Jalana smoothed the folds of her long violet gown and turned back to the other passenger in the wagon, an attendant sitting primly, quietly, on the velvet seats with a leather briefcase on her lap. She looked vaguely familiar, but as ambassador, Jalana had never paid much attention to the staff.
“Looking forward to our arrival in Tyrieth?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Though I’m surprised they let you on the carriage. I arranged for this trip in the utmost secrecy.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I’m on top-secret business.”
Jalana sighed. There was always something secret or classified going on in the embassy. She wanted no part of it. An ambassador, she liked to say, was like a local queen; her job was to be beautiful and attend galas and make everybody love House Tyrieth. The paperwork and debating was for her expansive staff and their underlings. “Well, so long as you keep this a secret. Who knows what they’d do to poor Boots if they knew I still had him?”
She nodded to the gently snoring handbag on the seat next to her. Boots’s NPC papers had been revoked—almost all Shadowkin’s had—in the wake of the mishap in the Baetwolds with the Elven Marbles. Andarun’s Shadowkin started a mass exodus, and soon people started saying you couldn’t trust the ones who stayed behind.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why, he’d probably be hanged by a mob, the brutes. I mean, you can’t trust most Shadowkin, certainly, but my Bootsy couldn’t do a cantrip’s harm. Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I had to pull quite a few strings to get a secret carriage for him and I, you know.” And Jalana didn’t have many strings left to pull. House Tyrieth’s influence wasn’t what it had been after the shameful incident with the Elven Marbles. Kaitha—a former princess of the house!—was said to be among the villains who had betrayed and murdered the Al’Matrans’ high scribe and tried to give the Elven Marbles to the Orcs. And now Jalana’s sister and her fellow vagrants were said to be roaming the countryside like common bandits. It was disgraceful.
She eyed the attendant nervously. Something about the woman seemed untrustworthy. “You won’t tell anyone about our Boots, will you?” she demanded.
“No, ma—”
The carriage jerked to a halt, flinging baggage and women alike around the cabin. Jalana was thrown to the floor, and something heavy landed on top of her. She heard a loud commotion outside. Steel rang on steel. Her guards screamed. There was a blast of heat and light from somewhere. Then everything fell silent.
“Boots?” Jalana pushed herself to her knees and started to ask the attendant what happened but cut her words off with a gasp. The attendant was gone, and in her place was a mirror image of Jalana. The impostor wore a malicious sneer and pointed a silver dagger at Jalana’s throat.
“A doppelganger?” Jalana asked, just as the door burst open.
A ruddy face with a hawkish nose and a scar over the right eye poked through the entryway. “Hello there!” said the Dwarf, the same Dwarf who had visited Jalana’s offices a few months back.
“You—!” said Jalana.
“You’re Gorm Ingerson,” said the impostor, hiding the dagger. “You’re with—”
“My sister,” said Jalana.
“Hey, Jalana,” said Kaitha, poking her head in beside Gorm. “Whoa.”
“Aye, suppose we should have seen it comin’,” said Gorm. “Now, which one of ye fine ladies would be me old friend the Mask?”
“I’m Jalana,” said her impostor. “This … this doppelganger turned into me!”
“Kaitha, what are you doing?” said Jalana, panic rising. “And I’m Jalana.”
“She turned into me!” exclaimed her double. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like that!”
“I … how dare you?” gasped Jalana.
“Burt,” barked Gorm, “care to settle this?”
Boots popped out of his purse, grinning widely and, Jalana was shocked to see, lighting a cigar.
“Boots?” she said.
“Not my real name, thanks,” said Boots, or Burt, or whatever. He gave Jalana a curious sniff. “This is the real one,” he told the Dwarf.
“I’m in your debt again.” Gorm turned his attention to Jalana’s snarling double. “Hello, Mask.”
“I’m Jala—”
“Don’t,” said the Dwarf. “After all these years, I think we owe each other the truth, aye?”
Jalana’s double was breathing heavily, her eyes searching for some avenue of escape.
