Druids Sword Read Online Free Page B

keep me busy, what with the war and all.”
    What war are you referring to, Walter? “And are you sure you want to participate in this war?” Jack asked, nodding at the cathedral.
    Three hundred years ago, as James Duke of York, Walter had done everything he could to deny his ancient past and heritage, including a fanatical devotion to Christianity—a total contradiction to his life as a powerful pagan priest when he’d lived as Loth. Jack didn’t hold out much hope Walter had improved in this life, not from the evidence of that dog collar, but why else would he be here tonight?
    “I am sick to death of it, Jack,” Walter said, all humour draining from his face. “I want it to end so that I might be at peace.”
    “Amen to that,” said Silvius, who had opened his door and was now standing looking over the roof ofthe car towards Jack and Walter. “Unless you want to do some sightseeing, Jack, would you two like to get inside so that we can hasten with all possible speed towards the nice reception that I know awaits us?”
    That last earned him yet another cynical glance from Jack, but both he and Walter moved towards the car. Walter opened the back door and got inside, stretching his bad leg along the bench seat, but just before Jack slid down into the front seat he stopped and looked skyward.
    For a moment he thought he saw something hanging in the sky. A shadow…He frowned, trying to concentrate. Whatever it was, it made his Kingman blood tingle, as if he were being summoned. Without thinking, Jack half raised his hand to reach out…
    And then it was gone. Jack thought it must just have been a shadow only of his nerves, and nothing more.
    “Jack?” Silvius said, and Jack gave a tiny shake of his head and slid into the car seat, closing the door after him.
    A moment later Silvius pulled out into Aldersgate and headed north, turning in a more easterly direction once he was past London’s wall.
    As the car vanished around a corner, two dark figures stepped out from the shadow of St Paul’s southern face. Dressed almost identically in belted overcoats and with broad-brimmed felt hats pulled low over their foreheads, the men stared for a moment after the car, then both looked upwards.
    One of the men hissed urgently, “D’you see? D’you see?”, one hand clutching at the other man’s shoulder.
    “Aye,” said the other, softly, “it’s alive.”
    “Our mistress has done well.”
    “ He’s back. She said it would appear when he came back. When he and she were together in London.”
    His brother giggled. “It’s a pretty thing, isn’t it? A pretty dancing.”
    “Shush!” the other hissed. “Careful what you say!”
    They fell into silence, now looking furtively about the streets, their shoulders hunched, hands thrust into the deep pockets of their overcoats.
    “It’ll want to feed, then,” said one, eventually.
    The other took his time in replying, but when he did his voice was rigid with excitement. “It’ll want to feed tonight! ”
    Both men grinned, their teeth sharply white.
    Then they were gone, and the streets of London were suddenly far more dangerous than a moment earlier.
    They had been driving for more than fifteen minutes, slowly wending their way through the eastern and northern suburbs of London, when Silvius finally broke the silence.
    “You know where we’re going?” he said quietly.
    Jack took a moment to respond. “Yeah. Epping Forest.” He lit a cigarette, using it as an excuse to pause. “And Faerie Hill Manor. I’ve been dreaming of it for months now.”
    And of who will be there to meet me.
    “You’ll find the forest somewhat depleted since last you were there,” said Walter from the back seat.
    Jack pulled heavily on the cigarette. “I know.” Epping Forest was one of the few remaining stands of what had once been woodlands stretching for hundreds of square miles above north-eastern London. When he had been Brutus, almost four thousand years ago, the great