Cloak Games_Blood Cast

by Jonathan Moeller

  “No,” said Murdo. There was suspicion in his tone. “I think instead…”

  We drove under an overpass, and when the sky was clear again, I saw it.

  The Skythrone floated over the horizon to the east.

  The High Queen Tarlia had ruled Earth for three hundred years. And to govern a planet, you need a capital city. Except putting down a capital city in a location might show favoritism to one nation of humans over another. I suppose the High Queen could have ruled from one of the cities of Elven commoners, cities that no humans save for slaves could visit, but those cities were far from human habitation, which made them inconveniently located for dealing with a crisis.

  So, with her usual ruthless practicality, the High Queen solved the problem.

  Her capital city was mobile.

  Specifically, it flew.

  From underneath, it looked like an inverted, shallow dome of gray stone, almost like the shield of a man-at-arms in the Shadowlands. It was a huge mass of stone, at least a mile in diameter. At the apex of the inverted dome glowed something that looked like a giant multifaceted diamond at least a hundred yards across.

  Atop the flat surface of the upside-down dome rose a city. Towers and spires of white stone rose from the floating rock, polished and gleaming. All the towers had been raised in the Elven style, which looked like a combination of ancient Roman and Imperial Chinese, so there were lots of pillars and domes and gently sloping roofs around broad courtyards. The Skythrone looked like some mad artist’s vision of a flying city. But it wasn’t a vision. It was real. It was the High Queen’s mobile citadel and capital, and it floated around the world from continent to continent.

  Right now, I was mostly annoyed that it was slowing down traffic.

  “What a pain in the ass,” I said.

  “Not surprising,” said Murdo. “After all the Rebel and Archon incidents in America over the last few years, it makes sense for the High Queen to conduct a Royal Progress through the country.”

  “I should have paid better attention the news,” I said. For the last six weeks, the news had been nothing but fawning coverage of the Royal Progress. The Skythrone would fly over every major city in the United States, and the High Queen would descend to speak with the local Elven nobles and human political leaders. The whole thing would culminate next month in New York when every Elven noble in North and South America and every human politician with a scrap of ambition (in other words, all of them) would assemble in the city to greet the High Queen.

  From the way the news had been carrying on about it, you would have no idea that the Rebels had allied with the Knight of Venomhold and were growing steadily stronger.

  Maybe that was the point.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” said Murdo. “We’re just two more vehicles with out-of-state plates come to see the High Queen. We won’t stand out.”

  “No, I mean if we had paid better attention to the news, we wouldn’t be stuck in traffic just now,” I said.

  Murdo laughed, unperturbed. But very few things perturbed him. A good quality in a man. That thought started to kick up my whole chain of attraction/guilt/regret, but fortunately, the stop-and-go traffic demanded my full attention.

  But we broke free of the traffic around Dallas and kept driving, and on the morning of June 16th, we arrived in the Milwaukee area.

  We took Interstate 43 to Milwaukee, changed to I-94, and got off on the surface streets of Wauwatosa. The route took us over that causeway where I had fought Mr. Cane with Riordan a century and a half ago. I could still see the scrapes in the steel safety railing where Mr. Cane’s rocket launcher had blasted Riordan’s truck off the causeway and onto the railway lines below. Odd that they still looked so fresh after so much time.

  I shook my head, annoyed with myself. But it hadn’t been that much time, had it? From my perspective, it had been nearly one hundred and sixty years. From the perspective of everyone else, it had been just about a year and a half. I had to remember that. Sooner or later I was going to screw up and say something odd. People do not respond well if you say something that happened two years ago actually occurred a hundred and sixty years past.

  “How do you want to play this?” said Murdo as we headed toward the industrial areas of Wauwatosa. We drove past distribution centers and a variety of factories that specialized in food products. In fact, I think my old buddy Paul McCade, the first Dark Ones cultist I had ever encountered, had owned most of these.

  “Let’s just drive past first,” I said. “They shouldn’t recognize my van, and you’ve changed the plates a couple of times since DC. I just want a quick look, and then we’ll pick a hotel for a base of operations and surveil the place.”

