Cloak Games: Rebel Fist (16 page)

As the orcs started shooting, Morvilind raised his left hand, gray light pulsing around his fingers. 

And the bullets…stopped.

They just stopped. 

Hundreds of rounds, thousands of rounds, came to a stop in midair about four yards from Morvilind, hanging motionless before him. Soon Morvilind seemed encased in a half-sphere of frozen bullets. The orcish soldiers’ gunfire withered and stopped once they realized that it was having no effect. 

Morvilind gestured again, and the suspended bullets slammed into each other, forming a sphere about three or four feet across. It began to glow, and as I watched the bullets melted, dissolving together into a floating sphere of molten metal, so hot that I felt the heat of it even in the ruined living room. The orcs shied back, and the Archons stared at Morvilind with horrified fascination. 

“You,” said the red-haired Archon. “How…how are you doing that?”

“Have you not realized yet who I am?” said Morvilind. “No? Then permit me to educate you.”

He made a throwing gesture, and the molten sphere ripped itself apart into dozens of smaller globes, each one about the size of a marble. The globes hurtled forward with terrific speed, each one striking the forehead of an orcish soldier and exploding out the back of their heads, leaving their skulls burned-out husks.

It happened so fast. One moment an entire battalion of orcish soldiers faced Morvilind. An instant later every single one of them was dead, their corpses carpeting the street and the front lawn, the air thick with the stench of burned meat. The sheer power and control he had just displayed were immense, and so far beyond my reach that I could scarcely grasp the size of the gap between our abilities. 

“It’s him,” said the red-haired Archon, his voice thick with fear. “Morvilind the Magebreaker. It…” 

The black-haired Archon did not hesitate, but cast a spell of his own, flinging a fist-sized globe of fire at Morvilind. It struck the old Elf and erupted with a tremendous detonation, a bloom of fire rolling in the street, the leaves of the nearby trees taking flame. 

The fire faded away, and Morvilind stood untouched, the grass around him still burning.

His cold gaze turned towards the two Archons, and a bolt of terror shot through me.

He was angry. 

I thought I had seen Morvilind angry when I had questioned him about the Dark Ones, but I realized now that had only been irritation. Annoyance at most. This was his true anger unmasked, and it terrified me.

“You dare?” he said, his deep voice cold and hard as a diamond in winter. “You dare to use such a childish spell against me? A puerile attack of elemental fire? Do you not know who I am?”

“Wait!” said the red-haired Archon, stumbling back. “We…we surrender, we…”

The black-haired Archon sneered and cast another spell, throwing a jagged bolt of lightning. Morvilind made a sharp gesture, and the blast rebounded from him to split a nearby tree in two with a tremendous thunderclap. 

“Pathetic!” said Morvilind. “A simple elemental attack! A first-year initiate at the Towers of Art could have done better. And you are the Archons, the glorious soldiers of the revolution. Surely you can strike me dead where I stand with your mighty mastery of the Art.” He spread his arms, the red cloak billowing behind him like bloody wings. “Come, Archons! Kill me!”

They tried. They really did. The two Archons loosed a volley of potent magical spells at Morvilind, fire and lightning and ice. The street around Morvilind burned and melted and froze all at once, the light from the Archons’ magic throwing harsh shadows in all directions. It was a fearsome magical assault, far beyond my skill. 

It did not even scratch Morvilind. 

It just made him angrier.

“Utterly pathetic,” he said, striding towards them. “Have you any idea of the foes I have overcome? I dueled the combined might of the frost giant jarls when they unleashed the very heart of winter against me, and I broke their lines and drove them before me like chaff! The dwarves arrayed the full might of their war engines against me, and I threw their machines down in ruin and brought their strongholds crashing down upon their heads. I have slain a lord of the Shadowlands in his own demesne, and in a single day I set a hundred thousand orcs to burn. Such foes I have faced, and you think to challenge me with this? With these pathetic spells? When the High Queen yet ruled our world, you would not have been fit to scrub the toilets in the Towers of Art, and you presume to attack me with the training exercises of imbecilic children!” 

By now both Archons had collapsed to their knees, utterly exhausted, their alien faces frozen in terror. 

