The Hills were lit by the crackling flame of the Jewel and the sporadic bursts of lightning from above. Logan stared in awe as a third source of illumination walked upon the screaming winds and placed his foot in the rain-bespattered ground of their path. The wildness seemed burned from Zackaron's eyes by the very shield of power roaring about him, but it had been replaced by a boiling anger that made Logan cringe as the sorcerer neared. This one time, the young man was glad someone had stolen the Jewel from him.
"You have something that is mine, Reakthi," the dark-eyed spellcaster snarled. "Return it at once."
Groathit cocked his head to one side, and his bad eye glinted dully in Zackaron's fire. "It is mine now, madman!" he spat back. "I have labored too long for this trinket to suddenly hand it over to you!"
The nimbus of magical force surrounding Zackaron sparkled, and furious pinpricks of energy popped in the dark air. "Are you challenging me?" he asked, a hideously confident smirk on his face.
Groathit's fingers tightened about the Jewel.
"Do you know who you are dealing with, Reakthi?" Zackaron asked, taking a bold step forward. "I am Zackaron. I am Master."
The gnarled Groathit responded by flinging deathly black rays at the dark-eyed sorcerer. Zackaron threw up an arm and deflected the crackling bolt, causing it to explode against the mountainside.
Thromar leaned toward his two companions. "Who do we root for?" he wondered.
"We don't," retorted Moknay. The Murderer frowned as the muddy Hills bucked underneath them. "The longer those fools fight, the more energy escapes from the Jewel."
Silenced, Logan turned back to the battling wizards. Howling quarrels of thaumaturgy cast eerie shadows across the Hills. Groathit was stumbling back, holding the glimmering Jewel in one arm while dazzling blasts of magic sprang from the other. Zackaron casually advanced, his face set in a grin of certainty. Blistering streams of enchantment shrieked from his fingers, and his aura of force blazed in happy compliance. One of the beams yowled through Groathit's defenses and knocked the chestplated wizard into the ooze.
Vaugen and his men pulled their horses back, the Imperator raging at his warriors. He was directly in front, and the cluster of horses at his back denied him the chance of safely backing away from the blinding display of magicks before him.
His good eye flashed his fury as Groathit pulled himself from the quag and released sanguine bolts from his palm. Zackaron's protective screen flickered as the blood-red rays struck, yet he retaliated with ruby beams of his own.
Logan's eyes fell upon the Jewel Groathit had left within the slime. The glaring golden tongues of energy continued to waver and dance across the facets but practically went unnoticed. The wailing streaks of sorcery rocketing from the wizards' fingers nearly drowned out the constant flare of the gem.
Those wizards were so busy fighting they probably wouldn't notice if someone crept in and took the Jewel from them, Logan mused.
"Don't try it," Moknay advised, reading Logan's thoughts. "It would be folly to try and creep in there with those two hammering the mountainsides with their magical claptrap! Besides, if one of us could do it, we'd probably have both sorcerers on our backs!"
"What the hell can we do?" Logan wanted to know. "The longer we wait, the more the Wheel tips!"
"It's no use trying to explain it to those two," Thromar snorted. "Battling wizards are like drunken men: Neither wants to be disturbed and both are very indignant when they are. They'll fight one another for that Jewel until the Wheel does tilt and we all blow up!"
Moknay gave the dueling sorcerers a glance and then turned back to Logan. "Any idea what the Smythe meant about you being able to stop the Jewel?" he questioned.
Logan sneered. "I think he was being sarcastic," he replied. "Remember all that crap about how powerful I could be if I stayed? He was probably referring to what I'd be able to do once I was as powerful as he was."
"Fat lot of good that'll do us!" grunted Thromar. "The Wheel isn't going to wait until you're a spellcaster."
"It would have had a long wait 'cause I'm not going to be a spellcaster!" Logan answered. He swung his gaze to the battling magicians. "No one's going to be anything unless that Jewel isn't stopped soon."
The horses behind the three men neighed uneasily, pawing the mud with their front hooves. The barrage of theurgy must have been unnerving them, Logan surmised. I know it's bothering the hell out of me! That stupid buzz hasn't let up once!
