"What Jewel?" Logan inquired loudly.
"Silence!" the voice rasped in command, and the dagger nipped at his throat as it edged closer.
In that second of movement, Logan thought he heard the faint rustle of fabric.
"I want the Jewel," his attacker growled.
His night-hidden foe did not weigh much, Logan noted. The voice was raspy, but high-obviously disguised. Logan surmised he could probably unseat his assailant by arching his back, but he couldn't stop the dagger before it slit his throat.
"You will give me the Jewel or you shall die," the voice threatened.
"Then you'll never get it," Logan smugly retorted, once again purposely loud.
There was silence for a moment. The cold dagger eased up as Logan's attacker shifted its weight. This time Logan was sure he heard fabric rustle as his foe settled back down. A slim and shapely backside rested upon Logan's abdomen, and he knew his opponent had to be female. He moaned inwardly, praying his assailant was not Mara. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, he grimly reminded himself.
"I shall use you," his foe advised in a harsh whisper. "You for the Jewel."
Logan let out a laugh, and his injured skull throbbed in reply. "My friends know the importance of the Jewel," he snapped, ignoring the pain in his head. "They're not going to make a stupid deal like that!"
"I will not tell you to be silent again," his attacker warned.
The weight upon his chest and the dagger at his throat was suddenly gone, and a loud thump echoed in Logan's ears and affected the pounding in his skull. His vision became blurred as he struggled to look to one side; all the while the throbbing in his head grew worse. Through the pink of the coming dawn, however, he could make out two forms struggling in the shadows.
"Hurry!" Mara cried out, grasping the wrist of Logan's assailant. "Run!"
Logan sat up, and the room twisted inside-out. His stomach leaped and churned, and vertigo seized control. The throbbing in his brain became frantic, beating and pounding at the walls of his skull. Trying to adjust his vision, Logan saw silver flash and watched in fear as Mara forced the dagger away from her bare breast. The robed assailant threw itself back, satin billowing noisily as it freed its arms from Mara's grasp. In response, the priestess lunged, nude and unarmed. She once again caught her opponent by the wrist, desperately trying to force the dagger out of its grasp.
Stumbling in the pink light, Logan fell out of his bed. His head felt twice its size and growing larger with each pulse of pain. Gasping for breath, the young man blindly lunged, and his fingers latched onto fabric. His sense of balance dispersed, but he did not care. Pulling the robed assassin down with him, Logan crashed to the ground, followed by his attacker and Mara. A slim leg cracked into Logan's chest, and the pain in his head reached down into his ribs. All the breath went out of the young man, and he collapsed to the floor, stars and supernovae playing behind his eyelids.
"I can't…!" Mara breathed. "Matthew Logan, you must run!"
The voice reached into Logan's mind, and his last remaining ounces of strength stirred themselves into action. Feebly, he crawled to his hands and knees and stood, leaning up against the wall for support. Something whistled beside his ear, and his brain casually registered that the dagger had narrowly missed slashing Logan's throat. Narrowly missed? Logan blanched, realizing the importance of the message and momentarily forcing the pain away.
Satin tore in Mara's hand and Logan's attacker viciously backhanded the priestess across the room. The dark-haired girl spun backwards, crashing into a small table and lying very still. From where he was leaning, Logan could tell her full breasts continued to rise and fall, so she was not dead. His attacker, however, snatched up the dagger and started for the priestess. Rage boiled inside Logan and his hands clenched into fists-and he felt cold steel on the wall.
Inhaling, Logan fought back the pulsing in his head and pulled the iron-wrought symbol down from the wall. Its massive weight was too much for him, and the young man succumbed to gravity, clumsily twisting around as the huge design dropped earthward. Logan's attacker crumpled under the iron ornament, its dagger clattering noisily beside it. Logan also fell to the floor, his hands still clutching the enormous symbol. He had no idea how long he lay there before he pushed himself away from his assailant and crawled serpentlike to Mara's side. His head continued to scream in agony, and the pain dimmed the other sensations in his body as Logan touched numb fingers to Mara's naked leg.
