Logan blinked in astoundment. "You?" was all he could make out.
The long-haired businessman nodded his head, a smile on his lips. "Of course, Matthew. I was once Jonathan Smith, a mild-mannered businessman for a rather large corporation until this odd wind picked me up and spit me out here. Since then I've become the Smythe-spellcaster par excellence!"
Logan's companions were silent as the young man struggled to speak. The shock on his face was obvious, and wonder swirled in his blue eyes. He finally asked, "Why?"
The Smythe looked at him. "Why what?"
"Why me?"
"Why not?" The Smythe took a seat at a large oaken table and steepled his fingers. "You were probably on hand. That's the way things worked out for me. I just happened to be there."
"But you're the one who warned me!" protested Logan. "In the dream. How did you know I would be the one out of millions of other people?"
The spellcaster grinned. "Ah! That! Try and follow what I say." He cleared his throat. "Before you arrived, you had a dream in which a nasty, bald-headed fellow-me-warned you not to misinterpret, as it were, dreams from truth. Later, when you got 'zapped'-as you so quaintly put it-to Sparrill, that warning came in handy. While in Debamian, you had a second dream. Only this time that nasty bald-headed man wasn't quite so nasty… in fact, he was a little bit confused. He looked you over curiously, muttered something about it must have worked because you were still alive, and then vanished. Do you remember?"
"Yes," Logan nodded, "but I don't see…"
"That second dream was, in all truth, the first dream," the Smythe went on. "I had to first wait until you had arrived in Sparrill, see who you were, and then go back in time and warn you. That was what I meant by it must have worked. Is all this understandable?"
"The second dream was the first?" Logan repeated unsteadily. "Like in a time warp or something?"
"Crudely put, but yes. I couldn't do anything until after the wind had picked someone up and I learned who that someone was. All right?"
The young man rubbed at his forehead, the astonishment in his eyes replaced by puzzlement. "So there's no special reason?"
"None whatsoever," replied the magician. "For any of us."
"Any of us?" Logan echoed. "It certainly made a good choice with you! You became the Smythe!"
"My being the Smythe has hardly anything to do with who I am," the businessman answered. "It's not some inner calm that allows me to be a spellcaster here, it's where I'm from. Matthew, you and I are very different here-we don't belong. Because of that, the land senses our difference. What makes this land so different is its magic. The two differences then-us and the magic-clash, and yet, also merge. It was no accident you stumbled upon the Jewel, my boy. You are attracted to magic just like magic is attracted to you."
"What am I, some kind of magnet?" the young man retorted.
"In a sense, yes," the Smythe responded. "Because we are not of Sparrill-not of this world-all magic and magical items attract-and are attracted to-us. It's the strangest twist on 'opposites attract' that I've ever heard of!"
"But I don't want to be a spellcaster," Logan cried. "I want to go home."
Jonathan Smith stroked his chin. "Not me, my boy," he said. "I wanted to stay. I was sick and tired of my life on Earth and was quite glad for the change of pace. Of course, you're not a spellcaster the first day you set foot in Sparrill-it's a slow, lengthy build-up-but I muddled through. I survived. And now"-he motioned about him-"now I am the Smythe, second only to Zackaron."
"Is Zackaron from Earth too?" Logan wondered.
"Good heavens, no!" the wizard declared. "Zackaron has the gem in your saddlebag to thank for his powers."
"What you're saying," Moknay said from one corner, "is that Logan is capable of becoming the next Smythe."
The Smythe turned on the Murderer. "Quite so. Quite so. In fact, that's the whole reason for the wind. Sparrill's magic knows it must have a vessel in order to be used-for the good of the land, of course. Still, once Logan's here, it's up to him who he sides with."
"I don't want to side with anybody!" the young man shouted. "I just want to leave this place. That's why I came here-not to be your bloody replacement!"
The Smythe sighed somewhat and leaned forward in his seat. "Yes, yes," he said, "that's your choice as well. But these 'mistakes' are vital to the land. That, my boy, is something I've come to learn since being here. Mistakes are a vital part of anyone's life… even to something as vast as Sparrill itself.
