Rune Warrior

by Frank Morin

  “There is some danger in such a privilege, no?” Bastien asked.

  “Let’s focus on the positive,” Quentin said quickly, pressing the play button. On screen, Tomas opened fire and hundreds of fifty-caliber rounds poured through the gun, shredding distant wooden targets.

  “I never grow tired of watching miniguns at work,” Gregorios said, leaning closer to the cake. “But how does this rate as one of your inventions?”

  “That was just the calibration test,” Quentin said, skipping forward to the next sequence. “As you surmised, the gun is an existing piece of hardware. It is known as the GECAL 50. But with my specialty rounds, it becomes something more.”

  Tomas opened fire on screen and again the gun unleashed a deadly volley. This time, many of the rounds were tracers, red and orange streaks that highlighted the trajectory of the rounds aimed at military vehicles. The film hadn’t been made on the mansion grounds, and Sarah decided to get Quentin to invite her to join them next time they went there to play with the big guns.

  Other rounds were armor piercing, incendiary, and explosive. They destroyed the armored vehicles in a matter of seconds. The most interesting rounds sent sheets of blue-white lightning arcing around the targets.

  “Wait, what are those?” Sarah asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I call this effect the Curtain Call,” Quentin said. “I’ve developed a compound that reacts with extreme prejudice against activated soul powers. It creates that visible effect and disrupts enhancements, and even rune webs, for a short period.”

  They all gaped at him. The ramifications of that invention were incredible, and terrifying.

  “How long have you had this compound?” Gregorios asked softly.

  “It is a recent breakthrough,” Quentin said. “And from your expressions, I see you recognize the danger our own people might face, should hostile forces obtain the secret. I alone know the formula. Not even my closest assistants know how it is made, and we used up almost all of it during that test.”

  He opened the box and extracted a device that looked like a grenade, only blockier. He displayed it to them with a proud flourish. “The last of the compound is in here.”

  “What do you plan to do with that?” Sarah asked.

  “This goes into my emergency preparedness kit,” he said.

  “This is magnifique,” Bastien breathed. “This could revolutionize how we fight the heka.”

  “Perhaps,” Gregorios said, his expression thoughtful. “Don’t make any more until we think this through. Keep no documentation on this product, and let’s set up a time to discuss it in detail when Eirene and Tomas return.”

  “I thought you might see things that way,” Quentin said. “How about some cake?”

  As they ate the delicious confection, Gregorios turned to Sarah. “I hope you learned something useful tonight.”

  “It’s been interesting,” Sarah admitted.

  “Do not encourage Alter’s interest in your genealogy,” Bastien warned, gesturing at her with his fork. “It is unwise to give his family any excuse to consider you a target.”

  “I’m in no danger from Alter,” Sarah said. Except for his constant attempts to get her out on a date.

  “Have a care nonetheless,” Bastien urged. “His family often shoots first and looks for justification later.”

  Sarah brushed away the concern. Alter would never target her.

  Would he?

  Chapter Sixteen

  I still think it is a mistake to accept Dalal into the fold. Our ranks may be thinned with the loss of Apostolos to Spartacus, and Neofytos to the hunters. Too few of us remain, but I don’t trust her. She’s an opportunist, and I don’t need to be a diviner to see that one day I will face her again as an enemy.

  ~Gregorios, 324 A.D.

  John lay in his enormous bed in his richly-appointed Rome apartment. The bed was a Gothic, wooden monstrosity he had acquired from one of the grand princes of Kiev over a thousand years prior. He no longer bothered to remember the man’s name. The useless mortal had barely survived one soul transfer.

  The door opened, and John shouted, “I told you to leave me alone!”

  It was not Frederick, his manservant, who entered.

  The unknown stranger wore a tailored suit. He looked Asian, but was tall, with a muscular physique.

  “Pardon the interruption, Great One,” the man said with a subservient bow.

  “You have good manners for an intruder,” John growled. He had already drawn a loaded pistol from a concealed compartment in the headboard.

  “Thank you,” the Asian man said. “You may call me Peter. I represent a benefactor who wishes to see your return to power.”

  “Not interested,” John said. “Send Frederick in here on your way out.”

  Peter drew closer, his smile unwavering. “Before I go, may I inquire as to the reason you feel so ill today?”

  “You may not.”

  If he took one more step, he was going to get fifteen hollow points to the head. John might be old, but he had mastered the firearm back in the days of the blunderbuss. Today’s modern weapons were so accurate, he barely needed to aim at such a close target.

  Peter bowed again. “Have you asked yourself why it was that no one else was drawn into that dangerous memory? Why you alone were sent to walk a memory that would kill you?”

  “Because Gregorios wants me dead,” John said. “Just like he killed the others.”

  It was so obvious. Of course Gregorios wanted him dead. But he had risked the machine anyway. It held the only hope for restoring his vitality. Gregorios had used that promised healing in the attempt on his life.

  “You are as wise as I was informed,” Peter said. “Gregorios has lurked in the shadows for decades, only to appear now.”

