Logan strangled the reins in his hands as he followed Moknay and Thromar through the forest toward the town of Plestenah. Almost two days had passed since their run-in with Vaugen, and the fury remained within Logan. His anger was similar to that unnerving feeling that continually plagued the young man. It would suddenly descend upon him-without reason and without warning-and Logan would grit his teeth fiercely as he thought of the young druid who had died helping his friends.
The guilt, however, stayed within the young man at all times, slowly tearing away at him from inside. Druid Launce had died helping Logan, while Logan had refused to trust the man-had refused to believe in his friendship. Now there was no way Logan could accept him as a friend-and the guilt drove deeper. It had been, after all, Logan's fault that the druid was dead. If Logan had not stolen the Jewel, and if Munuc had not sent his people against Vaugen, Druid Launce might still be alive.
Vaugen. Logan seethed. How he hated that name. Some mysterious force drove the Reakthi Imperator to trail Logan from Denzil to Sparrill, and, because of him and his chestplated minions, Druid Launce had been slain. His guilt blamed Logan for causing many of the calamities that arose, but his unrelenting anger blamed Vaugen for Launce's murder.
Cursing under his breath, Logan swore vengeance.
The greenery of the forest receded, and the town of Plestenah was revealed. Just south of them, Logan could see denser forest, and his mind turned to the ease in which Druid Launce would have been able to have passed through the vegetation-if Logan had only trusted him.
Plestenah was quite a small town, the young man noticed, made up mostly of shops and markets. A few homes lined the interior, and their pleasant, outward appearance sparked a little hope in Logan's depression; perhaps they would find the extra help they sought.
Moknay suddenly reined his horse in, his grey eyes locked on something down the street. "Logan," he said, still looking away, "see to the horses, will you? Then get us some lodgings in a hostel."
The Murderer tossed Logan a small pouch of gold and dismounted. Logan turned away from his guilt and wrath and caught the bag, peering at it curiously.
"Get lodgings?" he repeated. "How the devil do I do that?"
Thromar interrupted him with a thunderous burst of laughter. "Hah! Moknay's seen a wench that fits his tastes!"
Pulling his eyes away from the pouch of gold, Logan glanced up to see Moknay talking to a young girl who stood along the cobblestone street, her eyes roving up and down the Murderer appreciatively. In reply, Moknay patted the money pouch which he had told Thromar he had left in Eadarus, and the couple started off.
Startled, Logan swung about to ask Thromar what Moknay thought he was doing, but the fighter was gone as well.
The intense ire lurking within Logan reared its head. "Leave it to the man from another world to get the rooms," he snarled, the anger practically becoming one with the young man. Abruptly, he glared at the pouch of gold, weighing it in his palm. "Huh!" he snorted. "They give me money, I'm going to use it for what they're using it for."
With a determined grin, Logan leapt from his mount and peered down the street. He saw a tavern-where he guessed Thromar had ducked into-but decided he did not want to go there. Brawls and hop-infested ale did not entice Logan-what he wouldn't do for a few video games to play to get out his aggression! Still, there were the whores lining the street, and Logan's anger was swift to rationalize his choice of recreation.
The young man dismounted and tied his horse and his companions' to a tethering post. He then turned his interests to the street. A number of girls stretched out before his eyes, but none of them interested Logan. His bitterness would not settle for just any whore-it demanded the best if Logan dared try to force it down.
Abruptly, Logan's blue eyes caught hold and stuck fast. Standing out in front of a store was beautiful young girl, dark blonde hair spilling about her slim shoulders. A white bodice and skirt covered her curvy frame, and her dark blue eyes roved up and down the cobblestones expectantly. Instantly, Logan's anger prodded him forward, demanding the young man do as his comrades and enjoy himself. Gradually, Logan approached, intent on appeasing his never-ending temper.
"How much?" he inquired, stepping up to the blonde.
The girl gave him a casual glance. "How much what?" she asked back.
"Money," Logan's anger explained.
The girl's eyes went wide. "What do you take me for? One of the sluts walking the street?"
At precisely the wrong moment, Logan's anger faded. Caught off guard, Logan backed off, awkward and defenseless. "Uh… well… yeah," he stuttered.
"What?" the girl shrieked, frail fists clenched. "How dare you! Do you know who I am, you chomprat?"
