Read The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx for Free Online

pleated the smooth skin between Raeburn’s blond eyebrows. “What if the presence of these three men was not coincidental? If, in fact, they are adepts of some kind, then they could represent a very real threat. They’ll have seen the sigil on Geddes’ ring. If they knew enough to recognize—”
    The old man snorted. “If they knew enough to recognize it, we would know by now. Still, if it pleases you, keep them under surveillance. If they become a further nuisance, we shall deal with that when it occurs.”
    “But, if they were responsible for our losses at Urquhart—”
    “Our losses at Urquhart are ultimately of little consequence,” the Head-Master said dismissively. “What have we really lost? The gold? Unfortunate, perhaps, but we have other means of generating wealth. The book of spells? Who can say for certain that the spells it contained were as potent as tradition claims? Let us bear in mind that even the bumbling Geddes was able to entrap the spirit of Michael Scot and force it to do his bidding. Could he have done that, I wonder, if Scot had truly possessed all the knowledge and power that legend attributes to him?
    “As for Geddes and his men,” he continued scornfully, “must we regret the loss of those who fail to accomplish what they set out to do? No, the Lodge of the Lynx has no room for failures. We are stronger without them. Let it be as if they had never been!”
    Clutching the carnelian ring in one claw-like hand, he heaved himself shakily out of his chair and moved over to a plain oak side table set into an alcove to the left of the window bay. On top of the table stood a small portable furnace, along with an assortment of tools and moulds for making models from lead.
    The Head-Master switched the furnace on. While it was heating up, he locked the band of the ring in the jaws of a table vise, then picked up a small jeweller’s hammer. A swift, sharp tap to the stone reduced it to half a dozen shards, like crystallized blood, which he swept into his cupped hand and placed in a mortar. A few seconds under an electric pestle rendered the shards into a fine, scarlet powder, which he poured into a plastic vial and capped. The setting he removed from the vise and dropped into a tiny crucible, which he then set inside the furnace.
    Raeburn watched the procedure from his seat at the table, half coming to his feet as the Master rejoined him and deftly catching the plastic vial which the Master tossed in his direction.
    “So much for Geddes,” he remarked, as the old man seated himself again. “Where do we go from here?”
    “Where we have always intended to go,” the Head-Master said testily. “The end remains unaltered. We shall simply resort to other means.”
    Raeburn’s head lifted with a slight jerk. “You mean the Soulis torc?”
    “And why not?”
    He opened a drawer in the end of the table and produced an oblong box of polished ashwood, which he pushed across the table towards Raeburn. After a Sidelong and almost incredulous glance at his superior, the blond man thumbed the latch on the front of the box and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, cushioned on scarlet silk, lay a heavy necklet of meteoric iron worked in Pictish designs. Raeburn’s pale eyes widened in awed recognition.
    “Impressive, isn’t it?” murmured the Master. “Its Druidical makers were masters of their craft. The elemental powers with which the torc is imbued are as potent as any spell Michael Scot ever devised—and it is already in our keeping. Haven’t I urged from the very beginning that we should reawaken its slumbering energies and make use of them according to our own purposes?”
    “You have,” Raeburn acknowledged. “But after a lapse of so many centuries . . . the risks—”
    “Are well within acceptable limits,” said the Master. “And you are wrong in thinking that the torc has not been used for many centuries. How could I possibly vouch for its potency, if I had not already personally