Rune Warrior

by Frank Morin

  Tomas gunned the engine and drove their little sedan across the street to join the assault team. As he and the enforcers grabbed up their weapons and gear, Sarah joined Gregorios and Eirene.

  Gregorios gave her a warm smile. “Let’s go say hello, shall we?”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Talbot’s arrogance knows no bounds. I salute the Earl for his previous victories, but he grew to rely too heavily upon the strength of his runes to the discounting of the value of his troops. Not even the vaunted enforcers charge a fortified camp, replete with so many cannon, with such paltry numbers.

  ~Peter II, the Duke of Brittany, after the Battle of Castillon, July 17, 1453

  Eirene followed close behind the point team assaulting the main doors of the old church. Gregorios and Tomas led two other squads, with Sarah positioned at the rear. No one would get anywhere near that girl. Alter trailed them, escorted by a four-man squad tasked with keeping an eye on him.

  The heavy double doors burst inward under the team’s battering ram, and members of the Tenth poured through, weapons at the ready.

  The inside of the church was in surprisingly good shape, with mahogany pews lining both sides of a wide aisle. The huge central room lacked the ceiling murals so common in Roman churches, but rose to a high, flat roof three stories up. Two tiers of columned arches flanked the room, which was built out of simple brick.

  Ten men, dressed mostly in leather jackets, lounged across the room around the altar, automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. They blinked away shock then began swinging weapons around.

  Too late.

  The Tenth opened fire, filling the room with the muted barking of suppressed rifles, flying lead, and the stench of gunpowder.

  Heka fell screaming under the barrage, splattering the chapel with blood. Despite grievous wounds, several of them returned fire.

  Eirene caught glints of bright-glowing runes peeking out from under shirts and sleeves. Most of the fighters were charlies, rapid healing powered by the life force of souls they’d drained earlier. They’d keep fighting until all that power was drained away.

  The secondary teams burst in from the side entrance and joined the fight. Heka shouted defiance and the loud chatter of their rifles filled the room with booming echoes.

  Eirene brought her Thompson to her shoulder and embraced the thrill of battle. It filled her with fear and elation just as wild as back in the days of Rome when she fought with gladius and buckler. One enemy combatant tried to take cover between two nearby columns supporting an open archway, but Eirene stitched a line of forty-five hollow points up his torso.

  Even enhanced, that hurt. The man screamed and tumbled from his feet. He’d stay down long enough for the Tenth to finish the job.

  Four squads converged on the enemy soldiers, working with practiced efficiency, bringing down the last of the heka fighters eight seconds after bursting through the outer doors. Two of the targets turned out to be occans, but the Tenth disabled them before they could complete runes carved with desperate haste into thighs or hands.

  “Spread out. Secure the building,” Eirene ordered.

  Gregorios, his rifle propped over his shoulder, gave her a kiss.

  “You didn’t even fire a shot, did you?” she asked.

  He shook his head and winked. “I was having too much fun watching you.”

  Too bad he was wearing a temporary suit. She usually enjoyed the nights after battle, but he was out of luck until he changed out of that hunter body.

  She turned to Sarah, whose face was white, eyes wide. Despite how fast she had learned, their world was still a shocking one to the young lady. She avoided looking at the bloody corpses and met Eirene’s gaze.

  “Where’s the facetaker?” Eirene asked.

  “Down.”

  They soon located the stairs to the lower levels. Eirene led the way, with Tomas and Anaru flanking her and two other squads on their heels. Gregorios came after with Sarah. The gunshots would have alerted the facetaker of their approach, but she’d be surprised if they had many more forces on hand.

  She hoped the facetaker turned out to be John. He had a lot of questions to answer before Gregorios met him in a formal duel and ended his final life.

  They reached the basement level and entered a long, bare room constructed of huge stone blocks. A stone sarcophagus rested against the wall to her left. What purpose the room might have served in the past was unclear. Her eyes were drawn to the far side, sixty feet away, where a memory machine, identical to their Sotrun III model, glittered silver under bright lights, confirming they had found the right spot.