“I’ll be straight with ye, and maybe ye can do the same. We know ye tipped Johan off about me squire, and that’s what got me recruited. And we’re pretty sure it was ye who delivered the false evidence at the embassy, leadin’ us to the Myrewood. Unless I miss my guess, ye were the arbiter who took our paperwork in Haertswood.”
“I guess you’ve got this all figured out,” snarled Jalana’s double.
“Almost. We still don’t know who’s paying ye. The king and the Temple of Tandos would never dirty their hands. But I know someone is, and I’m bettin’ the secret’s in that briefcase of yours.”
The doppelganger reflexively tightened its grip on the case.
“There’s where our offer comes in,” continued the Dwarf. “After what ye’ve done, I’d be in the right takin’ yer head off here and now. But if ye hand over the case and come quietly, we’ll take ye to the Shadowkin, and they’ll try ye fairly. More fairly than I would, anyway. But I’m only givin’ ye this—”
With a feral hiss, the doppelganger leapt for Jalana, raising its silver dagger. Before Jalana could scream, a massive fist in a black leather glove punched through the window opposite the Dwarf and caught her assailant by the throat. The false Jalana choked and clutched at the hand, her eyeballs bulging and then shifting as her face began to fluctuate between a myriad different people.
“I was hopin’ ye’d pick this way,” said Gorm. “Much more expedient. Gaist.”
The doppelganger was hauled back through the window by the massive weaponsmaster and dragged out of view. His brief scream cut off abruptly with grim certitude.
Jalana paled. “Gods above,” she whispered.
“Ah, lady Jalana.” A man in a bard’s costume, complete with a wide-brimmed hat, leered through the hole in the carriage. “It’s been a pleasure saving you today, but I understand that such unpleasantness can be unsettling to a lady of your delicate sensibilities.”
“Thank ye, Heraldin,” said Gorm.
“If you need anything after this traumatic experience, any comfort whatsoever, I’m willing—”
“Thank you, Heraldin,” said Kaitha, much more firmly.
“As you say,” sighed the bard. “Another time, my sweet,” he told Jalana as he left.
Gorm reached into the wagon and grabbed the briefcase the doppelganger had been holding. He handed it back to the pair of mages, who popped it open and ruffled through the papers inside.
“Receipts, contracts, purchase orders,” said the noctomancer. “We should be able to find what we need.”
“Including an invoice made out for Goldson and Baggs,” said the solamancer.
“Well, fortune must have taken a shine to us. So the only question is, how much did ye know?”
Jalana startled as the Dwarf’s gaze fell back on her. “What?”
“Ye knew we was on the quest. Flinn arranged our meeting with ye. It was the Mask who fed us the tip about the Myrewood, but he did it in your office, without ye knowin’. Leaves a man wondering if ye were in on the scheme.”
“I didn’t … I didn’t know anything!” Jalana felt the panic rising again.
“Oh? Nobody told ye a thing?” said the Dwarf, leaning in.
Tears welled in Jalana’s eyes. “Johan said you might talk of giving the marbles to the Orcs, but to just ignore it. They said we’d definitely get the marbles back. I swear.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I swear!” sob
bed Jalana.
“Good!” beamed Gorm. “I thought as much. Kaitha told me ye wasn’t in on it.”
“You never had the inclination for intrigue,” Kaitha told her.
“Never had the brains for it either,” said Boots, taking a long drag of his cigar. “You got what you wanted, Dwarf? I kept up my end of the bargain.”
“That ye did,” said Gorm. “Come on, Burt. Let’s go.”
The Kobold grabbed a small pouch from the seat and hopped down. “Seeya, Lightling. It’s been fun.”
Jalana could barely comprehend what she was seeing. “Boots? You know these people?”
“Course he does,” said Gorm. “How do ye think we tracked the Mask down?”
“You … you betrayed me?”
“That’s nothing,” called the Kobold, sauntering off. “Wait till you see what I did in your purse.” The mages, the weaponsmaster, and the bard followed the diminutive Shadowkin into the woods.
