Cloak Games_Sky Hammer

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Shit,” I said.

  The Archons were both Elves, tall with pointed ears and alien features and bright eyes. Both wore black uniforms adorned with a three-headed red dragon across the chest. That was the symbol of the Archons. The three heads of the dragon represented liberty, equality, and fraternity (or possibly solidarity), and like so many revolutionaries across human history, the Archons had slaughtered millions of Elves in the name of those ideals.

  Maybe Elves and humans aren’t so different in the end.

  The Archons froze when they saw the battle, and they both began casting spells, shadows and purple fire burning in their eyes. That meant the Archons had Dark Ones in their skulls.

  Great.

  I started a spell of my own, but the Archons were faster. One of the Archons thrust out his hand, and telekinetic force grabbed me like a fist of iron. The spell lifted me from my feet, and pain exploded through my back and joints as the telekinetic grip started to bend me backward. When I had fought a pair of Archons outside the Marneys’ house in Milwaukee, one of them had used this spell on me, and they would have killed me if Lord Morvilind hadn’t shown up and slaughtered them. Back then, the spell had inflicted too much pain for me to fight back.

  Now, though…

  Now I was just pissed off.

  I cast a telekinetic spell of my own. Probably the Archons had warded themselves against elemental attacks. I caught the Archon’s neck in a telekinetic grip, and I pulled. I used this spell to grab heavy things and pull myself up, almost like doing a pull-up with my mind. Except the Archon wasn’t nearly as heavy as, say, a lamp post, so my spell yanked him forward, his eyes going wide, his hands flying to his throat as instinct took over and he tried to relieve the pressure on his neck.

  His own spell started to unravel, but not until I crashed into him with bone-jarring force.

  We both went down. I hit the ground, bounced, and surged back to my feet, already casting another spell. The Archon rolled to one knee, elemental fire snarling around his fingers as he gathered magic.

  I punched him in the face.

  That wouldn’t have done much, but I had already cast the telekinetic gauntlet spell that Arvalaeon had taught me, so I hit him with a lot of force concentrated into the relatively small area of my right fist.

  The end result was that his head and neck bent backward at a ninety-degree angle.

  Yeah. That made a nasty noise.

  I turned to face the second Archon just as he finished a spell.

  Pain exploded through my head as the Archon launched a telepathic attack on my mind. Hideous memories surged through me. This sort of spell could create false memories of traumatic experiences to torment the victim. But with me, the spell didn’t need to bother. I had enough spooky crap in my head to use instead.

  So it did.

  Tens of thousands of agonizing deaths blurred through my mind. Again, I lay on the ground and screamed as the wraithwolves ripped me open and feasted. Again, I died as the anthrophages tore me apart in the Eternity Crucible, as the cytospawn ripped my arms from their sockets, as the bloodrats hunted me down in the darkness and gnawed on me until I died.

  I died again and again and again, and I heard myself screaming, felt the blood dripping from my nose.

  The Archon smirked at me and walked closer, hand outstretched.

  The rage burned through the agony.

  I had survived the Eternity Crucible. Arvalaeon had sent me to hell, and I had died and died again, but I had survived. Had this Archon asshole survived anything comparable?

  Time to find out!

  I snarled, seized the telepathic intrusion with my thoughts, and sent my memories thundering through the link and into the Archon’s skull.

  I had the immense satisfaction of seeing his eyes bulge with shock, his mouth falling open in horror. The telekinetic gauntlet was still around my right hand, so I stepped up and hit him in the face. At least, I tried to hit him in the face. The Elf was a lot taller than I was, and my aim was off, so I struck him in the throat. That might have been more effective than punching him in the face. His windpipe collapsed beneath the blow, and the Archon staggered back, going first red and then purple and then blue as he fell to his knees and died from lack of air.

  I turned, intending to aid Murdo against the anthrophages.

  I noticed two things.

  One, Murdo didn’t need any help against the anthrophages, because he’d killed them all. In fact, he was hurrying towards me, no doubt intending to help against the two Archons I had just killed. Russell was running to join him.

