looked at Jack and said, 'You've delivered on your end of the bargain; I'll deliver on mine. Take the gold and go.' Then she turned to the shadow Jack and said, 'Whether you're the authentic Jack Raven wild or an imitation, your twin produced what I wanted, so I am honoring the deal I made. If you dislike it, take it up with him.'
The ingratiating smile fell from the shadow Jack's face, and his eyes grew dark and hard. Without another word he vanished, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Brunn swore and stepped out into the center of the room, hand on sword hilt. 'Blast! What now?'
'Be careful,' Jack advised. 'My clone knows everything I know. He may be gone, or he may have turned invisible.' He moved swiftly to put his back against a wall and scanned the chamber for any hint of a stealthy unseen presence.
'No matter,' Zandria scoffed. 'My business here is done. Removing the gold is your concern.' She dropped the ring and the dagger into the pouch at her belt and secured the cover. 'Come, Brunn. We are finished here.'
At the wizardess's hip, her dark and dangerous wand gently slipped up and disappeared. Jack saw it just as the magical weapon vanished into someone's invisible grasp. 'Zandria!' he gasped in alarm. 'Your wand!'
The Red Wizard snatched at the holster on her hip and cursed in Thayan. She whirled, a spell on her lips, but at that moment the shadow Jack appeared with her weapon in his hand and an expression of infernal glee on his face. He pointed her wand right at Zandria and activated the device. Blue flame engulfed Zandria and washed past her to blast a great swath of destruction across the table, the floor, the ceiling, and the far wall. A blast of heat seared the room, and the fiery roar drowned out Jack's very thoughts. The rogue only avoided Zandria's fate by throwing himself to the floor; Embro Albrath survived simply because he backpedaled so swiftly that he fell down on his broad bottom in the doorway.
'Help!' the moneylender called. 'Magic! Murder! Betrayal!'
Zandria screamed and staggered back, engulfed in flame. The swordsman Brunn drew his blade so swiftly that Jack didn't even see him do it and struck out at the shadow Jack, but the nimble devil darted back three steps and turned the fiery wand on Zandria's companion, blasting him as well. The room itself was fairly well alight with the second blast, curtains and exposed beams dancing with sheets of flame.
Jack picked himself up and launched a deadly magical attack of his own, a pair of streaking force globes that hammered into the shadow and detonated with brutal force. The shadow flew back into the wall and hit hard, slumping awkwardly to the ground. Zandria's wand clattered from his fingers to the floor. Smoke and fire filled the room, and amid the roaring of the blaze Jack could hear cries of consternation and panic from nearby rooms in the Tankard.
This villain is destroying my favorite tavern! He thought, then he darted forward, drawing his rapier to finish off his foe.
The shadow scrambled to his feet and returned Jack's spell, blasting Jack off his feet with two hammer blows of magic that caught the rogue at hip and torso. For a moment Jack saw nothing but stars, twisting in agony on the burning floor. Blood ran between his fingers and his entire left leg felt numb. Across the room, the shadow also tried to recover and stand. He levered himself up by the table.
Near Jack, Zandria rose to all fours, hunched in pain. She should have been burned to a crisp, but the blue flames died out swiftly, leaving her scorched but not seriously injured-a spell of protection, Jack guessed. The sorceress straightened up, kneeling, and directed a brilliant bolt of lightning at the other Jack.
'No one steals my wand!' she howled. The thunderclap left Jack's ears ringing and blew a hole the size of a large man through the dining room wall and into the room beyond.
Unfortunately, it missed the shadow Jack, although the stroke of lightning contributed mightily to the impending demise of the Cracked Tankard. The shadow dodged with a quick roll that brought him close to the wizardess, at which point he kicked her in the jaw as hard as he could. Zandria spun in a half circle and dropped to the floor. The contents of her pouch scattered across the uneven planking, odds and ends of spellcasting, coins and gems, and-most significantly-the stone ring, which rolled almost to Jack's hand.
Jack snatched the ring and shoved it onto his finger, invoking its powers. The impervious toughness of stone hardened his skin; the cold, remorseless strength of rock flooded his limbs. He stood and recovered his rapier, advancing on his nemesis.
'Come on, you miserable copycat! Do you dare to face me with steel in your hand?'
The shadow Jack grinned and drew its own sword. 'It's what I was made for,' he hissed.
He lunged at Jack through the smoke and the flame, the dark steel of his rapier moving faster than a striking serpent. Jack parried the blow with unexpected strength and blocked a surprise attack of the shadow's poignard simply by batting it aside with his hardened hand. Then he returned a murderous thrust right at the center of the shadow's torso.
The shadow Jack attempted to parry, but Jack's rapier punched through the simulacrum's defenses, driven by the strength flooding into him from the ring. In utter astonishment the shadow looked down at Jack's blade, buried in its black heart. 'Not… fair,' the simulacrum gasped. Then the creature discorporated in one swift instant, melting into cold shadows that seemed to sink through crevices and divisions in the wooden floor as if returning to whatever cold hell had birthed it.
'Take that, you fiend,' Jack snarled.
He stepped back, watching dark shadowstuff run from the blade of his rapier, then glanced around the room to gauge the damage. Zandria sprawled unconscious on the floor. Brunn had been fairly well incinerated by the full blast of the fire wand. There was no helping him. Of Embro Albrath, there was no sign at all; the stout merchant had fled the scene early and precipitously. And, of course, the room was now a blazing inferno, with roaring flames shooting up the walls and a blast-furnace heat beating on Jack from all sides. If they saved the tavern, it would be a miracle.
'Time to go,' Jack decided.
He still wore the ring; that was a good place for it. The dagger was nearby, so he returned the dark dwarven blade to his boot. Then he picked up the unconscious Zandria and draped her over one shoulder (easier than he would have thought, with the magical strength of the ring to fortify his small stature). Flames blocked his exit from the room, so he simply used the shadow-transport spell to step from the fire-engulfed tavern to the cool, dark street outside.
After the roaring heat and searing flames, the streets were oddly dark and silent. Jack set down the Red Wizard, who groaned and stirred. The Cracked Tankard's roof was a mass of yellow flame, lighting up the entire block. From all directions citizens hurried toward the scene, hoping to extinguish or contain the blaze before half the city burned down. And with them came tramping squads of city watchmen, doubtless filled with questions and anxious for resolutions. Jack quickly examined himself-singed, battered, injured but not permanently. Zandria seemed to be in about the same condition, or perhaps a little bit worse for the wear.
'You'll forgive me, my dear Zandria, but I believe I will leave now,' Jack said. 'Since my share of the gold is now engulfed in an inferno, I'll just keep the ring instead. Farewell!''
If the Red Wizard protested, Jack did not notice. He had already darted away down the nearest dark alleyway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jack made his way back to the hovel on the Ladyrock, slept, and then spent most of the following morning analyzing the events of the last few days and trying to make sense of them. He owed the summoner of the shadow Jack some measure of retribution, but he didn't even know against whom he should direct his vengeance. In any event, both Iphegor and Jelan had good reason to attempt his assassination or embarrassment, so striking at the responsible party (given the unlikely eventuality that he could determine whether the wizard or the warlord was at the root of the insult) would seem to be nothing more than perpetuating a costly and inconvenient vendetta. 'And that,' he told himself, 'is not good business, nor is pouting like an angry child. I have great works ahead, and mighty labors to attain noble ends.'
Toward sundown the weather grew clear and cold, a sharp wind picking up off the sea, and he returned to his cottage to prepare for the next Game session, the Blue Lord's theatre. He picked up Illyth at the accustomed time,
