Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  But I was going to do it.

  Because if I did not, Russell was going to die, and I had spent my whole life trying to keep that from happening. Morvilind could make me do anything, anything at all, and he knew it.

  Damn him.

  “Yeah,” I said, tucking the papers into my duffel bag. “Let’s go.”

  ###

  We stopped at the Valborgs’ house first.

  The Valborgs lived in a neighborhood full of two-story three bedroom houses, but the Valborgs’ home looked more cheerful than most, with blue paint and white trim, a hand-carved wooden mailbox with their name standing by the curb. The Christmas lights were still up, including a massive nativity scene that took up most of the front lawn, its glow reflecting in the snow. Riordan waited by the curb, and I walked up to the house.

  I knocked and waited.

  After a moment, the front door opened, and a man in a heavy gray sweater and jeans opened the door. He was about forty-five, blond haired and grizzled-looking, with thick arms and hands tough from work.

  Fortunately for Lydia, she had gotten her looks from her mother.

  “Miss Moran,” said Lukas Valborg.

  “Hi, Mr. Valborg,” I said.

  “Is everything all right with Russell?” said Lukas. Despite Hakon’s misgivings, Lydia’s father at least approved of Russell.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s fine. Could I talk to your father?”

  “Certainly,” said Lukas. He grimaced a little. “Please take your boots off. Charlotte would never let me hear the end of it if I let someone track snow into the house.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” I said. It took a minute to get my boots off. I always did up the laces as tight as I could in case I had to run for my life. Lukas waited until I finished getting my boots off and then led me further into the house. The décor had a lot of flowers and a lot of lace. I suspected Lydia and her mother spent more time in the living room than Lukas or his father. Lukas led me to a small door off the dining room, and I stepped inside.

  The room had the look of a combined study and recreation room, with a big TV on one wall, a bookcase loaded up with historical novels on another, and two easy chairs facing the TV. There were no flowers or doilies in here. Hakon Valborg sat in one of the chairs, a glass of brown alcohol in his right hand.

  He was watching this week’s crop of Punishment Day videos.

  With everything that had been going on, I had forgotten that it was Punishment Day. The High Queen did not believe in maintaining a vast system of prisons as had the Presidents of the pre-Conquest United States. Instead, when Homeland Security arrested people, they were fined…and then they were punished for the Punishment Day videos, which were then uploaded to the Internet. The criminals were stripped naked, and sometimes they were caned, sometimes flogged, and sometimes they were executed. Usually, the social stigma from appearing in a Punishment Day video was so severe that the subjects could not find employment and then were sold into slavery to cover the cost of their fine. Humans could not own slaves, but Elven nobles did. Common Elves could too, for that matter, and while I had never visited one of the cities built for Elven commoners, I had heard they were filled with tens of thousands of human slaves.

  I had recurring nightmares about ending up in a Punishment Day video. I suppose it was an irrational fear. Morvilind would kill me long before he let anyone in Homeland Security or the Inquisition interrogate me.

  “Son,” said Hakon, and then he saw me. “Miss Moran.”

  “She wants to speak with you,” said Lukas.

  Hakon nodded, and Lukas stepped out, closing the door behind me.

  “You enjoy watching that?” I said. On the TV a middle-aged woman was getting flogged. Thankfully the TV was on mute, or else we would have heard her screaming.

  “No,” said Hakon. “Not in the least.”

  “Then why watch it?” I said.

  “As a reminder,” said Hakon. “For the consequences of failing to maintain self-control.” He reached for a remote control on the table next to his chair and pressed a button, and the TV switched off. “But I am being rude. Would you care for a drink? Some coffee, perhaps?”

  “No,” I said. “I have to talk to you about something.”

  He frowned. “Is something wrong with Russell?”

  “No, he’s fine,” I said. I took a deep breath and drew out the letter. “I have to talk to you about the Knight of Grayhold and the Graysworn.”

