“Go on,” I said, making myself smirk. It was hard to do when frightened. “This ought to be amusing.”
“You are one of Lord Kaethran Morvilind’s special little slaves,” said the Knight, “the ones he trains to do his dirty work.”
I stared at him, my mind frozen with surprise.
Then three things occurred to me.
First. Kaethran? Fifteen years I had known Morvilind, and I had never found out his first name. Though if I was dumb enough to use it in front of him, he would probably make my head explode or something.
Second came a wave of fury that the Knight had called me a slave. Yet he wasn’t wrong, was he? Morvilind might not have documents proclaiming that he owned me, but he didn’t need anything as crude as chains to make me obey him. If I screwed up, he would kill me and Russell would die of frostfever, and that was enough to make me do whatever Morvilind wanted.
Third came fresh terror. Morvilind had been clear about what would happen if I ever told anyone about him. With the vial of blood from my heart, he could kill me anywhere. Not even a demesne in the Shadowlands could shield me. If he realized that the Knight had figured out that I worked for him, Morvilind would kill me without hesitation.
For a moment utter despair gripped me. There wasn’t any way out of this. From the moment that I had seen Rogomil in the crowd, everything had gone wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to warn Alexandra. The minute I had seen Rogomil, I should have run like hell, waited for a chance to steal the amulet once all the smoke had cleared. Instead I had been an idiot…and now I was dead.
And now Russell was dead.
I stood in silence, waiting for my death.
“Well?” said the Knight. “Nothing to say?”
“Oh, shut up,” I said. “Just shut up.” His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Oh, I guess not many people take that tone with the great and powerful Knight of Grayhold? Just shut up and kill me already. Or turn me into one of your weird crystal sculptures. Either way, I’m dead. At least if you kill me I won’t have to listen to your stupid accent.”
“And just what is wrong with a Texas accent?” said the Knight. He seemed amused, damn him.
“Come on,” I said. “The dark lord of some ancient fortress in the Shadowlands has a Texas accent? Any minute I expect you to start singing about how the stars at night are big and bright deep in the heart of Texas.”
“I have not seen Texas,” said the Knight, “in a very long time.” For a moment he stared off at nothing, and then nodded. “And that little tantrum proves your story.”
“Tantrum?” I said.
“Morvilind told you that if anyone learned you work for him,” said the Knight, “he would kill you. Is that it? Probably with a vial of heart’s blood, I would reckon.”
“How…do you know that?” I said.
“Kaethran Morvilind,” said the Knight, “does not like to get his hands dirty. He trains human agents to do his dirty work for him. He teaches them a few spells and some useful skills, and makes sure that he has a hold over them, usually a loved one he can use to compel them. Then he uses his agents until they get killed, and he begins the process all over again.” His smile was cold. “Did you think you were the first one? That you were the first time he has done this? The Conquest was over three hundred years ago, and Morvilind has been very busy since.”
“You know him?” I said. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“We’ve spoken a few times,” said the Knight. “Though in the wide country between ‘friend’ and ‘mortal enemy’, he’s a closer to the enemy side of the border.”
I considered that. Maybe the Knight knew something useful I could use against Morvilind. “What can you tell me about him?”
“That I would not want to fight him,” said the Knight. “Not even in Grayhold, here in the heart of my power.”
“Why not?” I said.
“Because of all the Elven wizards,” said the Knight, “Morvilind’s only equal in skill and power is the High Queen Tarlia herself. And Morvilind has a genius for the art of magic that she simply does not.”
“Really?” I said. I had known Morvilind was powerful, but I had never guessed that he might be the most powerful Elven wizard on Earth. “Then why isn’t he…”
“A Duke?” said the Knight. “A high magistrate of the High Queen’s government? You’ve met him, right?”
“Oh,” I said. “Good point.”
“He is respected,” said the Knight, “but widely hated and feared. No one will follow him, but no one will cross him. Perhaps the entire Inquisition might challenge him, but only if the High Queen herself ordered it. Morvilind does have the High Queen’s favor, for he was the one who found the path to Earth.”
