The Jewel of Equilibrant w-1

by Steven Frankos

  "You're quite good," Farkarrez complimented her. "You'd have to be-you killed me. But I have the feeling you can't keep this up forever."

  Helplessness and fear filled Logan with a mixture equalling dread. Farkarrez, he knew, was right, and the Reakmor was no longer alive, so he would never tire. Cyrene, however, had had three days of torturous riding plus one day of narrow escapes. She wouldn't be able to last long in the Reakmor's game.

  The next dagger nicked Cyrene on the finger as she knocked it to her right, and the fourth she had to dodge. The half-circle, of silent corpses unnerved her, and she was concentrating more on escape than on immediate survival.

  Farkarrez's fifth dagger creased her hip, and the blonde staggered. She barely deflected the sixth blade that screeched for her head, and the seventh knife's hilt struck her knee, knocking her to the ground.

  Logan's muscles instinctively tensed as he watched the blonde go down, his mind fiercely trying to think of a rescue. Farkarrez held an eighth dagger ready, smirking at Cyrene as she slowly pulled herself to her feet.

  "If this had been combat," the dead Reakmor said with a grin, "I would not have hesitated, but this is, after all, only a game." The knife wavered in his yellowish hand. "Are you ready?"

  "Bastard," gritted Cyrene.

  Farkarrez chuckled at the insult, and his slit throat quivered in delight. "Good, you're ready."

  The dagger sailed from the Reakmor's bloodless fingers, and Logan decided a direct charge at the living corpse would do no good. Neither would attacking any of his men. Farkarrez already had the Jewel in his possession, and his soldiers had enclosed Logan and Cyrene in their half-circle. Still, they had to wait for Vaugen…

  Sweat dribbled down Cyrene's face as she turned the eighth dagger aside, but the ninth blade skimmed her shoulder, filling her right arm with searing pain. She could feel the warm touch of her life fluid as it trickled down her bare skin, and, exhausted, she waited for Farkarrez's final throw.

  "Farkarrez!" a sudden voice cried out, and Cyrene opened her eyes in wonder.

  Both blonde and animated corpse saw the figure stanced upon the cliff, its feet precariously close to the edge. It took a moment before the weariness and pain lifted the fog from Cyrene's eyes and she recognized the form as Logan. Farkarrez, meanwhile, had fallen silent, his dead eyes once again hinting at the slightest bit of emotion.

  Logan gave the cliff before him a quick glance before turning back to the dead Reakmor. "You don't have everything you came to get," the young man declared. "And you never thought to guard our backs-after all, who would try to escape by leaping to their death?" Logan's blue eyes flashed. "It's my turn to call the shots, Farkarrez, and I say let her go."

  The Reakmor got to his feet, his pale fists clenched at his sides. "You are a fool, Matthew Logan," he gargled. "We have the Jewel."

  A powerful force of terror built itself up inside the young man as he gambled with the corpse. "You only have the Jewel," he corrected, "but your leader wants more. If you don't let Cyrene go, you'll only have half of what you came to collect."

  The terror started to subside as Logan watched the deceased Reakmor stop and think. One of Farkarrez's soldiers took a shambling step toward the young man, and Logan inched nearer to the cliff.

  "I swear it!" he yelled. "I'll jump! Then where will you be?" He chanced a snide smirk. "Your leader won't like what you've caused."

  A swift hand halted the dead soldier starting toward Logan, and Farkarrez turned his emotionless gaze on Cyrene. There was silence in the Hills as the Reakmor glanced back at Logan.

  "You are fortunate you are no use to Vaugen as an animated corpse," Farkarrez scowled. He waved a yellow-green hand toward Cyrene. "You heard your lover," he spat. "You are free."

  Cyrene remained where she was, staring at the young man and dead Reakmor. Somehow, Logan was important enough to the Reakthi that he had to be kept alive, but did the blonde dare leave? Vaugen himself was coming here! Vaugen! The man who murdered her father! The man Cyrene swore vengeance on! She could have her chance to strike back for her father-or Farkarrez might kill her before the Imperator even got within three leagues of the Hills. She, unlike Logan, was of no importance to the Reakthi.

