Cloak Games: Truth Chain Page 5

  “A true, if incoherent, answer,” said Arvalaeon. “What do you know of Elven religion?”

  “What, are you going to try to convert me?” I said.

  “That does not answer the question,” said Arvalaeon.

  A blew out a breath, trying to get my anger under control. Arvalaeon would know if I lied, but I suspect I could only insult him so far, and if stayed angry I would keep insulting him. Plus, I might accidentally run into a bridge support or something. “Not much. I’ve heard Elves talk about someone called the Lord Protector or something, but that’s it.”

  “Our religion was this,” said Arvalaeon. “Long ago, the Dark Ones ruled our homeworld of Kalvarion. The Elves were as slaves beneath their rule. God permitted himself to be born in the form of an Elf, and this Elf was called the Lord Protector. He liberated us from the Dark Ones at the cost of his life, driving them back to the Void, and established the first High King upon Kalvarion.”

  “Um,” I said. “That sounds familiar. Did this Lord Protector die on a cross?”

  “No,” said Arvalaeon. “One of your race’s own philosophers, a man named Lewis, suggested that God would reveal himself in different forms to different alien races. The Lord Protector was God’s form to us, and his commandments included a prohibition from ever summoning or contacting the Dark Ones.”

  “Guess you guys didn’t listen,” I said.

  “To our lasting sorrow,” said Arvalaeon. “There have been rebellions on Kalvarion before. The rebels you know as the Archons have a philosophy similar to human Marxism – they denied the existence of God, planned to kill all nobles, priests, and wealthy men, and desired to make all Elves equal. In practice, that meant enslaving the great mass of the Elves while the Archons ruled as tyrants, much as happened with Marxist states upon Earth. The Archons would have failed, but they taught that the Dark Ones were neither good nor evil, simply a natural force that could be harnessed and used for power.”

  “I guessed something like that,” I said.

  We had reached the interchange, and I followed the ramp from I-494 to I-94 west, steering the old car into traffic and settling into the right lane. The freeway had been mostly rebuilt after the Archon attack last year, though here and there orange safety cones still closed parts of the lanes.

  “It is difficult to convey,” said Arvalaeon, “how shocking this was for the Elves. On Earth, it would be as if Satanists or advocates of cannibalism had taken over your world. That is how strong the taboo was against summoning the Dark Ones. In the end, the loyalists were defeated. We would have been slaughtered, but Morvilind opened the way to Earth, and we conquered your world. The High Queen continues the war against the Archons using your race as our soldiers.”

  “Which is how I ended up here,” I said. “Thanks so very much.”

  Arvalaeon ignored the sarcasm. “And so we come to the topic of your acquaintance Baron Castomyr.”

  “We never actually met,” I said. “I just robbed Castomyr of his Dark Ones ritual tablet.” I frowned. “Is he an Archon?”

  “He detests the Archons,” said Arvalaeon, “for his sons died in their death camps upon Kalvarion. He also hates the High Queen, for he believes it is her failures of leadership that led to our defeat and the loss of our homeworld, along with our continued exile upon Earth. He also detests humans, and regards you as semi-intelligent apes with the faculty of speech.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” I said.

  “Baron Castomyr,” said Arvalaeon, “has taken it upon himself to depose the High Queen and defeat the Archons in one powerful blow.”

  “Just how is he going to do that?” I said.

  “Sometime this month,” said Arvalaeon, “he is going to attempt to summon a Great Dark One.”

  “A Great Dark One?” I said. “So…like, a bigger Dark One? One with a weight management problem?”

  Arvalaeon did not smile. “You have encountered a Dark One before.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yeah. It possessed someone I was sent to rob. Caused me a lot of trouble.” In fact, I still had to cast a spell every day blocking my psychic spoor. Otherwise, the anthrophages would have tracked me down and killed me long ago. Pity it hadn’t worked to keep Arvalaeon off my trail.

