Rune Warrior

by Frank Morin

  “So what do you want to talk about?” Gregorios asked, pulling out the chair across from Spartacus and dropping into it.

  “I am restored, but cannot make sense of the world.” Spartacus gestured to the ancient table and its museum artifacts. “These are historical items to today’s world, and yet they are marvels beyond my imaginings.”

  “Modern marvels hurt more. Next time understand the world before declaring war on a city.”

  “Some things are as yet outside of my control,” Spartacus said. “My purpose here is twofold.”

  “I know you’re after the forbidden runes.”

  “And you are prepared to intervene.”

  “Indeed,” Gregorios said. “What’s your other purpose?”

  Spartacus paused. “Forbidden. I like that word. That is appropriate for mortals.”

  “You still think you’re better than others?”

  “Don’t you?” Spartacus looked honestly surprised. “You sacrifice others to prolong your life.”

  “Did you set all this up to talk philosophy?”

  Gregorios was still irritated by the deaths and injuries it had cost to reach the table. He’d faced Spartacus for too long as an adversary. It still surprised him to find that Spartacus could string more than three or four words together without interjecting a battle cry or oath of vengeance.

  “Nay. Most mortals are weak and live forgettable lives, but they could be stronger.” Spartacus leaned forward, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

  He really was nuts.

  “And you’re going to make them stronger?”

  “If they will listen.”

  “How does that work with Paul’s whole evil-overlord-conquest plan?”

  Spartacus shrugged. “There will always be those intent on ruling, and those committed to fighting them. Paul wishes some of those forbidden runes, and I am honor bound to find them. The last two runes will be mine alone.”

  “What are they?” Alter asked eagerly.

  “Protection. Assurance that I can stand apart from the world,” Spartacus said. “Paul can make his attempt on the world and you are welcome to challenge his dominance. I am no longer constrained by such small-minded pursuits.”

  “Most people consider world conquest fairly important.”

  “Perhaps. But we fought for dominance across centuries. What did we accomplish?”

  “Not as much as we assumed,” Gregorios admitted. “But more than we would have had we let you destroy everything.”

  “In my anger, I saw nothing but vengeance.” Spartacus actually sounded reflective.

  “Are you saying you’re seeing reason now?”

  “I’m not sure what I see. I don’t understand the world. I see much weakness where there once was strength.”

  Gregorios couldn’t argue with that. Much of the world had fallen into moral decay, squandering riches denied to the majority of souls throughout the ages. The insight into Spartacus’ motivations was proving very interesting. He wished they’d managed to meet with Spartacus at the Circus. There had to be a way to leverage that gap, or even turn Spartacus to assist them.

  “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

  “What can be done? You allowed the arenas to fall into ruin. Where can one win honor such that the world would listen?”

  Gregorios shrugged. “Politics or the silver screen.”

  “Maybe the stock market,” Alter interjected. He had drawn closer as the conversation continued, his expression curious.

  Spartacus laughed and slapped his leg with a powerful hand. “That is the type of information I need! I will win honor, take their cows and melt their silver into new images.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alter asked, looking confused.

  “Not that kind of market,” Gregorios said with a smile. “And the silver screen isn’t really made of silver.”

  Spartacus frowned. “Such deceit must be done away with.”

  “You want honor?” Gregorios asked. “You want to get people to listen to you, to have adoring crowds chanting your name again?”

  “That would be a good start,” Spartacus said. “Only then will they listen to what I can teach.”

  “Well I won’t guarantee anyone will listen,” Gregorios said. “But it sounds to me like you want to become an actor.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Alter exclaimed.

  Gregorios had to force a serious expression. Seeing Spartacus starring in a romantic comedy would be such a victory, he scarce allowed himself to consider it.

  “Tell me about actors,” Spartacus said. “I will take upon myself this honor.”

  Bastien’s voice spoke through Gregorios’ earpiece. “Contact! The hunters just dropped down the side of the tower to the promenade.”

  “Where?” Gregorios asked. At Spartacus’ quizzical look, he tapped his earpiece. “Getting a message.”

  Bastien shouted, “Take cover in there! They are targeting the stairs to the northeast entrance of the library.” Gunfire chattered across the connection and sounded outside as Bastien and the Tenth opened fire on the hunters.

  “We’ve got company,” Gregorios said.

  Before they could move to better positions, an explosion rocked the little antechamber nearby that led to a short flight of stairs back down to the main promenade. The blast tossed Gregorios out of his seat, and a bronze bust of one of the popes clanged to the tile beside his head before skidding across the floor.

  A heavy canvas bag arced through the opening and landed inside with a dull thud.

  “Bomb!” Gregorios shouted.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  May the gods forgive me, but we have breached the Eternal City to our glory and sorrow. Spartacus is fallen, although my hand trembles to write such dire news. Few of his troops returned from their raid and, although they destroyed the temple, Spartacus fell to the facetaker goddess. Can anyone claim victory when such beings walk the shadows of the world and when such mighty heroes fall?

  It is fitting that the greatest city in the world fell with him.

  ~Alaric I, King of the Visigoths, sacking of Rome in 410 A.D.