"Groathit!" Vaugen shouted. "Not toward me, you fool!"
The Reakthi spellcaster glared over his shoulder as he was forced to retreat. Vaugen frantically fought to pull his horse away while the men behind him struggled likewise. The cluster of hooves and unstableness of the ground worked against the Reakthi, and Vaugen remained exactly where he was, Groathit stanced in front of him.
"Have you had enough, Reakthi?" Zackaron jeered.
Groathit kept one foot near the glaring Jewel. "You shall rue the day you dared combat me, madman!" he warned.
There was an eruption of flame that almost scorched Vaugen's mount, and Groathit was devoured. In his place stood a grotesque mockery of the human form. It was some hybrid between human and crocodile, and it pointed an iron-clawed hand in Zackaron's direction. Thundering blasts of magic knocked the dark-eyed wizard to one side, and his halo of energy winked out.
A smile drew across the demonic Groathit's face, revealing needle-sharp fangs. His eyes both glistened red, but the right was brighter than the left.
Zackaron pulled himself from the mire and glared at his opponent. "You like to change shapes, do you?" he snarled, and spittle trickled down his chin. "You face one who is the Macrocosm! And I would like to see you change again!"
Intricate patterns of light formed in the dark air before Zackaron as lightning speared the black clouds. The marshy ground continued to groan, tilting sympathetically with the unseen Wheel. As if suddenly unbalanced by the shifting hills, Groathit toppled to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat. His demonic form was forcibly ripped from him by Zackaron's dazzling conjurations, and the Reakthi spellcaster could feel his very flesh churn and bubble under the dark-eyed wizard's commands. His gnarled limbs fused together, and folds of flesh covered the magician's mouth and eyes. When the sparks of light diminished around Zackaron, a titanic maggot writhed through the sludge where Groathit had been.
Revulsion shook Vaugen by the shoulders as he gaped at his mutated spellcaster. There was another flash of fire from Zackaron's hands, and Groathit bulged and shifted like the very Hills themselves. A grotesque hue of brown spread across the disproportioned maggot, and its flesh turned as mucous as the mud around it. Excrement's foul odor stabbed through the gale as Zackaron transformed Groathit into a massive mound of dung, but flickers of magic sprouted from the wizard's hands once more, and Groathit underwent another change.
Amusing himself, Zackaron drew a hand upward, and the pliant blob of protoplasm that was Groathit obeyed. The pinkish substance bubbled skyward, stretching like what Logan thought resembled Silly Putty. A mouth suddenly materialized in the pulp, and an agonized scream shredded through the mountains. The shriek was answered by a crackling shaft of lightning as the Jewel pulsed brighter.
The mounts of the Reakthi troop nickered, their eyes glazed as they nervously glanced around them.
Zackaron brought his hands together and Groathit re-formed in a bellow of sorcery. Overcome by unbearable pain, the Reakthi spellcaster slumped to the mud, his chest heaving in his effort to breath.
"Next time," Zackaron warned, "do not challenge one who controls the very forces of the multiverse."
The wizard arrogantly strode through the rain and muck to lift the Jewel that lay beside Groathit's twitching foot. Logan's horse suddenly snorted behind the young man, and Moknay's horse also jerked its head up fearfully.
"Wait a minute," Logan whispered to himself. "The horses…"
In question, Moknay and Thromar turned to look at the nervous mounts as Zackaron faced Vaugen and his troop. "Do any of you wish to battle me for what is already mine?" he queried smugly.
Even Vaugen's grey eyes were aglow with fear.
Zackaron seemed distraught. "Pity," he sighed as madness trickled into his voice. "Pity me." He swung on Logan and his friends. "Any of you?" he demanded. When neither of the three responded, a sad frown came to Zackaron's lips. "What good is this game unless someone will play, hmmm? If no one will play, I shall take my Jewel and my leave."