  “Right,” said Murdo. “Should be just around the corner.” He signaled left, and I followed him. We drove down a four-lane street lined with industrial parks on either side, though I saw a gas station and a little strip mall before the intersection. There wasn’t much traffic, and I spotted only one pedestrian, a paunchy middle-aged man wearing a gray business suit that was too loose for him…

  Wait.

  I knew him from somewhere, didn’t I?

  Then it clicked, and my eyes went wide with surprise.

  I knew that man. I had known him almost all my life, and the reason I didn’t recognize him was because I had never seen him wear anything other than the formal red and black uniform of the servant of an Elven noble.

  His name was Rusk, and he was Lord Kaethran Morvilind’s butler and discreet right hand. I had never learned his first name in all the years we had known each other, and we had never gotten along. At least, we had never gotten along until the Archon attack on Milwaukee. Rusk’s wife had been killed in the fighting, and his daughter had been wounded and left in a vegetative coma. That had taken much of the fight out of the poor man, and we had gotten along better after that.

  Nicholas had asked me why I hated the Rebels so much. It was because of things like this. I mean, the Elves aren’t nice people, but they didn’t set off bombs in crowds of civilians, and they didn’t shoot up shopping malls.

  Then my brain kicked back in.

  Just what the hell was Lord Morvilind’s butler doing here?

  And so close to a warehouse owned by a Rebel front company? Maybe it was just a coincidence. Even Rusk got days off.

  Yeah. And to enjoy his days off, maybe Rusk went walking through the scenic industrial parks of Wauwatosa in ninety degree summer heat.

  “Rory,” I said. “Did you see that pedestrian on the right?”

  “Yeah,” crackled his voice in the speaker. “What about him?”

  I hesitated. I had told Murdo and the Rebels that I was the shadow agent of an Elven noblewoman. I hadn’t told Murdo that I was Lord Morvilind’s shadow agent, mostly because I didn’t want to leave any trails that might lead to Milwaukee and Russell, but partly because Morvilind was universally feared. Even Nicholas wouldn’t cross him. It was possible, I realized, that Morvilind knew exactly what the Sky Hammer was and where it was located. During the setup for the Washington DC job, I had heard Corbisher mention to Nicholas that Morvilind’s library might possess the information they needed. Nicholas had shut him down at once. Challenging Morvilind was too risky even for him.

  And if Corbisher decided to go behind Nicky’s back and rob Morvilind’s mansion himself…well, that would solve a bunch of my problems at once when Morvilind slaughtered them all.

  But that was all hypothetical.

  Rusk was here right now. Would Rusk have thrown his lot in with the Rebels? That seemed ludicrous. The man was devoted to Morvilind.

  Yet he was devoted to his daughter more. Morvilind had tried to heal Rusk’s daughter, but her injuries had been too severe even for his magic. And if the Rebels had offered to heal Rusk’s daughter, he would do…

  Hell. He would do absolutely anything in exchange.

  “Let’s go around the block,” I said. “I want another look at him.”

  “Okay,”
said Murdo. “What’s up?”

  A fitting lie popped into my head.

  “I recognize him,” I said. We drove past the strip mall and the gas station at the end of the street and turned right. “You ever heard of an Elven noble named Kaethran Morvilind?”

  There was a pause.

  “Yes,” said Murdo. “That is not a man to cross. Even the Knight of Grayhold won’t get in his way.”

  “The guy on the sidewalk is named Rusk,” I said. We turned right again. “I don’t know his first name. But I ran into him a few years ago on a job for my Elven noblewoman. He’s Lord Morvilind’s butler.”

  “Okay,” said Murdo. “What is Morvilind’s butler doing walking past a warehouse owned by a Rebel front company?”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence,” I said. Two more right turns, and we were back on the four-lane street. Rusk hadn’t made much progress during our little detour.

  “Do you really believe that?” said Murdo.

  “Hell no.”

  “Neither do I,” said Murdo. “There aren’t many cars at that gas station. Let’s park there, and we can watch Mr. Rusk. He doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention to his surroundings, so he shouldn’t notice. Strange that he’s on foot. This really isn’t a walkable neighborhood.”

