Cloak Games: Truth Chain

by Jonathan Moeller

  I hesitated, and he held out an envelope.

  “Is it going to explode or lock me in a pit with anthrophages for a century?” I said.

  “It contains three things,” said Arvalaeon. “A phone number that you can use to contact me.”

  “Why the hell would I ever want to talk to you again?” I said.

  “The need may arise,” said Arvalaeon. “It also contains the keys to a vehicle parked further down the block, and a pass instructing Homeland Security to let you through the roadblocks.”

  I took the envelope. “Why?”

  “I have wanted to see my brother again for a long time,” said Arvalaeon. “You still have the chance.”

  I turned and walked away, and this time he didn’t try to stop me.

  ###

  The car was nothing special, just a five-year-old Royal Motors sedan with 45,000 miles on the odometer, but it was in good shape, and the pass did let me through the roadblocks without any fuss. I managed to drive for about two hours until I had to stop. I was exhausted, utterly exhausted. The battle at Castomyr’s mansion had been draining.

  Plus, I hadn't gotten any actual sleep in like a century and a half.

  I pulled over at a rest stop, parked the car, and fell asleep. I hoped no one tried to give me any trouble. If they did, I was likely to lose my temper and kill someone, and I didn’t want to do that. I expected nightmares, but I fell asleep almost at once and had no dreams at all.

  Maybe that’s the key to getting a good night’s sleep. Staying awake for nearly sixty thousand straight days.

  I woke up at about 10 AM, groggy and disoriented. I jerked upright in the seat, looking around in alarm, half expecting to see anthrophages and wraithwolves coming for me, the bronze monolith of the Eternity Crucible rising over me…

  But, no. I was sitting in a car at rest stop in rural Wisconsin. Some minivans and SUVs had pulled up and were disgorging young children and their parents, no doubt heading on vacation somewhere. I watched them without expression. I suppose they would all have been dead if not for what I had just gone through.

  That didn’t make me feel better. But it did let me haul myself out of the car, wash up in the bathroom, and continue on my way.

  I made the rest of the trip to Milwaukee, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew, intellectually, that Russell was still alive. I knew that. Yet my heart was convinced that he was dead. I had mourned him, gone mad with grief and rage, and devoted myself to avenging his death, and I had done that all decades ago.

  Then to find out that only five minutes had passed on Earth…God, I don’t know how to describe the feeling. The human mind was not equipped for this kind of thing.

  I parked in front of the Marneys’ house and got out.

  It looked exactly the same. There was no reason it shouldn’t, of course, but I hadn't been here in so long, so very long. I had left yesterday morning to get steak sauce, and then I hadn’t been back for decades.

  I took a few steps up the front walk, overcome with emotion.

  The door swung open, and Russell stepped out.

  “Nadia!” he said, smiling. “It’s good you’re back. We were worried. We figured that Lord Morvilind wanted you for something. I sent you a few texts, but you must have been too busy.”

  “Texts?” I said, my voice hoarse.

  Yes, that was right, my phone could get text messages.

  I had forgotten about that.

  Russell hesitated. “It…was a bad one, wasn’t it? What Lord Morvilind wanted you to do?”

  I didn’t say anything, but I managed a nod.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” said Russell. “I made some coffee. Do you…”

  I ran forward, caught him in a hug, and buried my face against his shoulder. I felt him flinch in surprise, and then he hugged me back.

  “I’m glad to see you too,” he said. “Are…you all right?”

  I stepped back from him, trying not to cry.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s…it’s just I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Epilogue

  At midnight, Kaethran Morvilind sat alone in his library, contemplating the view of Lake Michigan outside the tall windows.

  He was alone. He had made sure of that. Several dozen human servants and mercenaries worked in his mansion, and he had given them the day off with pay, under the condition that they were to leave and not to set foot on the grounds for any reason until 8 AM the next day. To make sure his instructions were obeyed, he had summoned a score of wraithwolves and sent them prowling through the mansion, seeking for anyone who remained behind.

