Logan made a frantic dive for his weapons. His fingers were inches away from his sword when a cold hand clamped around his wrist and held him back. He glanced up to see the skeletal thief smiling down at him, its bony hand locked around his in a grotesque embrace. Although he strained against the skeleton's grasp, the young man could not break free. The creature had no muscles, and yet was denying him his blade.
Farkarrez took another confident step forward. "It is hopeless," he gargled. "You now belong to us."
Cyrene rose into a crouch, her blue eyes flaming angrily. "You bastard," she seethed. "I killed you once-I'll kill you again."
The dead Reakmor smiled down at her with his chipped teeth. "You'll find that quite difficult to do, my dear,'' he stated, "since you yourself realized I am already dead." His pale, yellowish hand stroked Cyrene's blonde hair. "But it is good to know you are as fiery as ever."
In rage and revulsion, Cyrene went to jerk her head away when dead fingers suddenly snared her hair. She let out a startled gasp as Farkarrez pulled her to him, holding her by her yellow mane. "I suggest you give in," the Reakmor advised Logan, "or I shall do to her what she did to me."
The sight of Farkarrez's living corpse holding Cyrene prisoner sapped the rebellion from Logan. The girl appeared so helpless, so beautiful, so fragile; Logan could not imagine bringing harm to her.
Drained of his defiance, Logan pulled away from his weapons.
Farkarrez grinned, stroking Cyrene's bare shoulder with his free hand. "Good," he rasped. He turned his deadened eyes on the blonde, and Logan thought he saw lust flare in those emotionless pupils. "It is a pity," the Reakmor sighed with his hideous death rattle. "You are as attractive as I suspected." His green-yellow hand cupped a naked breast. "How unfortunate that, in this state, I may not enjoy you properly. But I shall find a way."
The cold, bloodless fingers on her chest sent a million icicles of terror and disgust through the blonde as she tried to rip her hair out of the dead Reakmor's grip. Roughly, he snapped her head back, bringing tears to her deep blue eyes.
"Do not struggle," he growled, and his severed flesh flapped obscenely, "or I may become very upset with you."
Logan yanked his wrist away from the skeleton grinning over him and pointed an angry finger at Farkarrez. "You leave her alone, goddamn it!" he commanded.
The eyebrows above the dead eyes arched upward. "Is that a nice thing to say?" the Reakmor mocked. "You certainly haven't been leaving her alone."
Cyrene furiously rammed her slim elbow into Farkarrez's groin. The Reakmor was slightly unsteadied by the blow, but his grip on her remained firm.
He smiled down at her with his double mouths. "You weren't paying attention," he smirked. "Things like that don't affect me any longer."
Turning away from Cyrene's ineffectual attack, Logan scanned the animated cadavers surrounding them. There were over fifteen enclosing them in a half-circle, a cliff at Logan's back. Many of the corpses looked like soldiers Logan and his companions had run into. Yes, he even recognized the crossbowman Moknay had killed in Barthol's chamber. The dagger wound in his face was marred with green, black, and yellow flesh.
The skeletal thief gathered together Logan's and Cyrene's supplies and clothing and carried them away. With a violent shove, Farkarrez threw Cyrene toward Logan and stalked back to his men. He ordered his soldiers to guard the hillock, and the half-circle of cadavers moved closer. Then the sadist leader faced his captives.
"We're going to wait now," he told them, mockingly. "Very soon my scout will reach Vaugen, and the Imperator himself will soon be on his way here. Until he gets here, I suppose we'll just have to find some way to amuse ourselves."
There was a twisting in his stomach as Logan watched the Reakmor's grin widen.
Like a living piece of shadow, Moknay glided out of the darkness and into the midmorning sky, his grey eyes as grim as death. He kept his cape wrapped about him, concealing his strap of daggers as he skated through the cobblestone streets of Gelvanimore. Cautiously, he scanned the area about him before ducking into a building. His steel-grey eyes glistened in the torchlight and locked on the massive form flirting with a barmaid.
Moknay's boot connected with Thromar's rump and got his attention.
Thromar blinked. "Oh, it's you," he said. "What is it? Have you found the thief?"
"Have I found the thief?" the Murderer repeated. "What about you? 'Taverns are excellent places to learn information' and 'I'll just talk to wanderers stopping in for a drink. Maybe they'll know something.' Have you found the thief?"