How badly can things go? Logan asked himself. The damn Wheel was probably going over on its side and the Jewel still hasn't been placed in check. Not only that, Zackaron had gotten the Jewel away from Groathit but seemed to be slipping into his usual insanity. Pretty soon he'll be more interested in making things from clay rather than checking the Jewel. The whole world will go up in flames while Zackaron tries his hand at making someone!
The flaring Jewel suddenly spiraled out of Zackaron's hands and landed in the slosh, spraying filth as it hit. A thunderclap accented its splash, and twin quarrels of electricity slashed the sky.
Illuminated by the lightning, a wet and bedraggled figure crouched on the hillside, spiderlike. "No," the newcomer informed. "You cannot take what is his! You must not leave with what is Pembroke's!"
A childish smile played upon Zackaron's lean face. "You wish to challenge me for what is mine?" the wizard asked, ignoring the fallen Jewel.
"Pembroke will," Pembroke replied, snarling. "Child is his!"
Thromar jerked his head so sharply that water hurled from his soaked hair. "Brolark!" he cursed. "I don't understand. I thought Pembroke worked for Zackaron!"
"For many years," Moknay replied with a curious grin. "For too many. I'd guess Pembroke thinks the Jewel is his. He doesn't even recognize his master."
Servant-boy, Logan's mind hissed. Servant-boy.
Pembroke scuttled like a lizard down the hill and into the mud. He eagerly grabbed the blazing Jewel and unsheathed his Triblade, facing his dark-eyed master. Both men ignored the lightning and the shifting earth as they peered at one another through the tempest.
"Who are you?" questioned Zackaron.
"He is Pembroke!" the lithe servant replied. "Pembroke is father of this Child. Infant of Pembroke and the multiverse, she is!"
Logan glanced back at his horse that pawed at the sodden path. Pembroke had been lurking nearby all this time! the young man realized. It had been the servant's radiation of fear that had been affecting the horses-not the magical duel or the unnatural storm.
"I still don't get it," Thromar mumbled beside him.
Logan ignored the fighter and turned his gaze toward the sky. The black clouds were churning and boiling like an angry sea, and lightning constantly pierced the darkness. They were wasting precious time, he noted. The Wheel was tilting farther and farther with each passing second as more and more energy escaped from the Jewel.
"Return what you have taken!" Zackaron commanded Pembroke. "It is mine."
"No! No! Mine!" the servant spat. "My Jewel!"
The bedraggled servant's shriek stabbed through Logan's mind, and all the horses skittered backwards nervously. The mountains also quivered in fear as the ground continued its gradual shift.
A yowling bolt of magic vomited from Zackaron's fingertips. Silver glinted in the downpour as Pembroke knocked the mystical blow aside with his Triblade. There was an abrupt shout amidst the chaos and Groathit flung himself at Pembroke. The wiry servant screamed in rage and surprise as they splashed into the mire.
You must remember, a rasping, disembodied voice whispered, Pembroke was Zackaron's servant-boy.
Logan wheeled toward the source of the voice, and his blue eyes locked on his yellow-and-green mount shaking its head in the rain. A sudden daze sunk its fangs into the young man's neck, and all the blood drained out of his face.
"Friend," Moknay asked, noticing him go pale, "are you all right?"
Still dazed, Logan's lips said, "We need the Jewel."
Moknay raised an eyebrow at the entranced young man. "Huh?"
Logan broke free of his trance and grabbed Moknay by the front of his shirt. "We need the Jewel!" he shouted frantically. "The Wheel is tilting!"
"We know that, friend-Logan," Thromar said, trying to soothe him, "but we're powerless to prevent it."
Mud squished underfoot as Logan turned on the fighter. "I've had the ability all along!" he yelled. "We need the goddamn Jewel!"
The heavens screamed as if torn apart.
Moknay fixed his steel-grey eyes on the forms struggling through the storm. Cataracts of mud spilled from the mountain peaks, and precariously set boulders began to sway as the Hills shuddered.
"You need the Jewel?" he asked.
Logan nodded his head desperately.
Moknay took a cautious step forward. "I'll do what I can."
