Cloak Games: Rebel Fist (10 page)

The Ducal Mall was not a militarily valuable target, but the Archons and the Rebels had attacked it anyway. Still, Lydia nodded, and I kept quiet. If Russell kept her from having a breakdown until we got her to her family, all the better. 

“All right, kids,” I said. “We’re heading for Lydia’s house. Russell, keep your eyes open. Lydia, you too. If you see any orcs or Archons or anything that looks suspicious, let me know.” 

Russell nodded and propped the barrel of his AK-47 on the window, his hand resting on the safety. I took another look around, oriented myself, and headed for Lydia’s house.

###

It was the single most surreal drive I had ever taken through Milwaukee. Some of the streets were deserted, as if Milwaukee and its suburbs had turned into a ghost town. I glimpsed people behind closed windows and pulled shutters, watching us as we drove past. Given that the car had been shot to hell and back, I couldn’t blame them for watching us with fear.

Some neighborhoods had been closed off with barricades, and companies of Homeland Security officers or veteran men-at-arms manned the defenses, weapons in hand. I briefly considered stopping at one of the fortified enclaves, or at dropping Lydia off there and driving on, but decided against it. For one thing, those fortified enclaves would make excellent targets for the Archons and their pet orcs. For that matter, if the orcs attacked in force, I would almost certainly have to use magic to survive, and those Homeland Security officers and veteran men-at-arms would shoot me dead on the spot if they realized what kind of magic I could employ. 

The wisdom of that became apparent about five minutes later.

“Helicopter,” said Russell, pointing up. I risked a glanced to the side and saw a blue-painted helicopter with the silver eagle insignia of Homeland Security flying over the rooftops several blocks away. It was an attack chopper, with machine guns under its chin and racks of missiles bolted to its sides. I wondered if it was heading towards the mall. Or maybe the Archons had opened another rift way nearby...

I saw a flash of light, and something shot skyward, leaving a trail of white vapor in its wake.

A missile.

The Homeland Security helicopter never had a chance. The pilot started to evade, but the missile slammed into the side of the cabin. There was a roar and a fireball, and the helicopter ripped itself apart. Lydia shrieked and lifted her hands to her mouth. 

“God help us,” said Russell in a quiet voice.

“Well,” I said. “Guess we’re not going that way.”

A few blocks later we came within sight of a battle. A band of orcish soldiers had seized a street, exchanging fire with the ragged remnants of a Homeland Security battalion. The Homeland Security officers had taken the worse of the exchange, retreating before the better-armed and more ferocious orcs. Some of the orcs had drawn close enough for hand-to-hand combat, wielding those huge battle-axes that had crippled James Marney. I slammed on the gas and got the hell out of there before either side could take notice of us, or a stray round could cripple the dying Charioteer. 

Because of all the fighting and other obstacles, it took ninety minutes to reach Lydia’s house, and it was almost five in the afternoon by the time we arrived.

I eased the Charioteer down a narrow street lined with little three-bedroom houses, the sort of places veterans preferred to buy after completing a term of service with an Elven lord. At many of the houses I saw activity, men and women holding shotguns and rifles and standing guard upon their porches. 

“Russell,” I said. “Put the AK-47 down. Don’t want them to think we’re Rebel sympathizers or something.”

“Good point,” said Russell, sliding the gun back as the Charioteer coughed. 

“There,” said Lydia, pointing at one of the houses. It looked cheerful, with white paint and blue trim on the windows, the lawn close-cropped and the leaves raked. The mailbox on the curb had the name VALBORGS written upon the side. Lydia Valborg? Well, she did look Swedish. “That’s my house.”

I pulled into the narrow driveway. “Better get out first. I’d prefer not to get shot.”

Lydia nodded and tried to open the door. The handle was stuck, so she swung back onto the seat, drew back her legs, and kicked a few times until the door popped open with a shriek. She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the porch. I eased myself out of the Charioteer, more bits of glass falling off my jeans, the AK-47 dangling from its strap on my shoulder. I didn’t want to startle Lydia’s family, but with orcish soldiers running through the streets, there was no way I was going put the weapon down. Russell followed suit, looking around.

