And, as if the lead Guardsman could read Logan's mind, his sardonic smile widened.
•12• Guard
"Excuse me?" Logan inquired innocently. "'Outsider'? Just what do you mean? I'm a perfectly harmless traveler on my way to see the Smythe."
The lead Guardsman sneered in response, menacingly fingering his sword hilt. '"Harmless traveler,' eh?" he repeated. "On your way to see the Smythe, are you?" His eyebrows knitted across his brow. "Then what do you call these clothes you're wearing?"
Logan wished he could sneer back but kept up his charade. "Clothes," he retorted. "Why? What do you call them here?"
A few of the Guards sniggered, but a sharp glare from their commander silenced them. "Your clothing is definitely not of Sparrill, Denzil, or Magdelon. Where did they come from?"
Suddenly Logan loved all those people who had mistaken him as from somewhere else. "Droth," he replied immediately.
Guardsmen and commander were quiet. His ego taken down a few pegs, the leader waved three of his men forward. "Search him and his horse, " he ordered.
Logan was going to protest yet did not. So far he had them doubting if he was the "Outsider" they were searching for. There really wasn't anything on him or his horse that would incriminate him-at least, he hoped not.
The trio of Guards emptied his saddlebags and motioned for him to dismount. Complying, Logan leapt off his horse and let one man search his body. The remaining two inspected the items of his leather pouches.
"Sir," one of the Guards called, "there is only one item of any value. All the rest is meaningless."
The commander had obviously been struggling with his anger as he gritted, "What does he carry?"
"About ten pieces of gold, a tin of snuff or something, some rations, and a large jewel," the Guard reported. "Nothing else is on his horse."
"His only weapons are a Reakthi sword, a dagger, and a large staff," another soldier declared.
The commanding Guard held out a hand. "Let me see the gemstone," he ordered.
The glittering Jewel was placed in his extended palm, and Logan held his breath. If Moknay and Thromar had told him the truth about Mediyan's Guards, they wouldn't be all that bright; and certainly not up on Cosmic Jewels… unless some of them were religious freaks, then they might know something. According to his companions, the Guards were only concerned about carrying out Mediyan's orders and getting some goodies in the process-really not much better than the Reakthi in that sense. Logan could understand the people's hatred toward their ruler and his soldiers.
The Guards' leader tossed the Jewel back to his men. "Replace it," he said uncaringly. He had suffered quite a blow from Logan's act and was determined to make up for it. "You say you come from Droth?" he interrogated. "Tell me, who rules there?"
Gulp! Logan swallowed hard. Now he's getting tricky! But… wait a minute. Thromar told you Droth was an island past some Dragon's Neck. Obviously, anyone from Droth would have had to have sailed over. "I really couldn't tell you," Logan answered. "I sailed from Droth quite a while ago, before the four Imperators became three."
Logan smirked; that should convince 'em!
The menace radiating from the uniformed Guardsmen started to diminish, but the inimical glow remained in the commander's eyes. Coldly he approached, his eyes boring into Logan's. "You said you were going to the Smythe," he sneered. "Why?"
"That gemstone is magical," Logan admitted. "I would like to give it to the Smythe since I'm certainly no spellcaster."
The Guardsman rubbed his chin. "Did you happen to see anyone else as you came through the Hills?" he questioned. "There's a number of Guards searching for three fugitives."
"Three fugitives?" repeated Logan.
"Yes," the Guard replied, "Moknay the Murderer, Thromar the Rebel, and an Outsider with black hair and wearing an odd blue uniform. Squads of Guardsmen are spread as far as Frelars and Wailvye searching for them once we received word they were heading westward. Funny, but you have black hair and a blue uniform."
Logan shrugged. "I'm sure I'm not the only one."
"No, true," the commander replied, "but how odd that you should be moving west as well, hmmmmm? It seems there's a lot of people traveling westward through the Hills recently-like that girl we ran into."
Logan jerked to attention, and a confident smirk crossed the Guard's lips. "Is something wrong?" he mocked.