Groathit ducked under the jagged point of the Triblade and reached for the mud-concealed Jewel. "The Deils take you, Vaugen!" he cursed. "Order your men to help!"
"Order your men to help!" parroted Zackaron, sliding further into his madness as he grappled for the blazing gemstone.
The black-chestplated Imperator swung on his men. "You heard him!" he barked. "You four! Aid the spellcaster! Get that Jewel at all costs!"
As the quartet of warriors dismounted, Moknay slid through the shadows of the mountains toward the battle. His fear of magic swirled in his eyes as he spotted the filth-smeared Jewel and crept forward. A misguided shaft of sorcery exploded behind his head and the Murderer cursed as he dodged forward. Mud, wind, rain, lightning, and tremors all worked against him as Moknay rose into a crouch and started forward again.
Thromar watched apprehensively, gnawing on his lower lip; Logan scrambled to his horse.
The four rain-spattered Reakthi jogged around the struggling forms. One released a cry as Pembroke's Triblade winked silver and neatly severed the soldier's foot from his ankle. In a splatter of blood-mingled mud, the Reakthi pitched forward and fell screaming into the slime. His companions swiftly scampered backwards, pelted by the insistent rainfall.
"The Jewel!" Groathit was cursing them. "Get the Jewel, you fools!"
Moknay gave the storm-torn sky a worried glance and charged headlong for the gleaming Jewel. He glimpsed back at his friends and saw Logan wading through the sludge toward him. A sword almost took off the Murderer's head as he swung back around and narrowly ducked under the blade. The Reakthi who had attacked toppled off balance, deceived by the treacherous mud. Lightning whined through the black stormclouds as Moknay attempted the dive for the Jewel but also lost his traction.
The Hills seemed to crumble beneath them as the tremors intensified.
"Moknay!" Logan was screaming. "The Jewel! Get it!"
One of the remaining Reakthi reached down for the glaring gem when a magnificent funnel of energy spiraled heavenward. The chestplated soldier was knocked backwards by the eruption, and a searing, magical wind tore at Moknay as he inched nearer to the scintillating Jewel.
A boulder rumbled down the hill and crashed over the side; lightning illuminated its route.
The world moaned as if dying.
"Moknay!" came Logan's voice again.
The Murderer gave the flaming Jewel a suspicious stare. His fear was even stronger than back in Plestenah when they had gone across the bridge. And with good reason! The Jewel had not been traitorously spewing columns of Cosmic fire!
Moknay swallowed his fear and lunged.
"Logan! Catch!" he yelled, throwing the Jewel high into the rain-filled air as soon as his fingers clamped around it.
Time was suspended as the glaring Jewel spun through the tempest. Vaugen, Groathit, Pembroke, Zackaron, Thromar, and all the Reakthi stared in hushed awe as the incandescent gem spiraled through the rain on its way toward Logan.
The Hills rumbled and thunder shattered the sky as the Jewel splashed at Logan's feet. Hastily, Logan flipped open the lid of the tin he held in his hand and gathered a handful of the bluish powder inside. A dense fog of blue energy spumed up around the young man as he smothered the blazing Jewel with the foul-smelling dust, and a lightning bolt shrieked in protest.
The Hills dimmed as the golden flame of the Jewel wavered… and went out.
The harsh rain slackened as Logan fell to his knees, peering at the docile Jewel. The blue powder had miraculously disappeared on contact with the golden gem, but it had worked as Logan had guessed. That was what the Smythe had implied when he said Logan had had the ability all along. Pembroke, the businessman had reminded them, was no spellcaster, so Zackaron had to have given him a way to keep the Jewel in check himself. The way of doing that was the small tin of foul-smelling snuff, something so trivial it had constantly been overlooked-yet carried by Logan through almost the entire trip.
A portion of sky forced its way through the rainclouds.
"He did it!" Thromar roared cheerfully. "Friend-Logan, you've stopped the Wheel!"
Logan inhaled deeply, wiping rain and sweat from his brow. For some reason, he did not feel like celebrating. He was cold and wet and had lost his hope of returning home. His love had been rejected and misguided, and two more people were lying dead because of him. No, he certainly did not feel like cheering.
