''What, in God's name, is that?" he breathed, as Ximena buried her face against his shoulder.
"I don't think God has much to do with it," McLeod muttered in reply. "Take a closer look."
Following the line of the inspector's pointing finger, Peregrine saw that the cloud had eyes - twin lamps of infernal fire that flickered hungrily this way and that, as if searching for something to devour. Even as they watched, horrified, it began drifting westward into the darkness.
"It has to be some demon of Raeburn's summoning," McLeod continued in a tight voice. "Or maybe Soulis himself, somehow transformed. Pray God it wasn't at the expense of Adam; we've got to find him! And if Raeburn called that thing, I expect we're going to have to get at Raeburn to send it back."
As he was speaking, Duart ghosted out of the shadows behind them to crouch alongside.
"I think we've got the perimeter secured," he said. "My men have several prisoners. You ready to go get Sinclair?"
Summoning Peregrine and Ximena to follow, McLeod trotted after Duart toward the end of the hoardings. They were almost abreast of a gap when a clumsy shape suddenly burst out at them, whisking past McLeod with explosive speed. The inspector had a fleeting impression of a grinning, fang-mouthed face surmounted by a red cap before the creature made a break for open ground, bowling Peregrine over in the speed of its passage.
With a startled curse, Duart dropped to one knee and fired several bursts after it, but with no apparent effect. Recovering himself, McLeod set a restraining hand on Duart's arm.
"Save your ammunition," he ordered. "Finding Adam is our first priority."
The chapel's interior was awash with firelight behind the hoardings. First to make cautious entry, McLeod was not surprised to note a line of blood traced around the perimeter of the foundations, though it had been rubbed out near at hand by the scuffle of many feet. Whatever magical containment field it once had defined, that had since been broken by those attempting to escape from the demon that Raeburn had summoned.
But power of another sort stirred with McLeod's next step, as something seemed almost to shimmer in the air about him, accompanied by a sudden thudding in his head that reverberated behind his eyes. Gasping, he nearly dropped his weapon as he caught at a wall for balance. Peregrine almost trod on his heels.
"Noel?" he cried, as Ximena glanced over in alarm.
"I'm all right," McLeod said dazedly. "There's - ah - another Presence here, wanting in."
"What?" Ximena murmured, as Peregrine gripped the inspector's shoulder in alarm.
"Well, don't open up to it," the artist said. "We haven't a clue who it is!"
Just then, as Duart and one of his men slipped into the chapel to secure it, weapons at the ready, Ximena stifled a cry and pointed past them, eyes wide.
"Look!" she cried. "There!"
At the base of the altar, just visible through screening fire and smoke, two bodies could be seen sprawled one atop the other in the snow, a dark-haired and naked one sheltering another, who was, partially shrouded in a filthy white robe. One arm of the naked one was stretched taut above his head, caught all too close to the flames that were eating down a black altar-cloth spilling from the ruined altar above their heads.
"Adam!" McLeod cried, breaking into a run as the others, too, dashed after him, Peregrine muttering, "Dear God!"
"You two tend to Adam and the other one!" the inspector shouted to Ximena, himself ripping at the burning altar-cloth and starting to trample out the flames.
As Peregrine grabbed up a pair of blankets discarded amid a tangle of overturned chairs nearby, Ximena threw herself down beside her husband's prostrate form, thrusting trembling fingers hard against the side of his neck.
"He's breathing, and I've got a pulse," she reported, "but only just. He's probably in shock."
"Can I move him enough to get a blanket under him?" Peregrine asked, as she shifted to check the other figure. "He's lying in the snow."
"Try to untie his hand first, until I can check whatever other injuries he may have."
McLeod meanwhile scrambled to help Ximena turn the white-robed figure Adam had been shielding.
"It's young McFarlane!" he exclaimed.
"Is he dead?" Peregrine asked, worrying at the knots at Adam's wrist.
"No, but he isn't in great shape," Ximena replied, as Duart made his way over to them, accompanied by one of his men.
"We've found our missing Druid," McLeod announced. "They're both alive, but we could use your medic to assist."
"He's on his way," Duart replied, listening to his headset. "The second pilot took a hit, but - "
As he spoke, the night was pierced by the mechanical whine of a helicopter starting up - but coming from the other side of the chapel from where the Lynx had landed.
"What the devil?" Duart muttered, as his trooper swung his MP5 in that direction and broke into a run.
Simultaneously, automatic-weapons fire chattered from the vicinity of the sound, but the engine noise strengthened even as Duart, too, swung on his heel and started toward it, only to almost collide with Harry and another SAS man.
"Sorry, boss," the trooper panted, "but a couple of these bastards managed to get to their chopper. Kinsey is cranking up ours."
As he spoke, Raeburn's helicopter rose up from the north side of the chapel in a boiling whirlwind of snow and immediately headed west. Shouting to make himself heard over the noise of the engine, Harry, said, "Want me to do something about this? Sounds like you're down one pilot."
Duart peered at him through eyes narrowed against the gale. "D'you think you're up to it?"
"Up to it?" Harry retorted with a tight grin. "Remind me to show you my Falkland medals someday, laddie. Or come and watch me put a Spit through her paces."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
CLOSE by the base of the altar, Adam roused sluggishly to an awareness that several people were calling him by name. Something warm was being wrapped around him, and he could feel deft fingers tugging at the cord imprisoning his wrist as someone else lifted his feet to rest on something soft.
"Oh, Adam, Adam, don't do this to me!" said a voice he recognized as Ximena's, as pressure constricted around the bicep of his free arm. "Please say something!"
As the knots at his wrist gave way, his left hand dropped limply to the ground, but the impact was enough to rouse him further. Forcing his heavy eyelids to open, he found himself squinting against the glare of a powerful torch. As it was turned quickly aside, the sight of Ximena, Peregrine, and McLeod nearly caused him to lose consciousness again, out of sheer relief.
Then he remembered what he had to tell them, and forced himself back from the abyss. Nearby, an SAS medic had started working on lolo.
"Is this blood on his chest?" McLeod growled, as Ximena pressed the bell of a stethoscope against Adam's inner elbow.
"I'm not bleeding," he managed to whisper, his free hand groping vaguely for a handful of snow. "Blood's mine, but they painted it on me. Marks of Taranis - got to scrub 'em off…"
"That's the least of your worries right now," Ximena muttered between tears and fury, as she pulled the stethoscope from her ears and dashed the snow from his hand. "Oh, Adam, what have they done to you?"
"Kept me pumped full of sedatives," he mumbled dazedly.
"All very slick. Took a lot of blood, too - more'n two units."
"Well, that's why your pressure is shit!" she retorted, already pulling items from her medical bag. "We've got to get you to a hospital, the sooner the better."