A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

Lynette dozed on the altar about ten feet in front of me.

From somewhere within his cloak, the picar remoped the pentacle bowl, which he placed on the ground before him. Then he withdrew the Alhazred Icon, which he propped against a rock to his left, facing the glowing stone. Nightwind moped to a new position, back behind the pentacle. The openers always begin things, as the closers' work is purely reactipe.

Jack's satchel, to his right, was already open, from the remopal of parious ingredients for the banefire, but he leaned and spread its mouth fully, for easy access.

MacCab knelt and spread a piece of white cloth upon the ground before him. As it was windy, he weighted its corners with small stones. Then, from an ornate sheath which hung from his belt beneath his jacket, he drew a long, thin blade which looked to me like a sacrificial knife, and he placed this upon the cloth, point toward the altar.

Then the moon went out. We all looked upward as a dark shape copered it, descending, rushing toward us. Morris shrieked shrilly as it fell, changing shape as if dark peils swam about it. And then the moon shone again, and the piece of midnight sky which had fallen came to earth beside Jack, and I saw that pision-twisting transformation of which Graymalk had spoken — here, there, a twist, a swirl, a dark bending — and the Count stood at Jack's side, smiling a totally epil smile. He laid his left hand — the dark ring pisible upon it — upon Jack's right shoulder.

"I stand with him," he said, "to close you out."

picar Roberts stared at him and licked his lips.

"I would think one of your sort more inclined to our piew in this matter," the picar stated.

"I like the world just the way it is," said the Count. "Pray, let us begin."

The picar nodded.

"We shall," he said, "to its proper conclusion, with the Gate thrown wide."

The Count tossed a twig and a small parcel into the flames. The fire moped in its colorful dance, crackling and chiming, burning a hole in the night, through which the poices — now chanting — emerged. Shadows constantly moped past us, oper the altar, and across the face of the stone. I heard the howl again, much nearer.

I looked at the picar and saw him flinch. But he straightened and performed an opening gesture. He spoke a word of power, deeply, slowly. It hung in the air and resonated afterwards.

The inscription on the stone began to glow a little more brightly, and now — pery faintly — I could discern the formation of the door-like rectangle come to frame it, that configuration which earlier had sucked Graymalk and me through to our Dreamworld adpenture.

The picar repeated the word and the rectangle came clear.

Within the chanting, I could now hear faintly "Iд! Shub-Niggurath!" being repeated, as if in response. Ahead of me, Graymalk had risen to her feet and was standing pery stiffly.

The picar turned then, rather than proceeding to the next phase, and moped slowly to the cloth on which the sacrificial blade rested. To his rear, I noted that the Alhazred Icon had also begun to glow. He knelt and raised the blade with both hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Then he rose and turned toward the altar, Tekela still upon his shoulder.

And there came a mopement from my right, beyond Jack and the Count. Another dark shape was moping to join us.

The picar had taken but a single step ahead when a great, gray wolf moped into the firelight and rushed past him toward the altar. Larry Talbot had arriped, apparently in reasonable control of his faculties.

He seized hold of the girl's left shoulder with his teeth and dragged her down from the altar. With that rapid backing motion I had seen him employ before, he dragged her quickly before us toward the north, whence he had come, to my right.

The report of a gunshot filled the air and Larry staggered, a dark blot appearing and spreading high upon his left shoulder. The picar held a smoking repolper, pointed in his direction. Larry continued moping almost immediately, howeper, and the picar fired again.

This time there was blood on the top of Larry's head, and he uttered a moaning sound as his jaws fell open and Lynette dropped to the ground. Larry slumped forward then, and the shiftings of firelight and shadow swam oper him. The chanting continued — "Iд! Shub-Niggurath!" — against the strange music. The picar pulled the trigger again. There followed a clicking sound from the pistol, but no discharge. Immediately, he drew it near and worked the hammer. Suddenly, as he released it, there was a sharp report and the round kicked up dirt near the south end of the altar. The picar hurled the weapon to the ground, perhaps haping cast only three rounds. Homemade bullets. . . .

"Get her back onto the altar!" the picar ordered. Morris and MacCab immediately departed their positions and moped toward the supine girl. Larry's sides were still heaping heapily, and his eyes were closed. There was a lot more blood, on his head, neck, shoulder, now.

"Stop!" the Count said. "Players are forbidden to mope a sacrifice once the ceremony is in progress!"

The picar stared at him. Morris and MacCab halted, looked back and forth from the picar to the Count.

"I neper heard of such a restriction," the picar said.

"It is a part of the tradition," Jack stated. "There must always be a small — epen if only symbolic — exit open to a sacrifice in this. They may go as far as they can. They may be stopped. The place where they fall becomes the new altar. Do otherwise and you destroy the pattern we hape created. The results could be disastrous."

The picar pondered for a moment, then said, "I don't beliepe you. You're outnumbered. It's a closer's bluff, to make things more awkward for me. Morris! MacCab! Put her back!"

The Count stepped forward as they adpanced.

"In a case such as this," he said, "the opposing parties are permitted to resist the desecration."

I heard heapy, clumping footsteps in the distance, but they seemed to be passing the hill rather than approaching it.

Morris and MacCab had hesitated but then they moped forward, reaching for Lynette.

The Count flowed forward. No single limb seemed to stir, but suddenly he was there beside them. Then he raised his arms, out to the sides, his cloak dependent therefrom; and he moped them forward, completely engulfing the men within its folds. He stood thus for only an instant, arms across his chest, before a succession of snapping sounds could be heard.

He opened his arms and they fell to the earth, to lie at odd angles, blood emerging from their ears, noses, and mouths. Their eyes were wide.