  Hakon didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. But he suddenly seemed to go very still, and those pale blue eyes went much harder and much colder. It was almost as if a different and far more dangerous man sat in the chair.

  As if he had started to evaluate me as a potential threat.

  “You should not know that name,” he said, his voice mild.

  “No,” I said, “but I do, and I have a message from him.”

  “What message?” said Hakon.

  I lifted the letter and started to read. “The Knight greets you, Hakon Valborg, and reminds you of the day you met, during the campaign against the frost giants in the Shadowlands fifty years ago. Your unit was attacked and scattered, and you were trapped in the marshes at the edge of Earth’s umbra. The crawlers surrounded you.” I didn’t know what a crawler was, and I didn’t want to find out. “You burned a dozen of them, but the rest would have dragged you into their lair. Then the Knight found you and drove off the crawlers, and you became one of his friends, the Graysworn.”

  Hakon let out a long breath. “You are telling the truth. Only the Knight and I know that story.”

  I kept reading. “The Knight has given this letter to Nadia Moran, and as part of your oath to the Graysworn, asks that you follow her instructions. It is an urgent matter, and vital to the defense of the Earth against the Dark Ones.”

  Hakon stared at me for a long time.

  “Who are you?” he said at last.

  “Nadia Moran,” I said. “That is actually my real name. I’ve lied about it to a lot of people, but that is my real name.”

  “Are you an agent of the Inquisition?” said Hakon.

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m not Graysworn, I’m not with the Inquisition, I’m definitely not with Homeland Security, and I’m not a Shadow Hunter or a Rebel or anything. I just have a job to do, and the Knight says you’re going to help me to do it.”

  “Then what would you have of me?” said Hakon.

  “Tomorrow morning,” I said. “Meet me at this coffee shop at ten in the morning.” I gave him the address where I had originally planned to meet Riordan for our date.

  “And then what?” said Hakon.

  “And then,” I said. “I’ll tell you what we’re doing next.”

  As soon as I figured out that part.

  “Very well,” said Hakon. “I shall keep my oath as Graysworn, and meet you there tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Before you go, Miss Moran, I do wish to make something clear,” said Hakon. “It is the same thing I made clear to the Knight when he saved my life all those years ago, and I told him that if my terms were not acceptable, he was welcome to let the crawlers take me.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  The pale eyes met mine. “If you do anything to threaten or harm my family, I will kill you.” There was no threat, no bravado, no posturing. He said it as calmly as he had asked if I wanted a drink. “I won’t make a big production out of it. I’ll just shoot you in the back of the head. I hope you understand.”

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking of Russell. “What did the Knight say when you told him that?”

  “He said he was doing this to protect my family,” said Hakon, “and the families of everyone on Earth.” He considered for a moment, and then took a sip of his drink. “As I saw later, those were not empty words.”

  “See you tomorrow, then,” I said. I left his room, retrieved my boots, and departed the house before Lukas noticed.

  “How did it
go?” said Riordan when I climbed back into the big truck.

  “Well. Mostly well,” I said. “Hakon didn’t shoot me or threaten me. He just agreed.”

  “The Graysworn are usually very loyal to the Knight,” said Riordan.

  “Guess we’re going to find out just how loyal they are,” I said. I looked at the second address that Jacob Temple had given me. “Downtown Madison next. Not far from Duke Tamirlas’s building.”

  Riordan nodded and put the truck into drive.

  ###

  Two hours later we arrived in downtown Madison.

  There isn’t a lot of parking in downtown Madison, a problem that dates back to pre-Conquest times. Alexandra and Robert Ross lived in a big apartment building, but there was no place to park in front of it, so Riordan wound up parking in a public structure about nine blocks away.

  It cost way too much.

  After that, we walked through the cold to the apartment building. It was a tall high-rise, not far from both the state capitol and Duke Carothrace’s office complex, and it looked expensive. The only people who could afford to live here were rich humans, Elven nobles…and workers for Duke Carothrace, who received discounts as part of their salary packages.