Abandoned by what had given him courage, the young man took another backward step. "No, I-I don't."
"I am Cyrene, daughter of Sire Marchaon!"
Logan flustered. "I'm sorry-I don't recognize the name."
"You don't recognize the name?" the girl fumed. She took a step as if to beat Logan over the head with her fist and then bowed her head. She was silent for a long time. "Not many do, anymore," she finally murmured sadly.
Logan shoved the pouch of gold into his sweat pants and started away. "I better be going,'' he excused himself.
Cyrene jerked her head up. "No… please, stay," she begged. "I need someone to talk to."
"But I just mistook you for a…"
Cyrene nodded with a laugh. "You're not the only one. I really shouldn't be standing around like I'm waiting for someone. Father will never come back, but I swear I'll see his murderer slain!"
Logan noted the girl's tightly clenched fists and hoped Moknay had not visited Plestenah often. Fearing that perhaps the Murderer was the cause, Logan queried, "Who killed him?"
Cyrene's deep blue eyes flared. "Vaugen," she spat.
Logan was engulfed by his rage once more and growled involuntarily.
Cyrene's eyes locked on his. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Have you also lost someone to Vaugen?"
The anger churned and boiled within him, and Logan wanted to pound a fist against the nearest wall in frustration. "Yes." He gnashed his teeth. "He killed a friend of mine… someone who was trying to help me. We were lucky to escape and make it here without him catching up. I wouldn't be surprised if he found me here with my friends off dicking around!"
"Catch up?" wondered Cyrene. "Are you saying Vaugen's following you?" She took a curious step up to Logan. "Why?"
A battle instantly went off inside Logan. Anger, guilt, and paranoia all clashed head-on in a full-scale war within his mind. His anger wanted to tell the girl of his own personal battle with Vaugen, his guilt wanted to tell her everything about his mission so he would not make the same mistake he had with Druid Launce, and his paranoia brought back the image of Mara, nude and unconscious, Riva's blood-spattered corpse nearby.
"I don't really know why," Logan finally answered. "He wanted me for something-said I could be useful. I don't think he wants me alive anymore, though." Battered by the three conflicting forces within him, Logan uneasily backed away.
"Wait!" Cyrene cried, soft hands grasping hold of Logan's arm. "You said he killed your friend-does that mean you've personally confronted him? You've faced Vaugen himself?"
Puzzlement draped over Logan as he saw the excitement in Cyrene's face. "Why should you care?"
Cyrene shrugged curtly, her blonde hair bouncing upon her shoulders. "I don't know. I was hoping maybe I could join you in wherever you're going."
"Join me?" Logan exclaimed, and the three emotions faded as confusion overpowered them all. "And possibly run into Vaugen himself?"
Cyrene nodded.
Suspicion replaced the confusion. "Oh, no," Logan told her, "I don't want you coming along just to get yourself killed. If you're that desperate to die, save me the guilt and kill yourself when I'm not around." He turned away and started for the nearest hostel.
"You don't understand," Cyrene objected, hurrying after him. "I don't want to kill myself, I want to kill Vaugen."
Swift hoofbeats sounded far off in the distance as Logan went silent. He shook his head, entering the hostel. "I get it," he quipped. "You're not suicidal, you're insane."
"I am not insane!" Cyrene snapped, right behind him. "I want to see that murderous whoreson dead!"
"You and about ten thousand other people," the young man retorted, banging a fist upon the desk of the hostel owner.
Blue eyes flaming, Cyrene twirled Logan around, her frail hands gripping him by the front of his jacket. "Listen, you," she snarled. "I'll do anything to see Vaugen dead, and you're the first person I've ever met who's survived a run-in. And you say Vaugen may be following you." Her lips drew back in a horrible frown. "I want a shot at the man who killed my father. You have to take me with you!"
Logan glared back at the beautiful girl. "I don't have to take you anywhere," he said, sneering back at her. "My mission is dangerous, and you could get in the way."
The fierceness died down in Cyrene's eyes, and it was her turn to eye him suspiciously.
The hoofbeats grew louder, then stopped.
"What mission?" Cyrene queried, jabbing a long-nailed finger at Logan's chest. "Since when did you have a mission?"
