The swordsman with the tattoos snatched a handaxe from his belt and threw it at the beholder, striking the monster in its central eye. Dark gore splattered, and the creature wailed in agony, contracting the heavy lid and reeling away. It struck back with a ray from one of its eyestalks; Jack didn’t see what the beholder did next, but the warrior suddenly gibbered in panic and bolted in response, throwing away his shield as he fled the temple. However, the beholder could no longer suppress the magic of the elf mage and the sorcerer Halamar; both lashed at the monster with furious battle spells. Jack spied a troglodyte lining up on Halamar with a heavy dart, and he dashed across the fray to make a running lunge at the monster. He skewered the creature through its back; it screeched and dropped its javelin. Jack turned to face the beholder, wondering how he could come to grips with the creature without being lashed by its fierce eye-rays.
Behind the creature, Kurzen momentarily found himself in the clear. The dwarf reached down and seized one of the heavy darts the troglodytes carried, wound up, and let it fly with all his strength. The heavy missile found a seam in the monster’s chitinous armor, sinking deep into its back and striking something vital. The beholder’s eyestalks flailed wildly, and it began to sink to the ground. Narm leaped forward and drove his greatsword deep into its bloated body. The eyestalks abruptly went slack, and the monster hung motionless in the air, dripping gore from its wounds. The few surviving troglodytes hissed and wailed in despair, abandoning the fight as they scattered and ran.
“Thank the gods,” Halamar panted. “It’s dead.”
The Temple of the Soulforger fell silent. Narm and Kurzen clasped arms, flashing grins of relief and victory at each other. Jack clapped the fire-mage on the shoulder before stooping to clean his rapier on the ragged hides worn by the last troglodyte he’d killed. Then he limped over to the edge of the pit the beholder had excavated for Jelan and peeked over the edge cautiously. The bottom was easily eleven or twelve feet down, and the sides were as smooth as polished glass. The priest of Tempus was sprawled on his back, unconscious, while Myrkyssa Jelan gazed back up at him.
“I take it the fight is won?” she asked.
“The beholder is dead,” Jack answered. “Without their master, the troglodytes have lost heart.”
“I see.” Jelan folded her arms. “It seems the day belongs to you, Jack. What do you intend to do?”
“I think I’ll have a look around. One never knows what one might find.”
The swordswoman grimaced. “My comrade Wulfrad is seriously injured. I hope you do not intend to simply leave us here.”
Jack offered a small smile. “My dear Elana, I would do no such thing. Of course we will help you out of your predicament, just as soon as I secure my prize.”
He straightened up and turned his attention to the elf Kilarnan, the only one of the Warlord’s followers still on his feet. Narm and Arlith faced the mage, not quite threatening him but not turning their backs on him, either. Jack approached and gave the elf a small bow. “I have no particular wish to be unpleasant,” he said, “but as I see it, I and my companions outnumber you four to one. We hold the field, so we will take our pick of the spoils. Stand aside, and as soon as we are finished, you may retrieve your employer and go about your business.”
Kilarnan swept the temple with his eyes, searching for some sign that he was not alone, then grimaced. “I have little choice,” he said. “I will wait.”
“Friend Narm, keep Kilarnan company,” Jack said. “The rest of us will have a look around and see what we can find.”
“Best not to dawdle,” Narm said. “The troglodytes may have friends nearby.”
Jack turned and faced the great anvil-shaped altar at the far end of the room, orienting himself in the chamber. When he’d seen the Sarkonagael in the crystal ball, it had been lying on a work table standing against a wall … he paced over to the shelves and benches along the nearest side of the temple chamber, looking for a table of about the right size and orientation. “What was the beholder’s interest in all these old books?” he wondered aloud as he looked. Was it searching for some specific knowledge, or was it simply interested in any sort of lore it could get its hands-or more accurately, its minions’ hands-on?
He spied a heap of books piled on one end of a large table that struck him as familiar, and hurried over to investigate. There, lying more or less in plain sight, lay the black leather and silver lettering of the Sarkonagael. Only the vast piles of clutter around it concealed the book. Carefully Jack picked it up, examining it closely before opening it for a peek within. It was exactly as he remembered, and he grinned to himself. “How curious a fate to steal the same book twice,” he said.
“Is that it, Jack?” Halamar asked.
“Indeed it is,” Jack replied. He quickly scooped it into his pack, and looked around at the rest of the beholder’s clutter. “Let’s have a good look around. The beholder has no further use for any of its treasures, after all.”
While Kurzen, Arlith, and Halamar quickly searched the room, Jack returned to the edge of the pit to make sure Jelan hadn’t somehow escaped already. The Warlord was waiting where he had left her. “I have what I want,” Jack told her. “We’ll be on our way shortly.”
Jelan stood with folded arms. Her dark eyes flashed with irritation. She started to speak, then stopped herself, glaring down at the rough floor of the pit. After a moment, she regained her customary composure and raised her eyes to meet Jack’s again. “What do you intend to do with the book?” she asked.
“I have no grand designs for the Sarkonagael. The reward is sufficient for me.”
“I thought as much,” she replied. “Before you turn in the book, you should ask yourself who wants it, and why. The Sarkonagael is dangerous, as I am sure you know.”
Jack was quite familiar with the potential mayhem hidden in the tome; he’d spent a wretched tenday or so dealing with a shadow-doppelganger created by a Sarkonagael spell when he and Jelan had crossed paths the first time. A dark suspicion came to him, and he peered more closely at the swordswoman. “You aren’t the one who posted the reward, are you?”
Jelan allowed herself a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “No, I am not,” she answered. “But if it is merely a matter of coin to you, then I’d be willing to pay you the five thousand crowns for the book. It is important that the Sarkonagael not fall into the wrong hands.”
Kurzen trotted up beside Jack, and leaned over to look down at the pit before speaking to him. “We’re done here, Jack. Best be on our way.”
“Excellent,” Jack replied. He glanced down at Jelan. “Your friend Kilarnan is unhurt. I’ll leave him with a rope. Farewell, dear Elana.”
He started to turn away, but Jelan called after him. “One more thing, Jack,” she said. “You would be wise to watch out for the drow. Two days ago a party of dark elves came in search of me, with some notion of taking me back down to Tower Chumavhraele. I discouraged them, of course, but they seemed interested in locating you, too.”
“I am inclined to regard all drow with suspicion at this point,” Jack remarked. He could only imagine how Myrkyssa Jelan had discouraged would-be captors. “I thank you for the warning, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a reward to claim.”