“No one’s paying attention to us,” Jack answered. “Besides, who cares what side you fought on in the Warlord’s siege? I’m sure you fought well and valiantly, and deserve all the honor and respect accorded veterans of that fierce war.”
“They lynched a fellow over in Pumpside just last month after they discovered he’d served under the Warlord’s banner,” Anders muttered. “He was a carpenter, with a wife and a family, a law-abiding citizen of Raven’s Bluff ever since Jelan’s army broke itself at the Battle of Fire River. Could you imagine what might befall me, given my lack of vocation? I’d be lucky to spend the rest of my days on the prison barges!”
“The sooner you answer my question, the sooner I’ll stop pestering you about it,” Jack observed. “Did you ever meet the Warlord during your time in her service? Do you have any idea of what she looks like?”
“I was only a footsoldier in a mercenary company, Jack. Captain Aeldar was called to the Warlord’s council more than once, but he was the only one of our company who met with her.” Anders chewed on his lip, thinking. “I saw her from a distance on several occasions, riding past with her commanders on whatever business she had at the moment. She wore armor of black, lacquered plate that gleamed like jet in the sunlight. Her helm covered her features.” He laughed nervously. “She could be in this room, and I wouldn’t know it.”
“What do you know about her?”
Anders shrugged. “About as much as anyone in her service, I suppose. Captain Aeldar brought us to her army late in the campaign. We joined her banner only two months before Fire River, so we weren’t with her from the beginning. According to the soldiers who’d served with her longer, she came out of the east three to four years ago at the head of a small band of mercenaries. They said that she recruited men in Narfell and Damara before shifting south to the Impilturan frontier and the Earthfast Mountains. She embarked on a campaign of conquest, hammering tribes of orcs and ogres and giants and other fell creatures into a restless horde under her command. It’s said that she won their allegiance by defeating tribal champions in one-on-one combat and deposing chieftains at the point of her sword.”
“It’s also said that she is ten feet tall and breathes fire,” Jack pointed out.
Anders nodded. “I don’t necessarily rule it out. I’d believe almost anything I heard about the Warlord. Somehow she united tribes that had spent generations killing each other and made them follow her banner. Two springs ago, as the snows melted in the high passes, she led her horde down the valley of the Fire River, marching straight on Raven’s Bluff.”
“Why Raven’s Bluff? Hlammach, Lyrabar or Filur would have been closer. Tsurlagol or Tantras would have been easier targets.”
“She didn’t consult with me, Jack. All I know is that Aeldar marched us all over the Vast keeping up with Jelan’s army.”
“What else?” Jack asked. “Wasn’t she supposed to be immune to magic? I seem to remember stories to that effect.”
“I heard that many Ravenaar mages and priests spent a great deal of time and effort attempting to divine her location and her intentions but failed, and I heard stories from soldiers who’d seen her in battle. They reported that no magic seemed to harm her.” Anders paused, then continued, “You should also keep in mind that I heard stories claiming that Jelan could fly, grow to a giant’s stature, tear the hearts from fallen warriors and devour them raw, and uproot hundred-foot trees with the strength of a titan. Tyr knows who she really was and what she was capable of.”
Jack tugged at his thin stripe of a goatee. He would give a lot to know the truth. Did she still plot the destruction of the city? Or had she decided to pursue her inscrutable goals in some less distasteful manner? For that matter, what were her goals? What did she need the Sarkonagael for? Why did she risk her life by hiding in the very city she had tried to conquer, surrounded by thousands of people who wished her dead?
“It makes no sense,” he sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. “On to less difficult questions. Have you any news to report of Zandria and her intents?”
“She’s preparing to descend into Sarbreen the day after tomorrow at first light,” Anders replied. He drained another gulp of wine, evidently relieved by the change of topic. “Just as you said, friend Jack. She and her company mean to visit the Guilder’s Tomb without troubling us for our assistance.”
“Brilliant, capable, and predictable,” Jack remarked. “That, of course, is the very reason I asked you and Tharzon to watch Zandria’s company night and day. I knew that she would think twice about retaining my services for a share of the loot.”