Jalana’s lip quivered uncontrollably. “But … where will I go?”
“House Tyrieth, I’d imagine,” said Gorm. “Your driver and guards are bound up in the front. Ye should still make it by nightfall.”
“Goodbye, Jalana,” said Kaitha. “Give Mother my regards.”
“Good travels,” said Gorm with a friendly wave. He and Kaitha started after the other adventurers.
A sudden rush of anger welled in Jalana. “Enjoy your victory while you can!” she hollered after them. “Johan the Mighty is coming for you, and the king and the Heroes’ Guild as well. Soon enough you’ll pay for everything you’ve done!”
She regretted her outburst almost immediately. Gorm stopped and turned back to the wagon, wearing a strange grin, or perhaps baring his teeth. “What we’ve done?” he asked softly, walking back to the wagon. “Raiding a wagon here and there? Stopping a professional hero from slaughtering some Shadowkin now and then? Ye think Johan’s worried about that?”
Jalana leaned back in her seat as he approached.
“Ye go back to Andarun,” the Dwarf snarled, fire blazing in his eyes, “and ye tell Johan not to pay any mind to what we’ve done, ’cause it’s a drop in the bucket, ye hear? We’re coming for justice, even if we have to burn the world to get it. And as sure as the north wind blows cold in the winter, nothin’ will stand in our way.”
TO BE CONTINUED IN
THE DARK PROFIT SAGA BOOK II:
ONE ANGRY SON OF A LICHE
###
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J. Zachary Pike was once a basement-dwelling fantasy gamer, but over time he metamorphosed into a basement-dwelling fantasy writer. A web professional and creative-for-hire by day, Zack returns to his lair each night to create animations, films, and books that meld fantasy elements with offbeat humor. A New Englander by birth and by temperament, he writes strangely funny fiction on the seacoast of New Hampshire. Learn more at www.jzacharypike.com.
Map
For a high-resolution map of Arth, please visit www.jzacharypike.com/arth/map/
Glossary
Agekeepers: A sect of esoteric historians who keep and update the official records of Arth. It is the Agekeepers who define when an age begins and ends.
Al’Matra: Technically, the highest-ranked Elven god, as the queen of the pantheon, the All Mother and her followers are really impoverished outcasts. The scriptures say that she went mad after the All Father’s betrayal.
Al’Thadan: Once called the All Father, the high god was once the king of the pantheon. He is said to have been Arth’s greatest defender against the forces of Mannon until he colluded with the Dark Lord during the War of Betrayal in the Third Age. According to the Agekeepers, Al’Thadan was struck down along with all the Sten at the end of the war.
Andarun: Capital of the Freedlands, built in a cleft of Mount Wynspar between the Ridge and the Wall.
Arth: A world much like Earth, but with more magic and fewer vowels.
Bannerman: The bannermen are the town guard, armies, and other armed officials of the Freedlands. Every branch of every civic organization within the Freedlands is required to maintain some number of armed men who may be called to arms when fealty demands it. Each bannerman is loyal to a such a company, which is loyal to a city, which is loyal to Andarun, which is loyal to the Freedlands. In this way, each bannerman serves his country as well as his city-state.
Bugbear: Neither a bug nor a bear, but instead a rather large breed of Demi-gnoll.
Class: Professional Heroes fall into a variety of classes (e.g. warrior, mage) and sub-classes (e.g. swordsman, pyromancer), largely distinguished by the methods they use to kill monsters.
Doppelganger: A widely distrusted race of shapeshifters, widely believed to have been created as infiltrators for Mannon’s armies in the War of Betrayal. Doppelgangers would make ideal diplomats, were they not such ideal spies, double agents, and assassins as well.
Dragon: Great reptiles that command the elements, most famously fire. It is well known that dragons slumber deep beneath the ground atop great mounds of treasure, and it is universally agreed that it’s always best to let sleeping dragons lie.
