Excerpt 4. . .Page 3

BLOOD RAVEN’S LAST BATTLE PRINCE
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Two warriors on horseback approached, carrying between the two horses what seemed to be something heavy and wrapped in russet. Within a single warrior’s breath, the russet cloth dropped. Out rolled the bloody, hacked remains of Coll, with Phylip’s head rolling up to Crotair’s feet. The two mounted warriors, in cold despise, turned and proudly trotted their horses away.

Everyone stood on guard, waiting for Machraith’s signal to attack. But no. King Machraith just stood, his nostrils flaring while his body and face started to tremble in madness.

Cadfael shoved his way through his brothers and the wolfhounds, the wolfhounds uncharacteristically bearing teeth, ready to attack as well. “Finish your business quickly, or Brenin Merchiaun won’t have any warriors returning to him,” Cadfael blatantly challenged, his demeanor commanding, forcible, restrained, dominant.

Another warrior, with his charioteer, rode forth on a chariot pulled by two muscle-bound black horses. To everyone’s bewilderment, the warrior got off the chariot and sardonically summoned Ronan.