Title: Jak Barley Private
Inquisitor, and the Case of the Dark Lords Conspiracy
Author: Dan Ehl
ISBN: 978-1-62420-094-6
Email: kdanehl@yahoo.com
Genre: fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
REVIEW:
Jak Barley Private Inquisitor and the Case of the
Dark Lords Conspiracy
Dan Ehl
Rogue Phoenix Press
http://www.roguephoenixpress.com/
Dan Ehl
Rogue Phoenix Press
http://www.roguephoenixpress.com/
$4.99
kissabltsweet1, Have You Heard My Book Review
4 Stars out of 5
Jak Barley has recently gained success
as an Inquisitor and he's fully enjoying it. He'd waited a long time to
be recognized for his talents but he figured now he could lay low for awhile.
It was not to be the case. Someone contacted his office and asked to meet him
to discuss a new mission. Jak, his half brother Olmsted and one other
friend met with Wizard Beammond. The newest mission involved the Dark
Lords locating items to help them take over the world. Jak hated quests. Would
he take this one?
This book is full of imagery, magic and humor. It is very well written and the characters are fun to read about. I enjoyed the fact, not everyone was perfect and the way they sort of stumbled onto information. It's an unlikely alliance between an Inquisitor, a witch, an Alchemist and many others. You wouldn't expect this and you can see why it may not work for them. I liked learning about the quirks of these people as well. Made them less scary.
I found no issues.
I gave this one a four out of 5 cheers because it's not something I would normally read.
This book is full of imagery, magic and humor. It is very well written and the characters are fun to read about. I enjoyed the fact, not everyone was perfect and the way they sort of stumbled onto information. It's an unlikely alliance between an Inquisitor, a witch, an Alchemist and many others. You wouldn't expect this and you can see why it may not work for them. I liked learning about the quirks of these people as well. Made them less scary.
I found no issues.
I gave this one a four out of 5 cheers because it's not something I would normally read.
TAGLINE
Private inquisitor Jak Barley hates adventures, but once
again he is caught up in a tangle of intrigue that includes an ancient
prophecy, assassin wizards, and a menagerie of monsters.
BLURB
Private inquisitor Jak Barley is ready for some down time
after battling Ghennison Viper Mages, being attacked by piss dragons, and
fighting off priests of Dorga the Fished Headed God of Death. That is why Jak
was not a bit amused to have a scruffy mage insist that he is to be one of a
group of questers decreed in an ancient prophecy that must cross the icy Alf
Mountains to foil the return of the Old Gods. To do so meant using a map all
too heavily dotted with "Here Be…" warnings that read like an
"Idiot's Guide to Monsters."
And why are Westian Lizard Wizards targeting young
red-headed maidens and who is behind the numerous and bizarre attacks upon Jak?
Once gain Jak finds himself saying, "I hate adventures."
EXCERPT
Its
purplish tongue darting out to test the fetid air of the narrow alley, the
four-inch long jackal lizard wove an intricate course through the garbage
strewn about the damp cobblestone. Disappearing for a heartbeat beneath a
shattered herring barrel, the small hunter emerged to fling itself to a
moss-swathed brick wall and scamper with its tiny talons to a windowsill. Red
pupils expanded briefly at the sight of its quarry.
The
slight, furtive figure was hastening down the shadowy back street, shoulders
hunched while tightly grasping the hooded cape at her neck. She paused to look
nervously over a shoulder. To her ears and jade green eyes, the lane was empty
except for the scuttling of rats amidst the heaped garbage already picked over
by street urchins and now awaiting the weekly patrol of rubbish trolls.
The
lizard's quarry exited the alley onto a broader avenue lit by irregularly
spaced gas lamps and the light seeping out from around the shades and curtains
of the neighborhood's cramped warrens. She paused again to squint up and down
the street as if trying to penetrate the shadows that clung to the myriad
doorways and small courtyard gates.
Nervously
licking her lips, the hooded figure rushed up a flight of worn stone steps to a
narrow, thick door also partially hidden by the shadows. It appeared a sinister
black, but on a sunny day the entrance was a festive red trimmed in green.
The
jackal lizard had only two things in common with the door. By night the
creature appeared black and if it ever ventured into the clean light of day, it
would prove to be red. It wasn't a festive crimson, but more the scarlet of a
seeping, broken blister. Its job completed, the tiny reptile turned to retrace
its evening journey.
One
hour later, another hooded figure emerged from the alley. Instead of the
panicky air of the early walker, this cowled form strode with boldness through
the gathering fog. A gas lamp momentarily illuminated the gaunt features of the
stranger. An observer might be startled by the freezing grey eyes or arrogant,
thin lips. But what would first draw any eyes was the black tattoo of a lizard
across the shadowy figure's forehead. Or at least it first appeared a tattoo –
until a closer look would reveal the image to actually be restlessly shifting
and stirring.