  Once they had confirmed that the mansion was empty, he dismissed them.

  Now he sat alone in one of two chairs facing the window, waiting for his guest.

  Or, to be more accurate, his deadly enemy.

  Morvilind tapped his fingertips together as he waited, lost in thought. He had faced down many, many enemies during his long life, and he had destroyed them all. He had emerged victorious because he had been willing to do what was necessary to achieve victory.

  Now it fell to him to do what was necessary.

  None of the other Elves understood that as he did. Not the Inquisitors, not the nobles, and not even the High Queen Tarlia herself. She had once been his student, and she had achieved an admirable degree of ruthlessness. Certainly, ruthlessness was a necessary quality for a ruler.

  But even she was not willing to go far enough.

  So, it fell to Kaethran Morvilind to save the Elven race.

  He felt the presence against his wards before he heard the footfalls against the polished floor.

  A moment later a man came into sight, stopping next to the chair.

  He was short for a human male, about five foot ten, and wore a crisp white shirt, a black vest, a black coat, black trousers, and gleaming black boots. The man had dark hair with gray streaks at the temples and eyes like black pools.

  His ethnicity was…uncertain. At first glance, he looked Hispanic, or perhaps Arabic, or maybe Greek. But Morvilind knew that he was none of these.

  The man was in fact Sumerian, and he was one of the very few people on Earth who was older than Morvilind.

  “Punctual as ever,” said Morvilind.

  “It is a virtue,” said the man known as the Forerunner, the man who had founded the various Dark Ones cults upon Earth over the milennia.

  Morvilind gestured at the empty chair.

  “Thank you,” said the Forerunner, seating himself. He brushed some dust from the sleeve of his coat. The Forerunner looked nothing like what he really was. He looked like a middle-aged businessman, and there was no hint of his true nature in his appearance.

  It was one of the reasons he was so dangerous.

  “Shall we get to the point?” said Morvilind.

  “I insist,” said the Forerunner. “Some years ago, I offered to provide you with some information. In exchange, you promised the use of your shadow agent to assist me with three tasks.” He held up three fingers as if to emphasize the point. “I understand your current shadow agent is quite talented. You haven’t gotten her killed yet?”

  “No,” said Morvilind, grimacing.

  This was an extremely dangerous game. The High Queen wanted the Forerunner dead and had authorized the creation of the Shadow Hunters for exactly that reason. If Tarlia ever learned that Morvilind had made a deal with the Forerunner, the consequences would be dire.

  No matter. He would do what was necessary to save the Elves. Morvilind knew that the Forerunner intended to betray him, just as he intended to betray the Forerunner.

  It was a dangerous game, but it was a game he had played many times before.

  “I assume you have taught the shadow agent the Cloak spell?” said the Forerunner.

  “I have,” said Morvilind.

  “Very well,” said the Forerunner. “I will require her…the agent is a female this time?” Morvilind nodded. “I will require her assistance for three tasks. On
ce the tasks are completed satisfactorily, our bargain is complete. Is this acceptable?”

  “So long as you hold up your end of the bargain, it is acceptable,” said Morvilind.

  “Excellent,” said the Forerunner. “I will call upon you shortly. Summon the agent to your side, and I shall give you her first task.”

  There was a flicker of gray mist and purple fire, and the Forerunner vanished into the Shadowlands. Morvilind cast a quick spell to make sure that the Forerunner had indeed departed, and then rearmed the wards around his mansion.

  He leaned back in his chair, thinking. Nadia Moran was among the most skilled of the shadow agents he had trained over the last three hundred years, and certainly one of the most tenacious.

  That was just as well.

  She would need all that skill and tenacity to survive what the Forerunner had in mind for her.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading CLOAK GAMES: TRUTH CHAIN. Look for Nadia's next adventure, CLOAK GAMES: TOMB HOWL, to appear in 2017. 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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