"If we left the road about midday, I'd say Prifrane would be directly west." Thromar's voice shattered the silence.
Logan lifted his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Groathit knows for certain we're not going to Semeth," Moknay said. "If we stay on the road that long, we're bound to be attacked."
"By what?" Thromar boomed back. "The farther west we go, the harder it is for the Reakthi to trail us! Their stronghold's in the east!"
"Spellcasters have no need for strongholds," Cyrene remarked.
Logan sat up, eyeing his three companions as the early morning mist dispersed. Thromar threw him a pitiful glance.
"Help me, friend-Logan," he pleaded. "They're ganging up on me!"
"That's because you want to take a dangerous route," Moknay retorted.
"But the longer we stay on the road, the faster we get there," the huge fighter said. He looked over at Logan. "Isn't that right?"
The young man shrugged, opening his mouth to say something about not knowing the area.
"We also have Pembroke after us," the Murderer interrupted. "Don't forget about him."
"There's no need to worry about him," Logan stated. "He's far behind us."
Moknay and Thromar both eyed the young man wondering-ly. "How do you know that, friend?" queried Moknay.
"Friend-Logan is a spellcaster, Murderer," Thromar roared happily. "I do wish he'd take his eye out for you! It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"
"I'm no spellcaster," Logan answered, grinning to himself. "I just happen to have my own sources of information."
A frown caused Moknay's mustache to droop. "That's another thing," he muttered to everyone but directed it at Thromar. "Groathit is still out one pawn. Whatever he has trailing us now might catch up with us on the road."
"Not if I'm on Smeea!" Thromar declared. "Nothing can catch Smeea and me if we're on the path! We'll ride like the very winds themselves! If we're in the bloody forest, even Smeea can't maneuver through all those damn branches and brambles!"
Druid Launce could, the guilt inside Logan whispered; and the young man flinched in quiet pain at the thought.
"Didn't you say Vaugen may still be riding after you?" Cyrene questioned, brushing at her long, dark blonde hair.
Moknay nodded, looking out toward the Hills.
"Then wouldn't it be better to take the forest route?" continued Cyrene. "Confuse him even more?"
Logan caught an odd flicker passing through Cyrene's blue eyes. The girl was up to something, his paranoia advised him. She sounded so determined to run headlong into the Imperator himself; why was she suggesting a route that would cause Vaugen to lose them?
"I don't think Vaugen will stay on the path," Moknay said, and Logan noticed the brief frown that crossed Cyrene's full lips. "The roads do offer the safety of not running into him!" The grey eyes flashed to Logan. "And if Logan thinks Pembroke is far behind us, maybe the path is our best bet. I'm still a little uneasy about Groathit's new pawn-if he's got one."
Thromar threw up his brawny arms in victory. "We did it, friend-Logan!" he cheered. "We stay on the road!"
Logan, however, was not listening to the bearded fighter. The young man's eyes were trained on Cyrene as she stalked away from the group, mumbling under her breath. She deliberately wanted to take the forest route so that it would slow them down, Logan realized. That way Vaugen would have a better chance of catching up to them. Stupid female!
Cyrene felt Logan's gaze and turned about. The anger that was ablaze in her eyes died abruptly and a strange, oddly friendly emotion took its place. A beautiful smile came to her lips before she swung away and continued for her horse.
Was she flirting with me? Logan wondered, and a little chill of excitement made its way into his sweat pants.
The sensation of mismatchment pounced like a lion, devouring the ideas that formed in Logan's mind. As he reacted, the anger that churned inside him also sprang forth, grasping the opposing feeling in a deathlock. The tingle of disharmony slipped the grip and formulated an attack of its own, and Logan was haplessly caught in the middle.
"Friend-Logan!" Thromar shouted in awe. "Your arm! What's happening to your arm?"
