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, an
d 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!
•9• Quake
Glittering like daggers in the moonlight, Moknay's eyes swung away from the forest and trained on Logan. "There's something I forgot to tell you about the people of this world, friend," the Murderer stated. "They may be loyal to their land-but they're thieving little buggers!"
Frantically, Logan jerked his head about. "What are we going to do?" he shouted. "He took the Jewel!"
"Follow him," Thromar explained and leaped astride Smeea.
"You'll have to ride with Cyrene," Moknay told him, mounting up. "My horse is still a little shaky from that Blackbody attack."
The young man hardly heard the excuse, impatiently waiting for Cyrene to climb onto her horse. Somebody had just made off with Logan's transportation and his problem. A small part of him wanted to say, "Let him go; let him deal with the Jewel," but Logan knew that wasn't right. It was his fault, no matter which way he looked at it, that he had taken the Jewel from Pembroke, and he couldn't let this world be destroyed because of it. If not for the people who had befriended him, then for himself. Who was to say he'd make it to the Smythe before the thief allowed the Jewel to blow? No, Logan had to get that blasted gem back and do his best to make up for the wrong he had caused. Then if it blew while he still had it, he couldn't blame him
self for at least not trying.
The horses didn't seem to move fast enough for Logan as they thundered through the foliage. Futilely, he tried to pick up the sounds of his stolen horse's hooves, but only the echoing beats of his friends' mounts resounded in his ears. Dark branches and bushes raced past him, and the half-moon peered down at him like some mocking grin at their attempts to overtake the bandit.
Moknay held up an arm and the three horses stopped. In silence, the Murderer tried to pick up the hoofbeats ahead of them, but it was useless. Somehow, the robber had outdistanced them already.
"He couldn't be that far," Moknay grumbled to himself.
Failure fluttered about in Logan's stomach. "Yes, he could," he replied. "That horse is fast."
"As is Smeea," Thromar answered, "but fast horses leave large prints. Unless he had the time to sweep his tracks away, we should be able to see them come morning."
"Come morning he could be in Frelars," Moknay frowned.
Cyrene sneered. "What makes you so sure it's a he?" she wondered.
Moknay sneered back. "He better hope he's a he because what I'm going to do to him shouldn't be done to a woman! Wouldn't it just be our luck if that idiot bumps the horse right into Pembroke?"
"Could it have been Pembroke?" queried Thromar.
"It isn't Pembroke," Logan stated. "I saw someone hiding in the bushes-or at least I thought I did-after we killed the Blackbody. He must have followed us on foot and stolen my horse when he found our camp and all of us asleep."
"Besides," added Moknay, "Pembroke has a certain..,. aura that frightened the animals. I'm sure the horses would have kicked up quite a fuss if he had been lurking nearby anywhere."
"What about Reakthi?" Cyrene put in.
"Out of the question," Thromar declared. "They want friend-Logan as much as they want the Jewel-wouldn't take one without the other."
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Logan saw the odd stare Cyrene gave him over her shoulder. He ignored the look, turning to Moknay. "Now what?"
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