IV Dead Men Ride (#litres_trial_promo)
V In Search of Holy England (#litres_trial_promo)
VI Night in Gehenna (#litres_trial_promo)
VII Requiem (#litres_trial_promo)
VIII Dominion (#litres_trial_promo)
PART SEVEN PILGRIMS (#litres_trial_promo)
I Liberation (#litres_trial_promo)
II Inferno (#litres_trial_promo)
III The Rage of Killing (#litres_trial_promo)
IV Mystic and Severe (#litres_trial_promo)
V Hell’s Ditch (#litres_trial_promo)
VI Winter Runes (#litres_trial_promo)
PART EIGHT WARRIORS (#litres_trial_promo)
I Forgotten Ground (#litres_trial_promo)
II On the White Hill (#litres_trial_promo)
III Saint and Sorceress (#litres_trial_promo)
IV Reprisal Weapons (#litres_trial_promo)
V The Saying of the Swords (#litres_trial_promo)
VI Wilderness (#litres_trial_promo)
VII Black Cavalry (#litres_trial_promo)
VIII Hard Standing (#litres_trial_promo)
IX Legion (#litres_trial_promo)
X Snake (#litres_trial_promo)
PART NINE RAVENS (#litres_trial_promo)
I Book of Shadows (#litres_trial_promo)
II The Betrayed (#litres_trial_promo)
III The Field of Blades (#litres_trial_promo)
IV The Cat, the Wolf and the Dog (#litres_trial_promo)
V Scorpion Gate (#litres_trial_promo)
VI The Fire of the Dove (#litres_trial_promo)
VII The End of the River (#litres_trial_promo)
VIII A Roof for a Skyful of Stars (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
So Close that There Is Nothing in Between (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Other Books By (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_4826d1de-88ec-50fc-9775-24631df45aae)
RISING SIGNS (#ulink_4826d1de-88ec-50fc-9775-24631df45aae)
(1989) (#ulink_4826d1de-88ec-50fc-9775-24631df45aae)
As touching the terrors of the night, they are as many as our sins. The night is the Devil’s black book, wherein he recordeth all our transgressions.
Thomas Nashe
She had no truck with horoscopes. No way could someone’s future be predicted by the stars. And yet, as Frances glanced at them with casual disinterest, her own was written there for her to see.
The sky tonight was orange and polluted, but frosty sparks were showing here and there. The only shapes she recognized were two her mum had shown her – out in the back, one bedtime, long ago. From the flyover embankment, she could see them well enough. The Great Bear, rising upward from the dark fields to the north; and setting in the west, the Northern Cross.
Cars passed fitfully, racing westward through the night; the junction left behind before they knew it. In the lengthy gaps between them, the dark and silent countryside drew closer. Fran turned on the spot, then pulled back her glove to check her watch. Just past midnight. They’d got here first this time.
Wrapping her long coat closer, she went back to the car. It was parked up a service road, just short of the underpass. The others had sat tight; she didn’t blame them. Paul leaned across to open the passenger door, and she climbed in, drawing a shivery breath between her teeth.
‘Anything?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Dead quiet.’
