s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

confess there are times when I itch to! And he laughed.
His voice immediately became serious then in so far as such a bubblingly
mirthful voice ever could.
 I m afraid it s now or never, Armon Jarles. What do you say to joining the
Witchcraft? Yes or no?
Jarles hesitated, looking around at the circle of black, phosphorus-touched
forms that were now very close. They would probably kill him if he refused. He
knew too much.
And then there was Naurya, whom he had thought lost to him forever. If he went
through with this, he would be near her. And she seemed to want him. Weren t
Dis and Persephone king and queen of Hell?
And then all these people the Black Man and the rest of them. His feelings
toward them were mixed. He might dislike what they did, but he couldn t hate
them personally. They had saved his life.
He was terribly tired, he realized suddenly. He couldn t be expected to dare
death, of his own free will, twice in one day.
And Naurya s fingers were conveying an insistent, anxious message.  Say yes!
Say yes!
When he opened his lips, it was to say  Yes.
But just as had happened in the Great Square his idealist s white-hot anger at
all shams and supernatural mummery, like some possessing demon, seized control
of him.
 No! What I said I meant! I will not compromise with hypocrisy! I will have no
part in your
Black Hierarchy!
 Very well, Armon Jarles! You have made your choice! rang the Black Man s
answer.
The hands let go his arms. The Black Man seemed to spring at him. He flailed
out wildly. The picture that had been painted indistinctly in blackness and
phosphorescence now whirled with movement, became a formless chaos.
He was seized by other hands smooth, rubbery-hided, and very strong. He sensed
in them the pressure of some kind of field, though different in texture from
the inviolability fields of the scarlet robes. He struggled futilely.
Something small and furry, but with claws, grabbed his bare leg. He kicked out
convulsively. He heard the Black Man order,  Back, Dickon! Back! His leg was
free.
He had time to cry out,  It s all shams and lies, Naurya! All shams and
lies! And to hear from the darkness her angry laughter and her scathing cry,
 Idiot! Idealist!
Then he was being rushed along by a power he could not resist. Out of the
room, down some narrow corridor that turned and turned again, and then
reversed, like a maze. Staggering, stumbling, his shoulders buffeted by unseen
walls. Then upstairs. A blindfold quickly whipped over his eyes.
Another corridor. More stairs. His thoughts whirling as dizzily as he.
Finally, cold night air thrusting up his nostrils and chilling his sweaty
skin. The feel of cobbles under his feet.
And, in his ear, the mocking voice of the Black Man.
 I know idealists never change their minds, Brother Jarles. But if you should
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
prove the exception to the rule, come back to the spot at which I shall
release you, and wait. We might contact you. We might give you a second
chance.
A few more steps and they halted.
 And now, Brother Jarles, said the Black Man,  go practice what you preach!
A shrewd push sent Jarles spinning, so that he stumbled and fell painfully on
the cobbles. He jerked himself up, whipping off the blindfold.
But the Black Man was nowhere in sight.
He was in the mouth of one of the streets that opened on the Great Square.
In the sky was the first faint suggestion of dawn, magnifying the empty
immensity of the square, touching with lovely shades of opalescence the
towering domes and spires of the Sanctuary, paling a little the blue nimbus of
the Great God.
And from the hillside farmlands, gathering power in its sweep across the Great
Square, came a bitter wind that cut Ms naked flesh to the bone.
Chapter 5
THE silver clashing of unseen cymbals and a mighty choir of invisible voices,
stirring yet heavenly sweet, heralded the approach of the exercisers to the
haunted house. The commoners blocking their way drew back to let them pass.
But since the streets enclosing the square were wedged tight with commoners,
and since other commoners crowded in to get a closer view of the procession,
and since none of the commoners were willing to encroach on the unkempt and
accursed grounds surrounding the haunted house, and frantically resisted being
shoved in that direction, there were several of them gently cuffed aside by
inviolable, red-gloved priestly hands, and one or two children knocked down,
before the exercisers issued into the square.
An excited murmur greeted them. Megatheopolis was astir with rumor of mighty
doings in the supernatural world and the close presence of dread Sathanas, who
had once again risen from Hell to challenge the omnipotence of his master.
Early this morning had come word that the Hierarchy would cleanse the haunted
house of evil.
This seemed an exceedingly wise and logical procedure, since the haunted house
was a relic of the
Golden Age and therefore a likely lair of Sathanas and his friends, who dearly
loved those ancient, overweening, star-storming sinners. No matter how hard
and wearisome an age this might be, it was certainly a very exciting one with
regard to manifestations of the supernatural. That couldn t be denied.
The music and the pomp of the procession of exercisers were well designed to
whip up the mob s anticipations to a high pitch.
First came four young priests, handsome and tall as angels, each bearing
before him, like a truncheon, a gleaming rod of wrath. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]