that eye.
'Groathit!' Moknay barked. 'You worm! How long have you been here?'
The magic-user continued to smile. 'My men and I have only just arrived, but I knew of your secret… 'cargo' beforehand.' His good eye flicked to the crossbowman at his side. 'Now hand over your companion and his prize.'
In reply, Moknay swerved, and two daggers flashed. The crossbow twanged, and the blatant noise made Logan flinch. Moknay, however, expertly dived to one side, releasing the throwing knife at his belt. With an agonized cry, the cross-bowman went down, one of the Murderer's daggers projecting from his cheek. Another Reakthi toppled, the Murderer's dagger and throwing knife embedded in his flesh.
'Get them and bring me the Jewel!' Groathit roared at the remaining warriors.
The quartet of Reakthi advanced, pushing into the cluttered room. Logan yanked free his own blade, swinging at the closest soldier. The warrior let out a shout as the blade tore across the top of his wrist, freeing blood. Moknay sprang atop one of the tables, three daggers screaming from his hand in rapid succession. One Reakthi fell backwards, a dagger lodged in the side of his neck. Another winced as a spinning blade skimmed his left shoulder and thunked into the wall. The third dagger spun for Groathit, who waved once and scattered the weapon's molecules throughout the chamber.
'Logan!' Moknay called. 'The Jewel!'
Logan pulled the sack out from under his arm and made ready to toss the pouch to the Murderer. Unexpectedly, the hilt of a sword crashed into the back of his head with terrific force, and Logan pitched forward with a weak groan, the sack falling out of his hands.
Moknay's eyes narrowed as he watched the Reakthi behind Logan bend to grasp the Jewel. Groathit stood in the doorway, a triumphant grin across his skull-like features. A booted foot suddenly smashed into the Reakthi's jaw, knocking the warrior to the floor. Spitting blood, the chestplated soldier readied his sword, glancing up to see Barthol now in possession of the Jewel. Growling like some savage animal, the Reakthi shot forward, his sword thrusting for Barthol's stomach.
Barthol moved with astounding speed, snatching up Logan's fallen sword as he scurried to one side. His wild lunge, however, sent him reeling into a table, and the priest expected the Reakthi's sword to pierce his back at any moment. A scream sounded instead, and Barthol whipped about as his attacker toppled to the ground, one of Moknay's daggers just above his chestplate.
The Reakthi with the wounded wrist started for the priest, who sprinted back, pushing over the table he had bumped. The warrior stumbled, slipping in a puddle of blood made by his companions as he gripped tightly to his wrist. When he regained his balance and glanced up to find the fat priest, shining metal met his eyes and white- hot pain seared into his face. Blood splattered as Logan's blade bit into the Reakthi's eyes and across the bridge of his nose before shattering his skull.
Barthol watched as a hand twitched and went still.
'By all the gods!' a voice boomed throughout the Church.
Groathit wheeled about to see Thromar stride into the chamber, his massive sword ripping free of its sheath and streaking for the Reakthi spellcaster. Frantically gesticulating, Groathit burst into a titanic tongue of fire and vanished. The last Reakthi collapsed to the bloodstained floor as Moknay slit his throat.
Thromar let out a snort, replacing his sword. 'Huh! Next time I shall know better! I went looking for some fun in a tavern and it's in a Church instead!'
There was a dim glow generating from somewhere within the room and a persistent throb in his skull as Logan feebly opened one eye. All the muscles in his body ached, and he winced at each heartbeat as if the flowing of his blood strengthened the pounding in his head. With his one eye open, Logan could make out a strange, iron-wrought symbol hanging on the wall above his supine form, and a soft substance lay beneath him, so he guessed he was on a bed of some sort. When he attempted to turn his head, the sharp jab of pain shot through his nerves, and Logan slumped, groaning. Through the ache, the young man heard satin rustle and peeked his eye open again to observe a slim figure leaning over him, a candle sputtering in one hand.
