Cloak Games: Rebel Fist (15 page)

“No good,” I said. “Those Homeland Security idiots were running from something. If we go out the back, we’ll run into whatever they were running from.”

“Perhaps if we sheltered here until the fighting passed?” said Nora. “Do you have a cellar, sir?”

“We do,” said James, peering out the broken window, his right leg twitching a bit, “but we could get trapped down there. The orcs might decide to burn the house down around us.” 

“The van,” I said. 

Corvus shook his head. “It’s on the wrong side of the orcs.”

“I can get to it,” said Nora. 

“You cannot fight your way through that many orcs,” said Corvus.

Nora grinned at him. “Who said anything about fighting through them? No, I’ll sneak past them, get in the van, drive through them, and pull into the driveway. Then you can all climb in, and we’ll get out of here straightaway.” 

“Fine,” said Corvus. “Go at once. We…”

“Here they come!” shouted James.

I raised my head a little to peer out the window. A dozen orcs sprinted towards the door as the blue-uniformed band of Homeland Security officers fell back. I wondered why the orcs were charging the house, but if they took the upper floor, they could pour fire into the remaining officers. For that matter, we had already shot a bunch of them during our retreat, and they would want repayment for that blood.

Corvus and James began shooting out the window until a volley of return fire forced them to duck. I scrambled backwards towards the kitchen, while Lucy, Nora, and Russell took cover behind the couch. I hit the dining room table and pushed myself up, aiming at the door as I flipped the AK-47 to full auto.

An instant later the door disintegrated with a single blow from a massive orcish axe, and I squeezed the trigger. The AK-47 chattered in my hand, spitting a stream of bullets at the door. The first orc into the living room went down, my bullets tearing through him, and then the second. James shot down a third, and Lucy, Nora, and Russell all started shooting at once, sending rounds through the orcs on the front step. I don’t know what the orcs had been expecting, but concentrated resistance had clearly not been it, and for a moment their attack wavered. 

Then an orcish soldier hurled himself through the shattered window with a bloodcurdling cry, the edge of his boot clipping James on the shoulder. James went sprawling, his carbine tumbling from his grasp, and the orc howled and raised its axe for the kill. Lucy screamed and put the trigger on her shotgun, and the top of the orc’s head snapped back, blue blood and gray brains spattering across the wall. James scurried backwards and grabbed his carbine, his face a rictus of pain as he kicked with his bad right leg, and another orc jumped through the window, axe in hand, two more storming through the door.

Corvus met them.

The Shadow Hunter moved like a snake, the blade of darkness appearing in his right hand. The orcs at the door started to turn towards him, and he slashed the sword, cutting through the core of their AK-47s. The guns fell apart, and Corvus wheeled, killed one orc, and then cut down a second. He seemed to become faster and stronger as he did. I knew the Shadowmorph within him fed upon the life of the orcs, making him stronger and faster than human limits as he killed.

It was a horrifying thought, yet it was a strangely compelling sight. Like watching a wolf chase down a fleeing deer. 

As fascinating as the sight was, I nevertheless shifted my gaze and pulled the trigger. My burst of gunfire caught the orc standing over James in the neck and head, and the soldier collapsed to the floor as James heaved himself backwards. He hit the wall, raised his carbine, and started shooting out the window. My AK-47 clicked empty, and I cursed, yanked out the magazine, pulled another from my jacket, and shoved it into the weapon. More orcs rushed through the door, and Corvus blurred through them, cutting with his Shadowmorph blade, while Nora picked off those that Corvus missed. 

Suddenly the attack stopped. 

I looked around, breathing hard, my ears ringing from the noise. The living room had been wrecked. All the windows had been shot out, and a dozen dead orcish soldiers lay heaped on both sides of the front door, their blood leaking into the carpet. Stray rounds had left craters in the wall. A wave of helpless fury went through me. I didn’t have all that many happy memories, but most of them were in this house and a lot of them were in this room. 

And now the goddamned Rebels and the Archons and their orcish soldiers had wrecked the place.

“They…they stopped?” said Russell, peering at the windows. “Why have they stopped?” 

“Because they’ve won,” said Corvus, his voice grimmer than usual, his eyes filled with shadows. 

