Shiny Golden Schemes

By Kenneth McDonald

The Orc War is over and Albestin is safe, but Carzen Zelos and his friends find that settling back into their normal lives isn’t as easy as they thought. Carzen’s past will not leave him alone, while the warrior Mara must learn that having only half a hand doesn’t make her half a person. Meanwhile, the hauflin Feldergrass cousins are finding out the hard way that a human city plays by different rules than their quiet village. When Beetle runs afoul of the local thieves’ guild, Jaron must join with an unexpected ally to win his cousin’s freedom. But both the human heroes and the two hauflin are being drawn into even more danger as they learn of a conspiracy that threatens to throw the staggered city back into chaos. The companions will need to defeat their own demons in order to save their adopted city from disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Feb 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311498939

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Shiny Golden Schemes

Book Six of the Colors of Fate Series

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from the painting Vanitas by Clara Peeters (1610). The image is in the public domain.

* * * * *

Works by Kenneth McDonald

Powerless

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

* * * * *

Chapter 1

Don’t look so smug, Mara said. She pulled the disorganized bedcovers closer around her body.

I’m not smug, Carzen replied from across the room, where he was pouring coffee from a large pewter pitcher into a couple of mugs. I just think that last night should have happened a long time ago, that’s all.

He took up the cups, adjusting the blanket he’d wrapped around his body. The cover was not for modesty; the air in the room was chilly despite the fire burning merrily in the stone fireplace. The Storm’s Refuge was one of the finer inns in Albestin, or at least it had been. The carpets that covered the wooden floor were getting a bit threadbare and the paint had started to fleck around the two windows. With the constant wind blowing off the Blue Deep and the storms that blasted the city during the winter season places like the Refuge had to work hard just to keep things together even during normal times.

But these were not normal times. Until very recently Albestin had been a city at war, and it still had not fully recovered from the traumas it had suffered over the recent months.

Carzen and Mara both showed signs of that trauma on their bodies. As Carzen brought the coffee back to the bed the firelight played over a number of scars, both old and fresh, that covered his upper torso. The chair beside the bed held several weapon belts from which a small arsenal of swords and knives dangled in their scabbards. The table and the other chair were on the far side of the room, suggesting that the placement of that improvised armory hadn’t been an accident.

I don’t know when we’ve had the time, Mara said, accepting a cup of coffee with her left hand. The right she kept buried in the covers beside her.

I’m glad we finally made the time, Carzen said. Last night… was pretty amazing. He took a sip of coffee. Wasn’t it?

She smiled and made room for him on the side of the bed. Yes, she said. He started to pull back the covers, but saw how she shifted quickly to hide her injured hand. No, don’t, he said, gently taking her arm with his free hand. Please, don’t hide it from me.

She smiled again, though this time it looked a bit forced. She allowed him to lift her damaged hand from its shelter under the covers.

Only a light bandage covered it now, a wrap of soft gauze that did nothing to conceal the wreckage underneath. Only her index finger and thumb remained, the other fingers trimmed to stumps by an orc blade. The healers of the White Temple had been able to save her index finger, but it was barely functional, the muscles and nerves that had animated it permanently severed.

Carzen raised the ruined hand to his lips and gently kissed it. I’m sorry, he said.

It’s all right. We’re lucky to be alive, right?

Carzen nodded. She was telling the truth. The weeks that had passed hadn’t blunted the memories of what the locals were calling the Orc War. Carzen and Mara had been involved in the fighting from the start to the finish, and had played a crucial role in the ending of the conflict when they’d confronted the orc warlord-priest who’d gathered the tribes and fashioned them into a weapon aimed at the coastal human kingdom. Both of them bore the scars of that clash, including some that didn’t show and wouldn’t be likely to heal as cleanly as the wounds of the body.

Anyway, he said. We can’t stay in bed all day…

Why not? she asked, but at his look added, No, you’re right.

Mara…

We can’t hide in here, she said. We’d have to go out and forage for food, anyway.

Yeah, I get the impression that we’re already wearing out our hosts’ gratitude.

Heroes one day, customers the next, she replied. So, what do you have planned for today?

Some errands in town, he said. My armor needs some work.

