Lammas night

by Katherine Kurtz

  He had them join hands around him and run through a brief breathing exercise first, for it was best always to begin with the familiar when about to embark upon the unknown. Palms upturned and relaxed upon his knees, he closed his eyes and let himself center, gradually settling to a solid working depth and reaching out with his mii.d. He could feel the psychic links beginning to mesh around him as the group stilled and attuned to one another in the ancient, time-worn patterns. Slowly, he began reeling them in, shaping their offerings to his will, teasing their potentials into the necessary channels.

  He sensed that his guidance was a little sluggish at first, but he found his stride quickly, soon nudging the proper balance and compensations into play without the need for conscious thought of how to do it. With increasing confidence, he recombined their individual resonances, plaiting the energies into different configurations and getting their feel, testing, gradually binding the bright strands into a smooth, cohesive beam, ready for focus. He could feel the power rising in a steadily growing cone of brightness above their heads as he stretched and contracted the cords of power, trying their limits and his own controls and searching for weaknesses. There were a few, as he had known there must be, but with luck and a little skill he thought he could work around them.

  When all his resources had been tallied and set in the sequences he wanted, he withdrew enough to slip Dieter's measure from his robe and close it in his right hand. The silk felt warm against his palm now, throbbing with power, to his heightened senses. Slowly, so as not to jar himself physically from the psychic detachment he had already achieved, he lay back and stretched his legs and body out across the circle, bare feet slipped close between Audrey and Geoffrey and his head in Alix's lap. Her hands were cool on his temples, Ellis and Selwyn like pure white flames guarding him to either side, the cold of the sword blade along his left arm balancing the growing warmth of the measure in his other hand as he closed his eyes and eased back into full rapport.

  A moment he spared for one final, fleeting thought of William and Michael, alone and unaware at Windsor, then returned his intent to the skein of scarlet silk now resting feather light in his flaccid hand. As he began reaching into the measure for the psychic strands that would lead him back to Dieter, he was aware of the potential of the group's power surrounding and protecting him like shielding wings of sun and starlight.

  William and Michael, unaware of the change of plans at Oakwood, were only then making their way toward the Garter Chapel. By the time they fmally arrived at Windsor, answered yet more questions about the afternoon's misadventure, and could escape for a casual walk and a smoke inside the castle grounds, it was already ten o'clock—far later than they had planned.

  Even then they must go warily. They chatted with .several guards as they worked their way into the lower ward, William confiding to the last one that the day's events had made him far too edgy to sleep and that he thought he and his aide might

  stroll about the grounds for several hours. He tossed his cigarene as they moved oo, boA of them listening for the guard to change directioo and head away before they slipped into the pOTch between the Albert MenK>rial and the east end of the chapel. The chapel door was locked, but VNHliam had a key.

  They paused to listen just inside the door before locking it again, eyes and ears straining into the darkness, but nothing stirred. Pale illumination from a presence lamp inside the sanctuary spilled across a threshold ahead and to their left, but the single light source did little to dispell the dark even when their eyes adjusted. Furtively, they ht the extra candles they carried, shielding the flames with their hands as they began creeping down the north aisle on quiet nibber soles.

  They parted at the transept, where William headed toward the entrance to the choir, for they had agreed that the choir, with its profound Garter associations, should be the exclusive province of the prince. As Michael receded dovMi the nave in a faint glow of candlelight to find some other place. William moved through the choir doorway and set his candle on one of the tiles at his feet, quietly closing the doors behind him.

  It was not that be did not trust Michael: nor would closing the doors prevent Michael from entering by the east end if he really wanted or needed. But William sensed that his overt part in tonight's work was somehow Garter business as much as any incidental support he might conceivably give to Gray's endeavor. He had even brought his Garter, though he had only dim notions why. He could feel its metal fittings cold against one palm as he shoved his hands in his pockets and cupped the coil of It for reassurance.

