"Hah!" Thromar boomed happily. "I win!"
"Oh, no, you don't," Moknay grinned.
Thromar made a face, shuffled over to the cadaver, and pounced up and down a few times. "I must look like an utter fool dancing like this!" he grumbled.
"Would you like to hear something just as amusing, Utter Fool?" Moknay snickered. "I left all my money back in Eadarus."
Thromar stared dumbly at the grinning Murderer, angrily wiping the blood off his boots. Logan, impressed by Thromar's display, suddenly screwed up his face, waving a hand in front of his nose.
"Whew!" he proclaimed. "What a stench!"
Moknay nodded. "Demons tend to stink more than most things once you cut them up. That bothersome odor will attract quite a number of beasties on the prowl for food. I suggest we put some distance between ourselves and the corpse before stopping for the night."
"I agree heartily," Thromar put in. "Not only for safety, but also so I may forget how I was tricked into dancing upon a dead Demon!"
"Cheer up, Thromar," Moknay jeered. "Think of it as something you can tell your children-if that creature wasn't one of them."
"You tread a thin line, Murderer," Thromar playfully growled, mounting up.
Logan pulled back his sleeve and stared at his glowing watch; the red and silver light was still there. He guessed he had been on watch for about one hour, so it must have been somewhere around four in the morning, but, without his watch, he could not be positive. He tossed a look behind him at where his horse was tethered and the leather saddlebags were hanging beside its flanks. Muttering unhappily, Logan opened the pouch of food beside him and ate the remaining pieces of jerky. Chewing, he threw a few small twigs into the campfire before him. He stared as the sticks blazed with red, yellow, and orange light and let the image blur. It looked as if Logan was amazed by the fire hungrily consuming the twigs, but, in actuality, he was bored. Wishing he could suddenly reappear in his apartment, Logan continued gazing at the dancing tongues of flame. His eyes sprang open when the fire finished feasting upon the twigs and belched.
Logan brought up his head, his blue eyes wide in astonishment. Beyond the fire, peering out from the shrubbery, was the strangest-looking face Logan had ever seen. Enormous hands pushed aside the obstructing foliage so the face could stare at Logan expectantly. The face and hands seemed to be a light blue, but Logan could not be sure from where he sat. Unexpectedly, a gigantic leer spread across the squarish face, and the thing lumbered free of the brush.
Logan felt a jolt of fear race through his system. The creature coming toward him stood over seven feet tall! And its skin was blue! Its human body was made up of tremendous muscles, and its massive chest was as wide as a barrel. Tattered pants dangled about its tree-trunk-thick legs, and enormous bare feet pounded the ground as it advanced.
It smiled crookedly.
"Fooooooood!"
Mouth agape, Logan scuttled backwards, trying to pull his sword from its sheath. "Hey," he stuttered, "I'm not food!"
"Not fooooood?" the creature asked, crestfallen.
It was semi-intelligent, Logan realized. Maybe he could convince it not to hurt him.
"No," he told the thing, shaking his head slowly, "I'm not food; but I do have some. You want to make a deal?"
The light blue ogre nodded eagerly. "Make deeeeeeal!" it boomed, stepping closer to the fire.
The fear remained churning inside Logan, but it was slowly decreasing. The light blue beast was nothing more than a large human-an ogre. Its odd skin color and enormous size made it startling at first, but now Logan almost expected it to jump up and down and clap its massive hands in anticipation.
Logan continued: "Yeah, I'll make you a deal. I'll give you food, and you don't hurt me."
"Fooooooood!"
Logan flinched at the resounding bellow, glancing over at Thromar and Moknay, who-oddly enough-were still sleeping. They didn't need to know about the ogre, Logan concluded. They might wake up and hurt the poor guy.
"Shh!" Logan commanded. "Be quiet! You want to wake up my friends?"
"Friennnnnnnnds?" the ogre queried, cocking its head to one side.
"Yeah, those guys," Logan responded, pointing to one side.
The light blue ogre nodded its massive head and clamped a huge hand across its mouth. Unable to restrain a grin, Logan pulled out his food pouch and handed some over to the ogre. The large creature snatched at it greedily, wolfing it down in one swallow.
