Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  The train had indeed failed to kill Mr. Cane.

  “Well,” Mr. Cane said with a sigh. “I did my best. My mistress wanted me to kill you before you ever came here. Oh, well. Sometimes things just go wrong, don’t they? You just have to get used to it and keep going.”

  “Who the hell are you?” said Robert. “A Rebel?”

  “Oh, no, certainly not,” said Mr. Cane, rocking on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I don’t even like the Rebels very much. They all smell bad.” He lowered his voice as if conveying a piece of juicy gossip. “You can smell the corruption on them. The Dark Ones are eating their souls, and they don’t even realize it. Humans aren’t very good at recognizing the obvious, are they? Or understanding their own history.” He offered me a cheerful, sympathetic smile. “I know firsthand that you do not.”

  “He’s a banehound,” I said. “Creature from the Shadowlands. Someone bound him to hunt me down and kill me.” I flexed my fingers, drawing together power for a spell. “Who sent you? The Knight of Venomhold? Nicholas Connor? Corbisher?” It must have been Corbisher. He had survived his little adventure with the bloodrat, and so had summoned Mr. Cane and sent him after me for vengeance.

  “No,” said Mr. Cane. “No, no. That’s against the rules. And the rules say that I must kill you now. Please don’t struggle. It will hurt much less, and I promise this is really in your best interests.”

  He blurred, abandoning his human form for his true shape, sleek and armored and heavy with muscle, and he shot forward like an arrow, jaws yawning wide to bite off my head.

  But we were ready for him this time.

  I hit him in the face with a lightning globe, and Mr. Cane’s charge came to a jerking, twitching halt, his claws rasping against the black stone of the floor. Riordan’s own lightning globe, larger and brighter than mine, slammed into the banehound. Hakon loosed a lance of howling yellow-orange flame that blasted a smoking crater into the creature, and Robert leveled his crossbow and squeezed the trigger. The elaborate weapon had a mechanism that reloaded the bolts far more quickly than a human could do it, and in rapid order he sent four bolts into Mr. Cane’s side, the steel shafts thumping deep into the creature’s flesh. Hakon and I both cast again, and the combined power of our spells hit Mr. Cane, flipped him backward, and slammed him into the iron staircase.

  He blurred and shrank back into his human form, breathing hard, his suit rumpled and stained with blood, his hands raised in surrender.

  “Wow!” he said. “You have some strong friends.”

  “Get out of our way, or we’re going to kill you,” I said.

  “No need,” said Mr. Cane, straightening up and brushing dust from his suit. “No need at all. You have won.”

  “Won?” I said.

  “I have rules,” said Mr. Cane. “Some of them are in my nature, and some of them were laid upon me when she summoned me and bound me to kill you. One of the rules was that I was to try to kill you, but if you reached this chamber and defeated me, I was to escort you into her presence.”

  “Seriously?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Cane.

  “He might be lying,” said Robert.

  “Lying is for humans,” said Mr. Cane. “It has no utility for me.” His eyes turned back to me. “If you hesitated, I was to tell you that she knows Kaethran Morvilind sent you to take the Nihlus Stone, and that the Stone is in the chamber above.”

  “Your boss is Lord Morvilind?” said Robert in astonishment.

  I didn’t hear him. My heart had dropped into my stomach. Whoever had sent the banehound had known all about me, knew that I was Morvilind’s shadow agent, knew that I would come here.

  Just what had I walked into?

  “All right,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  “Oh, good,” said Mr. Cane. He smiled and gestured at the iron stairs. “Please.”

  “After you, buddy,” said Robert, gesturing with the crossbow.

  “That is reasonable,” said Mr. Cane, and he ascended, his shiny dress shoes clanking against the iron stairs.

  “I’ll go first,” said Riordan, rolling his wrist. His Shadowmorph blade burst from his fingers, and he raised the weapon in guard. Robert followed him, crossbow ready, and then Hakon and I came after. Hakon was flexing his fingers in the beginnings of a spell, and I held my own magic ready to strike.

  It was only fifty feet or so from the floor to the shaft in the ceiling, but it felt much longer than that.