I thought you got it all fixed when we got back.

Yeah, but… well, to be honest there are these decorative buckles I saw the last time I was there…

Vanity. The old Carzen Zelos resurfaces. They both laughed, but his faded quickly into a more introspective look. No, don’t, she said, reaching up to touch his face with her good hand. I didn’t mean…

I know, he said, taking her hand and cupping it against his lips. You know the best and worst of me.

"I know you, she said. Be careful in the city. The mood’s changed now that the war’s over, and a lot of the refugees have headed back home, but there’s still a lot of tension, short tempers. And don’t let yourself be talked into a tavern by a member of the grateful population. There’s a lot of hucksters out there who will get you drunk then conk you one when you go out to take a piss."

He shook his head. You really think I’m a rube, don’t you?

She laughed again, but this time it was she who became quickly serious. I just don’t want to take anything for granted.

He leaned over and kissed her. For a moment he lingered, but before it started to turn into something else he pulled back. I really have to go, he said. Dinner tonight?

Of course.

He got up and started pulling on his clothes. What about you? he added, just a bit too casually as he took a clean shirt off the pile that the laundryman had delivered the day before. Carzen seemed to have accumulated a considerable wardrobe, already more than could fit into a pair of saddlebags. And how did that happen? he thought.

What do you mean? she asked him after a significant pause.

I just thought… maybe you should try practicing today. He raised the louvers on one of the shutters. Looks like it might clear up a bit today.

I… I don’t know if I’m ready.

He reached for his sword belt, careful to disentangle it from hers. Who’s going to come for me when some huckster conks me over the head when I’m pissing?

She smiled, but it was forced. Carzen…

He raised his hands in surrender. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you, Mara. It’s just… well, Elevaren’s wondering when you were going to come and pay him a visit.

She dropped back and pulled the blankets over her head, but only for a moment. I’ll get up, she said as she flipped the covers back down. Promise. She raised her bandaged hand. Not like I can cross my fingers or anything.

I thought I was the one with the grim sense of humor.

Hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? Now get out of here so I can wash up.

Hmm, temptress, he said.

Pervert, she shot back.

I like it when you talk dirty, he said, then ducked as she threw a pillow at him. Tonight? he said, lingering at the door.

Tonight, she said.

He nodded. For a moment it looked like he might say something more, then he opened the door and left.

Mara sat looking at the door for a long moment, then fell back into the bed and let out a troubled sigh.

* * *

Albestin was a study in contrasts, Carzen thought as he made his way through the crowded district that abutted the city’s harbor. That sheltered bay, barely large enough for the dozen or so seagoing vessels and twice as many smaller boats that crowded into it, was the reason that colonists from the island kingdom of Elyria had first settled here. They had transformed a hard-scrabble fishing village and pirate sanctuary into a booming enterprise. Albestin eventually gained its independence, becoming the last of the Eleven Kingdoms that stretched across the continent.

The city and its inhabitants had just won a war, but the stress and strain still showed in its streets. Thousands of refugees had crowded into the city when the orc armies had poured out of the mountains into the coastal lands that were within Albestin’s orbit. Several of the villages that supported the city had been utterly destroyed, and many more might have joined them had it not been for the success of the mission that Carzen and his companions had completed just a few weeks ago.

On his return to the city Carzen had been feted as a hero, with feasts and rewards lavished upon him by the grateful city. But now, dressed in his regular clothes and armor, his weapons hanging at his side, he passed through the gathered throngs with a relieved anonymity. He’d appreciated the fine treatment at first, the flowery speeches and toasts and applause, but somehow it had started to wear thin fairly quickly.

There were plenty of other armed men about. Many of Albestin’s soldiers had already returned and been demobilized, but others were still out there, harrying the remnants of the orc army back into the mountains with a furious vengeance. Mercenaries from the other kingdoms continued to arrive on the ships that brought food to the strained city, too late for the war they’d come for but not too late to get into trouble. Carzen had heard of a number of fights in recent days that had led to deaths, and the city watch found itself hardly less busy than it had been when the city had been packed to the rafters with refugees.