Forcing himself free of the battling sensations, Logan gave his arms a curious glance. His blue eyes enlarged when he saw the bloody glare sprouting from his left forearm near his sword wound. Instant panic consumed him as he feared Groathit was magically draining him of his blood, but then he noticed the tiny silver flecks swirling amongst the crimson, and he pulled back his sleeve.
The blank face of his digital watch was blazing like a miniature bonfire. Red-and-silver light fairly burst from his wrist, slicing into the young man's eyes like the glare of the Jewel the night before. Shaking his head free of the light, the anger and displacement retreated, and his watch dimmed.
The others were staring at Logan dumbly.
"By Brolark," breathed Thromar, "what an array of tricks you have."
The rage Logan thought was gone returned. "I am not a spellcaster!" he roared. "If I was a goddamn spellcaster, I wouldn't be here! I wouldn't have this goddamn Jewel leaking energy! I'd have left the very morning I arrived here!"
"We have our problems, friend," Moknay replied, "but Sparrill's not all that bad. Since when was your world a paradise of some sort?"
"It isn't!" thundered Logan. "It's a rat-hole! But at least it's my world! Here there's nothing but confusion for me, and people dying every time they lend a hand! Even my world wasn't like that!"
The grimness and pessimism went out of the Murderer's eyes. "Friend, every world has its problems, but every world has its people. I told you before the people have kept the Reakthi out, not the Guards. That's the way we are here. We will gladly help anyone who opposes the invaders… even if it means laying down our lives. But we're not fools. We will try every conceivable way to escape with everyone's life intact. And we almost did that when Vaugen and his bastards attacked."
"Almost?" Logan moaned. "Almost isn't good enough! Almost cost Druid Launce his life!"
"Something that happened because he wanted to save us, the Jewel, and Munuc's people from the Reakthi," Thromar put in. "Friend-Logan, you must not blame yourself. Are the people in your world so heroic that no one dies in combat?"
A disgusting realization came to the young man. "No," he sighed, "no one comes to your aid when you're in 'combat.' We all just stand around and wait for someone else to do the helping."
Logan's three companions were still until Moknay clamped a gloved hand upon the young man's shoulder. "I would never have guessed you came from such a world," he said. "Since I have known you, never once have you let someone else act for you. It's unfortunate you want to return so badly, because Moknay the Murderer is proud to call you friend."
A faint smile formed on Logan's lips as he glanced from Thromar to Moknay to Cyrene. Both fighter and Murderer were beaming like proud fathers, and Cyrene was also watching Logan with respect in her eyes. And Logan could tell that-unlike in his world-these people said and meant what their hearts felt.
And Logan's desire to return home lessened just slightly.
There was an opaque gleam in the eye like the glitter of a pearl as Spellcaster Groathit stalked out of the small town of Plestenah and pushed his way through the forest. Horses snorted nervously as the sorcerer rejoined the throng of Reakthi that awaited him in the brush.
Grey eyes as cold as ice trained upon the spellcaster.
"Well?" sneered Vaugen.
"Reakmor Farkarrez did indeed catch up with them in town, and not one Sparrillian even suspected his men as being Reakthi," the wizard reported. "They engaged and battled the one called Logan and some blonde and all four men were slain. Unfortunately, if Farkarrez had used his mind, he could have easily taken the Jewel since the fools had left it in the horse's saddlebag when they entered the hostel where they were confronted."
"Farkarrez was a good man," Vaugen replied calmly. "I am surprised he did not think to search, or, perhaps, even slay their mounts. But we now know that-without chestplates-perhaps we can once again attempt Agasilaus's ploy and conquer Sparrill as we conquered Denzil."
"We have not conquered Denzil," Groathit mentioned, mounting his horse.
The Imperator flashed him a vile gaze. "One town does not make the whole of a land!" he snapped.
"No, but it is almost humorous to think that Vaugen has been unable to conquer one lone city," the wizard mocked.