  A small table stood near the machine, with a dispossessed soulmask strapped into a harness, as if they had been preparing to begin a memory walk. The reclining chair was empty, as was the rest of the shadowed room.

  Eirene rushed toward the machine, with the soldiers on her heel. A heavy wooden door on the far side of the room was closed. That had to be where the facetaker had fled.

  Sarah entered the room last and immediately spun toward the sarcophagus. “Eirene, wait! They’re not--”

  Gunshots drowned out her warning as eight heka erupted right out of the floor on both sides, flinging aside concealing panels, automatic weapons firing.

  Anaru tackled Eirene to the ground and she felt the impact of bullets striking the huge Maori. He grunted, muttered a Maori curse, and rolled away, his weapon chattering as he returned fire.

  The ambush was perfectly orchestrated, and had their force consisted of unenhanced soldiers, they would have been annihilated.

  These were the Tenth.

  Enhanced soldiers, led by Tomas, returned fire despite some of them having taken terrible wounds. Eirene rolled to her knees and joined them, firing at the heka along the right-hand wall.

  Gregorios rushed the heka lines on the left from the side, steel tomahawks in hand. He tore through the enemy at a sprint, tomahawks flashing, leaving screaming heka in his wake, the stumps of their severed arms spraying blood.

  As guns blazed across the room at point blank range, Tomas tossed a grenade into the hidden niche where the heka had crouched along the right wall. The blast tore heka apart and tossed them across the room. The concussion threw Eirene off her feet again and left her ears ringing.

  Tomas leaped into the group of disoriented heka, beating them down, with Anaru at his side a second later. Guns ignored, they lashed out with enhanced fists in close hand-to-hand fighting. With every blow, they proved why they were commanders of the world’s elite fighting force. Within seconds, the ambush was over, with the heka dead or disabled.

  A scream of defiance penetrated the ringing in Eirene’s ears and she spun toward the sound.

  Sarah had left the main group and approached the stone sarcophagus against the wall. None of the heka had attacked from there, and at first Eirene thought Sarah must have been seeking cover.

  She hadn’t. She had been inspecting the sarcophagus when a woman wearing a twenty-something body lunged out of it and grappled with her.

  The woman was the facetaker they sought. Her purple glowing hands were nearly in position to rip out Sarah’s soulmask. Still half in the sarcophagus, and shielded by Sarah, the woman presented no target.

  Eirene rushed across the room.

  Alter moved faster.

  The young hunter leaped fifteen feet, landing on the woman in the sarcophagus, driving her back down and beating on her with savage fury. Somehow she withstood the barrage and struck him a blow that doubled him over. Her glowing hands gripped his face.

  Alter screamed, a primal cry of pure horror. His eyes burst into purple fire and flames ringed his hands. He knocked her hands away and grabbed down for her. A second later, the facetaker’s scream echoed out of the sarcophagus. No facetaker could hope to defeat a Cui Dashi in a direct nevron duel, not even one as newly empowered as Alter.

  Eirene waved the others back and approached the sarcophagus. Alter didn’t remove the facetaker’s soulmask,
but instead jumped out of the sarcophagus and fell to his knees, staring in horror at his burning hands. Sarah dropped to the ground beside him, hugging him and whispering soft words.

  The facetaker surged upright in the sarcophagus, a heavy pistol in her hands.

  Anaru stepped past Eirene, already firing. Blood splattered as bullets ripped apart the woman’s arm. She didn’t scream, and would have severed connection to those nerves. It didn’t matter. The arm was damaged beyond use, and the gun fell from her hands.

  Anaru slammed the butt of his rifle into the facetaker’s head, knocking her down. He leaned over her, striking again and again, his powerful shoulders straining as he beat her to bloody pulp.

  Within seconds, the skin of her broken face sloughed off, allowing her shimmering soulmask to slide free as she abandoned the dying host.

