Cloak Games: Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “He, um, didn’t mention it,” I said, wondering what sort of game I had stumbled upon. If Rimethur and the Knight were allies of a sort, the Knight had gone to considerable trouble to send me to Rimethur with the sengejarme. But why?

  Weirdly, the thought comforted me. If this was a game, it was a dangerous one…but I was used to dangerous games. My whole life, really, had been a deadly game, with my life and Russell’s life as the stakes.

  All I had to do was figure out what kind of game the Knight and Rimethur were playing.

  “Though I do wonder,” said Rimethur, “why the Knight sent you to me with his sengejarme. You are not voidtouched. You are not one of the Rebels, and you possess spells a human should not.”

  “I think,” I said, “I might have become an enemy of the Dark Ones as well.”

  “How?” said Rimethur.

  “I am a thief,” I said. A rumble of displeasure went up from the guards. I suspected the harsh frost giants did not approve of honorless thieves, but it would make it easier for Rimethur to believe my story. “Last month I robbed the mansion of a wealthy human businessman. It turned out he was the high priest of a cult devoted to the Dark Ones, and had a secret temple hidden within his mansion. I wound up helping to kill him, and the anthrophages have been chasing me ever since.”

  Rimethur’s glowing eyes narrowed. “The hounds of the Dark Ones. The merchant must have been possessed by a voidspawn when you slew him.”

  “Yup,” I said. Clearly the Jarl had dealt with the Dark Ones before. “So the anthrophages tried to kill me in Los Angeles a few weeks ago, and just today in the Shadowlands. When the Rebels attacked the Capitol, I fled to the Shadowlands and the anthrophages found me. The Knight drove off the anthrophages, and…and…”

  I blinked, several ideas clicking together in my head.

  “Go on,” murmured Rimethur. “You’re very close.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You set this up, didn’t you? You and the Knight, working together. You planned this to screw over the Rebels.”

  Valjakar spat. I realized the frost giant term for “screw over” was probably not a word one used in polite company.

  “A salty metaphor,” said Rimethur, “but more or less accurate. The Knight’s divinations foretold that the voidtouched you call the Rebels would make an attempt upon my life here. It was a logical plan, since that would force the Great King to call for vengeance upon your High Queen. Yet here was an opportunity to bring pain to our enemies.”

  “And, of course, to improve your bargaining position with the High Queen,” I said. “Having Rebels almost assassinate you upon her soil is something of an embarrassment.”

  Rimethur shrugged. “I am a warrior. Such diplomatic games are beyond me, alas.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they are,” I said. “Hey, would it help to know that I also brought pain to the Rebels?”

  “And just how did you do that?” said Rimethur.

  “I’m a thief, remember?” I said. “I stole the Rebel commander’s phone and left it by the door. It’s currently uploading the contents of its storage to the Inquisition’s inbox.”

  Rimethur gestured to one of his guards, and the frost giant produced a device that looked like a tablet computer the size of dinner platter, its screen flashing with alien glyphs. I had never considered that the frost giants might have electronic devices of their own. They couldn’t use them in the Shadowlands, of course, but if properly packed and reassembled here, they would work fine.

  “She speaks truth, my lord Jarl,” said the frost giant, squinting at his huge tablet. “There is an ongoing radio transmission from the lower level.”

  Rimethur let out a rumbling chuckle. “Ah, it is an ill fate when a man’s secrets fall into the hands of his foes, is it not? Few are more deserving of such a fate than the voidtouched Rebels. Though I am curious of one thing, wizard girl. How did you come to be involved in such affairs?”

  “Bad luck,” I said. “I came here to steal something, and was in the square when the Rebels attacked.” Though I wondered about that. Was Morvilind playing some sort of game, too? That seemed unlikely. He didn’t care much about politics. He just wanted me to steal things. I knew so little about him, though, that I couldn’t say.

  “Very well,” said Rimethur. “You have done the frost giants a service in discomforting the voidtouched. Therefore you may ask a boon of me.”

  “A boon?” I said.

  “A reward, if it is in my power to grant it,” said Rimethur.