“So, what’s the plan? Follow her and fall on her band when they lead us to the tomb?”
Jack raised his hand. “No, no, no. Follow her, allow her and her companions to loot the tomb, and then fall on them if need be. First of all, the Guilder’s Tomb may be guarded by all manner of unwholesome guardians and devious traps, so we shall allow Zandria and her stalwarts to take the measure of their strength. Second, if the tomb’s wards claim some of her companions, Zandria may be amenable to a renegotiation of our arrangement.”
Anders grinned. “Ah, so you’ll rob her at swordpoint after she’s spent her strength in forcing the tomb and removing the loot. An excellent plan, Jack.”
“Robbery is such a hard word. I prefer to think of it as encouraging her to generously reconsider our mutual association. After all, I am rather fond of Zandria, and I would hate to have her be sore with me.”
“I am not concerned with how she feels about the situation,” Anders said.
“Ah, but isn’t it better to provide her with an opportunity to purchase our assistance in the event that Sarbreen’s deadly traps and ancient defenses put her company in a bad way?” Jack sipped at his wine. “If the right circumstances develop, friend Anders, she might give us the lion’s share of the loot and feel glad that she had the opportunity to do so. Now that is a plan.”
The Northman furrowed his brow, thinking hard through his intoxication. Anders was one of the most lucid drunks Jack had ever known; no amount of ale or wine ever seemed to fog his wits. “And what if Zandria and her company recover the loot with little trouble? She’ll have no need of us then.”
“In that event,” Jack said, “we’ll consider more direct measures.”
Despite his best efforts, Jack discovered once again that copious amounts of drink drown one’s troubles in only the most transient and misleading manner. Hours of conniving, plotting, and planning with Anders and an imprudent amount of wine developed no certain plans for dealing with Zandria’s expedition and did nothing at all to alleviate Jack’s concerns about his meeting earlier in the evening or his enemies in the Game of Masks. But he did become quite drunk and had a roaring good time when he wasn’t trying to think too hard.
The next morning eluded Jack entirely, as he was unable to dispel the miserable stupor smothering him after the night’s festivities. He rose about two hours past noon and spent most of the next hour dressing slowly and painfully, one article at a time. Eventually he rallied enough to stagger out into the street and purchase bread, cheese, and a half-dozen boiled eggs for his breakfast, after which he felt much better.
“Illyth would undoubtedly say that I deserved my earlier misery,” he mused while he ate, perched under a ramshackle porch in front of the grocer’s shack. “She does not view overindulgence with the good-natured humor one looks for in that sort of situation.” Then Jack sat bolt upright and smacked his hand to his forehead. “Illyth! The Yellow Lord’s tournament is tonight!”
He looked up to the sky; the sun was only two hours short of setting, and the next Game event was only an hour off. In a panic, Jack dashed back to his apartment, dressed quickly in his best clothes, and then hired a coach to drive him out to Fleetwood Manor as fast as he could get there.
After a very anxious half hour for Jack, the carriage turned into the short, shady lane that led to Fleetwood Manor, passing another coach on its way out. He was only
about a quarter hour late in picking up Illyth, which was better than he’d expected when he remembered their date. He was dressed rather casually for the evening, with tight black cannons and a pleated tunic of yellow and maroon. The coach stopped at the ivy-covered manor door; Jack hopped out before it had stopped rolling and took the short flight of steps two at a time.
“Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame for the Lady Illyth,” he told the major domo.
The man didn’t say a word in response. Jack turned on him in some annoyance—after all, he was running late—and found that the manservant was simply staring at him in amazement. The man’s astonishment darkened visibly into suspicion.
“The Lady Illyth left with Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame just a moment ago,” he said, motioning to a pair of house guards nearby. “Who, may I ask, are you?”
“I beg your pardon,” replied Jack. “Did you say that Lady Illyth just left with me?”
The major domo nodded at the coach that had been departing just as Jack arrived. “There she goes. If you are not in that coach, sir, I do not know who is.”
“Nor do I,” said Jack. He dashed back to the coach he’d rented and climbed up beside the driver. “Quickly, man! After that coach!”
