“And so you have a moment to act,” said Corvus. “Well done.”
“Don’t compliment me yet,” I said, pausing to take a couple of grenades from the dead orcs’ harnesses. “Not until this is done.”
Chapter 11: Disciples of the Void
We encountered no other orcs on the way to the food court.
The mall was silent as a tomb, save for the regular thunderclaps of dueling spells overhead. Morvilind and the Archon wizards were still hammering at each other. I wondered how much longer they could keep that up. Maybe Morvilind would wear down the Archons, shatter their defenses, and claim the Eye before Corvus and I got near it.
That seemed unlikely.
Or maybe the Archons would overpower Morvilind.
That seemed even more unlikely.
As we approached the entrance to the food court, the familiar greasy, spicy smell came to my nostrils. I remembered all the pregnant women and women with small children I had seen during lunch, and wondered how many of them had gotten out.
I wondered how many of them lay dead in the wreckage of the mall and its parking lot.
I was tried and frightened, but I was angry, as angry as I had ever been in my life…and I have a lot of anger most days. I was even angrier than I had been at Madison when I had uploaded the contents of Sergei Rogomil’s phone to the Inquisition. I hated Punishment Day videos and never watched them…but I had made an exception for the executions of the Rebels responsible for the bombings in Madison.
I regretted a lot of things I had done, but I didn’t regret that, and I didn’t regret the orcish soldiers I had killed today.
And if I wound up having to kill some Rebels, I wasn’t going to regret that, either.
Corvus and I eased into the mall’s food court, taking cover behind more potted plants in their massive stone containers. The food court was a big place, with four levels of balconies rising over the main floor, and dozens of fast food restaurants lining those balconies. Far overhead I saw the catwalk where Russell and Lydia Valborg and I had escaped that afternoon, though so much had happened since that it seemed like years had passed. The emergency lights remained on, but I hardly noticed.
The bloody glow from the Cruciform Eye filled the room.
The Eye rested on a table in the center of the food court. As I gazed at the thing, I understood where it had obtained its name. It did look like a giant bloody eye with a cross-shaped pupil of utter darkness. Even without working a spell, I could sense the magical power swirling around the damned thing. I heard a sort of whispering in my mind, a hissing stream of inaudible words that came from the Eye and echoed inside my head.
It was a very unpleasant sensation.
Four Rebels still stood guard around the metal table holding the Eye, and I saw at least ten more scattered around the room. I spotted Rogomil pacing back and forth before the table, scowling at the ceiling every time the thunder of one of Morvilind’s attacks shook the mall. I wondered if he had any idea that this place was about to get nuked to radioactive glass.
Maybe he did. Maybe that was the problem.
And speaking of problems…
“We have a problem,” I whispered into Corvus’s ear. “You see that Rebel.” He nodded. “You recognize him?”
“Should I?” murmured Corvus.
“His name’s Sergei Rogomil,” I said.
Corvus blinked. “The Firstborn has accepted a standing decree of execution for his death. The bounty doubled last month…how do you know him?”
“Those Rebel bombings in Madison last month?” I said. “Rogomil and his Rebel cell tried to assassinate the frost giant ambassador. I…sort of stole Rogomil’s phone and emailed its contents to the Inquisition. I was hoping it would get him killed. Guess I wasn’t that lucky.”
“You knew him before,” said Corvus, his gaze steady.
I swallowed. I didn’t want to tell him about Nicholas Connor. I had been an idiot…and I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Corvus.
“About two years ago I was in Los Angeles,” I said. “A Rebel cell there was planning to bomb a soccer game and pin the blame on me. I realized what was happening, called in an anonymous tip to the Inquisition, and got out of there. The Rebel cell got arrested and executed, and I got away clean. Rogomil was part of the cell. He’s…um, a little angry at me.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Corvus.
“Like, angry enough that he might not think rationally where I’m involved,” I said.
Corvus’s brown eyes narrowed. “Just what are you suggesting?”
“Easy,” I said. “I distract Rogomil and his goons, and while they’re trying to kill me, you sneak up and walk away with the Eye.”
