Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  “This dwarven officer,” said Hakon. “He commanded the embassy you rescued earlier?”

  “Yes,” said Robert. “His name is Milaxes, and he’s an Exokrator.”

  “What’s an Exokrator?” I said. “It sounds like a piece of mining equipment.”

  “Um, no,” said Robert. “The dwarves don’t have separate military and civilian ranks like humans do. An Exokrator is their equivalent of a field colonel, I think. Or maybe a brigadier general, I’m not sure. They don’t think the way we do.”

  “There’s an understatement,” said Hakon.

  “But this Milaxes owes you a favor?” I said.

  “He does,” said Robert. “The dwarves are all crazy as rats in a sewer, but there’s one thing about them that never, ever changes. They keep their word, and they pay their debts.”

  “Milaxes will sneak us into Venomhold?” I said.

  “No,” said Robert. “He can do better. Like the Archons, the dwarves frequently hire mercenaries. I will ask Milaxes to hire the four of us as mercenaries to accompany his embassy to the Knight of Venomhold. That will get us into Venomhold without anyone questioning us.”

  “That might cause problems with the dwarves,” said Riordan.

  I glanced at him. “How?”

  “They could take offense that we’re using their embassy to sneak into Venomhold,” said Riordan. “And the dwarves are vengeful.”

  “And how,” said Hakon.

  “They won’t care, not about this,” said Robert. “I can’t say I understand completely how the dwarves think, but if we steal from Venomhold and…ah, get caught, they won’t care. They’ll say it is Karst’s fault for not attending to her security. The Knight of Venomhold wouldn’t want trouble with the dwarves of Nerzuramaxis so she wouldn’t blame them.”

  I didn’t care if the Knight of Venomhold blamed the entire dwarven race, so long as we got away clear. “All right. Do you know where this embassy is supposed to be?”

  “They’re leaving Nerzuramaxis today,” said Robert. “Probably in three or four hours. Based on their itinerary, tomorrow they will reach the Hangman’s Ring on the edge of Earth’s umbra in the Shadowlands.”

  “Hangman’s Ring?” I said.

  “It is right on the border of Venomhold,” said Riordan. “Though the dimensions of the Shadowlands are sometimes fluid. It’s a battlefield, a haunted place.”

  “Can you open a rift way to the Ring?” said Hakon.

  I frowned. “Maybe. Do you know how rift ways work?”

  “Only a little,” said Hakon. “I was never taught the spell. The Inquisition made it clear that any human who knew the spell for opening a rift way would be executed.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I said, trying not to let my misgivings show. I had put my life into Hakon’s hands. I hoped his oath to the Knight of Grayhold kept him from handing me over to the Inquisition. “Anyway, certain locations on Earth correspond to certain locations in the Shadowlands and vice-versa. But they don’t always match up exactly.” I pointed at the windows. “If I opened a rift way there, walked twenty yards in the Shadowlands, and then opened another rift way back to Earth, I wouldn’t turn up back in the street. I might reappear here. Or in China. Or the bottom of the ocean. Or I might get eaten by wraithwolves. The best way to get to the Hangman’s Ring is to have an object that links to it somehow. Like, a rock or a piece of stone, or…”

  “Garden Cemetery,” said Hakon.

  “What’s a cemetery got to do with Hangman’s Ring?” I said.

  “It is a cemetery for men-at-arms located in Brookfield,” said Riordan. “It was started about eighty years ago, and some of the memorials there are built from stone taken from Hangman’s Ring. Would that allow you to open a rift way to the Ring?”

  “It should,” I said, thinking it over. “Yeah, that would totally work. The tombstones would be linked to the location where they originated in the Shadowlands. If I open a rift way using one of those stones as a focus, we will pop right into the Hangman’s Ring.” I frowned at Riordan. “But bullets made from the ore of the Shadowlands can hurt Elves. I’m surprised that the High Queen would allow it.”

  “It is difficult to make bullets from slabs of granite,” said Hakon.