  “Good work,” Eirene said. “Bag her soulmask.”

  A loud bang from the far end of the room turned her around. The door there had been thrown wide.

  Spartacus stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He held a clear, plexiglass riot shield, and his gaze swept the room and locked on Eirene. She felt a flash of ancient hatred at the sight of her long-defeated enemy.

  He wore Tomas’ body.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  What terror impressed upon my soul at the sight of the indomitable Spartacus fighting toward me, cutting down my enhanced men, murder his unabashed intent. Gregorios alone stood undaunted before his fury, and my anguish is near unquenchable that my secrecy was compelled by the mighty facetaker. He won such glory on that field of battle, and my victory is nearly complete. The rebellion is cast down, my wealth is confirmed sufficient to purchase another life, but my nightmares continue unabated at knowing Spartacus escaped yet again.

  ~Marcus Licinius Crassus, after the Battle of Siler River, 71 B.C.

  Tomas and his team reacted with enhanced reflexes, drawing double-barreled pistols loaded with sleep and electro-shock darts. They crouched, ready to fire, but Spartacus’ shield gave him the advantage.

  “Hold,” Eirene ordered as she walked slowly across the blood-soaked room toward Spartacus.

  Gregorios fell in beside her, his expression neutral. “So much for being beyond sides.”

  Eirene glanced back to where Sarah had sunk to her knees, wide-eyed stare glued on Spartacus. She’d recognized the body he word.

  Spartacus kept his gaze fixed on Eirene as he lifted his arms wide to show off his stolen suit. “Greetings, most honored enemy. I celebrate the sight of you in this amazing new world.”

  His voice triggered a flood of ancient memories. Although she had known he again walked the world, Eirene still shuddered to hear his voice after so many years.

  She took a step toward him, calculating the best ways to take him down with the least amount of damage to Tomas’ suit. “Greetings, Spartacus. You told my husband that you stand apart from Paul and his plot against us, yet here you are wearing the body of one of my men.”

  “A fitting form, don’t you think?” Spartacus asked. “To replace the one you took from me so long ago.”

  “Wrong answer,” Tomas growled, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  “Hold your position,” Gregorios ordered. “Let us deal with this.”

  “What will it be?” Spartacus asked. “Shall we cross swords to honor glories of the past, or shall we feast to celebrate the lives we enjoy, or yet meet in council to plan the movement of the future?”

  “Tell me about Paul’s plans and maybe we can work something out,” Eirene said, rattled by the unusual greeting. She couldn’t remember having actually held a meaningful conversation with Spartacus despite the centuries they’d fought each other. Their meetings had always jumped straight to violent confrontation.

  “I am not at liberty,” Spartacus said. “He will strike and you will retaliate. One will die and another may survive, but the world will continue to roll forward and I will be there to help set the course.”

  “Didn’t work so well last time,” Gregorios said.

  “This time everything is different,” Spartacus declared. “The world is new, but languishing in mediocrity. I am reborn! And I will spread to this faltering world a new vision of honor restored to men.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” Gregorios said. Before Eirene could stop him, he added, “Tomas, you’re on.”

  “About time.” Tomas charged, firing with every step. His team surged after him.

  Spartacus jumped back into the room and kicked the door closed.

  Tomas shattered the heavy oaken barrier without breaking stride. Eirene and Gregorios followed close behind. The room was empty, but a set of stone stairs in the right wall rose out of sight, back toward ground level. Spartacus’ voice echoed down the stairs.

  “The past is the past, my ancient rivals. Let it go.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Tomas growled, sprinting toward the stairs.

  Eirene gave chase, with Gregorios and several members of the Tenth close behind. They needed to take Spartacus, but not kill him. Not only did they need to return Tomas’ battle suit to him, but Eirene needed time to interrogate Spartacus, to understand his mental state.

  He was definitely not the man she had fought so many centuries ago. She wasn’t sure what he was, but they needed to find out. He might prove the key to unraveling Paul’s plot.

