Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You are expected,” said the Rebel. His cold eyes turned to me and Riordan and Hakon and Robert. “And what are these? Your slaves?” I didn’t think anyone could ogle me through all the layers I was wearing, but the Rebel managed it. “Gifts for us?”

  “They are part of my escort,” said Milaxes. “An Exokrator of Nerzuramaxis does not explain his decisions to lackeys. Do you presume to question my decisions? Or shall you summon the Knight to explain why you have turned away ambassadors to her court?”

  The Rebel leader flinched. I suspected Natalya Karst was not the kind of woman to whom one brought bad news.

  “Go,” said the Rebel, gesturing to his men. “The guests and vassals are gathering within the Great Hall.” He pointed to one of the other Rebels, a skinny kid with a scarred face and the cold eyes of a much older man. “Vasily, show them the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Milaxes. The Rebel leader nodded, and Vasily led the way into the vast archway. The dwarves followed, their clockwork armor ringing against the stone floor as we walked into a wide, gloomy gallery. More patches of eerie green light crawled over the walls or shimmered within the pillars. The air was dry and cold as a desert at night, but the black stones of the walls and pillars seemed somehow greasy. Riordan gestured, and we fell to the back of the column of dwarves.

  “Best to keep to ourselves,” said Riordan. “We may need to get away in a hurry, and the dwarves won’t lift a finger to help us.”

  “That was the deal,” said Robert.

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I can get us out of here in a hurry, so long as another wizard doesn’t shut us down.” I had filled my pockets with small objects that would link to physical places back on Earth – keys, pebbles, chips from bricks, that kind of thing. Once we had the Nihlus Stone, I would find the nearest point to open a rift way back to Earth, and we would go there. I didn’t care if it dumped us in Russia or South America or something, nearly anywhere on Earth (except for the Middle East) would be safer than Venomhold.

  “You think this Nihlus Stone will be guarded?” said Robert.

  “Whatever it is, it is valuable,” said Hakon. “It will be guarded.”

  “I suspect our best plan is to rush the guards, grab the Stone, and have Miss Novoranya open a rift way back to Earth at once,” said Riordan.

  “We might be able to do something subtle,” I said as we walked deeper into Venomhold. “Maybe I can get the Stone away without anyone noticing. Better not to fight at all.”

  “Agreed,” said Riordan, “but until we see the Tower of Regrets for ourselves, we will not be able to formulate a plan.”

  “No,” said Robert.

  Hakon sighed. “The battles I have seen that were improvised always went badly.”

  “How many improvised battles have you seen?” I said.

  “Most of them.”

  I laughed a little, but it seemed out of place in the twisted darkness of Venomhold. At least I didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us. With the clanking of the dwarves in their clockwork armor, I could barely hear Riordan, and he was standing right next to me.

  Vasily led us deeper into the glowing stone maze of Venomhold. We saw two packs of anthrophages, but thankfully the creatures did not get close enough to smell me. Four times I saw patrols of Rebel soldiers, and twice I saw bloodrats. All the hair on my neck stood up when I saw the glistening creatures, but they were smaller than the one I had escaped last year, and they paid no attention to us. I saw other things, all of them horrible – twisted creatures I did not recognize and wished I had not seen, mummified corpses pinned to the pillars, or skeletons hanging in iron cages from the ceiling. The longer I remained in Venomhold, the more I had the impression that the light flowing through the walls was watching me, or that the shadows gathered in the corners were whispering to me.

  Then I realized that I did hear voices from ahead.

  The gallery ended in a broad, shallow flight of stairs. At the end of the stairs stood a set of double doors, each one of the height of a small skyscraper. The massive doors stood open, and beyond yawned a colossal hall the size of a convention center. Thick pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, glowing with pale green light. At the far end of the hall rose an enormous dais supporting a huge, twisted throne of black stone and metal, and a large crowd of Rebels stood near the dais, speaking to one another in quiet voices. Without another word Vasily headed towards the waiting Rebels.

  Nightmares filled the Great Hall of Venomhold.

