Endless Knot

R Lawhead Stephen

Description

The balance is not restored. The knot--the endless knot--is still unraveling.Fires rage in Albion: strange, hidden fires, dark-flamed, invisible to the eye. Having ascended the throne as Albion's High King, Llew Silver Hand takes the beautiful Goewyn for his queen. But in the midst of their joyous union, treachery is in the making, forcing Llew to choose between the honor of his kingship and the desire of his heart. The Brazen Man has defied Llew's sovereignty, and Llew must journey to the Foul Land to redeem his greatest treasure. There, as the fabric of two worlds unravels, Llew hurtles headlong toward a final conflict with the Brazen Man. In the balance hangs not only the fate of Goewyn but also the very life-song of Albion, contained within the mystical Singing Stones.The ancient Celts admitted no separation between this world and the Otherworld: the two were delicately interwoven, each dependent on the other. The Endless Knot crosses the thin places between this world and that, as Lewis Gillies begins his ultimate quest, striking the final resounding chord in the Song of Albion.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Historical fantasy
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Lion Hudson
• Date de parution: 19 juillet 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782640523
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE ENDLESS KNOT

STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD has established his name among the front ranks of contemporary fantasy writers. His novels bear the hallmarks of a master storyteller - compelling narrative, gripping suspense and awesome climax. Sales of his books have reached over two million copies worldwide.
Research for his Celtic-based novels led Lawhead, an American, to move to Oxford - where he now lives with his wife.
OTHER BOOKS BY STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD
King Raven Trilogy:
Hood
Scarlet
Tuck
Patrick, Son of Ireland
Celtic Crusades:
The Iron Lance
The Black Rood
The Mystic Rose
Byzantium
Song of Albion Trilogy:
The Paradise War
The Silver Hand
The Endless Knot
The Pendragon Cycle:
Taliesin
Merlin
Arthur
Pendragon
Grail
Avalon
Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra
Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome
Dream Thief
The Dragon King Trilogy:
In the Hall of the Dragon King
The Warlords of Nin
The Sword and the Flame
The Bright Empires Series:
The Skin Map
The Bone House
The Spirit Well
The Shadow Lamp (Sept 2013)
The Fatal Tree (Sept 2014)

To Jan Dennis
To find out more about Stephen R. Lawhead visit: www.stephenlawhead.com or: www.facebook.com/StephenRLawhead
Text copyright 1993 Stephen R. Lawhead This edition copyright 2013 Lion Hudson
The right of Stephen R. Lawhead to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Lion Fiction an imprint of Lion Hudson plc Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England www.lionhudson.com/lion
First edition 1993
ISBN 978 1 78264 051 6 e-ISBN 978 1 78264 052 3
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover illustration: Jonathan Roberts (iStockphoto: DaddyBit/Andrei Radzkou/Karolina Grabara)
1 Dark Flames

2 Three Demands

3 The Wedding Feast

4 A Fine Night s Work

5 Good Counsel

6 Cynan Two-Torcs

7 The Ravens Return

8 The Cylchedd

9 Alban Ardduan

10 The Great King s Son

11 The Boar Hunt

12 The Return of the King

13 The Aird Righ s Mill

14 Intruders

15 Child-Wealth

16 The Search

17 Night Ride

18 The Geas of Tre n ap Golau

19 Tir Aflan

20 The Siabur

21 The Sluagh

22 Yellow Coat

23 Crom Cruach

24 The High Tower

25 The Forest of the Night

26 Yr Gyrem Rua

27 Battle Awen

28 On the High Road

29 Fly, Raven!

30 Dead Voices

31 Bwgan Bwlch

32 Strangers

33 Return of the Wanderer

34 The Trap

35 Tref-gan-Haint

36 Clash by Night

37 The Hero Feat

38 Bright Fire

39 The Endless Knot

A Conversation with Stephen Lawhead
Since all the world is but a story, it were well for thee to buy the more enduring story, rather than the story that is less enduring.
THE JUDGMENT OF ST COLUM CILLE (St Columba of Scotland)
Hear, O Son of Albion, the prophetic word:
Sorrow and be sad, deep grief is granted Albion in triple measure. The Golden King in his kingdom will strike his foot against the Rock of Contention. The Worm of fiery breath will claim the throne of Prydain; Llogres will be without a lord. But happy shall be Caledon; the Flight of Ravens will flock to her many-shadowed glens, and ravensong shall be her song.
When the Light of the Derwyddi is cut off, and the blood of bards demands justice, then let the Ravens spread their wings over the sacred wood and holy mound. Under Ravens wings a throne is established. Upon this throne a king with a silver hand.
In the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass for a wonder. Let the sun be dull as amber, let the moon hide her face: abomination stalks the land. Let the four winds contend with one another in dreadful blast; let the sound be heard among the stars. The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds; the essence of Albion is scattered and torn among contending winds.
The seas will rise up with mighty voices. Nowhere is there safe harbour. Arianrhod sleeps in her sea-girt headland. Though many seek her, she will not be found. Though many cry out to her, she cannot hear their voices. Only the chaste kiss will restore her to her rightful place.
Then shall rage the Giant of Wickedness, and terrify all with the keen edge of his sword. His eyes will flash forth fire; his lips shall drip poison. With his great host he will despoil the island. All who oppose him will be swept away in the flood of wrongdoing that flows from his hand. The Island of the Mighty will become a tomb.
All this by the Brazen Man is come to pass, who likewise mounted on his steed of brass works woe both great and dire. Rise up, Men of Gwir! Fill your hands with weapons and oppose the false men in your midst! The sound of the battleclash will be heard among the stars of heaven and the Great Year will proceed to its final consummation.
Hear, O Son of Albion: Blood is born of blood. Flesh is born of flesh. But the spirit is born of Spirit, and with Spirit evermore remains. Before Albion is One, the Hero Feat must be performed and Silver Hand must reign.