  “He’s killing everyone,” John agreed. “No one sees the truth but me.”

  “I can offer some assistance,” Peter said, drawing another step closer.

  John barked a laugh. “How? He’s got the machine.”

  “Where did he get it from?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Just this, Great One. Gregorios has usurped property that he did not create. He barely knows how to turn it on, yet claims to command its secrets.”

  “Are you saying you have another machine?”

  “I am.”

  John considered the claim and the one making it.

  Peter stepped to the foot of the bed. “Mai Luan may be dead, but her work is not.” He extended his hand. “Come with me and we can restore your rule.”

  John smiled. “And Gregorios?”

  “His time is about to expire.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Every time I invent the perfect heka-killing weapon, someone invents a better enhancement.

  ~Quentin

  Eirene followed a tuxedoed man into a luxurious salon in the Klai Kangwon Palace in Hau Hin, Thailand. The room had been prepared for the soul transfer, with two long couches set close to each other.

  Three people waited for her. His Majesty, the king of Thailand sat in a wheelchair looking frail and old in a white uniform under a golden robe of state. His son, the crown prince, sat in a straight-backed, padded chair in his formal uniform. A young man of about thirty sat in the last chair. He looked like a younger version of the old king. They had prepared an excellent vessel for the soul transfer.

  With Tomas following a little behind and to her right, Eirene approached and made a short bow, hands pressed together in front of her. The three men returned the traditional Thai greeting, or wai, and they bowed just a little deeper, with hands held higher than she had held hers.

  She smiled acceptance of the honor they offered.

  “I see you are ready for me,” she said.

  She had found over the years that it was easier to move ahead without delay. Sometimes the sacrificial young one began to have second thoughts. More than once, hunters had burst in during a transfer, and she di
dn’t feel like fighting off a band of Alter’s brothers.

  Guards had been covertly increased around the palace complex, but it always paid to be prepared. That’s why Tomas carried two large duffel bags, which he lowered softly to the ground within easy reach.

  His face was impassive, the mask he wore when working a transfer. It concealed any emotional turmoil that might still linger after all these years. It had to be tough watching other young men sacrificed as transfer vehicles, but he never talked about it. Eirene never asked. There was really nothing to say.

  “Where is Meryem,” the king asked.

  “I apologize, Your Majesty,” Eirene said. “She was detained due to poor health.”

  “That, I understand,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Let’s change that, shall we?”

  She motioned the men to take their places on the lounges. The young man, who was a grandson kept secret from the world, began to look nervous as he lay on the couch beside his grandfather.

  The crown prince noticed too.

  “Stay strong, my son. You have trained your entire life for this moment. You will receive eternal glory for fulfilling your duty.”

  The young man glanced at her, but she kept her face expressionless. She wouldn’t encourage him to sacrifice his life for his grandfather, but she wouldn’t dissuade him from doing it either. How he chose to dispose of his life was up to him.

  She didn’t relish these soul transfers. It was part of who she was, but she had lived enough lives to have realized that the soul worth waving was more often the one willing to sacrifice their life for another. Old men and women who had lived long and prosperous first lives paid her enormous fortunes for the gift of prolonged life, but it was the vessel who paid the most.

  It was how the world worked.

  That truth helped less and less every time.

  The young man took a deep breath and, with a determined expression, nodded. “My life for yours, grandfather.”

  The elderly king patted his hand. “You’re a good boy.”

  Eirene moved around to the head of the couch where the young man reclined. He closed his eyes and tried to look calm despite his clearly rising fear. He did a better job than many. She was grateful they weren’t using an unwilling vessel. Meryem’s consignment team would acquire transfer vehicles for clients who couldn’t provide their own, but this way worked much better.

  She placed her hands along his jaw and he shivered at her touch. When she embraced her nevra core, the force of her soul flooded her being with its normal intensity and helped settle her mind. This was just another job.

  As she considered the man under her hands, she could feel the pulsing strength of his soul. Her eyes began to glow like amethysts, and purple fire rimmed her fingers. She directed her nevron into the skin along his jaw and began severing his soul from his body.

  The young man gasped and clutched at her hands, but she expected the move. No matter how willing he might be, at the moment his soul began to separate from the only body he’d ever known, it was only natural to resist.

  He had waited too long.

  With a thought and a flick of her nevron, Eirene severed his control over his muscles. His arms flopped by his sides and his breathing settled into a deep, even rhythm as his systems began to shut down. His body would remain in that dormant state until a new soul returned to claim it.

  Her fingers sank through the skin along his jaw. She grasped the edge of his soulmask and began to pull. Starting at the jaw, it began to lift, separating from his bone structure with that wet, sucking sound she had grown to hate. Another three seconds and it would come free with a pop.

  Before she could complete the process, the purple fire along her fingers flickered in a way it never had before and shifted to orange. The strength of her soul rebounded back against her in an internal explosion that knocked her staggering. Agonizing fire rippled up through her torso and burned along her jaw. It felt like the terrifying moment when Maerwynn had betrayed her and removed her soulmask. The pain intensified until it felt just like her recent nightmare where Spartacus had tried sawing off her face with his dagger.

