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Once again I rode The Dude. Curran chose to drive the cart. We travelled side by side. Ghastek took point, while three of his journeymen flanked us. The fourth, the orange vampire, trotted next to me. It was piloted by Ghastek's top journeywoman. Her name was Tracy and as navigators went, she wasn't too bad.
Ghastek's vampire reached Gunnar's fork, marked by an old birch. Predictably, Gunnar lumbered out. "Come to see Ragnvald again?"
"Going to the glade." I nodded at the cart. The deer's moist dark eyes stared at the viking.
Gunnar's spine went rigid. "To see him?"
I nodded.
"Don't "go," he said.
"I have to."
He shook his head and stepped aside. "It's been nice knowing you."
I touched the reins and our small procession rolled on.
Ghastek dropped back, drawing even with The Dude. "Why the secrecy?"
"The vikings don't like to say H?kon's name. The glade isn't that far from here and he might hear."
"What is he?"
He and Curran had that in common. Wave a secret in front of them and they would foam at the mouth trying to learn it. "He's a draugr."
The vamp hopped on the cart and peered at me, its eyes only a couple of inches from my face. "A draugr? A mythical Norse undead that supposed to guard the treasure of its grave?"
"Get off my cart," Curran growled.
The undead hopped down. The vampire's grotesque face twisted into an odd expression: the corners of its cavernous mouth pinched up, while its lips gaped open, displaying its fangs. It stared at me with blood red eyes and bopped its head forward and back a few times.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm laughing at you."
Kicking the vampire in the face with my foot would be counterproductive at this point.
"When I was a journeyman, I spent eighteen months in Norway, looking for draugar. I've camped in the cemeteries in sub-zero temperatures, I've scoured the fjords, I've dived into sea caves in freezing water. It was the worst year and a half of my life. In those eighteen months I didn't find any credible evidence of draugar's existence. Trust me when I say this: they don't exist. Hence, my use of the word mythical. As in not real."
I briefly contemplated punching the vampire in the nose. It wouldn't hurt Ghastek any, but it would be immensely satisfying. "This draugr exists. Plenty of people have met him."
"Oh, I have no doubt that they had met something, but it wasn't a draugr. Don't you see the signs? The mysterious glade the path to which is guarded by a giant. The legendary undead with magical powers, whom you can only meet once and those who disobey that rule die a gruesome death." The vampire waved his front limbs, fingers spread. "Woo-ooo. Frightening."
"Do you have a point?"
"Those bearded horn-helmeted bandits are conning you, Kate."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"There is no need to feel bad about this. You're a capable fighter, proficient with a blade and you have intelligence and tenacity, but you don't work with the undead. You have very little familiarity with the basic principles of necromancy, beyond its most practical applications. You lack the tools to recognize the hoax."
The urge to grab the mind of the nearest vampire and use it to beat Ghastek's bloodsucker to a bloody pulp was overwhelming. Perhaps, that's why Voron insisted on steering me away from necromancy. He knew there would be times the temptation to show off would be too much.
"No worries. It's a forgivable mistake," Ghastek said. "However, it will cost us a day and the use of five vampires."
"Humor me."
"Oh I intend too. I've had a stressful day and breaking this farce open will prove a wonderful way to vent the pressure."
The vampire sauntered off.
"He doesn't like to be wrong." Tracy's vamp said. I caught a hint of humor in her voice.
I couldn't care less if he liked it. As long as his vampires stood between me and the draugr, it would buy me a couple of extra seconds to get away.