ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One

by Julie Harvey Delcourt

  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 spl
it 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.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  They arrived back at Jessamy’s town house with a carriage, the crown in its box, food from the pantry (bless Armstruther), and more weapons, including David’s old army sword. Sean had received the message to meet them at the house. They pressed Armstruther to quit David’s house with them but he would have none of it. Telling them he had his orders and rather ambiguously saying that at his age he would was more suited to staying here then where their lordships where heading.

  He also took a letter to be delivered to Major Lord Carvell’s old regiment. If reinforcements were needed, David knew he could rely on the men he once led. Whether needed in England or to fight on Celtica itself, they would be there come hell or high water. Most of his regiment had been vocal in their disgust that England had not been in a position to go to the aid of Celtica at the time of the coup. They would be happy to have a chance to aid their time honored allies now.

  They found Jessamy’s house had not suffered any problems and that everyone was ready to evacuate. Sean showed up only moments later with his barouche, well packed baggage, and an entire larder’s worth of food.

  Surprisingly, he also had Henriette with him. He had reasoned she had visited Jessamy recently so she too could be in danger. Jessy had to admit it was a good idea and they would have one less friend to worry about being left unprotected. Maureen would be delighted at the enormous amount of food they were bringing. They had cleaned out their own larder too as they did not know how long they would be staying at Mallory’s End. Jessy began to wonder if she would ever see her house again. The leaving felt strangely permanent though she couldn’t say why.

  She had yet to have any time to open the journals but they were constantly at the edge of her awareness. Surely answers had to be in there, surely? A quick debate had ensued about taking the treasure from the vault at Herriot’s but they all agreed it was safer there. No one seemed aware, outside of themselves, that it existed. Jessy had been concerned about Mr. Mackleby’s safety but, with the contents of the vault unknown and their enemies seeming to think she had removed everything, all insisted he was safer with no more contact from them. They were most likely right.

  Quickly as possible they had the carriages loaded (Murphy included) and Jessy was tossed onto the back of Abellius. David rode Adlais, Mick drove the closed carriage, Sean the barouche with the top up and Sebastian was mounted on one of the horses he had taken from David’s small town stable. The stallion had a temper, but was strong of leg and chest with great endurance, speed, and easily up to Sebastian’s weight. With a last look around that all was set, they moved out. Tim stubbornly sat up beside Mick clutching a slingshot with a pouch of pebbles tucked in his belt. Sebastian seemed to have magicked the promised weapon from nowhere.

  Miles to the south and a bit east, the lovely Kentish countryside was not being appreciated. Conal led the way at what speed they could, considering the constant checking of the amber compass. They had not spoken of the magic that had allowed their escape. It had been such a powerful thing it had silenced them with its enormity. Conal was not even certain he had ever heard of the Lady of Rhiannon being able to perform such a spell, at least not all the way from Celtica. If, and when, he saw her again he had every intention of finding out who had performed that spell and thank them in any way they might require.

  He was also grateful that this was not rough and wild country like his own. They were able to move quickly cross country. Evening was not too far away and he hoped to make it to whatever sanctuary awaited before dusk fell. He had no idea what or who to expect but could only have absolute faith that the Lady would not lead them wrong or that one of the horses would go lame.

  They had all begun to realize they were headed for London after all, just not in company with the English contingent he had originally thought would take him there. Over three hours of hard riding later, leaping hedges and racing across fields, the horses were growing winded. Gavin was the first to understand they were not heading into the city itself but the outskirts that still remained countrified.

  The compass was growing warmer in his hand as they cut around a decent sized village and the compass turned again in his hand. Following its direction, and the growing warmth, they had gone another two miles when before them stood a small walled manor, ancient and well maintained. It had a homey feeling despite the old dried moat and stone walls. He could see orchards and a well-built stable behind the Tudor timber and stone house.

  The compass pointed straight here and was warm to the point of almost being uncomfortable in his palm. This was the place. His small band, their horse’s heads hanging w
ith exhaustion, came to line up beside him. Just when he wondered if he should approach the gate he heard the long and distinct howl of a wolfhound and the call of a woman’s voice that had a pleasant Irish lilt to it.

  Then there she and the huge dog where, striding out of the house, turning to speak sternly to a gaggle of young children of various hair colors and ages who jammed the doorway in curiosity. She was of medium height, with a pleasantly rounded figure and a head of wildly curling hair the color of which reminded him of a storm of early autumn leaves. He estimated she was in her mid-thirties and moved with a solid kind of grace that spoke of inner strength and confidence.

  She reached the gate and looking down at the wolfhound she spoke what sounded almost a question, too quiet for him to hear. The dog sat down calmly and then she looked through the gate at him with clear, intelligent hazel eyes above rounded, freckled cheekbones. “So, it’s you,” she set her hands on her hips. “Not quite who I was expecting just yet but you had best come in,” and with that she unlocked the gates and Brendan jumped down to help her pull them open.

  All Conal could think was that for refuge the Lady had sent him to a house full of children and a woman? The wolfhound was certainly large and fierce looking but was still just a dog. Silently he swore fluently and very inelegantly in Caelig, only to see this woman look at him as if she not only heard him, but understood, and found it amusing. It was as he stepped through the gate he realized she was witch, for there was no mistaking the feel of the protective barrier and the shiver it raised through the soles of his boots. He only hoped it was strong enough to keep out what might very well be headed their way. His enemy’s plans (whatever they had been exactly) had been foiled and they would not be happy.