"Fooooooood!" it rumbled cheerfully.
"Jesus!" Logan exclaimed. "Eat it fast, why don't you?"
The ogre grinned. "Faaaast!"
Logan peered back into the pouch; the leather sack was empty. The fear increased as he looked back up. The ogre stood on the opposite side of the fire, a massive hand extended for more food. That hand could fit right around my skull! Logan noted, swallowing hard. And if it squeezed…
Fearing the worst, Logan said, "Uh… I'm afraid there isn't any more."
The ogre cocked its head to one side again. "No moooooore?"
Cringing, Logan nodded. "Yep, sorry."
The light blue hand closed and slowly retracted as the ogre took a few thunderous steps back. "Sor… ry," it repeated, dejectedly vanishing into the surrounding foliage.
A large black hawk glared from atop a tree, its eyes flickering in the firelight below.
•4• Wheel
Logan glanced over his shoulder at the treetops backed by the cloud-filled sky. The black hawk ignored his gaze, continuing to flap from to tree. The sunlight seemed to sparkle upon a malevolent intent glittering within the bird's eyes as it glared down at the three.
"It's been watching us all day," Logan muttered, turning back around.
Moknay sneered in vexation, one hand going to the throwing knife at his belt. "Damn bird," he snarled. "It just sits there-like it's waiting for something-and it always evades anything we throw at it."
"Let it come closer and I'll mash its beak!" Thromar declared.
"It did; and you missed," Moknay reminded. "At least we've been able to guess that it has to return to wherever Groathit is to give him a report on our progress. I only wish I knew what the damn thing was waiting for." The Murderer glared up at the treetops with his own namesake glinting in his eyes.
The ebony bird spread its wings and fluttered to the next treetop.
Logan gave the saddlebag hiding the Jewel a swift glance and then turned back to the hawk. Groathit's tactics worked better for them than for him, Logan discovered. The spellcaster could have his stupid bird trail them all the way to the Hills of Sadroia before doing something himself, and, of course, by then, it would be too late. The Jewel would be in the Smythe's hands, and Logan would be safe at home in his Santa Monica apartment. A wild grin suddenly spread across Logan's face and he directed his horse closer to Moknay's.
"It might be waiting for us to mention where we're going," the young man whispered.
Moknay's eyebrows shot up, and Logan's grin was reflected on the Murderer's mien. "You may have something there, friend," he whispered back. "We're pretty close to Debarnian; perhaps we can lose our feathered foe for a few days."
"How?" Thromar questioned. "It will surely follow us into the town."
Moknay's eyes flickered. "Not if we give it some information to tell Groathit," he said with a smirk. Then, in a loud voice, he proclaimed, "Not much further. We should arrive in Semeth in a few weeks."
"We will?" Thromar asked, startled.
Moknay hushed the fighter with a fierce glare and turned to watch the bird. The hawk flapped its wings triumphantly, flying eastward. "Semeth!" it croaked. "Semeth!"
"Into the town!" Moknay ordered.
The three horses shot forth, leaving an enormous cloud of dust rising in their wake. The wind shrieked past Logan's ears as he urged his mount on at what seemed to be an impossible speed. Before he could adjust his senses to the incredible pace, the horses entered Debarnian and Logan had to fight the reins for control. People sca
ttered, screaming, as the trio of horses charged recklessly through the town, hooves clattering upon the cobblestones.
Logan jerked back on the reins and finally pulled his yellow-and-green mount to a halt. Thromar reined up beside him; dismounting in front of them was Moknay. He walked over to the two, leading his horse and smirking in victory. Thromar also dismounted, gently patting Smeea upon the nose. Logan remained on his horse, watching the two from there as if the spectacular run had left him as winded as the horses.
With a cheerful "Ah-ha!" Thromar began to move forward, taking Smeea along behind him.
Moknay raised a curious eyebrow as the fighter walked past him. "Where in Imogen's name are you going?" he queried.
"In there," Thromar remarked, pointing to a nearby tavern. "If we're going to hide from that bird, we may as well do it in style."
