Too bad there were no elves among tonight's partic- ipants. Their legendary physical beauty belied their deceptive and corrupt natures. They had cost Britain 157.

dearly. When the restoration came, they would pay for the land they had stolen and for the souls they had corrupted, but first the Hidden Circle needed strength.

He turned his mind to the matter at hand.

Glover shrugged back the shoulders of his topcoat, revealing the golden pectoral he wore in his office as archdruid. Hanson's solicitous hands removed the outer garment. Gordon straightened from where he had been bent over to talk to one of the orks, and took his place among the acolytes. Glover nodded to each of the druids present. Of their diminished circle, only Hyde-White and Neville were absent. Neville would attend the next ritual and Hyde-White the following one as they brought the current cycle to its conclusion.

As each druid walked solemnly to his appointed place, Glover stretched wide his arms and intoned theblessing. His words called the earth's spirit to witness the ritual they enacted here tonight for its benefit.

The other druids sang counterpoint.

Across the circle, Gordon echoed his words. His eyes were closed and he spoke with prayerful inten- sity. Glover suspected that Gordon believed in this new path more fervently than did any of the druids them- selves. Glover was pleased. Hyde-White's tutoring was having a most salutory effect; the royal heir was wholly committed, embracing their course with all his heart.

Glover was momentarily startled as Gordon's eyes suddenly opened and met his. The belief he had sup- posed lay there, mantled in the strength and authority of the true king. Glover bowed, an acknowledgment of Gordon as the heir to the land, its heart and the barometer of its health. The bow was not subservient, though. As the keeper of the land, its magical arm of retribution, and its physician, the archdruid was a sov-ereign of sorts as well. Both king and archdruid had their spheres of power. Together they would lead the way to a new era.

158.

Robert N. Charrette Gordon returned a nod to Glover's bow. The arch- druid bowed again, this time to the sacrifices stretched on the floor between them. The derelicts stared with wide eyes, frightened beasts. The first didn't start to scream until he saw the golden sickle in Glover's hand.

19.

Willie's signal indicated that she had found some- thing of interest in the derelict building. Sam thought that the structure looked unsafe, teetering on the edge of disintegration. That made it just like all of its neighbors. The whole neighborhood seemed to be de-caying.

It had been several hours since they had lost Glov- er's trail at the edge of the sleazy East End. Sam had held little hope of picking up the druid's trail, but Estios had insisted that they sweep as much territory as possible. Expecting little, Sam had agreed. They all felt the pressure of time.

Willie signaled again, just after Sam had conducted his own astral reconnaissance of the building. The whole place had felt uncomfortable, and he hadn't been able to get a good look at several areas; the psychic static was too strong. It was as if something terrible had happened within, something ... he really wanted to say evil, but it sounded silly and he had no desire to be laughed at by Estios. He tried to shrug off the sense of foreboding. At least he hadn't seen any live opponents. Willie's signal confirmed that there was no one there.

Estios went in first. The tall elf was arrogant and unlikable, but he had courage. In this benighted part 159.

of the plex, there was always the possibility of atrap.

Some thrill seeker might set one for kicks, or some paranoid squatter might be defending his stash.

Astral senses couldn't detect mechanical or electronic mech- anisms with any reliability and Willie's sensors weren't infallable.

O'Connor remained with Sam and Hart. The divi- sion of forces was uneven but had become standard procedure. The suspicious Estios always wanted one of his party with Hart at all times. Sam suspected that O'Connor had orders to kill Hart if anything went wrong.

Estios waved from the doorway. Trying to appear casual, Sam and the others crossed the street one by one and disappeared into the building. Estios led them to the basement, toward the place where the psychic static had been the worst. Before they reached it, Sam could smell the stink of blood and feces.

The room was an abattoir. In characteristically op- portunistic fashion, the sprawl's scavengers had gone to work. Already the remains of the butchers' handi-work were being spread around. Sam counted five skulls, three orks and two norms. Chittering and squalling at the interruption, the scavengers fled.

