Cloak Games: Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  This time, though, we were in the mountains.

  Specifically, we were in a mountain far higher than anything found on Earth.

  I saw snow-covered slopes stretching away below us, a range of mountains spreading away to the left and right. Below were foothills and rivers and forests of those blue-glowing trees that had stunned the fat anthrophage. I spotted a mass of gray stone far below, and realized it was the ruined castle that we had sought.

  The Knight’s magic had moved us a long distance in an instant.

  I turned again, trying to get my bearings. We stood upon a broad terrace of gray stone, not far from an intricate railing. I took a cautious step forward and peered over the railing. Far below, I saw the slope of the mountain. It was at least a thousand feet down.

  I wasn’t going to escape in that direction.

  “Oh my God, Irina,” said Alexandra. “Look.”

  I turned once more, seeking the Knight, and blinked in astonishment.

  The Knight stood behind me, a tower of blue steel and white light, but that wasn’t what had caught my attention.

  The massive, half-ruined castle rising behind him was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

  It was huge, as big as one of the skyscrapers in Seattle or New York, though its half-ruined look put me in mind of the spell-shattered towers in the wreckage of Chicago. I thought of the structure as a castle, yet it was a strange mix of castle towers and cathedral spires and ziggurat terraces and palace colonnades, a dozen different architectural styles blended together, all of them half-damaged and crumbling. If you gave a deranged architect a trillion dollars, a bathtub full of mescaline, and a thousand years, he might have come up with something like the castle sprawling along the mountainside.

  “What is it?” whispered Alexandra.

  “Grayhold,” said the towering Knight, his metallic voice as final as the closing door of a tomb.

  “Right,” I said, trying to think. “Grayhold. And you’re the Knight of Grayhold. Which means that you are our host, and we are your guests…”

  A rasping hiss came from the Knight’s helmet. It might have been a sound of amusement. “You think to claim guest rights? You have a bold tongue. But, no. You are not guests. You are intruders, and I shall decide what is to be done with you.”

  “But we didn’t mean to intrude,” said Alexandra.

  “Alexandra,” I said, but she pressed on.

  “We were fleeing for our lives, and we entered your domain by accident,” said Alexandra. “If you let us depart in peace, we shall be more than happy to leave and never return.”

  “I am aware of the circumstances,” said the Knight. “I wish to learn more.”

  “We are both employees of Duke Carothrace of Madison,” said Alexandra. Which was stretching the truth a little, at least in my case. “His lordship the Duke would be displeased to learn of this.”

  “I am the ruler of Grayhold,” said the Knight. “I am not a subject of the exiled High Queen Tarlia. Her law has no power here.”

  “That’s elfophobic,” said Alexandra, automatically.

  I sighed and braced myself, but the Knight again made that rasping metallic hiss.

  “Elfophobic, is it?” said the Knight. “How well Tarlia has trained you. You are the architects of your own prisons, and you know it not.”

  There was movement in the shadows behind him. A colonnade ran along the base of Grayhold’s towering wall, and a robed man stepped from the gloom.

  His robes…

  I blinked in surprised recognition.

  James and Lucy Marney were regular churchgoers, and they had brought up Russell in their faith. The Marneys rarely got me to go to church with them, but Russell was effective at guilt-tripping me into it. So sometimes I went along, and to pass the time I flipped through the colorful pamphlets of Bible stories next to the hymnals.

  The robed man who walked to join the Knight looked exactly like the pictures of the ancient Babylonians and Assyrians in those pamphlets. He wore the same ornamented robe of red and gold, the same elaborate headdress, the same golden torques and amulets, and he even wore his long black hair and beard in the same style. The robed man had cold black eyes and a hooked nose like a bird of prey, and he regarded Alexandra and me with clear disdain.

  “You have returned, great lord,” said the robed man. “Have you brought guests, captives, or concubines? Speak, and your will shall be done.”

  “Concubines?” said Alexandra, appalled.