“He did?” I said. Morvilind himself had never mentioned that. For that matter, none of the official histories did, but all the official histories claimed that Earth had been a wasteland of war and death until the High Queen had arrived and brought humanity to order with her benevolent justice. I suspected the truth was a bit more complex.
“He did,” said the Knight. “Suffice it to say, Morvilind is no friend of mine, and may even stand in the way of my duty. Your secret shall remain safe with me.”
I forced myself to swallow my pride. “Thank you.”
“And now,” said the Knight, “I’m going to do you a favor.”
“Oh, goody,” I said.
“I’m going to give you a choice,” said the Knight. “If you like, I will kill you quickly and without pain, and I will then send Mrs. Ross unharmed back to Madison.”
“That’s not really compelling,” I said. “Let me guess. You want me to do something for you.”
“Not at all,” said the Knight. “I want you to promise to do me a favor. At some point between now and the end of your life.”
“Why?” I said, watching him. He really was a handsome man in a rough-hewn sort of way. Put him in a cowboy hat, boots, and a dusty coat, and he could have been the lead in a video drama set in the ancient American West. Of course, with his magical power, he could probably make himself look like anything he wanted. I wondered if he was really human.
“Morvilind,” said the Knight, “is not the only one who might find your particular set of skills useful.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, God. You want me to steal something for you.”
“Something like that,” said the Knight. He spread his hands. “In fact, I’ll even help you with your current task. You can consider it an audition to see if you can do a favor for me.”
“And just what do you know about my current task?” I said.
“I reckon,” said the Knight, “that Morvilind sent you to steal the Ringbyrne Amulet from Jarl Rimethur.”
“How do you know that?” I said.
“Because the amulet,” said the Knight, “is exactly the sort of relic that Morvilind would covet.”
“What does it do?” I said.
The Knight shrugged. “Not entirely sure. Maybe you can figure it out when you steal it.”
“Why do you want to help me steal it?” I said. “So you can have it for yourself?”
“Not at all,” said the Knight. “I have no use for it.”
I snorted. “Right. I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re planning to screw me over.”
“Screw you?” Again his eyebrows rose. “You’re a very forward young lady. We only just met.”
“That’s not…” To my great annoyance, I stumbled over the sentence, and I felt a little heat in my face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“They were your words, not mine,” said the Knight.
“My words, but not my meaning,” I said. “Is this how you usually meet women? Do they actually fall for the gloomy-dark-lord-in-his-ruined-castle routine?”
He blinked at me, and then to my utter astonishment he threw back his head and roared with laughter. A flicker of movement behind one of the glowing crystalline cylinders caught my eye, and I saw Sipad-Zid stand
ing there in his ornate robes, gaping at his master. Evidently the Knight of Grayhold did not often laugh.
“I confess,” said the Knight, “that it has never worked, not even once in all these years.” The Seneschal walked to the Knight’s side, holding a slim wooden case in his hands. “So, Irina Novoranya. Your choice. Die painlessly here. Or owe me a favor…and I shall help you steal the Ringbyrne Amulet from Jarl Rimethur.”
“What about Alexandra?” I said, glancing at where she stood frozen within the crystalline column. I couldn’t quite make out her expression through the blue crystal, but it was obvious she had been frozen in a moment of sheer terror. I hoped that the Knight had told the truth about the spell putting her unconscious.
“She will remain here,” said the Knight, “until you return with the Ringbyrne Amulet.”
“Ah ha,” I said. “Then this really was a setup to screw…I mean, to betray me. I bring the Ringbyrne Amulet here, and then you kill us both.”
“No,” said the Knight. “I give you my word as the Knight of Grayhold that should you bring the Ringbyrne Amulet to me, I shall release both you and Mrs. Ross from Grayhold unharmed, and send you back to Madison. I swear it upon my office as the Knight of Grayhold.”
