Rune Master

by Amelia Wilson

  Erik’s eyes were stormy but he did not quail. “Mistakes were made, for which the Norn will no doubt punish me in time. You, Magda and Sigyn, are not the Norns. You have no right to punish me.”

  “I am the goddess of victory and I find you wanting.”

  He made a show of looking around him. “Wanting? I do not see Hakon sitting here.”

  Nika spoke, but she startled herself. The words were not her own. “Just give us the dreyri and we will go.”

  Magda, or maybe Sigyn, ignored her. “I also do not see Gunnar or your other brothers.”

  “Men die.”

  “And their leaders take the blame.”

  “As it may be, in time.” He tossed another gold coin to her. “I know your allegiances, and now I know your opinions. I did not request either. I came for –”

  “The dreyri. Yes, I know.” She looked at Nika, then back at the warrior. “Will you leave her as she is?”

  Nika frowned, confused.

  Erik answered. “That is not your concern.”

  “No.” Magda stood. “Of course not.”

  At some silent signal, the hidden door opened again, and a bulky man emerged, a barrel in his hands. He put it down on the floor with a thud.

  “This is what you came for. Take it and be gone.”

  The size of the barrel and the noise it had made when it hit the floor made Nika think it must weigh hundreds of pounds. Erik picked it up as if it were weightless, settling it onto his left shoulder. He kept his right hand free.

  “My thanks.”

  He looked at Nika and told her with his expression that it was time to leave. She held the door for him, and they left the office.

  They made it to the street without anyone stopping them. Erik hailed a cab, and when she got inside, he spoke to her. “There’s no room in there for me and this, but I’ll meet you at the house. Do you remember the address?”

  She panicked briefly. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  “I have to. I will meet you there in moments, I swear. Do you remember?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I will see you soon.”

  The driver looked into the rearview mirror, and she gave him the address. He nodded and pulled away from the curb. Nika watched through the window as Erik walked away, bearing his burden back toward their home.

  Chapter Seven

  Nika kissed him good-bye at the door, and the vision of the tears in her eyes stayed with him throughout his long morning travels from Stockholm to Karlsborg. Now that he had reached the base, it was time to put emotional things aside.

  A young soldier had been dispatched to pick him up from the train station. All during the trip to Karlsborg, the young man had watched him in the rear-view mirror, his eyes constantly leaving the road to study Erik’s face. He had kept his visage scrupulously unreadable, but the observation made him cross. The new recruits were always over-awed when they encountered the SOG, and it was a compliment of a sort, but he was not in the mood for it today.

  He knew what the soldier was thinking. Everyone here at Karlsborg knew what the Huntsmen were. For centuries, he and his brothers had been an unbreakable unit, untouched from the outside and largely autonomous, functioning with little oversight from the regular army brass. Their missions were always top secret, and their training was brutal. They were legends.

  Now only one of the legends had returned, and that unbreakable unit had been shattered into pieces. He didn’t know if the young human’s look showed curiosity, pity, or fear, but he wagered it was a combination of all three.

  He walked into the barracks and sought out the one open bunk, and he dropped his duffel onto the narrow mattress. The rest of his unit were elsewhere, probably in the mess or at liberty. He took the time to appropriately stow his gear in his foot locker and near his bunk, and then he went to HQ to check in.

  Major Ulvaeus was in his office when he arrived, receiving reports from a young lieutenant. The younger officer watched Erik warily when he came in, sizing him up as he stood at attention, waiting to be recognized.

  Finally, Ulvaeus spoke. “At ease, Captain.” Erik dropped into parade rest. “Your unit is at physical conditioning right now, but they will be back in twenty minutes. I will introduce you then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Walk with me.”

  The major led him out of the office and into his own private billet. There would be no interruptions here. Erik waited while the major shut the door and turned the bolt.

  “First of all, let me say that the orders I am about to give you do not have my full support, and I would rather they were different, but sometimes orders from the Överbefälhavaren cannot be countermanded.”

  Erik nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Second, I do not approve of the men they have selected to be in your unit. They are not regular army.”

  “I would assume not, sir. We are a special forces group.”

  “They’re not even soldiers,” he said, clearly chafing at the orders he had been given, himself. “They’re convicts. The worst of the worst. They’re being assigned to Huntsman squad because of their special skill sets.”

  Erik took a guess. “They are murderers?”

  “They are assassins, part of a secret society called the Red Hand.”

  “I’ve heard of them. I thought they’d been destroyed at the end of the Second World War.”

  Ulvaeus handed him a dossier. “I wish they had. They have powerful friends. I suspect that they, like you, have some very deep secrets, as well. Old secrets.”

  The implication surprised him. “You think they’re immortal?”

  “Or something very like it. We have reason to believe that they all took part in some sort of black magic ritual that stopped them from aging. I am unsure about their loyalties, and about their friends.”

  Erik opened the folder and read the information inside. Each of the men in the new Huntsman unit had been born in the twenties or thirties, during the darkest days of the years between the wars. They were assassins, and all were veterans of the heaviest maximum security prisons in Sweden. The list of their victims – both personal and political – was lengthy.

