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