  There were anthrophages, dozens of anthrophages. I also saw anthrophage elders, broad and bloated, their bodies covered in rolls of glistening gray fat, yet I knew firsthand that the bulky creatures were far stronger and faster than their smaller servants. Bloodrats prowled in the shadowy corners of the hall, chittering to each other. Four cytospawn hovered in the air over the throne, their glaring eyes staring at everything at once. Near the base of the pillars, I saw creatures ten feet tall shrouded in ragged black robes. I saw nothing of their forms or features, but black tentacles slithered out from beneath the hems of their robes.

  “Cowlspawn,” muttered Robert, his eyes wary.

  I saw orcish mercenaries as well, their blue-skinned faces impassive as they waited near the throne, and a band of frost giants as well, the air around them shimmering with cold, and a dozen other creatures and races I didn’t recognize. It seemed that many powers had sent embassies to the throne of the Knight of Venomhold.

  Nevertheless, the tanks held my attention.

  Dozens of crystalline tanks lined the walls, each one filled with glowing green liquid. In each of the tanks floated a naked man or woman, their eyes closed, their expressions masks of pain. The Knight of Grayhold had done something similar, holding Alexandra Cross prisoner within blue crystal while I had gone to steal the Ringbyrne Amulet from the frost giant jarl Rimethur. Yet Alexandra had told me that she remembered nothing of her imprisonment. I doubt the prisoners in the green tanks could have said the same. In fact, they looked like they were in the grips of an endless nightmare, their limbs thrashing as they tried to run from or fight unseen foes.

  One tank stood away from the others, not far from the base of the dais. A young woman floated in the glowing green liquid, her face twisted with pain, her limbs thrashing as she tried to get away from something. I wondered what dreams the Knight had inflicted upon her prisoners and decided that I did not want to know.

  A cadaverous-looking man in an elaborate robe of red and black approached, his thin lips pursed, and stopped before Milaxes. “You are the embassy from Nerzuramaxis?”

  “I am Exokrator Milaxes of Nerzuramaxis,” announced Milaxes, “and we have come to represent the interests of Nerzuramaxis at the court of the Knight.”

  “You have chosen wisely,” said the cadaverous-looking man, “for the Knight’s power waxes. Soon her servants shall have complete dominion over Earth and the Elven homeworld of Kalvarion. The Knight shall remember those who stand with her now.” He gestured to a spot at the base of the dais. “You may await the Knight there. The assembly shall soon begin.”

  With that, he marched away, and the dwarves moved to their assigned spot. I followed, flanked by Riordan, Robert, and Hakon, and we made sure to stay in the back.

  “Once the speeches begin,” murmured Riordan. “That will be our best chance to slip away.”

  “But where?” said Robert. “The Tower of Regrets must be nearby, but where?”

  “There, I think,” I said, pointing to the far wall. Between two of the glowing tanks, I saw an archway. Beyond the archway was a set of stairs that spiraled upward. “That’s the only other way out of here, except for that door behind the throne, and I bet that door goes to the Knight’s private rooms.”

  “Agreed,” said Hakon. “I believe Corvus’s plan is the best. Once the speeches start, we…”

  “Corvus,” said Robert, his voice sharp. “Look at that.”

  I followed his gaze.

  A group of Elves stood near t
he Knight’s dais, flanked by scowling orcish mercenaries. The Elves wore stark black uniforms, the chests of their long uniform coats adorned with the symbol of a three-headed golden dragon. They were Archons, the rebel Elves who had chased the High Queen off the Elven homeworld (which, apparently, was named Kalvarion) and if the rumors were right, they worshiped the Dark Ones as well.

  “I see them,” said Riordan.

  “Rebels and Archons,” said Hakon. “It seems the Knight is making a grand alliance of all the High Queen’s enemies. She must be warned.”

  “Likely she already knows,” said Riordan.

  “We can worry about it after we get out of here alive,” I said, hoping to keep Hakon from getting distracted by his patriotic duty. “First we need…”

  The clang of a gong echoed through the hall, and the murmuring Rebels fell silent, their attention turned towards the dais. A man in a suit walked, or rather limped, across the dais, leaning upon a cane, and…

  “Oh, hell,” I muttered.

