Dark Ages - John Pritchard

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V Dreams and Decay

       II On Earth as It Is in Hell

       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

       Keep Reading

       Author’s Note

       About the Author

       Other Books By

       About the Publisher

       RISING SIGNS

       (1989)

      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.

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