But, nevertheless, the Forerunner was standing here, and Morvilind had not blasted him to ashes.
“What’s going on?” I said at last. “I know you’ve always told me to speak to you respectfully, my lord, but the most wanted man in the world is standing right freaking there, and you’re not doing anything about it.”
Morvilind’s lips thinned. “The Forerunner possesses information that I require, information that can be obtained from no other source. To obtain this information, a bargain has been struck.”
“Yes,” said the Forerunner. “I need the services of a capable thief, one able to use magic with sufficient skill to cast the Cloak spell. Your master will permit you to perform three tasks for me. Once these tasks have been concluded to my satisfaction, I will answer Lord Morvilind’s question.”
“What?” I said. “No.”
“You shall perform these three tasks for the Forerunner,” said Morvilind. “Else our arrangement will be terminated.”
I swallowed, forcing back my fury. If our arrangement was terminated, that meant Russell stopped getting his cure spells. It probably also meant that Morvilind would kill me, which didn’t daunt me as much as it should have.
“I’m not doing things for the Dark Ones cults,” I said. “I’m not helping the Rebels or killing people for them.”
“Certainly not,” said the Forerunner, his tone mild. “You are a shadow agent, which means you are a highly capable burglar, not a mere assassin or a common terrorist thug. One would no more employ a scalpel as a hammer than to use you as an assassin. It would be wasteful.” He held up three fingers. “You will steal three items for me, and then my bargain with Lord Morvilind will be complete.”
I scowled. “What three items?”
“I have designated the selection of the three items,” said the Forerunner, “to one of my associates.” He reached into his coat and produced a folded slip of paper. “In three days, proceed to this address and contact the man on this note. He will give you additional instructions.”
I stared at the paper in his hand. I looked at Morvilind, who was impassive. Finally, I sighed, crossed the room, and snatched the paper out of the Forerunner’s hand. The address wasn’t familiar to me. It was someplace in Gary, Indiana.
But the name…
A cold jolt of fear went through me.
The name was Nicholas Connor.
Nicholas Connor, my former boyfriend, and only lover. I had fallen for him hard, and then I had realized what he was. He had planned to blow up a soccer stadium in Los Angeles to kill Duke Wraithmyr, which also would have killed tens of thousands of spectators in the process. He had also planned to have me take the blame for it. I had foiled his plot and turned the tables on him, wrecking his Rebel cell and forcing him to flee.
And he would just be delighted to see me again, I’m sure.
“No,” I said. “No. Absolutely not. I…”
I looked up from the note, but the Forerunner had vanished.
Chapter 4: Double Cross
I turned around, bewildered, but there was no trace of the Forerunner.
“Did he Cloak?” I said.
“He returned to the Shadowlands,” said Morvilind. He waved a hand, and I felt the surge of power as warding spells flared to life around his mansion. “A unique ability that he apparently possesses.” He gestured at the note in my hand. “You have your task. Steal those three items for the Forerunner’s servant, and when you have completed the thefts, return to…”
And just like that, after fifteen years (or one hundred and seventy-three years) I finally lost my temper with Kaethran Morvilind.
“Have you gone completely senile?” I said.
Morvilind blinked, his cold eyes glittering. “You will moderate your tone…”
“Or what?” I said. “You’ll kill me?” I stalked towards him. He was so much taller than me that it was hard to glare at him, and irrationally that made me even angrier. “It doesn’t matter because if I work with the Forerunner, I’m going to get killed anyway. So maybe it would be just more convenient and save everybody a whole damned lot of time if you killed me now.”
“You…” started Morvilind, but I shouted him down.
“The Inquisition is going to kill me,” I said. “The High Queen is going to kill me. The Shadow Hunters are going to kill me. Or maybe the Rebels are going to kill me.” I waved the note at him. “Do you have any idea who this is?”
“Since I have not read the note,” said Morvilind, “that would be unlikely.”