Willie's drone sat in one corner. A red telltale winked several times in greeting as its camera eye swiveled to track the motion of their entrance. The upper ring of blades just under the comm dome began to whirl, buzzing as they did. The lower ring began its counter-rotation. As soon as both sets achieved speed, the drone lifted from the floor and folded its five-part landing gear together into a cone. The half- meter-long cylinder, with its twin whirring necklaces of distortion, flitted through a window. Willie would be standing sentry while they investigated.

There were little more to the remains than skele- tons. Organs were strewn and dragged around, but 160 Robert N. Charrette there was a noticeable absence of meat. A close look showed that the bones had been cut and there were scrape marks where flesh had been razored away.

"This is a Bone Boy kill," Estios said."What's this got to do with the druids?" Sam asked.

No one answered. Sam stood in the midst of the carnage. He could do no more than stare. He had heard of the Bone Boy killing spree on the media, but it had seemed no more than the everyday violence associated with the overcrowded sprawls. Even the most sensa- tional reports didn't match the reality of standing in the place where helpless victims had died. He under- stood the psychic static now; his astral senses had been defeated by the pain and suffering of the dead. His stomach roiled.

"No, Hart," O'Connor said.

Sam turned to see what she was forbidding Hart to do and found O'Connor staring at the skeleton. Hart and Estios were in conference by a doorway that led deeper into the building. O'Connor had been talking to herself.

She had said no heart.

O'Connor looked up to find him staring perplex- edly.

"There's no sign of the hearts of any of the vic- tims."Among all the organic debris, Sam wondered how she could be sure. "It could have been eaten."

"The other organs have been gnawed. Some have been almost completely devoured, but there's enough left to identify them. I don't see any heart tissue at all.

The killers must have taken their victims' hearts along with the flesh."

"Then, it's not ghouls," Sam said.

"Not their pattern," O'Connor confirmed. "They might have taken the meat, but if they were organ eat- ers, they would have taken the rest as well."

161.

"The kills were physical, but there is residual spell energy," Estios said.

"It isn't random violence," Hart said.

"Did you seriously think for a minute that it was?"

Estios asked sneeringly.

Sam didn't like it when Estios talked to Hart that way. His anger leaked heat into his voice. "Why couldn't it be? There are senseless killings everyday.

The sprawls are full of crazies and people who would kill for any one of a thousand reasons, including the thrill. Some of them even use magic."

"Why, then?" Hart asked Estios as if Sam had never spoken.

"Isn't it obvious?" Estios replied. "It's a ritual kill- ing."

"The Hidden Circle?" Sam didn't really want an affirmative answer.

"Insufficient data." Hart's brow furrowed as she thought, "The timing of the Bone Boy spree is sug- gestive. Our having lost Glover even more so. If he had help, there would have been more than enough time for this atrocity."

"There was help. Marks in the blood show at least a half dozen individuals," O'Connor said.

Sam was distracted from the continuing evaluation of the evidence by the receiver he wore tucked in his ear. Its insistent tone told him that Willie had spotted somebody. The coding of the tone said police.

"Badges coming," he told the others nervously."We'd better get out of here.

Estios cast a spell to clean their shoes and garments as they left the massacre room. They would leave no tracks of blood. It was only a short walk to a tube station, where they buried their trail in the crush of humanity.

20.

Eyes of molten gold stripped away her soul. Janice was as she had been, a human woman. She was weak, powerless. She could not lie to those eyes. They knew when she lied.

The man with the golden eyes had been asking her questions. It seemed as if her whole existence had been a cycle of questions and answers. He asked and she answered, but somehow her answers didn't satisfy him.

The truth, her father had said, would set her free.

She had told the truth and remained shackled.''What is your importance to them?'' the man asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she re- plied.

"Denial will not save you," he said sternly.

Pain.

Her muscles spasmed as the fiery agony shot through her. What had she done to deserve this? She had told the truth. Why wasn't she free?

"Tell me."

"I don't know!"

Tears streamed down her face. He touched her shoulder and she flinched. His touch was a spider crawling along her neck and onto her face. She tried to flinch away, but her limbs would not obey her.

Something held her in place. She looked down to see dark bands encircling her wrists and ankles. Had the restraints been mere iron, she would had struggled to break them, but her bonds were hard chitinous bands,alien things from which there was no escape.