The driver, a stout old man with flowing white muttonchops, hesitated just a moment before snapping the reins and shouting. The two-horse team snorted and started off, wheeling the carriage around the drive and out toward the road. Jack could hear sounds of consternation and pursuit behind him, but he ignored them. They thundered down to the end of the lane and turned onto the road, heeling dangerously before finishing the turn.
“Faster!” cried Jack.
“We’re running all out!” the driver replied. “What are we going to do when we catch them?”
“I’m going to jump,” said Jack.
The driver looked aside at him. “You’re daft,” he said.
Jack just motioned him to keep after the coach ahead. They were closing fast; the other coach was rolling along at a quick trot, while Jack’s was bouncing and clattering at a full gallop. Jack stood up on the coachman’s seat, balancing easily atop the jolting carriage. The road wasn’t wide enough to allow two coaches abreast, so he’d have to jump from behind. Fortunately, he knew a jumping spell that would work—as long as he didn’t misjudge his leap and sprawl in the road in front of his own coach.
“Be ready to rein in when I jump,” he told the driver. “I’m going to stop the other coach if I can.”
The horses in Jack’s team raced up behind the other coach, slowing only as the animals realized that the rolling obstacle in front of them was not going to get out of their way. At that moment, Jack worked the spell and leaped forward, sailing clear over his own team and alighting with a thump on the roof of Illyth’s carriage. He dropped into the coachman’s seat and shoved the other driver off the bench without ceremony. The man grunted in surprise and tumbled off into the ditch at the side of the road, rolling over and over. Jack seized the reins and hauled back, slowing the team. Then he vaulted to the ground and yanked open the carriage door.
Illyth screamed. Jack stood dumbfounded, staring into his own face. A short, wiry man dressed in black and gold ceased an assault on Illyth to leap out of the coach, knocking Jack flat. Jack scrambled to his feet as Illyth hurriedly covered herself with her torn dress. He turned just in time to get the other Jack’s boot in the center of his chest, hammering him back against the carriage. Jack responded with a spell of magical energy that knocked down his opponent and drew the sword at his side. The other Jack mirrored his movement, drawing his own sword. They circled, looking for an opening.
Jack had a long moment to study his opponent. The other Jack was his identical twin, except there seemed to be a dark cast to his features, a hint of dusky gray that didn’t show in the shadows but became clear when the other Jack happened to step into the long, slanting rays of sunlight from the setting sun. Jack shook his head in disbelief.
“Sir, you seem to have borrowed my features and my date. Who are you, and what offense have I offered you?”
The shadow Jack grinned an idiot’s grin and leaped forward, stabbing murderously here and there with his blade. Jack yelped and dodged, parrying the attacks as best he could while he gave ground, circling behind the coach. The other fellow didn’t have a great amount of skill, but he was blindingly fast and exceedingly agile, leaping and jumping with the energy of a madman as he slashed and stabbed.
“Jack! What in the world is going on here?” Illyth appeared behind the shadow Jack, still holding up her dress with one hand. “Who—?” The noblewoman halted in amazement, watching the duel between Jack and his twin.
“Illyth, get back!” Jack cried.
He met a high swing by ducking under it, then rolled to one side to avoid a follow-up thrust that would have gutted him had he been a hair slower. He responded with a couple of wicked jabs in the general vicinity of the shadow Jack’s midsection, but his evil clone merely rolled aside. They exchanged another blinding pass of swordplay in which neither could penetrate the defenses of the other, and then sprang apart.
“Insolent mimic!” Jack snarled. “Who are you? Why do you steal my likeness?”
The shadow Jack merely grinned and worked a spell of invisibility, vanishing from sight.
“He can do that?” Jack asked in amazement. He worked the same spell and vanished likewise, stepping softly away from the last place he’d stood. Matching him in physical skill and agility was one thing; that made the shadow Jack a dangerous adversary, but one that Jack could defeat. But if the shadow-clone actually shared all of his abilities, all of his knowledge, all of his magical strength, Jack couldn’t imagine how he could beat the fellow.