"You and I, Matthew, are mistakes. And we ourselves suffer from a number of odd accidents. Like the Jewel. As I said before, your leaping astride Pembroke's horse was not accidental, and yet, it was. It was no accident that the Blackbody blamed you first for upsetting the natural Balance of things, and, then again, it was. And it certainly was no accident that you camped by the Ohmmarrious so you could talk to the Sprites, and yet, it was. Is all this understandable?"
"Yeah," muttered Logan, "my life here's nothing but one big contradiction."
The Smythe chuckled at the quip. "Hardly, dear boy, Hardly. Can you remember what Groathit said to you the first time he faced you? You denied he was there, saying Sparrill was a dream and everyone in it was created by you. Groathit then said, 'I should think not… although… we may become so later.' He was referring to the power you could hold. The power that could, indeed, make Sparrill… or unmake it."
"Is that why the Reakthi-scum are hounding friend-Logan?" Thromar queried.
"Partially," the Smythe answered. "True, if Logan stayed he would be as great as-if not greater than-I am. However, our difference to the world makes both magic and magical items easy to find. Think what Vaugen-or Mediyan-could do with a man who could gather together every single magical force in the land."
"Destroy anyone who dared stand in their way," gulped Moknay.
"Or else Matthew could help us," Cyrene remarked. "He could help the people destroy both Reakthi and Mediyan."
"I told you before I don't like that attitude of yours, Cyrene," the Smythe barked at her.
"I'm not going to work for anyone," Logan said. "I had guessed that everyone wanted me because I was different, and I was right. Well, I'm sick and tired of being so different, and I want to go back to my world where I can just fit back in with all the others like myself."
Thunder boomed from outside.
"Uh… perhaps we had better hand over the Jewel?" Moknay nervously suggested.
"Ah, yes, the Jewel," the Smythe responded. "You know, Matthew, I'm really ashamed of you. You've had the ability to halt the Jewel all along."
Logan's anger exploded at the wizard. "What do you mean? Am I a spellcaster already? Can I do more than take out my fucking eye?"
The sorcerer winced at the foul language. "No, no. Attaining the magic takes a long period of time, as I mentioned previously. Of course, being in the areas of great magical concentration speeds up the process, but, even your close proximity to the Jewel hasn't transferred any magic to you. The nearest time you used any force was when you took in the powers of that talisman. But, as for the Jewel, you must remember, Pembroke was Zackaron's servant-boy. He was no spellcaster."
"Stop talking in riddles, damn you!" Logan spat. "Answer me this: Can you send me back home?"
The stone chamber was silent.
"Yes," the Smythe finally whispered.
Another clap of thunder resounded from outside.
"Answer this, then: Will you send me back home?" Logan demanded.
The Smythe got up from his chair. "If you so wish it."
The fury boiling inside Logan gradually subsided and relief washed over him. This "mistake" would be cleared up-Logan would be free to return to his world and his way of life. After all that time of uncertainty, ignorance, and fear, Logan had finally found his way home.
The young man cast his gaze on the three behind him and his guilt crept back into his brain. Druid Launce died to get you here, it told him. Mara was injured trying to save your life. Moknay and Thromar risked their necks to find you. Cyrene gave herself to you in thanks. And now you are just going to leave them? What if your reversal of the wind's "mistake" causes some major calamity worse than the Jewel?
"It won't unbalance anything if I go back, will it?" he questioned the Smythe.
The spellcaster waved him off. "No. The wind will probably pick someone else up once it realizes you're gone… hopefully. I'm afraid my time as the Smythe is about up. I'm getting old-even here."
There seemed to be an aura of despair radiating from the long-haired businessman, and Logan felt the guilt grow. The Smythe had come to love his new world and had hoped to pass on his position to someone with similar feelings. Logan, however, had only tolerated this land. True, he had admitted to himself it had good points, but he still longed to return home. A pity he couldn't pop back to Sparrill whenever his own world grew monotonous.
The Smythe turned away from a bookcase and eyed Logan. "You're sure you want to go back?" he inquired.
The young man gave his companions one last glance. "Positive," he replied.
"Very well, then," the wizard sighed. He took a few steps toward a corridor. "We'll have to go into my workroom. These are my living quarters. Can't have any magical smoke seeping into the bedcovers, now can we?"
Although the magician resumed his usual jesting, the gloom still hovered above him. Logan's guilt caused sorrow to twinge in his heart, but he refused to be persuaded by remorse. Not even tears from Cyrene would stop him from going back to his rightful world.