The candle's faint yellow glow illuminated a lovely face ringed by dark brown hair, and eyes filled with concern looked down at Logan. A red satin robe clung to her shapely form, closed by a black satin belt about her slim waist. She smiled when,she saw Logan's eye pop open.
'Don't move,' she whispered. 'I'll fetch Barthol.'
Barthol, Logan mused. That's right-he and Moknay had gone to see Barthol and had been attacked. The Jewel! he suddenly recalled, attempting to sit up. What had happened to the Jewel?
Dizziness and nausea consumed Logan, and he was forced back onto the bed. Helplessly, he stared up at the iron symbol, wishing the pain in his head would go away as he recognized the ornament as the same design that had been in the foyer. Quiet footsteps sounded as the girl returned, trailed by Barthol and Moknay; to Logan each step was a booming cannon.
'How are you feeling?' Barthol inquired softly. 'That was a nasty rap you took.'
Logan reached a hand behind his head and flinched as he lightly touched the enormous bulge on the back of his skull. 'I feel like a bunch of elephants are doing a fandango in my head,' he moaned.
Barthol glanced back at Moknay. 'Fandango?'
Moknay glanced back. 'Elephants?' he queried. Silently, he approached a window and peered out behind the curtains. 'If you're wondering,' he said over his shoulder, 'we still have the Jewel.'
Logan attempted to nod, and his head was flooded with pain. Instead, he croaked, 'How the hell did Groathit find us? I thought we had tricked his bird.'
Moknay shrugged. 'He must have been waiting for us to ditch his spy and had a troop of Reakthi trailing us. He probably just teleported in from wherever he was hiding.' The Murderer flashed Logan a grin which-to Logan- seemed to glare like a million suns. 'Still, he doesn't know if we were lying when we said we were going to Semeth. Any fool could have guessed we had run into Debarnian.'
Barthol placed a gentle hand on Logan's shoulder. 'You'll be staying here tonight,' he told him, 'in Mara's room. She's an apprentice priestess of Lelah, so feel free to ask her for anything… if you know what I mean. She's never had a visitor before, but she does very well in her studies.'
Logan blinked a few times, thinking he had misheard. 'Huh?' he sputtered. 'You mean when you're a priest you can…?'
Barthol chuckled good-naturedly. 'Of course! Lelah's the goddess of love, so all her priestesses are taught the goddess's art. It's different where you come from, eh? That's too bad you can't…'
'Who the hell says I can't?' barked Logan. 'It's some of the priests where I come from who can't!'
The young man fell back onto the bed, clamping his hands to the sides of his head. His own shouting had hurt, and it felt like someone had activated a triphammer in his forehead.
'Get some rest,' Moknay instructed him. 'We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. I can't say I like staying here when Groathit knows where we are.'
Logan did not even attempt to nod as Moknay and Barthol left the room. He muttered unhappily to himself and at the rhythmic beat within his brain. Mara sat on the edge of his bed and gently placed a cloth behind Logan's head. For a moment, there was a flash of pain, but then it was gone and Logan realized how near the girl was to him. As she backed away, Logan cracked an awkward grin, recalling what Barthol had said.
'I-I wish I…' he stuttered, cursing himself for not being able to talk straight.
What rotten luck! he grumbled. Mara was one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen-in Sparrill or in Santa Monica. The way she arranged her hair was absolutely beautiful, and she had the most alluring green eyes that sparkled as if they were emeralds. Her smile was one of understanding and compassion, and her figure…! Thank God someone put a blanket over me! Logan thought. Without it, his reaction to Mara's beauty-and Barthol's comment-would have been six and a half inches more than obvious!
'What Barthol said…' Logan tried again. '… I can believe that… uh… what I mean is…'
Mara bent forward, placing a slim finger on Logan's lips. 'Shhh,' she hushed him. 'Rest now. You received quite a bump.'
Logan almost flustered as he misunderstood the priestess and feared the blanket did not cover him as much as he thought. The panic slowly drained away, and Logan realized she meant the bump on his skull. Frowning to himself, he noted what headaches could really do to one's sex drive.
