Cloak of Shards

By Jonathan Moeller

A destroyed cult. A creature from the Shadowlands on a rampage. And I'm the next target.

I thought I would help the Family of the Shadow Hunters track down a renegade cult of Dark Ones worshippers.

Instead, whatever nightmare the cultists summoned killed them all, and now it's on the run.

If I don't find the creature, a lot of people are going to die.

Starting with everyone I love...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Apr 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005339326

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

Book preview

CLOAK OF SHARDS

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

A destroyed cult. A creature from the Shadowlands on a rampage. And I'm its next target.

I thought I would help the Family of the Shadow Hunters track down a renegade cult of Dark Ones worshippers.

Instead, whatever nightmare the cultists summoned killed them all, and now it's on the run.

If I don't find the creature, a lot of people are going to die.

Starting with everyone I love...

***

Cloak of Shards

Copyright 2022 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Some cover images copyright Illustration 15470082 © Andrei Radzkou | Dreamstime.com & Illustration 79323234 © Bezimeni Bezimenkovic | Dreamstime & Photo 7253353 © Kenny1 | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published April 2022.

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.

***

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***

Chapter 1: Self-Care

I fought for my life beneath a burning sky.

I stood on the main street of a little town, buildings rising on either side of me. The town sat in the center of a valley, wooded hills in the distance in all directions. Cars and trucks were parked along the curbs, the models older and more archaic than anything seen on the roads in Conquest Year 317. A variety of small businesses occupied the buildings – several bars, two land title offices, a small grocery store, an insurance broker. At the end of the street loomed a massive grain elevator, its corrugated metal sides reflecting the yellow-orange light of the sky.

Because the sky was on fire.

A sheet of golden flame covered the heavens, rippling and undulating, casting its strange light across the ground. There was no sky like that anywhere on Earth, the Shadowlands, or any of the other worlds I had visited.

But the sky was the same here every day.

The little town should have been silent.

There was no one else here.

There was never anyone else here but me.

Anyone else human, I should say.

The anthrophages rushed me as I stood in the center of the street.

A dozen of the creatures came from all directions. Anthrophages were sort of shaped like humans, but the resemblance ended there. They had mottled gray hides, black-slit yellow eyes, and black talons that curved from their fingers and toes. A row of spikes rose from their spines, and they didn’t have noses, only triangular black pits in the center of their ugly fang-filled faces. Despite that, they had a far keener sense of smell than humans, and they could track entirely by scent.

They always found me.

I called magic and unleashed destruction. A thumb-sized sphere of flame darted from my hand, a considerable amount of energy packed into a small volume of space. The sphere zipped back and forth, burning tunnels through the anthrophages’ skulls like a drop of molten metal spilled into a sheet cake. Five of the anthrophages fell before my spell ran out of power, but the remaining seven converged on me.

I cast a spell of telekinesis, my mental grip coiling around a streetlamp rising from the sidewalk half a block away. An effort of will, and I hurtled towards it, the spell acting as a lever and the streetlamp like a fulcrum. I leaped onto the curb and caught my balance, my shoes scraping against the sidewalk.

The seven anthrophages pursued, and I cast another spell. Fire blazed to life around my clenched hands. The fireball arced from my fingers, brighter than even the glare of the sky, and it struck the asphalt in front of the anthrophages.

The blast of fire engulfed the street, and the anthrophages disappeared into the flames. Three of them fell to the ground, wreathed in elemental fire, and would never rise again. Four caught fire but kept coming, the stink of their burned flesh filling my nostrils. I called magical power, shaped another fire sphere, and sent it zipping forward. It darted back and forth, burning tunnels through the anthrophages’ skulls, and the final creatures fell dead to the ground.

For a moment, I was clear.

But it wouldn’t last for long. Creatures of the Shadowlands filled this empty town, and they were hunting me. Before too much longer, they would encircle me, and I couldn’t fight that many at once.

Riordan. I had to find Riordan.

My eyes settled on a three-story building of red brick. A bar occupied the first floor, with two levels of apartments above. I focused my will and cast a spell, creating a telekinetic grip on the corner of the low wall that encircled the building’s flat roof. I pulled on the grip, and I shot through the air. I seized the edge of the low wall, rolled over it, and pulled myself onto the rooftop, tar paper rasping beneath my running shoes.

I couldn’t stay here long. Staying in one place was a great way to get killed. Or I would get trapped in the building when the creatures tried to swarm me. Or the fighting would breach the water heater in the basement and ignite the gas line, the building would explode, and I would burn to death.

