'Perhaps you could come back under less strenuous circumstances,' Mara suggested. 'I'd like to know more about you and your world.'
Logan tried to smile and succeeded, although his facial muscles screamed in protest. 'I don't think I can come back,' he answered. 'Once I leave Debarnian, I don't think you'll ever see me again.'
Mara brushed one of the spiraling wisps of her long dark hair out of her face. 'Why not?'
'Homesick,' Logan shrugged, and the pounding intensified. 'I'm giving my 'cargo' to some Smythe guy and going home… I hope.'
Mara nodded, more of her dark brown hair spilling about her. 'Then sleep,' she told him. 'Your journey will be arduous, and you will need your strength.'
The young girl rose from the side of the bed and started across the room, her satin robe parting as she walked to give tantalizing glimpses of her bare legs.
Groaning, Logan shut his eyes and tried not to think about the priestess. It was reassuring to know, he noticed, that this god-awful world hadn't confused all his feelings. Only why did he have to find out now?
When Logan reopened his eyes, another priestess had entered the room, clad in a satin robe of dark blue. She was as beautiful and as shapely as Mara, but her hair was the color of beaten gold.
'Riva,' Mara said, 'bring in some more pillows, please.'
The golden-haired priestess nodded in silence and fetched the goose-feathered pillows. She placed them on Logan's bed, gently lifting his head as she slipped one behind him. Her light blue eyes glistened, and a seductive wink made Logan panic. His thoughts tripped and staggered over one another as he tried to think of a response. The priestess was gone even before he thought to grin.
Mara stepped quietly over to her bed and untied her satin belt. With the rustle of satin, the red robe spilled away from her luscious frame like crimson water, and Logan clamped his eyes shut. Of all the times to have a knock on the head! he cursed silently.
Logan could hear Mara's breath as she blew out the candle, and more fabric rustled as the priestess climbed into her bed. Even behind the safety of his closed eyes, Logan was not free. The image of Mara slipping out of her robe continued to tease him, and, with nefarious mirth, his imagination took over and she and Logan were together. The pounding in his head lessened as his blood began to flow to other portions of his anatomy, and Logan begged for release.
Taking its cue once again, that infernal sense of wrongness heard Logan's unspoken plea and descended, swirling about his already shaken skull. Images of Mara, flickers of pain, and that mercurial buzz sloshed about in utter chaos, and Logan cursed his luck and the foul world in which he was trapped.
Gradually, his release was granted, and Logan slept.
'What? Blast it! There's got to be a way!'
The voice arose from the eddying tidepools of red and silver light, shattering the stillness with its tone of wonderment and confusion.
'Oh, wait! Yes, wait a minute! I think I'm getting something! '
Matthew Logan blinked his eyes repeatedly, staring at the spiraling vortex of blood and metal that encircled him. A strange sensation of deja vu assailed the young man, and, puzzled, he tried to remember where he had seen this place before.
'Excuse me. I'll be there in a moment. I'm having a devil of a time trying to get a clear picture. Whatever you do, don't wake up. I may not be able to pick up your alpha waves again.'
The asthmatic voice receded into the ocean of red and silver as a shadowy form took shape before Logan's bewildered eyes. Overwhelmed by the feeling of repetition, Logan watched as the figure advanced. It was a robed, monklike form that walked with a purposeful stride toward Logan, its features hidden by a large hood. Questioningly, the monk's hood tilted to one side as the figure halted.
'You're going to be the one?' the monk asked in that same, wheezing rasp. 'Hmmmm. Seems it works out. At least you're not dead, yet. My idea must work since you're not denying you're here. Well, that's good to know.'
Hands pulled the hood away from the face, and Logan blinked in recognition. Before him stood the long-haired businessman, only now his face wasn't so ferocious. But why was he now wearing a robe? In Logan's world he had worn a suit; in Sparrill he wore a robe. Was there any significance?
Snow began to fall about the two, and the long-haired businessman appeared to be just as surprised as Logan. They watched the miniature flakes of white for a moment before the businessman/monk turned his gaze back to Logan.
'Remember what Lord Byron once wrote,' he said enigmatically. ''I had a dream which was not all a dream.''
Logan lifted his eyebrows in question as the robed figure melded into the whirlpool of snowflakes and red and silver. Icicles began to sprout from the snow-covered ground like strangely jagged blades of grass, and one touched his throat from somewhere out of his line of vision. It was freezing and cold to the touch…
Logan's eyes fluttered open as the dream dissolved. Very dim light hinted to the young man that it was a little before dawn, but his subconscious did not wish to give him up. The icicle was still at his throat and a weight was upon his chest, restraining his arms.
'Hand me the Jewel or die,' a throaty voice commanded.
That was not my subconscious! Logan realized, instantly springing awake. Someone was straddling his chest, their legs pinning his arms to the bed. And, if that wasn't bad enough, that icicle was no mere piece of frozen water! It was the cold, cruel blade of a dagger touching the unprotected flesh of his neck.
'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,