“You intend to sacrifice yourself?” said Corvus, his disapproval plain.
“What? No,” I said. “Don’t be absurd. I intend to live through this.” Corvus did not look convinced. “Fine. If I get killed, Morvilind will let Russell die. So I had better stay alive, hadn’t I?”
“Very well,” said Corvus. “How are you going to distract Rogomil?”
I shrugged. “I’ll go up to one of the balconies and start shouting at him. That should do the trick.”
“You can be very insulting when you set your mind to it,” said Corvus.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “Oh, there’s one other thing you should know about Rogomil. He can use magic.”
Corvus went still. “What kind of magic?”
“Dark magic,” I said. “The kind we saw Paul McCade using.”
“I see,” said Corvus, as if he had just received the answer to a long-standing question. “Then it seems the cultists of the Dark Ones have indeed made common cause with the Rebels. So be it. Distract Rogomil and his soldiers, and I will attempt to take the Eye. If I obtain it, I will escape and make my way to Morvilind. You should do the same. Whatever spells Rogomil possesses, he will not be a match for Morvilind.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“God go with you, Nadia Moran,” said Corvus.
“Everyone keeps saying that,” I said.
Corvus shrugged. “Our cause is not always just. But this day, it is.”
I stared at him for a moment, then sighed, nodded, and crept out from behind the potted plants. I darted across the concourse and made my way to one of the escalators. The power was out, but the escalator could still serve as a staircase. Fortunately, the escalator’s metal rails offered excellent concealment, and I crawled on my hands and knees up to the second level, and then to the third.
That should be high enough.
I crept to the edge of the balcony and peered into the food court. The Rebels still stood in a loose guard around the Eye, and I didn’t see any Archons. Maybe they had retreated through the rift ways, knowing that the High Queen would launch her missiles. Maybe the entire point of this raid was to weaken the High Queen by destroying Milwaukee…and I doubted the Archons cared how many Rebels they had to use up to make that happen.
What was the phrase that Nicholas used to quote from yet another long-dead Communist philosopher? “Useful idiots?” Something like that.
I didn’t see any sign of Corvus, which was good. A Shadow Hunter knew how to move unseen. I crept along the edge of the balcony until I reached one of the thick concrete pillars, and then dropped to my belly. The railing was made of metal, with a narrow gap between the floor and the rail itself.
I took a deep breath and started shouting.
“Sergei Rogomil!” I bellowed, my voice echoing through the food court. “Find yourself a new phone yet? Heard someone stole your last one.”
The effect was immediate.
Every single Rebel turned towards me, raising their weapons. Rogomil himself stalked forward, and I saw dark purple light and black fire snarl around his clenched fists, the manifestation of the dark magic he had learned from the cultists of the Dark Ones. Not even Morvilind would wield that kind of dark magic, so I had only a vague idea what it would do.
Three of the Rebels raised their AK-47s and sent bursts towards the balcony, but the idiots missed me entirely. One of the Rebels had his gun on full auto without a proper grip, so it writhed in his hands, and half of his volley sprayed across the ceiling.
“Hold your fire!” snarled Rogomil, gesturing at his men. “Whoever you are, in the name of the Revolution I command that you show yourself!”
“Why would I do that?” I said, crawling to the side to make sure the concrete pillar was between me and the guns. “You’ve got all those guns, Commander Sergei, and you want to shoot me. You said so yourself the last time we met. Actually, you want to do a lot more than shoot me.”
“Oh?” said Rogomil. “We’ve met before?” He gestured, and several of the Rebels broke off from their patrol and headed for the escalators. I couldn’t have that, so I reached for one of the grenades I had looted from the dead orcs and set the timer to five seconds.
“A couple of times,” I said. “I’m really hurt that you don’t remember.”
I pulled the pin, pushed the grenade off the edge of the balcony, and crawled backwards as fast as I could. Once I was out of sight from the floor, I rolled to my feet and started running.