It had happened before.

Many, many times.

But I had a good vantage point, and I looked around the town. It filled most of the little valley between the wooded hills, with a gleaming metal grain elevator on one end of the main street. A small grid of streets stretched off on either side, houses lining them. The town, at most, could only have held a thousand people.

I knew the town well. I knew everything about it, the layout of every house, where the chokepoints were, where the best places to set an ambush were, and the worst places to be attacked.

I had been here for such a long time now.

A massive cathedral that looked like something out of an ancient European capital rose on the far side of the town. It was huge and sprawling and Gothic and completely out of place in a small rural American town. It was also the way out. I had been trying for such a long time to get out, but I couldn’t quite manage it.

Riordan was on the other side.

I had to get to him.

I took a step forward, intending to use a telekinetic spell to jump off the roof, and the world changed.

The town was gone.

Instead, I was in a burning hallway, doors lining the walls, flames rolling along the ceiling. It was the building in Manhattan where Riordan had his condo. I hurried down the hallway, the smoke stinging my nose and eyes as I scanned the door numbers. The wrong floor, I was on the wrong floor. I needed to go higher. Using the elevator during a fire was stupid, so I ran faster and came to the emergency stairwell.

The door was jammed, but a blast of telekinetic force ripped it off its hinges and sent it clattering against the concrete landing.

The soldiers were waiting for me.

A half-dozen of them, with pale, hairless faces and blue lips. They all had the same face because they were clones of the same man. Of course, they weren’t really human themselves – they had human bodies, but computers instead of brains, and hyper-oxygenated blue slime instead of blood.

Singularity’s custom-grown, programmable soldiers.

They wore tactical armor and black fatigues, and they carried blaster rifles, which swung towards me.

But I was ready for their attack.

I had my Shield spell up before they started shooting. Their blaster bolts hammered into it, but my will held. I killed the first two clone soldiers with a flick of my wrist, a sphere of elemental flame darting from my hand and drilling through their skulls. The smell of burned flesh came to my nose, but also charred electronics and heated metal. The clones didn’t have brains inside their heads but computer parts suspended in that blue slime that served as their blood.

The remaining four soldiers kept firing, and I cast another spell as I held my Shield in place. Lightning globes whirled to life around my free hand, and a volley of seven globes shrieked through the air. The impact killed the nearest Rampton clone and shocked the other three. Before they could recover, I called another fire sphere, and it burned out the inside of their skulls.

The smell of charred flesh and burned electronics filled the stairwell.

I ignored the corpses and raced up the concrete stairs, my breath sawing against my raw throat.

Riordan, I had to find Riordan.

I kicked open the door to the top floor of the building and sprinted down the corridor. The smoke was starting to sting my eyes, and I think the fire had gotten inside the walls. At last, I came to the door to our condo, and I shoved it open.

Except I found myself on the roof of the building, and I looked around to see Manhattan in flames.

The city was burning, the skyscrapers transformed into pillars of flame, the sky angry and red. Great black plumes of smoke rose from the wreckage.

Ashes and bones, the High Queen had told me. You will help me prevent human civilization from falling to ashes and bones.

We had failed.

I saw the hordes coming for me.

The creatures of the Shadowlands poured through the streets, converging on the building. Anthrophages, thousands of anthrophages. Wraithwolves and bloodrats and maelogaunts. Cytospawn soared through the air, looking like giant floating jellyfish made out of bloodshot eyes, barbed tentacles trailing from their bodies.

They were all coming for me.

Come on! I screamed, calling magic. Fire and lightning danced around my fingers as power surged through me. Come on, you assholes! Come and get some!

The anthrophages swarmed up the side of the building like a tide of ants, and I summoned as much magic as my mind could contain, getting ready to blast them back into the street…

Nadia.

Where had that voice come from?

Nadia!

Something hard and warm closed around my wrist, and my eyes popped open.

I had no idea where I was or what I was doing.

I was sitting in a comfortable leather chair. A low roar filled my ears, the floor vibrating a little beneath my steel-toed boots. To my left was a small window that showed the landscape far, far below, a few puffy white clouds floating between us and the earth.

A plane, I was on a plane.

Specifically, I was on a private jet owned by a company called Executive Speed that catered to rich jerks who needed to get around the country in a hurry. But since Executive Speed was a shell company owned by Her Majesty the High Queen, her shadow agents could use the private jets when necessary.