  It was Martin Corbisher.

  The last time I had seen him, an angry bloodrat had been about to kill him. Evidently, the bloodrat had decided to maim Corbisher rather than kill him. He had been blond and handsome, but now deep scars marked his face, and he was missing most of his hair because the scars continued across his scalp. To judge from the stiff way his right leg moved, the bloodrat must have taken a chunk out of his thigh.

  Riordan let out a long breath. He, too, recognized Corbisher.

  “Welcome!” said Corbisher, his voice booming through the Great Hall. “In the name of the Knight Natalya Karst, I bid you welcome to Venomhold. Allies of the Knight’s noble cause, be welcome here. Representatives of neutral powers,” his eyes swept across the dwarves and the others, “be welcome as well. You would do well to cultivate the friendship of the Knight, for soon the High Queen shall be defeated, and both Earth and Kalvarion shall be governed by friends of the Knight!”

  The Rebels and the Archons both applauded, some of the Rebels whooping, while the anthrophages loosed their wailing war cries. The ambassadors from other powers watched with polite interest.

  “And now,” said Corbisher, “it is my pleasure to introduce the man who made this grand alliance possible. The Archons have struggled against the High Queen for centuries. The Knight of Venomhold has borne the High Queen bitter enmity for almost as long. The Rebels have struggled against her since the Conquest of Earth. The servants of the Great Dark Ones have been hunted and hounded on both Earth and Kalvarion. All of us have waged war against the High Queen separately, and we all have failed. No more! Together we have been joined in a grand and noble alliance, and together we shall destroy the High Queen!”

  Cheers rolled through the hall from the Rebels and Archons and the Knight’s creatures.

  “It is my great honor to introduce the architect of this alliance,” said Corbisher, “the one who had the vision to see the possibilities, the boldness to bring us together, and the determination to make it happen.”

  “He’s about to introduce the Knight,” I whispered. “When he does, let’s head for the Tower.” The others nodded.

  “Friends, allies, and honored guests!” said Corbisher. His injuries hadn’t damaged his oratorical abilities. No wonder he had almost become the governor of Minnesota. “I am pleased to introduce…”

  I expected him to say the Knight of Venomhold’s name.

  “Nicholas Connor!”

  My mind froze.

  “Who?” said Riordan.

  A blast of pure, unreasoning terror shot through me, and I almost turned and ran from the hall as fast as my legs would carry me. Only the certain knowledge that running would bring my death kept me in place. I wanted to Mask myself, to hide behind a Cloak spell, but the hall was filled with wizards and creatures with the ability to use magic, and they would sense it at once.

  Nicholas Connor, my first and only lover, strode upon the dais and shook hands with Corbisher.

  He looked the same as he had the last time I had seen him, which had also been the day he had almost murdered tens of thousands of people.

  Nicholas was in his early thirties, tall and strong with thick black hair and sharp blue eyes. Like the other Rebels, he wore paramilitary gear, but unlike most of them, he made it look good. He gave Corbisher’s hand a vigorous shake, and then turned and waved to the crowd, acknowledging their cheers with a broad, friendly smile.

  God, but he was charismatic. Even knowing what he was, even knowing that he had almost killed me, I was still attracted to him. I had been barely able to keep my hands off him during our time together. Memories burned through my mind, the way his mouth had felt against mine, the way I had moaned when my legs had wrapped around his muscled body. Our nights together had been some of the single most pleasurable experiences in my life.

  Fear drowned lust in short order.

  Because I knew what kind of man he was beneath the brilliance and the charisma.

  He had nearly blown up a soccer stadium full of thousands of people to assassinate an Elven noble, and he had set me up to take the blame. I had turned the tables on him, and in the process, I had learned about some of the things he had done. How he had once tortured a man to death for information. Or how he had responded to a betrayal by executing the former Rebel’s children in front of him, one after another.