  The first thing I noticed was the smell.

  The air stank of old, stale tobacco smoke. The apartment of an elderly invalid slowly killing himself with cigarettes would smell just like that. There was also an odor like rotting meat and a strange chemical reek that reminded me of formaldehyde.

  Then I climbed the stairs, and I found myself in a wizard’s laboratory.

  It looked like Morvilind’s library, but far more chaotic. The domed ceiling stretched overhead, and high windows looked over the dark splendor of Venomhold. Through the windows, I saw several other towers, huge fingers of black stone that gleamed with pale green light. Tables stood scattered around the room, loaded down with tools and strange objects and bottles and beakers full of glowing liquids. One table held an elaborate clockwork mechanism, half in pieces, and another table sagged beneath a pile of papers covered in scrawled notes. Against the far side of the wall rested a kiln and a set of metalworking tools, and heat radiated from the kiln. Every single flat surface had an ashtray, and most of them were overflowing with cigarette butts. Next to the kiln rested a steel table covered in a bloodstained tarp, and from time to time something twitched beneath it.

  The sphere floating in the center of the room held my attention.

  It was about a foot across, made of a blue stone I didn’t quite recognize. There were symbols carved into its surface that flashed with white light every few seconds. For a moment, I thought this was the Nihlus Stone, but the floating sphere had an unfinished, rough look to it. Was it an uncompleted Nihlus Stone?

  Something metallic rasped against the floor.

  “Madam,” said Mr. Cane, taking a few steps away. “Your guests have arrived.”

  A woman limped from behind a metal shelf of curios, her staff scraping against the floor as she leaned against it.

  She looked gaunt, almost wasted, with lines cut deep into the leathery skin of her face, her hair hanging in iron-gray curtains alongside either side of her skull-like features. Her staff was made from black metal, and Elven hieroglyphs glowed with green light along its side. In her left hand, she held a half-finished cigarette, smoke rising from the end. The woman was barefoot, and wore sweatpants, a gray T-shirt, and a black hooded sweatshirt that was three or four sizes too large for her and hung around her like a robe.

  She stopped a dozen yards away, leaning on the staff, and took a long pull on the cigarette. Her black eyes glittered with something like fever or madness.

  “Mistress,” said Mr. Cane. “Your guests are here.”

  “Yes, I see,” said the woman. Her voice was a rough rasp. She flicked the cigarette towards a nearby ashtray, missed, and drew a new one from the left pocket on her sweatshirt. “Hello, Nadia Moran. I had really hoped that we would never see each other, but now that we have, I am glad to have met you.”

  “Hi,” I said. The woman knew my name? “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “We haven’t,” said the woman, shifting the staff to the crook of her arm. She tucked the cigarette between the fingers of her left hand and shook her right index finger. A magical flame burst from her finger, and she used it to light the cigarette. “But I used to be you.” She coughed and took a pull on the fresh cigarette. “And if you had lived long enough, maybe you would have become me. Poor girl.”

  “Yeah,” I said, confused. “This conversation is making me want to give up smoking, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The woman coughed out a laugh. “Mmm. True. I do look like shit, don’t
I? But I came by it honestly.” The glitter in her black eyes intensified. “I am what he made me to be. Just like you are, Nadia.”

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I had expected to find at the top of the Tower of Regrets, but a chain-smoking old woman wasn’t it. “You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are. Makes it kind of hard to figure out what to do next.”

  “Fair enough,” said the woman around her cigarette. “My name is Rosalyn Madero. You’re Nadia Moran.” She waved the cigarette at Robert and Hakon. “I don’t know the two of you, but you’re probably Graysworn, and the older one is a wizard of significant power.” The feverish eyes fell on Riordan. “You’re Aidan MacCormac’s little brother.”

  Riordan stiffened. Aidan had been one of Morvilind’s shadow agents, and Morvilind had done the same thing to Aidan as he had done to me. Riordan’s and Aidan’s sister had been ill, and Aidan had stolen things for Morvilind in exchange for the cure spells. Riordan’s sister had been cured, but Aidan had been killed in the process.