Illyth whirled, looking for some sign of either one. “Jaer Kell Wildhame, if you’ve left me standing in the middle of this dusty road with a torn dress and no escort for the Game tonight, I am going to be quite upset. I demand an explanation!”
The dusty road! Jack smiled and froze in place, looking carefully at the ground. If his opponent was still moving—there! Stealthy footfalls, right behind Illyth! Jack hurled himself forward and swung his sword in a waist-high arc. His invisibility spell failed as he broke the enchantment by striking out, but he was rewarded with the unexpected clang of steel and a soft resistance to his blow. The rapier wouldn’t cause much of a wound wielded edge first, but droplets of dark blood spattered the earth, and a slim blade appeared in the dirt, skidding to a halt.
“Hah! I have disarmed you, villain!” Jack gloated. He snatched up the other weapon and swung wildly with both blades, groping for contact with his adversary.
Instead his adversary fled. Jack caught sight of a couple of quick footfalls in the dust, and then the brush and branches up on one side of the road rustled violently. Droplets of blood marked his assailant’s trail—but the blood drops lasted only a moment before sizzling away in some strange dark vapor.
“Come back here!” Jack roared. “You have much to answer for, my friend!” He ran a couple of steps in the general direction of his foe’s retreat, swinging aggressively, but there was no sign of the shadow Jack. “Curses!”
“Is he gone?” Illyth asked.
“I’m afraid so. He ran off, as if to mock the character of that noble hero whose likeness he so impudently stole,” Jack said. He leaned against the carriage, suddenly tired beyond belief from the strenuous duel. “Do you have any idea of who that was?”
Illyth rounded on him with a look of such anger and amazement that Jack took a step back. “In the names of all the gods, why should I know who that was? He was your identical twin! Are you telling me that you have no idea why someone who looks exactly like you showed up at my doorstep, ushered me into the coach, and started pawing at me like a lovesick orc?”
Jack shook his head, although he couldn’t shake a very odd sense of guilt over his double’s actions, as if he were somehow responsible for what anyone who looked like him did. “Dear Illyth, I am many things, not al
l of them reputable, but I have never sought to force my attentions on anyone. And I would never do so to one of my dearest friends. I am at a complete loss to explain who that person was or what he was doing.” He paused, and then added, “I am just glad that I was able to drive him off before he did you any harm.”
The noblewoman looked down at her dress. She had to hold it with one hand to cover her bosom. “Who would want to impersonate you? And why would he want to abduct me? What can this possibly mean?”
“I suspect that this stone was aimed at me and not at you. I seem to be collecting enemies at a very unhealthy pace.”
“Which of your enemies would take the trouble to impersonate you so perfectly?” Illyth asked. “Tell me a name, and I’ll see to it that the authorities arrest him. I have some friends in high places, and I want that … that person locked up safely in a cell somewhere.”
Who, indeed? Jack thought for a moment. The House Kuldath? Zandria? Morgath and Saerk didn’t have the means or motive to strike at Illyth, and creating doppelgangers to strike at those close to her rivals simply was not Zandria’s style. The Knights of the Hawk? Marcus and Ashwillow would certainly have nothing to do with such a scheme. Iphegor? Now there was a possibility, although it seemed overly subtle for the necromancer, and Jack couldn’t imagine that even a black-hearted scoundrel like Iphegor would willingly strike at Illyth to get at Jack.
No, what they needed was someone who was anxious to strike at both Jack and Illyth.
“Lord Tiger and Lady Mantis,” Jack said. “I am sure they were behind this. Who else would have reason to strike at both of us together, or to strike at you alone? Somehow they must have determined our identities outside the Game, and they mean to silence you and discredit me.”
“Or to silence you by framing you for rape, murder, or worse,” Illyth added. “It makes sense. Oh, Jack, what should we do? We have to find out who they are so that we can involve the authorities before they try again!”
Jack wasn’t quite so certain that involving the authorities would be a wise move on his part, although he couldn’t fault Illyth for thinking so. Best to move softly and avoid coming forward unless he absolutely had to.
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