would return to his earlier topic of Nordic veganism. All
in the repressed fear of my own imminent discovery and destruction!
The deputy Fuhrer asked me to hold his canisters of food while he took a large key from his jacket pocket. 'The Fuhrer gave me the honor of holding his key,' he said. 'It is a privilege to be the first to enter and to greet him when he arrives!'
He inserted the key in the lock and turned it with some difficulty. I thought it wise of Hitler to have his friend go ahead of him like that. After all, the Fuhrer could never be sure it was not an elaborate plot to end his life.
Thus, as members of Rudolf Hess's entourage, we passed into the high-ceilinged armory which had been spared redecoration and was lit by a high, circular window. A sunbeam pierced the dust and fell directly upon a kind of altar, square granite carved with the Celtic sun cross, which had recently been placed there.
Involuntarily, I moved towards this new object. How on earth had they carried such a weight of granite through our narrow corridors? I reached out to touch it. But Hess held me back. Clearly he thought I was eager for other reasons. 'Not yet,' he said.
As his eyes became used to the dim light, he looked around him in sudden puzzlement. 'What's this-what are you men doing here before I ever crossed the threshold? Do you not realize who I am and why I should be here first?'
The shadowy group seemed unimpressed.
'This is blasphemy,' said Hess. 'Infamy. This is no place for ordinary soldiers. The magic is subtle. It requires subtle minds. Subtle hands.'
Klosterheim, automatic in hand, came grinning into the sunlight. 'I assure you, sir, we are nothing if not subtle. I will explain as soon as possible. But now, if you don't mind, Deputy Fuhrer, I will continue to save your life-'
'Save my-?'
Klosterheim pointed his pistol at me. 'This time my bullets will work,' he said. 'Good afternoon, Count Ulric. I had an idea you would be joining us here. You see! You're fulfilling your destiny whether you wish to or not.'
Hess remained outraged. 'You are making many mistakes, Captain. The Fuhrer himself is involved with this project and will be arriving shortly. What will he think of a subordinate pointing a gun at his deputy and one of his top officers?'
'He will know what Prince Gaynor will tell him,' said Klosterheim. He was careless of Hess's words. He hardly heard them. 'Believe me, Deputy Fuhrer Hess, we are acting entirely in the interests of the Third Reich. Ever since he was denounced as a traitor and his property confiscated, we have been expecting this madman to make an attempt on the Fuhrer's life-'
'This is nonsense!' I began. 'You know it is a lie!'
'But is the rest a lie, Count?' His voice grew softer, more intimate. 'Do you think we expected you to give up pursuit? Wasn't it obvious that you would make some attempt to reach this place? All we had to do was wait for you to bring us the Black Sword. Which I note you have kindly done.'
Hess was inclined to trust to rank. This was my only hope of buying time. As he looked to me for confirmation I shouted in my best Nazi-bark: 'Captain Klosterheim, you are overstepping the mark. While we applaud your vigilance in protecting the Fuhrer, we can assure you there is nothing in this room which offers him any danger.'
'On the contrary,' agreed Hess uncertainly. His eyes, never steady at the best of times, flickered from me to Klosterheim. He was impressed by Klosterheim's handpicked storm troopers. 'But perhaps, given the circumstances, we should all step outside this room and settle any confusion?'
'Very well,' said Klosterheim. 'If you will lead the way, Count von Bek ...' And he gestured with his Walther.
'Von Bek?' Hess was startled. He looked hard at me and began to think.
I had no more time. I pulled the protective fabric away from my sword. Ravenbrand was all that could save me now.
Klosterheim's gun cracked. Two distinct shots.
He had the sense to know when to stop me.
The sword was only half out of the case as I felt sharp pains in my left side and began to stumble backwards under the impact of the bullets. I struggled to stay on my feet. I wanted to vomit but could not. I fell heavily against the mysterious granite altar and slipped to the flagstones. I tried to get back to my feet. My dark glasses fell off. My cap was kicked away from my head revealing my white hair. I looked up. Klosterheim was standing with his legs straddled over my body, the smoking PPK .38 still in his right hand. I do not think I have ever seen such an expression of gloating satisfaction on a human face.
'God in Heaven!' I could hear Hess gasping. He peered down at me, his eyes widening. 'Impossible! It is the Bek monster! The bloodless creature they were said to keep in their tower. Is it dead?'
'He's not dead. Not yet, Your Excellency.' Klosterheim stepped back. 'We'll save him for later. We have an experiment to perform. A demonstration the Fuhrer has requested.'
'The Fuhrer,' began Hess, 'surely would have told me if. . .'
The pointed toe of a boot kicked me efficiently in the side of my head and I lost consciousness.
Dimly, as was constant with me now, I had been sensing what was happening to my alter ego. Suddenly my nostrils were filled with a pungent, reptilian stink and looking up I stared into the familiar eyes of a huge dragon. All the wisdom of the world flickered in those eyes.
I spoke to the dragon in a low, affectionate voice that had no real words to it, that was more music than language, and the dragon responded in the same tones. A thrumming purr came out of its monstrous throat and from its nostrils a few wisps of steam. I knew the creature's name and it remembered me. I had been a child and had changed a great deal. But the dragon remembered me, even though my body was covered in cuts and I was helplessly bound. I smiled. I began to speak a name. Then the pain in my side swept through me like a swift tide and I gasped, going down again into blackness that engulfed me like a blessing.
Had Prince Lobkowitz set this trap for me? Was he now in league with Klosterheim, Gaynor and the Nazi hyena pack?
And did Elric's fate, in his world, mirror my own? Was he, too, dying in the ruins of his old home?
I was aware of pain, rough hands, but could not bring myself out of sleep. I woke up to the smell of oily smoke. I opened my eyes, thinking at first that the armory was on fire. But the old flambeaux brackets had been utilized and a flaming brand guttered in every holder, casting huge shifting shadows.
I felt the tight cloth of a gag in my mouth, my hands were bound in front of me and my feet were free. I was relieved that most of my Nazi uniform had been stripped off me. I wore only a shirt and trousers. My feet were bare. I had been prepared for some kind of special treatment. I moved and agony flooded through me. I felt the wadding of a crude dressing on my wounds. My captors were not famous for administering pain relief to their victims.
At that moment they were not interested in me and I was able to watch what was happening. I saw Hitler, a rather short man in a heavy leather military coat, standing next to the plump, frowning Goring. Nearby, SS Commander Himmler, with the prissy severity of a depraved tax inspector, was talking to Klosterheim. The two men had a similar quality about them I couldn't immediately identify. Members of Hitler's crack SS guard stood at key points in the hall, their machine guns at the ready. They looked like robots from Metropolis.
Gaynor was nowhere to be seen. Hess was talking intensely to a rather bored-looking SS general whose attention was everywhere but on him. Oona was not here. It could mean that she had become alerted to the danger in time. Were her weapons still in the car? Could she at least get the Grail out of Hitler's clutches?
I knew suddenly that I was dying. I had no hope of recovering unless Oona could save me. Even unbound I could not reach my sword, which now lay on the altar like some kind of trophy. While the Nazis were careful not to touch it, they peered at it as if it were a dangerous dormant snake, which might rear up to strike at any moment.
I guessed the sword to be my only hope of life and that a slim one. I was not Elric of Melnibone, after all, but a mere human being caught up in natural and supernatural events far beyond his understanding. And about to die.
From the dampness of the heavy dressing against my side I could tell that I was losing a great deal of blood. I could not tell if any vital organs were damaged, but it scarcely mattered. The Nazis were not about to
