Cloak Games: Shadow Jump

by Jonathan Moeller

  I kind of enjoyed that, too.

  We stopped for coffee at the food court, sitting at a table overlooking four flights of balconies, and I told Riordan how my hunt for Boccand had ended.

  “So you let him live?” said Riordan. There a bit of glint in his brown eyes as he watched me. “That seems out of character.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just full of surprises.”

  “Truly,” said Riordan. “So why did you let him live?”

  There were a dozen answers I could have given him.

  It had been the prudent thing to do. I hadn’t wanted to kill him in front of Cecilia. That I understood Boccand’s problem, that Corbisher had used someone he loved against him just as Morvilind used Russell to keep control of me, though Morvilind was rather more competent at it. That I saw a lot of myself in Boccand, and was jealous how he could go live quietly. That I remembered how I had almost murdered Alexandra, and I never wanted to do that again.

  “He didn’t deserve it,” I said at last.

  Riordan offered a grave nod. “I can understand that.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot,” I said. “The noble Shadow Hunters never kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

  “We only kill in self-defense or while carrying out a lawful writ of execution,” said Riordan. “So, yes. You are correct, if sarcastic.”

  “No!” I said, feigning a shocked face, and he actually laughed a little at that. I grinned at him, and then an idea occurred to me.

  “Hey,” I said. “What do you usually do for Christmas?”

  “I got church on Christmas Eve and then Christmas Day,” said Riordan. I managed not to roll my eyes. “Then I have a quiet dinner somewhere.”

  “Alone?” I said.

  Riordan shrugged. “My family has been dead for many years.”

  “Um,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “The truth is the truth, whatever we think of it,” said Riordan.

  “Very profound,” I said. “Look…why don’t you come with me to the Marneys’ for Christmas? I promised them I would come this year since I missed Thanksgiving. They wouldn’t mind. I mean, you helped save their lives when the Archons attacked. And Lucy likes to cook healthy, so you won’t, you know, gain a lot of weight from gravy or anything…”

  I was rambling a bit, and I made myself shut up.

  “You are inviting me,” said Riordan, “to your parents’ house for Christmas.”

  “What?” I said. “No, no. Of course not. My parents have been dead for fifteen years. I suppose we could go to the cemetery for Christmas, but wouldn’t that be a little morbid? Standing in the snow, shivering and looking sad while…”

  Riordan laughed again. “For God’s sake!”

  “I’ll even go to church if you want,” I said. “Christmas Eve candlelight vigil or whatever. We’ll pass the palms fronds around and sing.”

  “That’s Palm Sunday,” he said.

  “Well,” I said. I was surprised at how anxious the question had made me feel. “Are you in?”

  He just stared at me for a moment, and then he smiled.

  “Nadia Moran in a church?” he said. “This I have to see. All right.”

  I smiled. “Good.”

  And I meant it. I felt…I don’t know. Happy? Well, maybe not happy, not with all my fears, but happier? Excited? Yes, definitely excited. And…

  Hopeful?

  Yes, that was it. I felt hopeful for the future. Despite everything, I felt more hopeful than I had in years.

  It was just as well I had that moment.

  Because if I had known of the man who was hunting me down, I would have felt nothing but dread.

  Epilogue

  The Elven commoner who still called himself Aravalaeon stood and waited upon the High Queen’s attention. Four of the High Queen’s human slaves stood nearby, clad in orange tunics, their heads bowed as they awaited his commands, but Aravalaeon paid them no attention.

  It was odd, really. He still thought of himself as an Elven commoner after all these years. Despite all the centuries, all the battles, all the horrors he had seen and the worlds he had visited, despite the massive powers he commanded, he still thought of himself as a shopkeeper’s son.

  He missed his father’s shop.

  All the Elves hoped for the Day of Return when they could liberate their homeworld Kalvarion from the tyrannical grip of the Archons, but when Aravalaeon thought of the Elven homeworld, he thought of his father’s shop. It was ludicrous. The shop had been ashes for centuries, ever since the Archons had swept across Kalvarion in a tide of blood and fire and slaughter. Perhaps they had even raised one of their death camps on the site, building a blood-drenched altar to the Dark Ones.

  So much had been lost.

  The High Queen stepped into the chamber, flanked by four of the Royal Guard, and Aravalaeon stirred from his musing.

  She was beautiful, unearthly beautiful, tall and strong, with hair like a banner of flame and eyes like discs of ghostly blue fire. She had been considered the most beautiful woman of the royal house, and from what Aravalaeon understood, even the humans found her beautiful, though their awe was always touched with fear.

  Understandable fear, given the power that Tarlia commanded.

  “I will speak with the Lord Inquisitor alone,” she told the Royal Guards and the slaves. “Attend me, my friend.”

  The silver fire in his veins flared, responding to the truth in her words.

  For they were friends, strange as it was. They didn’t particularly like each other, but they were friends. They had survived too much together. And she was the High Queen, and Aravalaeon was no Archon to disobey her.

  He crossed the room to her side. His coat, the gold-trimmed black coat of an Elven archmage, rustled against the black uniform of a Knight of the Inquisition that he wore. The Royal Guards shifted as he passed, uneasy in his presence, and the humans’ fear increased. Aravalaeon was used to it. Possibly the only two people on Earth, human or Elf, who were not afraid of him were Tarlia and Kaethran Morvilind, and even Tarlia treated him with a measure of wariness.