  Again the Knight made the rasping sound of amusement. “Neither. At least, not yet.” That made me wonder what he intended to do with us. His helm swiveled to face me, and then back to the robed man. “I believe she may be the one we expected. Bring the bracelet, and meet me in the Hall of Attainder.”

  “As you will, great lord,” said the robed man, offering a bow to the Knight.

  “And just who are you?” I said.

  The robed man sneered. “Bah! You modern women have no sense of your place. In my day, you would have been shorn bald and sold in the public marketplace as a prostitute for speaking out of turn to your betters.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question,” I said.

  This time the Knight did bark a short, harsh laugh.

  The robed man drew himself up. “I am Sipad-Zid, Seneschal of Grayhold, and I received my seal of office from the hand of the Great King of Akkad himself. For forty-five centuries I have fulfilled my office, assisting the Knights of Grayhold as they defended the sunlit lands of Earth from the darkness that dwells beyond the Shadowlands.”

  “There is your answer,” said the Knight. “Seneschal, meet us in the Hall of Attainder with the bracelet. You two, come.”

  He beckoned, and again white light swallowed us.

  When the glow cleared I found myself standing in a cavernous, gloomy hall that looked like a cross between a Gothic cathedral and an art museum. Dozens of stone pedestals stood scattered throughout the hall, and upon each pedestal stood a nine-foot tall suit of steel armor similar to the Knight’s armor. The armors were all different colors – blue and red and green and black, and the symbols cut into the armor all gleamed with harsh white light.

  Alexandra and I followed the Knight as he strode down an aisle between the pedestals. Between the clang of his metal boots and the click of our high heels against the stone floor, we made quite the cacophony. Vaguely I wondered what would happen if I tried to open a rift way here, or if I attacked the Knight with a lightning globe and tried to escape. Given the absolute power that a lord of a Shadowlands demesne wielded within his domain, I expected my end would be both quick and messy.

  Yet I was still alive. If the Knight wanted to kill us, he could have let the bloated anthrophage and its pack do it for him. He had gone out of his way to save our lives.

  Maybe he needed something from us.

  “Your names?” said the Knight.

  “Alexandra Ross.”

  “Irina Novoranya,” I added.

  The Knight stopped next to an empty pedestal. “You speak the truth.” His helmet swiveled to face me. “You speak a lie.”

  He stepped onto the pedestal. A series of clangs came from his armor, and it started to unfold, opening around him like a giant metallic flower. I braced myself, wondering what kind of horror lurked beneath the massive armor. Some sort of giant? Maybe an orc, perhaps? I had never seen an orc in the flesh, but I knew that the rebel Archons of the Elven homeworld used orcs as shock troops.

  Then the armor opened all the way, and the Knight of Grayhold stepped out in the flesh.

  I blinked in surprise.

  The Knight was human, stood a few inches over six feet, and looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had dark blond hair tied back into a ponytail and a close-cropped blond beard, his eyes a bright shade of blue. His clothes were utterly prosaic – a green camouflage jacket, a worn blue work shirt, jeans, and steel-toed work boots. A sheathed sword hung at his belt, and a peculiar gauntlet of gray me
tal covered his left hand, its plates written with magical symbols.

  “You looked surprised,” said the Knight.

  I blinked again. The Knight’s voice was deep, but unmistakably human, and he spoke with a marked Texas accent.

  “Been a surprising sort of day,” I said.

  “Yes, it has,” said the Knight. He looked at Alexandra. “Nice abs.”

  She flinched. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about her torn jacket and blouse. Now she grabbed them and pulled them closed.

  “I am married,” Alexandra said, her face bright red.

  “Though so, honey,” said the Knight. “It’s a good thing to be.” The blue eyes turned to me, and I was struck by how cold they were. “You’re not.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Why? Are you asking? Is that what you do? Abduct women to be your brides? It’s very old-fashioned, I’ll give you that. If I kiss you, will you turn into a frog? Or do you turn into a wolf every full moon if you don’t have true love’s kiss?”

  “For God’s sake!” hissed Alexandra.