  “Then I ask for the Ringbyrne Amulet as my boon,” I said at once.

  Silence answered my request, the gazes of the frost giants heavy upon me. Rimethur said nothing. I wondered if I had just committed some sort of faux paus, or offered him a deadly insult.

  “Interesting,” said Rimethur at last. “You know what it is?”

  “That thing on your chest, yes,” I said. “The amulet.”

  “Do you know what it does?” said Rimethur.

  I shrugged. “No idea. Some sort of warding magic, I would guess.”

  “You came here to steal the amulet,” said Rimethur.

  Valjakar snarled and took a step forward, but the Jarl raised an armored hand and the younger frost giant subsided.

  “Um,” I said. “Yeah. I didn’t really want to, though…and nothing went according to plan.”

  Rimethur snorted. “If you do not want to steal the amulet and you do not know what it does, then why are you trying to steal it?”

  “Because,” I said, trying to think of a suitable answer. I could only imagine Morvilind’s reaction if a Jarl of the frost giants found out about our connection. Actually, I didn’t need to imagine his reaction. He would use the vial of heart’s blood to kill me, and Russell would die of frostfever in about a year or so. “Because I didn’t have any choice in the matter. Because I was compelled to do so. Hell.” I shook my head. “I would rather be at home.”

  “And if you were to tell me who had compelled you,” said Rimethur, “I assume your life would be forfeit?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Rimethur considered this for a moment.

  “I urge you to kill it, my lord Jarl,” said Valjakar. “The human female has admitted it is a thief and a liar. Kill it before it works some additional treachery.”

  “No,” said Rimethur. “She has done us a service, Valjakar. Therefore she shall have the chance to earn her boon.” He reached up and drew the amulet from over his head. “If she is strong enough to survive what is to come.”

  Rimethur threw the amulet at me, and I caught it, staggering a bit. The silvery disc was about the size of my hand, and the metal felt cold beneath my fingers. The blue gem in the center flashed and pulsed with pale light.

  “You may take the amulet,” said Rimethur, “if you prove you are worthy of it.”

  “How will I do that?” I said.

  “By taking it to Grayhold and presenting it to the Knight,” said Rimethur.

  “Oh,” I said. “Well. That’s easy. I was going to do that anyway.”

  Rimethur’s smile was as hard as the ice hanging on the walls. “If you survive.”

  “Survive what?” I said.

  “The trial,” said Rimethur, “that will prove your worthiness to bear the amulet.” He lifted his hand. “You will begin now.”

  Before I could react, he cast a spell at me. Blue fire flared around his fingers, and a column of gray mist sprang up around me. For a moment I felt whirling disorientation, and then pale light shone within the mist.

  He had opened a rift way around me.

  The rift way pulled me into the Shadowlands.

  Chapter 10: Last Run

  I landed in a swamp.

  I stumbled into a pool of stagnant black water, the liquid shockingly cold against my calves and shins. The sky overhead was an empty black vault, ribbons of blue and green and crimson fire dancing across the darkness. Ahead of me I saw mountains rising against the horizon, but a gloomy swamp surrounded m
e, wisps of pale green mist rising from the dark waters. Here and there massive trees rose from the swamp, their trunks covered in bark like obsidian, glowing vines hanging from their branches. Little islands dotted the swamp, covered in the strange pale grass that was so common in the Shadowlands.

  I took a step towards one of the islands, but the muck beneath the water gripped my feet, and my left foot popped out of my shoe. I shot forward, waving my arms for balance, and fell face-first into the water.

  That wasn’t pleasant. The water was cold and clammy, and it got into my nostrils and mouth. I heaved to my feet, my sodden clothes clinging to me, and spat out as much of the water as I could. God, but it tasted vile, and I didn’t even want to think about what kind of nasty things were swimming in it. I staggered forward and climbed onto one of the little islands, the grass cold against my bare feet. I had lost my shoes in the muck, and I wasn’t about to go back and find them.

  I wouldn’t miss the damned things either. If I lived long enough for another job, the next time I would make sure I chose a disguise that allowed me to wear running shoes.

