Cloak Games_Sky Hammer

by Jonathan Moeller

  He sprang through the broken windshield, his face bloody, his eyes narrowed, a pistol in his right hand as he swung the weapon towards me.

  But I already had my gun up, and he did not.

  I yanked the oversized trigger, and the voidslayer gun boomed in my hands. The thing’s recoil was as strong as the grenade launcher I had used in Grand Army Square, but I was ready for it. The voidslayer bullet slammed into Nicholas’s chest, punched through his ballistic armor, and threw him to the ground in front of the truck.

  Guess his armor hadn’t been rated for voidslayer caliber bullets.

  Nicholas let out a groan of pain, and his blue eyes flashed with sputtering purple fire.

  I shot him twice more in the chest as I approached. Both times blood spattered on the pavement around him, and on the second shot, the purple fire in his eyes winked out. The voidslayer bullets had killed the Dark One inside him, just as Rimethur had promised.

  Nicholas’s eyes, bewildered and full of pain, met mine.

  “Kat,” he rasped. “How?”

  “All those kids, Nicholas,” I heard myself snarl. My voice sounded like tearing metal. “Goddamn it! All those kids. You were going to kill all those kids!”

  I shot him again in the stomach.

  The man who had been my one and only lover let out an agonized croak. He took one final shuddering breath, and his eyes met mine.

  He smiled at me.

  “Too late,” Nicholas Connor whispered.

  Then he died.

  Too late? What did that mean?

  I threw the voidslayer gun back over my shoulder and dropped to my right knee, ignoring the howl of agony from my left leg. The detonator for the Sky Hammer was still clipped to his belt, and I ripped it free. Had he already armed the weapon? The detonator should have a switch to cancel the countdown…

  I stared at the digital display on the device, and my blood froze in my veins.

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”

  1:38.

  The Sky Hammer had a five-minute countdown sequence to its detonation. Because of some bit of clever technology, once the bomb reached the two-minute mark, the detonation couldn’t be stopped. The nuclear reaction that would cause the explosion had already begun.

  In one minute and thirty-eight seconds, New York was going to burn.

  Chapter 11: The Last Death Of Nadia Moran

  I stared at the detonator, frantically trying to think of something, anything, to do.

  I couldn’t get the bomb out of the city in time. I couldn’t get it out of the wrecked truck. Hell, I couldn’t even save myself. No matter how fast I ran, no matter where I sheltered, the Sky Hammer would go off and burn the city. With my left knee in so much pain, I couldn’t even run that fast. And even if I by some miracle didn’t die in the blast, I would die when the Skythrone fell and crushed the burning wreckage of Manhattan beneath it. The only possible way to survive would be to take a rift way to the Shadowlands…

  I blinked, my mind screeching to a halt on the idea.

  A rift way to the Shadowlands…and I could take the Sky Hammer with me.

  Sudden hope stabbed through me, and I clawed through Nicholas’s clothes. If he had it, if he had what I needed…

  There!

  I yanked a golden medallion from one of his pockets, the metal cold and crawling with dark magic beneath my fingers. It was a Sign of the Dark Ones, a symbol carried by Dark Ones cultists. It let the cultists identify each other and augmented their magic.

  And they also had a nasty little side effect that I had discovered by accident.

  Any wizard holding a Dark Ones medallion who cast the rift way spell would open a rift way to Venomhold.

  The detonator reached 1:30, and I started counting backward in my head from ninety seconds as I heaved to my feet, Nicholas’s medallion clutched in my left hand. I can keep an accurate mental count of seconds in my head, regardless of what I’m doing. It’s a useful skill for a thief, and it’s not that different from the mental discipline required to work magical spells.

  Ninety seconds. I had ninety seconds.

  I ran around the back of the truck and scrambled into the cargo bed. The Sky Hammer lay on its side, and I heard a faint whine coming from the device, a whine that was getting louder. I lost a second examining the bomb, trying to guess the appropriate angle for the rift way, and then I hobbled around to the other side of the device.

  I gripped the medallion, summoned and shaped magical power, and cast the rift way spell.

  Eighty-five seconds were left.

