Frost Fever

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Commander,” said Anton, saluting. “We found the girl.”

  “So I see,” said Rogomil. He had a deep voice, marked with a heavy rasp that I suspected came from an old injury. “Katrina Stoker.”

  “That’s me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. Showing fear in front of a man like Sergei Rogomil would be like waving raw meat in front of a rabid dog.

  “You caused the Revolution a great deal of harm in Los Angeles,” said Rogomil.

  “You were planning to murder ten thousand people and have me take the blame,” I said. “So, yeah, I caused you trouble and…”

  His expression did not change as he hit me.

  If he had punched me, the strength of the blow likely would have killed me, but he only backhanded me. Even that was enough to snap my head to the right and spin me like a top. I lost my balance, fell on a table, rolled off, and landed on the floor.

  That hurt. A lot.

  Before I recovered, Rogomil stooped down, grabbed the front of my blazer, and lifted me without any apparent difficulty. My feet swung a good two feet off the floor. I tried to kick at him, but I couldn’t get enough leverage, and clawing at his arm was like trying to attack a tree trunk with my fingernails.

  “One of Nicholas Connor’s dumb whores,” Rogomil said. He shook his head. “Nicholas is a genius, but I warned him that his womanizing would get us in trouble. The failure of the Los Angeles operation cost the Revolution a great deal.”

  “Yeah,” I rasped. “He should have listened to you.”

  Rogomil grunted out a laugh and released me. I landed on my feet, but landing in high heels in a challenge, and my ankle went out from beneath me. I landed hard upon my side, again, and a fresh wave of pain went through me. Rogomil stalked after me, and I scrabbled backward, trying to put together a plan. Maybe he had decided to beat me to death in front of his men.

  A flare of purple light caught my eye.

  I stopped scrabbling and blinked in surprise.

  Black-purple fire flickered around Rogomil’s fingers, the beginnings of a spell.

  Rogomil knew how to use magic. Specifically, dark magic drawn from the Void.

  What was more, it was the same kind of magic that the anthrophage elder had used in the Shadowlands, that Paul McCade had used in his secret temple beneath his mansion.

  How the hell had Rogomil learned to do that?

  A frown went over Rogomil’s face, and I realized that I had been staring too hard at his fingers. He didn’t know that I could use magic, and he had no idea that I had seen that kind of magic before. I made myself look properly frightened, which really wasn’t all that hard.

  “How…how are you doing that?” I whispered. “You’re not a wizard.”

  “I am more than a wizard,” said Rogomil. “I am a Revolutionary. I fight to free mankind from the tyranny of the High Queen.”

  “But…you’re doing magic,” I said. “Someone taught you to use magic.”

  “The Forerunner has offered his aid to the Revolution,” said Rogomil.

  “The Forerunner?” I said. Who was that? “Is that something you worship as a god?”

  Rogomil snorted. “Stupid girl. There is no God. There is only the Revolution. We shall overthrow the Elves and the corrupt oppressor classes that rule with them. The oppressed shall be liberated, and all shall be made free and equal in the new world that we shall construct. The Forerunner has shown us the way. Nicholas Connor understood.” He smirked. “Had you been anything other than an amusement to him, perhaps Nicholas would have trusted you with his plans.”

  That stung me. It shouldn’t have. I knew what kind of man Nicholas has turned out to be. I knew that I hadn’t meant as much to him as he had meant to me, that he had likely been sleeping with numerous other women while we had been together. It shouldn’t have hurt, because I knew it was true.

  Nonetheless, it still stung.

  “Commander,” said Anton, “perhaps you shouldn’t tell her all this.”

  “Why not?” said Rogomil. “All the world shall soon know the truth of the Revolution. The Forerunner has given us the tools to destroy the High Queen and end her tyranny. Soon the Revolution will remake mankind, and there will be no more rich and poor, no more social classes, no more dissent and division and competition. All shall be equal.”

  His dark eyes burned as he made his little speech, and some of the men nodded in agreement. I had seen anthrophages and bloodshed and the grim ruins of Grayhold, but this was still the creepiest thing I had encountered today. Rogomil looked insane. No, that wasn’t quite right. He looked…fanatical. He looked so convinced of his mad vision that he would eagerly, even joyfully, kill as many people as possible to make that vision come true.