I got to one knee and looked out the wrecked windows. The surviving Homeland Security officers had surrendered and gotten on their knees, their hands resting atop their heads. No further orcish soldiers emerged from the flickering rift way, but that didn’t matter, because there were at least seventy surviving orcs on the street, all of them armed. 

“What are they waiting for?” I said.

“Heavier weapons,” said Corvus. “Or they’re getting reading to lob grenades through the window.” He turned, stooped, and pulled James to his feet. “We must withdraw through the back and take our chances on the street.”

“Agreed,” said James, straightening up. He pulled another magazine from his pocket and fed it into his M-99. “Go. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lucy, coming to his side. “You’re coming with us.”

“My leg,” said James. “I can’t keep up with you. Take Russell and Nadia and go. Look after them.”

Lucy gave a sharp shake of her head. “If we are going to die, then we shall die together.” 

“The hell with that,” I said. “No one is leaving anyone behind.” A little voice in my head pointed out that I had been perfectly willing to leave Lydia Valborg behind at the mall, but I told that voice to shut the hell up. James and Lucy had looked after Russell for fourteen years, and there was no way I would leave them behind for the Archons and their pet orcs. “You’re coming with us, and…”

The wall blew up. 

The entire wall, along with the door, the windows, and part of the floor, all of it erupted into a spray of splinters and broken drywall and glass. The orcs must have used a rocket launcher or maybe even artillery to attack the house. That flashed through my mind in an instant, along with the sure and certain realization of my death.

Then I realized something else. 

The wall had blown up, but it had done so without sound…and the debris were frozen in midair, like a photograph of the first instant of an explosion.

Except it wasn’t an explosion. It was a magical spell. 

There was a rushing sound, and the wreckage of the wall hurtled into the night, landing in the street and the sidewalk and the neighboring houses for a hundred yards in all directions. I had a clear view of the flickering rift way, of the dozens of Homeland Security officers upon their knees, of the orcs pointing AK-47s at the prisoners. Two men in black uniforms adorned with three-headed golden dragons across the chest stood on the Marneys’ front walk.

They were Elves…which meant they were Archons. 

Both had large, glittering green eyes like disks of jade, and the Archon on the left had red-gold hair, while the Archon on the right had black hair. Both Elves were smiling, and their lean, alien features made the expression look hungry and predatory. 

I worked a quick spell, and I detected powerful wards mantling both of the Archons. The Archon I had killed at the bookstore had been an idiot. These two were not so foolish, and both had warding spells to turn aside any magical attack I could wield. They could shrug off my lightning globes with ease, and while Corvus was better with that spell, the Archons’ wards would turn aside any attack of elemental magic. 

The glittering green eyes turned towards me. 

“Well, well, well,” said the red-haired Archon in the Elven tongue. “One of the humans thinks to wield our Art.”

The black-haired Archon made a tutting sound. “Tarlia was always too fond of her little pets.”

“Look!” said the red-haired Archon. “Two symbionts.” He gestured at Corvus and Nora. “We shall make quite the profit for their heads. The masters wish them dead.”

“The masters?” I called out in the Elven tongue before anyone else could speak. “You have masters?”

Both Archons looked at me and laughed.

“The human mare speaks!” said the black-haired Archon. “In our tongue, as well. Talented little mare, isn’t she?”

“Perhaps if we give her to the Rebels, she can sing and dance for them,” said the other Archon. “It would be like watching a seal balance a ball upon its nose.”

“Liberty, equality, solidarity, right?” I said, my mind racing. I wanted to let the others know to run while I distracted the Archons and their soldiers. But I couldn’t think of a way to do it.

But I had a smart mouth. Time to use it. 

“So if you’re all free and equal, then what do you have masters for?” I said.

The red-haired Archon sniffed. “You could not understand.” 

“That so?” I said. “Maybe I’m a trained seal that barks on command, but I know what it is to have a master…and that means I recognize another trained seal when I see one.”

“You dare?” said the black-haired Archon.

“No, let her continue,” said the first Archon. “This ought to be amusing.” 

“If you’re free,” I said, “then why are you letting these masters dictate to you?”

“Because the masters’ enemies are our enemies,” said the red-haired Archon. “The society of the symbionts existed upon our world as well, but we exterminated them in the revolution that drove the bitch Tarlia to this wretched world of barbarous apes. I am amused she allowed the society of symbionts to recreate themselves here, but that is not my concern.” 

