The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection

by Phillips, Christina

“I see the truth in your eyes. I feel the truth in your heart. But it changes nothing. Rome is our enemy.” Briefly she glanced his way, and a needle-sharp pain darted through his brain, vanishing as instantly as it had began, as if the witch had somehow penetrated his core and assessed his worth.

  For a fleeting moment her features softened before she once again returned her attention to Carys. “Yet Cerridwen protects you. She allowed the Roman access to physically reclaim you from the Morrigan’s sacred realm. I don’t pretend to understand her motives, Carys. But all I know is this.”

  She tugged Carys to her feet, and as the two women held hands and maintained eye contact, a shiver scuttled over his arms despite the warmth of the day.

  Druantia straightened, although he could tell the action caused her great discomfort. “Whatever path you’re on, my child, is the path chosen for you by Cerridwen. I can’t approve of it, but I’ll do nothing to jeopardize your safety.” There was a taut silence, as if the words held hidden meaning. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Carys bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  Druantia advanced toward him. For one insane moment the urge to fall to his knees before her assailed him, as if she were a female embodiment of how he’d always secretly imagined Charon would look as he ferried the dead across the Styx.

  Sheer willpower alone kept him upright and rigid as she paused by his side and gave him another assessing look. Then she turned back to Carys, who hovered behind her in obvious distress.

  “He is Roman. And yet my words to you remain true. Think on the morrow, Carys. The sun will always rise no matter how you wish it otherwise.”

  Her words made no sense to him but obviously did to Carys, as heat flared in her cheeks as if she resented the remark. But without another word she helped Druantia onto her mare and then stood by his side to watch the old woman ride over the ridge toward the forest.

  He should follow her. She’d lead him to the hiding place. And yet the thought of tailing such an ancient one caused bile to rise.

  He was a soldier, and he would find where Carys’ kin were hiding by his own efforts. It couldn’t be far. Druantia was in no state to ride for any length of time.

  Yet the urge to forgo his principles and follow her anyway plagued his mind.

  “Thank you.” Carys curled her fingers around his arm and smiled up at him, but he could see the tension traced around her eyes and the strain etched around her lips.

  “For what?”

  Confusion flared in her eyes. Would he ever tire of looking into those eyes of hers?

  “For not questioning her. About where we live.”

  He offered her a brief smile devoid of humor. “I’m not in the habit of terrorizing elderly women.”

  Her smile softened and the tension diminished. “Oh, I wasn’t concerned that you’d terrorize her, Maximus. I simply want to thank you for not questioning her.”

  “You can thank me later.” He had a few ideas how she could thank him, but now was neither the time nor the place. He had to investigate why the cartography was so amiss and discover the mystery of the illusion.

  But more than any of that, he had to enter the forest. It was of paramount importance. And only then could all other concerns be addressed.

  “I want to speak to you about later.” She hung on his arm, smiling up at him in an enchanting manner, and a part of him wanted to take her in his arms and elicit a promise from her that later she would accede to all his demands, whether they concerned her future status as his wife, or her future home in Rome.

  But he had to unravel the puzzle of the forest.

  “What about it?” He glanced in the direction Druantia had vanished. He didn’t want to follow her, and yet the certainty gripped him that there was only one path into the cursed forest he could take.

  Carys tugged on his arm, and with strange reluctance he turned back to her.

  “I want us to have our evening meal here, by the Cauldron.” She stared at him expectantly, as if waiting for his enthused response.

  He flicked his glance at the spring. Recalled the first time they’d fucked. Made love.

  His cock stirred as arousal flared through his veins. “If you wish. Tell the slaves to bring whatever you require here.”

  For a moment she looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. “I’m preparing everything myself tonight. Just the two of us.”

  “I look forward to it. But now I must go.”

  Still she clung on to his arm, and he saw the furtive glance she cast in the direction Druantia had gone.

  “So soon? Can’t you stay with me a little longer?”

