“My first name is a clue,” Raum teased, leaning forward a bit over the table.
“Ugh,” Ezra lamented, grinning, but he took up the challenge. “Making me exercise my degree! I’ll have you know my degree was not specific to Nordic countries and cultures, good sir, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“I have faith,” Raum replied, winking.
Ezra blushed and lifted his chin, accepting the challenge in those whiskey-colored eyes. “There was an ancient Nordic king named Raum the Old, and his name meant big and ugly, and he was one of the founding figures of a long line of rulers in Norway who had many adventures.” He paused. “That’s about all I recall. There is the Víkingssonar Saga by Thornstein, in which Raum features. He was a son of Nórr, the eponymous founder of Norway, and Raum’s descendants number in the dozens, many of them famous of their own accord.”
Raum nodded, and took up the tale. “He had a son named Brand, which meant sword, and the son’s name evolved toGuðbrandr,which means god-sword.”
Ezra blinked at him then leaned forward a bit. “You think he wielded the Dainsleif?”
“Yes and no,” Raum waggled a hand back and forth. “I think he wielded a sword that had powers imbued in it, and as stories and legends evolved, and I think at one point it came to be called the Dainsleif. Enchanted swords are a dime a dozen in myths and legends around the world. Narrowing the field down to one sword and the deeds it was involved in is a rather massive undertaking.”
“Hence the post-doc research for your book,” Ezra chimed in, nodding. “I get it. That has to be a lot of information, much of it conflicting.”
“Yes, unfortunately.” He shook his head once. “But back to why the Dainsleif. I’m named for Raum the Old, because our family’s paternal line is said to be descended from him. An unbroken line of sons, all the way back to a wielder of a swordthat legend claimed always took a life whenever it was drawn—either a victim of the wielder, or the wielder themselves.”
“It's hard to have an unbroken line of fathers and sons if the family sword will kill you unless you become a killer,” Ezra pointed out. “I’m sure not all of your ancestors were down with murder.”
“Here’s the really good bit.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” Ezra said, entranced, leaning forward to mimic Raum’s pose.
“The line of Raum was said to be immune to the lethal compulsion of the sword. If the wielder drew the blade and failed to claim a life, they survived the curse. It still functioned otherwise, meaning anyone they injured would die, but they would live.”
“Whoa,” Ezra sat back in his chair, blinking at Raum. “That is really good. So if someone other than the line of King Raum drew the sword and tried to use it…”
“They would die if they failed to take a life with the sword, once they drew it from the scabbard, at least. Anyone not blood-related to Raum the Old and his line would die from the curse embedded in the blade. They’d be fine if they left the sword in the scabbard, but not so much once the blade was drawn.”
“That’s a smart caveat from whoever crafted the blade—reduces the chances of someone trying to steal the sword. No point in having a sword that can kill anyone if it’s guaranteed to kill you if you fail.”
“Exactly,” Raum said.
“And your family legend is you’re descended from Raum the Old, hence your name.” Ezra blinked as he recalled Raum’s full name. “Both your names! Nórsson! Son of Nórr!”
“My parents are big on family history and tradition,” Raum said with a quirk of his lips in gentle amusement.
“They sure are,” Ezra agreed. “That’s way better than my boring, uptight family from England with a century of snobbery in San Francisco to their names. I am jealous.”
A long sigh interrupted them. Both Raum and Ezra looked down the table to where Chase was leaning on one arm, gazing at them both with a dopey expression and a huge grin.
“What?” Ezra asked, confused.
Harlan snorted in amusement, shaking his head at them all, and Chase answered. “I love watching nerds nerd out. Such a good vibe.”
Harlan chuckled, like that wasn’t all there was to it. Ezra squinted at the sergeants, but neither expanded.
“He’s calling us history nerds,” Raum explained.
“Ahhh,” Ezra said, getting it. It was accurate. “He’s not wrong.” Ezra grinned at Raum, who smiled back at him with a wide, bright grin of his own.
At that moment a phone rang, and Raum jolted, pulling out his smartphone and answering it with a fond expression softening his features. “Mom.”
Ezra didn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but Raum was smiling and clearly happy to hear from his mother. Ezra wondered what that was like for a split second, unable to even imagine being that pleased to speak to one of his parents. He actually had no idea when he last spoke to either of them willingly. Both he and his parents were long-practiced in ignoring each other’s existence. It had been years since he last spoke to them.
“Mom, I’m gonna put you on speaker. Is Dad there?” Raum asked as he set the phone on the table and hit the speaker icon on the screen.
A lightly Norwegian-accented female voice came from the phone. “Yes, dear, he’s here with me. We signed those silly NDAs, now tell us about this artifact; we’re most curious.”
