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    Cloak Games: Shatter Stone
    Cloak Games: Shatter Stone
    Cloak Games: Shatter Stone
    Ebook262 pages4 hours

    Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

    By Jonathan Moeller

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    I've made a lot of mistakes in my career as a master thief and illegal wizard, but I've been able to avoid the consequences.

    But now the consequences have caught up with me

    I owe a favor to the powerful Knight of Grayhold, and the time has come to pay up.

    And unless I do something clever, repaying that favor is going to get me killed...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJonathan Moeller
    Release dateNov 30, 2016
    ISBN9781370278299
    Cloak Games: Shatter Stone
    Author

    Jonathan Moeller

    Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

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      Book preview

      Cloak Games - Jonathan Moeller

      Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

      Jonathan Moeller

      ***

      Description

      I've made a lot of mistakes in my career as a master thief and illegal wizard, but I've been able to avoid the consequences.  

      But now the consequences have caught up with me

      I owe a favor to the powerful Knight of Grayhold, and the time has come to pay up.

      And unless I do something clever, repaying that favor is going to get me killed...

      ***

      Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

      Copyright 2016 by Jonathan Moeller.

      Smashwords Edition.

      Cover design by Jonathan Moeller

      Ebook edition published December 2016.

      All Rights Reserved.

      This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

      Created with Vellum (http://tryvellum.com/created)

      ***

      1

      Chaperones

      A mistake caught up to me. 

      To be blunt, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I almost always wriggle out of them.

      Some of that is because I’m clever and a very good liar. Some of it is because I have magic, and I know spells that no human is supposed to ever learn. I’m in good shape and I can run faster than a lot of the things that want to kill me. Most of it is because I always assume the worst is going to happen and prepare for it thoroughly. That saved my life a lot of times.

      Though some of my ability to wriggle out of mistakes – if I’m honest with myself – is because I’m pretty, and I can smile and stand up straight and stick my chest out a little and flirt my way out of trouble.

      A pretty smile at the right time smooths over all kinds of problems. 

      But not this. Not this mistake. This time, the mistake caught up to me, and there was no way I could avoid it. 

      It happened on the day I had coffee with my brother’s girlfriend’s grandfather.

      Yeah. It was kind of awkward.

      But not as awkward as you might think. 

      If anything, it was stimulating, but in the same way that running for my life was stimulating. Hakon Valborg might have been old, but he was not even remotely stupid, and he knew there was something unusual about me. 

      I couldn’t have survived the Archon attack on Milwaukee otherwise.

      Let me back up. I met Hakon Valborg on the day of the Archon attack on Milwaukee back in September of Conquest Year 314. My brother Russell had talked me into going to the mall so he could ask out Lydia Valborg, Hakon’s granddaughter. That meant we were with Lydia when the Archons and their orcish mercenaries attacked. One thing led to another, and Russell and I wound up saving Lydia’s life from the orcs and getting her back to her parents and grandfather. As it turns out, saving a teenage girl from orcish mercenaries is an excellent way to impress her, and Russell and Lydia had been going out ever since.

      There are rules about that kind of thing. 

      Unwritten rules, but Morvilind had observed to me once that humans held social convention more sacred than the law. Russell and Lydia were both fourteen, and while my brother was fond of pointing out that he would turn fifteen in July, that was still five months off. Not that it mattered, because the unwritten rules were clear. Teenagers went on chaperoned dates until they turned eighteen. 

      When they turned eighteen, the couple often (but not always) got married. The newlyweds would have a few weeks together, the wife hopefully becoming pregnant in the process. Then the husband began his six-year term of service in the armies of the Elven nobles and the High Queen, fighting the Archons and the dwarves and the orcs and worse things in the Shadowlands. Sometimes the husband returned and settled down with his wife, and they lived happily ever after. Sometimes the husband returned maimed or crippled. 

      And often the husband did not return at all. 

      Except it wouldn’t work that way for Russell. 