  He wasn’t fooled. “Carys, I have no intention of following Druantia. I’ll find your hiding place by my own efforts.” He uncurled her fingers that were biting into his flesh, and brushed his lips across them. “I understand your concern, but there’s no need to fear. I’ll never harm Druantia or any of your kin.”

  “I know.” And yet he clearly saw the fear in her eyes even as she denied it.

  There wasn’t time to discuss it further. The urgency thrummed through his blood, pulling him onward. Briefly he wondered at the logic of his haste, but brushed it aside.

  It was imperative he investigate the area, before Aquila led the First Cohort there.

  “I’ll see you back at our quarters. We’ll come here together.” He kissed her lips, and for a brief moment the urgency faded as her mouth welcomed his, but then he pulled away, replaced his helmet, and shot her a lascivious grin. “Don’t forget the blankets, Celt.”

  * * *

  He couldn’t place it, but there was something very wrong about this part of the forest. He’d lost count of the times his horse, a creature with nerves of iron and courage to match any centurion, shied away in clear distress from, apparently, nothing.

  And yet he understood the animal’s abnormal behavior, because the skin on his nape crawled with unspecified repugnance, as if malignant spirits hid behind each looming tree.

  There was nothing here. No tracks, no trails, no sign of human habitation. Why was he here, in any case? All he’d intended was to once again observe the forest from the hilltop, check out its boundaries and compare them to the maps.

  Instead, he’d spent Mars knew how many hours inside this cursed forest and he couldn’t fathom why.

  An odd shimmer up ahead caught his attention. Inexplicably he was reminded of the night he’d met with Carys in her special glade, but there were no lanterns casting a mystical glow here to bewitch his senses.

  Stealthily he approached the phenomenon. Vertigo hit him at the same instant his horse reared in fright, a dizzying disconnectedness spinning his brain in his skull, and then a sharp, stabbing sensation pierced the side of his neck and blackness engulfed his world.

  Chapter 32

  Aeron slipped the blow dart into his pouch and climbed down the tree. The Roman lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious and vulnerable.

  He kicked him savagely in the ribs. Fucking bastard. He gripped the bejeweled handle of his ceremonial dagger and resisted the overpowering urge to slit the barbarian’s throat and watch the blood flow into the waiting earth.

  The time was not yet right. Only at the precise moment when the sun set and cast its dying light into the passage of the mound, when for the only moments of the year the sun’s rays penetrated to the central underground chamber, would he spill the Roman’s lifeblood.

  Swiftly, he encased the body in sackcloth to disguise its appearance, before winding restraints around the ankles and securing them to the Roman’s horse. It was only fitting the creature should drag its master to his death.

  He led the horse through the forest toward the cromlech. No one would stop him or inquire what he was doing. A sacrifice was always required at the Renewal. No Druid would assume the sacrifice this night would possess only two legs.

  A dark excitement thundered through his veins. His original plan had magnified beyond his most ambiti
ous fantasies. To spill sacred Druid blood and cursed Roman blood during the same ceremony would ensure his position for eternity.

  As he loosened the bindings from the horse and dragged the enemy into the mouth of the deserted mound, another pleasant thought intruded.

  There would be no need to sacrifice Carys at the altar of retribution. Her punishment would be to watch her filthy lover die, to hear his screams of terror, his cowardly begs for mercy as Aeron, High Druid and God on Earth, gouged the Roman’s eyes from his sockets, ripped his tongue from his mouth and sliced his balls from his groin.

  And as the Roman lay dying, before he carved his black heart from his chest, he’d fuck Carys so the barbarian could hear every cry, every gasp, every fucking grunt and thrust.

  His cock throbbed at the vision. At the possibility that despite her betrayal he might still allow Carys to live, to service his needs as his personal slave. After tonight her status would be gone, and so would her tongue.

  He’d fuck her mouth but he never wanted to hear another word emerge from her lying lips.

  After tonight, his word would be law. His every wish obeyed. Peasant and Druid alike would worship him as the one almighty god, and his power over the old goddesses, and over their ancient matrilineal traditions, would be supreme.