“Then why don’t you come down and introduce yourself?” said Rogomil. “You should…”
The grenade went off with a bang.
I don’t think it killed or even hurt any of the Rebels, but it threw them into an uproar. More gunfire rang out, and I heard Rogomil bellow in fury as I threw myself behind the counter of a store that sold hot dogs. Black fire flashed along the railing where I had been hiding a moment earlier, and the railing crumbled into rusty dust.
“Come on!” I said once the echoes died away. “You can do better than that. Come on, Sergei!” I jumped over the counter again. “Don’t you remember me? Or did all your brains leak out your ears when you promoted yourself to Grand Admiral or High General of the Revolution or whatever the hell you call yourself now?”
For a moment silence hung over the food court. I heard the Rebels coming up the dead escalator, trying to move quietly but failing. Another rumble of thunder came overhead, the floor vibrating a little.
“You!” said Rogomil.
“Katrina Stoker, at your service,” I said, using the false name I had given Rogomil and Nicholas while I had been in Los Angles. I drew a pistol and took three quick steps back, putting myself out of the line of sight of the escalators. “Hey, let me ask you something. Was Connor angry when you told him you’d screwed up Madison? Was he really pissed that you lost an entire cell for nothing, or was he just plain furious? I bet that he was…”
“Kill her!” roared Rogomil. “Kill her, kill her, kill her!”
The Rebels on the escalator abandoned stealth and sprinted up the stairs, their boots thumping against the escalator treads. I held out the pistol before me in a two-handed grip, took a deep breath to clear my mind, and released the handle of the pistol long enough to cast a spell.
I worked the Cloak spell around myself, and vanished from sight.
About three seconds later four Rebels sprinted up the escalator and onto the balcony, running past the tables and chairs before the fast food restaurants. They ran right past me without looking, and came to a stop a few yards away, sweeping their guns back and forth as they sought for me.
It was like a shooting range.
I couldn’t move my feet while Cloaked, but I could move my arms. With careful concentration I shifted my arms, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The gun spat, and the nearest Rebel’s head jerked to the side as the round penetrated his skull. The other Rebels stared to turn, and I fired again, catching a second man in the forehead. The remaining two Rebels were smarter, and dove for cover under the tables, spreading out so I couldn’t hit both of them at once. I stepped forward, my Cloak collapsing, keeping my left hand upon my pistol’s grip while raising my right hand. Lightning snarled and flashed around my fingers as I cast another spell, and I flung a globe of lightning at the nearest Rebel.
I missed him entirely. However, the Rebel was hiding underneath a steel table, and the globe exploded in a spray of blue-white sparks, fingers of lightning shooting up and down the table’s metal legs. The Rebel had the misfortune to be touching one of the metal legs, and he went into a weird, jerking dance as the spell’s force conducted into him. I shot twice, missed the first time, and caught him in the head the second time.
The sole remaining Rebel opened up with his AK-47, and I threw myself down, the Rebel’s shots ripping at the gleaming floor. I came to one knee and cast another lightning globe. The spell caught him in the chest, and the Rebel stumbled back with a warbling scream as the lightning chewed into his flesh. He would have hit the railing, but Rogomil’s spell had corroded it away, so the Rebel lost his balance and fell with a shriek.
It was only three floors down, but I heard multiple bones crack as he hit the floor.
“Kill her!” roared Rogomil. “That damned girl has hindered the Revolution for the last time. Kill her in the name of the Revolution! Kill her in the name of the liberators! Kill the bitch and bring me her head!”
A wave of dizziness went through me, and for a moment I could not get to my feet. I had used a lot of magic in a very short time, and I was already tired from the day’s exertion. Magical exhaustion feels a lot like dehydration, with an equal risk of passing out. Except passing out right now would be an incredibly bad idea, so I grabbed the back of the nearest chair and forced myself up.
As I did, I heard the drumming of footsteps against the escalators.
A lot of footsteps.
