The City of Ravens

CHAPTER SEVEN

They settled on two of eleven shares for Jack, which was better than he had expected. Zandria's adventuring company included five other full partners, each entitled to a full share. She claimed three shares as the leader of the band. The remaining share was set aside to split between several men-at-arms and specialists retained by the Company of the Red Falcon in order to shore up its numbers for the recovery of a major hoard from the depths of lost Sarbreen. Zandria was willing to assign Jack one share for solving the puzzle, but refused to consider more than that until he promised to share in the company's risks and labors by participating in the expedition.

Even then, Jack thought that the mage agreed too quickly. Upon leaving the company's headquarters, he went straightaway to Anders and Tharzon and began planning the operation by which Zandria's band would be relieved of the burden of managing their newfound wealth. And he also set the Northman to watching Zandria's band night and day, expecting that she would be tempted to use the knowledge he'd provided without actually observing every detail of their agreement. In Jack's experience, a quick assent in any negotiation of this sort meant that the other party had decided they could get what they wanted by more expedient means.

That attended to, he returned to his apartment to prepare for the day's more significant event-the exchange with Elana. He'd been thinking of her more and more frequently as this day approached, until he found himself almost shaking in nervous anticipation as sunset neared. He bathed and dressed with care, selecting clothes that marked him as a serious professional, a man confident in his own abilities, a man who got what he wanted by hard work and hard choices.

Elana was a trained swordswoman, a woman versed in discipline and confidence; she had no patience for fops or dandies, but a fellow thief, daring but not boastful, businesslike but not mercenary… who knew what might happen?

"After all," Jack told himself in the mirror as he shaved, "it would be a matter of common sense to make it as easy as possible for the lady to uphold her end of our arrangement."

Jack dressed in plain black with a padded doublet of glossy leather and well-brushed boots that matched handsomely. He disdained any flamboyance, covering his head with a simple cap and sheathing both rapier and poignard on his left hip in the Vilhonese style. Then he disarmed the numerous traps he'd set over the Sarkonagael's hiding place, wrapped the heavy tome in plain burlap, and stuffed the whole thing into a leather pouch secured to his shoulder.

He sallied forth an hour after sunset, turning up his face to the fine mist that hung in the air. More spring rain-a sign of turbulent weather to come. Yellow lanternlight gleamed on the wet cobblestones, and Burnt Gables was quiet save for the occasional carriage clip-clopping by in the damp night.

"How perfectly suited for clandestine meetings and secret doings," he said with a laugh. "An auspicious start to the evening's festivities!"

A ten-minute walk brought him to the Cracked Tankard. The place was unusually crowded, choked with crewmen from two Chessentan galleons that had tied up at the city's wharves earlier in the day. Jack threaded his way through the crowd, elbowing a space at the bar. No fewer than three barmaids plus the barkeep Kirben were manning the rail tonight; they rushed back and forth, serving draughts as quickly as they could draw them. Jack dropped a silver talon on the countertop as the tavern-keeper stomped past.

"Ho, Kirben! Perchance have you a message for me?"

"Ho, yourself," the barkeep snapped. Kirben swept the coin into a pocket of his apron and handed Jack a small envelope sealed in red wax. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Jack broke the seal and scanned the note inside. The Storm Gull, Aldiger's pier. Make sure you lose any tails. Don't leave this message here. Skullduggery and dark doings, he thought. A dangerous prize and a lovely lady!

"I won't be back tonight," he told Kirben, stuffing the note into his pocket. Then he headed out into the night again, winding his way through the city toward the harbor neighborhood known as Silverscales.

He turned south on Blacktree Boulevard and followed it to the harbor, pausing at the intersection of Blacktree and Fishleap to look for any signs of pursuit. A man in a dark cloak about twenty yards behind Jack casually halted and began to inspect the goods displayed in a store window; Jack ducked out of sight into a dark alleyway and worked a minor illusion that altered his appearance, taking the form of a hulking half-ogre longshoreman with stooped shoulders and long, powerful arms that hung almost to his knees. Adapting a drunken sway to his walk, he stepped out of the alleyway and roughly shouldered the black-cloaked man aside.