  I stopped talking. I have a bit of a smart mouth, as I have pointed out in the past. When I’m stressed or frightened, it kicks in, and I was very stressed and very, very frightened.

  “Does she always talk so much?” said the Knight.

  “I…haven’t known her very long,” said Alexandra.

  “I hope you’ve known her long enough,” said the Knight, “to explain how you came to Grayhold. I’ve been watching the Shadowlands for a long time, and it’s very rare for two women to come here alone.” He looked back at me. “And it’s even rarer for any human to know the spell to open a rift way.”

  “We were in Madison,” said Alexandra. “I…I work for Duke Carothrace, his event coordinator.”

  “I see,” said the Knight. “I reckon the Jarl’s visit kept you mighty busy.”

  Alexandra blinked. “How did you know about that?”

  “He’s the lord of Grayhold,” I said. “I imagine quite a few of the warded ways pass near his demesne.”

  “Your well-informed friend is correct,” said the Knight. “Now, Mrs. Ross. Please continue your story.”

  “There were Rebels,” said Alexandra. “Disguised as Homeland Security officers. They tried to assassinate the Duke and the Jarl. God, for all I know they succeeded. There were bombs scattered around the Capitol.” She shivered, holding her torn blazer closed tight. “One of the bombs was right in front of us. If Irina hadn’t opened her gate to this place, it would have killed us both.”

  “I see,” said the Knight. “And where does a twenty-year-old girl from Wisconsin learn to open a rift way?”

  “Someone taught me,” I said. “I had a really…effective teacher, let’s say.” I couldn’t bring myself to call Morvilind a good teacher. And I wasn’t about to tell the Knight or Alexandra anything about Morvilind. He had made it very clear what would happen if I told anyone about him.

  Of course, considering the kind of magical power the Knight possessed, he could make me tell him anything he wanted.

  He could probably make me do anything he wanted.

  I shivered a little, and not from the chill filling the gloomy hall. God, but I hated feeling powerless.

  The Knight snorted. “A true answer that contains absolutely no useful information. I think you have a gift for those.”

  I shrugged. “We all have our talents. Not all of us can shoot lightning bolts from giant suits of magical armor.”

  “Why were the anthrophages after you?” said the Knight.

  “They wanted to eat us,” I said. “They eat people. Enthusiastically. I think a lord of the Shadowlands ought to have realized that by now.”

  “They especially prefer fertile young women and children,” said the Knight. “But they were looking for you, Irina Novoranya. You, specifically. That fat anthrophage? An anthrophage elder. Such creatures rarely leave their lairs, and usually rely upon their packs to bring them food.” That send a little shudder through me. The thought of getting dragged off to an anthrophage’s lair was nightmarish. “So what could rouse an anthrophage elder to waddle its fat carcass into the wilds of the Shadowlands? It was looking for you personally, Miss Novoranya. I would be much obliged if you could tell me why.”

  I shrugged. “Guess I ticked the anthrophages off.”

  “How did you do that?” said the Knight.

  “I killed one in Los Angeles a few weeks ago,” I said. “Shot it, and got the hell out of there before its friends could chase me down.”

  “Anthrophages don’t come to Earth unless someone summons them,” said the Knight. “Which means they were in Los Angeles looking for you. Why?”

  I said nothing.

  “The answer you give to that question, Miss Novoranya,” said the Knight, “might determine whether or not you ever leave Grayhold.”

  I sighed. “Their masters. I had irritated their masters.”

  “What masters?” said Alexandra.

  The Knight’s cold eyes turned to her. “Pardons, Mrs. Ross. But have you ever heard of a book called the Void Codex?”

  I stiffened.

  “No, never,” said Alexandra.

  “Have you ever heard of the Dark Ones?” said the Knight.

  I gave him a sharp look. The Knight didn’t notice or care.

  “Dark Ones?” said Alexandra. “That sounds like some sort of ethnic slur.”

  The Knight nodded. “I thought as much.” He gestured again, white light flaring around his armored left hand, and light swallowed the world again.

