Lammas Night (52 page)

“Who comes?”

“
Din
, a friend of the Old Ones, duly sworn.”

The sword dropped away, and Graham blinked as water spattered his face and hands, a shock in the growing chill of the night even though it was expected. Then he was bending to Alix's kiss and being drawn into the circle, the taste of her mouth lingering sweet and almost painful as he took his customary place. The scrape of Selwyn's sword across the threshold, closing the final breach in the circle, set up a resonance in his mind that echoed for several heartbeats like an immense, voiceless gong, leaving only a sense of peace and security as the impression faded. Even the weight of the silk in his pocket seemed lighter as he closed his eyes and waited for the human circle to be made complete.

He was barely aware of Alix and Selwyn stripping off their ceremonial accoutrements and donning robes again behind him: Alix, quintessential priestess, woman and goddess in one; and Selwyn, strong, practical, sometimes stern, reminding him a little of what he remembered of his father—a fitting one to represent the god. Not for the first time, Graham felt awed that he should have been asked to take Selwyn's place, regardless of the peril now attendant upon that role. For it was he who would be the arbiter of tonight's working—not Selwyn or even Alix—and on his judgment could depend all of their lives, not just his own.

For a moment, all of them joined hands, eyes closed and heads thrown back, casting off the last of their outside concerns and affirming their unity. Then Alix and Selwyn together laid the sword across Graham's hands as a symbol of the shifting of authority, and Graham touched the hilt to his lips before laying it beside a cushion in the center of the floor.

He sank cross-legged onto that cushion as the others settled all around him. As he tucked his robe around his knees for warmth, he fixed the others' positions in his mind: Alix and Selwyn; Wesley, a cool reserve of calm and courage and vast experience; and lighthearted Geoffrey, whose true depth never showed except under pressure. Audrey, sometimes shy and hesitant about her abilities with Peter away at sea, for they had worked together as magical partners since childhood, but able enough alone to track Michael a few months ago. And his own Richard, who had somehow sensed without being told what the true cost of this night's work might be.

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 mind. 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 finally 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 cigarette as they moved on, both of them listening for the guard to change direction and head away before they slipped into the porch between the Albert Memorial and the east end of the chapel. The chapel door was locked, but William 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 lit the extra candles they carried, shielding the flames with their hands as they began creeping down the north aisle on quiet rubber 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 down 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 he 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 own 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 indistinct beneath their canopies and banners; the expanse of black and white floor tile extended from the pool of candlelight 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 Garter 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 fetal ball in a corner 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 his 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 entryway, 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.