"Outta my way," he rumbled ominously.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the man said. He turned and dashed down the alleyway, intent on reaching the other end to keep Jack in sight, not realizing, of course, that he'd just run right past his quarry.

Jack leered with a mouth full of peglike teeth and continued on his way. Magic was so useful and so easy, it was almost like cheating. He wondered why more people didn't take it up. Wizards and magicians claimed that it took years of tireless study and punishing apprenticeships to glean even the beginnings of the Art, but it had always come naturally to Jack. They studied pages full of exhaustive formulae, pored over ancient texts, scrabbled for hints and ciphers in the works of their predecessors. Jack just thought of things he'd like to be able to do, sharpened all his will and attention on wanting to be able to do them, and through trial and error found out how, through nonsense words and simple gestures and patterns or focuses he could concentrate on, just like a man playing at ninepins might stand on one foot and pull in an arm while trying to will the ball to strike the lead pin dead on.

"Faerun's wizards have, no doubt, a long-standing agreement by which all initiated into the Art swear to make it look as difficult and obtuse as possible," he mused as he walked. "Therefore they ensure that anyone paying for their services believes that he is hiring a rare and talented professional indeed, the one man in a thousand who can make sense of magic. Why, if they let slip that anyone could do it, the whole lot of them would be ruined. Hah!"

He followed Fishleap through Bitterstone and around the end of the city wall into Silverscales. Here a dozen ramshackle piers and wharves jutted out into the outer harbor, crowded with three or four times that number of galleys, caravels, carracks, and yawls. Stomping along the boardwalk Jack came to the last pier, the one opposite Aldiger's Cut, and scanned the ships moored there. At the end a small sloop rocked gently by the wharf. "The Storm Gull," he read from the lettering across the ship's stern. Jack threw one more glance over his shoulder and didn't spot anyone paying him undue attention, so he resumed his own appearance and trotted down the pier to the ship.

Two easterners in metal-studded jerkins lounged on the ship's deck, watching Jack without saying a word. They were strange-looking fellows, with bronzed faces and straight black hair, perhaps from the fantastic lands beyond even Thay or Rashemen. Jack boarded the ship and nodded politely.

"Take me to Elana," he said.

The first easterner straightened with a rattle of steel and pointed at a companionway leading down to the Storm Gull's main cabin. "That way," he said through a thick accent. He returned to his watch, studying the wharves and streets intensely.

Jack clattered down the steep ladder and found himself in a short passageway lined by several doors. At the end of the passage, the door leading into the stern cabin-presumably, the master's quarters-stood slightly ajar. With a shrug, Jack pushed it open and went inside.

The decor showed a distinct preference for the remote East; paper lanterns hung from the beams overhead, a low desk or table surrounded by cushions sufficed for furnishings, and tall screens of carved and inlaid wood were secured to the walls. Elana knelt comfortably behind the desk, examining a small explosion of paper. Behind her, a tall mage in yellow robes and a high-collared vest or tabard of tooled red leather stood watching, his scalp shaven and his face marked by a long, drooping mustache. He, too, was an easterner. Elana looked up as Jack entered, carefully covered her work by sweeping it into a wooden valise, and gestured at the opposite place at the table.

"Jack Ravenwild. Please, sit down."

Jack dropped to the deck carelessly, sitting cross-legged before her. He glanced around the cabin, admiring the eastern furnishings. "You surprise me, dear Elana. I would not have suspected you of having a taste for the exotic. Shou Lung?"

She offered a slight smile. "No. Shou work tends to be more ornate, more complex than this. The screens, the lamps, and the table are from the island empire of Wa. I prefer its austerity and simplicity." She raised one hand to indicate the tall shaven-headed mage at her side. "This is Yu Wei, Adept of the Seventh Mystery, Sublime Dragon of the Black Pearl Order. He is my chief advisor in magical matters."