  “Right,” I said. “Captain Ross, what time is, uh…Millicent…”

  “Milaxes,” said Robert. “When we meet the dwarves, I should probably do the talking.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “What time is Milaxes’s embassy supposed to cross the Hangman’s Ring?”

  “Sometime between ten AM and noon tomorrow,” said Robert. He shrugged. “If the Inquisition is right, and they’re usually right about this kind of thing.”

  “All right,” I said. “I suggest we all meet at the Garden Cemetery at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. That will give us time to locate an appropriate tombstone, and we can proceed from there.” I looked Hakon and Robert in the eye. “Bring whatever equipment and weapons you think you’ll need. You’ve both been to the Shadowlands before, so you know that guns and electronics don’t work.”

  Both men nodded.

  “Good talk,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the Garden Cemetery. Be sure to finish the scones.” I started to slide out of the booth.

  “A moment, Miss Novoranya,” said Hakon.

  I froze. Riordan hadn’t moved at all. Perhaps he had seen this coming.

  “Before you go,” said Hakon, “I wish to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?” I said, more sharply than I intended.

  “About you,” said Hakon. “These are not unreasonable questions. Captain Ross and I are both Graysworn, and we will obey the Knight’s wishes. But those wishes will put us all in great danger. Myself, I am an old man. I have lived a full life and seen many things I would rather forget. But my children have found their lives, and my grandchildren are cared for. If I die fulfilling my oath as Graysworn, at least I am spared the indignity of a final illness in bed. But Captain Ross…well, he is a young man, and it would not surprise me if he has young children.”

  Robert nodded, frowning.

  “So I do wish to ask you some questions,” said Hakon.

  “I told you,” I said. “I can’t tell you everything. Some of the things I know might get you killed.”

  “Some of the things you have told us already,” said Hakon, “might very well get us killed tomorrow.”

  I stared at him for a while. He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink.

  I sighed. “Fine.” If I was asking them to risk their lives, it was only fair that I tell them as much of the truth as I could. “I will tell you what I can. But again, you can’t tell anyone. Some of the things I’ve told you…God, it’s like giving you a grenade with the pin halfway pulled. Do you understand? You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I keep the Duke’s secrets,” said Robert. I wanted to point out that he had used some of Duke Carothrace’s secrets to help us, but for once I was smart enough to keep my damn mouth shut.

  “I was a Wizard of the Legion,” said Hakon. “I know things that no one ever should.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Ask.”

  “Are you one of the Graysworn?” said Hakon.

  “No,” I said.

  “Then how did the Knight come to give you those letters?” said Hakon.

  “Captain Ross already knows most of the story,” I said, “so you might as well. I was in Madison on the day the Rebels attacked. Captain Ross’s wife and I were almost caught in one of the bomb blasts. I had to open a rift way to escape. We landed in the Shadowlands, an anthrophage pack almost killed us, and the Knight of Grayhold rescued us.” I left out the part where I almost murdered Alexandra. “And in exchange, I owe the Knight a favor.”

  Both Hakon and Robert frowned in unison.

  “What?” I said.

  “Is this…business with Venomhold how you are repaying your favor to the Knight?” said Hakon.

  “No,” I said. “The Knight said it was to keep me
alive long enough to repay his favor.”

  “I see,” said Hakon.

  “Why?” I said. “Is that significant?”

  “Well…” said Robert.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “I’ve met people who have owed the Knight favors before,” said Robert. “He always has something specific in mind for them, and they usually don’t survive it.”

  “If this isn’t the favor,” said Hakon, “then God only knows what he has in mind for you later.”

  Well, that was a cheerful thought. Maybe we would all get killed in Venomhold, and I wouldn’t have to find out.

  “Any other questions?” I said.

  Both Robert and Hakon shook their heads.

  “Great,” I said, getting to my feet. “Garden Cemetery, nine-thirty tomorrow morning. See you then.”

  Riordan stood up and followed me in silence from the coffee shop. He unlocked his truck, and I climbed inside. The engine rumbled to life, and he pulled into traffic.

  “Where next?” he said.

  “My storage locker,” I said, and I gave him the address. “I need to get some stuff for tomorrow.”