Minutes
later, there was a startled shriek from behind the red and green door – to be
followed by a tormented, drawn-out cry that sent everyone in earshot scrambling
to check the locks on their doors and windows. The hooded figure left as
arrogantly as he had arrived.
This
scenario was to be replayed several times within the next three weeks in the
city of Duburoake.
On
the fourth venture, the jackal lizard was agilely darting among the feet of the
unwary as it traversed a busy avenue in pursuit of a maiden barely out of
childhood. The long cape failed to hide her slim figure and lustrous red hair
spilling out from beneath her hood. The young woman muttered occasional
apologies when she inadvertently collided with others in her anxious haste to
get home.
The
jackal lizard leaped a street curb and dashed beneath a cluster of outdoor
tables, stools, and the thickly booted feet of the patrons of the King's Wart
Inn. It paused to flick its purple tongue for traces of its prey's scent when a
looming shadow descended to bring a blackness harsher than any gaslight shadow.
~ * ~
"By
the dozen teats of the goddess Gendra, you almost spilled my ale," I
yelped in admonishment as I grabbed for the teetering stein. Lorenzo Spasm had
violently shoved the scuffed wooden table aside and brought his heel firmly
down upon the ale garden's flagstone. Somewhere off in the crowd of celebrants
for the St. Drubel's parade a strangled scream erupted above the din. I watched
as Lorenzo lifted his boot to reveal the squished remnants of what appeared to
be a small, red lizard.
"Nice
going," I admonished my friend. "You just stomped some harmless
creature seeking nothing more than to eat one of the numerous cockroaches that
plague the King's Wart Inn."
Lorenzo
ignored my reproach to stare intently at the remains. I glanced to my
half-brother, Olmsted Aunderthorn, to see that he was also closely observing the
deceased lizard.
I took another sip of the cellar-cooled
ale. "I guess we could call Tem Rouster. He collects road kills, dries
them, soaks them in cheap cologne, and sells them to cab drivers to hang in
their coaches as air flavorer to ward off the scents of his more malodorous
patrons. Now that I think of it, such a fragranced bauble would not be a bad
thought in this establishment's water closet."
Both of my friends ignored my witty
banter.
"What?" I asked in puzzlement.
"That be a jackal lizard, Jak,"
Olmsted answered.
Even in my slight ale buzz, his reply
brought me up on my stool. "A jackal lizard, here?"
Lorenzo stood and peered into the crowd of
drunken revelers. The street was lit by numerous torches installed just for the
evening festival. Olmsted and I followed suit. Where there was a jackal lizard,
there was bound to be a Westian Lizard Wizard. My friend abruptly waded into
the throng.
The significance of the dead lizard and
the earlier shriek finally sank in. Westian Lizard Wizards were notorious for
blending their evil arts with those of assassins. Talk on the street was that
one was in Duburoake plying his nefarious trade. A recent spate of mutilated
corpses seemed to back up the conjecture.
I hurried to catch up with my friend,
though following him in the densely packed mob wasn't easy. Drubel was the
patron saint of brewers, which not only
made him one of the more popular holy figures, but his devotees a rather
raucous bunch. I emerged into a gap in the crowd – it was created by the
celebrants frantically backing away from a wildly swaying figure.
I
had never seen a Westian Lizard Wizard in real life, but there was no mistaking
the cowled figure for a black order of necromancers. Across the brow of the
mage was the lizard shaped indentation, now missing its customary passenger.
The Lizard Wizards were the only magicians to carry their familiars in such a
novel manner.
Judging
by the muffled screams and curses emanating from the warlock, the death of his
cold-blooded companion was extremely excruciating. He was pressing the heels of
his hands into his temples. Thin rivulets of blood seeped from where he had
raked his long, dirty nails across his cheeks.
The
deranged mage froze in his pose of anguish to glare intently at Lorenzo.
"You!"
the wizard shrieked at my friend. "You are the one who killed my
lizard."
While
other observers of the mini-drama pressed even farther away from the crazed
wizard, Lorenzo calmly stood his ground and responded, "We're going to
make the little bastard into an air flavorer."
The
wizard gritted his teeth and drew in a ragged breath. "What?" he
asked in bewilderment, as if Lorenzo had just told him that wet birds do not
fly at night.
"I'm
afraid all those splintered little bones would make it unfit to eat, so we're
going to dry it, soak the flattened carcass in cheap cologne, and hang it in the
water closet at the King's Wart Inn to ward off the lingering odor of
urine."
The mage's mouth spasmed several times
before releasing another horrendous shriek. He pulled a hand from his head to thrust his arm toward my friend. This
caused a further panic among the revelers. I similarly retreated. No one wanted
to be around wizards when they were pointing fingers. It was not only impolite,
but deadly.
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