Death of an Adept

"The two functions are not mutually exclusive."

Taliere's response was a disgruntled snort.

"I dislike Colonials," he informed Raeburn. "They have too much regard for their own self-worth. That kind of arrogance fosters an unbecomingly cavalier attitude toward authority. I would not recommend you trust this Barclay too far."

"I know just how far he's to be trusted," Raeburn said blandly. "He is equally clear on what to expect from me, should he ever consider violating his articles of service. On that understanding, we contrive to get along quite well. Mr. Barclay may be a rough diamond, but he has incidental facets to his character that are sufficiently brilliant to outweigh many a shortcoming in his deportment. As you will discover, if matters progress as we both would wish."

With these words he indicated the casket in front of him. "Here is the dagger. Will you or will you not examine it?"

"That is not the question," Taliere said grimly. "The question is, Are you fit to share any revelations I may encounter?" Raeburn professed shock and reproach. "How can you doubt it? Am I not my father's son?"

"In many respects," Taliere allowed. "But not all." He subjected Raeburn to a penetrating glare. "Do you know what sets Britain apart from her sister-nations on the Continent? It is more - much more - than any intervening body of water. No, of all the estates of Europe, Britain alone still preserves intact the living spirit of her ancient past, the spirit which has always safeguarded her identity. That spirit was given to her by the old gods in the days before the coming of the White Christ. It has endured patiently over the centuries, sustained by those few of us who still remember the gift and revere the Givers. But if we should ever fail in our charge, that spirit would wither and die, and the land would be empty again - a body without a soul."

He leaned back in his chair and studied Raeburn down his long nose. "Your father had a proper reverence for the old gods," he went on. "Had he not, I would never have given him the benefit of my assistance. Before we proceed with this venture, I must know what your position is. What exactly do you want from the old gods, and what are you prepared to give them in return?"

"What I want," Raeburn said simply, "is power. As to what I intend to offer…"

He let the sentence hang a moment before going on. "I will be frank with you. As matters stand at the moment, I am caught between two enemies. One of them is a foreign sorcerer, a scion of the self-proclaimed master race which tried to overrun this island - and, indeed, the world - fifty years ago. The other is native-born, but a traitor to his birthright - an Adept who has forsaken the ancient paths for the sake of the White Christ.

Each, in his own way, would like to see the old gods driven out of this corner of the world in order to make room for the patron that he serves. In providing me with the means to defend myself, the old gods would be giving me the means to protect their own interests as well."

"You have yet to mention where your own service lies pledged," Taliere said.

"All my former alliances were terminated when the Head-Master's citadel was destroyed by those who claim to champion the New Light," Raeburn said. "As of now, any principle of power which aids me will find me appropriately grateful."

"I hope, for your sake, that there is no guile in your words," Taliere muttered. ' The old gods are not to be mocked. If you are lying, they will not countenance your profiting from their indulgence. And I warn you now, they have ways of taking revenge against those who abuse their trust."

"The old gods have already seen my willingness to serve," Raeburn replied, a trifle sharply. "Two years ago, when the lord Taranis permitted me to wear his tore and bear his lightnings, I showed my gratitude by giving him many holocausts. I would be prepared to do the same again, in return for a similar loan of power. What I require is a focus for communicating the terms of the bargain."

"If all of this is true," Taliere said, "then I hope that this dagger is all you claim it to be."

"By all means, see for yourself," Raeburn replied, opening a hand toward the casket before him.

Making no secret of his reservations, Taliere rose and approached the casket from his side of the desk. As soon as his fingers touched it, however, his face underwent a marked change of expression. Leaving the casket unopened, he stroked questing fingers over the lid, his touch as perceptive and knowledgeable as that of a blind man reading an inscription in Braille.

"There is, indeed, considerable power represented here," he said softly, glancing at Raeburn in wonder. "The resonance it generates is sensible even at one remove. Whether the blade itself will consent to speak with me regarding its affinities is another matter. But we shall know soon enough."