The floor shivered beneath me, and a cold wind blew through the Hall of Attainder. It was as if the vast castle itself had taken notice of the Knight’s oath.
“All right,” I said. “We have a deal.”
“Swear it,” said the Knight. “If Morvilind has left you the capacity to hold anything sacred, then swear it upon whatever you hold sacred.”
“Fine,” I said, irritated. I thought for a moment. “I swear it upon the name of my brother.”
Again the floor trembled beneath my shoes, and the cold wind blew past me, tugging at my blazer and hair. For a moment I had the sense of something vast and mighty looking at me, and then the sensation faded. Yet I had the lingering impression that breaking my oath would be a bad idea.
“So be it,” said the Knight. “Seneschal.”
Sipad-Zid stepped forward, bowed, and offered the flat box to the Knight. The taller man reached down and opened the box. Within rested a black cushion, and upon the cushion lay a twisted bracelet of silver. It looked as if three silver bands had been melted around each other, and a dozen gems that glowed with a pale blue light rested within the tangled bracelet.
“What is that thing?” I said.
The Knight lifted the box and held it out to me. “See it for yourself.”
I hesitated, and then cast the spell to sense the presence of magical forces. At once a dozen screaming sensations roared through the spell, hammering against my mind. I felt the raw magical power surging through the grim stones of Grayhold, magic mighty and ancient and unyielding. I felt the intricate power of the spells of the crystalline prisons, holding their occupants unconscious and immobile. I felt the power of multiple warding spells around the Knight, and potent magic radiating from the sword at his belt and the gauntlet upon his left hand. Even Sipad-Zid had several warding spells around him, and his robe and jewelry had all been enchanted.
Just as well I had not tried to attack either of them. Both had enough power to crush me with ease.
The Knight gave me a knowing smile. I ignored it, gritted my teeth, and tried to focus my will upon the bracelet.
It carried spells as well. Warding spells, I thought. Like…
“Elemental spells,” I said. “It’s…warded against elemental spells.”
“Frost and ice,” said the Knight. “While you wear it, you shall be impervious to spells of frost and cold and ice. Rather useful when facing a frost giant Jarl and his entourage, I reckon.”
“I reckon,” I said. “Seems like quite a nice gift to give a thief.”
“You cannot repay my favor,” said the Knight, “if the Jarl freezes all the blood in your veins. Take it.”
I hesitated and then took the bracelet. It fitted comfortably over the wrist of my left hand, so comfortably I could pull the sleeve of my blazer down over it without trouble. At once I felt warmer. Not sharply warmer, but comfortably warm, as if I had stepped from the cold gloom of Grayhold into a pleasantly heated room.
“Nice trick,” I said, trying not to show how much I coveted it. A thing like this, an object of magical power, might prove very useful.
“Well,” said the Knight. “Sometimes a pretty girl just needs the right jewelry to match her clothes.”
Good Lord. Was he flirting with me? Of course, I had started it with all my wisecracks about screwing someone over. In retrospect, flirting with a lord of the Shadowlands had probably been one of the stupider things I had done. Morvilind had once mentioned in passing that he would never need to kill me because my smart mouth would get me killed first.
It seemed that I was determined to prove him right. Or my mouth was, at least.
I worked some moisture into my mouth and met his gaze. “It doesn’t match my shoes.”
“Where you’re going, it will,” said the Knight. He gestured with his armored hand, and the symbols upon his gauntlet flashed with white light. A curtain of gray mist shimmered to my left, and then shone with pale light. Through it I caught a wavering glimpse of a street and buildings rising on either side.
“Madison?” I said.
“Not far from the Capitol,” said the Knight. “Once you have retrieved the Ringbyrne Amulet, use the bracelet as a focus for a rift way. The spell will return you to Grayhold.”
“Right,” I said. Now all I had to do was figure out how to steal away the Ringbyrne Amulet from a frost giant Jarl…a frost giant Jarl who had nearly been assassinated, and would be on his guard.
