The Lance

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Greenwood's voice made the hairs on the back of Selena's neck stand on end. She'd always heard about that. There was something primal in the harsh rhythm of the old language. Barbaric. Threatening. Frightening.

Still chanting, Greenwood went to the table in the center of the room. The chanting stopped. He opened the box. Selena saw a flash of diamonds and gold in the torchlight as he lifted the lid away. Greenwood took something from the box.

Greenwood said, "Bring her."

Four men moved away from the circle and came over to where she hung helpless. Each man took a key and unlocked one of the iron cuffs that bound her, grasping an arm or a leg. Selena struggled. The men lifted her naked body and brought her to the pole in the center of the room. Two men kept her arms and legs imprisoned while the other two bound her with leather thongs to the rings embedded in the pole. Then they returned to their places in the circle.

Greenwood stepped forward and held up a long, tapered blade in front of her face. It was brown and rusted with age, notched and pierced and wrapped in gold.

The Vienna Lance.

Greenwood spoke to her in German. Something moved in his eyes, as if more than one person were looking out at her.

"My name is Gruenwald," he said, his voice guttural and wet. "My father was Master of the Council before me, as Himmler was before him, as my son shall be after me. Tonight, the Reich is reborn. Your blood will open the passage."

Greenwood took the Lance and made a deep cut in Selena's forearm, opening a vein. The ancient blade dug into her flesh. She clenched her teeth against the pain. Greenwood picked up the emerald cup and caught the blood running down. The point of the Lance gleamed red in the flickering light of the torches. Selena twisted in her bonds and hot blood ran down her arm, down her side, draining into the cup.

When the cup was almost full, Greenwood stepped away. Blood continued to flow down her arm and over her breast. It ran down her side, down her leg, dripping on the floor. She was getting dizzy. She fought it.

"Bind her wound," Greenwood said. "We don't want her to die yet."

Smothers taped a compress over the bleeding vein. He wasn't gentle. Greenwood went to the edge of the circle of the black sun. He dipped the Vienna Lance into the chalice of blood and began to draw the blood along the circle. He moved counter-clockwise, chanting in the grating rhythm of the Old Germanic tongue as he moved.

The air turned freezing cold. Selena blinked, blinked again. A darkness was forming in the room, a thin, black cloud near the ceiling. It had to be an illusion, brought on by the wavering light of the torches, the loss of blood. She fought to stay conscious.

She wasn't going to give up, no matter what. But she hoped the others had figured it out and were on the way. She didn't think she had much time left.