Excerpt 1

BLOOD RAVEN’S LAST BATTLE PRINCE
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Tad (Father), the treachery you’ve wrought against your own Briton blood will die with you. The crimson gush of your own slain race you’ve flooded into Britannia’s rivers will burn into your memory upon night’s immortal birth, and there, in the empty shadows of your bedchamber, will you beg death’s abandoned mercy to cut you with its cold sickle! Your righteous indignation, your deceit and your sedition drives the hatred in my blood to end you, to spill your blood into the rivers flowing with the innocent blood of children you’ve never known,” Vortimer mutinously threatened his wizened father, High King of Britain, Vitalinus.

“Know this, old man,”—he broke off as he walked toward the heavily armed Saxon guards standing at the snake brass-hinged elaborately carved oak doors depicting, in curvilinear spirals of grace, the war god, Camulos, driving proud a horse-drawn chariot—“that never again will the Saxons win a battle. Never again will another Saxon spill the blood of a Celt! Ni, not while I breathe!”