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And so the molten spike came true, red and glowing. But at the foundrymen’s insistence it was left to cool slowly lest it crack, and Connor paced the foundry yard, pent up and anxious. Again and again his eyes turned to the moon as it passed its zenith, and began its quick slide towards dawn.

For at dawn the spike must be raised or their mission fail, and the incubus of contagion hatch in the village.