PREFACE
From the last chapter of the novel “Lord of the Shadows”:
Just as Sean was pulled halfway to his feet, an armored figure suddenly materialized before them.
William Marshal’s face was grim as he beheld his mighty Shadow Lord. It seemed that beyond his shock he looked rather ill, but he steeled himself admirably. He, too, had entered the breach in the Bell Tower and had, in fact, gone searching for de Lara to congratulate him on a task well done. The Tower had fallen just as they had planned. But he found sorrow instead.
In truth, he was not surprised; disappointed, but not surprised. He shoved the old physic out of the way and took hold of Sean’s right arm.
“We must get him out of here,” The Marshal said gravely. “Where are you planning on taking him?”
Gilby, the physic, gestured to the buildings off to his right. “Back to his apartments.”
The Marshal shifted Sean’s weight, putting Sean’s enormous arm over his shoulders. “’Tis not safe, Gilby,” he snapped softly. “We must get him out of the Tower.”
Gilby looked at The Marshal, a man he had served for many years. “He’ll not survive a drastic move,” he told him plainly. “He has lost too much blood.”
“He will die if he stays here.”
“He will die if we transport him any lengthy distance.”
By this time, Sheridan was sobbing softly. She was next to Guy, trying to help support her husband’s weight, but the argument between Gilby and The Marshal was too much for her to take. Sean, scarcely conscious, tried to touch her with the big arm slung across Guy’s shoulders.
“’Tis all right, sweetling,” he mumbled thickly. “Do not weep.”
Sheridan struggled to stop, wiping at her damp cheeks. The group of them managed to half-carry, half-drag Sean for several feet when Gilby suddenly came to a halt. This caused William to bash into him, an irritable snap on his lips. But it died in his throat when he saw the look on Gilby’s face. The old man was looking up at the White Tower.
Several of the king’s guards were pouring from the south entry on the second floor, descending the stairs with weapons drawn. Behind them, delineated in the moonlight, came the small, cloaked figure of the king. The man was surrounded by soldiers and a pair of knights. It was apparent that they had chosen this moment to remove the king from the Tower. The Marshal hissed at Father Simon.
“Get Lady de Lara out of here,” he commanded quietly, authoritatively. “If he sees her, he will take her. Guy, go with them. Remove the lady and her sister now!”
Guy didn’t hesitate. He moved from Sean’s side and grabbed Sheridan, who started to struggle. But one word from her husband stopped her.
“Sheridan.” His voice suddenly sounded strong and controlled. “Go with the Guy, sweetling. Go wherever he takes you. I will come for you as soon as I am able.”
She panicked. “But…!”
“Do this for my sake. Please, sweetling. Do it for me.”
Sheridan could see the men coming down from the Tower and she realized that there was no time for her to plead. Not this time. Too many lives depended on her cooperation. The time for separation had come and she was anguished with the thought. Turning swiftly to Sean, she put her hands on his face, convinced that this was to be her last look of the man for all time. No one would have guessed by looking at her that her heart had just exploded into a million painful little pieces.
“I will go,” she murmured. “Remember how much I love you.”
“And I love you,” he whispered.
“Promise we will be together again.”
“You are my angel and I will be with you, and no other, in this life and beyond.”
“Come on, Sheridan,” Guy was tugging at her urgently. “We must go now.”
She knew that. With a final look to sustain her, she kissed him again and was gone. Sean watched her fade into the shadows near the Flint Tower with her sister, de Braose and the priest.
This time, it was Sean who wept.
And the story continues…
PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1215
Siege on the Tower of London
They were nearing the Flint Tower.
The breach of the Tower of London had thrown everything into chaos and the agents of William Marshal had followed their liege into the bailey on the hunt for one of their own.
Sean de Lara, who had made all things possible.
It had been Sean’s work for nine long years that had culminated in this moment – the breach of the Tower of London. But in doing so, word had come back to The Marshal that de Lara’s position had finally been compromised and that his role as a spy had been discovered. King John was fighting a losing battle against his barons and the Executioner Knights had moved with their armies to shore up the Tower and force the king into compliance.
But first, they had to find de Lara before John’s assassins did.
None of them was more aware of that than Kevin de Lara. It was his brother they were hunting for on this inky night, when friend and foe was so difficult to see because of the moonless sky. There were torches all over the grounds of the Tower of London to stave off the darkness, but it was still difficult.
Kevin was in a panic.
He was looking at every face, every figure, in the hunt for his brother. Around him, his friends and colleagues, were doing the same thing – searching, hunting, for the greatest spy in The Marshal’s stable. Somewhere in the process, they had lost sight of The Marshal himself, for the man seemed to have disappeared.
“This way!” Bric MacRohan, the big Irish knight who commanded the de Winter armies, was waving his arm. “To the White Tower! The king’s men are coming from the White Tower!”
He was shouting to the group behind him – Kevin as well as fellow elite knights. And what a group it was – seasoned, powerful, deadly. Men who had been fighting for more than twenty years in some cases. A few had even been to The Levant with King Richard and had learned the more deadlier, deceitful art of warfare.
The names hunting for Sean were some of the most feared and respected in England.
Dashiell du Reims, Cullen de Nerra, Maxton of Loxbeare, Kress de Rhydian, Achilles de Dere, and Caius d’Avignon were part of the group. These were the commanders of The Marshal’s stable of agents, but there were also secondary commanders with them – Morgan de Wolfe, Gareth de Llion, and even Peter de Lohr.
Peter’s father and uncle, Christopher and David de Lohr, had the largest combined army currently in battle. As the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, and the Earl of Canterbury respectively, Christopher and David had led the bulk of the attack that night.
Even now, Christopher was holding the Byward Tower entrance and David and his men were covering the Traitor’s Gate access point. They were joined by Sir Gart Forbes and his son, Romney de Moyon, Baron Buckland, and a contingent of war-hungry soldiers from Dunster Castle. In fact, it had been Gart and Romney who had first breached the Traitor’s Gate to gain entrance.
After that, everything had been madness.
There were so many allies, so many men involved, that it was like a gathering of the clans. Everyone was at the White Tower this night to ensure it fell into the hands of the barons who had been struggling against the injustice of John for the past several years. This was a hard-fought battle in a hard-fought war that had seen strife and casualties on both sides.