Drakes: Dragon-kin that are much like full dragons, except smaller, weaker, and nowhere near as smart. Drakes still pose a significant threat, however, especially when encountered in their native element.
Dwarf: Dwarves are shorter than Elves and Humans, but as Dwarves stand almost twice as wide at the shoulder and are famous for violent grudges, it’s generally best not to mention that. Rigid, industrious, and usually stoic, Dwarves live in massive clanhomes dug under the mountains. To the puzzlement of many of the other races of Man, there are no Dwarven women.
Elf: The most enigmatic of the Children of Light have sharp, angular features but flowing, graceful movements. They live in tree huts, where they have accumulated untold wealth. They are immortal and yet innocent, playful yet powerful, whimsical yet wise. Above all, they are infuriating to almost everyone who is not an Elf. Elves all belong to houses, each of which swears fealty to a Great House. Of course, Elven fealty shifts frequently, and so the Elven houses are forever in flux, playing games of intrigue and power.
Elixir: A miraculous healing potion brewed by magical means, elixir or salve can close wounds, restore organs, and even regrow lost limbs if consumed soon enough after an injury. It’s nearly as effective as it is addictive.
The Empire: Usually referred to as the southern Empire or the Desert Empire, the Empire is the remnant of the Empire of Man.
The Empire of Man: An ancient nation that once ruled most of Arth, but was dismantled when the Freedlands and other provinces rose against it.
The Freedlands: The most powerful nation on Arth, the Freedlands is a federation of semi-autonomous city-states. The Freedlands has a small centralized government, ruled by a king set in Andarun, that regulates the powerful guilds, associations, and corporations that do business in all of the Freedlands and beyond.
Fulgen: Fulgen, also called the Underglow or Father Tinderhope, is the Dwarven god of light. He rules over candles in the darkness, purity among corruption, truth amid lies. Among the Dwarves, he is a favorite of miners and heroes.
Giltin: The currency of the Freedlands, long considered the standard for all of Arth. The common symbol is G, a
s in 5G. One giltin is ten silver shillings. One shilling is ten copper cents.
Gnoll: A race of Shadowkin with canine traits, once known as Clan Galden, or the Golden Gnomes. Gnolls were bred for a variety of purposes in the War of Betrayal, and many of these breeds (technically known as Demi-gnolls) are still around today.
Gnome: Gnomes take as many shapes and sizes as the clouds in the sky. While their legends hold that Gnomes once shared a common ancestor, the great Gnomish clans have all become their own sub-races. Be that as it may, it’s proper to refer to any of them as a Gnome, be they a Halfing to a Tinderkin to a Deep Gnome. Said sub-races are often used interchangeably with clan names. All Gnomes stand shorter than most Humans, and most are shorter than Dwarves.
Goblin: A race of Shadowkin that was once the Lost Clans of the Dwarves. Goblins are short, scrawny, potbellied creatures. Their skin is green and clammy, their limbs are spindly and clambering. Goblins excel at little except breeding, at which they are amazing. A handful of Goblins can be a tribe in just a few short years.
Golem: Enchanted automatons created by the Scribkin, golems serve many useful purposes across Arth.
Griffin: It is said that a griffin is a lion with the head, talons, and wings of an eagle, but the Zoological Society of Monchester has determined that a griffin is in actuality a giant eagle with a lion’s butt.
Gremlins: A race of Shadowkin with both feline and lizard-like qualities, once known as Clan Remlon, or Moon Gnomes. Gremlins are known for their inquisitive nature, their mastery of bioengineering, and their tenuous grasp of ethics. Over the centuries, they’ve created a multitude of Gremlin variants, from the acid-spitting Bilebelly Gremlins, to hulking Brute Gremlins, to spry and acrobatic Stablins, and so on. While some scholars have meticulously documented these variants over the years, most people recognize them all as “Gremlins,” and accept a wide degree of “surprises” when dealing with them.
Orconomics: A Satire (The Dark Profit Saga Book 1) Page 37