His head swirling, Logan thought an explosion had gone off when light suddenly flooded the room. Mumbling what he hoped was a curse and not some word he had made up, the young man turned to see Barthol hurry into the chamber, a torch crackling above his head. The flames seemed to bore into Logan's skull, and the pain became too much for him. His head dropped, resting upon Mara's thigh as he battled the fury raging in his brain. He suddenly saw Riva nearby, her robe torn open and blood staining her golden hair red. The iron symbol lay atop her skull, and her exposed chest failed to rise.
"Holy Agellic!" shouted Barthol. "What have you done?"
Hurt, Logan's thought whimpered. Voice hurts. Shhh. Mara hurt. Help her.
Moknay glided in behind Barthol, his feet making no sound upon the floorboards. "Calm yourself, Barthol," he advised. "The details of the struggle are quite clear to me."
"Not to me!" the priest retorted.
Unsteadily, Logan pointed a shaking arm at Riva. "She attacked me… wanted… wanted the Jewel." He collapsed back upon Mara's soft leg. "Mara saved me."
Moknay nodded slowly, clamping a friendly hand upon Logan's shoulder. "Come on, friend," he said. "We've got to be leaving."
Logan shrugged off the Murderer's hand and protectively tightened his grip on Mara's thigh. Handing the torch to Moknay, Barthol leaned down and picked the unconscious Mara up in his arms. Logan's hands slipped away and a terrific wave of loss swept over the young man. Someone who had saved him had been injured, just like Moknay himself had been. Logan longed to help Mara, but he did not know how. Best to leave as Moknay had suggested and get out of the priestess's life before he brought more injury.
Painfully, Logan pulled himself off the ground and walked with Moknay's help out the door.
There was still a small ache in the back of his head, but the broth Barthol had made for him had lessened the pain. Quietly, Logan sat atop his mount, gazing apologetically down at Mara. The priestess stared back at him, a faint smile on her lips. She did not blame Logan at all for her injuries but thanked him for saving her life, something Logan hardly thought himself worthy of after what he had caused. He had been the one to put her life in jeopardy in the first place!
"Don't worry about it, my boy!" Barthol spoke up, noticing the two staring. "Mara's all right. In a few days she'll hardly remember the incident!"
"I'll remember," Mara whispered in answer, never taking her eyes from Logan.
"You've got the Jewel?" inquired Thromar from atop Smeea.
Logan patted one of the saddlebags in response, casting his eyes down as he was unable to meet the priestess's gaze any longer.
"May Agellic aid you in your search for the Smythe," Barthol told the trio on horseback. "We dare not let such powers fall back into Zackaron's hands or Groathit's."
"We shall try not to," Moknay told his friend. "Very well then, Barthol, perhaps I shall see you once this journey is over… or perhaps I shan't."
Barthol grimaced at the Murderer's gloomy humor but waved cheerfully as the colorful horses turned and galloped down the cobblestone streets. Mara kept her emerald green eyes trained upon Logan until the horses turned, and he was out of sight.
"Which direction?" Moknay queried as they rode.
"Straight west," Thromar replied. "We'll be leaving the path, but moving directly for Plestenah. From there it's straight into the Hills."
The Murderer stroked his bare chin with a gloved hand. "But that leaves us Roana, Lephar, and Ohmmarrious to forge without a bridge."
Thromar
made a sour face under his beard before answering. "The Roana's gentle enough to cross, and I believe there's a bridge outside of Plestenah that will take us over the Lephar. That leaves us with only the Ohmmarrious to cross on our own."
The three raced out of the town, Thromar and Moknay tossing possible routes back and forth between them. Logan's horse thundered behind them, its rider taunted by visions of a shapely young priestess with eyes as green as fir. There had been something about Mara that had piqued Logan's interest, and it was definitely more than just Barthol's suggestion. And Logan had caused her to be hurt.
"But if we go all the way to the bridge, that takes us too far south!" Thromar was arguing. "We want to go to the Hills, not Gelvanimore!"
"You want to try crossing the Ohmmarrious near the branch of the Lephar?" the Murderer retorted. "We're not riding waterfoals!"
"Quiet!" Logan ordered his companions in a hushed voice.
The pair glanced back at him; he no longer wore his dour expression and alarm sparkled in his eyes. Immediately, Thromar and Moknay obeyed and went silent.
"Keep riding," Logan whispered, "only glance to the left when you get the chance."
