The Crimson Lion was not really crimson. That was a misnomer coined many generations before by some long-forgotten cataloguer of royal gems. The man had gotten his terminology twisted, and the name had stuck.

In reality, the Crimson Lion was the Haldane arms: a golden lion rampant guardant on a crimson enamel background, on the face of a massive brooch the size of a man’s fist. Gold-etched scrollwork traced the deeply carved edges of the piece—the work, again, of the fine craftsmen of the Concaradine.

The heavy clasp of the brooch rattled slightly as Kelson carefully lifted the brooch from its bed of black velvet, and Duncan sat down again and pulled the parchment of the ritual verse before him.

Now that the Eye of Rom can see the light,
Release the Crimson Lion in the night.
With sinister hand unflinching, Lion’s Tooth
Must pierce the flesh and make the Power right.

Kelson peered hard at the brooch, then held out his left hand.

“With sinister hand unflinching. That part is clear enough, but . . .”

Looking suddenly appalled, he set the brooch gingerly back on the table, both hands beginning to tremble. “Look, Morgan. The Gwynedd lion is rampant guardant. It faces toward us.”

Morgan looked puzzled. “So?”

“Don’t you understand?” Kelson continued. “Rampant guardant is the one heraldic configuration where the lion faces outward, toward the viewer. And that means the Gwynedd Lion has no tooth!”

Morgan frowned and picked up the brooch. “No tooth? But that’s impossible. If there’s no tooth, there’s no ritual. And, if there’s no ritual . . .”

Kelson gingerly touched the brooch again, then stared unseeing at the polished tabletop. There was no need for Morgan to complete his sentence, for Kelson already knew the answer. And the enunciation of that answer chilled him worse than anything he had ever known. For there was only one way to complete the sentence: If there was no ritual, he would die.

CHAPTER EIGHT - “In the unknown lies terror, and in the night, deceit.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“In the unknown lies terror, and in the night, deceit.”

NO tooth on the Lion of Gwynedd! No tooth on the Crimson Lion!

Duncan reached for the brooch, took it in his two hands, and ran his thumbs over the lion figure as he mulled over the seeming inconsistency. Somewhere—he did not remember where; perhaps it had been one of those obscure and highly technical treatises on the ancient magic that he had read many years ago—somewhere, he seemed to recall something of this sort, some detail about double meanings, figures of speech, standard requisites for—yes!

Turning the brooch over, he lightly fingered the heavy clasp of the ornament, his eyes not focused on it as he murmured, “Yes, of course. There is always the obscure riddle, the obstacle, the need for bravery.”

Morgan rose slowly, his face taut with suspicion as he, too, divined the meaning of the verse.