      He had frostfever, a rare magical ailment that had turned his hair white and made him gaunt even for a fourteen-year-old boy. He would never become an Elven noble’s man-at-arms and would therefore never become a veteran, and only now had I begun to realize just what kind of disadvantage that would be for him, since veterans had numerous formal and informal privileges. I had been so focused on saving Russell’s life that I hadn’t given much thought to what kind of life he would have. A lot of doors would be closed to him, and he would have a lot of disadvantages. 

      He would always be an outsider. 

      Nevertheless, as I watched Russell put six rifle rounds through the center of a target in rapid succession, I suspected these disadvantages would not slow him down much. 

      Your brother, said Hakon Valborg in his gravelly rasp of a voice, is a good shot.

      He is, I said. If he keeps this up, he’s going to better at it than I am.

      Hakon lifted his pale eyebrows. You have much time to practice shooting in your work?

      I looked at the old man and considered my answer. 

      We sat at a table in Sergeant Bob’s Shooting Range And Dining Club, located in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. There were thousands of such places scattered across the United States. Sergeant Bob’s was an establishment that catered to veteran men-at-arms and their families. The veterans (and their wives, if so inclined) could practice their firearm skills on the range and have a nice dinner after. There was even an attached play area for the kids, this big thing of plastic tubes and slides and an enormous ball pit, and from its direction, I heard the whoops of excited children. 

      Our table sat on a wide platform overlooking the shooting range, which was itself encased in armored glass. From here, we observed the shooters at the range, and I watched as Russell emptied his rifle. All his shots had hit the outline on the paper target at the far end of the range. Next to him, Lydia Valborg, Hakon’s granddaughter, and Russell’s girlfriend, clapped her hands in approval and even jumped up and down a few times as he did. Like Russell, she was only fourteen, and like Russell, she was taller than I was, which annoyed me to no end. She was a cute girl, and I suspected she was going to become a woman of remarkable beauty. 

      And she was dating my brother, which was why I was here.

      Those unwritten rules? One of them was that a young couple had to have chaperones in certain settings, usually a trustworthy relative. Lydia’s parents and siblings all had to work or were serving with the Elven nobles, so that left Hakon Valborg to watch her. I was Russell’s only living relative, so that left me.

      Which was why I was having a cup of coffee with my brother’s girlfriend’s grandfather. 

      It should have been awkward. Instead, it was kind of unsettling, and in a twisted sort of way, I was enjoying myself.

      Because Hakon Valborg was a very dangerous man. 

      It is like any other skill, Mr. Valborg, I said. It is good to keep in practice. 

      Hakon grunted. He was about seventy-five, thin and tough as an old tree, his hair yellowish-white, his eyes pale blue. Lydia had the exact same eyes, though her eyes looked pretty. Hakon’s gaze looked intense and stark. He wore an old brown suit that was too large for him, but his thick, callused hands did not shake as he lifted his cup of coffee.

      He was a former man-at-arms, an HVAC technician, and a retired member of the Wizard’s Legion of the High Queen. 

      Which meant, like me, he could use magic. I had not met many other human wizards, but Hakon was the strongest of them. A member of the Wizard’s Legion did not survive to old age without being very strong and very smart.

      That, in turn, meant there was every chance Hakon Valborg might realize what I really was. 

      I had to be careful around Hakon, both for my sake and for Russell’s. Lydia was pretty, true, but I thought he could do better than her. On the other hand, given that he would always face at least a degree of ostracism, I didn’t want to blow this for him. 

      You did keep in practice, said Hakon, from what my granddaughter tells me.

      I shrugged and took a sip of the coffee. Sergeant Bob’s Shooting Range didn’t have great coffee, but it was strong, and that covered a multitude of sins. A valuable skill. It saved my life during the Archon attack last year. 

      This is so, said Hakon. An unusual skill for a web programmer. Most of the people who knew my real name believed I worked for Lord Kaethran Morvilind as a web programmer. After the Archon attack, Russell and James and Lucy Marney knew the truth. Though Russell had known the truth for years and had been wise enough to keep his mouth shut. 

      The Archons and the Rebels kill web programmers, too, I said. 

      The old man inclined his head. Below us, Russell helped Lydia load her rifle. I suspected she knew how to load her firearm just fine, but was letting him help her. Had I been in her place, that would have irritated me, but Lydia looked pleased. 