  “That was one of the least of the Dark Ones,” said Arvalaeon. “For the Dark Ones, much like humans and Elves, have their own hierarchies. They have knights and lords and princes. The Dark One you fought was perhaps the equivalent of a foot soldier. There are far more powerful Dark Ones. A Great Dark One is one of their sovereigns and kings. Baron Castomyr plans to summon the Great Dark One, bind it, and use it to kill the High Queen and destroy the Archons.”

  We drove in silence for a few miles while I considered that.

  “It’s not going to work, is it?” I said.

  “No,” said Arvalaeon. “Castomyr is an accomplished wizard, but he is not up to this task. The Dark Ones originate from the Void, and the Void has different rules from this world, just as the Shadowlands does. When a Great Dark One is summoned to this plane of reality, it will twist its surroundings to conform to the laws that govern the Void. No wizard can possibly correct for that, and the resultant backlash of energy will disrupt the summoning and kill Castomyr in the process.”

  “Just how much energy are we talking about?” I said.

  “Approximately the same output of energy as an asteroid with a diameter of one kilometer impacting directly on La Crosse,” said Arvalaeon. “Simultaneously detonating about one million atomic weapons in the same location would release an equivalent amount of force.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s bad.” I blinked. “Those forty million people you were talking about…”

  “Everyone within about five to seven hundred miles of the explosion will be killed,” said Arvalaeon. “It is possible a nuclear winter would follow due to the amount of soot thrown into Earth’s atmosphere, though that is impossible to calculate.”

  “And he’s doing this soon?” I said, remembering his comments about thirty days.

  “He is,” said Arvalaeon.

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?” I said. “You’re the Lord Inquisitor. You’re the archmage. Go in there with a bunch of goons or blow up his mansion. Why drag me into it?”

  “I have already tried to deal with Castomyr myself,” said Arvalaeon.

  I blinked, thinking through what I had seen.

  “You tried to stop him,” I said, “and you failed.” I frowned. “What, did he kick your ass? Is he an archmage too?”

  “He is not,” said Arvalaeon. “In a straight confrontation, I would defeat him easily. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity. Castomyr has acquired a Thanatar Stone.”

  “Uh,” I said. “What is a Thanatar Stone?”

  “A magical weapon developed in the final days of the loss of Kalvarion to the Archons,” said Arvalaeon. “When the Thanatar Stone is activated, any Elf that enters within its field of effect is killed. Castomyr’s Stone is particularly powerful, and will kill any Elf that approaches his mansion for five miles in any direction.”

  “And you walked into it?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Arvalaeon. “Like a fool. It took two months to regenerate from my injuries, and I am still not recovered.”

  “So what do you need me to do about it?” I said.

  “To start, take this exit,” said Arvalaeon.

  I had been so focused on his story that I hadn’t realized the exit to Bluemound Road was coming up on the right. I signaled and slowed down as I got onto the off-ramp. I wondered why I had bothered to signal. If a Homeland Security traffic patroller pulled me over, I had an Elven archmage and a Lord Inquisitor in my passenger seat. What was the patroller going to do, give him a ticket?

  “Where next?” I said.

  “Drive five blocks,” said Arvalaeon. “There will be a coffee shop on the right side of the road. Turn into the parking lot there.”

  �
��Okay,” I said. “Some mad noble is about to blow up half the country, and we’re going for coffee. That’s a great plan. Super genius plan right there.”

  Arvalaeon said nothing, but the silver fire in his veins flashed.

  “Does sarcasm show up as a lie?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Arvalaeon. “It is uncomfortable.”

  I frowned as I pulled up to a red light and waited. “So a lie causes you physical discomfort?”

  “Yes,” said Arvalaeon. “It does make it easier to notice lies.”

  “Oh, good, I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m actually the Queen of England,” I said. “I’m ninety-seven years old. I’ve been married fourteen times. I’m the youngest child of seven. I once dressed in a nurse’s uniform and sang a drinking song in front of the High Queen’s court.”

  The silver fire pulsed with every blatant lie, and I hoped they caused him discomfort.