  With his back against the ancient doors, he let his mind rove back across the centuries of Garter history encompassed by these walls while his eyes sought newer clues in the shadows. The carved stalls to either side loomed dark and indistiiKt beneath their canopies and banners; the expanse of black aiKl white floor tile extended from the pool of candlehght at his feet into the dimmer reaches of sanctuary and presence lamp guarding the high altar. He pulled the Garter from his pocket, fingering the velvet and silk and gold thoughtfully, and was reminded of what Gray had said about the Ganer Knights of long ago bowing first to the King, who embodied the Living God, and then to the Resurrected God symbolized by the light above the altar.

  He glanced at the Sovereign's stall, so close on his right that he easily could have reached out to touch it, and he thought about the two god-kings, living and resurrected, as he continued to play with the Garter in his hand—the Garter Gray said was also an emblem of magical rank.

  He knelt to retrieve his candle then; but before he rose, he paused to glance up at the Sovereign's stall again, dipping his head in deliberate salute before moving on toward his own place on the other side. He made a proper reverence toward the altar before mounting the three shallow steps, but he thought it rather interesting that he had, indeed, felt—not compelled but— inclined to offer acknowledgment to the living king first.

  He gave the idea more sober reflection as he knelt to pray, setting his candle on the edge of the prayer desk in front of him and laying out the Garter flat. His watch read half-past ten. He wondered what Gray was doing.

  Graham still had not made his link with Dieter, though through a fleeting touch he sensed that the reason was benign, having to do with the danger of Dieter's location at present, and not with any duplicity. It was still a little while before the German working was scheduled to begin; Dieter would not wish to risk tipping his hand too soon. As Sturm's black lodge gathered, it would be all too easy for one of them to catch anything more than a very brief contact, just as Ellis had detected Wells's less adept attempt that night at Laurelgrove.

  Graham pulled back and cast about more randomly for a while, first in the direction of Germany, to see whether Dieter was ready for him yet, and then over Britain itself, to monitor the progress of the grand coven. The latter's cone of power rose gradually and carefully over the island like a slowly unfolding umbrella of faint blue light, discernible only from the Second Road and then only to those who knew exactly what to look for—stronger each time Graham returned. As he shifted his focus out over the land, it seemed to him that the very hills and fields and ancient stones took up the pulse and rhythm, shaping the power, forging the will of Britain:

  You cannot come. .. .The Channel cannot be crossed Useless to try You will fail, you will fail You cannot come... . You cannot come Heartened despite his own coming trial, Graham basked in that rhythm for a short while, even eking out a little of the Oakwood energy to assist it, though he dared not spare too much, with his own work still ahead. All too soon, it was time to narrow and extend his focus, to head once more for that other land across the water. As he began to move—and then so quickly that he almost missed it—he caught the clear, familiar beacon of the much-missed Michael, raising his own modest nexus of solitary power and offering it triumphantly to Graham's use despite the separation of miles: a shining spindle of new energy to add to the strands already issuing out of Oakwood, while his body lay curled in a tight fet
al ball in a comer of a side chapel at Windsor.

  Graham was able to impart only a hazy notion of their altered plans, but Michael never faltered. Gratefully, Graham bound the new energy into the existing strands to fashion an even deeper reserve of power, feeling the joy of the rest at Oakwood in an almost physical ache as they sensed Michael's presence among them, A moment more Graham tarried before leaving Windsor, hovering protectively over the bowed figure of William at his prayers, brushing the shy, shaky tendril of the prince's concentration with a fierce affection—for this man, as much as any other reason, was why Graham went forth to do battle with the enemy tonight, whether that enemy be Dieter or those even Dieter feared.

  Then, with Dieter's measure in his hand and his heart resigned to death if it would save the man kneeling at Windsor, Graham stretched his mind along the strands that led to the measure's owner, speeding back toward Germany and his destiny, where the enemy waited.

