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"The lance of Ascalon," Peter said in awe.

Ina removed the entire weapon from its millennia-old hiding place in the ceiling. The shaft of the lance shimmered and almost appeared opalescent in the dim light of the church, but there was a definite dominance of reds playing over the unmarred surface. Rather than cylindrical in shape, the lance was rounded on the sides but had two thin, sharpened edges, forged as fine as a razor. The lance sang as Ina pulled it from the opening, like a sword from a scabbard. The whole thing was about five feet long and came to a perfect needle point.

Ina held it before her liquid eyes, and marveled at how she could see her reflection playing over the lance's pearly skin. "Beautiful," she whispered.

A few seconds later, Ina had climbed back to...

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