Lydia had maybe gotten three steps when the front door of the house burst open, and a woman in her late thirties or early forties erupted from the house with a shriek. My hand twitched towards the gun’s trigger, but the woman ran towards Lydia, arms outstretched. She looked so much like an older version of Lydia that she had to be the girl’s mother. 

“Oh my God,” said the woman, catching Lydia in a tight hug, “oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I was so scared, I thought you were dead…” 

The door opened again, and two men came out. One was blond and grizzled-looking, about forty-five or so. The second had to be at least seventy, but seemed in good health. Both men wore gray coveralls with the logo of Baronial HVAC, and carried shotguns. Unless I missed my guess, they were Lydia’s father and grandfather. 

“How…how did you get away?” said Mrs. Valborg, stepping back from her daughter, though she kept both hands on Lydia’s shoulders. “We heard the Rebels blew up the Ducal Mall, and I was so frightened…”

Lydia sniffled, rubbing her eyes, and looked at Russell and me. 

“I know you,” said Mrs. Valborg. “You’re…one of Lydia’s classmates, aren’t you? Russell Moran?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Russell. “This is my sister Nadia. We were at the mall when the orcs attacked, so when we ran we took Lydia with us.” 

“Those guns,” said the old man, his voice a gravelly rasp. “Those are Russian guns. The Archons give them to their orcish dogs.”

“Yep,” I said. I wanted to get out of here and check on the Marneys, and I didn’t want to waste time talking with Lydia’s family. 

“Where’d you get those guns, missy?” said the old man, stepping closer, the shotgun loose and easy in his hands. He looked formidable, probably the way some old Viking king would have looked in ancient days, but I had seen scarier things than an old man with a gun, and I met his blue gaze without flinching. 

That seemed to please him, and he inclined his head a little. 

“From the Archons’ orcish soldiers,” I said in a quiet voice. The cut on my temple throbbed, though given that I could have been hurt much worse, I couldn’t complain. “Surprised one, killed him, and took his gun. Shot our way free, stole a car, and drove here to drop Lydia off.”

The old man grunted. “All by yourself?” 

“Well,” I said. “Russell shot one of the orcs when he caught me off guard.”

“That true, son?” said the old man, glancing at Russell.

“It is, sir,” said Russell.

“We ran over a bunch of orcs, Grandpa,” said Lydia. “They were shooting at us in the car.” 

The old man raised one eyebrow. “You ran over an orc?”

“Just the one,” I said. “I clipped another and skidded into a couple more. I sort of lost count. It’s been a really long day.”

He snorted. “I can imagine. Well, Miss Moran, Russell, you have my thanks for saving my granddaughter. My name is Hakon Valborg. This is my son Lukas and his wife Charlotte.” Lukas offered me a nod. I got the impression Lydia’s father was not the verbose type. “Thank you for returning Lydia to us.” 

“It was our pleasure, sir,” said Russell.

It really hadn’t been, but I didn’t want to start a fight. 

“It was very nice to meet you,” I said, turning towards the idling car, “and maybe we can get together sometime for barbecue or something. But we need to…”

Right about then two things happened.

First, the rumble of a distant explosion rolled over the city. Everyone looked towards the south, a small fireball rising over the horizon. 

Second, pain exploded through me.

My knees buckled, and I seized the open driver’s side door to keep standing. Every muscle in my body wanted to clench at once, and my stomach twisted with nausea as twin spikes of pain stabbed into my temples. 

No, no, no. Not now! Not now, damn it! It was Morvilind’s summoning spell. The vial of heart’s blood he had taken from me let him find me anywhere in the world. He typically used the spell to find me and summon me to his side when he wanted something done. Why now? What could he possibly need from me in the middle of an Archon attack?

Then, all at once, the pain cut off, and I felt fine.

I blinked in surprise. That hadn’t been a summons. It had been a divination. Morvilind had been determining my location, but he hadn’t summoned me. 

I started to make an excuse for my stumble, but I realized that no one was looking at me. I also realized that Hakon held his right hand before him, palm up, and a little sphere of bright fire danced over his fingers. 

He was a wizard. He was a human wizard living openly, which meant he was a veteran of the Wizards’ Legion, the human wizards trained to fight for the High Queen. If I used a spell in front of him, he would either kill me or turn me over to the Inquisition. Or, worse, if he had sensed Morvilind’s detection spell…

“What was that?” said Charlotte in a quiet voice. 