  “No,” I said. We drove past Rusk again, and I made sure to take a longer look. He was walking with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, his head bowed. He didn’t seem depressed, not exactly, but he did look lost in thought. “I bet he parked a distance off so no one would see his car and his license plates.”

  “Because he didn’t want to be followed or identified,” said Murdo.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  My suspicion hardened into certainty. Rusk was up to something.

  We pulled into the gas station and parked on the right side of the lot, as far from the building and the pumps as we could manage. From here, I could see all the way down the sidewalk, and I had a good view of the strip mall and its parking lot next door. I watched through the passenger’s side window of my van as Rusk crossed the strip mall’s narrow parking lot. There were a half-dozen businesses in the strip mall – a sub sandwich place, a store that sold sports memorabilia, a tax accountant, and some sort of medical specialist. Maybe Rusk was here to see the medical specialist. Perhaps he had some sort of illness, or maybe he was coming to talk to a doctor about his daughter.

  But if he was going to do that, why not just park in the lot in front of the specialist’s office?

  Rusk was about twenty feet away from the specialist’s clinic when the door opened, and…

  Sheer shock locked my brain for an instant.

  “Katrina?” said Murdo. “Katrina?”

  My brother emerged from the clinic and walked towards Rusk.

  Russell Moran looked a lot like me. If I had been male, twelve inches taller, and white-haired, I would have looked just like him. We had the same gray eyes, mostly the same facial features, and a lot of the same mannerisms. Come to think of it, I probably looked even more like him since I had lost more weight that I should have. Russell’s frostfever had turned his hair and eyebrows white, and it did odd things to his metabolism so that he looked far gaunter than a boy of sixteen years should.

  Rusk walked up to him, and Russell grinned and shook his hand. Rusk was smiling, too, and Russell clapped him on the shoulder. My brother always had charm, and as he had gotten older, his poise and force of personality had developed with it. Rusk looked glad to see him.

  What the hell was Russell doing here?

  “Katrina?” said Murdo again.

  “Yeah?” I said, my voice rough. A lot of emotion had welled up at the sight of Russell.

  “That kid,” said Murdo. “He looks like you. A lot like you. Is he a relative?”

  “Um,” I said.

  The emotion hardened into overwhelming alarm.

  No one could know about Russell. Nobody, nobody, nobody, not ever, not for any reason. I knew how the Rebels operated. One of Nicholas’s favorite tricks was to kidnap the children or spouses of someone he needed to coerce. If Nicholas realized that I had a brother, he would likely drop everything to capture Russell. He had said more than once that I would be a great asset to the Rebels if I aided them willingly…and if he realized that Russell existed, he would have all the levers he needed to coerce me.

  The thought of Russell in the hands of people like Nicholas and Corbisher and Lorenz made me cold with fear.

  And I couldn’t tell Murdo, either. I mean, I trusted him, but what if I had been wrong? What if everything he had done had been an elaborate setup? It was unlikely, I knew, but I had been wrong before. For that matter, he hadn’t told me everything. He had admitted it himself. What if one of his secrets put Russell in danger? For that matter, what if Murdo was captured or Nicholas realized that he was Graysworn? The Rebels might find out about Russell that way.

  I couldn’t take any risks with Russell’s safety.

  But what the hell was he doing here with Rusk?

  “Wait here,” I said. “Something’s fishy. I’ll take a look around and be back in an hour.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” said Murdo. “You shouldn’t go in alone.”

  “Just wait the hell here!” I snapped. I felt bad at once. Murdo had been nothing but kind to me. He didn’t deserve the bad end of my temper. “Just…I have to do this alone. I won’t be long. Could you keep an eye on things out here?”

  “Yeah,” said Murdo. He didn’t sound upset. Only thoughtful. He wasn’t stupid, and he had probably realized from both Russell’s appearance and my reaction that Russell was family. “Be careful.”