The tall adept inclined his head. Jack returned the gesture. "Yu Wei felt that I should not have left the retrieval of the Sarkonagael in your hands, once you'd told me that you knew where it was," Elana continued. "You persuaded me to allow you to try your hand at the task. How did you fare?"

Jack unlocked his satchel and removed the burlap-wrapped book. He set it on the table and removed the cloth cover, revealing the sinister black binding with its silver skulls.

"May I present the Sarkonagael, or the Secrets of the Shadewrights?"

Elana smiled coolly and reached out for the book. She opened it carefully, running her fingers over the ciphered text absently, and then handed it to Yu Wei.

"See if the spell is there," she told him. The tall mage bowed deeply and then left the cabin, stooping to pass through the low door. He did not speak a word. "Well done, Jack Ravenwild. My sources inform me that you bearded Iphegor in his lair and then defeated him in a confrontation in the street shortly thereafter."

"Your sources? It seems you are well-informed, my lady."

"I'm surprised that you chose to confront Iphegor. I would have thought that escaping anonymously was more important to you."

Jack shrugged. "I did make use of a disguise, so I doubt that Iphegor will easily discover my identity. In any event, he shouldn't give me much trouble for a long time. Unfortunately, his familiar was killed when he confronted me, and you know how much that discomfits a wizard."

Elana smiled. "Indeed. I hadn't thought you so ruthless."

"Not ruthless, dear Elana. Merely-businesslike. I do what must be done." Jack leaned forward and offered a charming smile. "Are you satisfied with the services I have rendered?"

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she rose to her feet with one smooth motion and glided over to a small wooden chest by one wall. She opened it and removed a pouch that clinked enticingly. "Your payment, plus a substantial bonus."

Jack ignored the money and stood also, stepping closer to Elana. He pulled her into his arms and drank one long, perfect kiss from her lips-but her hand came up between them and gently but firmly pushed him away.

"No, not that," she said.

"I thought that we had an understanding-"

"Did we, Jack?" Elana turned away and paced over to the shuttered windows looking out over the stern. "I never specifically stated that I would grant you my favors upon completion of your mission, did I?"

The rogue gaped. "You led me to believe that was the case."

"What you believe, dear Jack, is your own business." Elana looked over her shoulder at him and brushed one dark lock from her face. "There is a substantial bonus included in the purse. I honored my word."

"Oh, just a moment!" Jack swept around the table to confront her. "You all but said that you would reward me with your most intimate embrace in lieu of any sum of money, and frankly, dear Elana, I considered it worthwhile!" He waved his hand at the cabin, the ship around them. "If this is your sloop, and these your belongings, I don't doubt that you could easily afford the sum you offered to retain my services. Why then would you hint at more if you had no intention of living up to it and no need of deceit? Do you take pleasure in toying with men?"

"Since you have been in my employ, Jack, you have spent a great deal of time playing at the Game of Masks-using the advance I gave you-with Lady Illyth Fleetwood. You have skulked from place to place engaged in an effort to solve a riddle bedeviling the Red Wizard Zandria of the Company of the Red Falcon. Now answer honestly, Jack. Would you have applied yourself to the modest task I set before you if I hadn't allowed you to find some additional motivation for yourself? Or would you have wandered off into some other scheme or plot?" Elana's face grew as hard as a blade. "I remind you again that I showed you as much good faith as you showed me. If you don't like games such as that, Jack, perhaps you shouldn't play them."

Jack stared at her. "How do you know these things? Illyth, Zandria, the riddle? Have you been spying on me?"

"I have my sources," Elana said. "I warned you, Jack, the first night we met. When you accept my money, I consider you to be in my employ. That places certain responsibilities upon my shoulders and certain obligations on yours. I am utterly loyal with those who follow me and deal with them with no mental reservations. I require the same in return."

Jack took two steps back and sat in the window seat spanning the aft bulkhead of the room. "Who are you?" he said quietly.