  I reached the top of the island, pulled off my wet mask and cap and sandwich worker’s coat, and looked around. Ahead of me I saw mountains, and further up the slope I saw the colossal, crumbling towers and ramparts of Grayhold itself. Rimethur’s spell had deposited me within the Knight’s demesne, somewhere within the mountains I had seen earlier, but not within the citadel of Grayhold.

  “Jerk,” I muttered. Well, he hadn’t killed me, so I suppose I couldn’t be too mad. I still clutched the Ringbyrne Amulet in my right hand, so I pushed open my blazer’s sodden pocket and shoved the thing into it, the sengejarme on my wrist clinking against the amulet. In the distance, I saw a road leading from the swamp, climbing up the slope to the massive gates of Grayhold. I thought the half-ruined fortress was about five miles away.

  So. A five mile walk, uphill, in my bare feet. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but I had endured worse. Alexandra would probably consider it an exotic new workout of some kind.

  I trudged through the swamp, making my way from little island to little island, wading through the muck when necessary. I started to shiver, my wet hair plastered against my neck. I had been much more comfortable in the frozen rotunda of the Capitol. Evidently the sengejarme protected me from elemental magic, but didn’t give a damn about normal cold.

  The swamp started to dry up, and I made my way through grassy hills, more of the trees with the blue-glowing leaves scattered here and there. I had to go slowly, because I didn’t want to step on something sharp and rip my foot open. Despite that, part of my mind, quite a lot of my mind, screamed for me to run. The anthrophages were still looking for me. The Knight’s magic might have driven them off the last time, but the Knight wasn’t here. For that matter, there were countless other things in the Shadowlands that could kill me. The anthrophages might want to kill me personally, but there were numerous creatures in the Shadowlands that would kill me for a meal or simply because it would be fun.

  For that matter, Rimethur had mentioned a trial. Was this it? Making my way across the Shadowlands to Grayhold? As trials went, that seemed pretty straightforward. Of course, there might be something else to it.

  Oh, who was I kidding? Of course there would be something else to it.

  A sudden suspicion took me, and I started to summon power for a rift way spell. As I expected, the Ringbyrne Amulet vibrated in my pocket (almost like a cell phone, really), and my spell fell apart. The logical solution would have been to take a rift way back to Earth, and then cast the spell again upon the sengejarme, transporting me back to Grayhold itself. I could do that, but if I did, I would arrive at Grayhold without the amulet, and I couldn’t free Alexandra and I couldn’t give the amulet to Morvilind.

  “Games, games, games,” I muttered to myself. “Damned games. Damned stupid games.”

  I rebuked myself and shut up. Talking to myself was not a sign of mental health. And undoubtedly there were creatures in the Shadowlands that had far better hearing than humans. My grumbling might bring them down upon my head.

  A short time later the road I had spotted came into sight. It wasn’t one of the warded ways that crisscrossed the Shadowlands, taking travelers and armies to the umbras of different worlds. Maybe the Knight himself had built this road. It was a flat, level expanse of gleaming gray stone, weaving its away around the hills and towards the grim pile of Grayhold. I stepped upon it with a sigh of relief. The road was cold and flat and hard, but it was smooth and a lot easier on my feet than the rough ground. I was trying not to shiver, but the constant cold wind that blew through the Shadowlands seemed to soak into my wet clothes. I tugged my blazer tighter, the Ringbyrne Amulet digging into my ribs, wrapped my arms tight around myself for warmth, and hurried along the road, the ragged mass of Grayhold growing a little closer with every step.

  The road got steeper, the hills rockier. Ruins marked some of the hills, stone walls and tumbled columns and cracked domes. I wondered who had built them. Or maybe no one had ever built them. Sometimes events on Earth cast a distorted reflection into the Shadowlands, and the land itself reformed to a twisted image of those events. Maybe those ruins were a legacy of some ancient battle on Earth. Or perhaps people had lived here once. Under the protection of the Knight, I suppose there could have been villages or even towns in Grayhold. Though I couldn’t imagine wanting to live in this bleak place.

