ever, and if he had not put his blade straight through the heart it had been a very near miss indeed. He had the stone, though. Now he had only to get away with it; the other priests must have heard the shouting, especially that final scream.
He yanked his sword out of the priest's body; a good foot of the blade had protruded through the back of the robe, and it took a second pull before it came completely free, allowing the unfortunate man to fall to the floor. His hood fell aside, and for the first time Garth saw his face; a thin, pale face, red eyes wide and glazed in death, mouth gaping and filling with sluggishly flowing blood. Long white hair was flung across his features, tangling with a skimpy white beard; he had been a young man, perhaps only a novice rather than a full priest. Garth was not at all pleased. He had hoped to avoid killing anyone on this errand. He wiped his sword on the hem of the man's robe and stepped across the corpse into the antechamber, carefully avoiding the spreading pool of blood, then paused for a moment to sheathe his sword.
There was a cry from behind him; he glanced back and saw nothing but darkness. Nonetheless, he sprinted for the steps.
More shouts sounded, and something whistled through the air by his ear; disdaining dignity he dove forward, curling into a ball around the stolen altarstone and rolling down the thirteen steps to the street, where he sprang up and ran, paying little heed at first to direction but merely dodging at random from alley to street to alley. His hood flew back, revealing his inhuman visage, but none of the startled passersby attempted to stop him.
At last, well after the shouting was lost in the distance, he slowed; he paused in an unoccupied alleyway to restore his obscuring cowl and height-disguising crouch, and hobbled out, doing his best to appear a harmless old man. The altar-stone was under his cloak, hidden by his crouch.
It took him half an hour to find himself on a street he recognized; from there he made his way to the market place, and thence to the Inn of the Seven Stars. He dared not enter the tavern, as the followers of Tema might find him there; instead he went to Koros' stall in the adjacent stable. There he decided to take a look at his booty, and pulled the great crystal from under his cloak.
It sparkled eerily in the morning light; he gazed at it in fascination. It was very beautiful, an intense, cold beauty. He found himself studying its depths raptly, searching for something he could feel there; he had a sensation of being observed, and of unearthly power, as if the night-goddess herself were watching him from within the gem. He was unaware of anything but the gem, and the deep cold gleaming light within; he lost his sense of time, and felt as if he had been looking into the crystalline glow for all eternity, trying to meet the gaze of Tema. A cool stillness, like the air of a clear night, absorbed him, and he knelt utterly motionless.
With the abruptness of a lightning bolt he felt a warm touch on his face, like a flame on ice; he turned away from it involuntarily, and the spell was broken as the gem ceased to be the center of his direct gaze.
He blinked, and realized he was kneeling foolishly in the straw of the stall holding the stone while Koros nuzzled him curiously, wondering why he did not move.
He had survived hypnotic spells before, and had a healthy respect for them; he covered the great crystal with straw, being very careful not to look directly at it. The straw would also hide it adequately; no one would be able to come close enough to find it without first disposing of the warbeast. Garth pitied anyone who might attempt such a feat.
His booty secured, he paused for a moment to decide his next action; he seated himself comfortably on a pile of straw, his mount standing placidly over him. Long before he could reach any decision his fatigue caught up with him, and he slept.
CHAPTER NINE
He awoke slowly, his mind fuzzy; there were voices somewhere nearby. It took him several seconds before he recognized his surroundings as Koros' stall in the inn's stable; more seconds passed before he remembered that he had fallen asleep there unintentionally. His neck ached; he had slept with his head propped awkwardly against the side of the stall. He rubbed it absently and listened to the voices.
There were two of them, both young human males; they were arguing about something, apparently the ownership of some item. A small item, it seemed, since the one who possessed it apparently carried it on his person.
Garth sat up and looked around; it was daylight, and judging by the shadows either very early or very late. He thought for a moment, calculating the orientation of the stable, and decided that it was late afternoon. He had slept most of the day away, which was probably just as well. He had needed the rest.
He recalled the events of the night before, and checked to be sure his loot was still secure; it was. He had thought that the crystal was clear, but looking at it in the sunlight being very careful not to let it trap his attention once again-he saw that it was milky white. Not that it made any difference, he thought; he had no use for the thing. He covered it over with straw again.
The argument outside was winding down; some sort of compromise had apparently been reached.
It was none of his concern. He clambered to his feet, promising himself that never again would he sleep wearing mail; every link seemed to have left a permanent impression on his back, despite the quilting underneath and the breastplate on top. Reminded of the breastplate's presence, he removed it; mail alone should certainly be sufficient for anything he was likely to encounter in the city. He was still wearing his sword as well, he realized when he almost tripped over it.
Koros growled a greeting, and the voices outside suddenly stopped. Then one asked, 'What was that?'
The other replied, 'I don't know. Dugger said there was some kind of foreign monster in number three, but I figured he was lying as usual.'
There was a pause. Garth patted the warbeast's nose, and reached down to his pack for the wire brush he used for cleaning the monster's ears, which had a habit of picking up burrs and other such unpleasant little items. The first voice spoke again.
'Should we check?'
'I don't know.'
'I'm going to look. Come on.'
'Go look yourself.'
'Oh, come on.'
'Well, all right. If you want.' There was the sound of footsteps approaching; light footsteps. Definitely young humans, Garth thought, as he stood with brush in hand.
A moment later two adolescent faces peered over the stall door, and almost immediately vanished again. Garth grinned to himself. Then, slowly, first one face and then the other inched back into sight.
'Greetings,' Garth said.
'Uh...greetings,' said the taller of the two boys.
'I hope my beast didn't upset you.'
'No.' Then, after some hesitation, the lad went on, 'You're an overman, aren't you?'
'Yes.' There was no point in denying the obvious, since his cloak and hood were lying in disarray on the straw, leaving his noseless, leathery face and black mail in plain sight.
'Oh.'
The other boy asked, 'What's that?' pointing timidly at Koros.
'A warbeast.'
'Oh.'
'How'd you get in here? I've been here all day.'
Garth shrugged. 'I got in.'
The boy decided further questions were not in order; instead, he explained, 'But I'm supposed to watch the stable and make sure everyone pays their bills.'
'You needn't worry; I will pay. I paid the other boy for the first day.'
'Dugger? Oh.' There was silence for a moment; the two had apparently exhausted their questions for the moment. Garth began cleaning the warbeast's ears with the brush; there were no burrs or thorns visible, but the creature seemed to enjoy it anyway.