  The Duke did like to take care of his people. Though, like Morvilind, I imagine Carothrace regarded humans as useful animals.

  “What is it?” said Riordan as we headed towards the front door.

  “Nothing,” I said. I hadn’t realized that I had been scowling. “It just reminds me of Corbisher’s building in Minneapolis, and that turned out to be full of anthrophages.”

  We walked into the lobby and took the stairs up to the fourteenth floor. I was glad to see that Riordan shared my distrust of elevators. I always feared getting stuck if the power went out, and climbing the stairs was good exercise.

  “I think,” I said, “that you’d better stay out of sight. Let me do the talking.”

  Riordan raised an eyebrow. “I might scare them, you mean?”

  “If he knows what a Shadow Hunter is, yeah,” I said. “Also, I’m a girl, and I’m short. People usually aren’t scared of me.”

  “Until you shoot them in the head a few times.”

  “That does change their minds. Briefly.”

  Riordan paused a few yards from the door, and I walked up and knocked.

  I heard movement behind the door. It opened, and I stood face to face with Robert Ross.

  This is shallow, but the first thing I noticed about him was that he was good-looking. Really good-looking. He was Hispanic, and he looked like he should have been starring in a Mexican historical drama about a heroic ex-soldier leading the defense of his hometown against bandits or drug dealers or something. He was wearing an exercise shirt and shorts, and they fit him well. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to wind up starring in the propaganda videos that the Department of Education put out about heroic men-at-arms.

  Then I saw his eyes, and I realized why he wasn’t going to appear in any videos.

  He had cold, cold eyes, the eyes of a man who had shot a lot of people. I saw old scars on his hands and forearms, and a big scar going down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. It looked as if something had tried to claw him open, and it also looked as if the scar had been healed through magic, likely by one of the men of the Wizards’ Legion. He held himself as if he was ready to fight, and his right hand was out of sight behind the door, likely gripping a pistol.

  “Can I help you?” said Robert. He spoke English with a mild accent. Northern Mexico, I thought.

  “Hi,” I said. “You’re Robert Ross?”

  “Yup,” he said, watching me.

  I took a deep breath. “Listen, I have a message from…”

  “Robert?”

  I tried not to flinch. I knew that voice.

  Alexandra Ross came into sight. She was tall and blond and pretty, and was wearing yoga pants and a tank top. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her face red as if she had been exercising.

  And to judge from her stomach, she was four or five months pregnant.

  Shit.

  My first thought was that any babies she had with Robert were going to be ridiculously good-looking.

  My second thought was that there was an excellent chance I was going to leave her a widow and her child fatherless.

  Alexandra started to say something, and then her eyes went wide, the color draining from her face.

  “Alexandra?” said Robert, looking at his wife. “You know her?” The tension in his stance had increased. Belatedly I started to gather power for a spell. If Robert decided that I was a threat to his wife and child, he could probably break me in half without working up a sweat.

  “Yeah,” said Alexandra, her voice hoarse. “We’ve met.”

  “Hi,” I said. “Sorry to drop in like this. I need to talk to Robert.”

  “I think,” said Alexandra, swallowing, “I think you had better come inside.”

  Robert glanced up and down the hall, saw Riordan, and scowled. For his part, Riordan remained leaning against the wall, calm and expressionless. “He’s with you?”

  “Yeah, he’s my ride,” I said. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this out here.”

  Robert stared at me for a moment, gave Riordan another glance, and then nodded. “All right. Come on in.”

  He stepped away from the door, and I saw that he was indeed holding a big handgun, a Royal Arms .50 semiautomatic. The recoil on that gun would be horrendous, but it had massive stopping power. Alexandra backed away, one hand resting on her belly as if to protect the baby from me.

  “I didn’t tell anyone about you,” she said. “Not anyone. I swear I didn’t.”