  I shook my head. My thoughts were wandering, scattered by exertion and the chill that had sank into my bones. I wanted to sit in a hot bath with a hot cup of coffee and stay there for hours. If I lived through this, that was the first thing I would do. No, the first thing I would do would be to see Russell and the Marneys, have a hot meal with them. I wanted that more than anything. Maybe I would even spend the night. Hell, I would even go to church with them if they asked.

  None of that would happen if I didn’t keep going, so I plodded along, my feet slapping the cold road.

  Nothing disturbed me as I walked. I saw more of the ruins, interspersed with some of the gray obelisks I had seen earlier in their woods. Here and there massive lumps of shiny black stone rested amidst the ruins, misshapen spheres that resembled a giant bug curled up into a ball. I gazed at one of those lumps as I passed. Strange patterns marked the side of the boulder, and I couldn’t help but think that it did look like a giant insect curled up into a ball…

  The boulder started to unfold.

  I realized that it looked like a giant insect curled around itself because it really was a giant insect.

  There was no time to run. I summoned power, the magic of the Shadowlands roaring into me, and I forced the power into the shape of a Cloaking spell. I vanished from sight just as the boulder unfolded into a nightmarish insect-like creature about the size of a horse. It looked like an amalgamation of a scorpion and a mantis, all claws and pincers and barbed stingers. Slime glistened on its carapace, a vile stench like decaying meat mixed with rotten eggs filling my nostrils. Its head looked like that of a human woman, albeit with pincers rising from the jaw and a tongue covered in spines.

  My stomach crawled with revulsion, but I forced myself to stay still. If I moved, my Cloak would collapse, and the creature would see me.

  I suspected that I would wish that Rogomil had shot me if that happened.

  “Blood, blood, blood,” croaked the insect-creature in the Elven language, skittering forward on its legs. The nostrils of the human-like face flared. “I smell blood and meat and marrow. Fresh and young.” God, how many times had things threatened to eat me today? “Meat for me, meat for me.”

  Yet the insect-creature couldn’t find me. It turned back and forth, lashing its tail, and a frustrated whine came from its mouth. Evidently it did not have the anthrophages’ keen sense of smell. I stayed motionless, shaking a little from both the cold and the strain of the spell, sweat dripping down my face despite the chill.

  At last the creature let out an angry snarl and t
urned, skittering back up the hill to its lair in the ruins. I let out a shaking breath. I would let the creature go back to sleep or hibernation or whatever it did, and then I would get the hell out of here.

  No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than a gray blur bounded up the hill, running towards the insect-like creature, and the cold chill in my bones got sharper.

  It was an anthrophage.

  The insect-like creature whirled, screaming a challenge, and two more anthrophages erupted from the ruins, gaunt and lean and gray. I couldn’t tell if they were members of the pack that I had fought earlier, or if I just had the ill luck to stumble on another band of anthrophages.

  The insect-creature opened one of the anthrophages from throat to groin with a slash of its pincers, black slime and grayish organs slithering onto the hillside. Another anthrophage sprang upon the insect-like creature’s back, ripping open its exoskeleton with black claws.

  Both the insect creature and the anthrophages held each other’s full attention. If I could slip away while they dueled, perhaps I could run for the gates of Grayhold before the anthrophages got organized and set after me. Not that I had much choice. I couldn’t maintain the Cloaking spell for very much longer.

  The insect-like creature stumbled behind a crumbling wall, screaming in fury and pain as a half-dozen anthrophages swarmed over it, biting and clawing. For a moment, I ought to be out of sight.

  I dropped my Cloak, spun, and ran as fast as I could.

  Nothing happened, and I kept running. The insect-like creature’s screams rang out, growing weaker and fainter. The anthrophages were winning the fight. With luck, they would stop to feast before they bothered to notice that I had escaped…

  A familiar wailing scream rang out. I shot a look over my shoulder and saw all six of the anthrophages standing over the dead insect-thing, their venomous yellow eyes glaring up at me like sulfurous flames.

  I cursed and ran faster, and all the anthrophages took off after me, dropping to all fours as they loosed their hunting cries.