Rage steamed within the armored chest of the Imperator, and blood rushed to his face, making his scars almost brighten. "You toy dangerously with my anger, spellcaster," he warned. "True, we have been unable to conquer Eadarus, but we have now learned that we can encircle these idiots if we dispose of our armor and keep our movements unseen. Then even Eadarus will be unable to hold off the Reakthi from all sides!" The grey eyes blazed angrily. "It is odd you are so quick to criticize me when the means of our ultimate conquest is wandering around out there with the Jewel of Equilibrant in his saddlebags!, Why aren't you doing something about detaining them? I even risked and lost one of my best Reakmors to hinder them."
Groathit snorted contemptuously as the horses skirted the town. " 'Best Reakmor'!" he spat. "Farkarrez is a sadist!"
The Imperator sneered in vexation and something resembling mockery. "Was," he corrected. "Farkarrez was a sadist."
The wizard's bad eye seemed to twinkle with foul thoughts. "No," he answered with a skull-like smile. "I mean is."
The spellcaster's cackling laughter tore through the forest and sent a chill wafting across the winds.
Logan stared at the ground as the four horses made their way through the trees, lost in his musings. Up until that morning, he realized, he had only tolerated this world. He had been zapped here and had no say in the matter, so he had come to the conclusion that he'd travel across the land, get the Smythe's help, and leave. He had not even noticed the land's good points, especially, as Moknay had pointed out, the people. Still, Logan longed to return to his world, his way of life, his occupation, his apartment with running water and toilets.
Sparrill, he came to the conclusion, was a nice place to visit, but he didn't want to live there.
Peering at the dirt beneath his horse's hooves, Logan did not even see the Jewel in his saddlebag flare yellow and then dim.
Cyrene drew her horse up alongside Logan, and a soft hand touched his shoulder. "Is something the matter?" she asked.
Logan blinked. "No, no, just wrestling with my thoughts," he answered, and could not help noticing the lovely smile Cyrene watched him with. It was odd, but the blonde was almost glad they had reached the forest. Wouldn't she ever stop hoping to run into Vaugen?
Every nerve in Logan's body exploded, and the young man was seized by a paroxysm of agony as the sensation of disharmony brutally ambushed him. Sweat splashed across his brow, and his throat constricted, denying his lungs air. Gasping, he nearly pitched off his horse, but Cyrene's soft hand steadied him. Moknay and Thromar whipped about, instantly alarmed when they saw the young man's pale face and convulsive actions.
A soft hum began to split the air, and Moknay could feel the hairs on his arm prick up as if at attention. Quizzically, the Murderer swung his head in the direction of the buzz, and his grey eyes widened. A swift glove tapped Thromar upon one arm and the fighter also spotted what Moknay had. Wonderingly looking from Logan to his friends, Cyrene caught their startled gaze and also faced northwest.
A flare of man-shaped blackness was steadily making its way toward them.
Sickness flowed throughout Logan as the overpowering feeling started to recede. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he spotted the humanoid figure of blackness stride toward them, a bizarre hum surrounding the form.
"What… What is that?" the young man forced out, drenched by perspiration.
Moknay's grim mien was grimmer than usual. "A Black-body," the Murderer explained, grasping his strap of daggers tightly.
Blackbody? Logan asked himself. Damn, that sounded familiar. Back on Earth a black body was something used in physics, right? Had something to do about being the perfect absorber and emitter of radiation, didn't it? Blast! Logan was no physics major… he still had trouble deciphering fractions! But he did recall something about black-body radiation and that its applications were pretty much limited. Now how in the world did a creature such as a Blackbody exist here? Was there a connection between the worlds somewhere?
The Blackbody advanced, flickering with an eerie aura of ebony light. As it neared, the hum accompanying it grew louder, and they all could feel the power vibrating through the air.
Cyrene's deep blue eyes were overspilling with horror. "But I thought Blackbodies were cosmic," she protested. "What in the name of Agellic is one doing here?"
Like an empathetic leech, Logan sensed the girl's terror and felt his own fears bubbling into existence.