I'll never be able to say good-bye to Mara and Barthol, he thought sadly.
"Now, if all of you would step into next room," the Smythe instructed. "Oh, bring your horses too."
Plagued by his thoughts, Logan took his stallion's reins and followed the robed businessman into another room. The Smythe's workroom was cluttered with devices and artifacts like Zackaron's cavern had been, but in much neater array. Down another corridor the four could see the opening to the Smythe's home, and cold winds howled into the workroom from the orifice. Double doors towered behind them, and a single door was to their left, closer to the actual opening in the mountainside.
"That leads to a back exit." Smith explained the double doors, noting Logan's gaze. "The other door is another passage in from down the hillside. Sometimes the people who come to see me can't make it up the mountain to the main entrance."
The spellcaster busily glanced through a few volumes and pulled a couple of items down from some shelves. As he did, the dark sky became obscured by rain-harsh, violent sheets of water that poured from the black clouds. Ominously, the Jewel glimmered brighter in Logan's saddlebag, and thunder accompanied the glow. Toward the main entrance, shifting shadows of the rain crept into the cavern, bringing with them the musty odor of rainfalls.
"Oh, my," the Smythe breathed, peering toward the main opening. "Perhaps we should check the Jewel before sending you back."
"Perhaps," Moknay agreed, and the word caught in his throat.
Why not? Logan decided. That way he could leave knowing the Smythe had saved this world from destruction. That would relieve some of the guilt.
The young man stepped up to his horse and pulled the glaring Jewel free of its leather encasement. His companions clustered before the double doors as they watched, their eyes reflecting the golden flames lapping up around the facets of the Jewel.
Lightning shrieked across the sky, leaking blue-white light into the workroom. There was a second shriek of severed air and the Smythe stumbled backwards, an arrow lodged in his chest. In shock, Logan rushed to the downed man, the Jewel casting a ghastly shine over the spellcaster.
"Sorry, Matthew," the wizard gasped. "Other… ways of sending you… back. Told you… my time was… up."
Dancing shadows played across Logan's face and he glanced up toward the main entrance. The single door nearby had opened, and a number of silhouetted forms had stepped out. The golden fire of the Jewel glistened upon their faces and scintillated off their metal chestplates. A muffled growl came from Thromar as the leading figure approached, his white scars tinted a disgusting yellow in the Jewel's emanation. A gnarled form stood beside him, and both were flanked by archers.
"You' ve led a merry chase, Matthew Logan," Vaugen snarled, "but I'm afraid our little game has come to an end."
Groathit's good eye gleamed as he peered at the coruscating Jewel in the young man's hands.
Logan remained kneeling, staring back down at the corpse beside him. Blood pooled about him but the young man was beyond sickness or disgust. His rage played up" inside him: screaming, vengeful. Just like Launce! His mind raced. Just like Launce!
"You bastard," Logan cursed venomously, his eyes ablaze with a fire not of the Jewel.
"Save your petty name-calling for later, whelp," Groathit snapped. "Hand over the Jewel or your friends die."
More Reakthi were filing into the chamber, the archers still in front. There only seemed to be the remaining men of that troop that had pursued them near the Roana, but, in such confined quarters, they were more than enough to slay them. One volley of arrows and Logan and his friends would be pincushions!
"Yes," Vaugen hissed in triumph, "think it over. Weigh the odds carefully. You have nowhere to run-no way to escape. Before you had a whole forest to hide in; now you have absolutely nothing!"
The anger in the Imperator's voice was unmistakable, but Logan turned away and glanced back at his companions. The back door! he recalled, fixing his blue eyes on the double doors. Somehow the Smythe had known what would happen and he had purposely explained the passages around them. Still, unless Logan could send an unspoken command to his friends, any move by any of them would send a wave of arrows twanging throughout the workroom.
Grey eyes locked on blue and the rapport was established. Good old Moknay! the young man thought. He understands! The twin portals can act like a shield. The only problem is: How can I get to them before I get shot full of holes?
A teasing tingle scurried through Logan's brain, and the buzz of disagreement was back. Now, however, it was once again tolerating the young man. In fact, it held that almost friendly tone as it had once before. An impending sense of urgency flowed with it.