"Since he stole a certain horse and found the magical item hidden within a saddlebag," informed a scratchy voice.
Logan and Cyrene whirled to see a white-chestplated Reakmor stride into the hostel. The owner of the building let out a frightened yelp and ran out a back door. Three more men sauntered in behind their leader; only the Reakmor wore a chestplate.
"I am Reakmor Farkarrez," the man in the white chestplate announced, "and unlike those before me, I do not play petty games. Give me the Jewel or my men shall tear you limb from limb."
Logan glared at the Reakmor. "Men? You call those things men?" he scoffed. "They don't even have chestplates!"
Farkarrez grinned, his front teeth chipped. "They wear no chestplates so these Sparrillian fools will not hinder us as we traverse their land."
Logan's hand shot for his Reakthi sword, but the three soldiers were faster, no longer weighed down by their armor. The young man's anger churned inside as he struggled in their grasp, futilely trying to break the grip of six hands. "Why the hell do I always get into trouble when Thromar and Moknay aren't around?" he muttered.
"You are not alone!" Cyrene proclaimed, withdrawing a dagger from a sheath strapped about her thigh.
Her white skirt flapping, the beautiful blonde dove for one of the Reakthi. The soldier attempted to dodge while still retaining his hold upon Logan, and a scrape suddenly appeared across his forearm.
"By all that is unholy!" he cursed. "The bitch cut me!"
The Reakthi released Logan and grabbed at Cyrene. He caught her around the waist, pinning her arms at her side. Furiously, she tried to ram her dagger into the warrior, but he simply held her off to his right.
"Let go of me, you viper!" the girl yelled.
Logan strained against the four hands keeping him prisoner. "Let her go," he fumed.
Reakmor Farkarrez grinned wickedly, glaring at Logan as he approached the girl. "The bitch means something to you, does she?" He roughly grabbed Cyrene beneath her chin. "I can see why."
Cyrene brought up a slim leg, catching the Reakmor in the groin. Farkarrez grunted, stumbling back in pain, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Touch me again and I shall make it permanent!" Cyrene threatened.
The Reakmor glanced up, agony scrawled across his face. "No one ever harms Farkarrez," he growled, "especially some female! I was going to let you live, but I shall enjoy you better dead!"
Farkarrez withdrew a dagger from his boot and pointed it at Cyrene. The blade rested directly between the girl's full breasts, but Cyrene did not flinch. Defiantly, she glared at the Reakmor, all but ignoring the dagger at her bosom.
"Have you ever had someone dig a blade into your chest?" Farkarrez questioned, his face contorted with fury. "Feel the cold steel as it tears through your flesh? Watch as red blood streams down your pretty, white skin?"
Cyrene did not answer, and Farkarrez struck her across the face. Her head jerked to one side, blonde hair tumbling into her face, but she remained silent. Logan watched the red handprint that developed on Cyrene's cheek, and that familiar fury began to boil and steam, demanding release.
"I should ravage you right here!" the Reakmor growled.
"I'd rather die first!" Cyrene spat back.
Farkarrez slapped her again.
The anger exploded; Logan sprang.
The Reakthi holding the young man stumbled back into one another, unbalanced by the explosive jump. Farkarrez let out a startled shout as Logan sailed into him, hurling the Reakmor into the wooden staircase. Cyrene dug an elbow into the soldier behind her and broke free. Her dagger lashed out and the warrior crashed to the floor, his dying thought concerning the safety that chestplates offered.
Logan's fist smashed into Farkarrez's mouth, guided by his intense wrath. The Reakmor staggered under the onslaught, scrambling for the door. Logan roughly jerked the man back, picking him off the ground and heaving him bodily across the hostel. Adrenaline and rage intermingled, and Logan's sword thrust out, skewering the Reakthi that charged him.
Cyrene, having disposed of the other soldier, rushed the stunned Reakmor.
"Cyrene!" warned Logan. "Stay back! He still has his dagger!"
The girl ignored the warning, her eyebrows knitted above her dark blue eyes. With a sneer of pleasure, Farkarrez hurled his blade. Expertly, Cyrene ducked to one side, batting away the dagger with her own. Farkarrez's weapon whizzed past Logan's ear and lodged into the wall.
