Cloak Games: Rebel Fist by Jonathan Moeller

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