stood along the cobblestone street, her eyes roving up and down the Murderer appreciatively. In reply, Moknay patted the money pouch which he had told Thromar he had left in Eadarus, and the couple started off.
Startled, Logan swung about to ask Thromar what Moknay thought he was doing, but the fighter was gone as well.
The intense ire lurking within Logan reared its head. 'Leave it to the man from another world to get the rooms,' he snarled, the anger practically becoming one with the young man. Abruptly, he glared at the pouch of gold, weighing it in his palm. 'Huh!' he snorted. 'They give me money, I'm going to use it for what they're using it for.'
With a determined grin, Logan leapt from his mount and peered down the street. He saw a tavern-where he guessed Thromar had ducked into-but decided he did not want to go there. Brawls and hop-infested ale did not entice Logan-what he wouldn't do for a few video games to play to get out his aggression! Still, there were the whores lining the street, and Logan's anger was swift to rationalize his choice of recreation.
The young man dismounted and tied his horse and his companions' to a tethering post. He then turned his interests to the street. A number of girls stretched out before his eyes, but none of them interested Logan. His bitterness would not settle for just any whore-it demanded the best if Logan dared try to force it down.
Abruptly, Logan's blue eyes caught hold and stuck fast. Standing out in front of a store was beautiful young girl, dark blonde hair spilling about her slim shoulders. A white bodice and skirt covered her curvy frame, and her dark blue eyes roved up and down the cobblestones expectantly. Instantly, Logan's anger prodded him forward, demanding the young man do as his comrades and enjoy himself. Gradually, Logan approached, intent on appeasing his never-ending temper.
'How much?' he inquired, stepping up to the blonde.
The girl gave him a casual glance. 'How much what?' she asked back.
'Money,' Logan's anger explained.
The girl's eyes went wide. 'What do you take me for? One of the sluts walking the street?'
At precisely the wrong moment, Logan's anger faded. Caught off guard, Logan backed off, awkward and defenseless. 'Uh… well… yeah,' he stuttered.
'What?' the girl shrieked, frail fists clenched. 'How dare you! Do you know who I am, you chomprat?'
Abandoned by what had given him courage, the young man took another backward step. 'No, I-I don't.'
'I am Cyrene, daughter of Sire Marchaon!'
Logan flustered. 'I'm sorry-I don't recognize the name.'
'You don't recognize the name?' the girl fumed. She took a step as if to beat Logan over the head with her fist and then bowed her head. She was silent for a long time. 'Not many do, anymore,' she finally murmured sadly.
Logan shoved the pouch of gold into his sweat pants and started away. 'I better be going,'' he excused himself.
Cyrene jerked her head up. 'No… please, stay,' she begged. 'I need someone to talk to.'
'But I just mistook you for a…'
Cyrene nodded with a laugh. 'You're not the only one. I really shouldn't be standing around like I'm waiting for someone. Father will never come back, but I swear I'll see his murderer slain!'
Logan noted the girl's tightly clenched fists and hoped Moknay had not visited Plestenah often. Fearing that perhaps the Murderer was the cause, Logan queried, 'Who killed him?'
Cyrene's deep blue eyes flared. 'Vaugen,' she spat.
Logan was engulfed by his rage once more and growled involuntarily.
Cyrene's eyes locked on his. 'What's wrong?' she asked. 'Have you also lost someone to Vaugen?'
The anger churned and boiled within him, and Logan wanted to pound a fist against the nearest wall in frustration. 'Yes.' He gnashed his teeth. 'He killed a friend of mine… someone who was trying to help me. We were lucky to escape and make it here without him catching up. I wouldn't be surprised if he found me here with my friends off dicking around!'
'Catch up?' wondered Cyrene. 'Are you saying Vaugen's following you?' She took a curious step up to Logan. 'Why?'
A battle instantly went off inside Logan. Anger, guilt, and paranoia all clashed head-on in a full-scale war within his mind. His anger wanted to tell the girl of his own personal battle with Vaugen, his guilt wanted to tell her everything about his mission so he would not make the same mistake he had with Druid Launce, and his paranoia brought back the image of Mara, nude and unconscious, Riva's blood-spattered corpse nearby.
'I don't really know why,' Logan finally answered. 'He wanted me for something-said I could be useful. I don't think he wants me alive anymore, though.' Battered by the three conflicting forces within him, Logan uneasily backed away.
'Wait!' Cyrene cried, soft hands grasping hold of Logan's arm. 'You said he killed your friend-does that mean you've personally confronted him? You've faced Vaugen himself?'
Puzzlement draped over Logan as he saw the excitement in Cyrene's face. 'Why should you care?'
Cyrene shrugged curtly, her blonde hair bouncing upon her shoulders. 'I don't know. I was hoping maybe I could join you in wherever you're going.'
'Join me?' Logan exclaimed, and the three emotions faded as confusion overpowered them all. 'And possibly run into Vaugen himself?'
Cyrene nodded.
Suspicion replaced the confusion. 'Oh, no,' Logan told her, 'I don't want you coming along just to get yourself killed. If you're that desperate to die, save me the guilt and kill yourself when I'm not around.' He turned away and started for the nearest hostel.
'You don't understand,' Cyrene objected, hurrying after him. 'I don't want to kill myself, I want to kill Vaugen.'
Swift hoofbeats sounded far off in the distance as Logan went silent. He shook his head, entering the hostel. 'I get it,' he quipped. 'You're not suicidal, you're insane.'
'I am not insane!' Cyrene snapped, right behind him. 'I want to see that murderous whoreson dead!'
'You and about ten thousand other people,' the young man retorted, banging a fist upon the desk of the hostel owner.
Blue eyes flaming, Cyrene twirled Logan around, her frail hands gripping him by the front of his jacket. 'Listen, you,' she snarled. 'I'll do anything to see Vaugen dead, and you're the first person I've ever met who's survived a run-in. And you say Vaugen may be following you.' Her lips drew back in a horrible frown. 'I want a shot at the man who killed my father. You have to take me with you!'
Logan glared back at the beautiful girl. 'I don't have to take you anywhere,' he said, sneering back at her. 'My mission is dangerous, and you could get in the way.'
The fierceness died down in Cyrene's eyes, and it was her turn to eye him suspiciously.
The hoofbeats grew louder, then stopped.
'What mission?' Cyrene queried, jabbing a long-nailed finger at Logan's chest. 'Since when did you have a mission?'
'Since he stole a certain horse and found the magical item hidden within a saddlebag,' informed a scratchy voice.
Logan and Cyrene whirled to see a white-chestplated Reakmor stride into the hostel. The owner of the building let out a frightened yelp and ran out a back door. Three more men sauntered in behind their leader; only the Reakmor wore a chestplate.
'I am Reakmor Farkarrez,' the man in the white chestplate announced, 'and unlike those before me, I do not play petty games. Give me the Jewel or my men shall tear you limb from limb.'
Logan glared at the Reakmor. 'Men? You call those things men?' he scoffed. 'They don't even have chestplates!'
Farkarrez grinned, his front teeth chipped. 'They wear no chestplates so these Sparrillian fools will not hinder us as we traverse their land.'
Logan's hand shot for his Reakthi sword, but the three soldiers were faster, no longer weighed down by their armor. The young man's anger churned inside as he struggled in their grasp, futilely trying to break the grip of six hands. 'Why the hell do I always get into trouble when Thromar and Moknay aren't around?' he muttered.