“Bomb, most likely,” said Lukas. “Big one. Probably a truck loaded up with fertilizer. Looks like it was near the freeway.”

“Rebels probably took out the onramp,” said Hakon. He shook his hand and dismissed the ball of fire. 

“Charlotte,” said Lukas. He squeezed his wife’s hand where it rested against his daughter’s shoulder. “Go down to the safe room in the cellar.”

Charlotte nodded. “Come on, Lydia.”

“Russell,” said Lydia, looking at my brother. “Thank you for coming for me.” 

A flash of juvenile irritation went through me. I had done most of the work of saving her life. On the other hand, I didn’t care what Lydia thought of me, but Russell cared of what she thought of him. 

And…really, Russell was the one who had saved her life, not me. I would have left her behind. If Russell hadn’t reminded me of her after I killed that Archon, I would have forgotten about her. Even if I had remembered her, if Russell hadn’t convinced me to take her with us, I would have been content to leave Lydia behind, and the Rebels would have taken her and turned her into a drugged slave…and that did not trouble me at all.

It should have troubled me, but it didn’t.

A flicker of self-loathing went through me. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a good person, not even remotely. 

Yeah, Russell deserved the thanks. Not me. 

“You are welcome,” said Russell. Lydia gave him a tentative smile, and Charlotte actually hugged him. Then mother and daughter disappeared into the house. 

“Miss Moran,” said Hakon. “Are you of age?”

“I’m twenty,” I said. 

The old wizard nodded. “I have no authority over you, so you may do as you wish. Yet you are welcome to stay with us. Our house is well-provisioned for an emergency, and my son and I both know how to handle weapons. If one of the treasonous Archons shows his face, I can deal with him.” 

“You were in the Wizards’ Legion, weren’t you?” I said. 

Hakon nodded. “For decades. Even faced the Archons a few times in the Shadowlands. Bullets don’t work on them, but magic does, and an Archon traitor burns just as quickly as a human.”

It was a tempting offer. Both Hakon and Lukas looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight. If another Archon showed up, Hakon’s magic would prove invaluable, and unlike me, he could use his spells openly. Yet I thought of James and Lucy. Their house was only a few miles from here, and they would be desperately worried. For that matter, if the Archons opened another rift way near their home, they would have to fight. 

They might need my help…and I owed the Marneys a lot for taking care of Russell all these years, for housing him and feeding him and raising him as if he was their son while I did all those illegal little errands for Morvilind. I wasn’t going to let Rebel psychopaths, bloodthirsty orcs, or smirking Archons bring them to harm. 

“I can’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind staying here and watching you blow up orcs, but I’ve got people I need to look after.” 

Hakon nodded. “Commendable.” He stared at me for a moment. “You have hard eyes for such a young woman.”

I shrugged. “It’s been a hard kind of day.”

“What do you do for a living?” said Hakon.

“Computer programmer,” I said.

“A programmer,” said Hakon. “Yes, I am sure.” I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. “Miss Moran, Russell, you are both welcome here at any time. Thank you for looking after Lydia.” 

“We were glad to do it, sir,” said Russell. Well, he had been, anyway. 

“Come on, Russell,” I said. “Time to go home.”

“Get home as quickly as you can,” said Lukas. 

Hakon nodded. “Duke Tamirlas will be rallying his men-at-arms, gathering veterans and Homeland Security as quickly as he can. The streets will soon be more dangerous than they already are. Stay inside if possible.”

“I will,” I said. A dozen smart remarks flitted about in my head, but for once I suppressed them. The old wizard did not seem the kind of man to trifle with…and a man who lived to advanced age after serving in the Wizards’ Legion had to be formidable.

“God go with you,” said Hakon. 

“Well, he’s seen us this far,” said Russell. 

I nodded, brushed some more chunks of glass off the seat, and dropped into the car. Russell joined me, and I backed into the street and set off, the Charioteer’s engine making unhappy sounds. I didn’t know how much longer the damned thing would last, and I wanted to get back to the Marneys’ house before it died. 

“Can I ask you something?” said Russell, his AK-47 propped against the window.

“Sure,” I said, my eyes on the street.