“Please,” said the black-haired Archon. “Mercy, Lord Morvilind, mercy…”

“Mercy,” said Morvilind. For the first time something that might have been a smile appeared on his gaunt fate. “Yes. Mercy. The Archons claim to be superior to the loyalists in every way. So I shall test your superiority.” He hooked his right hand into a claw, and both Archons floated a few feet into the air, flailing their arms and legs in terror. 

The Archons screamed the incoherent, terrified cries of men facing implacable death. I had seen proud Elves, arrogant Elves, cruel Elves, and aloof Elves, but never before had I seen Elves broken and begging for their lives. 

“If your magical skills are as capable as the Archons claim,” said Morvilind, “then you will survive this trial without any difficulty.” 

He gestured again, and the Archons rocketed into the night sky like bullets fired straight up, screaming in terror all the while. Gradually the screams faded, and the Archons disappeared. 

For a moment no one said anything. Morvilind gazed at the sky, his expression contemplative. The Homeland Security officers stared at him in fear, and I saw Colonel Wilburn’s mouth working in silence, his ruddy face gone stark white. The others were frozen around me, even the Shadow Hunters. I only felt numb. I was doomed, utterly and completely doomed. Morvilind would realize that the Shadow Hunters had learned about my connection to him, and he would kill me on the spot. 

I hoped I would face my death with a little more dignity than the Archons. 

“I cannot,” said Morvilind to no one in particular, “abide idiocy.” 

His gaze fell upon me. For a moment I didn’t know what he wanted, and then I went to one knee, bowing my head. James, Lucy, and Russell followed suit. 

Corvus and Nora did not. In fact, Corvus stepped forward, jumping over the wreckage of the wall to stand before Morvilind. Morvilind frowned at this effrontery, and then his eyes narrowed with recognition. 

Corvus knew Morvilind…but it seemed Morvilind recognized him as well.

Morvilind let out a breath, a single contemptuous snort. “You.”

“Yes, me,” said Corvus.

I started to hear screaming from overhead. 

“Riordan MacCormac,” said Morvilind, and after a moment I realized that was Corvus’s real name. “I would have expected you to die decades ago.” 

“I am difficult to kill,” said Corvus.

The screaming got louder. 

“No,” said Morvilind. “You are as useless and as incompetent as your brother, who failed me at a critical…”

Corvus stepped forward, and Morvilind’s eyes narrowed.

“Riordan,” said Nora, “for God’s sake, don’t…”

I don’t know what would have happened, but the confrontation was interrupted by the return of the two Archons. One of them – I couldn’t tell which one – landed on a parked car with enough force to collapse the roof and shatter every window, blood splashing down the side of the vehicle. The other struck the street, not far from the rift way, and just sort of…burst open, like a watermelon thrown from a great height. The black uniform kept his innards from spattering everywhere, but the Archon's remains were still unrecognizable. 

Morvilind glanced at the dead Archons, and then back to Corvus, as if inviting him to attack. 

“Guess they failed the trial,” I said, my voice unsteady. 

Morvilind looked down at me. “Indeed they did.” He cast a spell, and I recognized it as the spell to sense the presence of magical forces. “Time runs short. Rise, all of you.” I got to my feet, and James, Lucy, and Russell followed suit. “Nadia Moran, you will accompany me. Dr. Marney. You are uninjured?”

“Save for my leg, my lord,” said James, standing as straight as he could manage. 

Morvilind snapped his fingers. Something rattled in the wreckage of the house, and a cane flew out of the debris and landed in James’s hand. “Your leg will not hinder the duty I require of you. Come, both of you. Mrs. Marney, begin seeing to the wounded. There will be a great many more to come.” 

I followed Morvilind from the ruins of the living room, James hobbling alongside me, the carbine hanging from his right hand. Morvilind had not told Corvus and Nora to follow us, but they came anyway. Morvilind’s lips thinned a little, but he said nothing. Perhaps he had decided to ignore the Shadow Hunters. Or perhaps he would have killed them, but did not want to start a war with the Shadow Hunters. From what I had gathered, the Shadow Hunters had the High Queen’s protection, and the High Queen was likely the only person on Earth that Morvilind was unwilling to cross. 