The huge fighter stroked his reddish brown beard. "After extensive prying and espying, I can rightfully say-no." His beady eyes flickered. "What about you?"
The Murderer's dark figure seemed to flow into a chair. "Yes," he replied, "in a sense. I ran into someone coming from Frelars and he saw a horrible glare in the Hills yesterday. Ran like a Demon to get here before the sky crashed down upon him. It sounds like our thief."
Thromar scratched his head. "The thief we're chasing glares?" he wondered.
Moknay threw up his arms. "No, but the Jewel does, you thistlebrain! That must have been the Jewel flaring up again."
The fighter nodded. "So the thief was hiding in the Hills, but that's the way friend-Logan went. Do you think he'll see it?"
"I would think so," responded Moknay. "The man I talked to was at least a league from the Hills and he still saw the flare-up."
"So I suppose I'll have to leave this wonderful little information center?" queried Thromar.
"We told Logan we'd meet him in Prifrane in a week, and that gives us less than two days to get there. I just hope he's recovered the Jewel."
"I think that should be the least of your worries, Murderer," Thromar suddenly declared, spearing the air as he pointed to the tavern doorway.
Moknay pivoted to see the squad of uniformed men entering the bar. There were well over ten of the Guards now inside, and Agellic knew how many outside!
The lead Guardsman stepped forward, his eyes aglow with triumph. "Moknay the Murderer and Thromar the Rebel, you are hereby under arrest by order of His Ultimate Paramount, King Mediyan, for assisting an Outsider dangerous to Sparrill and her Ruler. If you resist, you shall be slain."
A quartet of archers flanked the lead Guard; Moknay and Thromar moved.
The arrows flew.
A shambling corpse pulled the unclothed couple apart and dragged Cyrene over to one side. The smell of the animated dead was unbearable, and the one that had just taken the blonde looked like someone had crushed its skull with a heavy wooden club. Logan swiftly turned to Druid Launce's staff guarded by the undead Reakthi and knew how some of them had been slain.
"We're going to play a little game," Farkarrez rasped, his emotionless eyes roving up and down Cyrene's naked body, "just to pass the time along."
"You whoreson," Cyrene snarled, squirming in the corpse's grasp. "I swear I'll see you dead."
The Reakmor sighed, and Logan's stomach churned as the release of air came from his slit throat. "I grow tired of explaining," he gargled. "I am…"
Cyrene's struggles increased. "You have to breathe, don't you?" she shouted. "I'll rip your lungs from your maggot-filled chest!"
Farkarrez leaned back on the grass, smirking. "Oh, that may cause problems, but I'm sure I'll manage. The only reason air passes through me at all is so that I may think and speak for myself." He waved a hand. "Only spellcasters know the secrets of our bodies, and breathing is necessary for the nurturing component of the air to reach my mind and to also activate a special portion of my throat so that I may make sounds recognizable to you. That is the only reason I breathe. My men, on the other hand, can neither speak nor think for themselves. That is because Groathit did not feel it necessary for them to do so."
Hideous! Logan's mind screamed. There was a certain aspect of physiology to Groathit's magic! How, then, was Farkarrez's brain kept alive with no blood? That was probably where the real magic came in.
A second cadaver shuffled up to Cyrene, and Logan froze. The Reakthi had no sword arm, and the young man remembered the soldier who had given him his own wound upon his left arm. In a blind rage, Logan had wheeled about and severed the man's arm from his shoulder. Thank God only Farkarrez could think, or else a number of the shuffling corpses would seek revenge on the young man.
The one-armed Reakthi handed Cyrene her dagger and ambled off. The corpse holding her let go and also lurched off to one side. The sun gleamed off the girl's hair and flesh as she stood there, legs spread slightly as she stanced herself for battle. Her blue eyes hungrily peered at the blade she held tightly in her hand.
Farkarrez withdrew a bundle and unwrapped a number of daggers. Once again Logan thought he saw emotion flicker in those dead eyes as the Reakmor glanced up at the nude blonde stanced before him.
"I think you'll find this game quite entertaining," he rasped, picking up one of his daggers. "You see, what you did just before you slit my throat was something I've never seen anyone do before, and Reakmor Farkarrez never makes the same mistake twice. So, as a bit of education for both of us, we'll just have to see where your weaknesses are in that little dagger-deflecting trick of yours."
