[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
It is finished! he sent to Wallace. The land has been served, the power awakened. Go, good and faithful
servant, to claim the place awaiting you in the Light.
So saying, he drew apart from the dying man, catching the merest flash of the welcome axe descending to
sever soul from body in a single bloody stroke. Like a floodgate bursting wide, the instant of Wallace's
release set free a mighty rush of mystical energies.
The power crested and broke, sweeping northward over mountains and valleys like a tidal wave. Arnault
fled before it in spirit as the torrent came thundering after him, for no mere mortal could channel its force,
save by the virtue of the Stone itself, mediated through the High Priest's Breastplate.
He felt soul reunite with body in a solid thunk, there where he knelt before the Stone, and unerringly his
bloodied fingers crawled to the dagger lying atop the Stone, closing around its hilt to lift it heavenward.
"Adonai, Chief of generous Chiefs!" he cried aloud. "Behold, Jacob's pillow: footstool of angels and seat
of kings! The Uncrowned King comes to You in willing sacrifice, in faithful imitation of the holy Lamb.
Now may the covenant be renewed, whereby this realm of Alba became a dominion of Light. Of Your
grace, fill again this Stone, to be once more the consecration seat of Scottish kings, and cornerstone of
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
the Temple of Your New Jerusalem!"
Standing on guard outside, with Luc, Christoph, and Flannan, Torquil became suddenly aware of a
profound and spontaneous quickening of his inner senses. The clouds veiling the darkening sky were
suddenly rent asunder by a blast of silvery radiance as bright and unbridled as a lightning flash, cascading
from the sky in a molten stream. The Stone of Destiny was the lodestone that drew it, and Torquil's heart
surged in grateful joy as he realized Wallace's sacrifice was complete.
But even as he wavered between grief and exultation, there came a rumble deep in the bowels of the
earth underfoot. A crack split the ground a few yards beyond the boundary line, emitting a sudden
effusion of noisome black smoke. Warning cries went up from Luc and Christoph as more cracks
appeared beyond their containment barrier, vomiting up twin streams of shadow.
The darkness spread like wildfire up and down the line created by the wards. A blast of wind stirred the
trees as a monstrous form began to take shape in the midst of a noxious-looking cloud. Instinctively
Torquil sketched the sign of the cross before him as he glimpsed that nightmare spirit that had pursued
him the night before Falkirk.
Shadows burst from it, hurling themselves at the bulwark of the magical boundary before the four knights.
Torquil felt the impact deep in his soul as buffet after buffet reverberated on the shielding energy. Earth
flew as the shadows scrabbled at the earth, endeavoring to burrow under the Templars' zone of
protection, seeking to destroy the Stone of Destiny before it could be reempowered.
The attack intensified as darkness reared up to curtain the sky, as the demon-minions pressed all along
the barrier. Even within the barrier, the air grew stiflingly cold, dense as water in the lungs. Torquil's ears
began to pound, and he could feel his chest laboring under the effort of catching his breath.
The pressure mounted. Torquil felt a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his nose, followed by the
copper-taste of blood in his throat and the trickle of blood on his lip. The pounding in his ears became a
pulsating ache. Even as he covered his ears with his hands, half turning from the barrier, he saw Father
Bertrand moving into the opening from the outer cave, raising his hands in invocation.
"Father of mercies, send down the help of Your angels, lest we perish in the midst of our enemies!" he
cried.
The formula filled the attackers with snarling rage, but it also shattered Torquil's paralysis. Gulping breath,
he darted to his sword in the defensive bulwark and thumped to his knees before it, laying his hands upon
its cross-quillons as he flung back his head to shout out the motto of their Order:
"Non nobis, Domine!"
Without hesitation, the others did the same, even Bertrand laying his hands on Gaspar's sword, for
Gaspar was engaged in guarding Arnault and the Stone. As each new voice added its strength to the
exhortation, blue fire sizzled along each blade and into the ground, fortifying the bulwark, barring the way
to the evil trying to pass by.
Within the chapel of the Stone, the walls of the cavern were heaving and contracting like the womb of a
beast laboring to give birth. Reaching for the link to the power still swirling high above them-and still with
eyes bound by Urim and Thummin and keekstane-Arnault had the impression that something evil was
trying to tunnel its way in from outside, something spreading veins of shadow over the floor and walls,
squirming toward the Stone like tentacular worms.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The source of that dark power lay far to the north, perched at the very edge of the land. In a flash of
visionary insight, he knew its name, could see it in his mind's eye: a place called Burghead, an ancient
citadel, a place of dark sacrifice, hulking on a bleak headland that overlooked the sea.
That knowledge gave new power. Knowing the source of the attack, Arnault now set about countering
it-and the key lay already upon his breast, focused in the twelve mystical stones ranged across the very
Breastplate of God's armor of Light. Drawing Fingon and Ninian to either side of him, he called upon [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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It is finished! he sent to Wallace. The land has been served, the power awakened. Go, good and faithful
servant, to claim the place awaiting you in the Light.