      Something else I had learned about my brother last year – he was very charming when he put his mind to it. 

      This is so, said Hakon. That is why I taught my children to shoot, and they, in turn, taught my grandchildren to use firearms. 

      You don’t need to use firearms, I said.

      I am retired from the service of the High Queen, may God save her, said Hakon.

      That’s not what I meant, I said. You don’t need a gun. You have magic.

      I probably shouldn’t have brought up the topic, but I was curious. Hakon Valborg had served for years in the Wizard’s Legion, the only legal way for humans to use magic on Earth. What was more, he had survived, which meant he had a great deal of power.

      I wanted power like that. 

      More to the point, I needed that power to survive the tasks Morvilind set for me, to make sure I lived long enough that Russell would be cured of his frostfever. Hakon had power, and I wanted some of it for myself. 

      Of course, I couldn’t think of a way of obtaining that power without getting myself killed. Hakon was a loyal man of the High Queen. On his wall, he had portraits of the High Queen Tarlia and Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee, both gazing sternly down at any visitors. Below that hung his old regimental banner from his time as a man-at-arms, and next to that a flag with the thunderbolt insignia of the Wizard’s Legion. Alongside the banner hung a framed certificate signed by Lord Mythrender, the High Queen’s Lord Marshall, certifying that Colonel Hakon Valborg had honorably completed three six-year terms of service in the Wizard’s Legion. 

      The men of the Wizard’s Legion were fanatically devoted to the High Queen, and Hakon had been one of them. More than that, he had risen to an officer’s rank. If Hakon knew what I really was, that Morvilind had taught me both magic and spells forbidden to humans, he would call the Inquisition at once. He might kill me on the spot, and once he had explained to the Inquisition what he had done, he would likely get another signed certificate of merit from Lord Mythrender. 

      Magic, said Hakon. He sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment. 

      You were in the Wizard’s Legion, I said. I imagine you don’t need a weapon to fight Archons or orcish mercenaries.

      No, he said, looking at me with those pale eyes. Miss Moran, my family settled in Milwaukee five generations ago, shortly after the Archon attack on Stockholm. Before that, I’m afraid we don’t have any records since they were lost in the attack. But every generation of my family served in the Wizard’s Legion. My grandfather, my father, myself. Two of my three sons served in the Legion, and both died fighting in the Shadowlands. 

      I’m sorry, I said. 

      I am grateful, said Hakon, looking back at the shooting range, that my grandchildren do not have the power of magic. If any of them have the ability, it would have manifested by now.

      Then you’re grateful they won’t be drafted into the Wizard’s Legion? I said. That sounded like wishful thinking. Hakon’s grandsons would likely be recruited into the men-at-arms of an Elven noble. Even Lydia would face danger if the Archons or another enemy attacked Earth again. She had almost been killed during the attack last year. 

      No, said Hakon, his voice quiet. They will not have to learn the terrible burden of constant self-control.

      I frowned. What do you mean? 

      A loaded gun requires self-control, said Hakon.

      Obviously, I said. Else you’ll shoot yourself in the foot. Or the face, if you’re really unlucky.

      Or someone else, said Hakon. A man out for a walk. A woman taking her children to the market. Someone who doesn’t intend you harm at all. Or a man who irritates you, but doesn’t deserve death. Yet with magic, you can deal out death with a thought. He tapped the side of his head with a callused finger. That is why I am glad my grandchildren do not have magic, Miss Moran. They will not need to always keep themselves under such rigid discipline. 

      I started to say something, but I fell silent. Hakon had a point. Of necessity, I lived under rigid self-control. I was careful about what I ate and I frequently exercised, because I had to be in good shape to pull off the various tasks Morvilind gave me. I had skills I practiced constantly, and I always practiced my spells, trying to become more powerful. 

      So, yeah, I saw why he wouldn’t want that kind of life for his grandkids.

      Me, though, I wanted power. Self-discipline was a kind of power, which was why I pursued it so zealously. Magic was a more potent form of strength, and I wanted much more than I had. 