Elana watched him, a cat playing with a wounded bird. "Are you certain you want to know, Jack? If I tell you, you no longer have the option of walking away. All I can tell you is that you will be well rewarded, you will be engaged in dangerous and frequently undesirable work, and that you will be one of a very small number of people who will tear down Raven's Bluff and rebuild it as something entirely different. People will get hurt, people will die, and you may not live to see if I am ultimately successful or not. This is your last chance to say no."

Jack looked down at his hands and rubbed them together. He could see what Elana was doing, of course. She was setting the hook. How could he possibly say no to all that? He'd grown up a guttersnipe, an orphan, entitled to nothing more than he could pilfer with his own hands. Elana offered him a chance to be a power, a lord over men, a shaper of events and dreamer of great dreams.

And, of course, she offered him the chance to know, the opportunity to find out what she was hiding under all the secrecy, and maybe-just maybe-a chance to win her favors after all. If he left now, he wouldn't see her again. He was certain of it, but if he stayed, if he showed her what he could really do, who knew?

He looked up and said, "I understand. I will not abandon my existing enterprises altogether-after all, I have given my word to others, and I am inclined to keep it in a couple of instances, but I accept your conditions. Now, Elana, who are you?"

The swordswoman bared her teeth in a smile that would have intimidated a tiger. "I am more widely known as Myrkyssa Jelan," she said, "but for you, dear Jack, Elana will do. Sit down again, and I will explain to you how things must be."

"Myrkyssa Jelan," Jack repeated dully. "The Warlord, Terror of the Vast, shaker of mountains and destroyer of cities." He took two steps back. "On second thought, I believe I prefer to think of you as Elana. If you don't mind, I shall bid you a good night."

Jelan narrowed her eyes. "It's not as easy as that now, Jack." One hand slid down to rest on the hilt of the slender sword at her side.

The rogue tilted his head thoughtfully. "I beg to differ, dear lady," he said. He worked a spell of shadow-jumping that whisked him from Jelan's cabin in the blink of an eye, teleporting him to the lonely wharves a few hundred feet distant. It was perhaps the most difficult spell he knew how to work, but useful beyond compare when he needed to absent himself from tricky situations. He staggered then straightened again; the shadow-jump was strenuous.

Jack looked around, blinking to adjust his vision and regain his bearings. There was Jelan's ship, rocking softly by the pierside. No hue or cry sounded from its decks, but Jack hadn't expected any. Instead, he turned and hurried quickly back into the shadows of the alleyways and rambling streets.

At first Jack thought to bolt for his apartments and drop out of sight for a couple of days, in case Elana-Myrkyssa Jelan, he corrected himself-objected violently to his flight. But between the outcome of the mission he'd undertaken for her and the ugly turn in the Game of Masks, he discovered the need of a few stout ales. He briefly considered whether or not it was wise to choose the Tankard for his relaxation this evening, but he could detect a very tangible and nigh-irresistible pull gently tugging his feet into the familiar direction. He had a heavy purse full of coin, and the Cracked Tankard was just the place to make it a little lighter.

"Besides," he told himself, "Elana must realize that I am well aware of the fact that she has found me twice in the Cracked Tankard and cannot possibly regard it as a safe place to avoid her attention. Reasoning thus, she will not even trouble herself with looking for me here, so this is the perfect choice for my evening's entertainment. I'll exercise due caution, and no trouble will come of it."

He reached the corner of Red Wyrm and DeVillars, pausing to check for any followers. A coach trundled past in the warm night, wheels gleaming in the lamplight. Jack straightened his doublet and adjusted the fit of his cap. Then he strode boldly inside, instantly comforted in a small but familiar way by the press of bodies, the haze of smoke, the laughter and music and babble of a score of conversations all shouted over each other. With a small sigh of relief, Jack found his favored table and drew up a seat. Briesa worked the common room of the Tankard this evening; Jack offered her a wink and a leer that brought her over ahead of three other tables demanding service.