"Do not resist."

163.

Fear seized her. No longer able to endure the horror at his touch, she screamed. Despite the hopelessness, she threw her head from side to side and wrenched at the restraints. She wanted to be free. She had to be satisfied with dislodging the hand which caressed her faff "Remarkable."

The next words were distant, lacking in the obscene clarity of the previous ones. It was as if someone else spoke in a language that she did not understand.

"It is as you say."

More bodiless voices murmured to the man and he spoke back. His comments and questions melded with the susurrus of the distant voices until at last hesaid, "She shall at least be useful."

A new face rose before her eyes. It was masked and hooded, swathed in cloth of pale green. Dark eyes re- garded her without emotion. She might have been a bench. An impossible mouth opened in the masked face, its teeth a glittering array of hypodermic nee- dles. The mouth drew nearer and she screamed again.

And again. Unable to move, unable to even turn her head, she stared in deadly fascination as the obscene visage drew closer. Closer. The violator's lips touched hers and her mouth went numb.

Her vision fogged and star-shot darkness swirled around her. She felt detached as the violator's face lifted from hers. The needles were gone. There were only dark, lustrous, slightly slanted eyes behind the green mask. Then the mask melted away and she be- held the face of Hugh Glass. His fine elven features were as beautiful as ever.

How had he come to be here? He had rescued her from Yomi, promising to take her to safety. Had he come to take her away again? But she had been an orkwhen she had met Hugh. Now she was human. She reached out, longing to convince herself that he was 164.

Robert N. Charrette real. She so desperately wanted the nightmare with the golden-eyed man to be over that she was happy to see even Hugh. She looked at the hand she was lifting to touch his face. It was furred and taloned. She wasn't human anymore. She would never be human again.

Hugh smiled at her. His lips parted as his grin grew, and the perfect white teeth that she remembered were not there. In their place was a writhing mass of cor- ruption. He laughed as she screamed.

She clawed at him, feeling grim satisfaction as she felt flesh tear under her talons. Then her arm was re- strained again with a harsh, hot pressure around her wrist. But she smelled blood. It was good. It wasreal.

She awoke.

Her wrist was held by Dan's strong hand. Bright Wood welled from scratches in the dark skin of his face, but his expression was not one of anger. His eyes were full of concern; for her, she realized. As soon as he understood that she was fully awake, he released his grip. She started to shake and he embraced her, murmuring soft reassurances.

In her dream, she had seen him as Hugh and struck out. But he was not Hugh. He would never be Hugh.

Hugh would have struck her back. Dan was always gentle with her, a kind spirit in a bestial body, the exact opposite of the handsome Hugh.

Teary-eyed, she examined the wound she had caused. It was already healing. She sniffed and gave him a weak smile.

"It's all right," he said.

And it was. She felt safe, secure. Shiroi's love was real, unlike the false promises of Hugh. If she had harbored any remaining doubts, his patient, caring re- action to her violence banished them. Shiroi's lovewas no sham, no ploy to use her for his purposes. She knew Shiroi loved her for herself. How could she not love him back?

21.

The man of Light confronted Sam again, blazing with the intensity of the sun. Sam could not look at him, could not stand before him. The heat scorched Sam's skin, driving him to retreat. Sam's earliest man- ifestation of shamanic power had been a spontaneous protection from fire, but this was a fire from which he was not safe. He howled in frustration, a frighteningly animal sound.

The Man of Light laughed.

Sam fled the laughter all the way to wakefulness.

The room in which he had been sleeping was cold, but the sheets were soaked with sweat. Seeking comfort, he reached out for Hart and found she was gone. He was alone in the twilight gloom.

Through the open door he could hear the tapping ofringers on a keyboard in the next room. The rhythm wasn't Dodger's; there were odd patterns in the tap- ping, so it must be Willie rigging. There were no voices. Most likely, the technomancer was alone.

Sam wondered where Hart had gone.

Sam threw back the clammy sheets and got out of bed. He was shaking, and he knew that it was from more than a chill in the room. Every time he even thought about the Man of Light, he felt the terror rise.