"Blackbodies are cosmic," Moknay informed the blonde, "but remember what Logan has in that saddlebag. We're carrying something that's threatening the very balance of order, and this Blackbody has probably come to find out about- last night's excitement. They are responsible for the very fundamental nature of matter and would be a little concerned if matter started to fall apart."
Like on Earth! Logan noted, ignoring the Murderer's sarcasm. Black-body radiation was used by physicists to study the fundamental nature of matter and quantitative…? No, quantum mechanics.
The Blackbody came closer and then stopped, tilting its flaring black head in their direction. Vaguely, Logan could see two white orbs of light where its eyes should have been.
"You hold sway to the entire multiverse," the Blackbody accused, pointing a blazing ebony finger at Logan; it shook its head. "You should not be here."
The young man looked at Moknay. This thing wasn't referring to the Jewel-it was talking about Logan himself!
The fury instantly flared into life inside him. "I don't want to be here!" Logan barked at the astonishing black form. "I am going back!"
The Blackbody took two more steps toward them. "But already you have uncovered a portion of the Macrocosm," it stated. "You must not be allowed to do so again if you ever wish to return to your world. You must give me That Which Balances the Wheel."
"Get out of our way, Blackbody," Thromar warned. "We are taking the Jewel to the Smythe, and we're not about to hand it over to some creature that can't control it any better than friend-Logan here!"
"Silence, inferior organism," the Blackbody ordered. "I am a Being of the Megacosmos and have come to warn you. Know you not that no power was released during the previous revolution of your sphere? There was an upheaval in the natural Balance of things, yet the Equilibrant was quenched before discharging its energies. This has caused much of the Balance to fragment." The white orbs flamed. "There must also be some Order to Chaos. I have come to drink the release that was staunched."
At that, Moknay freed a large dagger from his belt and jerked on the handle. A second blade slid free from the first and proceeded to unfold into three separate blades on one hilt. Moknay now held four shafts of steel, and Logan saw the resemblance to the Indian knife, the katar. What the Murderer held was a combination sliding and forking katar, and it looked exceptionally dangerous in his grey-gloved hands.
The Blackbody ignored the knives and continued forward.
There was a moment of quiet as Logan scanned his companions. Moknay and Thromar both were edgy, weapons out and ready. Cyrene had drawn back, her face pale from the fear that billowed up inside her. Turning his attention to himself, Logan disregarded the wrongness that still lurked within him and pulled free his own blade. This ebony thingamajig wanted to bleed the Jewel of more energy-and they couldn't allow it to do so.
"We will not hesitate to slay you," Moknay told the crackling form.
The Blackbody paid him no heed, its white eyes wavering as it closed in on Logan.
Roaring, Thromar rushed the creature, swinging his blood-caked sword in a powerful downward sweep. The Blackbody walked on as the fighter spilled from his mount, his weapon passing harmlessly through the flaring blackness. Logan caught the stifled gasp from Cyrene as the Blackbody approached, its eyes lusting after the Jewel at Logan's side.
"Logan," Moknay said over his shoulder, "perhaps you should take the Jewel and flee. I don't think our weapons will stop it."
Perplexed, the young man looked once more at the oncoming Blackbody. At least it didn't emit radiation… he hoped.
"I think your friend is right, Matthew," agreed Cyrene. "There's no way to defeat a Blackbody."
"Only because no one has ever confronted one before," Moknay put in, grey eyes locked on the blazing beast.
Angered by his initial attempt, Thromar heaved himself off the forest floor and hacked at the glowing form. Numerous times his sword slashed through the black energy, but the creature's eyes remained riveted to Logan.
Logic beat back the anxiety and Logan felt it better to flee. So far the Blackbody did not appear to be a threat to their lives, nor did they appear to threaten its life. It was probably better to get away from the beast rather than let it walk through the trees to suck the Jewel dry.
