The man entering the room wasn’t a man at all. He went by the name Hanson, and looked like a man to the unaided eye, but Andrew Glover knew better. He’d assensed Hanson when he had first shown up bearing Hyde-White’s letter of introduction, and his mage sight had shown him Hanson wasn’t human. What he was remained an open question; Glover had never seen such an aura or astral image before. There were no astral image files, no aura records to consult that would reveal what kind of metahuman Hanson was.
The fat, old man could not have failed to penetrate the illusions cloaking the metahuman from the ordinary eye. So why was he recommending a nonhuman like Hanson?
Hyde-White had sworn the same oaths as the rest of the Circle, dedicating himself to restoring the rightful monarch and purifying the land. Such purification applied not just to the pollution, but to the corrupting influence of metahuman genes as well. Glover’s ancestors had fought to preserve British purity against the influx of the less advanced races. Their struggle seemed petty compared to the battle he fought against the scourge of mutated humanity that threatened to overwhelm even the debased blood of the lower classes.
Metahumans were little better than beasts, and Hanson, with the bestial aspect he presented astrally, was clearly one of the worst kind.
Hyde-White was devious, but he was also a practical man. Like all well-brought-up men of his class, he understood the nature of the underclasses. Just as Glover himself did. Which was, of course, the answer. Hanson would only be a tool, a resource to be used up and disposed of when he was no longer useful. That made sense. It was only an unpleasant necessity that required Glover to deal with Hanson personally.
Hanson seemed unaware of Glover’s distaste for him. Or, if he was aware, he was indifferent. Either way suited Glover. Hanson’s repugnant presence was a temporary annoyance, one more burden to bear in the furtherance of the cause.
“They are ready,” Hanson said.
“Then we should not delay.”
Glover swept past Hanson and entered the room. In its center five people lay bound. They were dregs chosen from the flotsam of the metroplex, three of them orks. They were a far cry from the pure bloodlines of the sacrifices in Neville’s ritual. Glover personally found such submen repugnant. There would be no room for them in his resurrected Britain. The mongrel half-breed foreigners who made up the rest of the sacrifice were little better, but what they were was unimportant. It was what they represented that mattered.
Power.
Such sacrificial offerings had given their energy to aid the Circle, restoring the power lost by the deaths of Young Neville and Fitzgilbert. Even without the full nine, Glover could feel that their ritual workings were stronger, and Hyde-White had suggested they would grow stronger still. Each completion of the cycle would double their power. It was an added benefit that they could purge the land of such misfits while they gathered strength to restore it.
Too bad there were no elves among tonight’s participants. Their legendary physical beauty belied their deceptive and corrupt natures. They had cost Britain 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 the blessing. 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 intensity. Glover suspected Gordon believed in this new path more fervently than did any of the druids themselves. Glover was pleased. Hyde-White’s tutoring was having a most salutary 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 supposed 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 sovereign of sorts as well. Both king and archdruid had their spheres of power. Together they would lead the way to a new era.
Gordon returned his own nod to Glover’s bow. The archdruid 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 scream until he saw the golden sickle in Glover’s hand.