by Rowan Casey
Stone of Destiny
Veil Knights #9
Rowan Casey
Contents
Series Summary
Veil Knights Newsletter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Veil Knights Newsletter
The Veil Knights Series
About the Author
Copyright Information
In book one of the Veil Knights series, THE CIRCLE GATHERS, stage magician and sorcerer extraordinaire Dante Grimm brings ten strangers together, informing them that they are the living avatars of the original Veil Knights, brave men and women reincarnated many times through the millennia, most recently as the Knights of the Round Table, who pledged their lives to protect mankind from supernatural threats and enemies.
In the distant past, the Veil Knights had combined the power of several arcane talismans into the Caeg Dimmre, the Key of Wickedness, which was used to construct a mystical barrier between our world and the Demimonde, preventing the supernatural races that inhabited the realms on the other side from continuing to ravage our humanity. The talismans were then split apart and hidden away in the far corners of the earth, there to remain until the time should come when they might be needed once more.
That time is now.
The Veil is falling, weakened by age and the machinations of those on the other side. Grimm knows that unless the pieces of the Caeg Dimmre are brought together again, the Veil will fail entirely, releasing the darkness that it has kept locked away for so long.
In desperation, Grimm convinces the knights to assume their mantles once more, to undertake the quests necessary to bring the pieces of the Key back together so that they can be used to strengthen and reinforce the Veil.
These are their stories.
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1
Bollocks. It was all a load of bollocks. Bryn Mathias cursed to himself as he rode in the back of the cab to the airport. In little more than a couple of hours he would be in the air and heading home. He had no intention of coming back. He didn’t believe any of the nonsense that he had seen in that room. It was all illusion; it was all bollocks. He had no idea what Dante Grimm’s angle was, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He needed to sort his own life out and he had no intention of being involved in any of the nonsense that Grimm was peddling. If it hadn’t been for the envelope in his inside jacket pocket, he would have caught his flight yesterday as he’d originally planned and already be back in Cardiff. Instead he’d allowed himself to be seduced by the sheaf of hundred-dollar bills being slipped inside. He patted his chest to reassure himself that it was still there. It was the easiest five grand he had ever made, but now that he’d sat through that charade it was time to get out of this country and head back home.
“At least there’s a drink in there for you,” Grimm had said when he handed the envelope over. “And no hard feelings if you walk away as soon as the meeting is over.” That was exactly what he had done and there were certainly no hard feelings on his part.
He should never have left the UK, but the lure of fame and fortune had beckoned and he had been unable to resist. He had been a teenager when he had taken the first big step and moved from Wales to London; having picked up a part in a play in the West End. It had only been a small part, but it been enough to get noticed and before long his reputation started to grow until he was asked to perform with the Royal Shakespeare Company. He had blown away audiences with his portrayal of Hamlet, but the chance had come too soon. Where could a young actor go after such a success as that? Television and Hollywood had called, and he had answered, taking the flight across the Atlantic with no intention of returning until he had the same level of success in America as he had known at home. At that time he had still been in his early thirties with red hair and a voice like Anthony Hopkins. Now he was closer to forty, the hair was more of a sandy color, but he still had the voice. He hoped that was going to be enough.
His reputation had been enough for his agent to get him auditions and once he was in front of an audience, no matter how small, he could convince anyone that he was perfect for the part. It was exactly the same as when he had been on stage, but there had been nothing but disappointment when director after director watched the casting tape. On film, there was something missing; he was flat, wooden, lifeless. Somehow the camera was unable to capture the charm and charisma, or the anger and venom that he was able to turn on at a moment’s notice. He thought of himself as a failure, as any reputation he still had was fast slipping away. Time to go home and hope that he had not been completely forgotten.
Once the decision had been made and the tickets booked he had started to make calls. At least people back home were willing to talk to him. He needed to go home.
“Are you sure you want the airport, my friend?” the driver asked.
Mathias glanced up and caught sight of the eyes looking back at him in the rear-view mirror. It took him a moment to realize that the eyes staring back at him did not belong to the driver. He might only have had the briefest of glances at the man before he had climbed into the car, but the eyes staring back at him looked much younger. He blinked a couple of times to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him, but he recognized those eyes. They belonged to the man who had brought him here, Dante Grimm.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I’m done with this madhouse. Time to go home.”
“Nothing I can do to change your mind?” Grimm’s voice this time, not the driver’s, or at least that was how it seemed in Mathias’ head.