  A sheet of gray mist appeared beneath the Sky Hammer, angled at forty-five degrees against the floor. Or the wall, since I had flipped the truck onto the side. I concentrated and opened the rift way, the cold edge of the Dark Ones medallion digging into my fingers. The rift way opened beneath the Sky Hammer. Metal grated on metal as the bomb slid forward, and then the Sky Hammer and I both fell through the rift way.

  Again, I felt that instant of spinning disorientation as I crossed the boundary between the worlds, and I caught my balance as I returned to Venomhold and the rift way snapped shut behind me, the gray grass rasping beneath my shoes, more pain shooting through my left leg.

  Eighty seconds left.

  The rift way had deposited me in the Rebel army’s staging area below the citadel of Venomhold. The sky had returned to lightless black, save for twisting ribbons of green energy. I saw a dozen open rift ways within a mile, groups of Rebel soldiers and orcish mercenaries and Archons and Shadowlands creatures rushing towards them. I had just killed their leader, but that didn’t matter. The attack was underway.

  The Sky Hammer would burn all of them. It would probably destroy the citadel of Venomhold on its mountainside overlooking the valley.

  Seventy-eight seconds left.

  A half-dozen Archons turned to face me, eyes narrowed. They must have sensed the rift way.

  And some of them might know what the Sky Hammer was.

  “She has the bomb!” screamed one of the Archons in Elven. “Kill her!”

  Seventy-six seconds left.

  And as the Archon said those words, a strange, grim peace fell over me.

  Because I knew, at last, how I was going to die for the final time.

  I had planned to drop the bomb here, open another rift way, and escape back to Earth. Except I couldn’t do that now. The Archons knew the rift way spell. They would try to send the bomb back to Earth. I had to keep them from doing that.

  No matter what the cost.

  Russell had told me that if the price of his life grew too high, if the cost of saving him from frostfever became too sharp, that I ought to break my deal with Morvilind and let him die with a clear conscience.

  That moment had come.

  Nadia and Russell Moran were going to die saving the world.

  I hoped Russell understood.

  I grinned my mirthless grin at the Archons and cast a spell. A symbol of glowing blue-white light about six yards across appeared on the ground, its circumference large enough to enclose the Sky Hammer. The Seal of Shadows would block all rift ways from opening with its boundary, pinning the Sky Hammer in Venomhold.

  Seventy-three seconds were left.

  The Archons strode towards me. Orcish mercenaries rushed to join them, along with packs of anthrophages and wraithwolves. I called together my power for another spell, the Seal glowing beneath my shoes, and a sudden overwhelming sense of familiarity rushed through me.

  I had done this before many, many times. I had died so many times in the Eternity Crucible, fighting as the creatures of the Shadowlands closed around me.

  Practice. It had all been a rehearsal for this moment, right now, when I was going to die saving the world. I didn’t mind that. I had died so many times before.

  Just one more death. One more death to save the world. There were worse ways to die, right?

  I started to laugh, and the Archons hesitated, eyes narrowed.

  “Come on, t
hen!” I shouted. “Come and get some, assholes! One last death for all of us!”

  Sixty-nine seconds left.

  They came, and I fought.

  The Archons hurled a volley of fire and lightning at me, but I cast the spell to resist elemental forces, and I shrugged off the attack. The wraithwolves bounded at me, and I sent a fire sphere spinning through them, drilling through their skulls. The anthrophages charged, reaching for me with their black claws, but I cast the spell for lightning globes. Eight lightning spheres, more than I had ever called before, sprang from my fingers and killed anthrophages.

  Sixty seconds left.

  The orcs sprinted at me in a howling mob, and even as I held the Seal of Shadows and the spell against elemental forces in place, I cast the Splinter Mask spell. Nine duplicates of me, bloody, bruised, battered, and sweating, appeared around the Sky Hammer and charged into the melee. As they did, I struck back, casting spells as fast as I could, fireballs howling and lightning snarling and ice crackling around me.

  I felt something wet dripping from my nose, felt a thunderous headache start behind my eyes and spread through my skull. Blood, that was it, my nose was bleeding, and I think my ears were bleeding as well. I was pushing myself way beyond my limits, and I had just sailed far beyond mere magical exhaustion. You can exercise yourself to death, run and run on a treadmill until your heart gives out, and I was doing the same thing with magic right now.

