Dagger Magic

But to no avail. His scream edged briefly into a gurgle as he went down behind a screen of jostling wings and flailing tails. Within seconds, no trace of the Phurba priest remained.

Then, out of the deadly silence, the cloud of demons roiled and lifted, hovering aloft expectantly above the conning tower of U-636, a predatory congeries of eyes and teeth and thrashing limbs that did not bear too close a scrutiny.

"Now what?" McLeod muttered.

"We can't just let them disperse," Aoife whispered. "If they get away from us, they'll start hunting."

"I know," Adam said. "I need a few seconds to think…"

He cudgelled his tired brain for inspiration, and once again the teaching he had received on Holy Island came to his aid. He remembered the words of Lama Jigme, even before he had met Tseten: We use the term sGrol, to liberate, rather than sBad, to kill.

That remembrance served as the key to unlock his deeper knowledge of what finally must be done. Shifting his grip on the hilt of his skean dubh, he turned to Aoife and gave her a fleeting smile.

"I remember now," he told her. "Stand back, everyone, and pray this works."

As they moved back, several of them dropping to their knees in an attitude of formal prayer, Adam gathered his skean dubh to his breast and paused an instant to compose himself, head humbly bowed as he silently invoked the protection of the Light. Then, with nary a hesitation, he raised his blade to sketch the outline of a circular door in the air above him, willing it to open.

Drawn by his movement and the scent of his power, the cloud of demons lifted higher above the submarine and moved quickly toward him. Undaunted, he lifted both outstretched arms in a gesture of invitation. He fancied he could feel the heat of demon-breath curdling at the edges of his soul as the cloud began to descend, but he held steady the image of the open door as he raised his voice.

"Denizens of darkness, I offer you liberation, passage to the realm of Supreme Bliss. Cast off your burdens of delusion, hatred, and blood-lust, which cause you only suffering, and enter freely through the door."

The hovering shadows hesitated, jostling and vacillating, a murmur of discordant voices and anguished souls. Then all at once, in a sudden flurry of dark wings against the luminous backdrop of another sky, they began pouring through the doorway Adam had opened.

When the last one had passed through, the door simply dwindled like a closing iris, a final star-point flaring against the night sky before all was silent once more, with only a thin mist of grey smoke dissipating in the moonlight.

Chapter Thirty-Four

FRANCIS Raeburn came to his senses with a feeling of having been drugged. He was still aboard the submarine, but he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The sub seemed to be listing slightly to starboard, and the lights in the control room were starting to flicker, an indication that the sub's power was fast fading. Of Nagpo, there was no sign.

He gathered himself to his feet, wondering what had become of his captor, and nearly fell over the fourth and final crate of diamonds. The discovery jogged his sluggish memory back to full acuity. Groping into the front of his jacket, he was relieved to find that he still carried the comlink. Thumbing the call button, he called softly, "Barclay? Are you there?"

There was an immediate return crackle as the pilot came back to him. "Right here, Mr. Raeburn. You okay?"

"Yes," Raeburn snapped. "What's going on?"

"There's been a helluva storm up here, sir. That Tibetan shaman and a party of Huntsmen have been mixing it up in a big way. You better get up here fast. I can't see any sign of the dagger priest, but the Hunting Party's got their boat running again. I expect they're getting ready to board you."

"I'm on my way topside," Raeburn said, bending to test the weight of the last crate. "Send Richter over to pick me up, and make sure he's armed."

He retrieved the Walther before he started back up, and jammed a fresh clip into the butt.

Aboard the Lady Gregory, Adam was still laboring to catch his breath when suddenly Magnus started up and pointed back across the water toward the submarine.

"Who the devil is that?" he exclaimed.

The rest of the party followed the line of his finger as a tall, lean figure emerged stiffly through the conning tower hatch, glanced their way, then hefted up another of the cubical crates and pushed it toward the ladder on the opposite side of the conning tower. Beside Adam, McLeod snatched up one of the pairs of binoculars for a closer look, then uttered a growl of outraged discovery.

"I'll be damned! It's Raeburn! Eamonn, take us in closer."