"So," the Murderer grunted, "Thromar the Fat heads for the nearest tavern! I should have guessed as much. Well, Logan and I will be at Agellic's Church; I've a friend there who may be able to help."
Logan jumped from his horse and gave Thromar a last look before the fighter ducked into the bar. An unease began to take residence in Logan's stomach as he followed Moknay down the cobblestone street. The last time he had been separated from Thromar he had almost been killed-three times! And he had been forced to retreat without the fighter's aid. No, Logan did not like the idea of Thromar leaving them, but he could not demand the fighter accompany him. Thromar had his own life to lead… Logan was only getting in the way with his being there.
The sensation of incompatibility returned as if on cue.
Moknay halted before Logan and opened a massive ivory door. The feeling of wrongness practically vanished as Logan looked up at the Church. It was built out of massive stones, and battlements lined the roof like a castle tower. Triangular windows made of glass stretched up the walls, and four huge pillars supported the roof above the entrance. The architecture seemed to be a cross between the structures of ancient Greece and of the High Middle Ages.
In awe, Logan entered the Church and was stunned once again. Crystal and gold adorned the tables and walls, and the marble floor sparkled black and white as sunlight streamed in through the windows. Enormous pillars stood sentrylike within the foyer, and Logan realized the black-and-white floor made an odd design under their feet. A small wooden door, carved with intricate designs, stood off to their left, and double doors which led to the main body of the Church lay ahead of them.
His boots clicking upon the marble, Moknay went for the smaller door.
The two stepped into a cluttered room filled with tables and littered by strange objects and devices. Rows of candles lined all the tables but one. This table was covered by a collection of papers and scrolls, and a somewhat plump man dressed in a red tunic and blue pants bent over the parchments, his back to his guests.
Silently, Moknay crept up behind him, poking a dagger at the man's back. "Stand quite still and give me all your money," the Murderer growled menacingly.
The man at the table went rigid. "I give up!" he cried. "Take my money! Take my clothing! Take everything! Just don't hurt me!"
Moknay grinned back at Logan. "Turn around very slowly," he instructed his victim.
The chubby man did as he was commanded, shuffling about with as much grace as a worm caught in a spider's web. When he saw his attacker, he straightened considerably, tugging on his tunic and clearing his throat.
"Fooled you, didn't I?" he snorted. "Knew it was you all along! Just wanted to give your morale a boost!"
"Of course you did, Barthol," Moknay agreed, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
"Oh, I did!" protested Barthol. "If I had not have recognized you, a real thief would have tasted my fury! Stab! Into his bowels! Slash! Off goes an arm! Blood everywhere! Marvelous!"
"You remind me an awful lot of Thromar," Moknay sneered, "but that's not why I'm here."
Barthol turned his back on the Murderer, waving his hands in annoyance. "If it's money you want, you've wasted your time. The collection box has been empty for weeks, so I haven't gotten… uh… I mean, the Church hasn't gotten anything for a long time."
"I don't want your money," answered Moknay. "I want you to help my friend."
Barthol looked over his shoulder and spotted Logan for the first time. With a startled yelp, he sprang back, knocking into a table and spilling a number of leatherbound volumes. Moknay glared at the priest, tapping the fingers of his right hand upon his left arm.
"Calm yourself, Barthol," he commanded. "He's a friend."
Barthol sneered back. "Well, he can't have any money either." The plump man took a curious step forward and peered at Logan. "And besides, people from Droth aren't allowed in Agellic's Church."
"For Christ's sake!" exclaimed Logan. "I am not from Droth!"
Barthol blinked, turning to Moknay. "For whose sake?" he wondered.
Moknay's eyebrows lowered, transforming his face into a grimace of impatience. "Stop aggravating me, Barthol," he said, gritting his teeth. "You know you're very good at it."
"Yes," Barthol replied, "you say that every time you visit me and ask for money."
"I don't want your damn money!" the Murderer fumed.
"Then why did you come here?" Barthol threw back.