  When it cleared, I found myself standing next to Alexandra in another massive, gloomy hall. Rows of pale blue crystalline cylinders rose from the floor, shining with a gentle glow, and within those crystals…

  I swallowed, alarm flooding through me.

  Within those crystals were people, men and women in a variety of clothing. Some wore expensive suits and dresses, others the garb of soldiers. Others wore ancient clothing, robes like those of Sipad-Zid the Seneschal or even stranger garments.

  “The Hall of Attainder,” said the Knight. “You will rest here for a time, Mrs. Ross.”

  “What?” said Alexandra, her eyes widening. “You’re going to put me into one of those crystals? No, don’t, don’t…”

  The Knight gestured, and pale blue light blazed from his hand. Alexandra screamed, throwing up her hands to cover her face, and the blue light wrapped around her. As it did, the light hardened and coalesced, and an instant later Alexandra stood motionless within one of those crystalline cylinders.

  “You son of a bitch,” I snapped. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “If it is any comfort,” said the Knight, “she is completely unconscious, and is in no pain whatsoever. She’s also safer than she has ever been in her life.” His cold eyes fixed upon me. “Certainly she is safer here than she is with you.”

  “I didn’t just freeze her inside a giant crystal,” I said.

  “You did not,” said the Knight. “But let us be candid. I didn’t contemplate stabbing her in the back, did I?”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “I watched you from the moment you set foot within my demesne,” said the Knight. “I saw you contemplate killing her so you could escape.” His expression remained calm, his drawling voice relaxed, but his eyes were like chips of ice. “Were you going to kill her as soon as it was convenient, or did you want to save the pleasure until you could savor it properly?”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” I snarled, though I knew he was right. “And don’t presume to lecture me.”

  He raised a blond eyebrow. “Presume?”

  I waved a hand around us. “I’m not the one with the giant fortress full of frozen people. What did they do? Piss you off? Look at you funny? Arrive late with the pizza delivery?”

  “They,” said the Knight, “are worshippers of the Dark Ones. Come to Grayhold to make mischief on behalf of their dark gods. I put Mrs. Ross into st
asis so she remains safe while I decide what do with you.”

  “And just what are you going to do with me?” I said, my heart beating up again. There was no way I could fight him. Magically, he could crush me in a heartbeat. Physically, he looked like he could pick me up and bench press me. Under other circumstances, having his hands on me might have been fun…

  I shoved that thought right out of my head.

  “Mrs. Ross didn’t know what the Void Codex and the Dark Ones were,” said the Knight. “You, ‘Miss Novoranya’, did not even blink. You know what the Dark Ones are, and only two kinds of humans know about the Dark Ones. Their enemies, and their servants.”

  I sneered. “And you think I worship the Dark Ones?”

  “A woman with knowledge of both rift ways and illusion magic?” said the Knight. “What other explanation is there for your existence?”

  “You want the truth?” I said. “Fine. I’m a thief. A really good one, too. Last month I robbed a rich guy on Conquest Day, and I happened to stumble across his secret shrine to the Dark Ones and his copy of the Void Codex. I got out alive, but I pissed off the Dark Ones in the process, and the anthrophages have been looking for me ever since.”

  “Closer to the truth this time,” said the Knight, “and plausible, but still not the entire truth.”

  “I’ve told you as much of the truth as can tell you,” I said.

  “I would believe you,” said the Knight, “but common thieves, even good ones, don’t know how to open rift ways. Common thieves don’t know how to Cloak themselves. The Inquisition kills any humans who learn illusion or mind-control magic…and they also kill any Elves foolish enough to share those spells with humans. That’s a very good Cloak spell, you know, if it was good enough to Cloak you from an anthrophage’s senses. A lot of Elves know how to Cloak, but there’s only one Elven wizard with the skill to Cloak himself from an anthrophage…”

  A fresh wave of dread went through me. “Are you friends with a lot of Elven nobles, then?”

  “Hardly,” said the Knight. “But there’s a wide country between ‘friend’ and ‘mortal enemy’, and a few Elven nobles live there.” He nodded. “I know who you are, then.”