Apprehension grew as Logan watched the Reakmor's blade glint in the sunlight. Cyrene's deep blue eyes were flashing from side to side, attempting to formulate an escape plan. They had given her back her dagger, and, by Brolark, she was going to use it!
The mountain air shrieked as Farkarrez's dagger hurled out at the blonde. Still looking for a route to freedom, Cyrene knocked the whizzing blade aside. Logan smirked in sympathetic triumph, but Farkarrez readied another dagger. Cyrene easily batted the second weapon away as well.
"You're quite good," Farkarrez complimented her. "You'd have to be-you killed me. But I have the feeling you can't keep this up forever."
Helplessness and fear filled Logan with a mixture equalling dread. Farkarrez, he knew, was right, and the Reakmor was no longer alive, so he would never tire. Cyrene, however, had had three days of torturous riding plus one day of narrow escapes. She wouldn't be able to last long in the Reakmor's game.
The next dagger nicked Cyrene on the finger as she knocked it to her right, and the fourth she had to dodge. The half-circle, of silent corpses unnerved her, and she was concentrating more on escape than on immediate survival.
Farkarrez's fifth dagger creased her hip, and the blonde staggered. She barely deflected the sixth blade that screeched for her head, and the seventh knife's hilt struck her knee, knocking her to the ground.
Logan's muscles instinctively tensed as he watched the blonde go down, his mind fiercely trying to think of a rescue. Farkarrez held an eighth dagger ready, smirking at Cyrene as she slowly pulled herself to her feet.
"If this had been combat," the dead Reakmor said with a grin, "I would not have hesitated, but this is, after all, only a game." The knife wavered in his yellowish hand. "Are you ready?"
"Bastard," gritted Cyrene.
Farkarrez chuckled at the insult, and his slit throat quivered in delight. "Good, you're ready."
The dagger sailed from the Reakmor's bloodless fingers, and Logan decided a direct charge at the living corpse would do no good. Neither would attacking any of his men. Farkarrez already had the Jewel in his possession, and his soldiers had enclosed Logan and Cyrene in their half-circle. Still, they had to wait for Vaugen…
Sweat dribbled down Cyrene's face as she turned the eighth dagger aside, but the ninth blade skimmed her shoulder, filling her right arm with searing pain. She could feel the warm touch of her life fluid as it trickled down her bare skin, and, exhausted, she waited for Farkarrez's final throw.
"Farkarrez!" a sudden voice cried out, and Cyrene opened her eyes in wonder.
Both blonde and animated corpse saw the figure stanced upon the cliff, its feet precariously close to the edge. It took a moment before the weariness and pain lifted the fog from Cyrene's eyes and she recognized the form as Logan. Farkarrez, meanwhile, had fallen silent, his dead eyes once again hinting at the slightest bit of emotion.
Logan gave the cliff before him a quick glance before turning back to the dead Reakmor. "You don't have everything you came to get," the young man declared. "And you never thought to guard our backs-after all, who would try to escape by leaping to their death?" Logan's blue eyes flashed. "It's my turn to call the shots, Farkarrez, and I say let her go."
The Reakmor got to his feet, his pale fists clenched at his sides. "You are a fool, Matthew Logan," he gargled. "We have the Jewel."
A powerful force of terror built itself up inside the young man as he gambled with the corpse. "You only have the Jewel," he corrected, "but your leader wants more. If you don't let Cyrene go, you'll only have half of what you came to collect."
The terror started to subside as Logan watched the deceased Reakmor stop and think. One of Farkarrez's soldiers took a shambling step toward the young man, and Logan inched nearer to the cliff.
"I swear it!" he yelled. "I'll jump! Then where will you be?" He chanced a snide smirk. "Your leader won't like what you've caused."
A swift hand halted the dead soldier starting toward Logan, and Farkarrez turned his emotionless gaze on Cyrene. There was silence in the Hills as the Reakmor glanced back at Logan.
"You are fortunate you are no use to Vaugen as an animated corpse," Farkarrez scowled. He waved a yellow-green hand toward Cyrene. "You heard your lover," he spat. "You are free."