  Two, the Shadowlands were spinning around me.

  No, wait, that wasn’t right. I was the one spinning. Or the inside of my head was. I tried to take a step forward and fell to one knee. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe the Archon’s telepathic attack had messed something up in my brain – it felt like a lot of blood was coming out of my nose. Or maybe magical exhaustion had caught up with me – I had spent most of the last day casting a lot of spells very quickly.

  Or maybe it was a combination of both.

  “Nadia,” said Russell as they joined me. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Yeah,” I said, woozy. “Just a nosebleed.” Murdo knelt and grabbed my arm as I almost fell over. That weird silver fire still danced around his left wrist, the cracks of light crawling up his arm. “Hey, your arm’s on fire.”

  “You’re hurt,” said Murdo, voice grim. His eyes had returned to their normal color, and they were full of concern.

  “No, I’m not,” I said. I couldn’t focus. “I’m sure I know you from somewhere else. Don’t I? Like we met before. I…”

  Then something strange happened.

  There was a massive clanging noise, like a titanic bell, and I saw a pulse of green light from the citadel of Venomhold. At the same time, ghostly emerald fire filled the black vault of the sky, painting the bleak plain and the stark mountains in eerie shades of green.

  “Damn it,” muttered Murdo.

  “Ooh,” I said. “Like fireworks, but horrifying.”

  All the strength went out of my muscles, and I pitched forward.

  The last thing I felt before I passed out was Murdo’s arms coiling around me.

  Chapter 2: Ghostwright Mask

  I drifted in a haze for what felt like a long time.

  Sensations made their way to my reeling mind. Someone was carrying me, my arms and legs hanging loose. I was so tired. Maybe this was what it felt like to die and to actually stay dead. I had a lot of experience dying, not so much with staying dead. Images flickered through my thoughts. Most of them were from the Eternity Crucible, recollections of blood and death and torment.

  Or a mountain in the desert, a mountain filled with monsters and weapons that could end the world.

  I heard two men talking. Arguing? No, that wasn’t right. One of the men was trying to convince the other of something.

  After a while, I recognized the voices as Russell and Murdo.

  “She ought to wake in another few hours,” said Murdo. “That kind of telepathic attack shocks the mind, makes it shut down for a while.”

  “Can that be fatal?” said Russell, concern in his voice.

  “For a weaker mind, yes,” said Murdo. “Your sister’s going to wake up spitting nails and ready to blast Connor to ashes. Assuming we can find our way to the border.”

  “Yeah,” said Russell. “Look. You know it’s not really any of my business…”

  Murdo snorted. “I doubt that has ever stopped you even once in your life.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” said Russell. “But when she wakes up, you should really tell her.”

  Murdo didn’t respond.

  “Because if you don’t, she’s going to figure it out,” said Russell. “I think she was halfway there already. You had to do all that Shadow Hunter stuff in Last Judge to stay alive. I mean, Morelli shot you twice, and you’re still alive.” His voice got dry. “Plus, y
ou know, your left arm is on fire.”

  “It’s not on fire,” said Murdo with a sigh. “The High Queen warned me it wouldn’t work properly in the Shadowlands. The magical aura here is too strong.”

  There was a pause.

  “There’s no way Nadia's not going to notice that,” said Russell. “Just no way. You’re going to have to tell her. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn't figure it out a long time ago.”

  “She’s got a lot on her mind,” said Murdo. He sighed again. “And now she’s about to have more.”

  “Come on, man,” said Russell. “She’ll be glad to see you. Every time I mention you, she starts to flip out.”

  “Yes, a promising sign,” said Murdo, the sarcasm plain.

  “Seriously, it is,” said Russell. “I mean, she didn’t want to do it. Nadia thought she was protecting you, just like Nadia thought she was protecting me when she disappeared.”

  “Something happened to her,” said Murdo. “You’ve seen her fight. It’s like watching a thunderstorm. There are only a few humans that can use magic at that level, and she wields that kind of power so casually.”

