small velvet bag. Inside were a handful of yellowed bone disks imprinted with crude runes. They had holes carved in the top and leather thongs threaded through them like they were usually worn rather than cast. I described them to Mac, who stopped working to stare at me, openmouthed.
"That's impossible," he said. Pritkin didn't say anything, but it felt like his eyes might bore a hole through me at any minute. "I'm not calling you a liar, Cassie, but if a two-bit gangster like that Antonio has the Runes of Langgarn, I'll-”
"He doesn't." Pritkin cut him off. "Where did you see them?”
"This is hypothetical.”
"Miss Palmer!”
"You can call me Cassie." Considering that he was probably planning to kill me eventually, formality seemed a little odd.
"Answer the question," Pritkin forced out through clenched teeth. Since Mac hadn't resumed digging in his back, I supposed I was the cause.
"I'll tell you what I know," Mac put in, "but it isn't much. Legend has it that they were enchanted by Egil Skallagrims-son in the late tenth century." At my blank look, he elaborated. "He was a Viking poet and general hell-raiser-took his first life at age six when he killed another boy over the outcome of a ball game-but he was one of the best rune-masters to ever live. Of course, some stories say that he stole the runes from Gunnhild, the witch queen of Erik Bloodaxe, king of Norway and northern England. And since Gunnhild was said to have Fey blood, it's possible the runes were enchanted long before in Faerie by someone else entirely-”
"Mac," Pritkin broke in when it sounded like his friend was about to go off on a tangent.
"Oh, right. Well, there are a lot of stories about Egil, most of which were recorded in his own poetry. He depicted himself as a larger-than-life figure who did impossible things-took on huge numbers of opponents and slew them single-handedly, set barns ablaze with a look, brought kings under his sway with only the power of his words and survived numerous attempts on his life. He made an enemy of Gunnhild, either by stealing her runes or by killing her son-stories differ-yet he lived to age eighty in a time when most men died in their forties. Interesting bloke, I always thought.”
"So what do the runes do?" I tried not to sound impatient, but I needed useful facts, not a history lesson.
"It's rumored that there was a full set at one point, but it was broken up centuries ago. It doesn't matter, since they're used separately. Each has a different power associated with it, and their only limitation is that they have to recharge for a month after use. Those that remain are highly valued weapons. It's said that they can't be warded against and that even null bombs don't have much effect on them.”
I shot Mac a skeptical look. I'd never heard of any magic that couldn't be countered. Casanova had tried to sell me that idea about my geis, but even Pritkin had admitted that there was almost certainly a way out of it. I just didn't know what it was yet.
Mac shook his head. "It sounds fantastic, doesn't it? But the Circle owns two of the set, and I was there twenty years ago when they used one to test a new ward they'd developed. This thing was a bear-nothing got through it, and I mean nothing. Twenty of our best mages hammered at it for the better part of a morning, hit it with everything they had, but it didn't so much as waver. Then old Marsden-he used to lead the council-brought out the runes. He decided to cast Thurisaz. I'll never forget that, not long as I live.”
"What happened?" I prompted.
"If you didn't know Marsden, it may be hard for you to get a visual on this, but picture the oldest, scrawniest, least threatening man you've ever seen. His magic was still strong at that point-he didn't step down until a few years ago- but he was old. His hands shook and he almost always had food spilled down the front of him because he couldn't see worth a damn. He kept running into things but he wouldn't wear his glasses or use charms to enhance his vision. He kept saying he didn't need them; then he'd try to shake hands with coat racks. He looked like he ought to be in a retirement home, unless you crossed him. Then you found out why he led the