“Nicholas Connor!” I said, and Morvilind frowned. “Do you know who he is? He’s a Rebel, and he tried to kill Duke Wraithmyr in Los Angeles. He’s the one who made the alliance between the Dark Ones cults, the Rebels, and the Knight of Venomhold. And you want me to steal things for him?”
“I am well aware of who Nicholas Connor is,” said Morvilind with some asperity. “I am curious to know how you know who he is, and…”
“You’re going to get me killed,” I said. “You’re going to get both of us killed. All my life, I’ve been careful, careful, careful. So careful not to reveal your precious secrets. And then you tell me to work with the damned Forerunner and the damned Rebels? If I get caught, and you don’t kill me in time, we’re both screwed.”
“Do not presume…”
“Yeah, I’m sure the High Queen loves you,” I said. “Except your influence couldn’t save me from Arvalaeon, could it?” Morvilind looked annoyed at that. “If the High Queen or the Inquisition find out about this, we’re both dead. You know, I always worried I was going to do something stupid and get myself and Russell killed, but it was all for nothing. You might be a genius of magic like Arvalaeon said, but maybe that just means you’re a bigger idiot!”
I fell silent, clutching the note, my heartbeat like thunder in my ears. I had never, ever spoken like that to Morvilind before. I was kind of curious to see how he would react. Would he kill me on the spot? Torture me first? Compared to what Arvalaeon had done to me, anything Morvilind did would be like a squirt gun compared to the ocean of agony the Lord Inquisitor had poured out on me. I felt the sudden wild, absurd urge to laugh.
“Are you quite finished?” said Morvilind at last.
“Not really,” I said, “but my throat hurts from all the shouting, and I kind of want to stop talking. I really want to know why you decided to get both of us killed.”
“I have not decided to get us killed,” said Morvilind with irritation.
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” I said. “Are you a Dark Ones cultist?”
“Do not be absurd,” said Morvilind. “The Dark Ones are a vile abomination and a blight upon the cosmos. The humans and Elves who worship them are like pigs praying to the butcher in hopes of being the last to the slaughtering block.”
“Then are you a Rebel?” I said. “Or an Archon?”
“The Rebels are vermin,” said Morvilind. “The Archons are contemptible, and I intend to exterminate every last one of them.”
“Then why are you helping the Forerunner?” I said.
“An explanation is not required,” said Morvilind. “Go about your task.”
“No,” I said.
Morvilind stared at me for a long moment.
At last, he drew out the vial of my blood, tapping it with a finger.
“You defy me, Nadia Moran?” he said in a quiet voice. “This close to your brother’s final healing, you defy me?”
“Because if you send me to do this, you’re sending me to my death,” I said. “I’m dead anyway.” I folded my arms over my chest and waited. God, but I felt so cold. “Either kill me or explain.”
Morvilind kept tapping the vial. I wondered what this death would feel like. At least it would be quick. It probably wouldn’t hurt as much as the deaths I had endured in the Eternity Crucible.
Then his expression changed.
He looked…amused. Damn him, he looked amused.
“I suppose,” said Morvilind, “if Arva
laeon made you stronger, I should not be surprised at such misbehavior. Very well.”
He put the vial of blood away, and I almost fell over with surprise.
“What?” I said.
“I will provide an explanation,” said Morvilind, “if you answer a question first.”
“Fine,” I said. “What question?”
“Why do you hate the Rebels so much?” said Morvilind.
That wasn’t the question I expected. “The Rebels?”
“Yes, the Rebels,” said Morvilind. “Why do you hate them?”
“Because they’re a bunch of murdering psychopathic assholes,” I said.
“That is not an acceptable answer,” said Morvilind. “A different question. Why do you hate the Rebels more than you hate me?”
From someone else, the question would have been poignant. Morvilind only sounded annoyed. He knew I hated him. He just didn’t care.
“Maybe I hate you just as much as I hate the Rebels,” I snapped.