A man sat across from me, leaning forward, his right hand holding my left wrist. He looked about forty, maybe upper thirties, with cold blue eyes and black hair starting to go gray at the temples. He wore black tactical fatigues and smelled a bit of smoke. There was a coiled tension to him, as if he could explode into violent motion in the blink of an eye.

For a confused second, I did not recognize him, and I thought I was still in the dream, that anthrophages were about to burst out of the cockpit and the bathroom, and I would have kill them all.

Nadia, said the man.

Neil Freeman, that was it. That was his name.

Let go of my goddamn wrist, I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. The anthrophages, they might…

Neil’s calm expression didn’t change. Only if you don’t blast a hole in the side of the plane.

I blinked and looked at my left hand. Flickers of elemental flame danced around my fingers. I was holding my magic ready, the power to work deadly spells.

You fell asleep once we were over the Dakotas, said Neil, and you started thrashing and snarling. Figured you were having a nightmare, but then it looked like you were going to start casting spells in your sleep. If you rip a hole in the cabin at this altitude, we’re all going to die. Given what we just lived through, that would be a pretty stupid way to get killed.

I stared at him, embarrassment and alarmed chagrin filling my mind as I realized what had just happened. Sometimes when I had a bad nightmare, I started drawing magic into my mind. I awoke spiked on adrenaline and ready to fight, and if I didn’t get myself under control right away, I could damage something or hurt somebody.

But there hadn’t been one of the really bad nightmares for almost a year now.

Of course, I had been with Riordan for most of that year until he had gone to the UK to hunt down Dark Ones cultists and I had gone to Miami to steal a dagger.

I released the power, and flames vanished from my fingers.

Let go of my wrist, I said, calmer this time. I pushed a little against his grip. That was useless – it was like I had a hand-shaped iron shackle around my wrist. I had seen him punch through concrete with that cybernetic arm.

Are you going to blow up the plane? said Neil.

I wanted to glare at him, but he had a point. You know, I’d really rather not.

Neil stared at me for another few seconds and then nodded, released my wrist, and leaned back into his own chair. He pressed the call button and one of the stewardesses emerged from the front of the plane. I don’t know why a private jet with only two passengers needed two flight attendants, but I guess it was part of the luxury service that Executive Speed offered. The attendant was a tall blond woman in a blue skirt, blue jacket with gold buttons, and a white blouse. I felt bad that she had to work in heels that high, but maybe attractive flight attendants were also part of the luxury services.

Had I been in a better mood, I would have made a bet with myself on whether or not Neil would sleep with one of the attendants before the plane landed. They certainly seemed to light up around him, more than necessary for their jobs. He seemed to have that effect on women in general, though it didn’t work on me. Maybe because I was married to a Shadow Hunter, or maybe because Neil had tried to kill me a bunch of times the first day we met.

Granted, it hadn’t been his fault, but, you know. I don’t enjoy getting shot at.

We’ll take some lunch, please, said Neil. The club sandwich with the chips and soup. Also some wine.

Coffee for me, I said. Neil started to speak. Alcohol’s a bad idea. Coffee.

Of course, said the stewardess. That will be right up.

She smiled again, more at Neil than at me, and disappeared back into the front of the plane.

I won’t insist on the wine, said Neil, but you need to eat.

Or what? I said. Gonna shove it down my throat?

To the best of my knowledge, you didn’t eat today, said Neil, and I don’t think you ate anything yesterday, either. He paused. And yesterday was busy.

Man, he wasn’t wrong about that.

And he wasn’t wrong about the food, either. I had just sort of…forgotten. We had been fighting for our lives for most of yesterday. There had been more important things to think about than lunch. I had a headache and felt unfocused, which were common symptoms of low blood sugar. There was also the fact that violence tended to make me think about the Eternity Crucible, which upset my stomach, which then made me forget about eating since there were more immediate things to demand my attention, such as violence.

There had been a lot of violence yesterday.

And Riordan hadn’t been there to remind me to eat lunch.

Fine, I said, as if making a concession. I’ll eat a damn sandwich. Happy?

If it keeps you from crashing the plane, I’m ecstatic, said Neil. You often have bad dreams that make you blow things up? Mr. MacCormac must be a brave man to sleep next to you.