  Man, I had a headache.

  But I would only have to suffer it for another fifty-four seconds.

  One of the Archons tried a telepathic attack, hammering at my exhausted mind through a mental link. I let the Archon invade my thoughts and then flooded the link with a few decades of memories from the Eternity Crucible. The Archon fell to his knees, screaming in horror, and I cast a fireball that consumed him and three others.

  Forty-nine seconds left.

  A wave of those damned giant beetles rushed at me. I cast an ice wall as they charged, and as the beetles clambered over it, I threw a fireball. The wall exploded into glittering shards, killing most of the beetles, and I finished off the rest of them with two volleys of lightning globes.

  Thirty-eight seconds.

  My head felt like it had been made of molten metal. The pain was unreal, even by my standards. I wondered if I would die of a stroke before the bomb went off. But of all the many ways I had died, I had never been nuked before.

  I wondered what it would feel like.

  Bet it would be quick, at least.

  Thirty seconds left.

  I reeled on my feet, so exhausted and in pain that for a second my mind could not force my body to keep going. Before I could pull my attention back, one of the wraithwolves leaped over the Seal of Shadows and struck me. The impact knocked me back, and I landed hard outside the circumference of the Seal, the wraithwolf’s claws raking at my arms. I hit the wraithwolf with an undirected burst of telekinetic force that snapped its neck and sent it tumbling away, and I scrambled back to my feet and just barely kept myself from falling on my face.

  Twenty-five seconds left.

  My arms and legs felt hot from the blood dripping across them. Or was it cold? I couldn’t tell any more.

  The orcs and the creatures of the Shadowlands rushed me, and I screamed and fought them with everything I had left, lightning and fire and ice cutting down my enemies. A part of my reeling mind noted that the Archons had fled, that they were opening rift ways. Likely they had realized the Sky Hammer was about to go off and were running to save their own skins.

  I blew off the top of an orc’s head with a fire blast.

  Ten seconds left.

  Riordan. Oh, God, Riordan. I hoped he understood.

  Nine seconds left.

  I speared a pair of anthrophages with an ice spike.

  Eight seconds.

  I was sorry, I was so sorry. I wished I hadn’t said those things to Riordan. I was just glad that I had a chance to tell him that before I died for the last time. I wish I could have saved Russell. I wish…

  A wraithwolf leaped at me, and I electrocuted it.

  Six seconds.

  Harsh light flared over my shoulder. Shit, one of the Archons must have circled around me to attack from behind. Well, it didn’t matter. Even if the Archon killed me right now, he wouldn’t be able to stop the explosion.

  I started to turn, and hands grabbed my arms and yanked me from my feet.

  Probably the orcs, holding me down so they could kill me.

  I didn’t have the strength left to fight them.

  My head jerked back, and I saw Riordan and Russell drag me towards the light.

  Four seconds.

  The three of us tumbled backward through a rift way.

  Again, I felt the spinning disorientation, and we returned to 7th Avenue. The blue box truck burned a few yards away, and Nicholas lay dead nearby. I staggered and fell to the asphalt, Russell landing next to me with a wheeze. Riordan dropped to one knee and looked at the Lord Inquisitor Arvalaeon, who stood with his hand outstretched. His gaunt, weary face was tight with concentration as he held the rift way open.

  Two seconds.

  “Close it!” shouted Riordan. “Close it, close it…”

  The rift way snapped shut, and Arvalaeon fell to his knees with a groan of exhausted pain. He looked the worse for wear, his coat torn and burned in places, and patches of half-dried blood marked his uniform.

  One second.

  Zero.

  For an instant, nothing happened.

  And then the Sky Hammer detonated.

  It was in the Shadowlands, but I felt the pressure inside my head. The Shadowlands were the source of magic, and I sensed the bomb go off. Arvalaeon let out a cry of pain, and Riordan’s eyes went wide with a strangled grunt. Russell looked at us in confusion. He wasn’t a wizard so he wouldn’t have felt anything.