The broad street that curved around the harbor piers were crowded with people loading or unloading ships and wagons, shopping at the covered stalls and storefronts that fronted the harbor, or just milling around. Carzen kept one hand on his purse and the other on the hilt of his sword as he made his way through the press. People made way for him and he knew where he was going, but it was still easy to get turned around in all the confusion. He glanced up out over the harbor to the north, where the fortress known as the Old Stone stood atop the headland that sheltered the bay. He had spent a good deal of time there over the last few weeks, but on a chilly, blustery day like today—like most days in Albestin—the dark stone of the citadel seemed somewhat ominous.

A familiar sound of metal striking metal confirmed that he was heading in the right direction. He turned into a side street, dodging a heavily-laden wagon with a four-horse team coming the other way. The noise grew louder, echoing off the tall fronts of the buildings that flanked the street, and the chaos of the harbor faded into the background within just a few steps.

The front of the smithy was open, its wooden front walls raised on hinges and supported by tall poles. That was a necessary concession to the heat that poured into the street from the interior. Carzen found the warmth pleasant at first, but it quickly grew stultifying as he went inside.

The smith ran his shop in the old way, his merchandise laid out on racks directly adjacent to his workspace. He was shaping a metal clamp as Carzen came in, but he glanced up and handed it to one of his older apprentices before coming over to greet him. His handshake was very, very firm, but the man’s strength was not deliberate and Carzen managed not to wince.

Master Caevren, Carzen said. I hope I’m not interrupting something important.

Nae, nae, the man said, his southern accent thick. I hae it right here, just got it back from me cos dis morn.

He reached behind one of the racks and drew out a small metal disk about the size of a serving platter. It was a shield of thin-plated iron, the rim pounded flat and then bent back to add strength. Four rivets surrounded a plain boss in the center. The smith turned it over to show an unusual grip on the back. The rivets were fixed to a simple wooden frame, to which was attached a heavy leather bracer of the sort that archers used. There were also several leather straps that ended in adjustable buckles. Carzen accepted the shield and tugged at the straps, noting how they had been carefully wrapped around the frame. The bracer too was adjustable, with laces woven into the seam underneath, out of casual view.

Your cousin does good work, Carzen admitted.

Aye, an’ look, is lock-grip, the smith said, taking back the shield. His beefy forearm was too big to fit into the bracer, even unlaced, but he showed Carzen a metal flange that stuck through the end of the cuff, right where a person’s thumb would go if they stuck their hand through. Ye shoo use the straps to keep it tight, but if’n ye ha’ to grab it fest in a faight, it’ll no go flyin’ off on ye. He made a gesture as if to launch the shield across the room. The apprentice working the clamp flinched and Caevren chortled. From the look on his face and those of the younger workers they were used to their master’s sense of humor.

Carzen nodded. Excellent. I’ll bring it back if it needs adjusting, but I think this will do. He reached for his purse and dumped a small handful of silver into the smith’s palm. Ten more as promised, and my thanks.

Aye, the man said, accepting the money. He handed over the shield. An’ come back if’n ye be needin’ a decent edge on that fancy blade.

He returned to his work and Carzen left, tucking the shield under his arm. He had a few more stops to make, but he’d accomplished his main objective of the day.

He returned to the busy harbor street, but he was still standing on the edge of the flow of traffic when a shout drew his attention around. A man with a dirty leather apron belted around a massive belly was running through the crowd in his direction, yelling and waving. People turned to look but didn’t step aside as they had for Carzen, and he was having to force his way through, jolting people roughly aside in his hurry.

Carzen shifted his grip on the shield so he could use it if he had to, but the only danger that presented itself was a familiar one as a hauflin emerged from the crowd and stood before him. He was eating a fresh-baked roll slathered in honey that had largely transferred itself from the bread to his chin. As he looked up his mouth widened into a broad smile. Hi, Carzen! he said with a wave.

Beetle, Carzen said, shaking his head.

Hauflin resembled human children at first glance. Even fully grown they were scarcely more than three feet tall. Their size led many humans to underestimate them, but they were a clever and adaptable race, used to using their wits to confront foes many times their size. Belden Feldergrass, however, was in a class of his own. Carzen had met him back in the Cinder Valley months ago, when he’d gotten involved in chasing down a slaving ring that had raised the hauflin village of Fairhollow.