As Logan pulled on his horse's reins, the Blackbody shrieked, sensing what the young man had decided. The energy-being lunged, stretching out fingers made up of pitch-black power. Moknay yelled a challenge, positioning himself between the creature and Logan, his katar jabbing out. Thromar let out a frightened curse as the Murderer's hand and knife passed through the beast and almost speared the fighter on the opposite side.
"Harmeer's War Axe!" he cursed. "Call your shots, Murderer!"
Energy crackled and spat as the Blackbody passed through both Moknay and his horse. Agony coursed through the Murderer as his flesh fused with the creature, and his horse reared in pain. Black sparks flared throughout the foliage as Moknay threw himself from his mount, his black hair erect as if charged with static electricity.
The Blackbody continued its lunge.
"Friend-Logan!" Thromar boomed. "Jump! Don't let it touch you!"
Cyrene let out a scream as the Blackbody finished phasing through Moknay's horse and reached out for Logan. It seemed the girl didn't like to battle anything but Reakthi, Logan mused.
Black tendrils of energy stabbed out and seeped into Logan's saddlebag. The young man's green-and-yellow mount reared, terrified by the crackling figure of ebony. Logan's mind, meanwhile, kicked him: Stupid! it barked. Stop thinking about the girl when this thingamajig is after the Jewel!
Setting aside the feeling of misplacement, Logan lashed out with his Reakthi blade. Golden light began to leak from his saddlebag as the Blackbody fed off the Jewel, unfeeling of the steel that passed through its form. Unseated as Thromar was, Logan felt himself fall… directly into the Blackbody.
Both Blackbody and Logan screamed as one ripped through the other. Something fiery red was flaming around the young man's throat as he tumbled through the ebony figure, and pain and the sensation of disagreement seemed to short-circuit his brain cells.
Moknay, Thromar, and Cyrene watched as the young man hit the ground, the stone talisman about his neck emitting a blinding red glare. The Blackbody arched its back, energy-formed fingers clutching at the air. Its dying wail resounded in their ears as it shattered into strands of black power and faded.
The agony and wrongness still lingered as soft, gentle fingers lifted Logan's head from the carpet of grass. Thinking his contacts were blurred, he blinked a few times, clearing his vision until he could make out Cyrene kneeling over him. The heavily bearded face of Thromar peered over her slim shoulder, yellowed teeth grinning.
"You're the first person to ever defeat a Blackbody, friend-Logan," he boasted. "Oh, the bards shall sing of this battle!"
"Seems that talisman doesn't detect magic," came Moknay's voice from out of Logan's line of vision. It sounded pain-filled and weary. "Seems to be able to dispel at times."
Logan shook his head and could tell the same weariness the Murderer felt was leaking into his own muscles. "But it does detect," he argued. "That was how I knew Druid Launce's staff still worked."
But why, his mind wondered, was the ogre afraid of it? The detecting and dispelling of magic should not have harmed the beast, so why did it shy away? Unless… the talisman did more…
Pondering, Logan felt himself lifted off the ground by Thromar and Cyrene. He leaned momentarily against the girl until he had his balance, and then took quick steps to his horse. Sliding into the saddle, Logan thought he saw something skulking through the bushes. Wishing his recovery from the Blackbody's attack would quicken, he fixed his eyes on the forest. He frowned when he saw nothing out of the usual. Either the weariness setting in was playing tricks on him, or something dark had briefly flashed by amongst the trees. For a moment the young man feared Pembroke was there, but his mind soon cast that aside. Pembroke-according to the ogre-was far behind them, and he wouldn't have sat idly by while a Blackbody attacked his "Child."
Rubbing his eyes, Logan started his horse after the others, perplexed as to whether or not he had really seen something… And the door to his subconscious reopened, and an asthmatic rasp Logan thought he had been freed from responded:
Learn to decipher dreams from reality, unreality from falsehood, falsehood from truth, or doom shall fall upon your worlds!