  “I know,” I said, glancing around the living room. It reminded me of Alexandra’s office in Duke Carothrace’s building, neat and orderly and efficient, though there were masculine touches here and there. A framed picture of a company of men-at-arms, Robert standing at their head. A pair of crossed swords on the wall over the TV, and a case of medals next to the swords.

  There were a lot of medals in the case.

  “Alexandra?” said Robert, watching me. He didn’t quite point the gun at me, but I had no doubt he could raise it and shoot me in a heartbeat. “What’s going on?”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “You can tell him. I’m sorry to have frightened you like this.”

  “She said her name was Irina Novoranya,” said Alexandra. “I hired her right before the Rebel attack last year. I think she’s actually an Inquisition agent.” A flicker of surprise went through Robert’s dark eyes. “I…she saved my life, Robert. The bomb would have killed us, but she opened a rift way to the Shadowlands, and we fell through it. She got us out of the Shadowlands alive.”

  “You’ve been to the Shadowlands?” said Robert, chagrin going over his face.

  “Yes,” said Alexandra, blinking back tears. “It was an awful place, full of monsters. Irina saved my life, and made me promise never to speak of what I had seen there.”

  “Better for everyone, that way,” I said.

  “But I didn’t tell anyone,” said Alexandra. “Not even my husband.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m not here to talk to you. I’m here to talk to Robert.”

  “Why?” said Robert, hard eyes fixed on me.

  “I have a letter to read to you,” I said.

  His lip twitched. “There is a pretty good postal service in this country. And if you’re an Inquisition agent, you wouldn’t bother with a letter.”

  “It’s not from me,” I said. “I’m going to get the letter out of my coat. Please don’t shoot me when I do. It would be cruel to make your pregnant wife mop my brains out of the carpet.”

  It was a joke, but neither of them laughed. Guess it wasn’t funny.

  I drew out the letter from the Knight.

  “And just who is this letter from if it’s not from you?” said Robert.

  “The Knight of Grayhold,” I said.


  Alexandra’s eyes went wide, and her hand flew to her mouth. Robert’s expression didn’t change, but he shifted his stance, his fingers tightening against the grip of his big pistol. Then he realized how Alexandra had reacted, and he looked at her.

  “Wait,” he said. “You know who the Knight is?”

  “I met him, Robert,” said Alexandra. “When we were in the Shadowlands. Some of the monsters caught us, and he killed them. Then he took me prisoner, and promised to release me if Irina did something for him.”

  “You’re both here, so you must have done it,” said Robert, eyes narrowed. “What did the Knight want from you?”

  “He wanted me to screw with the Rebels,” I said. I didn’t want to tell him too much. “I did, and…”

  “Wait,” he said. “I know you.”

  A jolt of alarm went through me.

  “I saw some of the security footage,” said Robert. “After the battle, when the Duke and the Inquisition were trying to piece together everything that had happened. There was this short woman in a mask…”

  “For God’s sake,” I muttered. “I’m not that short.”

  “This short woman in a mask,” said Robert. “She surprised the Rebels and got away, and uploaded the contents of their leader’s phone to the Inquisition. Real hard bastard named Rogomil.” He frowned. “He turned up dead two months later during the Archon attack in Milwaukee with a couple of bullets in him.”

  “It wasn’t a couple,” I said. “It was more like an entire clip.”

  Alexandra looked back and forth between us. I hadn’t dissuaded them of the idea that I was an Inquisition agent, and admitting to them that I had shot a Rebel leader to death wouldn’t change their minds. Maybe it was for the best. If Robert thought I was with the Inquisition, he might be more cooperative. On the other hand, if he wound up talking to an actual Inquisitor and mentioned me, I was screwed.

  “Wait,” said Alexandra. “Robert, you know the Knight?”

  “Yes,” said Robert, his eyes going distant. “I met him a long time ago, during my first year of service with Duke Carothrace’s men-at-arms. It was during the campaign against the dwarves of…” He shook his head, banishing the memories. “I think that you had better tell me what the Knight wants.”