  Because Elves and humans feared the truth above all else.

  Morvilind did not fear him because Kaethran Morvilind feared only one thing, and it certainly was not Lord Inquisitor Aravalaeon.

  He followed the High Queen onto the balcony, the icy wind tugging at his coat. Right now the High Queen’s citadel of Skythrone floated above the wilderness of British Columbia, the foothills of the Rocky Mountains a thousand feet below, snow-covered trees and mountains visible in all directions.

  They stood at the marble railing in silence for a moment.

  “It is beautiful here,” said Aravalaeon.

  “Yes,” said Tarlia, her voice distant. “In a way. But it is not Kalvarion.” She let out a long breath, her red hair stirring. “I sometimes regret leading the exiles here.”

  The silver fire in his veins flashed. It was the truth.

  “We did what we had to do,” said Aravalaeon. “We either had to abandon Kalvarion or let the Archons slaughter us. Morvilind found the way.”

  “Kaethran did,” said Tarlia, her voice even more distant as she thought of her teacher. “I wonder if he knew…no matter.”

  “You did not summon me to discuss the past,” said Aravalaeon.

  “No,” said Tarlia. “There is a problem.”

  “That business in Minneapolis?” said Aravalaeon. The Department of Education had done a passable job of covering it up. The reports from the Knights of the Inquisition had been rather grimmer. Most of the cult’s leaders had been captured, but quite a few rats had escaped before the ship had sunk. Still, the situation was under control.

  “Hardly,” said Tarlia. “Another Dark One cult with pretensions of power. The Inquisition has dealt with them, though Martin Corbisher himself has disappeared. We shall deal with him in time. Skythrone is proceeding to the Twin Cities, and perhaps having the royal citadel hover in the sky overhead for a few days will inspire the huma
ns of Minneapolis to fresh loyalty. No, I require your skills for something else.”

  Aravalaeon waited.

  “Baron Castomyr of La Crosse has lost my confidence,” said Tarlia.

  The silver fire pulsed with truth.

  It took Aravalaeon a moment to remember Baron Castomyr.

  “He is no Archon,” said Aravalaeon.

  “No,” said Tarlia. “But he thinks to follow in their path. He thinks to become the High King by turning his face from God and worshipping the Dark Ones.” Rage hissed through her voice.

  “You are certain of this?” said Aravalaeon.

  “Entirely,” said Tarlia.

  The silver fire pulsed in response to the truth.

  “Yet you have no proof, so you cannot act,” said Aravalaeon. The Department of Education’s propaganda presented the High Queen to the humans as all-powerful and all-knowing. And while she was both fiendishly clever and tremendously powerful, she was neither omnipotent nor omniscient, and when it came to dealing with Elven nobles, ancient tradition bound her hands.

  Aravalaeon was a commoner. No tradition bound his hands…and his hands wielded the power of an archmage of the Elves.

  And the power of the last of the Lord Inquisitors, a fearsome power that no living thing could resist, the dreadful power of the truth itself.

  He had done terrible, terrible things with those powers. He had defeated mighty enemies and humbled them utterly, shattering their wills and breaking their minds, and he regretted many of those things. But if he had not the Archons would have destroyed the Elves, and likely they would have enslaved or exterminated the humans by now.

  “But you can act,” said Tarlia.

  The truth of it burned in his veins.

  “Yes,” said Aravalaeon, thinking.

  He could not confront Castomyr directly. An appropriate human agent would serve. He had used that tactic before, years ago, and he contemplated seeking out and binding Armand Boccand once more.

  No – he would not. He had given his word. And just as no living creature could speak a false word to the Lord Inquisitor, neither could the Lord Inquisitor speak a false word. He had promised to let Boccand go, and that was that.

  But there were others.

  Kaethran Morvilind had many abilities…and among them was a knack for training capable human shadow agents. It had once been an ancient custom for Elven nobles to train shadow agents from among Elven commoners, to do the quiet tasks that the nobles themselves could not, and Morvilind had transferred that tradition to humans.

  As far as Aravalaeon knew, Morvilind had gone through over thirty such agents in the last three hundred years. Usually they wound up dead, with one or two notable exceptions…and Morvilind’s current agent might be just what Aravalaeon’s task required.

  “Then go,” said Tarlia. “You have my full support. Do what is necessary.”

  Aravalaeon bowed and left for Milwaukee.

  Morvilind’s shadow agent would fulfill Aravalaeon’s purpose, or the agent would die in the process.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading CLOAK GAMES: SHADOW JUMP. Look for Nadia's next adventure, CLOAK GAMES: SHATTER STONE, to appear in 2016. If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter, or watch for news on my Facebook page.

  Other books by the author

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  Read Demonsouled for free. Mazael's adventures continue in Soul of Tyrants, Soul of Serpents, Soul of Dragons, Soul of Sorcery, Soul of Skulls, and Soul of Swords, along with the short stories The Wandering Knight, The Tournament Knight, and The Dragon's Shadow. Get the first three books bundled together in Demonsouled Omnibus One.

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