As he finished, he stabbed the blood bag through the centre, pinning it to the floor of the church. 'Trinitas,' he called out loudly, 'Sother, Messias, Sabahot, Athanatos, Pentagna, Agragon – The words of power went on and on. Within minutes their vibrations began to strain the fabric of reality beyond the triangle. '- Ischiros, Otbeos, Visio, Flos -
The blood flow from the punctured bag started to crawl across the floor towards the tip of the triangle, then reared up like a snake. Brimstone was chanting now, intoning the words in a steady hammer beat. ' – Origo, Salvator, Novissimus -' The blood snake began to sway in time to the rhythm.
He was approaching the climax of the operation. He could feel the power like trapped lightning all around him. For the first time he had a twinge of doubt about short-cutting the safeguards and preparations, but there was nothing he could do about that now. ' – Primogenitus, Sapientia, Virtus, Paraclitus – The blood snake reared to its fullest extent, then pulled back as if about to strike. The familiar Orchestra of Beleth struck up all around him, quietly at first, then swelling like a symphony to fill the church. ' – Via, Mediator, Medicus, Salus, Agnus, Ovis, Vitulus, Spes!' Brimstone screamed. The blood snake struck.
With an audible snap, a portal opened up before the altar. Demon forms swarmed through it in a gibbering horde.
CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE
Fogarty found Queen Cleopatra skinning a deer. Her green arms were bloodied to the elbow and there were spatters of blood on her bare legs.
'Don't you have people to do that for you?' Fogarty asked curiously.
She gave him a sidelong glance with those astounding golden eyes. 'That's not the way things are done in the forest, Gatekeeper.' Her hands wielded the knife deftly as she plunged deeper into the carcass. 'We all muck in.' She smiled slightly. 'Isn't this the way it's done in the Analogue World?'
'Can't imagine our own dear Queen with anything between her knees except a horse,' Fogarty muttered dourly. 'Your Majesty, I -'
'Cleopatra will do. Or Cleo. No one stands on ceremony in the forest once they've been introduced.'
Fogarty sat himself down on a tree stump, pleasantly surprised by the lack of stiffness as he bent. 'I think our little party may be in trouble,' he said bluntly.
Cleopatra set down the knife and turned to look at him. No questions: she just waited. Fogarty liked that. 'I don't think the Emperor was at the palace,' he said. 'I think Hairstreak may have taken him to his new mansion right here in the forest. I think our party may be trying to get into Hairstreak's mansion right now.' What he really thought was that the party was probably inside and under attack, but since he couldn't really justify anything he felt it better not to overstate his case.
Oddly enough, Queen Cleopatra didn't ask him why he thought any of it. Instead she said, 'My people would have reported to me if the status of their mission had changed.'
'Mightn't have had the chance,' Fogarty said.
'If they went to Hairstreak's mansion, they would have returned to the forest.'
The implication was clear enough. If they'd passed through the forest, they would have stopped and told her. Fogarty sighed audibly. 'Pyrgus was leading them,' he said. 'You can't tell what that boy would do.'
The trouble was it all sounded lame and Fogarty knew it. Besides which, he wasn't sure what he wanted the Queen to do, even if she believed him. But Cleopatra only said, 'You're worried about the boy.'
'Yes.'
'My daughter's in the party,' Cleopatra said.
Fogarty blinked. 'Your daughter?' He made a rapid calculation. There was only one person it could be. 'Nymphalis is your daughter?'
The Queen nodded. 'Yes.' She pushed herself erect. 'I think I trust your intuition, Gatekeeper.'
'So what are you going to do?'
'Lead my army to Lord Hairstreak's mansion,' the Queen told him soberly. 'If you're right, the time for concealment may have passed us by.'
CHAPTER EIGHT TWO
'Tell him no!' screamed the wyrm desperately.
Chalkhill, who needed no urging, was already shrieking, 'No, I won't do it! Not now. Never. Leave me alone. Get your filthy hands off me. I won't, I won't, I absolutely, positively, simply won't! You can't make me.'
Hairstreak watched him with mild amusement. 'Actually I can,' he said. He nodded at two black-uniformed guards who fell in beside Chalkhill and seized him by the arms.
'Fight them! I'll help. Head-butt them in the face!'
'Will you be quiet! Chalkhill hissed mentally. 'I'll never get us out of this if you don't let me think.'
As the wyrm fell silent, Chalkhill raced through his options and found there weren't any. He could go like a sacrificial lamb and have the lethal operation or he could fight tooth and claw and get dragged away to have the lethal operation. Either way, he had the lethal operation.
'I don't know why you're making such a fuss,' Hairstreak said. 'It's a minor procedure.'
'Which will kill me!' Chalkhill snarled. He was still terrified of Hairstreak, but well beyond being polite to him any more.
Hairstreak raised an eyebrow. 'Who on earth told you that?'
Chalkhill stared at him. It was only Cyril who'd told him the operation was lethal and Cyril hadn't proven all that trustworthy in the past.
'I don't suppose I could persuade you -'
'Shut up!' Chalkhill growled.
Now he came to think of it, it didn't make a lot of sense for Hairstreak to have him killed – he'd proven himself very valuable in the past. So perhaps the operation wasn't dangerous. Perhaps -
'Oh, very well, Lord Hairstreak,' Chalkhill said decisively. 'I'd be delighted to have this operation if it can assist you in any way.' He stood off the restraining hands of the guards and marched smartly towards the open door.
'Nooooooooooo!' wailed Cyril inside his head.
It was irritating, but the sweeping exit was spoiled by the fact he didn't know where he was going. Chalkhill stopped at the door and waited until Hairstreak's goons caught up with him.
'Lead on, my good men,' he instructed them grandly.
The guards glanced at Hairstreak, who nodded slightly, then strolled across to join them. 'I'm glad you've seen sense, Jasper,' he said mildly. 'But it really is completely safe.'
To Chalkhill I' Surprise, there was not so much as a whimper from Cyril.
It was a part of Hairstreak's mansion he hadn't visited before, although he'd heard rumours about it. They marched through some sinister crypts, then down wide stone steps into what looked like a massive natural cavern. Chalkhill spotted the obsidian maze at once, then looked away quickly, pretenting he hadn't. People who learned Hairstreak's darker secrets had a habit of disappearing permanently. He glanced around ostentatiously, trying to find the operating theatre.
A horrid thought struck him. Perhaps all the talk of an operation was just to get him here. Perhaps he was going to be dropped into the maze to face the -
'That's it!' said Cyril suddenly. 'That's what he's planning! We have to get out of here. Knee him in the wambles! Stick a -'
But that couldn't be right. If Hairstreak simply wanted him down here he'd have said so, or had him dragged down by the guards. No need for some elaborate deception.
'Above your head,' said Hairstreak.
'Sorry?'
'You were looking for the operating theatre. It's above your head.'
Chalkhill looked upwards.