“Men of Homeland Security,” said Morvilind, and the officers scrambled to their feet, holding themselves rigidly at attention. “I am Morvilind, archmage of the Elven people and vassal of Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee. You will follow my instructions carefully.” He pointed at the rift way. “You will guard this gate, and ensure no further orcish incursions emerge from it. Should any Archons attack, I am leaving you with five weapons loaded with bullets created from the iron of the Shadowlands.” I saw the headlights of a van heading up the street towards us. Likely that was how Morvilind had gotten here. “Use those weapons to dispose of any Archons.” He pointed at James. “This is Dr. James Marney, a former man-at-arms in my service. I hereby grant him the field rank of brigadier general and put him in command here.”

“My lord?” said James, astonished. 

“You were always competent,” said Morvilind, “which is an astonishingly rare quality in your race. I…”

“My lord! I protest!”

Morvilind blinked, once. 

Colonel Wilburn strode towards us, his face turning red again with outrage. 

“You have a complaint?” said Morvilind. 

“You idiot,” I hissed at the colonel, “for God’s sake, shut up…”

He ignored me. He shouldn’t have.

“I am a duly commissioned colonel in the Department of Homeland Security,” said Wilburn. “I received my commission from the hand of Duke Tamirlas himself.” He glared at James. “I will not submit to the orders of this…this cripple, who is probably a Rebel saboteur himself and…”

Morvilind sighed and crooked a single finger. 

The top of Wilburn’s head exploded. The blast of telekinetic force hit his forehead, so the crimson spray that had once been the interior of his head spattered over the nearest Homeland Security officers. I suppose Morvilind hadn’t wanted to get pieces of Wilburn’s substandard brain upon his black robes. The officers flinched, and Wilburn’s corpse slumped to the ground. 

“Time is very short,” said Morvilind, as if he had not been interrupted, “so in the interests of celerity, does anyone else wish to offer a complaint?”

No one did.

“Even humans can learn wisdom, it seems,” said Morvilind. “General Marney, you have your orders. If I encounter any other additional officers, I shall send them to you and put them under your command. Hold this gate as long as possible. My task is urgent, and I do not need to deal with any more of those imbecilic Archon children behind me.”

James had been staring at Wilburn’s corpse, but he took a deep breath, drew himself up, and bowed. “It shall be as you command, my lord.” 

“Good,” said Morvilind. “Miss Moran, come. We have a great deal of work to do.” 

“God watch over you, Nadia,” said James.

“Thank you,” I said. “You, too.”

Morvilind beckoned, and I followed him as he strode towards the waiting van. 

“If I might ask, my lord,” I said, “where are we going?” I wanted to go back and say goodbye to Russell, but I knew Morvilind would not allow it.

Morvilind glanced back at me. “We are going to save Milwaukee.” 

Chapter 9: Time’s Almost Up

“No, you’re not,” said Corvus.

I blinked in surprise. Morvilind frowned at the Shadow Hunters. “Your presence is not required. This is none of your concern. Be gone.”

The black van came to a halt nearby, and the back doors opened. Morvilind employed a butler and maids and footmen and the usual trappings of a noble Elven lord, but he also had numerous employees with skills of questionable legality. When he wanted something stolen quietly, he used me. When he wanted to rough someone up or steal something with a great deal of noise, he turned to the various mercenaries in his employ. Several of those mercenaries waited in the van, all of them armed to the teeth. 

“This is my concern as well,” said Corvus. 

“I say that it is not,” said Morvilind. 

“Old man,” said Corvus, and Morvilind stopped and looked at him, his eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “I am here at the command of the Firstborn of my family. Perhaps you recall him?” 

“I see,” said Morvilind. “And what is your business?”

Corvus pointed at me. “I need to ask her a question.” 

“You are meddling in my affairs?” said Morvilind. 

“I had no idea you were involved,” said Corvus. “I had no idea she was someone else you had coerced into servitude.” 

I flinched. No one talked to Morvilind that way. None of his human servants would dare. The few times I had seen him converse with other Elven nobles, they had been cool and polite, their mixed fear and hatred of Morvilind quite plain. I expected Morvilind to react with anger, but instead that thin smile appeared on his lips. 

“Still angry about your brother, Riordan MacCormac?” said Morvilind. “Why bother? It has been…seventy years, has it not?”

“Eighty-three,” said Corvus.

“Eighty-three,” repeated Morvilind. “Even if his own incompetence hadn’t gotten him killed, he would have died of old age at least twenty years ago, if not sooner. Humans have no perspective.”