Logan stared down at the Jewel, and the patter of rain resounded in his ears. The Wheel was tilting again, and more than one discharge seemed probable. Barfhol had warned them the disasters would increase in magnitude as the Wheel tilted further. The build-up of clouds had definitely indicated a more cataclysmic eruption. In fact, the Wheel could have been going over on its side! Which meant if it was not checked now, Sparrill-and Logan-were lost!
Help me, Logan pleaded with the disunity of magic. If you want to keep zapping people from Earth to become spellcasters, help me!
The disturbing sense strengthened, yet it was focused in Logan's hands. Unexpectedly, a blinding flare went up from the Jewel, and lightning streaked across the heavens. Thunder so loud it shook the Hills reverberated around them, and startled shouts went up from Reakthi and Logan's companions.
Searing heat lashed into Logan's palms, and, obeying an instinctive reaction, he jerked his hands away. A few of the archers shot blindly, and their bolts whizzed dangerously about the workroom. Moknay, however, had taken the opportunity to fling open the double doors, using the leftward portal as a wooden shield against the shafts. Thromar and Cyrene were swiftly leading the horses into the passage beyond, yet Moknay lingered behind, his grey eyes trained on Logan.
"Come on, friend!" he coaxed. "Their sight's returning!"
Logan hastily scrambled to his feet and started for the Murderer. His mind suddenly panicked, and the young man scrambled back toward the Smythe. In his haste, he had left behind the Jewel!
"Kill!" Groathit's voice screeched, and the order was echoed by Vaugen.
The Jewel was still hot to the touch and Logan's fingers were reluctant to entwine about it. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed an archer steady himself and nock an arrow into his bow. The sudden flare-up had only temporarily blinded them, and some indeed had their vision back.
Swearing, Logan lifted the sizzling Jewel and almost dropped it again as he turned to run. He staggered like a drunken football player, trying desperately to cling to the burning gemstone as he scurried for the back door. All the while he knew full well an archer was aiming at his back.
There was a sudden "thwunk" and Logan crashed to the floor, his balance deserting him at last. In astonishment, he turned to see the archer collapse, a dagger lodged in his solar plexus. Pivoting about in the opposite direction, the young man saw Moknay spring out from behind the protection of the door and hurl another gleaming blade. In reply, two archers fired, and the grey-clad Murderer spilled backwards.
"NO!" Logan screamed, and the Jewel's centerless interior exploded with the young man's rage.
A vengeful lightning bolt forked into the main entrance of the cave and disintegrated the handful of Reakthi standing near the opening. The crackle of electrified air filled the chamber, and Vaugen and Groathit both wheeled around in stupefaction. The remaining soldiers stared dumbly at their charred brethren, then back at the furious young man before them. The rage still smoldered within him, and Logan wished he knew how he had accomplished his previous feat so he could dispose entirely of the murderous lot.
"So, the maggot wants to try magic?" Groathit sneered, his good eye flickering with hatred. "Like a babe trying to swim, you shall drown!"
Gloved hands pulled Logan out of the way of Groathit's warbling blast of sorcery and into the safety of the back exit. "Keep this up and I'll start to get used to that magical blather!" Moknay informed him, shoving him up the pathway.
For a few moments, nothing registered in Logan's mind. It was as if the past seconds had been so alarmingly swift and deadly that he needed a minute to catch up on what had happened. Moknay, he noticed, had only been struck by one of the arrows, but it protruded painfully from his left shoulder; streams of blood were trickling down his chest. Their horses had disappeared, and it took Logan a second before he guessed Thromar and Cyrene had escorted them to safety. Behind him he could hear the Reakthi in pursuit, and he feared another arrow may permanently end Moknay's life. And they were so damn unprotected! There had to be a way to stop the Reakthi!
Logan looked down at the Jewel again but shook his head. First of all, he had no real idea how he had used the powers either time. Secondly, a third usage of the energies could trigger off an almost uncontrollable discharge and really send the Wheel on its way over. The young man had felt such a tremor building the second time he had linked with the gem.
Screaming winds sent raindrops stinging into the young man's face as he clambered free of the back exit. Moknay followed close behind, his face reflecting the pain in his shoulder. Thromar and Cyrene were some distance ahead of them, pulling Moknay's horse onto a ledge that led to a somewhat level path. The heavy rainfall had already plastered their clothing and their hair to their bodies, and the howling gale whipped viciously at their sodden frames. Thromar waved to them as he finished guiding Moknay's stallion up and suddenly jerked a huge finger behind them.