  It made my skin crawl. I am not a good person, but I’m not a mass murderer either. I had never set off a bomb in a crowded market to disguise one of my thefts. Or burned down a school full of children so I could steal something for Morvilind from the bank across the street.

  Or planned to set off a bomb in Los Angeles to kill ten thousand people, as Rogomil and Nicholas had done.

  Looking at him I was certain, absolutely certain, that if he had to kill every single man, woman, and child in Madison to take down Rimethur, he would do so without hesitation.

  He might start with me.

  Which lent itself to an obvious question.

  Why hadn’t he started with me?

  I carefully, slowly got to my feet, watching Rogomil for any sign of movement.

  “So, Grand High Commander Sergei,” I said. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t hit me again. If he was going to kill me, then by God I was going to insult him a few times before I went. “Are you going to take me captive back to Nicholas?”

  “No,” said Rogomil. “Even you, Katrina Stoker, are going to assist the cause of the Revolution.”

  “Ah,” I said. “And just how am I going to do that?”

  “You are going to open the way for us,” said Rogomil.

  I frowned and spat out some blood. “The way?” Did he know about my magical abilities after all? Or…

  “Oh,” I said as understanding came to me. “Oh. Oh.” I laughed. “The glorious Revolution outsmarted itself, didn’t it?”

  Rogomil’s eyes narrowed. “You tread on dangerous ground.”

  “Me?” I said. “I’m not the one who just tried to assassinate a frost giant ambassador. See, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You hate the High Queen, but so do the Archons. The frost giants were content to wage war on the High Queen, but then your buddies the Archons had to go piss off the frost giants. So that drove the frost giants into the High Queen’s waiting arms, and the Rebels don’t want that. Maybe with the help of the frost giants, the High Queen will have more time and resources to go Rebel hunting.” I pointed at Anton. “I bet his head would look nice stuff and mounted on the High Queen’s wall. Maybe with a silly little hat or something.”

  Anton’s lips thinned. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but if Rogomil hadn’t been there, I knew he would have killed me on the spot.

  “So you can make deductions,” said Rogomil. “Hardly impressive.”

  “You like deductions?” I said. “Here’s another one.” I paused to wipe the blood from my lips onto my sleeve. No one stopped me, which I decided to take as a good sign. “You can’t get to Rimethur. See, the Duke greeted him on the steps of the Capitol. Madison’s been burned and blown up a few times since the Conquest, but the Capitol’s still here. Which means that it’s been rebuilt a few times, hasn’t it?” Rogomil’s eyes narrowed. “And the Elven nobles, they’re real careful about their own skins. Duke Carothrace does all sorts of ceremonies in front of the State Capitol, and I bet he built extra defenses into the Capitol. Like, oh…if the Capitol came under terrorist attack during one of his events? He…”

  “We,” snarled one of the younger Rebel soldiers, leveling his gun at me, “are not terrorists! We are freedom fighters! We are liberators! We…�
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  “That so?” I said. “Tell that to all the people you killed with your bombs. Bet they feel all kinds of liberated.”

  “Thieving bitch,” snarled the Rebel, “we…”

  “I might be a thief,” I said, “but at least I don’t lie to myself.”

  The Rebel stepped closer, snarling.

  “Shut up,” said Rogomil, and the young Rebel subsided. “So, my clever thief, what do we want of you?”

  “You want me to break into the Capitol,” I said.

  Rogomil inclined his head.

  “Why don’t you just blast your way inside?” I said.

  “Because,” said Rogomil, “the interior of the walls are fitted with four inches of steel plate. We do not have adequate weapons to break through. Once our attack began, Carothrace sent Rimethur into the Capitol and then withdrew with his nobles and his guests.”

  “Then you had better run like hell,” I said. “He’s gone to commandeer the Madison branch of Homeland Security.”

  A thin smile spread over Rogomil’s hard face. “He can’t. We have coopted the Madison branches of the Department of Homeland Security. The men who are not loyal to the glorious cause of the Revolution have been executed.”