Cyrene remained where she was, staring at the young man and dead Reakmor. Somehow, Logan was important enough to the Reakthi that he had to be kept alive, but did the blonde dare leave? Vaugen himself was coming here! Vaugen! The man who murdered her father! The man Cyrene swore vengeance on! She could have her chance to strike back for her father-or Farkarrez might kill her before the Imperator even got within three leagues of the Hills. She, unlike Logan, was of no importance to the Reakthi.
Hastily, the blonde sprinted through the half-circle of dead soldiers, bundled her provisions in her arms, and hurried down the hillside. She hesitated a moment, giving Logan a swift glance before she raced around a boulder and was lost from sight.
"And none of your men leave this camp tonight," Logan ordered. "Not until she's far away."
Farkarrez ground his chipped teeth. "As you command," he grated. "Now kindly step away from that cliff."
"Not until tonight," he retorted, "when I know Cyrene's safely away."
The Reakmor released an animallike snarl as he turned away and started retrieving his daggers. Certain Farkarrez was not going to rush him, Logan peered down at the mountains below him. Sparrill was stretched out before him, green and beautiful, yet that insistent buzz of disharmony hung in the clean air. The Sea of Hedelva glittered to the young man's left, and, questing, his eyes scanned the south. Moknay and Thromar were somewhere in that direction, probably heading toward Prifrane. Hopefully, Cyrene could get there in time and tell the two men where he was. He had only won a small skirmish against Farkarrez-the real battle would start when Vaugen arrived…
Matthew Logan stared as shadows splashed themselves across the greenery of Sparrill, reaching out dark tendrils toward the Hills and his perch. The ring of dead soldiers waited silently behind him, their putrid odor spoiling the freshness of the mountains. Farkarrez reclined against a nearby boulder.
"Surely the girl is a safe distance by now," the Reakmor said. "Why don't you come away from there?"
Logan tore his eyes away from the encroaching darkness and peered down at his bare feet. "Give me back my clothes," he answered.
Farkarrez waved to one of his warriors and the corpse shuffled over to the pile of provisions. As it went to move aside the Jewel, there was a brilliant flare of light and the animated corpse crumpled to the ground, dead once more. Quietly, Logan cursed. If only Farkarrez had been the one to get his clothes, then the other corpses would have been left here leaderless and escape would have been much easier.
Reakmor Farkarrez scrambled to his feet, his dead eyes narrowing. "You have odd fortune," he said to Logan. "I had no idea the Jewel was capable of doing such things. Fortune, however, is also on my side-for I have the Jewel." He turned to the skeletal thief. "You, bring him his clothes, and do not touch the Jewel."
The magically intact skeleton clattered over to the supplies and pulled free the already half-exposed clothing. Obediently, it tossed them in Logan's direction and returned to its place in the half-circle.
Leaving the protective bargaining of his perch, Logan hastily jumped back into his garments. When he finished tugging on his sweat suit, Farkarrez had already stationed two men at the cliff, expressionless eyes and faces staring dumbly at Logan.
"You must not be one for sport," Farkarrez rasped. "Why did you make me release the girl? I had such things in store for her."
Logan felt the warmth of his clothing joined by the heat of rage. "You're sick!" he spat.
Farkarrez chuckled his hideous chuckle. "Far from sick," he quipped. "I'm dead."
While the Reakmor's garbled laughter echoed out across the Hills of Sadroia, Logan's experiences of the past few weeks returned. Perhaps there was another way of tricking the dead warrior.
"Why don't you make yourself alive again?' the young man questioned.
Farkarrez's eyes sparked briefly. "How?"
Logan shrugged, hiding his grin. "The Jewel is all-powerful, isn't it? It kept that Zackaron guy alive for years-why can't it bring you back?"
The Reakmor laughed harshly. "I am not stupid," he declared. "We just saw what the Jewel did to one of my men. Greed will not overcome my caution concerning that gemstone."
"But your man wasn't touching the Jewel," argued Logan. "It just kind of flared up. It might have been nothing more than an accident."
"Your suicidal threat technique worked much better," Farkarrez gloated, smirking in two places. "Next time, stay with that."
Logan frowned and turned to the south again. If he wanted to get out of this mess, he'd probably have to wait for Moknay and the others. Hopefully, they'd rescue him before Vaugen got here. If they didn't, Logan wouldn't be here when his friends finally did come for him.