“Nothing. I have a flight to catch.”
“Sorry, man. You say something?” the driver said and at that moment Mathias was sure they were the first words he had spoken since he had told him where he wanted to go. Grimm had managed to play with his mind and he was still dealing with the echoes. The sooner he was far away from this place the better. It was time to leave it all behind and try to pick up the life he had abandoned.
“Not me,” he said.
“Must be hearing things then,” the man fell silent and didn’t utter another word until they reached the airport. A rare skill for a cab driver, Mathias thought.
“How much do I owe you?” Mathias asked.
“It’s all covered. The magician guy paid up front. He even added a decent tip and strict instructions not to accept a cent from you, so we’re good.”
Mathias didn’t argue. If the driver had been well paid there was no need for him to be out of pocket. He grabbed his bags from the trunk of the car and gave his cheeriest smile. He had plenty of time to kill before his flight was likely to be called, but he had no intention of hanging around anywhere other than the departure lounge bar. He had cash in his pocket and every intention of parting with some of it before it was time to board.
A handful of people heard the sigh he released when he dropped onto the barstool when he finally jumped through all the hoops to get checked i
n. He understood why security was so high when people were trying to get into the country, but it seemed just as difficult to get out. He was never going to get used to seeing uniformed guards with sidearms and hoped that he would never see that kind of thing in his own country. Somehow he suspected that it was inevitable. It was fast becoming the way of the world.
“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender asked.
Mathias looked up at the too-white a smile beaming at him. He gave the top shelf of high priced whiskies the briefest of glances, but he knew that they were part of the world he was leaving behind. One last bottle of champagne might be the best way to say goodbye to this place, but that would be just as bad.
“I’ll have a bottle of Bass.” It was overpriced and the beer was guaranteed to be too cold, but it was the closest thing to a memory of home. The barman reached for a bottle and flipped the top off. He started to pour it, but it was clear that there was going to be far too much froth. Mathias raised a hand and stopped him.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
The smile was a little more forced this time, but the bartender handed over the glass and poured most of the contents of the bottle slowly and carefully before taking a long draw. He was right. It was too cold, but it was still better than most of the beer he had drunk during his time in the States. Maybe that was why he had taken to the harder stuff. But that would be kidding himself. He knew that he turned to drink because he was a failure. He was an actor whose resume was greater than his ability; a has-been. But he was not going home with his tail tucked between his legs. He was heading back to make a new start.
The beer felt cold and gassy in his stomach, probably not the best preparation for a long flight. Perhaps he had lost the taste for beer, or maybe it just didn’t travel well, just like him. He felt the urge to order another and give it the chance to warm up, but he resisted. Instead he reached into his pocket for the envelope that Grimm had given him, seemingly even fatter than when the illusionist had handed it over to him. He pushed his thumb under the sealed flap and slit the envelope open. Even before he slipped his fingers inside he knew that there was something wrong. As the contents slipped into his hands, Grimm’s words filled his mind.
“At least there’s a drink in it for you.” That was exactly what he had said. Exactly.
It was a joke and he should have seen it coming. Falling into his palm were not the notes he was expecting, but a wad of tea bags. He laughed, almost admiring the man while at the same time feeling cheated. Almost. Instead he slid them back into the envelope and pushed it into his pocket. There were enough dollars in his wallet to pay for his beer, but not a whole lot more. He was feeling glad that he hadn’t ordered a second.
He must have released a curse a little louder than he intended as several heads turned in his direction, including the barman’s. He raised his glass to each of them and one by one they turned their gaze away. It seemed that every audience was turning its back on him. Time to move on, even if it was only to pick up a magazine to help pass the time. He pulled out his wallet to settle his bill and couldn’t help but laugh when he opened it.
“Cheeky bastard!”
This time he drew more than a glance from the other drinkers, but right at the moment he could not have cared less. Somehow Grimm managed to slip the wad of notes that he had seen slide in the envelope into his wallet. He might have been taken for a fool, but he guessed that he had been paid well for the privilege.
“My apologies,” he said to the occupants of the other stools. “Please, let me buy you all a drink.”