“Seems like you ought to find out a little more about it, buddy,” I said. 

“No,” said the red-haired Archon, his wolfish smile widening as he lifted his hand. “I don’t think I’ll hand you over to the Rebels. I’ll…”

Lucy, James, and Russell all fired at once, their bullets hammering into the Archon’s chest. He staggered back a step, his expression comical with surprise, and the black-haired Archon burst out laughing. 

“Really?” said the red-haired Archon. “Bullets?”

“They don’t work on Elves,” said Corvus in English. 

“The apes behind you seem to care about you a great deal,” said the red-haired Archon. “For punishment, I think I’ll kill you in front of them, and then kill them.” 

He gestured, and pain exploded through me. I screamed, my back arching, and invisible force lifted me from the ground. The Archon had wrapped me in bands of telekinetic force. I felt a horrible pressure on me, squeezing me, crushing me, and I stopped screaming simply because I couldn’t draw breath, because the awful force was crushing my throat…

Then, all at once, I fell to my hands and knees, coughing and wheezing. 

The pressure had vanished. 

“Nadia,” said Russell, and I felt him grab my right arm. Still coughing, I staggered to my feet. “Nadia. Oh, God. Are you all right?”

“Think so,” I croaked, rubbing my throat. Someone else was holding my left arm, and I realized it was Corvus. “You…you broke the spell?”

“I didn’t,” said Corvus, his cold voice full of rage.

At last my eyes swam back into focus, and I took in the scene outside the house. 

The Archons had turned away from me to face the street, and so had the orcish soldiers. It seemed that the Archons had forgotten us, and even the orcs ignored the Homeland Security officers. Instead they were all looking at a lone man walking down the street. 

A fresh surge of dread went through me. 

I had seen all manner of horrible things today, but I feared this man more than any of them. 

He was tall and thin to the point of gauntness, his white hair closed-cropped, his skin so pale it was almost translucent, his blue eyes cold and ghostly, his Elven ears rising to sharp points. He looked old and frail and weak, but I knew that was a fatal assumption. For he wore the ornamented red cloak of an Elven noble, and beneath that he wore the gold-trimmed black robe of an Elven archmage. I had seen him use magic, and he wielded arcane force with skill and power beyond anything I could achieve – beyond anything even most Elves could master in centuries of study.

He was Lord Kaethran Morvilind, my teacher in the ways of magic…and the man who held my life in an iron fist. The Knight of Grayhold and the Jarl Rimethur had told me that Morvilind had once been known as the Magebreaker, that of all the Elves who had come to Earth, only the High Queen herself was his equal in magical power. 

“Him,” spat Corvus.

He knew Morvilind?

Morvilind stopped a dozen yards from the Marneys’ yard, his cold blue eyes taking in the scene. 

“Well,” said Morvilind at last, his robes and cloak stirring in the cool autumn wind, “what have we here?” His voice was a deep, harsh rasp, deeper than any human voice. 

The red-haired Archon laughed. “Look, brother! One of the bitch Tarlia’s bootlickers come to beg for mercy!” 

Morvilind lifted his thin eyebrows. “Do you think so?” 

The orcs kept their AK-47s pointed at him. 

“Don’t think to threaten us with your titles and your estates, old fool,” said the black-haired Archon. “Your titles mean nothing, and your estates have been liquidated by the revolution.” 

“You will withdraw,” said Morvilind, “and hinder me no further.”

The Archons erupted with derisive laughter. 

“Surrender to us,” said the black-haired Archon, “and we shall let you live.” 

Morvilind glanced at me for a moment, his cold blue eyes sinking into me like razors. 

“I am in a hurry,” said Morvilind, looking back at the Archons, “and it would be inconvenient to kill you all. Therefore I shall grant your lives if you depart at once.”

“No,” said the red-haired Archon. “Kill him.” 

Morvilind let out an irritated sigh.

The orcish soldiers opened fire. The combined roar of seventy-five AK-47s on full auto was deafening, and the muzzle flashes almost looked like a field of fireworks. Conventional bullets couldn’t hurt Elves, but something of the kinetic impact still transferred to them, and that many bullets hitting Morvilind at once would certainly stagger him, maybe even knock him unconscious.