  * * *

  The circle was complete, except for the necessary gap, and Carys poured the sleeping draught she’d prepared into a small pottery jug.

  She wouldn’t think about Druantia’s warning. Maximus would understand she had done what she had only through love.

  He’s a Roman tribune. A warrior. A commander. And she thought he wouldn’t care she had hidden him away in case a bloody battle raged?

  Carys ignored the voice and concealed the jug in a stone crevice close to the bubbling spring.

  And now she had to find Aeron and discover how to thwart his plans for tonight.

  * * *

  Carys stepped outside the circle and reverently placed the last shard of bluestone in place. Instantly, the grassed area within the circle contracted and vanished, as if that piece of earth no longer existed. No one could enter the circle, for no one could see it or feel it, and she dropped a pile of pebbles by the bluestone to ensure she’d recall its exact position for later.

  Something made her glance up, but the sky looked perfectly normal. How high did the magic extend? She didn’t really understand how it worked, only that it did, and had protected her people from discovery for the last seven moons.

  Just as this illicitly wrought magic would protect her Roman from discovery.

  Panic shuddered through her, harsh and shocking, as she suddenly realized how low the sun had sunk. Evening approached already. Did she have time to confront Aeron before she needed to meet with Maximus and ensure his safety?

  She had no choice. Cerridwen had charged her with changing Aeron’s plan, and even if she failed in fulfilling that command, at least she’d tried.

  * * *

  Finally she reached the outer circle of bluestones. Heart pounding, she peered toward the cromlech, but it was deserted. Of course, every Druid avoided this area on Renewal days, as Aeron required absolute privacy for his meditations, but he usually undertook those meditations in his favorite place, by the sacred altar.

  She hitched in a shaky breath and tethered her mare to a sapling. There was only one other place Aeron would be so late on this day.

  In the center of the mound. Preparing his sacrifice.

  Cautiously she approached the cromlech. It was one thing to confront Aeron, and quite another to have him catch her unawares, and she had no intention of allowing herself to be at any disadvantage.

  But as she stepped into the inner circle of bluestones, a sensation of utter despair gripped her, so violent she fell to her knees as the world spun out of control.

  Cerridwen, what was wrong? It was as if all the joy had been sucked from the world, leaving behind a decayed husk of nothingness, a black void that ate into her soul, corroded her heart and chilled the marrow in her bones.

  Her breath rasped her throat and echoed through her ears. Against every instinct that urged her to lie down and close her eyes and allow sleep to claim her, she struggled to her feet as her medicine bag tumbled to the ground.

  “Great Morrigan, what ails you, Carys?” Morwyn gripped her arms and pulled her upright. “Are you ill?”

  Carys staggered against the other woman. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Morwyn frowned. “Feel what? And what are you doing here? Aeron requires absolute solitude on these days.”

  “I need to find him.” She picked up her bag and slung it across her shoulder. “Why are you here?”

  Morwyn nodded to the woven basket she held. “The Morrigan’s sacrifice for tonight. Usually Aeron ensures he has everything necessary for the ceremony, but obviously the coming battle’s clouded his mind.”

  The nausea roiling through her system subsided as she recalled her purpose. “I’ll come with you.” It gave her an excuse to enter the mound. And once there, she would trust Cerridwen to show her what she needed to do.

  “If you wish.” Morwyn slid her an odd glance and advanced toward the stone altar, where five flaming torches were arranged in the sacred pentagram, and set the basket down. “There. Now we’ll go and prepare ourselves for this night.”

  Involuntarily, Carys glanced to the sky. Sweet goddess, how had this day passed by so swiftly? If she couldn’t find Aeron within the next few moments, if she couldn’t somehow discover a way to avert the coming battle, she’d have to flee the spiral instantly so she could put her own plans into action.

  Sweat prickled. Even if she left now, would she make it, with Maximus, back to the Cauldron in time? Ensure he took her sleeping draught and then return to the spiral before she was missed?