  “That’s very petty,” said Arvalaeon.

  “Tell you what,” I said, giving him a sweet smile. “I count up every time Captain Alan punched me, and I tell you ten lies for each punch. Or maybe twenty lies for every second you made me stand naked in front of your soldiers. Does that sound fair?”

  “I think you should focus on more important matters,” said Arvalaeon.

  “Like how the world is about to blow up?” I said.

  “More immediately, on the fact that the light has just turned green,” said Arvalaeon.

  Car horns sounded behind me. I cursed, hit the gas, and the old car jerked into motion. I saw the sign for the coffee shop on the right. It was part of a national chain and shared a parking lot with the nearby shopping center. No doubt the coffee would be overpriced, overly sweet, and badly burnt.

  “It is indicative,” said Arvalaeon, “that you were more upset by forcible nudity than by a beating.”

  A dozen angry answers came to my tongue, and I forced them all down. The entire abduction had been designed to make me feel powerless and helpless, and I hated that, hated it more than anything. Arvalaeon had said his stupid process needed to start with psychological trauma, and I didn’t want to dwell on that.

  “Look,” I said. “It’s obvious you want me to do something about Castomyr. I’m not sure what driving you to a coffee shop has to do with that, but I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me what you want without the games?”

  “What I require,” said Arvalaeon, “is for you to answer a question.”

  I turned off the road and parked in the coffee shop’s lot. At this time of day, the customers seemed to be mostly mothers with small children and business types getting a late lunch. So far, no one noticed Arvalaeon sitting next to me.

  “Fine,” I said. “You want to ask me a question, then ask and get it over with already.”

  “What do you want?” said Arvalaeon.

  “What kind of stupid question is that?” I said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Are you asking what kind of coffee I want?” I said. “Or do you mean right now? If that’s the case, then I want to get the hell out of here and to the other side of the country with Russell and the Marneys before Castomyr blows up Wisconsin.”

  Though I felt a chill as I looked around. There were a lot of people in the coffee shop and a lot of people on the roads. If Arvalaeon was right (and I knew he wasn’t lying), all those people would soon die.

  Forty million people would die. God, I couldn’t even visualize that many people.

  “Perhaps the question was imprecise,” said Arvalaeon.

  “You think?” I said, but he kept talking.

  “A better question. What do you want more than anything else?”

  I stared at him. He stared back, silver fire flickering a little beneath his skin.

  “Not to get killed?” I said.

  The silver fire pulsed.

  “That is only half-true,” said Arvalaeon.

  “You’re wrong. I really don’t want to get killed.”

  “That is true,” said Arvalaeon. “You do want that. But you want something more.”

  “Fine,” I said, wondering what the hell he wanted me to say. “I…want to get away from Morvilind. I don’t want him controlling me. I don’t want him to have the power to kill me whenever he wants. Is that true enough to shut you up?”

  Again, that damned silver fire pulsed.

  “That is true,” said Arvalaeon, “but there is something you want even more.”

  I glared at him. “I want to save my brother. That’s what I want more than anything else. I want to save him from the frostfever.”

  The silver fire pulsed.

  “You want that,” said Arvalaeon, “but there is something you want even more…”

  “The hell with you!” I snarled, my temper overflowing. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to save him. I sold myself to Morvilind to save him, and even if I really didn’t understand what I was doing at the time, I would have done it again. Don’t you tell me I don’t want to save my brother. If you think I don’t want to save him, then I hope Castomyr jams that Thanatar Stone so far up your ass that you choke to death on it.”

  I managed not to shout, but by the end, I was shaking with fury. The part of my mind that wasn’t consumed by rage pointed out that I had never spoken that insultingly or vulgarly to an Elf in my entire life. Arvalaeon, for his part, remained calm, and the silver fire did not pulse in his eyes.

  “All that is true,” said Arvalaeon, “but there is something you want even more than your brother’s life…”

  Somehow, I managed to keep myself from hitting him. Maybe it was the memory of what had happened when I had thrown a lightning globe at him.