  Sarah yanked on the pommel of the sword, slicing up Paul’s abdomen and pulling him off the ground. Impaled on the sword, he gasped, his mouth working but unable to scream. His hands pawed at her arm, smearing his blood onto her steel skin.

  Part of her hated him more for how much she loved this moment. She knew how much agony he was suffering as he hung from her blade, and she felt no remorse.

  Holding him helpless six inches off the floor she snarled, “I’m going to kill you now.”

  “You shouldn’t have waited,” he said and actually laughed at her, blood spraying her face.

  Her right arm burned with searing heat, then just as quickly turned icy cold. Sarah gasped and stumbled back as the sword slipped from her numbed fingers. The icy cold rippled up her arm and into her torso, draining her strength.

  A new rune glittered on her forearm, black against her skin. Paul had marked it with his blood. It was the counter rune Eirene had shown her, combined with another symbol she didn’t recognize.

  Sarah dropped to her knees as the matchless strength that had been pounding through her veins drained away, leaving her exhausted and weak. Her steel-hard skin faded to flesh and blood.

  “How…?” she breathed.

  Paul removed the sword, and his stomach sealed instantly. He stood taller, looking stronger than ever. “You have such marvelous power, slave, but you’re still a child. Had you command of your strength, you alone might pose a threat. I will grant you the honor of becoming my most beloved concubine, but today you will be punished.”

  Sarah scrambled away, filled with renewed terror. She couldn’t understand how he seemed so strong. She’d hurt him so much.

  “Thank you for granting me so much strength,” Paul said with a mock salute. “It feels wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  It chilled her to think he’d let her stab h
im just to give him a chance to inscribe that rune, and she’d let him do it. She was such a fool.

  That rune had drained her strength, just as she had drained all those other souls. She scraped at it, but it clung to her skin like it had been glued there.

  “When you are worthy, I will grant you more power even than you felt today. But first, the lesson.” Paul slid one finger up the flat of his blade. “I know just how we’re going to start.”

  Sarah crawled away, panicked by the thought of that sword stabbing her again. She tried morphing her flesh, but she couldn’t reach her rounon well. The rune on her arm was somehow blocking her ability. He was going to hurt her again, and she couldn’t stop him.

  Paul glanced beyond Sarah, and his mocking smile faded.

  An actual harpoon whooshed over Sarah’s head and punched through his chest, exploding out his back. He stumbled, but his flesh began to heal again. He yanked on the harpoon, but the barbed end prevented him from pulling it back out.

  The harpoon was connected to a heavy chain. When Sarah rolled over, she found that it extended up over one of the concealed archer platforms and back down to a motorized winch. Eirene hit a switch, and the winch began to whir. It caught up the slack and dragged a cursing Paul into the air.

  Eirene stopped it when Paul hung twenty feet above them. She rushed to Sarah.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Where’s Spartacus?”

  “He stepped on a catapult. He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Thank you. That was about to get painful.”

  Eirene studied the rune. “I don’t recognize this one.”

  “I don’t either. I don’t know how to counter it.”

  “There is one way.” Eirene summoned a pair of short knives. One she threw, catching a towering cyclops in the eye just as it rounded a nearby column. She brought the other one down to Sarah’s arm.

  “I was hoping you could come up with a better idea,” Sarah said.

  “Look away,” Eirene said gently.

  Sarah closed her eyes.

  Searing pain tore up her arm and she bit back a scream. As soon as she was free of the rune though, Sarah felt her strength roll back in. The flesh of her arm reappeared, undamaged.

  “Better?” Eirene asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Sarah felt whole again, although far weaker than earlier. She’d take it. At least now she wouldn’t have to lie helpless under Paul’s torture.

  “Take care,” Eirene said. “You may have drained much of your soul force, and there are only so many ciphers you can activate close together.”

  With a berserker shout, Paul chopped into his side with an ax, then ripped the harpoon out through the new wound. He fell to the floor nearby, covered in gore.

  He bounded back to his feet, already healed. He’d stolen so much energy from her, Sarah couldn’t imagine how to hurt him badly enough to do any lasting damage.

  “We’re in trouble,” Eirene muttered.

  “Tell me about it.” Sarah whispered a silent prayer that Tomas would hurry, because she wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold Paul.

  Spartacus appeared at the base of the steps, shouting Eirene’s name.

  “I have an idea,” Sarah said.

  Before she could explain, the stones under Eirene erupted, somersaulting her away. She landed on the long steps and bounced several times. As she rose to her feet, Spartacus drove his spear into her chest. Her scream tore at Sarah’s heart.

  She moved to help, but the ground rose into a wall, cutting her off from Eirene.

  “No, Sarah,” Paul said, once more wearing that mocking smile, his suit again spotless. “Your unruly behavior has gotten you into trouble.” He again carried a double-edged sword.

  Sarah yearned to help Eirene, but she had to deal with Paul. His reinforced strength was giving him the upper hand in controlling the memoryscape. No doubt, he’d force the memory toward completion, toward that moment when the master rune would appear.

  She had to stop him.

