The Conquering Dark: Crown by Clay Griffith, Susan Griffith Clay Griffith Page A

dead eyes fell on Kate. “It must be the blood of someone who loves you.”
    Simon shouted in sudden rage. His hand swept up with a flash of steel and he sliced the cadaver through the neck. The dry thing’s body parted just under the jaw and the torso dropped to the ground. The head tumbled through the night air to fall into the grass and roll a few feet against a rock. Aethelred pounced forward, barking loudly at it.
    Simon stood in his stirrups, chest heaving, trying to determine if he would trample the body into dust. The fact that he was thinking about it meant he wouldn’t do it. He reined his horse back and dropped his sword arm. His voice was ragged with anger. “Kate, leave that damned thing and let’s go.”
    â€œI think we should keep it,” Kate said.
    â€œWhat?” Simon turned to her in surprise.
    â€œSpells can be refashioned.” Her gaze fell on the German script again with undisguised curiosity. “We should study it.”
    â€œKate, it’s from Ash.”
    â€œWe can’t be afraid of her.” She glanced up at Simon. “That seems like something you would have said once.”
    Simon said nothing now. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Kate, or even himself for that matter, but magic this black had a way of tainting any who even touched it. It was why he had always cautioned Nick about using necromancy. With power that vile, control was an illusion. And now they were bringing it into their home, bringing Ash into their home. They might as well bring in Satan himself.
    He kicked his mount into a gallop up the dark road. They rode the way they had come with the diminishing sounds of late-summer frolic in the background.

Chapter 6
    An armored wagon creaked laboriously down the street despite the fact that a brace of powerful steeds pulled it. The bed was tented with steel plates, hiding some sort of unseen cargo. The wagon attracted attention and, even though the moon hung high in the sky, gawking traffic was thick along Borough High Street. London never slept.
    From the wagon’s bench, Simon scanned the shifting masses clogging the streets around them. Beneath his dark frock coat he wore a breastplate, and he hid his hands with their steel gauntlets under a blanket. Beside him, Nick maneuvered the team around a broken-down cart and continued east. To their rear rode Malcolm on a stocky black Friesian, while Kate rode a steady bay gelding ahead on their right. She was dressed as a man, her long auburn hair braided and stuffed under a tweed cap.
    A voice came from behind Simon as a head popped out of a small hatch in the top of the wagon’s iron chamber. “Are we there yet? It’s hot in here and I’m sticky from that stuff Miss Kate smeared on me.”
    â€œWe’re all sticky, Charlotte.” Simon reached back and opened another plate section to allow more air inside. “Not long now. You’re not standing on the Stone of Scone, are you?”
    There was a lengthy pause. “No.”
    Simon’s eyebrow rose. Behind Charlotte inside the wagon was Penny, mopping her brow. She pulled the child back inside with a halfhearted scolding. “That stone is a relic!”
    â€œBut you said it was a—”
    â€œHush now,” Penny shook her head as Charlotte folded her arms crossly and glared at the young woman.
    Imogen gave a low chuckle from the shadows.
    Simon turned away, smiling at their affable antics, but his expression turned serious quickly enough. His eyes scanned the dark streets around them. It was quite possible they were being watched. The enemy was likely waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
    London Bridge appeared through the waterfront factories and warehouses. Actually, there were two London Bridges and it was the glorious new bridge with its high wide arches that came into view first. It had only been open a month and was still pristine with flags flying from its pinnacles.