Stars soon flickered into sight as the sky turned black, and Logan lay on his back, staring up at the pinpoints, of light. Farkarrez and his zombies stood motionless about him, and some appeared to be asleep… or at least shut down. There were still far too many to run from, and, even if Logan did escape, he couldn't leave the Jewel to fall into Vaugen's hands. The Jewel! If only it would flare up again and knock out some more men.
The young man paused, gazing at the night sky. It was odd that the soldier had been felled by such a small flare-up of light. During the last disaster, the thief had been burned, but not entirely disintegrated. The corpse toppled as if it had been instantly snuffed out. Why would the Jewel instantly down one of Farkarrez's warriors?
Silently, the young man rose up on one elbow, scanning the corpses guarding him. If only he could get to his supplies!
Logan crept forward, attempting to hide himself in the darkness. One of the dead Reakthi guarding his supplies was inactive, and the others all moved rather sluggishly. If Logan suddenly burst through the ring of cadavers, he should be able to grab his weapons before any of the corpses reached him. Abruptly, he could feel Farkarrez's eyes upon him, confident the young man would fail, unarmed or otherwise. But Logan knew better. He wasn't going to use his weapons… he just wanted it to look like that. Let Farkarrez think this was nothing more than another one of his sick "games."
As Logan shot forward, Farkarrez called out, "Your weapons cannot harm us. We're already dead."
The young man grinned to himself-he had judged the sadist Reakmor perfectly. Farkarrez had purposely allowed Logan to attain his supplies probably to have his men subdue him and crush his last hope of escape. Logan, however, knew his escape was imminent.
At least, he hoped it was.
Rolling past outstretched arms of decaying flesh, Logan halted beside his provisions. Dead warriors shuffled toward him, and, just for good measure, Logan tucked Moknay's dagger into his belt. The Jewel glittered beside him, but he ignored the gleaming gem and pulled out the small bulb of stone that lay beneath it.
Blood-red light bathed the hillock as two corpses crashed to the earth, their magical life pulled from their decaying shells. There was a startled shout from Farkarrez as Logan spun the talisman over his head, striking another zombie across the face. The Reakthi collapsed, portions of his body immediately shriveling up. Whirling the glaring talisman out before him, Logan gathered up the Jewel and his sword.
"Pull back!" Farkarrez was screaming. "Get away from him!"
Logan smirked to himself as the remaining cadavers stumbled backwards, glazed eyes reflecting the bloody glare of the talisman. Hastily, Logan snatched up Druid Launce's staff-everything else had been taken by Cyrene. He then took a cautious step down the hill, watching the troop of animated dead cluster before him. He realized something was missing from the horde of corpses, and bony ringers suddenly clamped around his throat. Damn! The only swift soldier had been the skeletal thief, and Logan had allowed himself to be captured by it once again!
Fluttering down from where it always lingered about the young man, the disturbing buzz of mismatchment resounded in Logan's ears. This time, however, there was a certain tone about it-an odd sense of benevolence. It was not accusing Logan of being an intruder, and Logan felt as if the sensation disliked the animated Reakthi more than it did the young man; it wanted to help.
Logan agreed.
The buzz strengthened in Logan's mind and the red flare of the talisman suddenly snaked its way up Logan's arm. The thief's fingers shattered into dust as the red glow reached Logan's neck and continued to entirely consume the young man. He could barely hear Farkarrez's voice as the buzz increased, and red light obscured his vision. With a sudden charge, Logan hurled himself into the middle of the Reakthi zombies, and corpses fell about him, lifeless once more. The buzz in his head became almost painful as the glowing young man forced his way toward Farkarrez and drove the flaming talisman into the Reakmor's magically beating heart. Fear exploded in the dead man's eyes as the red glare vanished from around Logan and extinguished the sorcery flowing in Farkarrez's veins.
Reakmor Farkarrez died a second time.
The persistent buzz stopped as the stone talisman splintered into fragments. Hurriedly, Logan looked over his shoulder at the remaining cadavers and bolted into the Hills. Although he was lost, on foot, and had no food, a feeling of pride filled the young man as he ran down the mountainside. He had escaped on his own power-through his own intelligence-and had not depended on anyone else to come to his rescue. Only trouble now was-where was Prifrane?