2
It didn’t take long for the cash to run through his fingers like water. He had put down a deposit and paid the first three month’s rent on an apartment in Cardiff Bay which didn’t even have a view over the water. But it was the right kind of address for someone who was successful, not the kind of place where a failure lived. It felt good to be home, and better still to be able to maintain the trappings of success, even though the place he was living in was better than any home he had known while growing up in Wales. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for much longer. Six or seven trips to London and as many meetings had resulted in the offer of a little voice over work and maybe a bit part in a play that was about tour the provincial theaters. He had no objection to doing the recordings but even the thought of touring sent a shiver up his spine. It would be a backward step that would be hard to recover from. It would make him look like a failure who was prepared to take anything on, and he didn’t like the idea of that, even if it was the truth.
It seemed so long since he had landed and wound his way back to Wales. As the miles had passed and he had drawn close to the place where he had grown up, he had become filled with excitement, fear, and shame. More than two months and he still hadn’t visited his mother, hadn’t even called to let her know where he was. He hadn’t because she would have asked why he had come back and he wouldn’t have been able to lie to her She would know without having to ask the question. He couldn’t do it until he had done everything possible to make things how they had been before he had left. At least then he would avoid having her tell him that his room was still there for him; ready for whenever he needed to come home. He hated the thought of that.
Tonight had been a waste of time. His agent had set up a meeting with someone who didn’t really have anything to offer, but was supposed to be worth getting to know. Someone who had started to make a name for himself while Matthias had been away. He seemed to be the kind of guy who got some kind of kick out of meeting someone who had once trodden the boards with the late Alan Rickman. That had been almost half a lifetime ago, but he didn’t want to burst the guy’s bubble. Before the evening was through he was starting to think that it just wasn’t worth it. In the end he had been stiffed with half the bill and left to find his own way home. Not what he thought of as a good evening in any sense.
There was a chill in the air but at least it was dry, and a glance at the sky confirmed that it was likely to stay that way. It was a bit of a stretch to walk back to his apartment but he resented paying for a taxi after helping feed someone else’s champagne habit when he was trying to kick his own, so walk he would.
The streets were full of noise as almost every bar had music blasting out from open windows. A gaggle of people gathered outside. Some had clearly come outside to get a little fresh air and a cigarette even though there was no guarantee that they would be able to go straight back in. Others were waiting to go in. At most of the bars, groups of girls in short dresses chatted to the bouncers in the hope that they would be allowed inside the more popular venues rather than having to queue. None of them seemed to be having much luck in that department. There had been a time when he could have walked up to the doors of any number of places in the city and flashed a smile of his own, told the doorman that the girls were with him, and they would have all been allowed inside without so much as an eyelid being batted. But that had been a long time ago and hardly any of these places still bore the same name that they had back then. So much had changed in the time that he had been away. It was almost as if he had returned to a different city.
He was still learning to pick out landmarks in the dark as he made his way from the bars and restaurants towards the area that had once been known as Tiger Bay. It had been renamed to wash away the memories of the place’s violent and dangerous past. History was being airbrushed away to make for a more attractive place to live.
The horn of a taxi blared as he almost stepped into its path. Matthias raised a hand in apology which almost turned into a raised middle finger; another bad habit he picked up while he was away.
The time was shy of eleven o’clock but the only traffic seemed to be taxis despite the constant rumble of engines. He moved out of the busiest part of the city and the handful of bars along the street were much quieter and not all of them felt the need to have security on the door. For a moment he thought about ducking inside for one last drink bef
ore he walked the final stretch, but he knew that one drink would lead to two, or three, and by the time the night was over he would be convincing himself that he would have been better to have picked up a taxi in the first place. At least he wasn’t craving more drink and the decision not to walk into one of the bars wasn’t a hard one to take.
There was a lull in the traffic for a moment, a chance for the sound of voices. But he left most of them behind and they lay in the distance. Instead of the sounds of drunken revellers, the voice he heard was a cry of pain; a man’s voice. As he turned he was surprised by just how far he had walked. Whatever was going on, it didn’t have anything to do with him, and this was not the time for him to get involved in someone else’s problem. But perhaps tonight was just the night for that… The walk was doing nothing to lift his mood and a good old-fashioned rumble might be just what he needed. It would be just like the old days.
The alley lay in near-darkness, but there was just enough light to reveal two shapes standing over a third and the one on the ground didn’t seem to be doing a particularly good job of defending itself. The two guys doing the kicking didn’t look like they needed any help and that made it easier for him to decide which side he was on. Back in the States he would have just walked straight on by, as there was a good chance that at least one of the people was going to be armed. Over here though, the chances of that were far less likely, but still a possibility. Even then they would be far more likely to be carrying knives than guns.