Logan glimpsed over his shoulder to see Vaugen and his men racing after them, also leading horses out of the exitway. Of course they had been riding horses! The young man kicked himself. They must have kept them in the corridor beyond the door.
The ground beneath their feet already sucked and slipped around their shoes while the chestplated soldiers mounted up behind them. Logan and Moknay scrabbled up a muddy incline, muck giving way beneath their weight. Hooves sloshed into the saturated Hills, and Logan feared his death was near at hand. A recognizable "twang" pierced his ears, and the young man wondered where the Reakthi archer had aimed. There was an abrupt, high-pitched wail as Vaugen's horse crashed to the mud, knocking the black-chestplated Imperator across the soggy earth. Puzzled, Logan looked up the incline to see Thromar nock another arrow into the same bow the young man had first used when he had arrived in Denzil. That same self bow one could find in early English times! It was keeping the chestplated soldiers from reaching their prey!
"Whoops!" Thromar boomed. "Friend-Logan! Heads down!"
In blind response, Logan pulled his head down and heard an arrow shaft splinter against the stone above his skull. Labored breathing sounded through the downpour, and Logan saw Moknay straining to keep his grip as more blood stained his clothing.
"Cyrene!" the young man barked the order. "Help Moknay up!"
The soaked blonde failed to hear the young man, her deep blue eyes set on the scarred Imperator below her.
"Cyrene!" Logan shouted again.
The blonde glanced down at him.
"Help Moknay up!" he ordered once more.
Somewhat reluctantly, the girl obeyed as Logan heaved himself onto the ledge and rolled to his feet. A sorcerous shaft of energy burst close to his head, dazzling him with its brilliance, but Vaugen's voice brought the young man out of his daze.
"Groathit!" the Imperator thundered. "Not Logan! We can still use him!"
I'd sooner die than work for you, you heartless bastard! the young man fumed. Vaugen had been the sole cause of Launce's death and the Smythe's death. And by that second act he had destroyed Logan's surest way home.
Moknay stifled a cry as Thromar hastily jerked the arrow free of the Murderer's shoulder. "Sorry about that," the fighter apologized, "but we can't hope for painless bindings at a time like this."
"I'm not disagreeing," the Murderer said, swiftly covering the wound with a strip of cloth.
"Do we ride?" Logan queried.
"Treacherous but necessary," Thromar answered, leaping astride Smeea.
Logan kept the Jewel cradled in one arm as he clambered into his mount's rain-drenched saddle and looked back. Thromar and Moknay readied themselves beside him, but Cyrene was still glaring in Vaugen's direction.
"Cyrene!" the young man screamed. "Goddamn it! Get up here!"
Once again the blonde was reluctant to tear her gaze away from Vaugen, but she finally obeyed Logan's frenzied shout and mounted up behind him. The rainfall increased and lightning split the black sky. Mud and water splashed under the hooves of the three brightly colored horses as they forged their way through the downpour and sludge. The splattering hoofbeats of pursuit forced their way through the noise of the rain, and Logan gave a quick glance over his shoulder. Beyond Cyrene's own dripping face, the young man could see only a wind-beaten wall of raindrops.
"Pull up! Pull up!" Moknay's cry shattered Logan's thoughts. "We're coming to a turn! Don't let your horse slip!"
Immediately, Logan responded, slowing his mount down as the horses came to the curve. In normal weather the slight bank would have required little slowing, but in the muddy, unpredictable torrent of rain the mounts had to slow down or else pitch over the side.
"Brolark!" Thromar cursed. "How in the name of Harmeer's War Axe can they see us, let alone trail us? I can hardly see the twists in the Hills!"
Moknay gave the landscape behind them a useless glance. "I'm afraid Logan's carrying a rather obvious piece of cargo," he stated. "More than once that Jewel's acted like a beacon."
While the trio of horses galloped on, Logan shifted the Jewel to his center, trying to shield its glare with his body. The gem was still warm, but no longer painful to the touch; however, its constant flame refused to be blotted out by Logan's frame.
"Kill them, Matthew," Cyrene hissed in his ear. "Blast Vaugen and his troop to Gangrorz's Tomb!"