The fighter and Murderer did and saw what Logan had glimpsed. Snaking from tree trunk to tree trunk was a thin, lean figure with spiky black hair. A sharp, long nose jutted from the narrow face, and tiny black specks hidden in the crevices of his brow were his eyes. A tattered cloak fluttered behind the figure, and clothes as rumpled as his hair covered the scrawny skulker.
"It's Pembroke," Moknay murmured. "He's found us."
•5• Druid
Pembroke sprinted across a small clearing and disappeared behind a thick tree trunk, his tattered cloak marking his whereabouts for only a second before vanishing. His lean face materialized from beside the bark, ebony eyes riveted to Logan's green-and-yellow mount and the saddlebags at its side.
Weasellike, the black-haired servant scampered to another tree.
"That's Pembroke?" Logan questioned softly, amazed by the rodentlike movements of the gaunt figure.
Moknay nodded gravely.
Thromar snorted in contempt. "Hrrumph! Let him come! I'm not afraid of that little maggot!"
Moknay threw Thromar a glance. "He may be a maggot, but Pembroke is most certainly the swiftest and slyest maggot alive… and almost as insane as his master, Zackaron. Barthol told me certain rumors have it that he wields a Triblade. If we were to fight him, one of us is surely to perish."
"Triblade?" repeated Logan.
"A huge, heavy weapon," Thromar answered. "You'd have to be mad to use one! Has something near three blades on a razor-sharp hilt with barbed teeth atop the center blade. The deadliest weapon in existence, if you're strong enough to lift the damn thing let alone swing and thrust with it! I had no idea this Pembroke fellow could." The huge fighter grunted again. "Oh, well, he's still a maggot."
Their horses having slowed, Logan turned to peer through the trees. His blue eyes filled with puzzlement as he was unable to pinpoint the wiry servant amongst the foliage. With an urgent move of his hand, he pointed out the empty forest to his companions. Moknay's eyes glittered in thought but he remained silent; Thromar snorted.
"Hah!" the fighter exclaimed. "He's run off! Must have recognized me for who I am!"
Moknay grimly shook his head. "I doubt if he's run off," he muttered. "It may not have occurred to you, Thromar, but Pembroke has followed us all this way on foot. I don't think he's going to spot us and then run off without trying to get his horse back. He'll try something before summoning Zackaron."
The Murderer's horse suddenly reared up in fright, and Logan almost spilled to the ground as his horse did the same. Only Smeea remained on her feet, although she snorted like her master.
Blocking their path was the gaunt Pembroke, a mindless smile drawn across his lean and hungry visage. His villainous Triblade flashed in the sunlight, and Logan gaped when he saw the servant used only one hand to wield the titanic weapon.
"He has caught you at last," Pembroke grinned wickedly. "You are very observant to assume Pembroke would try to regain that which is his. Now give it to him. Return the beast and Child to Pembroke."
"Child?" Thromar wondered, asking the question for his companions as well. "We don't have any bleedin' child, maggot!"
The Triblade glinted as it wavered in Pembroke's hand. "Child," he sighed. "Pembroke's Child. Infant of Pembroke and the multiverse, she is. Beautiful… Most beautiful." The insane servant turned on them, his eyes radiating hatred. "Jewel!" he shrieked. "Give me my Jewel!"
The scream seemed to drive into Logan's brain, and his horse and Moknay's skittered backwards fearfully. There was something about the madman that triggered reactions of terror within man and beast. It's no wonder why Logan's horse ran so swiftly from Eadarus and remained with the young man rather than return to its rightful master.
"Give you your Jewel?" Moknay retorted in a resentful tone, and Logan immediately feared for the Murderer's life. "What do you take me for? A fool? I am Zackaron's new servant! The old one was done away with! I care for the Jewel now."
Pembroke's dark eyes flared as he stood in thought. An almost comical frown crossed his gaunt features, and his Triblade lowered somewhat as he pondered. Then he spat, "No! You lie! Pembroke is faithful! He would not be done away with! Give him his Child! Give me my Jewel!"
Logan swallowed hard, glancing about in all directions. There did not seem to be any escape from the black-haired lunatic before them. Moknay was closest to the servant and boxed in by Logan and Thromar behind him. If anyone made any move, Pembroke would surely slay the Murderer and then go for the others. Maybe they should give him back the Jewel regardless of what Barthol had advised.