  That was the kind of man who lurked behind the smile. That was the reason I had kept Riordan at arm’s length, the fear that my relationship with Nicholas Connor had left burned into me.

  I had hoped the Inquisition had killed Nicholas, that he had been captured in the aftermath. Of course, I had hoped that about Corbisher as well.

  “Oh, God,” someone whispered. “Oh, God, oh, God…”

  I realized it was me. Horrified, I made myself shut up.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Riordan.

  I looked up at him, unable to speak, and then back at the dais.

  Nicholas’s eyes fell upon me, and the panic redoubled.

  He would know me at once. He would recognize me, and he would have us killed. Robert’s child would grow up an orphan, Hakon’s family would lose their grandfather, and Riordan would die for nothing. Russell would die of frostfever when Morvilind stopped casting his cure spells.

  All because I had been a stupid, stupid fool who had fallen in love with a very bad man.

  Nicholas’s eyes settled upon me…and then kept moving over the crowds.

  I blinked in surprise, and then I felt like a monumental fool.

  Of course, he couldn’t recognize me. I was standing a hundred and fifty yards from the dais and behind a bunch of dwarves in armor. For that matter, while I had no doubt he remembered me and would take vengeance if the chance presented itself, I wouldn’t have made as much of an impression on him as he had made on me. There had been women before me, and no doubt several more in the three years since.

  “I know him,” I whispered. “He’s a Rebel leader. He almost killed a lot of people, and I barely got away from him.” I looked at Riordan. “I’ll tell you more if we get out of here…”

  “My friends!” said Nicholas, raising his hands for silence. “My friends! I am glad to see you all here, both those of you who are allies and those of you who might become allies.” He had a deep voice, calm and commanding. “You see, just by coming here today, you have chosen the winning side. For the last three centuries, the High Queen has ruled Earth, and all her attention has been focused on retaking Kalvarion from the Archons. Within the year, the High Queen shall be slain, and Earth liberated, and those who stand with the Knight will be poised to reap vast rewards in the new order to come.”

  The Rebels and the Archons applauded him. It was strange to see Elves applauding a human, but even the Archons seemed rapt beneath Nicholas’s spell. I knew the feeling.

  “The path has been long and hard,” said Nicholas, “and there have been setbacks, yes. When I first met the Forerunner, and he told me the truth of the Grea
t Dark Ones, I was skeptical.” Riordan frowned. I knew that the Family had been looking for this “Forerunner” for a long time, though I didn’t know who or what the Forerunner was. “At last I understood. With the power of the Dark Ones, the Rebels would prevail over the High Queen. By an alliance with the Archons, we would both become stronger. By joining our power to that of the Knight of Venomhold, we would have a sanctuary and a safe refuge where the High Queen could not reach us. Ever since the Forerunner told me the truth, my life has been dedicated to this glorious and noble cause. At last, after years of work, victory lies within our grasp.”

  More applause answered him.

  “Baron Castomyr continues upon his course of folly,” said Nicholas. “He thinks to make himself the new High King, but his foolishness only serves our cause. In the aftermath of his destruction, we shall strike. The keys have already been located. Once chaos is unleashed, we can act.”

  I had seen Baron Castomyr of La Crosse once, when I had stolen the ritual tablet from him and gotten tangled up with Armand Boccand and his problems. Castomyr had looked like a typical Elven noble, cold, aloof, and arrogant…but he had a ritual tablet for summoning a Dark One in his vault. Was he a Rebel? Or was he working with the Archons?

  “In the last five years, we have achieved things previously thought impossible,” said Nicholas. “We are on the brink of destroying the High Queen and liberating both Earth and Kalvarion from her grasp forever. We could not have done that without the power of the Dark Ones. More, we could not have done it without the aid of the Knight. Using Venomhold as a sanctuary has given us a base beyond the High Queen’s reach. With Venomhold, we have achieved a degree of organization and coordination never before possible, and the Inquisition and the fools who call themselves Elven nobles have not been able to stop us. My friends, the keystone of our impending victory! I am honored to stand with Natalya Karst, the Knight of Venomhold!”