Zackaron got up from the mud as the rain let up even more. "That's it?" he inquired, crestfallen. "The game is over?"
Moknay glared at the wizard, wiping muck from his hair. "Looks that way," he responded.
"Oh." The spellcaster glanced back down at Pembroke. "You! Why are you lying there? Quickly, quickly! Get out! Get up! We have so little to do and so much time to do it in!"
The lean servant pulled himself out of the mire, his black eyes trained on the mad sorcerer. "Pembroke, he is. How is it you know of Pembroke?"
"Forgetful," stated Zackaron. "I am Zackaron. I am Master. I shall be Master. I am forevermore Master. I is Master. Agggh! Deformity! Freak! Outcast! Unclean! Make haste! Make haste! We must away!"
The drenched Pembroke shook himself like a dog and sent mud and water flying. "But Child," he argued. "Pembroke cannot leave his Child."
"Child, you want?" Zackaron replied. "I shall build you one from clay."
As Zackaron lifted his arms, Pembroke's ebony eyes locked on Moknay. "Pembroke shall have his Child," he hissed.
There was an implosion of air and spellcaster and his servant were gone.
The rain became a drizzle.
Moknay scrabbled to his feet and glared at the force of Reakthi still confronting them. Dripping muck, Groathit raised himself from the slush, his good eye flickering with fury. There was a plop of disturbed mud and Vaugen leaped off his horse.
"Unfortunately," the Imperator smirked, "you won't be rid of us quite so easily. You're a sensible man, Murderer. Give us Matthew Logan and the Jewel and we may spare you."
"Spare me your lies!" Moknay snapped, reaching for a dagger with slick fingers.
"Come, come," Vaugen answered, "you're in no condition to fight. You have a wounded shoulder, and I'm sure your friends wouldn't want to see you hurt more."
Thromar unsheathed his sword, teeth clenched. "Keep back, Imperator," he rumbled, "or I shall do to you what I did to Agasilaus!"
Groathit hovered behind Vaugen's shoulder like a mud-splattered shadow. "You frighten us," he mocked.
Voicing a war cry, Thromar charged through the mud. Bowstrings drew back and fixed on the huge fighter. Clumsily, Thromar slid to a stop, eyeing the archers from atop their mounts.
The winds died to a breeze.
"Matthew Logan," Vaugen jeeringly called to the young man. "Your friends are to be fodder for the carrion crows unless you have something to say about it. Are you willing to work for us? A simple 'yes' will save your friends' lives."
Silently, Logan raised his head and stared without seeing. Loss upon loss had piled up upon the young man, and he was overwrought with grief. Launce, Cyrene, the Smythe-all of them were dead.
His surest chance of going home was just as dead.
"Well?" the Imperator demanded.
"He'll kill us anyway!" Moknay warned.
Groathit's hand flamed orange. "Silence!"
Logan blinked away some of the sorrow and focused on Vaugen and his band of Reakthi. They were threatening the lives of his two friends, he realized. They were threatening to kill Thromar and Moknay!
The familiar rage began to swell in Logan's breast as he fixed his eyes on Vaugen.
The archers drew their arrows back even further.
"We're waiting," Vaugen mocked.
An unexpected ruckus exploded behind the Imperator, and half his troop pitched over the side of the cliff. The arrows and bows dropped from the archers' hands as they twirled to see the line of men behind them spill to the soggy ground. One archer careened over the mountainside; another's horse was bodily lifted into the air. In shock, Vaugen jumped away from his troop as they were mercilessly struck down by some unseen foe.
A blue face suddenly surfaced among the mounted warriors.
"Fooooooood!" the ogre bellowed, batting Reakthi away with each swing of his brawny light blue arms.
Just as surprised as Vaugen, Moknay and Thromar cast bewildered looks at Logan, but the young man was not looking at them. His eyes were locked on the black-chestplated Imperator, and the wrath that churned within his pupils was incredible!