I gave him an irritated glare, but there wasn’t much force behind it. I was starting to feel bad about the whole thing. The fact of the matter was that Neil was right. I could have killed everyone aboard the plane, myself included, without even realizing it. Riordan was good at talking me down after the nightmares, but I hadn’t seen my husband for almost a month.

It was starting to wear on me.

I don’t want to talk about it, I said.

Neil only nodded.

I had a bad day once, I said, staring out the window. One that had lasted for a hundred and fifty years. It comes back around in my head sometimes.

I have to admit, said Neil, that I don’t really have that problem.

No, I suppose not. I looked away from the window. Neil remained in his seat, perfectly at ease. You don’t ever wake up in the middle of the night and start punching things?

If I do, I don’t remember it, said Neil, and no one I’ve been in bed with over the last year has complained about night terrors.

Yes, that’s right, I said. I forgot that there are so many witnesses.

Neil only smirked at that.

The stewardess returned with a metal cart. I unfolded my seat tray, and she put a plate, a cup of coffee, and a cup of soup before me. The club sandwich had ham, turkey, and bacon, and the fries were golden-brown and speckled with small green flakes – cilantro, I thought. It smelled amazing, and suddenly a painful cramp went through my stomach.

Huh. Guess that I really was hungry.

I swallowed a spoonful of soup and followed it up with some fries. That’s actually really good.

The benefit of traveling on Her Majesty’s dollar, said Neil. Trust me, the food on commercial airlines isn’t nearly as good. You’re lucky if you get a packet of stale biscuits and half a can of soda.

I didn’t respond, partly because I had never flown commercial. Back in the bad old days, stealing stuff for Morvilind, I had tried to move as anonymously as possible. Since you needed to show ID for planes, that meant I had spent a lot of time driving.

Also, I was too busy eating just then.

Guess you really were hungry, said Neil.

I gave him the middle finger and then picked up more fries. Neil laughed and kept eating.

I had just about finished eating when the stewardess reappeared to say we were forty-five minutes out from Milwaukee. Guess I had been asleep longer than I had thought.

How long do you need in Milwaukee? said Neil once the stewardess had taken his plate.

Not long. I swallowed my last bite of the sandwich. A couple of hours. I need to get some more equipment from my house. I assume it’s harder to get guns in the UK than it is in the US? Neil nodded. I’ll head home, load up a few more trunks, and come back to the airport. Say…three hours?

I felt a pang of regret at the thought. I hadn’t been to see Russell and the Marneys since I had left for Florida to steal that dagger from Duke Curantar. I really would have liked to have taken a few days to stay in Milwaukee, to visit Russell and see how Moran Imports was doing. It was Russell’s company, but I had put a lot of work into it, and the business was still growing like a weed.

Three hours, then, said Neil. Executive Speed has already got out next flight lined up. We’ll fly to New York, change planes, and…

A cell phone started ringing.

I had never heard the ringtone before, and it took a second for my brain to realize that it was coming from my phone. Specifically, the burner phone that I used to communicate with Riordan since I had left for Florida a few weeks ago. But we had only ever sent text messages, never voice, since voice was too easy to tap into, and we could keep things vague in text messages.

But if he was calling me…

Something was wrong.

***

Chapter 2: Flying Commercial

Hello? I said.

I had an awful premonition that it wouldn’t be Riordan on the other end of the call, that it would be Nora or Alex Matheson or one of the other Shadow Hunters who had gone to the UK, calling to tell me that Riordan had been hurt or killed.

Nadia? It was Riordan’s voice, deep and quiet, with the faint overlay of a Texas twang.

I felt relief. He was okay.

But he wouldn’t be calling me without a good reason.

Yeah, it’s me, I said. Everything okay?

For the moment, said Riordan. Hang on for a second. I’m going to put you on a scrambler. The passkey will be the date we got married.

A scrambler was a highly illegal device that encrypted a phone call. Without the passkey, the call would sound like a series of high-pitched, squealing tones. The passkey decrypted the noise, and if you generated a unique key for each call, it was theoretically unbreakable. Except if you used a scrambler repeatedly on the same line, it would draw the attention of the Inquisition.

Whatever the reason Riordan was calling, it was important enough to risk using a scrambler…and dangerous enough that he didn’t want anyone listening in.

I heard a click on the other line, followed by a hum. The speaker erupted into an irritating squeal, and I took the phone away from my ear.

Neil had watched me throughout the entire conversation. Trouble?

Probably, I said.