  Sarah retreated into the rows of columns spaced evenly along the eastern portico of the temple. Paul followed, implacable, sure of victory. Sarah didn’t have to pretend to look terrified. Every time her eyes flickered to his sword, she felt a fresh wave of fear.

  “I’ll never give you what you want,” Sarah promised.

  “Don’t delude yourself.” Paul spoke calmly. “Your destiny is set and unmovable. Embrace it now and I’ll show leniency.”

  The sword vanished.

  Sarah hated the feeling of relief that flooded her. Paul’s smile widened.

  “You don’t have to fight me, Sarah. I’m a fair master. I reward those who merit my good will.”

  She sagged against a column, one hand pressed to the stone for support, her gaze falling. She drew from the depleted well of her rounon and touched the cipher concealed under her hand, left there as part of her pre-battle preparation.

  Paul closed the distance between them and reached for her.

  Sarah activated the cipher and dropped to the stone floor as her soul strength temporarily spent itself fueling the cipher. Its blazing light solidified into glittering bands that wrapped Paul like a blanket and tightened. Those cords of binding looked ethereal, but were far stronger than iron.

  Paul shouted a curse, struggling against the restraining bands. The column began to crack. The binding cipher wouldn’t hold him long.

  Sarah didn’t need long.

  She pulled a wooden disk from her pocket, slapped it across Paul’s eyes, and activated the cipher engraved on it that would cause temporary blindness. She wobbled under a fresh wave of exhaustion, her strength spent to fuel the new cipher. This one didn’t require much force, and the feeling of weakness passed quickly.

  “You think that sword hurt last time?” Paul shouted. “I’ll impale you with a thousand burning blades.”

  He burst from the binding cipher and lunged.

  Sarah side-stepped, and he rushed headlong into the column beside her. The new cipher was working. She hoped it would last long enough. Sarah moved to her left to the next column, and summoned a moon-bladed battle-axe.

  “With threats like that, I’m not motivated to work for you, creep.”

  Still blinded, Paul rushed toward her voice with super speed. She barely spun out of the way, and he collided with the column. It splintered under the impact, but he ignored the rain of broken stone as he tore at his own eyes.

  Sarah dodged a huge piece of falling masonry and swung for his neck. Taking off his head was the only way she could think to beat him.

  Paul must have heard something because he dropped to the ground. Her axe sparked against falling debris. She shifted aim and swung again. He was leaning on the shattered base of the column, a perfect set-up.

  Four laughing babies appeared around Paul’s head.

  Sarah shrieked and released the axe, sending it tumbling away. She knew those babies were nothing but memory projections, but she couldn’t cut through them, even to get to him.

  Paul rose and the babies faded, becoming snakes that twined around his neck. He blinked with restored sight. She’d just wasted her best chance.

  Sarah retreated again, her mind empty of new ideas. Paul stalked after her, the snakes on his shoulders hissing. His sword reappeared in his hand.

  “Now, where were we?”

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  As a rule, men worry more about what they can’t see than about what they can see. The wise worry that they see too little. I see what must be, and I will seize the lives I must to achieve it.

  ~Julius Caesar

  Spartacus crossed the room in the blink of an eye, faster than even the enhanced legs of Tomas’ battle suit should have moved him. He scooped up the satchel charge and threw it back out the door.

  It exploded three feet from his hand, and the blast caught Spartacus in the face, hurling him across the room into the far wall. A section of the wall buckled under the impact, but he l
anded on his feet unharmed.

  As much as Gregorios hated rune webs, having a protective barrier must have been handy.

  He stood and dusted himself off. “Looks like the hunters have arrived.”

  “They are persistent through the ages,” Spartacus agreed. “If not for the unfair advantage of my rune protection, I would join in glorious battle with them.”

  “Times are tough,” Gregorios agreed. He doubted Spartacus understood sarcasm.

  The gunfire had died down after the blast outside so he shouted, “Reuben, get up here and talk like a man before I get really annoyed.”

  Reuben’s voice drifted in from outside. “How do I know you won’t try to assassinate me?”

  “I never liked that kid,” Gregorios said. “So untrusting.”

  “It is the nature of small men to see their shortcomings reflected in the actions and intents of others,” Spartacus said.

  Gregorios gave him an annoyed look. “Just don’t, okay?”

  “Have I caused offense?”

  “Not really,” Gregorios said with a sigh. “I’m still adjusting to the new you.”

  “Let the past go,” Spartacus said with a wide smile. “I have escaped my cage. Have you?”

  “I preferred storming the castle.” Gregorios stomped to the doorway and shouted, “Reuben, I said get in here! We’ve got a lot to discuss and killing you and your team is a waste of my time.”

  Reuben ascended the short flight of stairs from the promenade, rifle clenched in his hands. “My father knows I’m here.”

  “Which is why you’re still alive. The situation’s changed, so let’s figure out what we actually need to shoot before rushing off half-cocked.”

  “I know my duty,” Reuben said.

  Spartacus approached and Reuben shuffled back a step, swinging his gun to cover the Thracian. Spartacus ignored the weapon and held out his hand, smiling.

  “I knew many of your ancestors, young hunter. They were men of honor, who won great glory in single combat. You are welcome into our company.”