That simple act underscored Adam's helplessness far more insidiously than the more lofty desecration he had already been forced to witness. As his stunned gaze dimly tracked the cup to Raeburn's lips, marking the other's elation as he drank, dull despair eroded at Adam's will to keep resisting - so that he was almost taken by surprise when Raeburn lowered the cup, dragging the back of a hand across his mouth, then gave a minute signal to his acolytes.
Hard hands upon Adam's ankles and shoulders gave but scant warning of their intent. Physical resistance was useless; nevertheless he fought them feebly, at the same time groping in sluggish memory for words of spiritual defense.
"Accipe calicem voluptatis carnis, in nomine Domini In-fen," the black priest murmured, even as one of Raeburn's men seized Adam's head and held it while another forced his jaws apart and Raeburn moved in with the cup.
I believe in God the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Adam prayed, trying to shield himself in words from the baptismal rite in the Book of Common Prayer. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of Life. I reject Satan and all his lies, and all his works and all his empty promises -
He started choking as Raeburn poured a goodly measure of the polluted wine down his throat. Gagging, he felt some of it start to explode through his nose, but Raeburn seized the cloth from his chest and clamped it over his mouth and nose, holding it there relentlessly until anatomatic reflex forced his victim to swallow or pass out.
Adam swallowed and was released, a shudder of profound revulsion racking him from head to toe as he came up for air, gasping and coughing. Raeburn's spiteful laughter rang in his ears as a hand wiped a cloth across his mouth and nose. His heart was hammering against his ribs as he fell back, sick and faint.
I reject Satan and all his lies, and all his works and all his empty promises, he told himself again, eyes closed against his torturers. The essence of what is sacred cannot be sullied by any human agency, nor can the spirit be touched by anything that the will categorically refuses.
"Enough of fun and games, Master of the Hunt. Time now for a more potent sacrifice."
The words jolted Adam from his attempt to retreat, bringing his focus back to Raeburn with a start. Raeburn's chill smile seemed to float above him as he moved the Lynx medallion back onto Adam's chest, centering it almost gently amid the symbols painted there in Adam's blood, that spelled out his doom. As strong hands again locked on Adam's ankles, Raeburn's gaze briefly locked upon his, mocking, then shifted to the Pictish dagger now glittering in his right hand. With almost caressing slowness, as if to draw the moment out, Raeburn slid his other hand under Adam's neck and tilted his head back to present the helpless throat.
As the black priest sidled closer, the chalice ready to catch the spilling of Adam's lifeblood, Raeburn slowly raised the dagger, his face contorting in a look of fervid exultation, lips moving in an offertory invocation that seemed to deepen the silence all around. Closing his eyes, Adam commended himself once again to the Light and braced himself to render up his spirit with courage, if this was indeed how he was destined to die.
"Goddammit, visibility's getting worse," Harry muttered, night-vision goggles giving him an alien appearance as he strained to see through the perspex of the chopper's windscreen. "We must be getting close, though. We passed Hawick five minutes back."
He was sitting in the co-pilot's seat of the chopper, next to Kinsey, the senior SAS pilot. Crouching behind them, McLeod and Duart were likewise scanning the darkness. Below them, a powerful searchlight beam from the chopper was illuminating a narrow, snow-edged road meandering southward along Whi-trope Burn, another sweeping the countryside off to their left. According to their maps, the Nine Stane Rig lay somewhere in that direction, perhaps half a mile off the road, just past the place where an unpaved track joined the road they were following. In the dark, following a road was the only way to find what they were looking for - and even this way seemed woefully inadequate, as half a dozen pairs of eyes continued to search ahead and to either side.
"I'm not seeing anything," Duart said, scanning with infrared binoculars. "Noel, are you sure they'll be out in the open?"
"No, I'm not," McLeod replied, braced between the two pilot seats. "And if they aren't, I doubt we have a prayer of finding them."
"Then, let's concentrate on finding what we can see," Duart said. "If they're outside - which follows, if they're using an ancient site like the Nine Stane Rig - there'll have to be some lights showing where there shouldn't be lights - which means just about everywhere out there that isn't on a road - and there aren't many roads out here. This isn't a highly populated area. But I sure don't see anything near where the Nine Stane Rig should be. Do you have any idea how big it is? Stonehenge size?"
"I haven't a clue," McLeod muttered.
"Could they be at Hermitage, then?" Peregrine asked. "That's certainly associated with Soulis, and it's only a mile or so further on. If it's ruined enough - no roof - lights inside might show. And we can find the castle by following the road."
"I can have you there in two or three minutes," Kinsey said over his shoulder. "Do you want to check it out? There's nothing out here."
Raeburn's satanic offertory was drawing to a close, its cadence quickening with Adam's racing pulse. But stretched helpless upon that unholy altar, all in the sinking space between one heartbeat and the next, Adam suddenly sensed another presence looming opposite Raeburn - felt icy dread clutch at his heart with paralyzing force, even as something far worse began to probe at his soul. In a vain attempt to throw off the assault, instinct arched his back in violent denial - visceral reflection of his inner revulsion as he felt what shreds of spiritual defense he yet possessed being sounded with irresistible strength.
The instant of penetration was more brutal than any physical violation - and over almost before it began. It drew a scream to his lips that could find no voice as, still quaking, he forced his lids apart to behold the soul-destroying smile of William de Soulis.
In that stunned instant of eye contact, while a shocked part of Adam noted that Soulis apparently was no longer constrained by Raeburn's triangle, a more dispassionate part of him sensed that he was in the presence of a black Adept more powerful than any he had ever encountered - far more powerful than Raeburn, though it was doubtful that Raeburn recognized as much.
And Adam was certain of one thing more, in that shivering infinity before he wrenched his gaze away. Whatever bargain Soulis and Raeburn might have struck, Soulis was merely awaiting the chance to dishonor it.
But Raeburn was finishing his offertory chant, his hand behind Adam's neck thrusting the throat upward even as his blazing eyes followed the slow, glittering descent of the ancient blade sweeping downward to deliver the coup de grace.
Except that Soulis suddenly intervened physically, diverting the death-stroke with a decisive sweep of lolo's forearm "Hold!"
The tone stopped Raeburn as much as the word or the outstretched arm. Panting with frustrated bloodlust, he glared at Soulis with hot eyes.
"Hold? Why?" he rasped.
Soulis' response was cool, but colder still was the hand he brought to rest atop the lynx medallion around Adam's neck, the fingers wide-splayed to caress the symbols painted on the chest of his chosen oblation.
"I find the body of this man better suited to my needs than the one you chose for me. I will have it - or none. Render another to the Prince of Darkness."