  Hastily, the blonde sprinted through the half-circle of dead soldiers, bundled her provisions in her arms, and hurried down the hillside. She hesitated a moment, giving Logan a swift glance before she raced around a boulder and was lost from sight.

  "And none of your men leave this camp tonight," Logan ordered. "Not until she's far away."

  Farkarrez ground his chipped teeth. "As you command," he grated. "Now kindly step away from that cliff."

  "Not until tonight," he retorted, "when I know Cyrene's safely away."

  The Reakmor released an animallike snarl as he turned away and started retrieving his daggers. Certain Farkarrez was not going to rush him, Logan peered down at the mountains below him. Sparrill was stretched out before him, green and beautiful, yet that insistent buzz of disharmony hung in the clean air. The Sea of Hedelva glittered to the young man's left, and, questing, his eyes scanned the south. Moknay and Thromar were somewhere in that direction, probably heading toward Prifrane. Hopefully, Cyrene could get there in time and tell the two men where he was. He had only won a small skirmish against Farkarrez-the real battle would start when Vaugen arrived…

  Matthew Logan stared as shadows splashed themselves across the greenery of Sparrill, reaching out dark tendrils toward the Hills and his perch. The ring of dead soldiers waited silently behind him, their putrid odor spoiling the freshness of the mountains. Farkarrez reclined against a nearby boulder.

  "Surely the girl is a safe distance by now," the Reakmor said. "Why don't you come away from there?"

  Logan tore his eyes away from the encroaching darkness and peered down at his bare feet. "Give me back my clothes," he answered.

  Farkarrez waved to one of his warriors and the corpse shuffled over to the pile of provisions. As it went to move aside the Jewel, there was a brilliant flare of light and the animated corpse crumpled to the ground, dead once more. Quietly, Logan cursed. If only Farkarrez had been the one to get his clothes, then the other corpses would have been left here leaderless and escape would have been much easier.

  Reakmor Farkarrez scrambled to his feet, his dead eyes narrowing. "You have odd fortune," he said to Logan. "I had no idea the Jewel was capable of doing such things. Fortune, however, is also on my side-for I have the Jewel." He turned to the skeletal thief. "You, bring him his clothes, and do not touch the Jewel."

  The magically intact skeleton clattered over to the supplies and pulled free the already half-exposed clothing. Obediently, it tossed them in Logan's direction and returned to its place in the half-circle.

  Leaving the protective bargaining of his perch, Logan hastily jumped back into his garments. When he finished tugging on his sweat suit, Farkarrez had already stationed two men at the cliff, expressionless eyes and faces staring dumbly at Logan.

  "You must not be one for sport," Farkarrez rasped. "Why did you make me release the girl? I had such things in store for her."

  Logan felt the warmth of his clothing joined by the heat of rage. "You're sick!" he spat.

  Farkarrez chuckled his hideous chuckle. "Far from sick," he quipped. "I'm dead."

  While the Reakmor's garbled laughter echoed out across the Hills of Sadroia, Logan's experiences of the past few weeks returned. Perhaps there was another way of tricking the dead warrior.

  "Why don't you make yourself alive again?' the young man questioned.

  Farkarrez's eyes sparked briefly. "How?"

  Logan shrugged, hiding his grin. "The Jewel is all-powerful, isn't it? It kept that Zackaron guy alive for years-why can't it bring you back?"

  The Reakmor laughed harshly. "I am not stupid," he declared. "We just saw what the Jewel did to one of my men. Greed will not overcome my caution concerning that gemstone."

  "But your man wasn't touching the Jewel," arg
ued Logan. "It just kind of flared up. It might have been nothing more than an accident."

  "Your suicidal threat technique worked much better," Farkarrez gloated, smirking in two places. "Next time, stay with that."

  Logan frowned and turned to the south again. If he wanted to get out of this mess, he'd probably have to wait for Moknay and the others. Hopefully, they'd rescue him before Vaugen got here. If they didn't, Logan wouldn't be here when his friends finally did come for him.

  Stars soon flickered into sight as the sky turned black, and Logan lay on his back, staring up at the pinpoints, of light. Farkarrez and his zombies stood motionless about him, and some appeared to be asleep… or at least shut down. There were still far too many to run from, and, even if Logan did escape, he couldn't leave the Jewel to fall into Vaugen's hands. The Jewel! If only it would flare up again and knock out some more men.