  Eirene had assumed Spartacus’ mind had broken and his soul faded away centuries ago. She’d been dispossessed, but only for decades. That time had been difficult, and she shuddered to think of languishing for nearly two millennia.

  No one had ever survived so long. For the first time, she felt conflicted about Spartacus, felt a twinge of regret about his long imprisonment. He’d done terrible things, had been her most hated enemy, but might he deserve a second chance on life?

  There was no way to tell without an in-depth interrogation. One thing was certain, she hadn’t spent centuries fighting this man only to have him rise again to threaten the world. If his mind was damaged, she couldn’t allow him to wander free wearing Tomas’ body. Who knew what atrocities he might commit?

  Modern day weapons would eventually win out, but average police would be unprepared to face the most powerful heka the world had ever known. He claimed to be beyond sides, but she doubted that meant he wouldn’t fight for what he wanted.

  They needed to know what it was he wanted.

  The long stairway emptied into a small courtyard behind the main chapel. Eirene paused at the top and caught sight of Spartacus as he leaped off the roof of the inner courtyard, catching a windowsill of the nearby square tower. He smashed the window and pulled himself inside.

  Tomas pointed at the tower. “Bad move. He can’t escape.”

  Eirene led the way. Together she, Tomas, and Gregorios entered the tower and began to climb. Members of the Tenth spread out around the tower in case Spartacus tried to escape out a window.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Tomas growled.

  “No, dear,” Eirene said. “He’s mine.”

  “You had your chance,” Tomas snapped.

  “I’m the one who started the discussion with him in the memoryscape,” Gregorios said. “So I should get to finish.”

  “Not a chance,” Eirene retorted.

  She broke into a run up the stairs, but the men matched her every stride. If they wanted to make it a contest, so be it. She’d defeated Spartacus once, and she felt a sense of ownership. If he was to die, she would see it done, but not before she discovered his intent.

  As one, they burst into the highest room in the tower, only to find it empty. They spread out and Eirene looked out the east-facing window. Spartacus stood on the nearby wall of the cemetery, about forty feet from the base of the tower, flanked by tall cedars. As soon as she and Gregorios stepped into the window, he saluted.

  “Tell your men to stand down,” he called.

  “Why?”

  “We have much to speak of, bu
t if you insist on crossing swords, I will respond in kind.”

  “Stand down,” Eirene ordered through the tactical net. “See if someone can get around the far side of that wall.”

  “What do you want?” Gregorios shouted.

  “The world has gone soft since you sealed my eyes, but we can again teach it the way of honor.”

  “Stealing that body is not the way of honor,” Eirene yelled.

  “A necessity. Mortals have harnessed the very power of the gods, and yet there is none to show them the way to greatness. I will do so.”

  “I don’t think so,” Tomas growled.

  He had backed up across the room and now rushed forward between Eirene and Gregorios and leaped, arms outstretched as if he hoped he had the superman rune inscribed.

  Spartacus ripped the top off one of the nearby cedars as Tomas soared toward him. Tomas couldn’t do anything to check his flight. The body he wore was almost as enhanced as his normal suit and he flew a graceful arc down toward the lower wall.

  With a mighty overhand swing, Spartacus swatted him out of the air with the tree. Tomas crashed into the cemetery wall and fell to the ground. Amazingly, he climbed to his feet, bloodied but seemingly intact.

  “Is that team around the wall yet?” Eirene asked.

  “Negative,” Anaru reported. “Three minutes.”

  “One side,” Gregorios said, raising his rifle and taking aim.

  Eirene pushed the barrel aside. “I need him alive.”

  “Let go this vendetta,” Spartacus shouted. “I will craft a better future for the world, and we no longer must remain enemies.” With a final salute, he jumped between the cedars and vanished inside the cemetery.

  Gregorios muttered a curse, dropped the rifle, and backed up for a run.

  “Greg,” Eirene warned. “Defeat him, but don’t kill him. Not yet.”