  His quarry played no game of coy avoidance this time. When the contact came, Graham found himself sucked into the link so swiftly that there was no time for caution, drawn as much by liis own volition as by Dieter's sheer force of will. He did not try to resist Dieter, for in case the German played them false, Graham had damped the full potential of his strength and held some in reserve. With that edge, there was a chance of getting out alive despite Dieter's incredible control.

  But Dieter seemed open enough, even if the bonding wavered a little in the first few seconds as the two weighed one another and Dieter tested his control. At first, Graham could sort out only tactile impressions: the rough texture of Dieter's robe, the grit of sand beneath boots as he descended a spiraling stone stairway, the sleek chill of a newel post trailing past his fingertips as he kept circling down, down....

  But then, as Dieter paused before a massive entry way, catching the weight of an ill-balanced door against his palms as it started to swing shut, Graham could suddenly see through Dieter's eyes.

  His vision was somewhat restricted by the mask that Dieter, like the men around him, wore over the upper part of his face. In the dim-lit hall into which Dieter now entered, Graham could sense perhaps twenty or thirty more men waiting in an unnatural silence. Sturm had told his inner circle that they would be joined by a few others tonight, the better to protect the Führer, but he had also brought them from Vogelsang to the Berghof, Hitler's own mountain eyrie in Berchtesgaden. The new location made Dieter uneasy.

  The newcomers raised his hackles, too, as he eased into the room with them. Most of them wore uniforms beneath their robes, collar tabs showing the lightning runes of the SS or the silver death's heads of the Totenkopf Division —hard-eyed men with the short-clipped hair, lean bodies, and arrogant bearing of Hitler's crack elite. Dieter despised them. Abruptly, Graham was sure that Dieter had not been lying, at least about his affiliation with the black lodge. The German master magician, whatever his personal justification for what he had done in the past, hated these men with a vehemence that exceeded even Graham's own.

  Dieter sensed Graham's new perspective at once, and in that instant, his hold on their link shifted almost imperceptibly from one of iron control to one approaching partnership, though it still was Dieter who would direct. The German now turned his attention to a brisk but thorough survey of the chamber and its inhabitants to enable Graham to get his bearings. At the same time, he probed subtly for a closer reading of the potential Graham might tap. Graham ignored the probe, concentrating instead on his own orientation, and after a moment, Dieter subsided. Graham caught a distinct impression of resigned mirth.

  The chamber was much larger than Graham first had thought—long and narrow, with a barrel-vaulted ceiling nearly lost in shadow, but it had the same heavy feel of that other room in Vogelsang. The air smelled just a little stale; the red-tile floor was not quite damp beneath Dieter's boots. The walls bore the same kind of red, black, and white hangings, but they fell limply in this stillness, the lower edges weighted with a hint of condensation.

  No torches guttered on these walls. Instead, squat black candles in holders as high as a man's waist formed a large circle at one end of the vaulted hall. At the center of the circle stood a chair draped with the same red, black, and white of the walls. A few of the men were already gathering around it in expectation.

  At some prearranged signal that Graham did not catch, the-rest of the men began to congregate inside the circle as well. He flinched with Dieter at the dark chill as they passed between the black candles and took a place in the first row of a triple ring. After a long silence, increasingly oppressive, a door opened at the other end of the hall, and all eyes turned in that direction.

  The men who entered were black-robed like the rest, the first two bearing torches whose light somehow did not illuminate the masked faces inside the raised hoods. Behind them, two more half led and half carried a bound and naked figure whose superficial resemblance to William was so startling that Graham's psychic gasp almost provoked a physical reaction from Dieter. The man's arms were lashed cruelly behind his back, but he seemed not to feel the pain his bonds must surely have caused him or to notice his surroundings.

  Drugged, came the reason, as Dieter caught a glimpse of the eyes.

  Another man walking behind the sacrifice—for such he surely was—bore a large golden chalice with handles on either side.