  The young man paused, gazing at the night sky. It was odd that the soldier had been felled by such a small flare-up of light. During the last disaster, the thief had been burned, but not entirely disintegrated. The corpse toppled as if it had been instantly snuffed out. Why would the Jewel instantly down one of Farkarrez's warriors?

  Silently, the young man rose up on one elbow, scanning the corpses guarding him. If only he could get to his supplies!

  Logan crept forward, attempting to hide himself in the darkness. One of the dead Reakthi guarding his supplies was inactive, and the others all moved rather sluggishly. If Logan suddenly burst through the ring of cadavers, he should be able to grab his weapons before any of the corpses reached him. Abruptly, he could feel Farkarrez's eyes upon him, confident the young man would fail, unarmed or otherwise. But Logan knew better. He wasn't going to use his weapons… he just wanted it to look like that. Let Farkarrez think this was nothing more than another one of his sick "games."

  As Logan shot forward, Farkarrez called out, "Your weapons cannot harm us. We're already dead."

  The young man grinned to himself-he had judged the sadist Reakmor perfectly. Farkarrez had purposely allowed Logan to attain his supplies probably to have his men subdue him and crush his last hope of escape. Logan, however, knew his escape was imminent.

  At least, he hoped it was.

  Rolling past outstretched arms of decaying flesh, Logan halted beside his provisions. Dead warriors shuffled toward him, and, just for good measure, Logan tucked Moknay's dagger into his belt. The Jewel glittered beside him, but he ignored the gleaming gem and pulled out the small bulb of stone that lay beneath it.

  Blood-red light bathed the hillock as two corpses crashed to the earth, their magical life pulled from their decaying shells. There was a startled shout from Farkarrez as Logan spun the talisman over his head, striking another zombie across the face. The Reakthi collapsed, portions of his body immediately shriveling up. Whirling the glaring talisman out before him, Logan gathered up the Jewel and his sword.

  "Pull back!" Farkarrez was screaming. "Get away from him!"

  Logan smirked to himself as the remaining cadavers stumbled backwards, glazed eyes reflecting the bloody glare of the talisman. Hastily, Logan snatched up Druid Launce's staff-everything else had been taken by Cyrene. He then took a cautious step down the hill, watching the troop of animated dead cluster before him. He realized something was missing from the horde of corpses, and bony ringers suddenly clamped around his throat. Damn! The only swift soldier had been the skeletal thief, and Logan had allowed himself to be captured by it once again!

  Fluttering down from where it always lingered about the young man, the disturbing buzz of mismatchment resounded in Logan's ears. This time, however, there was a certain tone about it-an odd sense of benevolence. It was not accusing Logan of being an intruder, and Logan felt as if the sensation disliked the animated Reakthi more than it did the young man; it wanted to help.

  Logan agreed.

  The buzz strengthened in Logan's mind and the red flare of the talisman suddenly snaked its way up Logan's arm. The thief's fingers shattered into dust as the red glow reached Logan's neck and continued to entirely consume the young man. He could barely hear Farkarrez's voice as the buzz increased, and red light obscured his vision. With a sudden charge, Logan hurled himself into the middle of the Reakthi zombies, and corpses fell about him, lifeless once more. The buzz in his head became almost painful as the glowing young man forced his way toward Farkarrez and drove the flaming talisman into the Reakmor's magically beating heart. Fear exploded in the dead man's eyes as the red glare vanished from around Logan and extinguished the sorcery flowing in Farkarrez's veins.

  Reakmor Farkarrez died a second time.

  The persistent buzz stopped as the stone talisman splintered into fragments. Hurriedly, Logan looked over his shoulder at the remaining cadavers and bolted into the Hills. Although he was lost, on foot, and had no food, a feeling of pride filled the young man as he ran down the mountainside. He had escaped on his own power-through his own intelligence-and had not depended on anyone else to come to his rescue. Only trouble now was-where was Prifrane?

  •11• Lost

  The stars and moon dimly lit the rocky terrain as Matthew Logan jogged down a slanting hillside. His left arm grasped the Jewel, throwing his balance off somewhat. Many times Druid Launce's staff saved him from falling, its sturdy wood supporting the young man as he scrambled through the mountains. He threw anxious glances over his shoulder, expecting to see Farkarrez's dead warriors shuffling after him, but he knew he had left them far behind. The night and mountains only surrounded him, and one hillside looked very much like another as Logan slid to level ground.