The Reakmor's jaw dropped open in shock. "What?" he shrieked. "No one can do that! Not at such close…"
Silver and crimson sparkled as Cyrene swept her dagger across Farkarrez's throat. Red liquid bubbled from the Reakmor's lips as he slumped forward, his hands clutching his neck. Gagging, Farkarrez could only watch as his own blood spilled across the floor. Then his vision blurred, and he died.
Logan brushed at his black hair, his fury watching Cyrene with admiration. The girl turned from cleaning her dagger and focused on the young man. "He mentioned a jewel," she noted. "What jewel?" Logan attempted to smile and failed. "You know," he replied uneasily, "a funny thing happened to me on the way to steal a horse."
His frivolity dissipated and he realized how very much
Cyrene's hair color resembled Riva's…
"Thromar should be back soon," Moknay guessed, stroking his chin as he peered out a window of their hostel room. "We'll be leaving early in the morning and heading southwest. We should reach Prifrane in a week's time; then into the mountains. Hopefully, someone in Prifrane will agree to act as scout through the Hills."
Logan rubbed his hands together nervously. "What is taking Thromar so long?" he said. "I hope he didn't run into any more Reakthi."
The Murderer shrugged diffidently. "He said something about going to see his friend Fraviar, the one who makes the ale." He sneered at no one in particular. "Still don't see what help he'd be."
Cyrene gazed up at the two men, replacing the Jewel in its leather pouch. Her deep blue eyes were filled with awe and trepidation, and Logan prayed that was all. "Shouldn't you keep the Jewel in a safer place?" she wondered. "I mean, a bag doesn't serve as much protection, does it?"
"Hasn't been taken yet," Moknay smirked, and Logan hated the word "yet."
The door flew open and Thromar entered, a silly grin drawn across his face.
"What are you grinning about, O mighty fat one?" quipped the Murderer.
Thromar belched loudly in Moknay's general direction. "Been to my friend Fraviar," he stated.
"Did he give us anything that could help, or just the secret ways of making ale?" the Murderer wondered sarcastically.
Thromar held up three-flasks of fluid. "He did give us some of his darkest ale, and a little talisman of magical powers. Says it detects magic." The fighter thrust a huge arm at Logan. "I think you should be the one to wear it, friend-Logan."
Logan took the bulb of stone and inspected it. "It detects magic? How?"
His massive shoulders heaved as Thromar shrugged. "Fraviar says it tingles or something like that. He never used it-his sister did. She's a wizardess."
Logan slipped the talisman over his neck and tucked it into his shirt, turning to the window where Moknay continued his vigil. Beyond the glass, the sky was black, and stars twinkled far off in the darkness.
Wood groaned and creaked as Thromar threw himself onto a bed, yawning.
Moknay turned away from the window and scanned the three before him. "Early in the morning, remember that," he repeated for Thromar's sake. "Cyrene, you have a horse?"
The attractive girl nodded, her eyes narrowing as she studied the Murderer.
Moknay ignored her suspicious stare. "Fine." He faced Thromar. "And if you refuse to get up tomorrow morning, Thromar, I'll personally stick you in the rump with a dagger."
The fighter grinned with yellowing teeth. "What, and break one of your daggers, Murderer?"
Thin, serpentine wisps of color rose into the air, twisting and spiraling like corkscrews. Infinite starlike points of light glittered in the red-and-silver sky, winking playfully as Matthew Logan surveyed the immediate area. A tiny comet sailed overhead, its tail snaking along behind it. Like a mischievous butterfly, the comet swerved, forcing Logan to duck as it crackled over him and sped off into the red-and-silver universe.
It is beautiful, Logan thought. He was standing in midair within the very center of Being. Pleasant tingles coursed through him as the writhing tongues of color touched him and seeped through him as if he himself were a smokelike strand of hues. And the winking of the stars became seductive, like a million gorgeous females all flirting with the young man at once.
A vile sensation of disharmony disrupted the pleasantness, and Logan cast a fearful glance behind him.
A titanic gyroscope was looming down upon him, its wheel flashing with the hundreds of galaxies revolving within it. Planets and stars began to spin free of the whirling disk, exploding as they tore away from their natural order. A hideous revelation blazed into Logan's mind, and he could tell the tilting gyroscope was going to falter-tip-and everything in it would be destroyed.
Everything.