Where’s Jaron? Carzen asked, referring to Beetle’s cousin. Jaron rarely let Beetle out of his sight, as the little guy had a gift for getting into trouble.

That trouble caught up to them now as the shopkeeper finally thrust his way through the crowd to where they were standing. He was breathing heavily and his face was red, but he hesitated as he caught sight of the armed and armored warrior.

Something the matter? Carzen asked.

"Yes! That… that fellow stole that roll!" He pointed at Beetle, who held up his hands to show they were empty. It would be hard to deny the charge, however, given the honey smeared all over his face.

Maybe he just forgot to pay for it, Carzen said.

They’re all thieves, the baker said. I should call the Watch…

He started to look around for one of the distinctively-clad guardsmen that patrolled the harbor, but Carzen interrupted him with a snap of a coin that pinged off the baker’s chest. The Watch has bigger fish to fry. Keep the change.

The baker looked about to protest, but he noticed the way that Carzen’s stance shifted, raising the shield slightly as his other hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. The man muttered something under his breath. He started to turn, only to stop as another hauflin appeared behind him.

Beetle! Jaron said, seeing his cousin.

Hauflin! the shopkeeper said, throwing up his hands as he made his way back to his shop.

Hey, Carzen, Jaron said. Ah, did I miss something?

Just a little misunderstanding over a honey roll, Carzen said. We took care of it.

Ah, Beetle, Jaron said, rubbing his face with his hand. I only turned my back for a minute… I thought we’d talked about not getting in trouble?

Hungry, Beetle said.

They’re still having some trouble restocking the pantry at the orphanage, Jaron said to Carzen.

I thought there were plenty of food ships coming in now? Carzen said.

The hauflin had come to Albestin with Mara and Carzen but had parted ways since then. Jaron’s sister helped run a home for children who lacked parents or other guardians in the city, and the two hauflin had been staying there. Carzen had been over there a few times, though each time he seemed to end up involved in heavy labor. His first visit had led to him replacing a roof. The place’s manager, an older hauflin woman named Ranaice, seemed to have a talent for making people do what she wanted.

Ranaice is doing her best, Jaron said. She asked when you were going to come and visit again.

What, is there a clog in the pipes she needs fixed?

Jaron chuckled. It’s all in a good cause, he said. How’s Mara?

She’s well, Carzen said. Then he had to step back, for Beetle had discovered the shield and was tugging on it. What’s that? the hauflin asked.

A shield, Carzen explained. For Mara.

Oooh! Beetle said. I want one!

You wouldn’t be able to lift it, let alone use it in battle, Jaron said. He examined the arrangement of straps and the bracer on the back, then looked up at Carzen. That’s clever, he said. With those straps and the sleeve, she can use it with her damaged hand.

That’s the intent, Carzen said. He grunted as Beetle jumped up and grabbed hold of the upper rim of the shield, swinging back and forth as Carzen tried to keep from toppling over.

Beetle! Stop it! Jaron said. It looks like you’ve gotten your own gear upgraded as well, he added.

Pays to be prepared, I’ve learned, Carzen replied. He slung the shield, covertly checking his purse as he did so. Beetle noticed and grinned at him.

So does that mean you’re thinking of leaving soon? Jaron asked.

Carzen shook his head. I don’t know, Jaron. We never intended to stay this long, you know.

It’ll be months yet before the passes open, the hauflin said. I know you’d talked about taking the long way back around…

They had originally come to Albestin as part of an effort to blaze a wagon road through the White Mountains, to reconnect the trade route that had once stretched between the Cinder Valley and the coast. The only route in current use went south through the Pale Hills. That road was controlled by a clan of dwarves who exacted a heavy toll for the merchants who wanted to risk the long journey to bring goods into the valley. Carzen’s brother had died trying to establish the alternative route, killed by brigands in the wild hill country of the western Cinder Valley. Jaron had lost his brother as well to the same bandits. That shared loss had given the two of them a common cause that had strengthened into a genuine friendship.

"To be honest, I keep