  I turned my aching head and looked at the bulk of the Skythrone floating overhead. Could the EMP pulse reach through the walls between worlds and disrupt the spell on the apex crystal? I saw the crystal sputter and flare, and for an awful instant, I was sure that its light would go out, that the Skythrone would fall and shatter Manhattan.

  But the horrible pressure in my head faded, and the light of the Skythrone’s crystal steadied.

  It did not fall.

  I guessed today wasn’t going to be the day of my final death after all.

  Chapter 12: Nothing’s Better Than Payback

  I gazed at Arvalaeon, and I felt my lip curl back from my teeth in a snarl.

  “Oh, man,” said Russell. “Oh, man. Oh, Jesus. Let’s never, ever do that again, Riordan.”

  “Agreed,” said Riordan. He sounded a little shaky.

  I grimaced, pushed my palms against the street, and managed to sit up.

  “Nadia,” said Russell, his eyes wide. “You’re really hurt. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I said. “How…how did you find me?”

  “We saw you,” said Riordan, his voice quiet. “After Morvilind blew up all those helicopters. Nora had gotten the SUV to Times Square. We saw the wrecked truck and Connor’s corpse, and when we drove past the High Queen’s stage, you disappeared into the back of the truck.” He took a shaking breath. “It wasn’t hard to figure out what you had done.”

  “But,” I said, forcing myself to think. “But you can’t cast the rift way spell.”

  “No,” said Riordan.

  “But I can,” said Arvalaeon.

  My eyes turned back to the Lord Inquisitor. He was still on his knees. I don’t think he had the energy to stand up.

  “You opened the rift way,” I said.

  “That is correct,” said Arvalaeon. “Your brother and the Shadow Hunter told me what was happening…”

  I snorted. “And let me guess. Riordan held a gun to your head and told you to open the rift way or else.”

  “No,” said Arvalaeon.

  “We didn’t have to force him,”
said Riordan. “He came with us.”

  “Did he,” I said.

  “Yes,” Arvalaeon. “For I owe you.”

  Rage blazed through me despite my exhaustion and pain, and my hands moved.

  The next thing I knew, I was holding the voidslayer gun, the barrel pointed at Arvalaeon’s chest. Part of my mind noted that there was a lot of blood on my arms. The wraithwolf’s claws had gone deep.

  Despite that, my hands were rock-steady.

  “You owe me,” I whispered. “You owe me death after death after death.”

  His veins and eyes did not glow with silver fire as they did in response to a lie.

  I was telling the truth.

  “That is correct,” said Arvalaeon. He seemed only…resigned. “You do.”

  I didn’t say anything. The sounds of explosions and gunfire echoed through Manhattan.

  “Nadia,” said Russell. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “He’s right, though,” said Riordan. “He does owe you.” Riordan took a deep breath. “For what he did to you…if this is what you want, I won’t stop you.”

  “Nor will I,” said Arvalaeon. He looked so calm. “I do deserve this. I am responsible for many failures and defeats. If you are the one to deliver my long-delayed retribution, I am content.”

  You can’t lie to the Lord Inquisitor, but neither can he speak lies. He was telling the truth.

  My fingers started to tighten against the oversized trigger.

  He deserved this. Oh, he deserved this. There had been decades where I had dreamed of nothing but how I was going to kill him. In fact, that night in La Crosse, I had told Arvalaeon that if I ever saw him again, I was going to kill him. There weren’t even words to describe what he had done to me. I mean, most of the time, when you kill people, you only kill them once. When you torture people, they die after a while when their heart gives out.

  You can’t kill them fifty-eight thousand times for a century and a half.

  And he had done it because…

  If he hadn’t, a lot of people would have died.

  Russell and Riordan would have died if Arvalaeon hadn’t put me in the Eternity Crucible. Forty million people would have died when Baron Castomyr tried to summon the Great Dark One. For that matter, a lot of people would have been killed if Nicholas had detonated the Sky Hammer in Manhattan. If Arvalaeon hadn’t thrown me into the Eternity Crucible, then Morvilind would have still made his deal with the Forerunner, but I wouldn’t have been as ready to deal with it.