Warlock by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online Page B

likely that one or more of the six falling men above him would strike him and tear him loose of the shaft wall. And he would have gone down there with the rest of them. No, it must have been an accident. It would require a madman to try such a thing on purpose.”
        
        “But these may very well be madmen we have aligned against us,” the Shaker said.
        
        Richter looked troubled, tired. “I suppose it seems that way.” He made the concession reluctantly, just as any man of logic dislikes to think the enemy may not be logical himself.
        
        “Seventy enlisted men remaining,” the Shaker mused.
        
        “And I can hardly grill each as if I expected him to be one of our killers. I have a close attachment to these men, Shaker. Some of those boys whose throats were slit had been with me for some time indeed. And on that rope there, the boy Willard… Well, he was my nephew, the son of my oldest and favorite sister. Fortunately, she's dead now, bless her soul. I'll not have to be reporting his fall to anyone but the General.”
        
        “Perhaps double the normal guard tonight,” the Shaker suggested.
        
        “I have already decided to order that. And since you are actually our most valuable asset, I should suggest that you detail one of your boys to stand watch over you at all times.”
        
        The Shaker nodded and watched Richter move back into the sheltered cul-de-sac of the cleft, mingling with his men, stooping to talk to the closest friends of the newly perished Banibaleers. He had a sure way with men, a sense of leadership mixed with a tenderness of human understanding that made him the sort of officer men would follow most anywhere. The Shaker had seen such before, but rarely.
        
        If it's an act, and if he is himself an assassin, the Shaker thought, I shall be certain that he dies most painfully…
        
        Gregor appeared at the Shaker's right arm. “I used the excitement to search along the back of the cleft. Up toward the north end, clear to the rear, there is a short, torturous passage which ends in a chamber perhaps as large as a pantry. No light will escape it, and the sound of the chants should be deafened sufficiently. We can hold the secret reading there.”
        
        “After supper,” the Shaker said.
        
        “And before our killers claim more victims, let us hope,” young Gregor said.
        
        
        In the darkness of the camp, with the howl of the storm beyond the overhang, the boom of thunder and the crack of Lightning, the Shaker and his assistants reached the passageway Gregor had discovered earlier in the evening. They carried what few bits of magical devices they required, but hid them beneath their leather coats lest they be accosted before reaching the den. Single file, they entered the short tunnel, took four sharp turns, and came out in the room the apprentice Shaker had described. Mace lighted a candle, set it upon a boulder and stood guard at the entrance, listening for the sound of following footsteps.
        
        In the center of the floor, Gregor placed a silver reading square similar to that contained within the oaken surface of the table in Shaker Sandow's study. It gleamed with the reflected flickering of the candle. From a small tin box, he extracted a short sprig of incense, not enough to carry far out of the cave, and lighted it with care. From a final box, he withdrew two rings set with large sapphires, placed one on his own hand, gave the other to the Shaker.
        
        “What I don't understand,” Mace whispered, “is the need for such secrecy.”
        
        “You have muscles, but no magic,” Gregor said. The power in you is generated by the Clumsy Spirits, the Horse Haunts, but not by the same spirits that produce a Shaker.”
        
        “Aye, and you're rattled, not shaken.” Both of them were smiling, though they tried