  “Do you know what I want?” I snapped. “I want you to shut up. I want to make you shut up. I want to get away from Morvilind. I want to save my brother. I want to make sure no one can ever hurt him or me ever again, and I want the power to make sure that happens…”

  I trailed off, too angry to speak without exploding.

  “And that,” said Arvalaeon, “is what you want more than anything. Power. Power, and the security it can bring.”

  I glared out the windshield, furious and frightened and a little ashamed.

  “Yes,” I spat.

  Because he was right. I did want power, magical power above all. I wanted to make sure no one would ever rule me again. I wanted to keep Russell safe. Those were all good reasons to have power.

  But if I was honest, I wanted the power for myself.

  “And that is true,” said Arvalaeon. He seemed subdued, somehow. “That is the final truth.”

  I took a ragged breath and glared at him again. My head and back hurt, and I wanted to lie down with a bottle of ibuprofen. “Are we done? Question and answer time is just so much fun, but I don’t think it’s going to stop Castomyr.”

  “We are going to stop Castomyr,” said Arvalaeon in a quiet voice, “by giving you what you want.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Power,” said Arvalaeon. “Magical power.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  But a greedy, hungry part of me sat up and took notice.

  “Come with me,” said Arvalaeon, unbuckling his seat belt, “and you shall understand.”

  “Where?” I said.

  “Into the coffee shop,” said Arvalaeon.

  I blinked. “You’re going to give me magical power in a coffee shop.”

  “We will start there,” said Arvalaeon. “Also, you should probably Mask yourself. We are about to create a scene, and if we live to reach tomorrow, you likely will not want to be recognized.”

  I sighed. I had a lot of aches and pains, and I was emotionally raw and ragged. Still, I shoved aside the pain, concentrated, and cast the Masking spell. Silvery light flared around my fingers, and I Masked myself as Captain Alan – the same hulking build, the same black armor, the same mask.

  “How’s th
at?” I said. The Masking spell also altered my voice, making me sound like Alan.

  “Sufficient,” said Arvalaeon. He opened his door. “Follow me and let me do the talking.”

  I got to my feet, wincing a little. My legs still hurt. Arvalaeon walked from the car and towards the doors of the coffee shop. A woman emerged from the doors, holding a paper bag in one hand and towing an annoyed-looking girl of five behind her. She took two steps from the door, saw Arvalaeon, and froze in terror, her eyes going wide.

  She went to her knees, dropping her bag in the process, and she forced her daughter to her knees next to her.

  “Mommy?” said the girl. “Why is that man in a black coat? Why…”

  “Hush!” said the woman. “Lord Elf. Forgive my daughter. She…”

  “Go,” said Arvalaeon in a quiet voice.

  The woman grabbed her daughter and sprinted to one of the cars. In her haste, she forgot her paper bag.

  Arvalaeon opened the door and stepped into the coffee shop.

  It was a nice-looking place, for a chain shop, with floor tiles of fake green marble and tables of dark wood, pictures of landscapes hanging on the walls between the wide glass windows. The air smelled of roasted coffee and baked goods, and most of the tables were full. There was a line at the counter, and a troop of harried-looking workers in black polo shirts took orders and prepared drinks.

  A shocked silence fell over the coffee shop as Arvalaeon and I stopped before the counter. Every eye was on Arvalaeon. I couldn’t blame them. He was wearing the black uniform of a Knight of the Inquisition, and the coat of an elven archmage. For such an Elf to show himself in public meant that something bad was about to happen.

  “Good afternoon,” said Arvalaeon. “I require the use of this building for the next hour and a half. Please depart at once.” The patrons shoved to their feet and hastened to the doors. Arvalaeon turned to the employees behind the counter, who stared at him in fear. “You, and you.” He pointed to a man and a woman in turn. “Check the bathrooms to make sure they are empty, and then depart.” He pointed at the teenage girl behind the register. “Please prepare two cups of coffee, black, without cream or sugar.”