They had come to take lolo McFarlane. Opening his eyes, Adam saw Mallory and one of Raeburn's acolytes jerk the young Druid to his feet and hustle him, unresisting, over to the front of the altar. Raeburn was there already, kneeling down with the second bag of Adam's blood to trace a large triangle on the ground. Already drawn were two sides of a second, even larger triangle, scaled to define perhaps a two-foot border between the two.
After finishing the inner triangle, tracing it a second time to be sure there were no gaps, Raeburn handed off the bag to Mallory, who was standing by with the glassy-eyed lolo. As Raeburn rose, he pulled lolo to him, so that they both were standing in the open side of the outer triangle, facing the smaller one inside. Then, from the bosom of his robe, Raeburn produced an ancient and evil-looking dagger.
Its design proclaimed it to be the product of Pictish workmanship. Its aspect proclaimed it an object of power. As Adam gazed at it, he found himself suddenly remembering the tore which Raeburn's superior, the Head-Master, had worn at the height of his power, and knew the blade to be of kindred crafting and potency.
Raeburn, for the moment, was unmindful of anything outside his own intentions. With one arm braced around the shoulders of the oblivious lolo and the other directing the focus of his will into the dagger in his hand, he embarked upon a new chant. In contrast to the voice of the black priest, Raeburn's was deep and sibilant, a voice of subtle entrapment that ended on a note of command as he thrust the point of the dagger toward the heart of the inner triangle.
A mote of darkness materialized as if out of nowhere, winking once and then expanding with explosive suddenness into a pillar of smoke the height of a man. Churning, the smoke resolved at length into a shadowy humanoid figure with eyes like twin flames - a likeness that made Adam catch his breath, for he had seen the infernal spirit of William de Soulis reflected thus in the vision Andrew Kerr had shown him.
Raeburn took a step closer, holding the dagger between himself and the dark presence he had summoned.
"Welcome, Lord Soulis," he declared. "All that we agreed upon has been prepared. I bring you your new host - one I think you will approve of."
He indicated the passive, vacantly staring form of lolo swaying beside him. Soulis' ember eyes shifted.
This? The query reverberated beyond mere hearing. You deem this worthy? This creature has no fire in its soul.
"Not yet," Raeburn replied. "But the tinder is there, awaiting only your spark. And he has an illustrious ancestry - one which gives testimony to his potential. By direct descent, he is blood-kin to your own most bitter foe: Sir Andrew Kerr, of the Huntsmen of the Light, who imposed your sentence of banishment - the sentence I can rescind."
This disclosure of lolo's identity caused Soulis to rear up, his gaze glittering more brightly than before.
Of Kerr's bloodline, is he? Then he is, indeed, eminently acceptable. But why shows he so little regard for his fate?
"Your new host has been drugged to suppress his resistance," Raeburn explained. "I will have the appropriate antidote administered before you take up residence. And then you will give me what I want, before I grant you freedom."
Fire flickered in the ember eyes as Soulis appeared to consider the matter. Then the shadowy head gave a nod.
Very well.
Mallory had already produced a loaded hypo. Smiling mirthlessly, Raeburn forced lolo to his knees, twisting his neck to one side so Mallory could inject directly into the jugular.
lolo's eyelids fluttered. Letting him sink to his hands and knees, Raeburn and Mallory stepped back, and Raeburn closed off the third side of the outer triangle with a fresh infusion of blood. Then, with the point of the dagger, Raeburn stretched across to scratch a gap in the inner triangle, giving Soulis access to his host.
With an exultant hiss, Soulis burst the bounds of the inner triangle, reverting to fiery smoke as he surged over the vaguely stirring lolo. The young Druid shuddered from head to foot as Soulis took him, body arching backward against the violation, clawing hands clapped to his head as Soulis' essence forced access to the temple of his flesh. As the infestation was completed, lolo gave a single, strangled cry, then sank back on his hunkers, arms falling slack at his sides, his eyes going wholly blank.
Glittering life returned to the eyes with his next breath, but the light of conscious presence was that of Soulis, not lolo. Chuckling with lascivious delight, the black wizard drew himself to his knees, then staggered upright with feet wide-spraddled. His lips drew back in a terrible grin as he cast his burning gaze on Raeburn, speaking with lolo's voice.
"You may proceed with your preparations," he instructed. "I shall prepare myself to petition the Dark Powers, while this body regains its full strength."
He paused for a luxurious sigh, flexing his hands before running them possessively up and down lolo's body. Then he made an abrupt turn and dropped to both knees, abasing himself before the black altar with a raucous shout of exultation.
His cry shivered Adam to the bone, edging him closer to despair as, with sinking heart, he felt hard hands dragging him to his feet, throwing off his blanket to chivvy him forward with rough force. Behind the altar stood the black priest in his Satanic vestments, his eyes wide with mingled shock and awed anticipation. Beside him stood Raeburn.
The two acolytes were waiting to divest Adam of his robe. Though he tried weakly to resist, his body refused to obey him as he was stripped and hoisted up onto the altar, his wrists bound with cords of scarlet silk that then were drawn hard over the sides and secured to the wrought-iron candlesticks now set to either side of the altar's base. They left his feet unbound, but that hardly mattered, since his legs were numb from the cold, his body debilitated from the drugs and loss of blood; and he knew full well that escape - at least of his own devising - was now beyond any mortal hope.
Quivering with cold and shock, he fixed his gaze on the icy stars overhead, squinting against a light snowfall, and tried to offer up his prayers anew - for that was the only recourse that now remained. He tried not to hear as the black priest launched into a twisted parody of the Latin Preface to the Mass, turning his face away as Angela spread a square black cloth over the symbols she had painted on his chest in his blood, shuddering as she set chalice and paten there in readiness. He could feel a brooding Darkness building up around him, threatening to smother him, as the black priest spoke the words of Consecration and lifted the Elements in turn.
Against his will, unable to retreat into trance, Adam was then forced to witness the savage desecration of a Host, followed by the pollution of the Cup with a mixture of urine and his own blood - surely no valid profanation, a still defiant part of him reminded the part that cringed from this calculated sacrilege, for his higher self knew full well that only the Holy Spirit could will the transformation that made Sacrament of bread and wine - not any human agency. Nor could any man compel the descent of Spirit - not even a priest. Especially not this priest.
Trembling nonetheless - for Evil surely had been called down - Adam did his best to show no emotion as the black priest crumbled the desecrated Host above the chalice; but when the priest then turned to lift the cup toward Raeburn, an inadvertent gasp did escape his lips as the Lynx-Master produced two gold wedding bands and Adam's confiscated Adept ring, displaying them triumphantly before he dropped them one by one into the polluted cup.