  “You didn’t get all his men-at-arms, though,” I said. “Or the men-at-arms of the other nobles. Or the Homeland Security branch of, say, Milwaukee or Des Moines. Every last one of them are heading here. All those Elven nobles know a spell or two, and they’re probably pretty ticked at you.”

  “Then we will act now,” said Rogomil. “After all, you are a most talented jewel thief. You said so yourself. You’re going to open the doors to the Capitol for us, and then we shall kill Rimethur to further the cause of the Revolution.”

  “And if I don’t help you?” I said.

  Rogomil let out a contented sigh. “Then I will shoot you in the head right now, which would give me very great pleasure.”

  I said nothing. Helping the Rebels was idiotic. If I failed, they would shoot me. If I was with them when Duke Carothrace returned with his men and the Inquisition, I would get shot along with Rogomil’s men. If I opened the doors into the Capitol, I would get killed in the battle between the Rebels and the frost giants.

  Or, more likely, Rogomil would shoot me the minute I had the door open.

  But it was the best chance I would have to get my hands on the amulet. If I could snatch it away in the middle of a battle, I could open a rift way and the Knight’s bracelet would carry me back to Grayhold. With luck, any witnesses would get killed in the fighting.

  Rogomil pointed his pistol at my head. “Decide. Now.”

  “Well, then.” I gave him my sunniest smile. The blood in my teeth likely made it look ghastly. “Let’s go break into the Wisconsin State Capitol.”

  Chapter 8: Improvising

  “One condition, though,” I said.

  Anton spat. “You are in no position to demand conditions.”

  I ignored him and looked at Rogomil, folding my arms over my chest. “I want a mask and a hat.”

  “What?” said Rogomil.

  “A mask and a hat,” I said. “There are probably cameras still functioning out there, and I’m pretty sure the Duke or Homeland Security has the Capitol under surveillance by now. I’d really prefer not to get executed on a Punishment Day video once this mess is over.”

  Rogomil snorted. “That is not my concern.”

  I shrugged. “Then you had better shoot me now. See, I want to live through this. I just came here to steal this,” I waved the bracelet on my wrist, “from one of the Duke’s knights, and I had no idea you guys were here. I intend to get away, sell this, and retire in comfort. But if my face turns up on camera, I can’t do that. And if you don’t give me a mask, you’re as good as shooting me. So either give me a mask, or save me some time and shoot me right now.”

  I stared at him, fresh sweat trickling down my back. I had just given him a very good and logical argument for shooting me and cutting his losses. On the other hand, he had ordered his men to find me, and if he had any other way of getting into the Capitol, he would have used it by now. A mask and a hat was a reasonable request.

  I saw Rogomil reach the same conclusion.

  “Very well,” he said. He crossed to the sandwich counter, reached behind it, and handed me a hat and a bandana adorned with the sandwich shop’s bright gold-and-black logo. I shrugged, wrapped the bandana around the lower half of my face, stuffed my hair underneath the cap, and pulled it low over my eyes. There was a black cloth coat hanging from a hook next to the kitchen door, likely part of the workers’ uniforms. I grabbed the coat and pulled it over my blazer. The coat’s owner was much taller and much fatter than me, so the coat hung down to my knees. Yet between that and the bandana and the hat, it did a good job of concealing my appearance.

  “Well then,” I said. “If we live through this, maybe Homeland Security will wonder why a sandwich shop worker broke into the Capitol.”

  It was a joke, but Rogomil did not laugh.

  “Because even the lowliest worker can see the tyranny of the Elves," he said. "Even the lowliest worker can rise up and become a member of the Revolution. Together we shall overthrow our oppressors and their corrupt allies and bring an end to the High Queen’s tyranny.”

  “No matter how many unarmed women and children you have to kill?” I said, before my brain could rein in my tongue.

  “Yes,” said Rogomil. “If we have to kill ninety percent of the human population so that the remaining ten percent can live free of the Elves, I would count that a worthy sacrifice.”