Rogomil must have sent most of his remaining men after me. It meant that Corvus had a better chance of snatching away the Eye while the Rebels tried to kill me. He might even be able to surprise and kill Rogomil. I wondered why Rogomil didn’t come for me himself, and then I realized that the Rebel commander would not want to leave the Cruciform Eye unguarded.
Of course, that meant I had to find a way to keep a dozen Rebel soldiers from killing me.
Yeah. Everything was going according to plan.
I sprinted down the balcony. There was a counter that sold doughnuts, another that sold tacos, and the third was a sort of Asian grill or barbecue of some kind, with a massive propane-fired grill behind the counter...
An idea came to me.
I pointed my pistol at the escalator and emptied the clip in a wild barrage of shots. I didn’t hit anyone, but I did force the Rebels to take cover for a moment.
“Come and get me!” I shouted, sprinting for the Asian grill. Bullets whined off the floor near me. I vaulted over the counter, slammed into the door behind the grill, and stumbled into the restaurant’s kitchen. It was bigger than I expected, with refrigerators on one wall, various ingredients laid out upon the central table, and a row of sinks upon the other wall.
And there, squatting by the back door into the service corridor, was a massive tank of propane.
I had maybe twenty seconds to pull this off.
I gripped my empty pistol by the barrel and hammered the grip against the tank’s valve until it broke off. At once I heard the hiss of escaping propane gas. I took three quick steps towards the back door, pulled out one of the looted grenades, and set the timer to two seconds. I put my back to the door, gripping the handle with my right hand.
Then I took a deep breath, trying not to wince at the rotting egg odor of the propane gas, and cast the Cloak spell.
Right about then the Rebels burst into the kitchen. At once they began pulling open the refrigerators, looking for my hiding place. It only took them twenty seconds to realize that I wasn’t in the kitchen, and they turned towards the back door.
In one smooth motion I yanked the pin from the grenade and pulled on the door handle. As I did, I dropped the grenade on the floor next to the propane tank and ripped the door open, throwing myself into the service corridor as
the Rebels opened fire.
I hit the floor and rolled out of the Rebels’ line of sight, bullets bouncing off the steel door or tearing holes in the wall, and I realized that I had miscalculated. I thought the blast of the grenade would be enough to ignite the propane.
As it happened, the muzzle flash of an AK-47 was enough to do it.
The next few seconds were really loud.
The steel door ripped off its hinges, a gout of fire shooting into the corridor, the roar load enough to drown out the agonized screams of the Rebels caught in the explosion. I was far enough down the corridor that the flames didn’t touch me, but the heat was still terrific, and I had just enough wit to cast my spell to resist elemental force.
That saved my life a half-second later when the grenade went off, blasting chunks out of the wall and sending further flame shooting into the corridor. The fire should have set me ablaze, but it washed against the dome of gray light shimmering around me. Holding the spell was a strain, but it was not nearly as difficult as holding it against the Archons’ ring of fire. I staggered to my feet, grabbing the wall for support, and stumbled away from the inferno.
One of the Rebel soldiers emerged from the kitchen, wreathed in flames. I couldn’t tell if he was screaming or not. He managed two steps before he fell and stopped moving. The greasy smell of charred meat and the rancid smell of burned hair filled my nostrils in a vile mix.
Burning was a horrible way to die, and I had just sent a dozen men to that kind of death.
But I remembered those pregnant women and little children in the mall.
I stumbled down the service corridor and released my spell, coughing and wheezing, my lungs and my eyes burning from the undoubtedly toxic fumes coming from the Asian restaurant’s kitchen. My head was spinning, either from exhaustion or whatever stuff I had inhaled, and I took a moment to catch my breath, one hand braced against the concrete wall.
Right. I had to keep moving. I didn’t know how many Rebels were left, and I had no idea where Rogomil was, but I was certain he would be coming after me. I was also certain that I couldn’t fight that dark magic of his, the powers the Dark Ones had given him. Of course, I didn’t need to fight him. I just had to get the Eye and get out. Maybe he would pursue me, and then Morvilind could turn him into a greasy stain on the pavement.
Cloak Games: Rebel Fist Page 16