  Riordan nodded. “After that, I will need to stop by the Family’s safe house in Milwaukee. I will also need some equipment for the Shadowlands.” He glanced at me. “What did you think of Captain Ross and Mr. Valborg?”

  “I don’t think they’ll rat me out to the Inquisition if that’s what you mean,” I said. “They seem to take their oaths seriously. They’ll listen to the Knight’s letters, and since the High Queen doesn’t care about the Graysworn, we shouldn’t get into any trouble with the Inquisition about this.” I shook my head. “Assuming we live long enough to get in trouble.”

  “This business with your favor to the Knight…” Riordan shook his head.

  “What about it?” I said.

  We were headed west, out of Milwaukee and into the suburbs. Ahead of us the highway became a massive causeway to pass over a broad, shallow valley. The valley was an industrial area, with twenty different rail lines and a bunch of factories or warehouses or something. Snow covered the ground, and the entire scene looked desolate and eerie in the gray winter light.

  “That is exactly like Temple,” said Riordan. “Killing people who owed him favors.”

  “What, to cover his tracks?” I said.

  “No, he’s that ruthless,” said Riordan. “He always believed the ends justified the means. If he winds up killing you, it won’t be to cover his tracks. It’ll be so he can accomplish something, and you’re just collateral damage. Suppose that’s how he became the Knight of Grayhold.” His fingers tightened against the steering wheel, and it creaked a bit in his superhuman strength. “He didn’t care about the collateral damage.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well…he is helping me. No way I could pull off going back to Venomhold without help.”

  “It is because he needs you alive for something later,” said Riordan. “Something dangerous. Something even more dangerous than this.”

  I snorted and leaned back in the seat. The vibrations of the truck’s motor felt oddly soothing. “Hard to imagine.”

  “It is just…frustrating,” said Riordan. “I hate Morvilind, and I don’t care for Jacob Temple, and they’ve both got strings on you.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I know.” I laughed.

  “What?” said Riordan.

  “I was just thinking of what your friend Nora said.” I looked out the window at the motionless trains upon the tracks. “Doomed white girls. You always fall for doomed white girls.”

  “No, she didn’t,” said Riordan. “She said I fall for tragic white girls with a dark past.” He frowned. “Or something like that. She talks too much.”

  I let out a long breath, unsure of what to say.

  Because Nora was right about one thing. I was probably doomed, one way or another. Either I would get killed doing one of Morvilind’s little jobs, or I would get killed fulfilling my favor for Jacob Temple, or the Inquisition would arrest me. I just hoped I could get Russell cured before I got killed, but the older I got, the more certain I was that I couldn’t do anything to save myself.

  Riordan had to know that, too…but he was here anyway, trying to help me.

  A deep wave of affection went through me, and I started to turn in my seat to take his hand.

  And as I did, I froze as something caught my eye.

  The causeway was eight lanes wide, with a broad concrete median running down the middle. A man walked down the median, and despite the freezing cold, his long overcoat was open to reveal a dark suit. He had curly brown hair, and…

  “Oh, shit,” I said. “It’s Mr. Cane.”

  “Where?” said Riordan. “That man on the median?”

  “Yeah,” I said. What the hell was he doing? If Mr. Cane tried to come at me now, Riordan would be here to help fight him off. Maybe he was just following me.

  Then I saw that Mr. Cane was carrying a tube of black metal, and my confusion turned to alarm. I had seen a tube of black metal like that before. It was a rocket launcher, and an anthrophage had almost killed Armand Boccand and me with one last year.

  “Riordan!” I shouted. “He’s got…”

  Riordan saw it. He jerked the wheel to the side, but it was too late.

  Mr. Cane raised the rocket launcher and vanished in a white flare of smoke from the backblast.

  The rocket blew up right under Riordan’s truck.

  Chapter 7: Riding The Rails

  I don’t remember the next few seconds clearly.

  The rocket blew up on the left-hand side of the truck’s bed, which was the only thing that saved our lives. If it had hit under the truck’s cab, the shrapnel would have ripped through Riordan and me, and not even the healing of his Shadowmorph would be able to rebuild him.