      Unfortunately, I could think of no way to learn any of Hakon’s spells. If he realized what I really was, I was in a lot of trouble so I would settle for keeping him from figuring out the truth. 

      You want a better life for your grandchildren, I said. Nothing wrong with that at all.

      Yes, said Hakon. I suppose that is what we all want, in the end. Which is why we are here. To see if your little brother can make a better life for Lydia. 

      I glanced at the shooting range, taking a sip of my coffee as I did so. It was Russell’s turn to shoot again, and Lydia watched with obvious admiration as he put an excellent grouping into the target. After fighting orcs at the Ducal Mall, shooting practice targets had to be less stressful. 

      Do you think he can? I said. 

      I would prefer, said Hakon, that Lydia marries a veteran.

      I looked at the old man. I suspected we had come to the main point.

      Do you? I said.

      Yes, said Hakon. If a man survives his term of service with an Elven noble, he has shown responsibility. He will have seen the horrors of war and known pain and loss, and he will be ready to settle down and start a family. It has been that way for generations. Once a man knows what it is to suffer loss, he will care for what he has more devotedly. We are taught that in school, yes, but I have seen the truth of it with my own eyes.

      I said nothing. Russell liked Lydia, but I didn’t know if he was in love with her. He was only fourteen, so I suppose getting his heart broken wouldn’t kill him. I’d had my heart broken, and it hadn’t killed me. 

      Of course, since the man I had loved had been the leader of a Rebel cell, his guns and bombs had almost killed me. 

      Do not mistake me, said Hakon. Russell is a good boy. A brave boy. Not every boy could keep his head in a firefight like Russell did. But because of his illness, he will never be a man-at-arms. Russell will never form bonds of friendship with his comrades, the men who would become like his brothers. He will always be an outsider in American society. Not an outcast, not exactly, but he will always stand apart. That will give him a disadvantage. 

      Everything he said was true.  

      I was an outsider as well. Most women my age were either married, engaged, or working in an office somewhere and hoping to find a husband from among the veteran men-at-arms Hakon had mentioned. That would never be my life, and it didn’t trouble me. I wanted to save Russell, and I wanted power. I had a few people I cared about, and beyond that the rest of the world could burn for all I cared. 

      But maybe it would bother Russell more than it would bother me.

      Then why are we sitting here, Mr. Valborg? I said. You could tell Lydia to break up with Russell, and she would do it.

      Hakon said nothing for a moment. 

      Because, Miss Moran, he said at last, because while everything I have said is true, Russell Moran is an exceptional young man, and I think he may even become a great man.

      I blinked. What do you mean?

      Perhaps you do not see it because you are so close, said Hakon. He is a very driven young man.

      Well, I said. Yes.

      Ah, said Hakon. Another question. Why are you not married or engaged?

      It was a rude question, but Hakon was old enough to get away with it. The entire point of this was to see if Russell would make a suitable match for Lydia, and that included Russell’s family, which basically amounted to the Marneys and me.

      I was seeing someone, I said. It didn’t exactly work out. I wasn’t about to tell him that my first boyfriend had been the leader of a Rebel cell. Right now, I’m seeing someone new. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that my boyfriend was a hired assassin and a Shadow Hunter. And if you’re asking for yourself…well, that’s very kind, but the age difference might be a problem. 

      Hakon snorted. A clever answer. But I am occasionally witty myself. The reason you are not married, Miss Moran, is because of Russell’s frostfever. 

      That was much closer to the truth than I liked. 

      I know frostfever, said Hakon. I saw many cases of it during the High Queen’s war against the frost giants in the Shadowlands. Many of my friends died from it. I know that there is no cure, save a powerful and complex spell that only the strongest Elven wizards can cast. Lord Morvilind is one such wizard. Russell’s frostfever should have killed him years ago. Yet Lord Morvilind is casting the cure spell upon him. Why?

      I still said nothing. 

      He casts the spell, said Hakon, in exchange for work you do for him. Which I suspect is not, in the end, web programming. 

      I considered my answer, my fingers tapping against the warm curve of my cup of coffee. Hakon had puzzled out the truth, but I don’t think

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