  “And I’m to make these men into hunters.”

  “You’re to teach them how to kill Draugr.” He sighed. “They’ve been training for weeks. They’re very excited about the chance to kill with official sanction.”

  Erik closed the folder. “I will do the best I can with them.”

  “That’s all I can ask.” He looked at his watch. “I’d suggest that you get back to the barracks to meet them. They’re going to be back any minute.”

  “Yes, sir.” He handed the folder back to Ulvaeus. “Thank you for your candor.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  He saluted the major and was dismissed with a nod. He made his way back to the barracks. If they were not Draugr, what were they? It concerned him, to put it mildly, that he was being presented with the dregs of society, but in truth, he was once one of those dregs, himself. He understood the type from personal experience.

  He reached the barracks before the unit arrived. With his vampire senses, he could hear them approaching, loud and raucous. Barbarians are barbarians no matter the century, he thought. He stood at the end of his bunk, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.

  The first man to enter the room was small and wiry, his blond hair in a military-style buzz cut. He had a nasty scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down to the point of his chin. Erik took note of it; either the scar had been from a wound prior to whatever had extended his life, or increased healing was not part of the bargain he had made.

  The man strolled into the room, his eyes locked onto Erik. He called over his shoulder. “Ulf. The vampire is here.”

  The next man to enter, presumably Ulf, was also blond, but his hair was an unkempt mess, completely at odds with his putative position in the Special Force
s and the uniform he wore. It was long and lank, swept back from his forehead to reveal a widow’s peak that pointed down to a prominent and beak-like nose. His eyes were dark, and he narrowed them when he saw the Huntsman.

  Erik looked at them with his Draugr senses. They were definitely not vampires. If he were pressed, he would have to say that they were nothing but human. Whatever had extended their lives did not involve his kind or the drinking of blood.

  Ulf nodded to him. “Captain,” he greeted.

  “Sergeant,” Erik responded.

  Two others joined them, talking and laughing at some private joke. They looked like twins, with the same unfortunate orange hair color and the same freckles over their faces. They stopped laughing when they saw him.

  “Gents, this is our vampire,” the first man told the newcomers.

  “Your captain,” Erik corrected. “Captain Erik Thorvald.” He offered a handshake to Ulf, who stared at his hand as if it might bite him. None of the others seemed eager to accept the greeting, either. He dropped his hand to his side.

  “Too bad you got your other unit killed,” the first man said.

  “What is your name, Sergeant?”

  The man raised his chin and crossed his arms over his chest. “Jan Stenmark.”

  “Well, Mr. Stenmark, let’s get one thing clear. Your opinions about my late team are irrelevant. I am your commanding officer, and I expect to be treated as such. Do you understand?”

  Stenmark laughed. “Sure. Whatever.”

  The twins looked at one another, and then the one on the right spoke up. “Aron Jansen. This is my brother Sven.”

  “A pleasure,” Erik said. He turned to the last man. “And your name?”

  “Ulf Magnusson.”

  He nodded in greeting. “Sergeant.”

  They stood and stared at him, no doubt taking stock of him, his physique and his apparent human-ness. To a man, they looked unimpressed. He didn’t really care what they thought. He was doing some evaluating of his own.

  It was clear that Stenmark was the ringleader of this little gang of thieves, and that he was the one Erik would have to win over if he intended to form any sort of cohesive team. Ulf and the twins Aron and Sven were pure followers, but the most dangerous kind. He suspected that where Aron and Sven were concerned, all loyalties to anyone but family would evaporate the moment one twin was in danger. That made them a very weak link.

  Ulf was a cipher. He had the look and air of the sort of brute who enjoyed kicking homeless people, but he was also strangely diffident. Erik wondered if he was a person who had a long fuse but huge and violent explosions. He supposed he would soon find out.

  “I read your dossiers,” he told them. “I know that you’re not actually soldiers, and that until recently you’ve been guests of His Majesty at Kumla Prison in supermax. You know why you’re here. I know why you’re here.”

  Stenmark chortled. “We’re here to kill vampires! You’d better watch out.”

  “I have no fear of you.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  Erik called on his Draugr speed and crossed the room like a blur. Before any of the members of the unit could react, he had his hand around Stenmark’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged in shock and fear. Erik leaned close to him so that he could see the green light in his eyes, and when he spoke, his fangs were fully extended.

  “I will never have any fear of you.”

  He released Stenmark immediately, his point made. The others shifted uncomfortably, looking at each other in anxiety. Erik returned to his bunk.

  “First, if you’re going to hunt Draugr, you need to know that as humans, even as extended or amplified humans or whatever it is that you are, you will never, ever be a vampire’s physical equal. Draugr are faster and stronger than you could ever hope to be.”

  Stenmark rubbed his neck and glared petulantly.

  “Second – and I want you all to listen very closely to this – I am in command here. I and I alone can tell you how things look through a Draugr’s eyes, and only I can help you learn the techniques you’ll need. I expect to be given respect. You can give it freely, or I will extract it from you. But I will be respected.”