  Sickened, Graham flashed for an instant on the old photographs, for he knew the man's intended fate, but no reaction came from Dieter. The German's attention was locked firmly on the last two figures in the procession, shocked astonishment growing as the first two entered the circle.

  One of the final men was Sturm—the same heavy-set figure, the same casual assurance of motion, the same scar extending below the mask, the same rune-carved dagger held before him as if in salute. It was the other man who caused Dieter to stiffen minutely as he watched, fear mingling with surprise even as a murmur of anticipation and awe rippled among the men surrounding them.

  Black-robed and masked like Sturm but not so tall and perhaps a little more lightly built, there was no mistaking the walk, the arrogance of bearing, the mad, hypnotic glitter of the eyes, the telltale mustache that bristled below the mask.

  It was the Führer himself!

  Chapter 22

  IN REFLEX HORROR, GrAHAM REBOUNDED FROM THE LINK with Dieter and slammed back into his own body, curling onto his side with a groan and gasping for breath as he struggled to sit up. His eyelids felt like lead as he fought to open them, and even when he succeeded, he kept seeing the hated image in his mind and feh the panic rising.

  "What is it?" Alix whispered, seizing his shoulders with a little shake as she turned him around to face her. "Gray, what's happened? Are you all right?"

  ''He's got Hitler himself in there tonightV" Graham gasped, his voice harsh and rasping as he tried to bring her into focus. "Goddamn bloody sonofabitch!"

  "Who, Dieter?" Selwyn demanded.

  "No, Sturml He didn't warn anybody in advance. God, I'm no match for Hitler! I can't take him on!"

  Muttering under his breath, Ellis shouldered the stunned Alix aside and grabbed Graham's wrists, signaling Selwyn to support his back as he forced Graham to recline. Selwyn pulled Graham against his chest, holding him when Graham would have resisted, and Ellis released one wrist to snap his fingers repeatedly in front of Graham's face.

  "Gray? Gray, look at me, damn you! Take a breath and pull yourself together!" Ellis ordered, touching him between the eyes when Graham at last tried to comply. "Again!—and once more. Now, tell us exactly what you saw. We haven't much time."

  With another profound heave of his chest, Graham managed to trigger the response he knew Ellis was looking for, aban-doining himself to the flood of blessed calm as Ellis's direction interceded. The tension drained out of him so quickly that he was lightheaded for an instant, but at least he got a grip on his panic.

  Then he was blinking dazedly and staring at the end of the measure protruding from his fist, sanity
and reason restored. The dual reinforcement of Ellis and Selwyn kept him calm even as he conjured up the known but feared face. Richard was kneeling beside him, holding his left hand, and Geoffrey and Audrey also moved in closer around his feet. Graham took another deep breath as his eyes flicked across their faces.

  "They're at the Berghof. Hitler's there," he said haltingly. 'There must be—thirty or forty of them, all Hitler's elite— SS and such, besides Sturm's core group. They've got a—a human sacrifice who—looks like William."

  As he shivered despite their support, he felt Selwyn's arms tighten around his shoulders in comfort, his chief's head resting briefly against his own.

  "God, I'm sorry. Gray," Selwyn whispered. "I should have been the one. And even Dieter shouldn't have to face that alone. Give me the measure. I'll go."

  The offer jolted Graham back to stark reality with a speed that left his head incredibly clear. He was almost calm as he shook his head and clutched the measure more closely to his chest, now thoroughly resigned to what he knew he had to do.

  "No, you won't," he said steadily. "It's my job. We've known all along that it might come to this. And after this afternoon..." He sighed. "I'm willing. It won't be the first time. Tell him for me if I can't, Wesley."

  At Ellis's nod, he glanced beyond to Richard, but before he could even speak, Richard squeezed his hand and nodded solemnly.

  "I promise," Richard said.

  With a grateful smile, Graham reached across to touch their joined hands, then, with Richard's help, pulled the sword up to rest in the crook of his left arm.