  The explosion flipped the truck onto its right side. We were going forty or fifty miles an hour already, and the truck slammed hard against the ground. I do remember the glass of my window exploding, remembered seeing the windshield shatter in a billion glittering diamonds before I screwed my eyes shut on reflex. The truck slid into another lane, and a bigger truck (I think it was a post office truck, but I never did find out) hit us hard enough to rip the bed off Riordan's truck.

  The cab bounced through traffic and slammed into the causeway’s steel guard rail.

  I blacked out for a little bit.

  Not for long, though. I had made sure to buckle my seat belt when we had left the coffee shop, and that had saved me from getting thrown from the wreckage. I whacked my head on the window frame, but for all that I complained about being short, it saved my life. Riordan’s truck had been built for tall men like him and had I been taller, I would have split my skull open. As it was, I clipped my temple on the window frame, hard enough that everything went black for a bit.

  But not for long.

  My eyes jerked open.

  I was lying on my side, covered in shattered safety glass, cold air pouring through the open windshield of the truck. Through the windshield, I saw the metal railing of the causeway, and smoke rose from the smashed hood of the truck. I heard shouts and screams and the blare of horns. My head throbbed, and I felt something wet and sticky on my cheek and jaw. Blood, probably.

  “Riordan?” I croaked.

  His seat was empty. My eyes moved from the damaged seat, over the dented hood, and to the railing. God, had he been thrown from the cab in the crash? It was at least sixty feet to the ground from the causeway. Shadow Hunter or not, he couldn’t survive that.

  I heard the crack of a gunshot, and my sluggish mind jerked into focus.

  Mr. Cane was coming for me.

  A while back, I had been watching a spy movie with Russell and James. In it, the Rebel terrorist captured the heroic Homeland Security secret agent, and during their final battle atop a half-built skyscraper, the Rebel terrorist had stopped to make a sneering speech at the heroic agent.

  “Why doesn’t he just shoo
t him?” Russell had demanded.

  Mr. Cane had taken Russell’s advice.

  I had thought he would track me down and bite off my head. I hadn’t expected him to simply walk up and shoot me.

  He was coming for me. Riordan was hurt, and maybe even dead. I had to move. Frantic, I clawed at the release of the seat belt, and on the third try it popped out. Right about then I realized that the seat belt had been the only thing holding me in place, and I hit the asphalt hard, my head bouncing off the window frame again. That hurt, but fear drove me onward. I got my legs underneath me and pulled myself out the shattered windshield, clumps of safety glass sliding off my jacket and jeans.

  I peeked over the side of the truck and wished I hadn’t.

  The traffic had been heavy, and Mr. Cane’s attack had caused a massive pile-up. There were half-dozen smashed cars behind me, and a semi had jumped over the median, smashing more cars and vans. A car had started on fire, smoke shooting into the air as the interior burned. I heard a woman screaming and a pair of children wailing.

  How many people had Mr. Cane just killed? In all the chaos, I couldn’t see the banehound anywhere.

  There were dozens of witnesses here, and sooner or later Homeland Security would show up and take charge. Once they realized that there had been shooting, they would call for Duke Tamirlas’s men-at-arms, or maybe even the Inquisition. I knew how the Inquisition operated, and all the witnesses would be extensively interviewed, along with their relatives and associates.

  I couldn’t let anyone see me. I reached into my pocket and yanked out the ski goggles and mask I had worn to Venomhold to keep any of Martin Corbisher’s goons from seeing my face, and pulled them on in haste.

  Though if Mr. Cane shot me in the head, I suppose Homeland Security could identify my corpse from my fingerprints and teeth.

  Mask in place, I risked another look over the side of the truck. I didn’t see any sign of Riordan. I heard more shouts and screams from the wrecked cars, and I saw an elderly woman stagger forward, blood pouring down her face, and collapse onto the pavement. God, how many people had Mr. Cane killed to get at me? I had been worried about Riordan, but I hadn’t thought the banehound would go berserk and start shooting at me in a public place.