### 45

Your arrow strikes his chest at an acute angle and glances off to splinter harmlessly against the parapet of the roof. He utters a mocking laugh, his cat-like eyes glinting through the slits in his visor, and hurriedly he drops the Lorestones into a small velvet sack which hangs from his swordbelt. Angered by his laugh, and your failure, you shoulder your bow and draw a hand weapon as you rush forward, determined to prevent his escape.

Turn to 22.

Text copyright © 1987 Joe Dever.
Illustrations copyright © 1987 Brian Williams.