"How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?" the young man shouted back.
"The Jewel," the drenched blonde replied. "You did it before. Kill them."
Violently, Logan shook his head. "Too dangerous," he explained. "Even if I knew how I wouldn't do it."
"Not even for me?" she cooed sweetly.
Logan clenched his teeth. "No! It's too dangerous!"
The amorousness drained out of Cyrene's voice. "You bastard," she spat. "After what I let you do?"
Emotional pain struck Logan to the very center of his being. She hadn't meant anything she had implied? he contemplated. It had all been an elaborate game? She had, after all this time, only been using him? Using him as a tool to vent her anger on Vaugen? After he had finally given his trust and affection to her, she was just using him, like the golden-haired Riva had attempted to do?
It suddenly all became clear to the young man. Cyrene's dislike of Moknay and Thromar, her fear of Zackaron and the Blackbody, her heartless indifference toward Logan's escapes, and her supposed love for the young man. All had only been concerned with her revenge. Moknay, Thromar, Zackaron, and the Blackbody all could have kept the young man from her, and, of course she wouldn't compliment his escapes: she didn't feel the pride he had felt. And her love…! It was nothing but her desire to use him… just like Vaugen and Mediyan wanted to. That was the attitude that the Smythe disapproved of so greatly in the girl.
Logan sneered furiously to himself. No wonder! he growled mentally.
"Logan! Logan! In Agellic's name, wake up!"
The blonde behind him let out a scream that pulled the young man from his thoughts so that he finally heard Moknay's cries. Another curve sloped before them, and Logan had not reined in his horse. The yellow-and-green mount started to slow itself down, but it struck Smeea with a jolt that knocked the black-and-red horse into the slush. To avoid having his legs crushed, Thromar heaved himself out of the saddle, hit the muddy path, and slid clear off the edge.
"Dung!" the fighter swore as he disappeared over the cliff.
Half-running, half-staggering, Moknay dismounted and charged through the muck to the ledge. In shock and horror at what he had done, Logan joined the Murderer. Smeea indignantly climbed to her feet, shaking slime and mud from her mane. Cyrene's deep blue eyes remained on the men as she dismounted; then she turned and faced the sheets of rain behind them.
Logan was greatly relieved when he saw the massive hand clamping a wet stone at the rim of the cliff.
"Give me your other hand," Moknay called down to the fighter, removing his gloves.
The Murderer clamped the fighter's meaty hand in his and tried to pull him up. The swampy soil forbade traction of any kind, and Moknay himself almost slipped over the edge as he struggled. At last the Murderer found some well-anchored rocks and set himself behind the stones, straining to lift his war-sibling. Blood began to soak through the bandage at his shoulder, and pain etched itself into the lines of Moknay's face.
"Agellic, you're heavy!" he grunted.
"What do you want me to do?" Thromar retorted. "Lose some weight while I dangle here?"
Moknay turned his pain-ridden face on Logan. "I need some help!" he called. "Give me a hand! Careful you don't slip!"
Logan hesitated a moment and turned to the girl behind him. Drenched by the constant downpour, Cyrene's clothing was practically transparent, and her dark blonde hair was a shade of brown as it clung to her scalp. The wet dress and bodice gripped her every curve, and Logan fought back the desire to kick her in the butt. Instead, he handed her the Jewel and went back to Thromar.
Cautiously and strenuously, the pair grappled to pull the Rebel to safety. Twice they almost had him up, but the unde-pendable ground would suddenly reject their footing and send one of them sprawling-and send Thromar dangling. The pair would then try again, both of them suffering-one from a shoulder wound, the other from burned hands.
Blue-white lightning slashed through the tempest as Thromar clawed his way through the mud and reached the path. His stolen uniform was smeared with runny brown muck, and rainwater dribbled down his face and made tiny cascades through his beard. His beady eyes went wide as he struggled and squirmed through the mire to lay on level ground.
"What in Imogen's Blaze is she doing?" he wondered once he was safe.
Logan and Moknay turned to see Cyrene facing the dark forms that rode toward them through the cloudburst. The girl's hand slipped under her clinging dress, but her dagger's sheath was empty. Vengeance burned in her eyes as the Reakthi drew nearer and the blonde peered down at the Jewel in her grasp. Another quarrel of electricity shrieked through the heavens as Cyrene raised the gleaming gem over her head.
