been replaced by the hazy outlines of two human faces. There were no discernable features to the visages, and they might have been any pair of men out of those who had escaped the killers' blades this night
That is all? Richter asked, unable to conceal the bitter disappointment in his voice.
I am working my power to fuller perception, the Shaker said. But there is something curious about these two.
No one spoke, for it was only the Shaker's place to comment now at this penultimate moment of discovery.
It had begun to hail outside, and nut-sized balls of ice pinged off the windows, rattled on the roof, like the feet of hundeds of dwarves performing some fairy dance.
There seem to be precious few personality traits to grasp. I find the sheen of their conscious minds, but to penetrate them is difficult. And when I do delve within, there seems to be precious little there.
The images on the silver plate remained indistinct. There were dark circles where eyes should have been, dark slits for mouths, dark holes for nostrils. There were whirls of dark hair, and a haze of mist filmed even this small vision.
What is that? Richter asked, pointing to fine lines that had begun to criss-cross the faces on the plate.
Wires? Gregor asked. Copper wires? He looked at his master uncertainly, then returned his gaze to the faces.
By this time, both visions were woven through with a net of wires; here and there were small plastic squares that were transistors, but which no one in the study could identify.
The Shaker was straining now, bringing all his power to bear on the problem. But only the wires grew more distinct while the features of the two assassins remained unidentifiable. There does not seem to be the mind of a man in either of those two we see.
Not the mind of a man? Belmondo asked, peering at the shimmering ghosts.
Their minds are cold unfeeling but clever
Demons you say? Belmondo asked, his voice rising squeakily.
Not demons, perhaps but something we cannot guess, the Shaker said.
Then the silver plate flashed with a puff of incandescent gas, and the images were gone. There was only a silver plate, cut square and set flush in the round oak table, holding the reflections of their anxious faces.
Weary, Shaker Sandow pushed away from the table and slumped in his chair. Immediately, Mace went to the sideboard and poured him a stiff jolt of peach brandy brought it to him and placed it in his weathered, slim magician's hands. Sandow drank greedily of the liquor some color returned to his ashen complexion.
You are reputed to be one of the most powerful Shakers in all of Darkland, Richter said thoughtfully. And yet even you could not summon up the nature of our enemy. So we fight demons, not men. But how could the lands beyond the Cloud Range house demons for the Oragonians to make pacts with, when demons live in the bowels of the earth and not on the land itself?
The word 'demons' was the choice of your captain, Sandow corrected. I have said that our killers are simply something different than men.
And what else does than mean but demons?
It could mean angels, Sandow said.
I would hardly think the beneficent sprites are responsible for the carnage we saw tonight
I was only offering an alternative, Sandow said, as proof that there could also be a third.
What do you suggest? the commander asked.
I suggest nothing. I only report what information I obtain and leave the decision to you. It
That is all? Richter asked, unable to conceal the bitter disappointment in his voice.
I am working my power to fuller perception, the Shaker said. But there is something curious about these two.
No one spoke, for it was only the Shaker's place to comment now at this penultimate moment of discovery.
It had begun to hail outside, and nut-sized balls of ice pinged off the windows, rattled on the roof, like the feet of hundeds of dwarves performing some fairy dance.
There seem to be precious few personality traits to grasp. I find the sheen of their conscious minds, but to penetrate them is difficult. And when I do delve within, there seems to be precious little there.
The images on the silver plate remained indistinct. There were dark circles where eyes should have been, dark slits for mouths, dark holes for nostrils. There were whirls of dark hair, and a haze of mist filmed even this small vision.
What is that? Richter asked, pointing to fine lines that had begun to criss-cross the faces on the plate.
Wires? Gregor asked. Copper wires? He looked at his master uncertainly, then returned his gaze to the faces.
By this time, both visions were woven through with a net of wires; here and there were small plastic squares that were transistors, but which no one in the study could identify.
The Shaker was straining now, bringing all his power to bear on the problem. But only the wires grew more distinct while the features of the two assassins remained unidentifiable. There does not seem to be the mind of a man in either of those two we see.
Not the mind of a man? Belmondo asked, peering at the shimmering ghosts.
Their minds are cold unfeeling but clever
Demons you say? Belmondo asked, his voice rising squeakily.
Not demons, perhaps but something we cannot guess, the Shaker said.
Then the silver plate flashed with a puff of incandescent gas, and the images were gone. There was only a silver plate, cut square and set flush in the round oak table, holding the reflections of their anxious faces.
Weary, Shaker Sandow pushed away from the table and slumped in his chair. Immediately, Mace went to the sideboard and poured him a stiff jolt of peach brandy brought it to him and placed it in his weathered, slim magician's hands. Sandow drank greedily of the liquor some color returned to his ashen complexion.
You are reputed to be one of the most powerful Shakers in all of Darkland, Richter said thoughtfully. And yet even you could not summon up the nature of our enemy. So we fight demons, not men. But how could the lands beyond the Cloud Range house demons for the Oragonians to make pacts with, when demons live in the bowels of the earth and not on the land itself?
The word 'demons' was the choice of your captain, Sandow corrected. I have said that our killers are simply something different than men.
And what else does than mean but demons?
It could mean angels, Sandow said.
I would hardly think the beneficent sprites are responsible for the carnage we saw tonight
I was only offering an alternative, Sandow said, as proof that there could also be a third.
What do you suggest? the commander asked.
I suggest nothing. I only report what information I obtain and leave the decision to you. It
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