  Every logical sense screamed it was impossible. And yet she had no choice.

  “I need to enter the mound and speak with Aeron.” She turned from Morwyn, but her friend gripped her arm and swung her around, a look of horror on her face.

  “You can’t do that. He could strike you insensible for daring to intrude.”

  Sweet Cerridwen, protect me.

  “No, he won’t. I have to go, Morwyn.” With another anxious glance at the sky, she ran toward the opening of the mound.

  Ceremonial lanterns swung from hooks inserted in the ancient earthen ceiling as she stepped into the downward-sloping passageway. But she’d gone only a few paces before she heard Morwyn running behind her.

  Without waiting for her to catch up, she increased her speed, ignoring the openings that led to smaller chambers in which the Druids had lived these past seven moons.

  Aeron would be in the sacred center, deep underground.

  She halted at the mouth, held her breath and peered into the dimly lit chamber. It was empty. Her heart scudded and stomach churned. She was out of time; she’d failed Cerridwen, but she would not fail Maximus.

  Morwyn panted over her shoulder. “Where’s Aeron? There’s nothing here but the sacrifice.”

  She’d scarcely noticed the bundle of sackcloth dumped at the outer edge of the faint illumination. The sacrifice didn’t matter. And yet she stared at the dark shape with strange fascination.

  “Goddess, what are you doing?” Morwyn sounded exasperated but Carys ignored her and crouched over the concealed creature.

  “Morwyn.” Her voice shook as a terrible certainty came to her. “This is a human sacrifice.”

  Morwyn hunkered beside her. “Of course it isn’t.” She didn’t sound convinced, for the shape was undoubtedly human, not animal.

  Carys pulled her dagger from her belt and rapidly sliced through the bindings. This was why Cerridwen had led her here. To prevent Aeron from sacrificing a human, which would somehow thwart his battle plans. And she would still have time to race back to Maximus’ quarters and—

  Her thoughts stumbled, backed up, choked. It couldn’t be. With shaking hands, she ripped the sackcloth from
the man’s head, and all doubt vaporized.

  “Maximus.” She whispered his name as her heart squeezed with agonized denial in her breast. She wrapped her hands around his head and leaned toward him so her breath warmed his chilled flesh.

  “You know him? Who is it?” Morwyn jostled against her, trying to see.

  He couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t let him be dead. How could she be too late to save him?

  Morwyn recoiled, breath hissing between her teeth. “It’s a Roman.” She dug her fingers into Carys’ shoulder and wrenched her back. “It’s a fucking Roman, Carys. How do you know his name?”

  Carys shoved Morwyn’s hand away. “He’s the man I love. And if Aeron’s harmed him, I swear by Arawn, lord of the Otherworld, I’ll have vengeance.”

  Morwyn visibly blanched. “A Roman?” she repeated in disbelief, but Carys ignored her, because Morwyn’s approval didn’t matter. Nothing would ever matter again if Maximus had been murdered to satisfy Aeron’s evil sense of justice.

  He wouldn’t murder his sacrifice.

  The realization thundered through her brain, and she pressed her fingers against his throat, searching for his pulse, her lips brushing his as she waited to feel his breath.

  A choked sob escaped. He was alive. As her fingers slipped from his pulse, a sharp sting grazed her and she pulled a dart from his neck.

  Rage bubbled, clouding her reason, obliterating the last lingering tendrils of terror.

  She turned to Morwyn, the dart lying on her palm. “This is how Aeron took him down. The cowardly bastard.”

  “You love a Roman.”

  Carys pulled the flickering lantern nearer and slit open the rough sackcloth. She could see no blood, his limbs weren’t oddly angled, but still she swiftly examined him to ensure there were no broken bones.

  Morwyn shoved her savagely, and she tumbled onto Maximus’ armored chest. Enraged, she glared over her shoulder, but Morwyn’s face was twisted with a matching fury.