  His eyes remained cold and dead as he spoke, but that eerie fire blazed within them. I knew with absolute certainty that he was not exaggerating. If Rogomil had been able to get his hands on a pre-Conquest nuclear bomb, he would have detonated it in Madison without the slightest hesitation. Never mind the hundreds of thousands of people he would kill, and the hundreds of thousands more who would die of radiation poisoning and cancer. He would do it, and he would enjoy it.

  Sick bastard. I didn’t like the High Queen, and I detested Morvilind. Yet the Rebels made our Elven rulers look like saints by comparison.

  “Enough talk,” said Rogomil. “We move. Anton, keep watch on the side streets. You, you, you.” He pointed at several of his men. “Listen on the radio channels. If Homeland Security or the Duke moves, we will need to abandon the operation and depart.”

  Anton glared at me through his sunglasses. “What about her? If we need to abort, what will we do with her?”

  “If I give the order to abort,” said Rogomil, “shoot her.”

  That brought a smile to Anton’s face. “With pleasure, Commander.”

  I almost offered a rude gesture to Anton, but decided that I had pushed my luck enough for one day. Hell, just this morning I had probably used up two or three lifetimes’ worth of luck.

  Rogomil led the way to the square. It wasn’t quite as bad as I thought it would be. I saw maybe thirty dead people scattered before the stairs to the Capitol, most of them wearing suits and expensive dresses. That was horrible enough, but after all the bombs, I had expected to find the steps to the Capitol carpeted in corpses. Fires burned here and there, and I saw Rebels manning the barricades. Some of them wore Homeland Security uniforms, some of them civilian clothes, and a few looked like paramilitary enthusiasts with too much money and time. One man had a bandoleer with a dozen grenades, and another had an honest-to-God rocket launcher, the sort of thing that looked as if it had been designed to take down helicopters.

  A few scraps of shredded cloth caught my eye. It was the remains of my courier bag, which I had dropped in the chaos. It had been torn apart, and if I hadn’t pulled Alexandra with me into the Shadowlands, we both would had been shredded along with the bag.

  As we drew nearer to the Capitol, I saw the steel plates that had slid down to seal off every single window. Charred craters in the white stonework marked where Rogomil’s men had tried to blast the
ir way inside. The ornate wooden doors to the Capitol rotunda had been destroyed in the fighting, and grim slabs of steel now sealed off the entrance to the rotunda. Even grenades would do little to those massive doors. To judge from the debris and the damage to the stonework, that hadn’t stopped Rogomil’s men.

  I stopped a few feet away from the steel doors, staring at them as I thought.

  “Can you open it?” said Rogomil.

  “Let me look at it for a minute,” I said, thinking.

  Rogomil pointed his pistol at my face. “Can you open that door?”

  I glared at him. “It’s hard to examine the door with your gun in my face.”

  “Answer the question right now,” said Rogomil. “Can you open that door? Yes. Or. No?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I need a minute to think.”

  “She is lying to buy time,” said Anton. “Shoot her.”

  “No, I’m not, moron,” I said. “I can open the doors, but if I screw it up, the locks will jam and even the High Queen would need a high-yield plasma torch and a week to get through those doors. This isn’t like building a pipe bomb to blow up a bunch of toddlers and pregnant women. This actually takes, you know, skill and intellect and talent.”

  Anton said nothing, but his expression promised all the horrible things he would do to me if the opportunity ever came his way.

  “So you can open the doors,” said Rogomil. The bore of his pistol looked like a bottomless pit.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “How?” said Rogomil. “Answer the question right now, or I shall abort the operation.”

  Actually, opening the doors would be easy. The doors hadn’t been warded from magical attack, and their locks, while massive, were a relatively simple mechanisms. The spell Morvilind had taught me for releasing locks would work on the doors. Rogomil might have learned dark magic from the Dark Ones or whoever this Forerunner guy was, but apparently his lessons hadn’t including spells on releasing locks.

  Except Rogomil didn’t know I could use magic. I wasn’t about to let him on that little secret, not when that secret was my best hope of getting out of here alive. So I needed a distraction, a big, flashy, impressive distraction…