Logan clenched his teeth. His sudden move had alerted the other Guardsman as well as their leader. He had to think fast or else they would know he had been with Cyrene. "Uh… no, nothing's wrong," he lied. "It's just that… I met a girl just before I entered the Hills myself. A real pretty blonde."
The commander grinned. "Yes, that was her. How odd that you saw her and nobody else. Reports have it she was traveling with the three."
"Well, I didn't see anybody else."
"Funny," sneered the Guard, "that's exactly what she said before we killed her."
The shock was obvious on Logan's face. So stunned by loss, the young man was unconscious of the Guardsmen that surrounded him, weapons drawn. Their commander stood off to one side, his past embarrassment erased and replaced by conquest.
"I thought so," he jeered. "You are the Outsider. Now kindly come with us or we shall drag you by your private parts."
One of the soldiers flanking Logan asked, "Should we take his weapons, sir?"
The lead Guardsman waved him off. "No, let him keep them-there's more than enough of us to detain him should he decide to be heroic." The Guard turned and started toward some men carrying supplies. "Oh, one other thing," he called arrogantly over his shoulder to Logan. "The blonde isn't dead. She's faster than a bearded peakgoat in these Hills."
Twice in a row Logan lost the use of his expressions. Tricked! he moaned inwardly. Just like he had been conning the Guardsmen! Damn!
Triumphantly, the commanding Guard scribbled a message and released a small ball ike bird into the air, the note strapped to its leg. Its tiny wings flapping, the bird soared northward and headed out to sea.
"We'll be taking you to Frelars," the Guardsman remarked, watching the bird vanish. "From there we'll take a ship back to Magdelon and to King Mediyan. As I told you before, if you cooperate, your punishment will be less severe-if not, you will be slain." He raised a scepter and the squadron of Guardsmen began northward, the unfortunate Logan among them.
Torches crackled in the night as the Guardsmen went about sorting provisions and sharpening weapons. A group had gathered near Logan, telling dirty tales and singing rowdy songs, but he paid them little attention. The commander sat upon a large boulder, grinning down at his troop and his captive in haughty success. The hillsides were bathed in the light of the dancing flames, and the noises of the night remained still, silenced by the ruckus of the Guardsmen. Logan sat on the ground, staring longingly at some men eating meat. Small growls of hunger sounded from the young man's stomach as he sat there, and he frowned at the aura of foul luck that entombed him. Captured twice-and in the same mountain range, yet! His cliff tactics might not work here, since the horses required level ground, and, besides, Logan had no idea how desperate Mediyan was. Vaugen, he knew, wanted him alive. Mediyan, from what the Guards had implied, might kill him even after his capture.
A peculiar breeze brushed over Logan, and the young man trained his blue eyes on the Hills. A wind that was not truly a wind had passed over him, touching him with its sense of unbalance. Curiously, Logan peered into the darkness of the mountains as the unsettling breeze caressed him once more. It wasn't the blatant disharmony. No, that was still the same as ever. This feeling was more unnatural, like a very distortion of the air around it.
It was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
A footstep nearby pulled Logan out of his wonderings and he glanced up to see a young Guardsman step beside him. The sandy-haired youth set himself down near the young man and held out some food, a friendly smile on his face.
"I don't like to see people go hungry,
" he stated. "Makes the monsters in their bellies restless."
Logan patted his own grumbling stomach. "Tell me about it," he muttered. He gave the food a skeptical glance. "You didn't poison this, did you?"
The young Guard barked a laugh, taking back a piece of meat and stuffing it into his mouth. "Convince you?" he asked back.
Tilting his head to one side, Logan shrugged and began eating the cooked meat. The taste was immediately recognizable as chicken, and Logan eagerly wolfed down the familiar meat. The Guard watched him, stroking his thin blond beard about his chin.
Cramming the last bit of chicken into his mouth, Logan turned back to the young Guardsman. He was eating like the ogre again, he realized. A pity the light blue beast wasn't there now.