So saying, he drew apart from the dying man, catching the merest flash of the welcome axe descending to
sever soul from body in a single bloody stroke. Like a floodgate bursting wide, the instant of Wallace's
release set free a mighty rush of mystical energies.
The power crested and broke, sweeping northward over mountains and valleys like a tidal wave. Arnault
fled before it in spirit as the torrent came thundering after him, for no mere mortal could channel its force,
save by the virtue of the Stone itself, mediated through the High Priest's Breastplate.
He felt soul reunite with body in a solid thunk, there where he knelt before the Stone, and unerringly his
bloodied fingers crawled to the dagger lying atop the Stone, closing around its hilt to lift it heavenward.
"Adonai, Chief of generous Chiefs!" he cried aloud. "Behold, Jacob's pillow: footstool of angels and seat
of kings! The Uncrowned King comes to You in willing sacrifice, in faithful imitation of the holy Lamb.
Now may the covenant be renewed, whereby this realm of Alba became a dominion of Light. Of Your
grace, fill again this Stone, to be once more the consecration seat of Scottish kings, and cornerstone of
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
the Temple of Your New Jerusalem!"
Standing on guard outside, with Luc, Christoph, and Flannan, Torquil became suddenly aware of a
profound and spontaneous quickening of his inner senses. The clouds veiling the darkening sky were
suddenly rent asunder by a blast of silvery radiance as bright and unbridled as a lightning flash, cascading
from the sky in a molten stream. The Stone of Destiny was the lodestone that drew it, and Torquil's heart
surged in grateful joy as he realized Wallace's sacrifice was complete.
But even as he wavered between grief and exultation, there came a rumble deep in the bowels of the
earth underfoot. A crack split the ground a few yards beyond the boundary line, emitting a sudden
effusion of noisome black smoke. Warning cries went up from Luc and Christoph as more cracks
appeared beyond their containment barrier, vomiting up twin streams of shadow.
The darkness spread like wildfire up and down the line created by the wards. A blast of wind stirred the
trees as a monstrous form began to take shape in the midst of a noxious-looking cloud. Instinctively
Torquil sketched the sign of the cross before him as he glimpsed that nightmare spirit that had pursued
him the night before Falkirk.
Shadows burst from it, hurling themselves at the bulwark of the magical boundary before the four knights.
Torquil felt the impact deep in his soul as buffet after buffet reverberated on the shielding energy. Earth
flew as the shadows scrabbled at the earth, endeavoring to burrow under the Templars' zone of
protection, seeking to destroy the Stone of Destiny before it could be reempowered.
The attack intensified as darkness reared up to curtain the sky, as the demon-minions pressed all along
the barrier. Even within the barrier, the air grew stiflingly cold, dense as water in the lungs. Torquil's ears
began to pound, and he could feel his chest laboring under the effort of catching his breath.
The pressure mounted. Torquil felt a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his nose, followed by the
copper-taste of blood in his throat and the trickle of blood on his lip. The pounding in his ears became a
pulsating ache. Even as he covered his ears with his hands, half turning from the barrier, he saw Father
Bertrand moving into the opening from the outer cave, raising his hands in invocation.
"Father of mercies, send down the help of Your angels, lest we perish in the midst of our enemies!" he
cried.
The formula filled the attackers with snarling rage, but it also shattered Torquil's paralysis. Gulping breath,
he darted to his sword in the defensive bulwark and thumped to his knees before it, laying his hands upon
its cross-quillons as he flung back his head to shout out the motto of their Order:
"Non nobis, Domine!"
Without hesitation, the others did the same, even Bertrand laying his hands on Gaspar's sword, for
Gaspar was engaged in guarding Arnault and the Stone. As each new voice added its strength to the
exhortation, blue fire sizzled along each blade and into the ground, fortifying the bulwark, barring the way
to the evil trying to pass by.
Within the chapel of the Stone, the walls of the cavern were heaving and contracting like the womb of a
beast laboring to give birth. Reaching for the link to the power still swirling high above them-and still with
eyes bound by Urim and Thummin and keekstane-Arnault had the impression that something evil was
trying to tunnel its way in from outside, something spreading veins of shadow over the floor and walls,
squirming toward the Stone like tentacular worms.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The source of that dark power lay far to the north, perched at the very edge of the land. In a flash of
visionary insight, he knew its name, could see it in his mind's eye: a place called Burghead, an ancient
citadel, a place of dark sacrifice, hulking on a bleak headland that overlooked the sea.
That knowledge gave new power. Knowing the source of the attack, Arnault now set about countering
it-and the key lay already upon his breast, focused in the twelve mystical stones ranged across the very
Breastplate of God's armor of Light. Drawing Fingon and Ninian to either side of him, he called upon [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]