The young man suddenly saw Moknay, Thromar, Mara, Cyrene, Barthol, and Launce all orbiting inside the Wheel. They, in turn, were peering out at him, hands extended as if pleading. Helpless, Logan wished there was some way he could help his friends, but his mind told him there was none.
A million million screams speared through Logan's brain as the Wheel tilted and everything was torn asunder.
Everything.
That was when Logan realized he held the Jewel in his hands. His stomach twisted in disgust as a horrible gash split across the gem, and blood gushed forth, drenching Logan in a crimson fountain of life fluid. As the Jewel's heartbeat weakened, the blood flow slowed.
The pulsing heart of the Jewel skipped, and the red-and-silver sky dimmed… and went out.
Sleepily, Logan tore free of his dream and realized his bed was shuddering to the rhythmic beat of a heart. At first the young man thought it was his own heart, but then he noticed the entire cot was shaking fitfully, and knew the beating was not his own. Another thought struck him and he grasped the stone talisman. No, that wasn't it either, so what…?
A golden flare filled the room.
"Shit!" Logan gasped, watching as the Jewel's bag pulsed with energy.
The leather pouch swelled with an aurora of colors, and light stabbed free and knifed into Logan's face. Blinking, Logan tried to rid his eyes of the afterimage as a high-pitched shriek shattered the night. Thunder roared instantly after. The earth trembled in terror as a blue-white line of electricity forked down from the sky and blazed into the soil. The wailing scream of electrified air devoured the stillness, and a powerful blue-white flash illuminated the room. The rumble of thunder gripped the sides of the hostel and shook.
"Everybody!" cried Logan, jumping out of bed. "Get up! We've got problems!"
The shrill screech of another bolt resonated throughout the night, bringing with it clamorous thunder. The building quaked again as Logan's companions opened their eyes and immediately reacted.
The Jewel's golden glow flooded the room.
"Matthew!" Cyrene cried out. "What's happening?"
"Damned if I know!" Logan admitted as another bolt slashed the sky.
Moknay leapt from his bed, quickly clipping on his cape and strap of daggers. "The Wheel!" he exclaimed. "This is the first disaster Barthol warned us about! Come on! Let's get out of here!"
Screaming, a blue-white saber of radiance struck the hostel. Logan let out a startled shout as he crashed against the wall, striking the almost healed lump on the back of his skull. Lights more brilliant than the Jewel itself played behind his eyelids, and he could barely hear his friends yelling at him to get up.
A pitiful groan resounded in the quartet's ears, and Moknay's grey eyes flickered upward. The wooden support beams of the hostel were creaking and moaning, and the Murderer traced an almost invisible crack across one hovering above Logan.
"Logan!" he shouted, hurrying toward the young man. "Grab the Jewel and let's go!"
Dazed, the young man got to his knees, staring dumbly at the pulsating bag. Splinters of wood sprinkled down upon him as the support beam cracked, a portion of timber breaking free and screaming downward.
Cyrene, attempting to lace up her bodice, glimpsed the falling timber and leaped, catching Logan as she jumped. The young man felt himself suddenly jerked to one side, and there was a tremendous crash as something heavy fell to the hostel floor.
"Bring Logan!" Moknay commanded Cyrene from the darkness. "And don't forget the damn Jewel!"
Logan's vision began to clear as he and Cyrene staggered from the room, the Jewel glaring under his arm. Shouts and curses sprouted from the many rooms they passed, and lightning screeched outside. The fierce glare of the Jewel lit the stairs as the four stumbled down the steps and hurried into the street. A chilling, unnatural gale howled about them, and the quartet made their way to the stables.
"West!" Thromar bellowed over the lightning's din. "We have to go west!"
Grabbing Druid Launce's staff that leaned nearby, Logan mounted his yellow-and-green horse. Cyrene straddled a silver horse beside him, its blue mane and tail whipping in the stormy winds.
The four horses bolted free of the stables, the tempest shrieking around them. A flaring quarrel of blue light split the ground close by, showering the group with clods of dirt.
The Jewel continued to pulse with sorcerous brilliance.
"The hostel owner won't be too happy about us skipping out like that," Logan said, yelling to be heard over the noise.
Moknay frowned. "First you killed four Reakthi in his building, then you tried to fry it with the Jewel. I think he'd rather have us leave than do anything worse!"
