As if the very thought of the disgraced officer-turned-nihilist willed him into being, I came to my senses on the edge of the benighted clearing once more. Slowly arising from behind the altar where it seemed he had been prostrated in worship the entire time was the sinister M. Arterius. He wore a grotesque, mandibled mask over his scarred features, but the gore-clotted hook now replacing his maimed hand provided verification enough for myself of his identity. At his appearance, the deranged celebrants took heart, rallying from what had been a nauseous rout. They scattered in all directions, it seemed, at the warning shots by Inspector Vakarian and the others but now rushed back at the sight of their fiendish leader, nearly surrounding us.
Trench-gun now fired in earnest, the Cossack Urdnot roared his primitive fury at the animalistic assailants, sending several reeling away, blasted to red ruin by the storm of pellets. Unthinkingly the crazed Cossacks still threw themselves at my companions, even trying to scramble over the bonfire in their madness. Overbalanced, the conflagration toppled, spilling fire about the clearing. Most of my companions were able to get clear, but as the flames spread to the grisly sacrificial frames, Lieutenant Alenko was completely cut off from escape, frenetically trying to force back the lunatic mob with the butt of his carbine. I ran to assist, finally firing the borrowed revolver into the fray, but was brought up short by a scream for help. It seemed that Miss Williams had been pinned by a portion of the collapsing blaze and was unable to free herself. Torn by the awful choice I found myself having to make, I hurried to Miss William’s aid. Lt. Alenko was a dear friend of old, but he was a man of his dangerous profession, and knew well the vagaries of war.
Wresting Miss Williams from where she had been pinioned, I had opportunity to look back to the good lieutenant. I saw his carbine torn from his grasp and he grappled with several Cossacks, getting the worse of the struggle with his more robust and hysterical opponents. I would have attempted to hurry to his aid, but he turned his eyes to meet mine, and produced a hand-grenade from his threadbare uniform coat. Over the din I heard his piteous cry:
“Shepard! For the love of God, run! It’s your only chance, there’s nothing you or anyone can do now!”
I reeled away from the thunderous detonation, ears overwhelmed by the blast and the hideous screeching of the injured. Flames had been cast everywhere, setting tree, grass, and cultist alike ablaze. Stumbling, unable to act, I saw M. Arterius flee with several of his followers into the swamp in the direction of the sea where the Citadel reared malignantly. Dizzied by all that had happened, I reached out blindly in the chaos for support, my hand seeming to find Miss Zorah's of its own accord. She pulled at me urgently, and with surprising strength, and I found myself tripping after the remainder of my companions through the bog in pursuit of the disgraced officer, the rest of the heathen multitude baying at our heels.