"Why, Jack! I've hardly seen you of late," the pretty barmaid laughed. "I was beginning to fear that you'd forgotten me!"

"How could I forget you, when my every waking moment is filled with longing, and my nights are immortalized by the passion we share in my dreams?" Jack replied. He pulled her onto his lap and held her there for a moment. "Would you be a fine lass and bring me a flagon of that Sembian wine you keep above the bar?"

Briesa disentangled herself from his grasp. "And how would you be paying for that?"

Jack dropped a small handful of gold crowns on the table. "I am lately come into a small inheritance. From this moment forward, I shall settle all my tabs and make good on all my previous promises. Perchance have you seen Anders tonight?"

"He's making use of one of the upstairs rooms," Briesa replied. "Shall I tell him you're here?"

"I'll wait. It won't be long."

Jack sent her on her way with a good-natured slap on her fanny. Briesa gathered up the coins in her apron and danced away toward the bar, slipping through the press with the expertise of experience.

He had time to pour and drink two goblets of the Sembian red before Anders Aricssen came thumping down the narrow staircase, his fair features flushed with drink and his swordbelt slung over one shoulder. The Northman spied him at once and pushed through the crowd straight toward him.

"Jack! I've been looking all over for you. Where in the world have you been tonight?"

"Concluding business with a beautiful, yet disappointing, lady," Jack said glumly. Briesa returned with the wine and two goblets. Jack poured a cup for himself and one for Anders as she moved off to look after dozens of shouting patrons. "It's a strange night, friend Anders, filled with veiled peril and dark deeds."

The Northman slumped into the seat across from him and drained his goblet at one mighty go, red rivulets streaming through his beard. "That does not tell me much," he observed. "Say, that wasn't half bad. Your business must have concluded reasonably well, Jack; I can gauge the success of your ventures by the quality of your drink.''

Jack nodded absently, still thinking about his encounter with Elana. She'd paid him well enough, he supposed, if not in the coin he'd hoped for. That was disappointing enough, but he found himself considering her words again. Something about obligations and responsibilities to those in her employ, and the commensurate degree of loyalty she expected in return… dangerous words indeed, especially to Jack's way of thinking. He'd made a career out of avoiding entanglements of that sort.

"Anders, did you perchance ever meet the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan?" he asked suddenly.

His question was ill-timed, catching the Northman in the middle of a quaff of wine. Anders's eyes widened, and he choked comically, spewing a fine red spray of Sembian wine in Jack's general direction. Coughing and gagging, the Northman hunched low in his seat and seized Jack's arm with one hand.

"Curse it, Jack! Don't bring up that name anywhere near me!"

"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 mutton-chops, 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 sword-play 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 hike 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 all 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.

"I know that you were looking forward to tonight's Game, Illyth, but do you think it would be wise to attend? If we fail to appear tonight, Tiger and Mantis might guess that their ploy has succeeded, and we might finally have them at a disadvantage. Perhaps they'll make a mistake."

Illyth looked down at her dress. "Solving the riddle of the Seven Faceless Lords doesn't seem as intriguing as it did an hour ago," she said. "I don't share your certainty that Tiger and Mantis are responsible, but I agree that attending the Game isn't a good idea at the moment. That person escaped, and who knows where he's going to strike next?"

"I intend to confront him at my earliest convenience and settle this issue," Jack replied. "The Green Lord's banquet is in four days, correct? By then I will have certainly apprehended the miscreant who borrowed my appearance, thus ending the threat." He offered Illyth his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, then helped her to his coach. "I'll stay with you awhile and keep watch, in case he returns, and we'll pass the time by comparing clues, as we'd planned."

"That's right," Illyth said, narrowing her eyes. "Jack, you were late by nearly an hour!"

"Punctuality is a virtue I never claimed to possess in abundance, dear Illyth," Jack said. He climbed into the coach behind her and signaled to the driver. "Back to Woodenhall, good man. We will be staying in this evening."