"It's not my fault!" Logan roared in retaliation, the anger returning all at once.
Thromar jabbed a massive finger ahead. "By Brolark!" he boomed. "The river's swelling!"
Logan, Cyrene, and Moknay peered through the blackness to see a large, dark object rise and quiver. When a blast of lightning severed the darkness, they could see the water heaving, rising skyward like some behemoth from a long sleep.
Moknay pulled tight on his horse's reins. "We're cut off! We'll have to go back! That blob's engulfed the bridge!"
Logan halted his stallion and glared through the gloom at the throbbing wall of water. A faint feeling of misplacement ran through him as something tickled his left side. Questioningly, he glanced at the Jewel in his right hand, but that had not caused the tingle. His left hand hung at his side, grasping tightly to Druid Launce's staff.
"Moknay!" the young man shouted. "Take the Jewel!"
The Murderer turned in time to catch the Jewel as it spiraled through the crackling lightning. Logan, meanwhile, was glancing down, awaiting the odd tingle. It came again as Thromar decided to turn the horses around and head eastward.
The feathery touch started at Logan's left hand and crept up his arm to his shoulder. As it tickled his chest, Logan clutched at it. It had felt like a big, hairy spider had clambered up his arm, but whatever he had pinned beneath his right hand was not a spider. It was a stone talisman.
Thromar glanced over his shoulder as his horse began back. "Come on, friend-Logan! That blob won't let us get across the river!"
Silent, Logan looked at the fighter, the talisman, the staff, and suddenly a determined expression clouded his features. Teeth clenched, Logan spurred his horse forward, thundering directly toward the quivering mass of water.
Moknay jerked about. "Logan!"
Cyrene and Thromar swung their mounts about as well, staring dumbfounded as Logan rushed the unnatural flood. The young man cast a swift glance behind him and smiled when he saw his companions racing after him. When he turned back, the rising river was closer, towering over him. With a dark grin, Logan noted the river reminded him of Jell-O.
"He's as mad as Pembroke and Zackaron combined," growled Moknay.
A whining lightning bolt splintered a tree, showering Logan with blue sparks. He ignored the rainfall of light, sitting tall in his saddle as he held out Launce's staff. He kept his horse on the path, rushing directly for the bridge that was obscured by the growing tumor of water. As if intent on jousting, Logan charged, leveling the oaken staff in his hand.
"Friend-Logan!" Thromar bellowed. "Stop! For the love of Lelah, stop!"
The sensation of disunity strengthened as magical energy flickered at the tip of Druid Launce's staff. Lightning shrieked about the horse and rider, bathing Logan in a blue-white glare. Moknay, Cyrene, and Thromar trailed behind him, the Jewel flaring in the Murderer's grasp.
"Part," Logan commanded under his breath. "Part, damn you!"
The towering mass of liquid shuddered as the staff brightened. Convulsions ripped through the Jell-O, and the unnatural bulge caved inward. The trio following Logan watched in stupefaction as the depression within the swelling river grew, leaving a gaping wound in the liquid. The wooden bridge reappeared, the waters boiling down around it. Logan's green-and-yellow mount thundered across, the druid's staff still ablaze with magical powers.
"By the bubbling brew of Fraviar!" exclaimed Thromar. "Did you see that?"
"Of course I saw it, you bearded buffoon!" Moknay retorted. "I'm right beside you, aren't I?"
The three horses galloped over the river, their hooves echoing upon the wood. Gradually, the agitated waters subsided.
The feeling of wrongness faded and was replaced by weakness. Sweat dotted Logan's brow, and he took in great gulps of night air to refill his lungs. Unexpectedly, Moknay's voice called out for Logan to take the Jewel, and the young man slowly turned to inquire why.
The pouch, however, was already flying toward him, and Logan's eyes popped open. Frantically he caught the Jewel, embracing it to his chest with his right arm. All at once, the Jewel's glare ceased, blinking out like a candle's flame. The bubbling river reverted to normal, and a lightning bolt vanished as it traced across the sky. A low grumble of displeasure sounded as the winds died with a reluctant moan.
Logan reined in his horse. "Jesus," he sighed, "I don't believe this." He peered at Moknay. "And that was only the first movement of the Wheel?"