There was a slightly cooler breeze blowing in from the north as the sun slowly tinted the sky a bloody red. Cool water soaked through Logan's sneakers as his green-and-yellow stallion cautiously waded across the waters of the Ohmmarrious. The young man was having a difficult time holding the reins and all the contents of his saddlebags as well so the water would not ruin them. Thromar was also having a troublesome journey with all his extra weaponry dangling from Smeea's sides. Cyrene, having gotten over the scare of the night before and the Blackbody, had riverted to her usual cold self, even ignoring the rushing liquid when it splashed across sections of her skirt and turned the material all but transparent. And it wasn't helping Logan any as he fumbled across the river with leather pouches bundled in his arms.
"Centaur chips!" cursed Thromar, almost losing his flail, struggling to keep it in his grasp, and almost causing his arrows to spill out of their quiver. "Whose stupid idea was it to cross this stretch of vomit without a bridge?"
"Yours," Moknay answered with a grin, keeping his cape far above the flowing river. "And it's not vomit. If you want vomit, go cross the Demonry."
The enormous fighter screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue. "Imogen, no! I'd sooner wade in Demon-dung than set foot in that cesspool!"
Juggling his provisions, Logan caught their conversation. The Demonry, he recalled, was the river that that Deil thing had created when it had crashed back down from above. Odd, but when Launce had told that story, he had mentioned the Deil being "ablaze with the cosmic fire of the Air" because it had gone so high. Could that have been a mythological rendition of something reentering the atmosphere? It would be ablaze… not that any human could survive it… but, then again, Logan had no idea just what a Deil was.
The young man flinched as cold water drenched the cuffs of his sweat pants and seeped through to the flesh beneath. Although the current was strong, the waters were sparklingly beautiful. He could almost believe there was a sprite in this river-since it was as gorgeous as the Roana-although, at the time, Logan really didn't have the privilege to drink in that river's beauty… nor could he at the Lephar either. Only here, at the Ohmmarrious, could the young man stop and admire the beauty of the water and the greenery. Yes, it wasn't hard at all to believe there was a sprite in the river.
A snickering portion of Logan's mind kicked in; and that meant Logan-being in the river-was in the sprite!
Cruelty! The young man moaned silently, wincing and accidentally glancing at Cyrene.
The clinging skirt spattered with crystal-clear water was even more torturous than Logan's imagination, and he forced himself to look away. His sudden movement was enough to unseat him from his horse and send him splashing into the river.
Uncertain of what had happened, Logan pried his eyes open to find himself in another world. Light blue surrounded him, and silver and white stones lined the river's bottom at his feet. He could see the horses' hooves as they proceeded across the river, and he had luckily thrown his arms up and had kept his supplies out of the liquid. The clear waters of the Ohmmarrious flowed into his eye sockets, and, only for a second, the young man was afraid of losing his contacts to the river. However, as the clear waters of Sparrill had done before, the Ohmmarrious delicately washed and cleansed his lenses far better than any enzymatic cleaner had ever done back on Earth!
As Logan started to lift his head from the clear waters, a faint giggling reached his ears. Quizzically, the young man glanced through the liquid as his head broke the surface. Another giggle came to him, and he swiveled toward Cyrene who was smiling down at him from atop her horse. Like the waters of the Ohmmarrious, confusion washed over the young man as he realized Cyrene's giggle was lower in pitch than the one he had heard below the surface. Had the waters somehow heightened her pitch in some way? Or had he heard two separate giggles?
"I wish Thromar were as apt to bathe as you, friend," Moknay jested. "Agellic knows he reeks like a stable!"
"I am a man of strength, Murderer!" replied the fighter. "Strong of muscle, strong of mind, and strong of odor!" He grinned with yellowing teeth.
As Moknay's horse leapt out onto the western bank, Cyrene slid off her mount and splashed back into deeper waters, offering a hand to Logan. "Here," she said, "give me your stuff before you catch your death."
Without thinking, the young man handed over the pouches he held and began to drag himself from the river. Abruptly his paranoia erupted, yowling at the stupidity of the young man. He had just handed the Jewel of Equilibrant over to someone he had not fully come to trust! How could he be so foolish?