I punched our wedding date into the phone’s keypad – August 15th, Conquest Year 316 – and lifted it back to my ear. The electronic squeal stopped, followed by that low hum. The hum dwindled to background noise. I think Riordan was in a car.

I’m here, I said. What’s going on?

Are you anywhere near Milwaukee? said Riordan.

I’m on a private jet about forty-five minutes from the airport, I said. The plan is to head to New York and then to the UK to meet you.

Riordan let out a breath. I think we’re going to have to meet you at Milwaukee.

What? That didn’t make any sense. Riordan and the other Shadow Hunters had gone to the UK to hunt down a Dark Ones cult that had been operating out of Manchester. Why would they suddenly come to Milwaukee?

Maybe you should start from the beginning, I said.

We finally tracked down the location of the cult last night, said Riordan. Turns out they had been operating out of the understructure beneath the Manchester council hall. Five of the city councilmen were members.

Jeez.

We entered the building to take them down, but they were already dead, said Riordan.

I frowned. They committed suicide rather than let you kill them? Neil raised a single eyebrow. I was kind of annoyed that he was listening in, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it short of locking myself in the bathroom, and anyway, the High Queen had sent us both to help the Shadow Hunters.

No, said Riordan. They had been performing a ceremony to summon a Dark One and offer a sacrifice to it – a prostitute they kidnapped from elsewhere in the city. I don’t know what they actually called up, but it killed the prostitute and the entire cult.

The Dark One killed all of them? I said. That seems uncharacteristic. Dark Ones were basically malevolent creatures from another dimension that fed off life force. But they weren’t stupid, and they usually preferred subversion and corruption to active conquest. It made no sense for a Dark One to kill off its cult of worshippers since the cultists would keep bringing it sacrificial victims to eat.

They didn’t summon a Dark One, said Riordan. Whatever they called up killed them, and then it went into the city.

Oh.

That wasn’t good.

It can take human form, whatever it is, said Riordan. It stole a car and drove to London. By the time we tracked it from Manchester to London, it was on a plane heading to New York. We’re about to board a plane ourselves, and some of our friends in the airlines have finally been able to track it down. It’s flying on EC Airlines Flight 997 to Milwaukee under the name Simon Cortazar, and the plane’s going to land at Mitchell International in another thirty minutes.

Okay, I said. This Cortazar guy, whatever the hell he is, did he kill anyone on the flight from London to New York?

No, said Riordan. But whoever or whatever he is…he’s extremely dangerous. We could try to warn the Milwaukee police ourselves…

But I’m acquainted with the Milwaukee chief of police, I said, and I can get ahold of him faster.

Yes. I think you should warn Owen Quell. I think you should warn him right now. Riordan let out a breath. This thing, whatever it is, wiped out an entire cult of Dark Ones worshippers. I don’t think it killed them out of a sense of civic responsibility.

All right, I said. I dug out my main phone and powered it on. How was the cult killed? I mean, were they eaten, did they have their heads ripped off…

Stabbed, said Riordan. All twenty-three of them. Directly in the heart by a small blade. Death would have been nearly instantaneous.

Okay.

That was weird.

Creatures from the Shadowlands were lethal, but they didn’t tend to be precision killers like that. An anthrophage or a wraithwolf could kill you stone dead, but it was messy. You ended up pinned on the ground, screaming and thrashing as they ripped open your stomach and started pulling all the bits out…

Nadia?

The memory had locked my brain up for a second.

Stabbed, I said, forcing the dark memories back.

Neil blinked, once.

Yes, said Riordan. From the way the bodies fell, we think it killed the entire cult almost simultaneously.

Jeez.

If you can reach him, I think you should call Quell immediately, said Riordan. That was going to be my next call if I couldn’t get in touch with you. If this thing is still on the plane, it’s about to land in Milwaukee, and a lot of people could be in danger.

Yeah, I’ll do it right now, I said. My main phone finished booting up. I had kept it off since cell phones were too easy to track if you had access to the call metadata. Which, if you had high enough access to UNICORN, was simple to find.

We’re almost to the airport, said Riordan. I’ll text you as soon as I know the details. I’m sorry I have to dump this on you unexpectedly.

No, it’s all right, I said. EC Airlines Flight 997? I’ll call Quell right now.

Thank you, said Riordan. One way or another, I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, Nadia.

I felt better hearing those words. I always did.

I love you, too, I said, ending the call.

I lowered the burner phone from my ear.

Trouble, I take it? said Neil.

Yeah, I said. I assumed he had overhead most of it, but I told