  “How do you know Aidan MacCormac?” said Riordan, the Shadowmorph blade motionless in his fist.

  “I don’t know him, boy,” said Rosalyn with some asperity. “I know of him. He was after my time. My replacement, just like Nadia here.” She looked back and forth between Riordan and me and then snorted. “Ah. You’re sweet on her. I’m sorry. That won’t end well. It never does for people like us.”

  “Your replacement?” I said, and then the truth hit me. “Oh my God.”

  “Ah,” said Rosalyn. Her smile showed nicotine-yellowed teeth. “I thought you would figure it out first.”

  “Who is she?” said Riordan.

  “She was one of Morvilind’s shadow agents,” I said. “One of his former shadow agents. That’s how Morvilind knew the Nihlus Stone would be here. He knew Rosalyn had the ability to create them.”

  Rosalyn tittered. It was a reedy, unstable sound. “He’s so predictable. He’s always wanted a Nihlus Stone, and once he knew I had the talent to make them, I knew he would send his shadow agent to steal one. Poor, poor Morvilind.” She reached into another pocket and drew out a blue stone the size of a baseball. Dozens of rows of Elven hieroglyphics crossed its surface, and the symbols gave off a flickering white light. “Here you go.”

  She tossed the sphere to me, and I caught it. It was heavier than it looked, and I staggered a little to keep my grip on the cold, slick surface. The Nihlus Stone was far cooler than it should have been, and I felt a tingle in my fingertips as I touched it. The thing was powerful, tremendously powerful, and I still had no idea what it did.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” said Rosalyn. “Morvilind taught me all his usual tricks, Cloaking and Masking and the like, but my real talent is in artificing, in creating items of magical power. Too bad for him he didn’t realize the truth before it was too late.”

  “So…you’re just giving this to me?” I said.

  Rosalyn scowled, then smiled, scowled again, and then threw back her head and howled with laughter. A chill went down my spine. Whatever else she was, I didn’t think Rosalyn Madero was sane or in complete control of herself.

  “What do you think, Nadia?” said Rosalyn. “Do you believe I will let you walk out with the Nihlus Stone and give it to that grasping old bastard?”

  “I’m guessing not,” I said.

  “You understand. You hate him as I do.” The glittering black eyes shifted to Riordan. “You hate him, too. The Graysworn would hate him if they understood him as we do.”

  “What happened to you?” I said, still clutching the Nihlus Stone.

  “Oh, my story is the same as yours,” said Rosalyn. “I was a girl. My sister was sick. Our father was a man of the Wizard’s Legion, and both my sister and I had magical potential. Morvilind came to me and offered me a deal. I would serve him, I would be his shadow agent, and in exchange, he would heal my sister. He kept his end of the bargain, and I kept mine. I was his shadow agent, and I was brilliant. I was never caught, not once, and my magic grew stronger and stronger. I became wealthy in my own right, and I fell in love and married Jason.” She closed her eyes and drew on the cigarette again, the black staff shining with green fire in her grasp.

  “What went wrong?” said Riordan in a quiet voice.

  “I discovered the truth,” said Rosalyn. “I found out what Morvilind was really planning, how he was going to kill everyone on Earth. He couldn’t have me telling the truth, no, no.” She tapped her chest. “He took a vial of heart’s blood from you, yes? Just like me. He came to kill my husband, and he came to kill me, but I knew it was coming. I fled here, where even Morvilind’s power could not reach.”

  “And the Knight of Venomhold sheltered you,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Rosalyn, her voice a quiet, angry hiss. “She hates the Elves as I do. Do you hate them yet, Nadia? Do you want to see that bitch Tarlia scream and beg for mercy for all she has done to us? Do you want to see the Dukes and the Barons and the Counts howl like dogs as they burn? The Knight understands. The Rebels are fools, but the Knight understands. She will bring us vengeance.”

  “I don’t want vengeance,” I said. “I just want to take care of my brother and mind my own business.”

  “You do not want vengeance because you haven’t lost everything yet,” said Rosalyn. “But you will. And then you will understand. Love ends. Joy ends. All good things are taken from you, and all that you are left is the will to vengeance.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the staff, shivering.