Staring apprehensively, Logan watched as Cyrene waded to the shore and set down the leather bags. Then she turned back to him, once more extending her slim arm to aid him. Relief swamped the young man, and he took her outstretched hand, freeing his body from the cool waters. He turned his blue eyes to the west and grimaced as the sun's final rays were swallowed by the mountains.
"I'm gonna freeze my ass off," he mumbled, wringing out a sleeve of his jacket.
Thromar jerked about on Smeea. "By Brolark! What a sight that will be!" he boomed. "Will you take your eye out afterward for Moknay and Cyrene to see?"
Warm. Warm, gentle breezes teasingly ruffled Logan's black hair as they wafted through the night, passing out over the Ohmmarrious and swirling into the lush foliage beyond. The young man's clothes did not stick to his body at all as he lay there on his side, peering at the crystal-clear river. The waters reflected the red night sky, silver stars glinting in its vastness. Another warm wind blew over him, and a childlike giggle sounded from somewhere indistinguishable.
Curiously, Logan propped himself up on an elbow as the stars gleamed silver in the red sky.
The rushing Ohmmarrious slowed, the constant gurgle of its waters fading as the sparkling liquid stilled. Pillars of clear water began to shoot skyward, heralding the approach of someone, Logan guessed. Gradually, through the fountaining shafts of crystal, a diminutive figure took shape. Logan watched in wonderment as a woman some five feet in height stepped out across the river, not wet although she had just walked through the cascading river.
The petite female was amazingly well proportioned and gazed at Logan with beautiful, dark green eyes as bright and as pure as the forest foliage itself. She was absolutely naked, and long, dark green hair spilled past her bare shoulders and curled just above her shoulder blades. Her perfect, well-sculptured breasts were highlighted by the silver stars, and the nipples were a delicate shade of green. The curve of her waist and hips made familiar urges flare up within Logan as she came closer, and he could not help noticing the triangle of hair between her thighs was also a dark green hue.
Before Logan could remark on the beauty of the dainty creature before him, another girl stepped free of the fountains. She was the exact height and build of the first, only her eyes, nipples, and hair were a light blue. While she slinked across the water's surface, a third female broke through the jets of liquid and into the silvery starlight.
Like her sisters, the third was about five feet in height and had a perfect build, yet there was a hint of experience and knowledge within her violet eyes. Her violet nipples and hair were extraordinary, creating an almost alien attraction for Logan. Green and blue were also odd shades, but the third's eyes were stern, more mature than her siblings.
The green-haired one giggled and Logan recognized the pitch. It was the same one he had heard earlier that evening under the water!
"Welcome, Matthew Logan," the three beauties greeted, nearing him with a childlike boldness.
"I hope you did not catch a chill," the green-haired one said.
Stunned by their radiance and sudden appearance, Logan sat up. "No, no, I think I'm all right."
"We're so glad you stopped here," the violet-haired one remarked. "It has been a very long time since we have talked to someone."
"I would like to touch someone as well," the blue-haired one put in.
"You're just jealous that he fell in my river and not yours, Glorana," the green-haired one mocked.
"Oh, I am not!" Glorana retorted. "He would've fallen in mine if that rotten Jewel had acted up!"
"No, he wouldn't've," the green-haired one answered. "He waded through mine but took a bridge over yours. That means you're ugly!"
"It does not!" Glorana whined.
Logan turned a questioning eye toward the violet-haired nymph. "I-I seem to know you," he stuttered.
The pair arguing shut up; the violet eyes of the third flickered in reply.
"You're the sprites," Logan went on, shakily, "aren't you? The three sprites Druid Launce told me about?"
Glorana clapped her hands together in glee. "He knows of us!" she exclaimed. She raced to where Logan sat, her fragile hands clutching his jacket. "I am Glorana," she announced, blue eyes aglow with excitement. "I love you."
