Dark Ages. John Pritchard
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V Dreams and Decay
III Wessexena Sky
IV Moonblade
V Harrow Path
VI Home from the Hill
VII Our Summer
PART FOUR HUNTERS
I The Watchman’s Mark
II Odysseus
III Stranger
IV Wolf Hook
V Witch Hunt
VI Tare Dog
VII Circle of Sorrow
VIII The Anger of God
IX Lightning East to West
X No Graves on Badon Hill
PART FIVE RAIDERS
I Land-Waster
II Bone Fire
III Celebrant
IV The Lych-Road
V Fields of Blood
VI The Fell Tale of the West
VII Dark Moon Rising
VIII The Sermon of the Wolf
PART SIX MARTYRS
I Massacre Is My Forgiveness
II A Thousand Silver Pieces on the Black
III True Cross
IV Dead Men Ride
V In Search of Holy England
VI Night in Gehenna
VII Requiem
VIII Dominion
PART SEVEN PILGRIMS
I Liberation
II Inferno
III The Rage of Killing
IV Mystic and Severe
V Hell’s Ditch
VI Winter Runes
PART EIGHT WARRIORS
I Forgotten Ground
II On the White Hill
III Saint and Sorceress
IV Reprisal Weapons
V The Saying of the Swords
VI Wilderness
VII Black Cavalry
VIII Hard Standing
IX Legion
X Snake
PART NINE RAVENS
I Book of Shadows
II The Betrayed
III The Field of Blades
IV The Cat, the Wolf and the Dog
V Scorpion Gate
VI The Fire of the Dove
VII The End of the River
VIII A Roof for a Skyful of Stars
EPILOGUE
So Close that There Is Nothing in Between
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books By
About the Publisher
As touching the terrors of the night, they are as many as our sins. The night is the Devil’s black book, wherein he recordeth all our transgressions.
Thomas Nashe
She had no truck with horoscopes. No way could someone’s future be predicted by the stars. And yet, as Frances glanced at them with casual disinterest, her own was written there for her to see.
The sky tonight was orange and polluted, but frosty sparks were showing here and there. The only shapes she recognized were two her mum had shown her – out in the back, one bedtime, long ago. From the flyover embankment, she could see them well enough. The Great Bear, rising upward from the dark fields to the north; and setting in the west, the Northern Cross.
Cars passed fitfully, racing westward through the night; the junction left behind before they knew it. In the lengthy gaps between them, the dark and silent countryside drew closer. Fran turned on the spot, then pulled back her glove to check her watch. Just past midnight. They’d got here first this time.
Wrapping her long coat closer, she went back to the car. It was parked up a service road, just short of the underpass. The others had sat tight; she didn’t blame them. Paul leaned across to open the passenger door, and she climbed in, drawing a shivery breath between her teeth.
‘Anything?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Dead quiet.’
The CB crackled briefly, then lapsed into an empty, spooky hiss. She gave it a glance. The set was clamped below the dashboard, its digits glowing green.
‘Nothing on that?’
His turn to shake his head. ‘Not since Merlin.’
Ten minutes since that last, half-garbled contact. As if the silence of the night had clogged the airwaves. The sense of isolation was insidious: creeping up. Bullington Cross felt cut off from the world – a lonely, lamplit island in the murk.
‘Want some coffee?’ asked Marie from the back. Fran turned gratefully in her seat, and took the thermos cup she proffered. The coffee was too hot to taste: a gulp of scalding water. She wriggled as it seared its way down.
‘So when are we going to meet this boyfriend of yours?’ Marie teased in her ear.
Fran turned her nose up coyly. ‘When I let you.’
‘Knows about these midnight escapades, does he?’ Paul murmured.
‘Yeah …’ said Fran. ‘He knows.’ Her eyes flicked down. She took another sip.