  “Right,” I said. “Um. It was nice to meet you, but I’m going to go now…”

  “I tried to spare you this,” said Rosalyn, opening her eyes again. “I did. I really did. I wanted to spare you all the suffering I have known. It is important that you understand. That is why I sent Mr. Cane to kill you. I was trying to help you.”

  “I did my best to kill her, madam,” said Mr. Cane, stepping to Rosalyn’s side. “Unfortunately, she was too clever and lucky.”

  “I know,” said Rosalyn.

  “Wait,” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense. You sent Mr. Cane to kill me, and that was to help me?”

  “Yes,” said Rosalyn with utter sincerity. “Because I know the suffering that awaits if you live. So, I tried to kill you. I hoped you wouldn’t reach the Tower of Regrets because of what I would have to do if you did find me.”

  The others shifted around me. Riordan took two steps to the left, still holding his Shadowmorph blade. Hakon took a step back, flexing his fingers. Robert moved to his right, the crossbow pointing in Rosalyn’s direction.

  “And what are you going to do to me?” I said.

  “How do you think I have lived so long?” said Rosalyn. “I am a hundred and fifty years old. Why am I still alive?”

  “Cigarettes and whiskey?” I said.

  She smiled a little at that.

  “Vengeance,” said Rosalyn. “I will have vengeance on Morvilind for all he has taken from me. I will have revenge on the High Queen for what she has done to me. I will see the world burn in repayment for my sorrows.”

  “I suspect,” said Hakon, “that something more medically effective than vengeance has kept you alive for such a long time.”

  “Yes,” said Rosalyn. “Don’t you see, Nadia?” Her voice was pleading, a muscle twitching in her jaw and temple as she spoke faster and faster. “I wanted to spare you this. I used to be like you, just like you, thinking I could beat Morvilind. I know better now. You would have learned better in time. I wanted to give you a quick, clean death. That’s why I summoned the banehound and set him upon your trail.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to take the Nihlus Stone and leave.” I had already gathered power, and I started to pull in more, preparing to work the spell to open a rift way. I wasn’t sure where opening a rift way within the Tower of Regrets would take us, but it had to be safer than the clutches of an insane old wizard and her pet banehound.

  “No,” said Ros
alyn, “I’m afraid not.”

  She crooked a gnarled finger, and power exploded around us.

  A huge symbol of green light blazed to life upon the floor, so large it covered the entire chamber. Pain exploded through my limbs, and I froze in place, a shell of green light crawling up my body. I saw Riordan, Robert, and Hakon all go rigid, caught in place by the same green light. At first, I thought it was a manifestation of the power within the walls of Venomhold, but then I understood the truth.

  It was a Seal.

  Morvilind had taught me how to cast a Seal of Shadows, a warding spell that would prevent any access to the Shadowlands within its boundaries. I wasn’t sure what Rosalyn had just cast over us, but it was holding us in place.

  “The Seal of Binding,” announced Rosalyn, answering my question. Both she and Mr. Cane seemed unaffected by the magic she had just unleashed. “And as for how I have survived…you were right, Graysworn. I have survived on more than vengeance. Magic is involved.” She turned and limped away from us, the end of her staff clanging against the floor. As she did, the top of the staff seemed to open and expand, unfolding into a mechanism that looked like some sort of bladed drill.

  I didn’t want to know what she intended to do with that drill.

  “One of the things I have learned,” Rosalyn said, stopping by the metal table covered beneath the bloodstained tarp, “is how to drain and trap magical power within myself. That is how I have survived, Graysworn. When the Knight has prisoners she wishes slain, she sends them to me, and I devour their magic and use it to extend myself. And you have brought me three wizards, Nadia! Three! I shall renew my life for decades with their power.” She glanced at me as I struggled to move against the magic holding me. “I thank you for that. I wish I could have spared you this pain, but nonetheless thank you.” Something like longing entered her rough voice. “And when your bodies have been made into empty vessels…well, I shall have a use for the parts. Look and see.”

  She flicked her expended cigarette into another ashtray, seized the bloody tarp, and yanked it aside.