Moknay's gloved hands shot out and grasped the front of Barthol's tunic. The stumpy man cringed for a moment as Moknay drew him closer, then threw back his shoulders and met the Murderer's glare. "Don't hit me," he warned, "or I'll turn into a living blast of power and whiz about you until you won't know what hit you."
Moknay continued glaring, his teeth clenched. "You'll find that quite difficult without a head," he snarled slowly.
Barthol's brow furrowed in thought. "You know," he pleasantly responded, "I think you're right."
"Now listen to me and listen carefully," Moknay instructed. "My friend here is not from Droth, nor is he from Sparrill, Denzil, or Magdelon. He says he comes from Santa Monica, which could be another part of the world-Imogen knows I've never heard of it! We've run into a bit of a problem, and I want you to check your charts to see if Logan's… arrival has been noted."
Barthol beamed. "Ah! My charts!" he happily cried. "You have come to the right man! I shall answer any questions you may have… if you'll let me go."
Moknay released the priest and watched as he walked to an empty wall. Dimpled fingers picked up a pouch and reached into it. Between his thumb and forefinger, Barthol was pinching some glittering dust when he extracted his hand, and Logan thought it looked like glitter he used to buy as a kid at a magic shop. Knowing he had an audience, Barthol himself put on a magic act, adding meaningless gestures and ridiculous jumps as he sprinkled the dust before the blank wall. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen; then the wall shivered, almost rippling like water. Gradually, a dark square formed on the wall, dotted with points of light. Logan blinked a few times at what appeared to be a window, only it did not look outside at the town of Debarnian but stared out into the blackness of space. Strange illuminated symbols accompanied the stars as they went about their celestial dance.
Barthol leaned closer to inspect his chart.
"Hmmm," the little man muttered, "Bergyls has shifted, and Rewyt seems to have dropped Wheelward. Aetwindan is increasing, and Gereord is diminishing. IukIan and Paell have interchanged, and Tolmaessa is veering Gymmward."
Logan scratched his head. "What's all that mean?"
Barthol turned around, shrugging. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Moknay bellowed. "What do you mean you don't know?"
Barthol waved his hands frantically. "I never did understand all that cosmic claptrap!" he admitted. Unexpectedly, something on the chart caught his eye and he began staring. "What's this, then?" he mumbled. "There's a rift in the Wheel, causing it to tilt slightly to one side."
"Any foreseeable danger?" interrogated Moknay.
"Oh, no," Barthol consoled him. "The Wheel continuously dips from one side to the other
-part of the cosmic cycle of events."
"Anything about the Jewel of Equilibrant?" Logan abruptly questioned, shifting the leather pouch he carried in his arms.
Barthol turned away from his chart, his eyes trained on Logan. "Why do you ask that?"
"Can you find it on your chart?" Moknay pressed the question.
Barthol swung around to face his chart. "Of course I can find it on my chart," he retorted. "The Jewel acts as the force that balances out the system of forces within the Wheel and produces equilibrium for the…" The priest nosed up to his mystical chart, peering at it. "It's not there," he gasped.
"Do you know who owned it?" Logan inquired, recalling Moknay's comment about stealing it from the Smythe. Wouldn't that just be dandy? the young man thought. The man I was looking for was in one of the first places I was, and I may have not only left without seeing if he could help me, but stealing his horse as well!
In somewhat of a daze, Barthol turned to some scrolls to answer Logan's query. "The Jewel has been in the possession of one of the mightiest spellcasters in all Sparrill, a magician by the name of Zackaron. In his experiments with the Jewel, Zackaron accidently triggered a portion of the energies and bestowed upon himself almost godly powers. This transfer alone has kept him alive for almost two hundred years.
Unfortunately, powers that practically give Zackaron control over nature also drove him quite mad. So, in order to keep the Jewel's powers in check, he gave it to his servant-boy, Pembroke." Barthol swung his gaze from his scrolls back to his chart. "And it seems Pembroke has lost the Jewel!" He went silent for another moment. "Holy Agellic!" he cried in fear. "If the Reakthi should happen to get their slimy hands on the Jewel, I'd hate to think what would happen to Sparrill!"
"No need to worry," Moknay grimly advised. "Logan has the Jewel."
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