•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 scattered, 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.'