  “I guess something did happen to her,” said Russell, “and it was probably pretty horrible, but she’s still the same person. She’s still Nadia. And she misses you.”

  “Yes,” said Murdo. He hesitated. “I can’t…”

  “And I didn’t think a guy your age would be timid about women,” said Russell.

  “Timid,” said Murdo, his voice flat.

  There was a long pause.

  “Maybe that was over the line,” said Russell.

  Murdo snorted. “Was it? I suppose Nadia told you. No, you probably figured it out for yourself. I was married, and I had a long-term relationship, and they both ended very badly. It was my fault…”

  “I kind of doubt that.”

  “Fine,” said Murdo. “Then I at least bear a measure of the responsibility for it. I thought…I thought the pattern was repeating with Nadia. Which is the whole reason I’m here, I suppose.” His voice got dry again. “That, and you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

  “We all have our talents,” said Russell. “I think I know what your problem is.”

  “Oh, this should be good. Please proceed with your diagnosis, Dr. Moran.”

  Russell, as ever, remained impervious to sarcasm. “I think you’ve always been the dumpee and never the one doing the dumping.”

  Murdo laughed. “Now you sound like a sixteen-year-old. Which you are, so it makes sense.”

  “No, seriously,” said Russell. “Your wife left you, and she tried to kill you, yeah? Then you had a girlfriend after that, and she tried to kill you, too. So, when Nadia left, well, it seemed like the pattern was repeating. Except it wasn’t. She wasn’t trying to hurt you, she was trying to save you from what had happened to…”

  “You know,” said Murdo. “You know what happened to her.”

  Russell hesitated. “It’s…not my place to tell. And I haven’t told her about you, either. Even when I really, really wanted to.”

  “Thank you for that,” said Murdo.

  “Like when you walked in while she was getting fitted for that cocktail waitress uniform? And you two were staring at each other like starving wolves? Keeping my mouth shut was a heroic feat of self-control, let me tell you.”

  “I imagine that keeping silent is a heroic feat of self-control for you in most circumstances,” said Murdo.

  “Doesn’t matter now, though,” said Russell. “Because when she wakes up, she’s going to figure it out, and you’re going to have to tell her.”

  “I know.”

  The conversation faded from my thoughts, and maybe it stopped.

  Perhaps I had dreamed the whole thing.

  I drifted for a long time, old memories flickering through my head. Sometimes I was in the Eternity Crucible. Or sometimes the memories blurred together. Like I was in the Ducal Mall, and I was trying to find Lorenz before he could kill Alexandra’s baby, but the wraithwolves and the bloodrats kept coming after me. In another I ran through a burning high-rise building in the ruins of Chicago, trying to find Riordan, but he always seemed just out of reach.

  Bit by bit, the dreams faded, and I started to wake up.

  The first thing I noticed was the sky.

  Specifically, that it was on fire.

  I’d been to the Shadowlands a bunch of times before, and it never went well. But I knew what the sky of the Shadowlands ought to have looked like. It should have been an empty black vault, featureless and blank, though a black vault that somehow provided enough light to see.

  Instead, green flames filled the sky, twisting and angry, an emerald glow covering everything.

  The second thing I noticed was the identification tags.

  There was a slender chain wrapped around my left wrist, holding two flat pieces of metal stamped with a name and number. It was the kind of identification tag a soldier or a man-at-arms wore. Jeremy Shane’s tags, that was it. I had taken them from his desk in Last Judge Mountain after I had seen his video explaining why he had chosen to work with the High Queen against the Dark Ones of the Void. I had taken those tags partly to remind me of what Shane had said, and partly to irritate Nicholas, who had been infuriated at that video…

  Nicholas!

  My mind screamed back into focus, and I sat up and called magic, half-expecting to see myself surrounded by enemies.

  Instead, I was sitting on the ground in a depression behind a pile of boulders. Russell sat resting on the rocks, his eyes closed, a tactical baton the size of a baseball bat resting across his lap. Murdo stood a few paces away, a man-at-arms’ sword in his right hand, a deadly-looking blade of black metal and carbon fiber. His left hand was folded behind his back, that strange corona of silver fire still encircling his wrist, the cracks of silver light crawling up his arm.

