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.
Barclay bestirred himself enough to shake his head dreamily. "No, sir."
"I knew you would not disappoint me," Raeburn murmured. "This will be your greatest challenge, but also your finest commission. So long as your nerve holds, I foresee no difficulties."
Three days of rigid fasting had sharpened the planes of Barclay's already lean face and drained him of some of his usual vitality, but the flash of wry grin he offered his employer reaffirmed his customary good humor.
"Just promise me I'll get that big, juicy steak I've been dreaming about, Mr. Raeburn. And a huge baked potato with lots of sour cream and butter. And plenty of cold beer to wash 'em down."
"I expect that can be arranged," Raeburn replied softly, smiling as he laid a hand lightly on one of Barclay's. "Settle yourself now. You've important work to do."
Barclay put his forehead back on his knees and closed his eyes in passive anticipation, slipping effortlessly into trance at a few further words from Raeburn. Mallory stood by watching, his expression one of cynical attention, and moved a few steps apart with Raeburn when the latter rose.
"A man of rather ordinary appetites," he observed. "Are you sure he's the right man for this job?"
"Have no doubts in that regard," Raeburn returned frostily. "Whatever his social shortcomings, Mr. Barclay's talents as a medium are second to none."
"But to play host to one of the Patrons - ''
"Will constitute a laudable triumph," Raeburn said. "Help Richter bring him over to Master Taliere. I believe he's ready for him."
The old Druid was standing impassively beside the bloody bull's hide, now spread hair-side down beside the rune-marked circle he had earlier inscribed. Half a dozen narrow, bloody strips of bull's hide dangled from his bloody fingers as he bade Mallory and Richter guide the now somnambulant Barclay to a recumbent position in the center of the hide. The discarded sleeping bag Raeburn wadded under his head for a pillow.
Without speaking, Taliere crouched to bind rawhide ligatures tightly around Barclay's ankles, wrists, and upper arms - restriction of blood-flow to subtly shift Barclay's body chemistry and enhance his altered state. Then he passed a longer strip beneath Barclay's torso to hold in place the dagger, still bloodied from its kill, which he positioned on Barclay's chest with the point against his throat.
Finally, at Taliere's nod, his assistants moved in to wrap the gory sides of the bull hide close around Barclay's naked form, one stretching the bloody edges to meet while the other began sewing him tightly into the hide with laces of bloody sinew, starting at his neck and working toward his feet. Barclay seemed to take no note of any physical discomfort, even though his rigid body rocked with the force of each stitch through the tough bull hide.
After a moment, Raeburn knelt at Barclay's head and bent to whisper in the pilot's ear, fingertips tracing a symbol on his forehead and then continuing to stroke the weathered brow.
"Hear me, Barclay, and know this for your mission. The dagger at your breast is the key which will unlock the door to the elemental planes. Once past the threshold, you are to seek out the lord Taranis with this message: Your votaries languish for want of your empowerments, O Mighty One. Return to us and renew our strength. Defend us by your lightnings from our enemies, and we will honor you with offerings of blood and sacrifice. Repeat what I have just said."
Barclay repeated the message three times before Raeburn was satisfied. Each recitation added to the tension building within the circle, but by the third recitation, Taliere's now thoroughly be-gored assistants had finished their grisly work. When Taliere had pronounced himself satisfied, he directed the pair to shift the cocooned Barclay onto the sleeping bag which Richter and Mallory now spread atop the blood-runes beside the central monolith. When they had zipped him into it, Raeburn crouched at his head and administered a further prompting that sent Barclay plunging even deeper into trance.