“The wood shaft has been replaced several times, fairy, but the point has never lost its edge in all the centuries since that day it punctured the side of Christ.”
“What now, Your Holiness?” the Cardinal Archivist asked.
“I will speak with the Heliwr. In private.”
Unsure what Urban wanted to discuss, Charles followed the Pope deeper into the courtyard where distance and night cloaked them in privacy. As a precaution, Charles gathered the magic of the Dark Thorn to his use and spoke three simple words, the spell keeping their conversation private.
“Do you sense any intention other than what the creature said in the depths of the Secret Archives, Charles Ardall?”
“I do not know,” Charles said, glancing back at Lazarus. “Something is not right. The vampire speaks true but not. There is something in all this he is not telling us.”
“The Holy Lance cannot fall into its hands. Do you understand?”
“As wielder of the Dark Thorn, I agree.”
“I wish something of you then,” Urban continued. “I do not want to be parted from the spear, not for any reason. There must be a spell you can weave to make this so. My forbearers have protected the Holy Lance for centuries. I must do so as well.”
“That could be very dangerous,” Charles said, apprehension filling him. “Magic is not something to be taken lightly. Merle has been very adamant about situations like you suggest. For a knight to enact magic on another person is a grave risk. Magic can go wrong; it can be unpredictable. And you being the Pope with great responsibility and with intense public scrutiny makes it—”
“An even graver risk,” the Pope finished.
“It is my role to keep the two worlds separate. If something happens, it will be obvious to the world, more than likely.” Charles paused. “To be blunt, you should not be taking part in any of this.”
“I must accept that risk,” Urban said, ignoring the Heliwr’s warning. “It is my job to end creatures like this. I also cannot lose the spear. It is one of the foremost relics in my possession and under my protection.” When Charles did not immediately agree, the Pope stepped closer. “You will do this. I take full responsibility for the magic employed upon my person. It is a necessary evil and burden I must bear,” he whispered.
Charles said nothing, simply nodding. The proper spell came easily enough. He had bound elements many times during his tenure as Heliwr, and it was not a difficult way to fulfill what the Pope requested. It still bothered him to enact magic on another person though. The warning Merle had given him remained.
Even so, it had been many years—since the beginning of his apprenticeship under Merle—that his own magical abilities had gone awry in some fashion.
But that did not mean it could not happen now.
“Hold the spear as you would when striking Lazarus,” Charles said.
Pope Urban did so. Charles called upon his magic, the Dark Thorn bolstering him. He wove a spell from the ether, from ancient words, calling on the power of the world through his heels as well as the power connecting him to Annwn through his staff.
It did not take long. The Pope’s right hand began to glow a warm blue where it held the shaft of the spear.
After he finished the spell, the glow disappeared.
“The staff cannot be taken from your fingers,” Charles said, the flush that came with enacting magic gone suddenly. “I can undo it once we are finished. The magic has bound the carbon atoms in the staff’s wooden shaft to the carbon of your hand. Test it. Try to release the Holy Lance.”
“I cannot let it go,” the pontiff said, all too pleased. He turned his back on the knight and strode back toward the others. “Time to end this evil’s life.”
Charles ended the privacy spell and followed, still wary.
“Kneel, creature,” Pope Urban said, holding the Spear of Longinus before him for emphasis. “I bring the death you have asked for.”
Lazarus released Cesare Farina and knelt as asked.
“Slay me, Pope Urban the Fingerless,” Lazarus whispered.
The leader of the Catholic Church hesitated a moment before raising the Holy Lance to strike. The warning that had been growing in Charles’s heart shrieked to sudden life.
“No!” he yelled. “Wait!”
Before Charles could intercede, it was too late. As the spear began to fall toward the vampire, the weapon suddenly vanished.
As did Lazarus.
Charles and the others stood frozen, unsure what had just happened. Then the horrified howls of Pope Urban filled the courtyard with chilling clarity. Blood spurted into the night from a right hand suddenly maimed, lacking every digit, the Pope bent over in wild-eyed, pained terror.
“Charles, Lazarus flees!” Berrytrill yelled.