Yeah. Easiest thing in the world, right?
I took one last look at the Knight. He stared right back at me, and I had the overwhelming feeling that he had not told me everything. Something else was going on here, I was sure of it.
He wouldn’t tell me, and the only way out of this mess was to steal the amulet.
So I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode through the rift way.
Chapter 7: The Glory of the Revolution
A moment of searing disorientation, the sensation of falling, and I suddenly found myself in the middle of a street a block from the Wisconsin State Capitol, the summer air hot and muggy against my face.
The rift way snapped shut behind me, and I felt the cold weight of the bracelet upon my left wrist.
I had returned to the middle of a mess.
Black plumes of smoke rose from the square, wreathing the white dome of the Capitol. The air stank of smoke and blood and the tang of powerful explosives. I heard the distant wail of emergency sirens, and the much nearer chatter of automatic gunfire. A barricade still sealed off the square, and a dozen dead men in blue Homeland Security uniforms lay before it. I couldn’t tell if they were Rebels or legitimate officers. Twenty or thirty more people in civilian clothes lay scattered on the street, some of them wounded and moaning with pain, some of them dead.
The Knight had dropped me right into the middle of a fight. Unless I missed my guess, Rogomil’s Rebels had seized the Capitol and the barricades, which made me wonder just how many men he had smuggled into Madison. Then I realized that I had to get out of sight, right now, before anyone else saw me. I sprinted off the street, jumped the curb, and darted into an alley between a bank branch and a sandwich shop. Both buildings were dark, their doors closed and their shutters drawn. With luck, no one had seen me. A digital clock hung over the bank’s entrance, and with a shock I realized that less than an hour had passed since I had fled into the Shadowlands with Alexandra.
It felt a lot longer than that.
I leaned against the concrete wall of the alley, closed my eyes, and tried to think.
I was in a lot of trouble, and couldn’t see a way out.
For one thing, I was in the middle of a war zone. The Rebels might have seized the Capitol, but that wouldn’t last long. If Carothrace and Tamirlas had e
scaped the ambush, they would call their men-at-arms and commandeer the local branches of Homeland Security. Guns and bombs and helicopters did not work in the Shadowlands, but they worked just fine on Earth, and the Elven nobles would sweep the Rebels from Madison. For that matter, the High Queen might send men from her Wizards’ Legion to aid the nobles, and they would call a firestorm of elemental magic upon the Rebels’ heads.
Knowing Rogomil, he would escape long before that.
Why seize the square, then? Why hold the Capitol? Rogomil was a lot of things, most of them bad, but he wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t suicidal. If he was sticking around, he would have a good reason, or at least a reason that made sense.
I tried to think it through. The Rebels wanted to overthrow the High Queen and restore self-rule to humanity. So how would assassinating a frost giant Jarl help that? The frost giants had been enemies of the High Queen for centuries. Except now the rebel Archons on the Elven homeworld had turned on the frost giants, and so the frost giants had come to ally with the High Queen against her rebellious former subjects. I had heard that the Archons attempted to work with Rebel cells here on Earth. If Rogomil assassinated Rimethur while he was under the High Queen’s protection, that would be a grievous insult to the frost giant Great King, and he might break off his alliance with the High Queen, or even throw his support with the Archons.
So that meant Rogomil’s entire reason for coming to Madison was to assassinate Rimethur and embarrass the High Queen.
Which in turn meant that the only possible reason that Rogomil had blockaded the Capitol…was that Rimethur was still inside the Capitol.
That made sense. The Jarl and his guards would be the veterans of many battles both in the Shadowlands and upon other worlds, and they had been standing near the doors to the Capitol. When they came under fire, the Capitol was the logical place for the frost giants to shelter, and they would need only hold out until the Elven nobles arrived to smash the Rebels.
And with that thought, relief flooded through me.
I knew exactly what I had to do.
Cloak Games: Omnibus One Page 26