"Give me my Jewel!" Pembroke howled, raising his Triblade to strike the Murderer.
"Stop!" Logan cried out, stretching out an arm as if to hold off the blow.
Pembroke's dark eyes flicked like a serpent's tongue to land upon Logan. The unbridled fierceness within those eyes made Logan shudder as he reached down for the leather pouch hiding the Jewel.
"I'll give you your stupid Jewel," Logan told him, sweat breaking out across his brow as the black eyes brightened, "but not if you hurt my friends."
"Friend-Logan!" Thromar protested, his beady eyes going wide.
"No one's going to die for me!" Logan snapped, cutting off any other comments. "He can take the Jewel and his damn horse! I'm not letting Moknay get killed to save me!"
"A noble sentiment, friend," Moknay answered, "but you need that horse to get back home; and Sparrill needs someone more trustworthy than Pembroke to hold that Jewel."
"Silence!" Pembroke roared, saliva spraying. "Pembroke is trustworthy!" The servant turned back to Logan, smiling hideously. "You are a smart one," he said. "Give him his Child."
Logan looked down at the magnificent Jewel he now held in his hands. Golden light leapt from the gem as the sunlight streamed into its many facets, and a halo of energy surrounded the Jewel. As if jealous for Logan's attention, the sensation of displacement rose up.
Pembroke's smile widened as he stepped closer to take the Jewel.
There was an unexpected screech from the heavens, and a blur of darkness descended upon the servant. Wings flapping, Groathit's spy swooped again, its beak flashing like a dagger's blade.
"Cannot!" the bird croaked. "Belong to Groathit! Cannot!"
Pembroke let out a startled shout and stumbled back. The ebony hawk dove a third time, forcing the wiry man away from the three on horseback. Losing his balance, the mad servant tumbled down a small slope, a cloud of dust rising into the air behind him.
"Go!" Moknay yelled, digging his heels into his horse's flanks.
The colorful horses charged forward, leaving behind Pembroke and the angry bird. Clutching the sparkling Jewel to his chest, Logan glanced back to see Pembroke leap to his feet, his black eyes blazing. A razor-sharp talon struck him above his eyebrow, and Pembroke stumbled back, bloo
d dribbling down his forehead. Instantly, his Triblade came into play, blazing silver as it severed the air. Feathers and blood flew into the sky as the three-bladed weapon creased the bird's breast. With a furious squawk, Groathit's hawk veered to the right, picking up momentum as it swooped for Pembroke's face. A second flash of the Triblade separated the bird's head from its body.
"I would love to wade through your vile blood, fowl," Pembroke mocked the corpse, "but I must be after my Jewel. It is mine, and mine alone!"
Logan blinked as he saw Pembroke stagger back onto the path, the blood of Groathit's bird sparkling upon the many blades of his weapon. Bloodied feathers had adhered themselves to Pembroke's spiky hair as he sheathed his Triblade and sprinted after the three.
"He's coming after us!" warned Logan.
"That maggot killed the bird!" Thromar boomed. "We couldn't touch it, and that maggot kills it! He must be dangerous!"
The trio of horses charged on, relentlessly pursued by the lean Pembroke. The servant's legs blurred as his pace increased, and his tattered cloak whipped out behind him. Logan's eyebrows raised in shock when he glanced back again to see the mad servant was even closer.
"Holy shit!" he cursed. "He's gaining on us!"
"Pembroke has been around the Jewel long enough," Moknay replied, not bothering to turn around. "Keep moving, friend. You did not want to see me dead-I have no desire to see you in a similar state."
Logan urged his yellow-and-green mount to faster speeds, grasping tightly to the Jewel. The feeling of disharmony remained about the young man as he rode onward, his face beaten by the high winds. For the first time, his eyes began to smart as the wind slashed into them and forbade him from blinking soothing tears into his contacts. His vision began to blur as his contact lenses began to dry, and it hurt for Logan to even blink. His eyes were red and sore, and the horses' bits were covered with foam by the time the trio lost Pembroke. Gradually, and somewhat reluctantly, Moknay slowed his mount; the nearly blind Logan and Thromar did the same.
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