The Murderer nodded grimly. "I wonder if Barthol figured out how much time we actually have left."
Logan nodded back and saw the fear in Moknay's eyes. He suddenly realized how much the Murderer dreaded the Jewel and understood he should not have tossed it to him while it was glowing. Next time he'll give it to Thromar.
The young man gulped. Next time?
Slower than before, the four horses trotted onward, leaving the path and allowing the quartet to make camp in a small clearing. Politely, Logan gave his jacket to Cyrene, who was still too frightened to speak. Thromar munched on some food as Logan lay down on the soft carpet of green. The mismatchment suddenly rose up from the very blades of grass, and Logan grumbled as he tossed onto his back. All he needed was to have that stupid feeling keep him awake for the rest of the night!
Fortunately, sleep subdued Logan from behind.
Stars twinkled happily as Logan replaced Moknay as guard. The Murderer had since fallen asleep, his grey form cloaked by the night. Thromar snored beside him, his bearded face not so fierce in sleep, and Cyrene lay nearby. Her skirt had ridden a bit up her leg, and Logan pulled his eyes away from the girl's thigh, mumbling. Since he had come to this land he had been forced to relieve himself in the forest; what about sexually, though? Would he have to see to his own desires? In the forest?
Keeping his eyes away from Cyrene, Logan stared up into the night sky. Maybe he could spot a familiar constellation-Orion was an easy one. The sky, however, would not comply, and Logan recognized no pattern in the stars above him. He truly was on another world in another universe or dimension.
Something thudded in the foliage.
Logan's hand pulled free Moknay's dagger, while he glared into the surrounding shrubbery. There was silence all about him, and a chilling unease began to settle in Logan's stomach.
A bush crashed and rustled as if destroyed.
"Fooooooood!" a friendly voice bellowed.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Logan sank back to the ground. The large, light blue ogre smashed through the brush, a huge grin drawn across its squarish face.
"How in the world did you find us?" Logan questioned the ogre.
Its grin widened. "Find yoooooooou!"
"No, how did you find us? It's obvious you found us. Are we that easy to trail?"
The huge creature cocked its head to one side in confusion. "Fooooooood?" it queried hopefully.
Logan reached into a pouch and withdrew some of the fruit Launce had given them. He extended a hand toward the ogre, but, as it started forward, the beast halted, eyes wide.
"What's the matter?" Logan asked it. "Don't you like fruit?"
"Maaaaaagic," the blue-skinned creature whispered in awe.
The young man pivoted, expecting to see Groathit emerge from the bushes behind him. "Magic? Where?" he cried.
The ogre pointed an enourmous finger at Logan's neck. "There."
Logan bowed his head to inspect himself and felt the talisman bump his chin. He slipped off the magical stone and held it up. "You don't like this?"
The ogre shied away.
"Hmminm, I guess not." Logan set the talisman aside. "Here, here's some food."
The light blue beast lumbered forward and snatched the food from Logan's hand. Greedily, it gulped the fruit down.
"Now," Logan said, trying again, "how did you find us?"
The ogre grinned foolishly. "Give fooooood! Meeeee find!"
Obviously, the creature felt its answer satisfactory and went silent, leaving Logan in an awkward position. Scratching the tip of his nose, Logan attempted another question:
"Is anyone else following us?"
The creature scratched its stringy black hair. "Skinny huuuuumaaaan!" it remembered. "Maaaaaaad!"
Logan nodded understandingly. "Pembroke," he muttered. Then, he queried, "How far is he?"
The ogre did not hesitate. "Faaaaaar!"
As a reward, Logan gave the beast another handful of food. The ogre happily grabbed the provisions and wolfed them down. It then released a belch Logan was sure could topple a tree.
"Quiet," he hushed it. "Did you see anyone else?"
The ogre was silent for quite some time until booming out: "Whiiite huuuumaaaan!"
"White human?" Logan mused. "As to my knowledge, you're the only person I've seen who isn't white."
The ogre grinned. "Maaaaaagic."
"No, no magic," corrected Logan, pointing at the taliman. "I took it off."
The light blue ogre screwed up its face but its grin soon returned. "Foooooooood?" it hoped.
Logan gave the ogre another handful and it nodded its thanks, clumsily lumbering off into the forest.
Logan was left to his thoughts.