Riding a horse taken from one of his men, Vaugen's eyes went wide as he thundered out of the unnatural storm. Groathit reined in beside him, his spiky blue-grey hair seemingly untouched by the rain. The chestplated warriors all brought their mounts to sloppy halts, eyes fixed on the blonde wielding the mystical gem.
Lightning cracked as the Jewel's glare increased.
"You killed my father," Cyrene snarled through the downpour. "I'm going to kill you."
The golden Jewel flared like a miniature sun.
"Cyrene!" Logan yelled. "Don't!"
A vengeful smile drew across the blonde's lips as the Jewel's flame strengthened and surrounded her. An agonizing shriek suddenly tore through her as the Jewel erupted, its blinding glare intensifying. Soaking-wet clothing instantly cindered, and cosmic fire obscenely caressed the blonde as she dropped to her knees. The foul odor of burning hair wafted across the strong winds as Cyrene collapsed to the muddy ground and lay sizzling in the mire.
Anticipation sparked in the spellcaster's one good eye as Groathit eagerly leapt from his horse and grabbed the fulgu-rant Jewel, ignoring the flickering tongues of fire licking at its side.
"Mine!" he cackled victoriously. "I have it! It's mine!"
His face streaked with mud and rain, Logan turned mutely on Moknay and Thromar. His companions stared back, Logan's own shock and horror mirrored on their faces. The silver-chestplated Reakthi spellcaster held the incandescent Jewel in his bony hands, and Vaugen was grinning behind him in like triumph.
Thunder shattered the firmament and the entire earth trembled below them. Fearful glances came from both Reakthi and Logan's party. Groathit looked up at the grumbling sky, a frown on his face as he wondered what dared interrupt his success.
Logan caught his breath.
"What is it?" Moknay questioned, his fear of the Jewel glinting in his cold, grey eyes.
"The Wheel," the young man replied. "Cyrene's triggered off another discharge. I sensed an unbalance in the Jewel when I used it myself. Cyrene's managed to set it off. I think the Wheel might very well be tipping over on its side."
The marshy ground shifted again beneath their feet, and a blazing white bolt of electricity screeched through the darkness. Moknay fought back his misgivings concerning magic as the gleam of the Jewel did not die down but increased.
"Groathit!" Vaugen barked. "What's going on?"
"The Jewel has been leaking energy," the wizard snorted back. "All I need is a little time and I can get the powers under my control."
Marvelous, Logan grumbled to himself. The only man on hand who can halt the Jewel is the Reakthi spellcaster, but they can't let him keep it! And yet, if they attempt to steal it back, the Wheel could tip on its side and then there would be no reversing it!
"Friend-Logan!" bellowed Thromar. "What can we do?"
"I don't know," the young man truthfully answered. "We're stuck between a rock and a hard place!"
"Looks more like a lot of mud and a mountainside," the fighter mumbled in confusion.
Groathit's thin lips began to utter some inaudible incantation, but the Jewel persisted in flaring brilliantly. Wailing bolts of lightning arced across the sky more frequently as more and more energy seeped free of its prison and wreaked havoc with the natural Balance. "There will be nothing to stabilize the forces of the Wheel and act as equilibrant!" Barthol had informed them. "The Wheel will have no means to achieve equilibrium, and it will tilt until it entirely flips over and destroys us all!"
The ground bucked below their feet as streams of golden force ejected from the Jewel.
The mountaintop across from their path exploded, hurling rubble and silt through the clouds. A figure wearing a nimbus of unbelievable energy stood atop the destroyed peak, arms outstretched in a godlike gesture. Dark hair streaked with grey billowed in the gale, and intense fury boiled in the dark eyes.
"You have something that belongs to me!" Zackaron boomed, the aura of power crackling to accent his charge. "I have come to take back what is mine!"
His sunken features highlighted by the Jewel, Groathit jerked his head up to glare at the wrathful wizard. His talonlike hands closed in about the Jewel and his eye glittered his unspoken refusal.
The Hills groaned as the earth heaved once more.
"Friend," Moknay whispered into Logan's ear, "I was told once some very good advice which I think we all should heed: 'Never stand between dueling spellcasters.'"
The rain fell harder.