  Ulf swallowed hard. “Extract it from us? What do you mean?”

  Erik turned his glowing eyes to him. “Pray you never find out.” An uneasy silence filled the room. Finally, he gave them orders. “Hit the showers. You all stink.”

  Sullenly, they obeyed.

  Chapter Eight

  Nika reported for work the same morning that Erik left for Karlsborg. The Royal Museum of Stockholm was much, much larger than the one she’d left behind in Central City, and she was a little overawed when she first stepped through the doors.

  She paused in the foyer and looked up at the cathedral ceiling soaring high over her head, through the sky light and out into the sunny day beyond. Sculptures hung suspended from the girders, floating above her head as if they had been frozen in mid-flight. On either side of the main entrance, twin banners hung from the ceiling to the floor, advertising the return of the Rune Sword and the ship burial display. The picture of the sword had been taken while the Soul Stone still held its unhappy occupant. She could see the little glimmer of green in the jewel in the image.

  She shook her head. The place was fantastic, and this was just the front hall.

  Nika walked to the information desk. “Nika Graves to see Director Blomgren.”

  The woman at the desk smiled and responded in perfect British English. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll ring him.”

  She looked around more while she waited. The crowd was of a good size, especially for mid-week. She could sense no Draugr in the area, which was a source of great relief to her. She sincerely hoped that the only other vampire she saw for a very long time was Erik.

  Thinking of him gave her a pang of loneliness, and she wished she could call him. She knew that he had his duties to fulfill, and that what he was doing in Karlsborg was very important to him. She also knew that she ached whenever she thought about going to bed without him that night.

  “Ma’am? Mr. Blomgren is on his way.”

  “Thank you.”

  A man in an impeccably tailored suit stepped up to the desk beside her and spoke to the clerk in Swedish. She intended to make a concerted effort to learn the language as quickly as possible. It was a lovely language, she thought, very expressive, and it sounded beautiful rolling off of this man’s tongue.

  To her surprise, the man turned to her with a smile. “God morgon,” he greeted.

  ”God morgon,” she responded.

  His smile widened. It was a beautiful smile. Unlike most of the men she had seen in Stockholm thus far, he was dark, blessed with a golden-brown complexion, wavy black hair and dancing dark eyes. “Or should I say good morning?”

  Her pronunciation must have given her away. “Good morning works better if you want me to actually reply,” she chuckled.

  “Welcome to Sweden, then, Mrs –”

  “Miss. Nika Graves.” She offered her his hand. To her surprise, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  “A pleasure, Miss Graves. I am Rahim Amari.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. That’s not a very Swedish name,” she teased. She instantly regretted her choice of words and hoped she had not offended him.

  To her relief, he only smiled again. His teeth were white and perfect, an orthodontist’s dream. “No, it is not. I am from Iraq originally.” The clerk at the desk handed him a visitor’s pass, and he accepted it politely. Switching back to English, he continued. “May I ask what brings you here to Stockholm all the way from America?”

  “Work.” She smiled back. “Today is my first day as assistant curator of the historical collection.”

  “Wonderful! Then we may cross paths again. I am doing research for a paper on Viking trade with the Middle East. I’m here on sabbatical from the University of Baghdad.” He took a step back from the counter. “Enjoy your new jo
b, Miss Graves. I hope to see you again.”

  “Enjoy your research,” she replied.

  He grinned. “Oh, I shall.”

  She watched Amari walk away, and then resumed waiting patiently for Blomgren. It seemed to take forever for the man to appear, but he did finally come hurrying down a side corridor, headed for the information desk.

  “Miss Graves, I am so sorry to keep you waiting. I was preparing your employee badge and the laminator malfunctioned.” He handed her the badge on an official RMS lanyard. “Welcome aboard.”

  They shook hands, and she put her new identification around her neck. “Thank you so much. I can hardly wait to begin.”

  He smiled. “Won’t you come with me? I’ll show you to your office.” He led her back down that side corridor and into a stairwell. “The staff offices are in the basement, along with the storage and our restoration department.” He held the door for her at the bottom of the stairs. “My office is right next to yours, and the employee lunch room and restrooms are down here, too.”

  She followed him to the office that would be hers. It was spacious, with elegant furnishings and a subtle pattern in the carpet. The walls were a soft rose, and she was happy to find a light table in the back corner. Blomgren smiled at her reaction.

  “We encourage our curators to pursue research, if they are so inclined, and to help our professors and academic guests with their work. A light table is very helpful for examining old documents, as you know. You will be happy to know that the light it uses is free of UV rays, so it will not damage the artifacts.”

  She shook her head, unable to keep from grinning. “That’s… amazing. Thank you.”

  “Naturally, you will have full access to the restoration laboratory and the storage area. I will provide you with the electronic codes for the locks to those areas.”

  “Terrific.” She hesitated. “I met one of your – our – academic guests this morning. Rahim Amari.”

  “Ah, yes. Our Iraqi friend.”

  “He said that he was studying Viking trade with the Middle East. It sounds like a fascinating topic.”