  The pride that had swelled within him had faded, and a gnawing doubt had replaced it. Exhaling, Logan sat down upon a large rock, his blue eyes scanning the darkness. He was alone, he mused. Alone and lost in this lousy place. The first time he had been lost, at least he had had a horse to do the trekking. Now he was on foot, trailed by alive and dead Reakthi alike, and he had no idea where he was. Oh, how he longed to be back in his apartment!

  An odd thought popped into Logan's mind. Back home! How was this affecting things back home? Did time travel at the same rate on Earth as it did in Sparrill? If it did, how much strife had he caused? His parents, his friends, all of them would be worried sick about him. They'd probably report him as missing and there'd be a big huge search for Matthew Logan all throughout Santa Monica! And, with his luck, his job was no longer his, and his landlady had probably rented his apartment to somebody else already. Jesus H. Christ! Logan wanted to get back home, but would there really be anything to come back to? No job, no apartment, no explanation for the cops, his family, or his friends. Damn this stupid place! he cursed. It throws me inside out, upside down, and completely messes up my life in both worlds! Damn it to hell, I want to. go home!

  Depression set in as Logan looked at the night-filled mountain range. He wanted to go home, all right, but he couldn't do that right now. He was lost. At this point he couldn't tell his ass from a hole in the ground! And here he was, grumbling about his previous world and how grand it used to be before that goddamn wind picked him up and spit him out in Denzil!

  Logan's eyes brightened. When he and Cyrene had first entered the Hills, he had reminisced about the hills he had climbed back home. Backpacking had not been unfamiliar to Logan, and he had learned quite a few helpful hints should he ever get lost.

  The stars twinkled down at the young man and he cursed. Confound it! he exclaimed to himself. The damn stars aren't the same here! There isn't any North Star here so I can fix my position!

  Immediately, he calmed himself down. His anger could give way to frustration or panic, and he knew well that people who got lost usually wound up running in circles. The first thing to do was stay calm. So there's no North Star; there are other techniques to determine direction. Fortunately, the night sky was clear, and Logan knew he would not have to rely on moss or darker tree trunks to decipher east from west. There was another trick he had learned to tell directi
on.

  Yeah, he thought, wait 'til the sun comes up.

  The young man kicked himself for being so pessimistic and searched out a small stick. He poked the twig into the dirt at his feet and moved out of the light. With the moon behind it, the stick cast a pale shadow on the ground, which Logan marked with a pebble. Humming to himself, Logan turned and started pacing, glancing at his glowing watch every now and then. Although the face of his watch still glimmered red and silver, Logan could tell when a few minutes were up and looked back down at the stick. The shadow had shifted slightly to the right of the first pebble, and Logan now knew that the east was to his right. Remembering that his friends had told him Prifrane lay to the west, the young man left the twig sticking up from the ground and headed to his left. That little method had come in handy, he observed, but he still had to find his way out of the Hills if he expected to find the town.

  Logan suddenly halted, anger seeping into his blue eyes. The most important thing in the rest of his survival tactics was to travel in a straight line, which, according to Earthly rules, would, sooner or later, come to a road, a railroad line, or a stream. Here, of course, a railroad or a road were quite unlikely. Aw, shit! Logan swore to himself. Why does everything have to happen to me?

  Murmuring about his foul luck, Logan found another boulder and sat down. In about five hours the sun would rise behind him, marking the morning of the sixth day, and he knew he would never make it to the town in a day. Not only that, the fact that he had no food caused his stomach to rumble furiously, and his feet hurt from slipping and sliding down angling hillsides. Gently, he rubbed at his sore ankles, and weariness pounced upon him like a vicious predator. You need to rest, the fatigue whispered. Find your bearings, head west, then spot the town. All that needed to be done in the morning, so sleep.

  The exhaustion's logic agreed with Logan's, and his eyelids closed: He was soon asleep.

  "You should not be here."

  The voice arose from the eddying tidepools of red and silver light, piercing the stillness with its echoing, authoritative tone.