Banf ith of Ynys Sci
A fire rages in Albion. A strange, hidden fire, dark-flamed, invisible to the eye. Seething and churning, it burns, gathering flames of darkness into its hot black heart. Unseen and unknown, it burns.
These flames of darkness are insatiable; they grow, greedy in their spreading, consuming all, destroying all. Though the flames cannot be seen, the heat scorches and singes, searing flesh and bone alike; it saps the strength, and withers the will. It blisters virtue, corrodes courage; it turns love and honour to hard, dark embers.
The dark fire is an evil and ancient enemy, older than the earth. It has no face, no body, limbs, or members to be engaged and fought, much less quenched and conquered. Only flames, insidious tongues, and hidden dark sparks that blow and scatter, blow and scatter on every fretful wind.
And nothing can endure the dark fire. Nothing can stand against the relentless, scathing corruption of the unseen flames. It will not be extinguished until all that exists in this worlds-realm is dead cold ash.

The oxhide at the door rippled as Tegid Tathal stepped into the hut. His quick eyes searched the darkness; he could see again. His blindness had been healed, or at least transmuted somehow into vision by the renewing waters of the lake. For he saw me sitting in the straw on the floor, and he asked, What are you doing?
Thinking, I replied, flexing the fingers of my silver hand one by one. That hand! Beauty made tangible in fine, flawless silver. A treasure of value beyond imagining. A gift to me - a warrior s compensation, perhaps - from a deity with a most peculiar sense of humour. Most peculiar.
Tegid assures me that it is the gift of Dagda Samildanac, the Swift Sure Hand himself. He says it is the fulfilment of a promise made by the lord of the grove. The Swift Sure Hand, by his messenger, granted Tegid his inner sight, and gave me my silver hand.
Tegid observed me curiously while my thoughts drifted. And what are you thinking about? he said at last.
About this, I raised my metal hand. And fire, I told him. Dark fire.
He accepted this without question. They are waiting for you outside. Your people want to see their king.
I had to get away for a while. I had to think.
The sound of merrymaking was loud outside; the victory celebration would continue for days. The Great Hound Meldron was defeated and his followers brought to justice, the drought was broken, and the land restored. The happiness of the survivors knew no bounds.
I did not share their happiness, however. For the very thing that secured their safety and gave wings to their joy meant that my sojourn in Albion had come to an end. My task was finished and I must leave - though every nerve and sinew in me cried against leaving.
Tegid moved nearer and, so that he would not be speaking down to me, knelt. What is wrong?
Before I could answer, the oxhide lifted once again and Professor Nettleton entered. He acknowledged Tegid gravely, and turned to me. It is time to go, he said simply.
When I made no reply, he continued, Llew, we have discussed this. We agreed. It must be done - and the sooner the better. Waiting will only make it worse.
Tegid, regarding the small man closely, said, He is our king. As Aird Righ of Albion it is his right -
Please, Tegid. Nettleton shook his head slowly, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He stepped nearer and stared down at me. It is permitted no man to stay in the Otherworld. You know that. You came to find Simon and take him back, and you have done that. Your work is finished here. It is time to go home.
He was right; I knew it. Still, the thought of leaving cut me to the heart. I could not go. Back there I was nothing; I had no life. A mediocre foreign student, a graduate scholar woefully deficient in almost every human essential, lacking the companionship of men and the love of a woman; a perpetual academic with no purpose in life save to scrounge the next grant and hold off the day of reckoning, to elude life beyond the cocooning walls of Oxford s cloisters.
The only real life I had ever known was here in Albion. To leave would be to die, and I could not face that.
But I have something more to do here, I countered, almost desperately. I must have - otherwise, why give me this? I lifted my silver hand; the cold metal appendage gleamed dully in the darkness of the hut, the intricate tracery of its finely wrought surface glowing gold against the soft white of silver.
Come, the professor said, reaching down to pull me up. Do not make it more difficult than