“You do not,” said Morvilind. “You have every reason to hate the Elves and join the Rebels. I have used you for my own purposes for the entirety of your life. Arvalaeon tortured you into a higher level of power. The High Queen has ruled your world and your race for three hundred and fifteen years. By contrast, the Rebels promise to overthrow the High Queen and free your people. Why does the prospect of working with them displease you?”
It was a good question. Why didn’t I hate the Elves more than I hated the Rebels? Everything that Morvilind had said was true. I should have been an enthusiastic supporter of the Rebels. Granted, if I got killed or captured, Russell was dead, but there were lots of ways to help the Rebels without getting caught. Nicholas, if he had known what I could really do (I had been careful not to show him my magical abilities), would have welcomed me with open arms.
Er. More than he had done so already, anyway. I had spent too much time in his open arms as it was, if you get my drift.
“Because they’re liars,” I said at last.
“Elaborate,” said Morvilind.
I made an irritated gesture. “Because…look, I’ve talked to Rebels, and I’ve had to kill a bunch of them doing your jobs. They say they’re all about freedom. They say they’re going to overthrow the High Queen and free mankind. Except I’ve seen what they actually do. I saw all the innocent people they killed at Madison to get at Jarl Rimethur. Or all the pregnant women they helped the Archons kill at the Ducal Mall. At Venomhold, they keep women as drugged slaves to hand out to their soldiers. They’ve allied with the Dark Ones cults, and I know how nasty they are. They sent the anthrophages after me.” I pointed at Morvilind. “And Nicholas Connor. The man you want me to help?”
“The Forerunner wants you to help him,” said Morvilind.
“Bullshit,” I said. “You’re the one who handed me over to the Forerunner, so it’s your fault. You want to know how I met Nicholas Connor? When you had me stealing things for you in Los Angeles, he was planning to blow up a soccer stadium to kill Duke Wraithmyr. There would have been tens of thousands of people in that stadium, maybe even a hundred thousand, and Nicholas would have killed them all to get at Wraithmyr. He didn’t care at all. The Rebel leader I killed at the Ducal Mall said he was willing to kill ninety percent of the human population so the remaining ten percent could live free of the Elves.” I scowled. “He sure changed his tune right before I shot him in the head. If I helped the Rebels and they defeat the High Queen, then monsters like Nicholas Connor and the Knight of Venomhold will rule Earth. Does that answer your question, my noble and wise lord? Is that a good enough explanation for why I hate the Rebels more than I hate you?”
Morvilind said nothing for a moment, lost in thought.
“I am surprised,” he said at last, “that you have that much of a conscience. I thought I trained that out of you.”
“As if you would know anything about a conscience,” I said.
The cold eyes glittered. “Do you think so?”
“Said the man who trained me as a thief so I could steal pretty things for him,” I said, but I knew there was more to it than that. He was working on something, some project, some goal, and he had me steal things that were useful to him.
“No,” said Morvilind. “You are smarter than that. Some of my shadow agents believed that I was nothing more than a collector of artworks, but you know better. I am not doing what I merely think is right.” Iron entered that deep, raspy voice. “I am doing what is right.”
“Said the man who just ordered me to help the Forerunner and the Rebel boss,” I snapped.
Again, the thin lips twitched in something that was almost amusement. “You are so very young.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “A hundred and seventy-nine might be young for an Elf, but it makes a human old and crazy.”
“Then stop acting like a child,” said Morvilind. “You have the power of a magus now, like it or not, which means that you must start acting like one. Your entire life has been focused upon saving your brother, but now you have sufficient power that you must start considering the consequences your actions will have decades or even centuries in the future.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I said.
“Explain to me,” said Morvilind, “how storming off in a sulk and refusing to work with your enemies will ultimately defeat them. No doubt it will make you feel righteous, but what will it do to defeat your foes?”
