twisted in such a complex dance there was never more than a split second to get off a shot.  And then he saw a blade flash across Sebastian’s chest and his friend stumble back. It was the opening he needed and without hesitation he fired the pistol.  The silver bullet exploded into the head of the priest who had sought to take a second and possibly fatal strike at Sebastian.  Black blood bloomed out in an arcing fountain from the back of the man’s head, shaved but for one long braid of hair tightly woven to his scalp.

Sebastian had flipped backwards when the priest had rushed him and he had righted himself like an acrobat.  The sound of David’s pistol blast a deafening retort in the paneled room.  The last and most powerful priest turned to meet them, the box in one hand.  He laughed.  It was the worst sound David had ever heard, mocking and gleeful, he was splattered in the black gore of the priest laying at his feet, the back of his head literally gone.  He saw, to his shock, that this higher ranking priest had gone so far as to file his teeth into lethal points like a shark.  He kicked the dead body of his brother priest out of his way and advanced.

“So Viking son of Harald, it has been you working against us.  Blood traitor,” he snarled. “You shall not die easy my son.  You and your English brother shall not stop us.  Olav shall take great pleasure in performing the blood eagle on you himself!”

“I’m Welsh,” David found himself saying proudly and used what he had found a second ago on the floor and now held in his hand.  When he had seen this man casually kick aside the body, clearing a path, an idea had formed. With speed he didn’t know he had, he somersaulted the few feet to the priest and with the momentum of his roll brought his weapon up into the man’s groin, driving deep.  The silver candelabra, devoid of candles had offered up three long sharp spikes that penetrated deep into the priests intestines.

The look of sheer outrage and horror on the man’s face was almost comical as he stared in disbelief, first at David, and then down at the fatal gush of black pouring from him.  

“Nice move my friend,” Sebastian admired his friend’s creative execution weapon, pleased to watch the evil trash on the floor bleed out.

David shrugged, “I couldn’t have managed if he hadn’t been so livid it was you standing against him.  I just took advantage of an opportunity.  What do we do now?”

“This,” Sebastian said and removed an ancient ax displayed on the wall of the study.  With one mighty and well trained swing he severed that hideous head from its body.  The head with eyes still open in surprise, teeth bared between blue lips, rolled across the floor and came to rest at the feet of Armstruther who had appeared in the doorway. “Always best to be safe with the higher ranked ones.  There are stories Olav has figured out how to regenerate them.  Better safe than sorry,” he threw the ax onto the floor and turned to face Armstruther.

The old man looked down at the head with distaste and then the bloody, smashed disaster of the room.

“Well, I have some work to do I see.  Never fear my lord, nothing that can’t be put to rights.  I shall contact Bishop and he’ll send some assistance to help deal with the mess,” he spoke so calmly it would seem nothing more had happened than a small spill needing attention.

“Armstruther?” Sebastian addressed the old man.

“Yes my lord?”

“Who are you?”

“A simple pawn my lord, just a simple pawn,” he smiled self-deprecatingly. “Don’t forget to take your box sir.”