The green-haired sprite wheeled about, hair billowing as she dashed to kneel beside Logan. "I am Salena," she told him. She turned on Glorana. "And I loved him first!"
Logan's blue eyes drew away from the green and blue sprites and transfixed on the violet enchantress still at the river's edge. "You must be Roana," he said.
Roana nodded silently, stepping closer.
There was quiet only broken by the continual trickle of the fountains.
"How come I can see you?" Logan finally inquired.
"You're camping by my river," Salena explained.
"And you're special," added Roana.
" 'Special'?" repeated Logan.
Glorana ran an eager hand over Logan's chest. "You're a man," she sighed lustfully.
Salena frowned at her sister. "That's not what she meant," she snapped.
"I don't care," Glorana responded. "I'm enjoying myself."
Logan tried to ignore the soft hands caressing his shoulders. "Would my friends see you if they woke up?" he said.
Roana smiled. "At this time," she replied, "you would not see us if you woke up."
The young man blinked, crossing his legs Indian-style. "Huh?" he exclaimed. "What are you…?"
"You're dreaming, silly!" Salena told him, giggling.
Of course! Logan understood. Red sky and silver stars! Why hadn't he noticed it before? Because nothing out of the ordinary-like businessmen/monks or tilting gyroscopes-had popped up to spoil his dream. Even that infernal feeling of misplacement wasn't harassing him that night. But, now that he glanced behind him, he saw that, in his dream, he was quite alone. Neither his friends nor their mounts were behind him.
Logan turned back to the sprites. "And if I woke up, you'd just go away?" he queried.
"No, Matthew," Roana answered, sitting with him and her sisters, "we would always be here. Remember the story the druid told you."
What a wacko dream! the young man concluded. He had been thinking about that tale too much! He was dreaming about it now! Maybe he had had too much wine before he had gone to sleep!
"I don't think he believes us," Salena noted, a frown crossing her glorious lips.
"I'll make him believe us!" Glorana volunteered, eagerly grabbing Logan and bonding her lips to his.
Logan let out a muffled grunt of surprise as the soft lips met his and almost knocked him backwards. The feelings deep inside him raged and growled like wild animals, pacing up and down the length of their cages, demanding release. When the sprite finally pulled away with a wet smack, Logan knew it was not the warm breeze that was stirring in his sweat pants.
"Believe in us now?" Glorana smirked.
"Probably think you're some sexual nightmare come to torment him," Salena snorted.
"Whether he believes or not," Roana said, silencing her sisters, "we at least have someone to talk to. It's been almost forty years since someone like him has slept beside one of our rivers." Her violet eyes twinkled.
The tingling warmth was racing all throughout Logan's body as he eyed the voluptuous, violet-haired sprite.
"Matthew likes Roana! Matthew likes Roana!" Glorana started teasing, and Logan flustered when he realized her light blue eyes were glued to his crotch.
Salena abruptly stiffened, her exquisite frame outlined by the silver stars. "Matthew!" she cried urgently. "You must wake up! Something is happening! Something terrible!" Her deep green eyes blazed at him. "You must wake up!"
Groaning, Logan lifted his head from his grassy pillow. His sweat suit was still damp, and the clothes underneath were no dryer. He saw the Ohmmarrious through a half-closed eye, its waters rushing and gurgling normally; there were no fountains there. Oh, well, it had been a nice dream while it had lasted.
As the young man went to place his head back down, a faint female voice echoed in his ears: Matthew! Your horse! See to your horse! Salena warned.
Shocked into wakefulness, Logan jerked himself up. There was a sudden snort behind him, and the young man whipped around. Hooves thundered as a dark figure snapped Logan's green-and-yellow stallion about and galloped into the dark forest.
"Hey!" Logan yelled angrily. "That's my horse!" He kicked at Moknay and Thromar. "Get up!" he ordered. "Some bastard just stole my horse!"
His voice died down as he realized with mounting terror that, before he had gone to sleep, he had replaced all his provisions within the leather saddlebags. All his provisions… including the Jewel itself!