  Eirene screamed and fought the agony that drove her to her knees. She clutched at her face and was horrified to feel her skin soften, as if her soulmask were being driven out. She fought with every ounce of her soul’s vitality against the unexpected assault. It was hard to think, and she could barely understand what was happening. Someone had launched a new kind of attack, one she had never heard of, one that undermined the integrity of her nevra core.

  With agonizing slowness, she regained mastery over her body, which allowed her to block sensory input and dull the crashing waves of pain. With the pain under control, she forced her will over her nevron, but her core bucked like an unruly stallion.

  It was as if she were fighting herself.

  With a final exertion, Eirene bottled her nevra core. As soon as that fount of her soul strength was fully contained, the pain vanished and the invisible assailant released her. She slumped to the tiled floor and drank in the welcome coolness against her sweating skin.

  “Eirene?”

  She had not felt Tomas join her. He knelt close, expression concerned, a pistol in his hand.

  She felt incredibly weak and light-headed. “Help me up.”

  She swayed and would have fallen had he not supported her. Only when she turned to face the couches did she realize just how bad the situation was. The aged king was sitting up, face pale with barely-controlled fear. The crown prince had backed toward the door, his horrified expression verging on full-blown panic.

  The young man whose soul she had been extracting sprawled across the couch, his body contorted with agony. His soulmask was half removed. The lower section had come free but instead of shimmering like a healthy mask, the section where the skin had slid away looked dull, as if coated with soot. The upper half was still embedded in his flesh.

  Eirene grimaced. If the boy could control his vocal cords, he’d be screaming a constant wail of absolute pain. Leaving a soulmask partially removed was the worst agony a living soul could endure.

  “What has happened?” the king demanded.

  With Tomas’ help, Eirene returned to the couch. Her muscles were not working and her head pounded so hard she could barely think.

  “I don’t know. Something went wrong.”

  “Restore him at once.”

  Eirene placed one quivering hand on the young man’s face and dared touch her nevra core. An invisible force punched her in the gut and she doubled over and vomited all over the young man. Her strength failed her and she collapsed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We made the right choice allying with the Crusaders, despite how entrenched the facetakers remain in all the major courts of Europe. Saladin is spreading the kashaph perversions ever farther. The liberation of Jerusalem may yet be possible with the aid of our enhanced brothers embedded within the ranks of King Richard’s knights. Let us raise up anew a powerful nation, and then focus on removing the demons.

  ~Elias the Eighth, hunter counselor to King Richard, 1191 A.D.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sarah asked.

  She sat on one of the reclining chairs next to the Sotrun machine, beside Gregorios. Bastien and Francesca were preparing to help them don the heavy helmets for another memory walk. Alter and Harriett were going to take the second machine that Sarah had started calling the So-Ugly.

  “We have new failsafe runes in place,” Alter said. “The person running the machines can now pull us out if they need to.”

  Despite the boundless energy still radiating through her from the new rune, Sarah felt nervous returning to the memory world without Eirene and Tomas.

  “It’ll be fine,” Gregorios said. “If the man in the wide-brimmed hat really is in there following us around, it’s past time for introductions.”

  Sarah reluctantly settled into the chair. She had hoped Tomas would call and tell her what Thai
land was like, but they had heard nothing. Gregorios reassured her that Eirene would deal with the soul transfer first. They would call after that. She’d be finished the memory walk and back to Quentin’s in plenty of time.

  Francesca made a thumb’s up gesture before settling the jagged faceplate into position. Then the warmth of Bastien’s facetaker power pulsed against her skin. Sarah closed her eyes and tried to relax as she waited for the gentle descent into darkness.

  Instead, the worst migraine of her life clobbered her behind the eyes. Sarah gasped and clutched at the chair, but it had disappeared. She felt nothing.

  She awoke with a start, lying on rough, black stone that was shaking under her. The air was thick with smoke and tasted like rotten eggs and superheated metal. She gagged on the stench and looked around with bewilderment that quickly changed to fear. She was lying on the upper edge of a volcanic crater. Far below, lava boiled and climbed toward her with terrifying speed.

  The volcano was about to erupt.

  “This wasn’t what I was shooting for at all.” Gregorios crouched nearby, legs spread wide to keep his feet. He looked disgusted.

  “Where are we?”

  He helped her up and pointed down the mountain. Far below, she spied a sizable town.

  “That’s Pompeii,” Gregorios said. “You’re standing on Mount Vesuvius.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Sarah glanced back down at the angry mountain. A fresh wave of noxious fumes erupted around them and she stumbled away, one sleeve over her nose.

  “The only thing I can be sure about is that this was not the memory I wanted.”

  “Why aren’t you freaking out?” Sarah snapped. His calm demeanor in the face of the impending disaster was really annoying.

  “Would screaming like a baby and rushing headlong off the cliff really make you feel better?”

  Punching him might.

  “Why do you have all the nasty memories?” she demanded.

  The ground shook and she would have fallen had he not caught her arm.