  I didn’t answer, but shut off my van’s engine, pocketed the keys, stuffed my revolver into my pocket, and cast the Cloak spell. I slipped out the door, closed it as quietly as I could, and jogged from the gas station’s parking lot and to the strip mall sidewalk.

  Russell and Rusk were talking, and their conversation came to my ears as I drew closer.

  “How are your grades?” said Rusk. I blinked. Rusk was asking about Russell’s grades? “I know you’ve been busy with all this, and I’m grateful…but you’ve got to think about your own future.”

  “Three Bs, and the rest are As, Mr. Rusk,” said Russell. I blinked at the sound of his voice. God, it had gotten a lot deeper in the last year. Come to think of it, he had gotten even taller. Something about him looked harder, more confident, and I suspected he had started lifting weights. “It’s been hard, but it’s been worth it. Helps that Mr. Vander keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

  Vander? Who the hell was that? A memory rattled in my head. Russell had mentioned a guy named Vander a couple of times in the last few months before the Eternity Crucible, but I couldn’t place the memory. To be fair, it had been a hundred and sixty years ago.

  “Yes,” said Rusk uncertainly. “Lord Vander…”

  “He really doesn’t like it when we call him that,” said Russell.

  “Uh, yes,” said Rusk. “Then…Mr. Vander is ready to see me?” He hesitated, and something like desperate hope appeared on his face. “When…when you called, I wasn’t…”

  “It worked,” said Russell. He grinned and clapped Rusk on the shoulder. “But she’s awake. And she’s staying awake. She’s awake right now, and she can talk to you.”

  Then something else unexpected happened.

  Rusk almost started crying.

  He took a couple of deep breaths, and a weird spasm went over his face, and he wiped at his eyes. I first thought he was having a stroke or something. Then I realized that he was trying not to cry. Was he upset?

  No. He was happy.

  “Do you want to see her?” said Russell. “She’s a little confused, and she’s missing a couple of pieces of her memory. But I think she wants to see you.”

  Rusk pulled himself together. “Yes. Yes, Russell. Please, lead the way.”

  Russell nodded, opened the door to the clinic, and held it
open for Rusk. He walked inside, Russell followed him, and I slipped through the door before it closed. Beyond was a little waiting room, with chairs and magazines, and a receptionist’s desk against the far wall. Rusk stopped hesitantly and looked around, and Russell nodded to a couple sitting by the wall…

  And in a day filled with shocks, I had yet another big one.

  Because I knew both the people sitting in the chairs. One was a white woman, the second a man who looked vaguely Hispanic.

  The pretty blond woman was named Alexandra Ross. We had been caught up together in Sergei Rogomil’s terrorist attack on Jarl Rimethur, and I had taken her into the Shadowlands to save her life. She was wearing black yoga pants, a loose pink tank top, and pink exercise shoes, and she was fit enough to make the casual clothes look good. The big, handsome man wearing jeans and a T-shirt sitting next to her was her husband, Robert Ross, a man-at-arms in service to Duke Carothrace of Madison. He was also Graysworn, and he had gone with me to Venomhold when Morvilind sent me to steal Rosalyn Madero’s Nihilus Stone.

  And the two of them smiled at Russell. They knew him.

  What the hell was going on here? How did the two of them know him?

  No, not the two of them. Three of them. Alexandra was holding a baby.

  That was right – she had been pregnant the last time I had seen her. My first totally irrational thought was mild annoyance that she had gotten back into shape so soon after having the baby. (Which was totally irrational because I had never been pregnant and was unlikely to become so.) Then again, the little boy in her arms was about nine months to a year old, and the way Alexandra exercised that was plenty of time for her to get back into shape. Hell, knowing her, she had likely kept a light exercise routine even while pregnant.

  “Hey, Mr. Rusk,” said Robert. He got to his feet and shook Rusk’s hand. He had enough muscles to make his T-shirt look good. I had speculated that any babies Robert and Alexandra had would be ridiculously good-looking, and it seemed that I had been right. Even before the Eternity Crucible, I hadn’t been the sort of woman who cooed over babies, but damn if that wasn’t a cute kid. “It’s good to see you again.”