I frowned at him, my brain working through my anger. Despite all the things I had shouted at him, I knew he wasn’t stupid. He had a reason for everything he did, no matter how brutal or cruel.
“Then the Forerunner and the Rebels are your enemies,” I said, “and helping them…will help defeat them?”
“The Dark Ones are my enemies,” said Morvilind. “The Forerunner is their herald on this world, which makes him my enemy. The Rebels have allied themselves with the Dark Ones and the Archons, who are also my enemies. I have been working for centuries to destroy my foes. I do not intend to stop now.”
“Then why are you making me help the Rebels?” I said.
Morvilind beckoned and started walking back towards the library. I almost remained standing where I was out of pure spite, but I knew he wouldn’t care, so I sighed and followed him.
“Perhaps,” said Morvilind, “we shall consider this a test.”
“A test?” I said. “Of what?”
“Our present arrangement is unprecedented,” said Morvilind. We stepped back into the library, and he closed the door to the summoning chamber, resealing the warding spells on it. “You have achieved a greater level of power than any of my previous shadow agents. This will mean one of three outcomes. Either you are now unstable enough that you will destroy yourself without any intervention on my part, or I will have to kill you from necessity…or you are now powerful enough to be trusted with a greater level of responsibility.”
“Responsibility?” I said. “Responsibility for what?”
“Your world and the fate of your race,” said Morvilind. “That is the nature of my work.”
“You don’t care about humans,” I said.
“Not particularly,” said Morvilind. He crossed to the windows overlooking the lake, and I followed him. “But neither do I desire to bring your world harm. My work is the fate of the Elves, and in saving them, I shall also save Earth and the humans.”
“You’re going to save the Elves,” I said, not bothering to hide my disbelief. He probably knew what I was thinking anyway.
“I shall,” said Morvilind, his voice like iron.
“Okay,” I said. “So, tell me this. How is helping the Forerunner and the Rebels going to save the Elves?”
“The Forerunner possesses a piece of information that I require,” said Morvilind. “He is the only one who has this information. Additionally, he has failed to realize the value of this piece of knowledge, which is why he is willing to bargain for it. Should I obtain this information for him, it will be a
heavy blow against my enemies.”
“And what about the Rebels?” I said. “I don’t want to work with them.” And I definitely did not want to see Nicholas again.
“The terms of my agreement with the Forerunner are explicit,” said Morvilind. “You will steal three items for Nicholas Connor, and then the Forerunner will provide the information I require. After that…”
For a moment, he did not say anything, and then he almost smiled. That was almost as frightening as his fury.
“After that,” said Morvilind, “you may do as you wish.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Presumably, what you wish to do is to harm the Rebels,” said Morvilind. “And what better way to do them harm than by collecting information about them, information you can then turn over to the Inquisition? If Connor wishes you to steal three items for him, you will learn a great deal about his plans and operations. And once your obligation to the Forerunner is fulfilled…”
“My obligation?” I said. “It’s your obligation. You’re just making me fulfill it.”
Morvilind continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “Once the obligation is fulfilled, you will be in an excellent position to betray the Rebels. To leave them holding the bag, I believe the metaphor goes.”
He wasn’t wrong. That was how I had screwed over Nicholas the last time. Once I realized that he was a Rebel, I had foiled his plot to blow up the stadium and anonymously sent a lot of information about his cell to the Inquisition. I had hoped that would be enough to get him killed, which had sadly proven wrong.
“But they’ll know,” I said. “They’ll know I'll turn on them, and they’ll be watching me.”
“Obviously,” said Morvilind. “But they will also need your abilities, and will not try to kill you until the three tasks are complete. Humans with the ability to cast the Cloak spell are exceedingly rare, and if they did not need your skills, they would not have asked the Forerunner to find someone with those skills.”
“So we’ll be obliged to play nice with each other until the jobs are done,” I said, “and then we try to kill each other?”
Cloak Games: Tomb Howl Page 5