Death of an Adept

He did not remember returning to his place beside Barclay, though the bowl of blood steaming at his feet testified that he had done so. Taliere had shed his feathered mantle and was watching the bull's final agonies, the handlers drawing back as it slowly rolled onto its side and was still.

But Taliere was not finished. Bidding the handlers stand back with another imperious gesture of the ancient dagger, he approached the bull again and, in another display of uncommon strength, bent over the bull's still-twitching carcass to plunge the blade into the belly, ripping open the body cavity with a single stroke.

A tangle of entrails spilled onto the ground in a noisome effusion of blood and digestive juices, steam softly rising above the body opening. Back at Mallory's side, Barclay went a little pale, but Raeburn only moved a half step closer to observe.

Crouching closer beside the bull, Taliere breathed in the reek of blood and bile as he examined the exposed mass of the bull's internal organs, poking at some of them with the tip of the dagger, muttering under his breath as he lightly shook his head. After a moment, Raeburn moved impatiently closer to crouch beside him.

"Well?" he prompted. "What do the signs portend?"

The old Druid rocked back on his haunches, gazing almost stupidly at the dagger in his hand - suddenly only a dagger - then lifted his gaze to Raeburn's, his expression one of consternation.

"I find the auguries less than favorable," he said uncertainly. "This bull you have offered, while outwardly unblemished, possesses a number of hidden imperfections. The heart is slightly enlarged and I have observed a scattering of lesions on the liver.

"Such anomalies may point to unforeseen complications which have not yet manifested themselves. Or they may indicate that your own motives in making this offering are less pure than you profess. Either way, I would not advise that we continue this night's work."

"Why not?"

Raeburn's voice was calm, but contained a hint of underlying menace. Taliere set his jaw.

"To be wholly acceptable as a sacrifice, the animal in question must be completely without flaw," he replied. "Whatever the implications of the signs I have noted, there is a very real possibility that the lord Taranis will spurn the offering as unworthy. If you persist under these circumstances, I cannot be answerable for the consequences."

"I see." Glancing around the circle, Raeburn considered for a moment, then shook his head.

"I am not frightened by your caveats," he said quietly. "I require information - and suspension of our quest for that information is not an option, having committed ourselves thus far. As you yourself pointed out earlier, you are our mediator. If the lord Taranis is disposed to be overly dainty in his requirements, I rely upon you to smooth over any difficulties."

Chapter Five

DESPITE Taliere's grave misgivings, Raeburn remained adamant in his determination to carry on. When it became clear that he would not be moved, the old Druid grudgingly agreed to continue. His assistants appeared less than pleased, but dutifully bent to the task of stripping the bull's hide from its still-warm carcass - a heavy, messy task that left both men mired with gore.

While they were busy plying their knives, Taliere took the basin of blood that Mallory had collected and began tracing bloody symbols on the inner faces of the stones that circumscribed the circle, chanting a sibilant singsong under his breath as he did so. From there he returned to the base of the central monolith and proceeded to mark out the perimeter of a smaller circle between it and the sunken depression of the tomb-cairn, with bloody 5 runes radiating outward from the center, like the broken spokes of a wheel.

While Raeburn observed these preliminaries, his three remaining henchmen were making their own preparations. Moving into the lee of one of the larger stones, Barclay cast off his robe to reveal himself stripped to the buff beneath, shivering as he hastily rewrapped himself in the warmth of a goose-down sleeping bag which Richter shook out and draped around his shoulders. At Mallory's direction, he hunkered down and then sat at the base of the stone, suffering the physician to apply a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope while Richter rolled up the discarded robe and laid it atop the now empty duffel bags. After a moment, Raeburn drifted back to glance questioningly at Mallory.

"He's ready for you," Mallory said, pulling off the blood pressure cuff and returning it to his bag, though he left his stethoscope clamped around his neck as he rose and backed off.

Huddled motionless under the sleeping bag, Barclay sat with forehead bowed on folded arms atop his knees. He lifted his head as he sensed Raeburn taking Mallory's place beside him, but his eyes had already taken on a glazed, faraway look, and his breathing was shallow and slow.

"No last-minute reservations, I hope?" Raeburn asked.