Under Logan's direct command, a meteoric fireball exploded from the Jewel and caught Vaugen full in the chest. Battered by the destructive blow, the Imperator jerked like a marionette caught in a windstorm. He slammed into the side of the mountain, his flesh ablaze with Cosmic fire. The last of his men went spinning down the hillside as the light blue ogre halted in the mud, its crooked grin proudly stretched across its face.
Groathit gaped at Logan. Magic! the spellcaster realized. The whelp had purposely reached into the Jewel and had torn free a portion of magic! Beforehand he had only directed the Jewel's discharge, but now he had actually delved into the gem itself and had extracted its magicks!
The wizard turned as Vaugen peeled himself from the mountainside and lurched in his direction. The Imperator's flesh was charred and melted, and wisps of smoke snaked from his burned scalp as he groped for support.
"Groathit," he rasped through seared lungs. "Go."
The gnarled spellcaster whirled on Logan. "The Smythe is dead," he said with a sneer, "and I shall see that you do not take his place! And this time, Vaugen shall not stop me!"
A tongue of flame shot into the drizzling rain and engulfed both spellcaster and Imperator. When it fluttered out of existence, the two were gone.
The rage and sorrow slowly released its hold upon Logan, and he was surrounded by his friends when he looked up.
"Remember what I told you about too much of that blather?" Moknay joked. He glanced over his wounded shoulder at the ogre towering behind him. "I take it this fellow is a friend of yours?"
The ogre grinned. "Friennnnnnnnd!"
Logan placed the last stone on Cyrene's grave and turned to the trio gathered on the path. The slight drizzle of rain had ceased, and early morning light was filling the sky from the east. The hillside, however, was marred with burn marks, and countless prints churned the muddy soil of the ground.
Cleaning any lingering sludge from his sweat suit, Logan headed for his horse. As he lifted the Jewel from the ground, Thromar asked: "What are we going to do with that thing?"
Logan shrugged.
"Give it to Barthol," Moknay suggested. "He'd be so scared of it he'd always remember to keep it in check."
"Would it be safe?" Logan queried.
"Leave your friend here to help guard it," the Murderer advised, pointing at the ogre.
Thromar finished removing his soiled Guard's uniform and chucked it over the cliff. "What about you, friend-Logan?" he wondered. "What are you going to do?"
Logan placed the Jewel in his saddlebag and mounted his horse. "I don't know," he admitted sullenly. "The Smythe said something about other ways home. Maybe I can find one of those."
Moknay jumped into his horse's saddle and winced at his injury. "Well, then I guess it's up to Thromar and I to help you," he declared.
Logan threw the Murderer a quizzical glance, but Moknay's smile told him he was sincere.
The ogre gave all three men a puzzled stare as they started their horses forward, but it eagerly trailed them.
Thromar's yellow teeth shone through his beard. "I've got an idea," he said.
"Holy Agellic!" Moknay exclaimed in mock awe. "Will miracles never cease?"
"Jest if you want, Murderer," Thromar remarked, "but the Smythe said something about Sparrill herself causing friend-Logan's arrival-so she can just as well send him back."
"How?" Moknay and Logan both inquired.
The question was even on the ogre's face.
"The very Heart of the Land," explained the fighter. "The Bloodstone guarded by the Sprites."
Moknay stroked his mustache. "Hmmm, perhaps you're not as stupid as you look, Thromar," he jeered.
"Stuuuuupiiiiid!" the ogre boomed happily.
Logan scratched his head. "Are you sure this Bloodstone exists?" he asked. "I thought it was a myth."
"You saw the Sprites yourself!" Thromar responded. "And with your magic-attracting ability, there shouldn't be any problem finding it!"
Moknay smirked. "Would you care to wager on that remark? Say, five gold pieces?"
"Make it ten!" Thromar retorted.
"So be it! Ten it is!"
Thromar grinned again. "But this time there'll be no dancing on corpses!"
Logan felt a smile draw on his lips as he stared into the rising sun, and the warmth of its rays sent hope surging through him. There was still a chance of getting home, he told himself, and his companions would be at his side until then.
He had been right, he thought with a smile. Sparrill was a nice place to visit…