ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (32 page)

EPILOGUE

Lyradon, Celtica the same night

Olav felt his knees buckle under the weight of the wrenching pain in the heart that beat beneath the scar.  One of his priests ran to help him but he waved him angrily away.  He straightened and headed for the black globe of glass set over the small fire in the temple.  The price he paid for his form of immortality was to experience himself the strong emotions of the one whose heart he possessed.  He had thought to keep this one much longer as, even for him, the process of the Blood Eagle was excruciating.  Once used only for torture, he had discovered with his powers a way to use it to prolong his own life.

The explosion of triumph and joy that had ripped through his chest came not from him. It came from the previous owner of this vital organ.  What was elation for the enemy whose heart beat for him, was pain for him and a sign that he must have suffered a great defeat.  With his replenishment of ravens still on their way to England, his own
hrafn
having been killed by that cat, he had been blind.  The last thing Olav had seen had been the uncanny, yellow eyes, pupils like a snake, of an orange cat. Its mouth and fangs had dripped, fur coated with the black blood of one of his own men.  Since coming to Celtica he had come to despise cats. The Celtic refuse that littered this island, defying him, used the very large wildcats to hound his warriors and his ravens.

What the black orb revealed to him was unclear, as if a thick window of heavy glass obstructed his sight.  He knew then a powerful magician was hindering him.  He could not control the orb and what it showed like a true reader could, so he used it rarely. It was one of the many reasons he had to rely on his ravens.  The most he could make out was a tangle of limbs, a glimpse of hair that tugged a memory he could not place, and while he could not see the faces, he watched a man and a woman’s body meet in a languorous and tender rhythm.  

Why this would bring such delight to this heart that beat for him was not clear.  There was more here, he knew it, but with increasing frustration could not force his power to see anymore. Not for the first time he regretted not having worked to breed a reader for this orb.  But the risk of a woman seeing what he could not, usurping any of his power was an untenable thought.  He had learned long ago that women were unpredictable and rarely trustworthy creatures. If they worked for you, the job done was rarely good enough, and if they worked against you? Well, he would not underestimate any woman.

He would not rely on a woman for anything more than he had too.  The red headed bitch of Govannon locked in the cell beneath him had yet to produce what he needed. No matter how many times Ulrich had lain with her, and despite all his efforts to reverse the spell cast a millennium ago, she had yet to quicken with child; the child needed for the blood sacrifice that still eluded him.  His best priests and warriors had failed to bring him the bitch’s
twin, Ciara Govannon, and it enraged him that this Celtic shield maiden had yet to fall into his hands.

He was trying to peer closer when he jumped back in surprised shock as the orb cleared completely and unexpectedly and he found himself staring face to face with a ferocious wolfhound.  It snarled and seemed ready to leap through the crystal and tear at him.  It stared straight into his eyes, huge canines bared and its howl echoed around the tower chamber.  As his orb went black, like a light extinguished against his will, he could swear he heard a man’s laughter soft and sly in his ear.  Oh there was indeed a powerful wizard at work here.  He had yet another rival commanding magical powers. The challenge was growing with every day and he would need to carefully examine the auguries.  His own plans had to succeed.  He was feverishly determined they would.

Back at Mallory’s End Merlin Emrys patted the head of Boru who still softly growled. Whistling for the great beast to follow him they walked into Maureen’s house following the scents of fresh bread and brewed ale.  One always ate well at an earth witch’s house.  How fortunate this lovely home with the charming witch was where fate had led them all.  Having prepared the protections as well as he could, and had his bit of fun with Olav, a late night snack would be pleasant.  

Tomorrow would be another day of new trials, but for tonight they could all sink pleasantly into the soft air of love and joy that suffused the End in its invisible magical light.  

The End…for now