"Smith, Guy N - The Pluto Pact" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

As the Witchfinder paused, staring at the jagged stone entrance with its ill-fitting door, he heard the low mutterings of those who followed at a distance. They were afraid - Balzur's sorcery was feared from the Craiglowrie mountains to the Firth, and beyond. Even now they doubted the powers of the Witchfinder against the magic of Balzur.

There was a faint stench, barely noticeable - but once you recognised it you heaved and vomited. Burning human flesh! Yet to the Witchfinder it was the sweet fragrance of success, familiar to one such as himself. He moved forward, no longer hesitating. The time for savouring was over. His booted foot struck the door, and flung it back with a splintering of wood.

Balzur was there, at the far end of the littered room. The fire in the wide grate belched out poisonous-smelling smoke as though the soot-caked chimney above was rebelling against it. In some respects the wizard resembled the one who had encroached upon his domain. Beneath the grime on his scaly flesh the features were finely cut, as though nobility had existed in his ancestry. Old, so old it seemed incredible that he still lived and moved . . . until you looked into his eyes and then you understood! Two sunken, malevolent orbs that radiated the ultimate in evil - an invisible force that had men cowering back and babbling their fear of his magic. Except the Witchfinder; he met his adversary's gaze unflinchingly, then allowed his eyes to travel round the room.

He'd seen most of it before in similar abodes; verminous creatures scurrying and squeaking in their cages, dried and whitened bones, the jar of preserved foreskins. Only here the stench of death was predominant - a dismembered child's body smouldering and hissing amidst the peat and kindling wood. There were markings on floor, walls and ceiling; a few familiar but most beyond his ken. Balzur, truly, was a black magician supreme, a disciple of the Left Hand Path.

The Witchfinder's mouth was suddenly dry, and a momentary spasm of fear twanged his heartbeat out of rhythm. Then he had himself under control again - staring at the wizard's tall, skeletal figure, arrogant and defiant.

'I need no further proof of your vile sorcery,' the Witch-finder cried, with relief that his voice did not quaver. 'I see it all before me here. And for what I see you are condemned to die by fire, so that your evil may be consumed with you.'

'My power is greater than yours, Witchfinder. Molest me at your peril!'

'Seize him!' the other shouted, half-turned towards the villagers crowding into the room. 'Drag him to the stake.'

Then came a rush of angry, sweat-stinking bodies, and calloused hands grabbing for the old man whose upraised arm failed to hold off those who had so long yielded to his demands - touching him at first with the revulsion of an inquisitive child finding a dead reptile, then dragging him boldly out into the open. A chorus of abuse drowned his feeble protests as he was raised aloft and carried down the uneven slope. Burning torches illuminated the scene, reflecting on Balzur's features. The Witchfinder, bringing up the rear, gasped in amazement. Their power destroyed, his victims usually screamed and pleaded for mercy. But not Balzur! His face was an impassive mask, without so much as a glimmer of apprehension in the deep-sunken eyes - tight-lipped, angry, but unafraid!

Several stumbled on the long trek down to Craiglowrie village, and once the wizard was almost dropped. But their anger had now escalated to a frenzy. Burn the fiend. Let Pluto, ruler of the underworld, take his own back into his fiery halls. They recalled the Bible readings in the kirk as the timid clergyman had relied upon its teachings to combat the evil hanging over them for so long. 'Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. He that sacrificeth unto any god save the Lord only, he shall be utterly destroyed.' It was time for those words to be put into action!

Balzur was lifted up and tied with stout ropes to the tree-trunk. Blazing torches were held at the ready as all heads turned towards the Witchfinder. The tall man emerged from the shadows, and approached the condemned man.

'This is the fate that awaits all who confer with demons, Balzur,' came his deep booming voice that seemed to echo through the village and along the valley. 'My power is greater than yours, my fire hotter than hell itself.'

'Wait!' It was no desperate plea from the bound man on top of the pyre, rather an insistence that his last words be heard. 'You know not what you do.'

'Blasphemy - words stolen from the Holy Book.'

'No. My words in truth, my warning. Burn me and all of you shall burn. You too, Witchfinder. The anger of Pluto will come upon those who destroy his disciple and he will send fire to consume you; you and your descendants after you. A heat that will consume you within and without, a fire that will live in this place for all time. This I promise. The curse of Pluto will be upon you and your offspring. Stop now, before it is too late!'

'Empty words, the hollow threats of a cowardly murderer.' The Witchfinder shouted, noticing that a few of those with torches had stepped back. 'This blasphemer cannot harm you. Do not listen to him. Fire him!'

A torch was thrust forward, with a loud crackling as the hungry flames found the dry tinder and began to spread. Other torches were thrown on to the fire, instantly igniting and sending up orange tongues and flying sparks. There was a loud roar as the flames amalgamated, the thickening smoke spiralled and mushroomed out into the blackness of night.

'Hear me. Listen to the curse of Balzur. Hear me, Pluto, mighty ruler of the world below!' Balzur's features seemed less wizened now, the wrinkles smoothing out into the tenderness of youth, no hint of the searing pain of the fire as it began to blacken the flesh beneath his blazing garments.

The crowd had fallen back in a frightened huddle, unable to take their eyes off Balzur.

'Don't look at him! Don't listen!' the Witchfinder shrieked through the crackle of burning branches and there was no mistaking the fear in his voice. 'He can't hurt you now,'

No, but his evil demons can. Pluto will take revenge for this. Far better to have fled Craiglowrie and left our village for Balzur to rule over.

The King's Witchfinder had now fallen back, wanting to turn and run, to mount his horse and leave this devilish place far behind. But he found his gaze irresistibly drawn back up to the face of his burning victim.

'You heard me, Witchfinder,' his blackened lips made themselves heard above the noise. 'You and these people, and all their families, shall die by the fire of Pluto. A living death. My agony is short-lived, before I go to join my master. But yours will continue endlessly in everlasting hell fire.' A sudden collapse of burning debris, and the blazing body was momentarily screened by the eddying smoke. When this cleared, he still managed one last soul-chilling cry. 'Hear me, Pluto, whom I have served so long, and take my soul in return for a curse upon Craiglowrie. Burn these people and their children, and their children's children, with a fire that cannot be quenched!'

The Witchfinder found himself staggering away with the others, in a panic stricken flight through the blinding smoke, clasping his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to shut out the words. And then through streaming eyes he spied his black mount pulling frantically at its tether, eyes rolling as it bucked and plunged . . . as if it, too, had heard and understood.

Grabbing the reins he somehow brought the animal to a standstill, gulping for breath as he hauled himself up into the saddle, trying to get the horse under control.