  Why was Russell’s hair black? Oh, yeah, I had dyed his hair so he wouldn’t stand out so much in Las Vegas.

  “What the hell?” I croaked.

  Russell’s eyes shot open, and Murdo turned, his black eyes falling on me.

  “Nadia,” said Russell. “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I started to rise, only for a wave of dizziness to shoot through me. I grunted and sat back down. “Yeah, I guess. I…”

  “Give it a minute,” said Murdo, going to one knee next to me and gripping my shoulder. I was wearing my gray sweater with a black tank top beneath it. What the hell had happened to my coat? Oh, yeah – the battery fire. “One of the Archons hit you with a powerful telepathic attack. It can take some time to recover.”

  “Time,” I said. “Time. We don’t have much time. What time is it?”

  “It’s July 3rd,” said Russell, producing a mechanical watch from a pocket. Men-at-arms carried them into the Shadowlands since electronics didn’t work here. He must have looted it from one of those trailers, which meant…which meant…

  “July 4th,” I said. “Nicholas is going to nuke New York tomorrow.”

  I surged to my feet, staggered, and another wave of dizziness went through me. I would have fallen on my ass or maybe my face, but Murdo and Russell caught me and lowered me to the ground.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting against the cold boulders. “Okay. I’ll rest for a minute. But as soon as I can stand up without falling over, I’m opening a rift way, and we’re getting back to Earth. We’ve got to warn someone in the Inquisition about Nicholas.”

  “Yes,” said Murdo, “but we have to get out of the demesne of Venomhold first.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  Murdo pointed at the sky, the silver fire around his wrist a harsh contrast with the green flames. “That fire is one of the Knight of Venomhold’s powers. She has sealed her demesne to rift way spells. Probably in preparation for the attack on New York.”

  “Seriously?” I said, and I tried to cast the rift way spell. I drew together power for the spell, and the sheet of gray mist started to rise befo
re us.

  Then it just sort of fell apart. It was like trying to open a door only to have the knob disappear just as you grasped it.

  “That’s annoying,” I said. “I didn’t know the Knight of Venomhold could do that.”

  “The lord of a Shadowlands demesne can close it off to rift ways at will,” said Murdo. “Natalya Karst doesn’t use the power all that often since it blocks the Rebels from Venomhold as well, but she likely wants to make sure that the High Queen doesn’t discover the impending attack until it’s too late.”

  “Okay,” I said. I rubbed my face and tried to think. “Okay. Then we have to get out of Venomhold. How do we do that?”

  “We walk to Grayhold,” said Murdo. He gestured to Russell, the silver fire flickering around his wrist, and Russell produced a map. “Found this in one of the trailers. If we’re reading the map right, it’s fifteen miles to Grayhold in that direction.”

  “Then we have a fifteen-mile hike to Grayhold,” I said. “Uh. That’s going to be challenging. There’s all the usual nasty creatures of the Shadowlands, plus Nicholas’s army. And guns don’t work here.”

  “Yeah,” said Russell. He hefted the tactical baton. “This is nice and all, but I really miss guns.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Well, magic still works.” I looked at Murdo. “And it turns out you’re a Shadow Hunter.”

  “Yes,” said Murdo without blinking. “I apologize for keeping that from you, but…”

  I waved a hand. “No, no, it’s all right. I’m impressed you kept it a secret for that long. If Nicholas knew, he would have killed you on the spot. There’s got to be a huge bounty on his head.”

  “Ten million dollars,” said Murdo. “The writ of execution was commissioned by the High Queen herself.”

  “Well, at least someone realizes how dangerous he is,” I said. “That…makes a lot of sense in hindsight. Explains how you were able to contact the Knight of Grayhold. And how you got us into the John Doe Hospital in Manhattan. And those friends you called in case we failed.” Which was still a possibility, I suppose. “And how you were able to shrug off Morelli shooting you.” Concern stabbed through me. “Um. How are you?”