Orconomics (The Dark Profit Saga, #1)

by J. Zachary Pike

“Oh, there’s always a choice. Choice is a constant.” Flinn grinned, a cold glint in his eye. “It’s consequences that vary.”

The Academy of Mages recognized sorcerous duels as a valid method of establishing social standing, or settling personal disagreements, or figuring out whose turn it was to do the dishes.

And since there were so many magic-using foes out in the field, warrior heroes came in only two varieties: those who knew how to fight mages, and extra crispy.

It didn’t occur to Gorm until it was too late that, up until recently, every meal that Gleebek had eaten had likely been served with a side order of uncertainty. Aside from heroes, starvation was the greatest threat wild Goblins faced.

They ran sprints and did an obstacle course. They shot targets and sparred with a training golem. They held a mixed skirmish fought with wooden swords. By mid-morning, Gorm had a good idea of where they were. “We’re dead,” Gorm said.

Because a party of heroes is like a Gnomish flame cannon: give it the right chemistry, point it in the right direction, and it’ll do wonders. Do any one part wrong, and the whole thing blows up in your face.”

“Forty percent of the economy is loot?” said Kaitha. “Loot, or plunder funds, or weapons and armor manufacturing, or potion brewers, or inns that cater to adventurers, or hoard-appraising, and so on,” said the noctomancer. “There’s a lot of work done and products sold to support questing heroes. If we stopped, what happens to the workers and the sellers? They’d lose everything. They’d starve in the streets.”

Stone Drakes were among the basest of the dragon-kin, usually encountered in one of three conditions: eating, sleeping, or violently furious about whatever was impeding their eating or sleeping. Essentially a toothy mouth propelled by six legs and a voracious appetite, a Stone Drake was nothing if not straightforward—mostly because turning took so much effort.

Some men were too proud to ever admit defeat; the closest they came to surrender was learning to keep their mouths shut.

“Bandits,” snarled Kaitha. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the first man. “What’s with the hostility and the labeling?” “Don’t be so eager to jump to conclusions,” said the second. “Why, for all you know, I could be a druid concerned for the well-being of these precious, pretty trees that some uncouth cur has taken an axe to.” “And I could be a concerned citizen going to check on the well-being of those poor, unfortunate travelers.”

The line between necromancy and noctomancy was ill-defined and fuzzy, but walking corpses were a good indicator that some wizard or mage had violated the Order of the Moon’s strict rules against the magic of undeath. Individually, a walking skeleton or a zombie was a nuisance on par with a door-to-door missionary from the Temple of Oppo; both had unnatural persistence, an unnerving grin, and a single-minded focus on making converts.