"How long have you gone hungry?" the Guardsman questioned.
"Too long," Logan returned. "I've been busy."
Interest burst into life in the Guardsman's eyes. "No doubt. Doing what?"
"Getting lost," Logan answered. Then, "Getting captured."
The youthful Guard could not mistake the anger in the young man's voice but his smile did not diminish. "My name's Aelkyne," he continued. "I'm from Scrydaen. What about yourself?"
Logan sneered at the uniformed man beside him. "What's it to you?" he scowled.
"Let's just say I'm curious," the young Aelkyne responded. "We've been looking for you since that first report came in near Eadarus."
Logan hesitated, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Then that march into Eadarus wasn't a coincidence!"
Aelkyne chuckled. "No, of course not. That troop was, however, fortunate they were so close by."
"But why?" queried Logan. "Why is everyone chasing me?"
Aelkyne held out empty hands. "We don't know that," he admitted. He nodded toward his commander. "I don't even think Eldath knows-only Mediyan and his spellcasters."
Logan's caution of the young Guard dispersed as confusion mingled with frustration overwhelmed him. Why? Why? Why? his mind screamed. Was it his difference? If so, what was so damn great about it?
Aelkyne noted the perplexed expression on Logan's features. "Something wrong?" he wondered.
Useless! Logan told himself. There was no way on Heaven or on Earth-or on any other world, for that matter-that Logan would be able to decipher the mystery of his importance! And that fact was absolutely maddening!
"… haven't been a Guard for long," Aelkyne was saying, "but I would like to know something about you or your world."
The words struck something deep within Logan, and he realized how close they were to the words uttered by Mara. Mara, the young man signed. She had been so lovely, so determined to keep him from harm that she had been hurt in his stead. This world was not fair, he concluded. It was a brutal place of injury, pain, death, and mysteries. His world had been so much easier.
"My world was a much simpler place," Logan said softly, lost in his. own memories. "We had machines and devices that did all the nasty jobs for us, and most people didn't even have to live with themselves if they didn't want to. They just wrapped themselves up in their own little world of lies and automation and could blame their faults on others. Some of us didn't mind our place in society: we worked, we slept, we lived. Life was relatively uncomplicated for the Everyman. There were things to do, and people to do them with, but they never resulted in injury or death. Sometimes I wish I had never left my world, other times…"
Logan went silent, and Aelkyne watched him closely. The carousing of the other Guards went on around them, but the two were wrapped up in their own discussion, oblivious of the men singing and drinking about them.
Logan turned on the sandy-haired Guard beside him, despair and grief mirrored on his face. "I was on my way to find the Smythe," he whispered, "to go back home. I never wanted to come here, get involved, do what I've done. But now it's too late. I'm stuck again and your whole world is going to blow." The young man stared off into the Hills. "I've done what I can, and it wasn't good enough."
There was compassion in Aelkyne's eyes as he gave a swift glance over his shoulder and saw Eldath was glaring directly at the two. The young Guardsman backed away for his own safety. Logan didn't notice the Guard depart; his eyes remained locked on the blackness around him… Blackness that resembled his own failure.
The following morning was overcast, troubled with black clouds like Logan's emotions. The buzz of misplacement circled above the young man yet he was unaware. Blindly, he walked on after the Guardsmen, fear, failure, and dread raining from the dark clouds and soaking him. At times, a spark of hope sputtered in his gloom, remembering his many companions out in the Hills. Surely one of them might recall him and seek him out. But then the sorrow would regain ascendancy and drown out that flickering tongue of hope.
As the squad of Guardsmen made their way through the Hills, Logan spied a small waterfall some distance to his right. Odd, he mused, he had seen no river or stream while he had been traveling. True, his captors were taking him in a northeasterly line, but Logan had heard no water at all while lost. In fact, the only time he had seen water in the Hills had been that first day with Cyrene.
Fond thoughts of the girl began to skip through Logan's mind, blinding him to the danger. The waterfall he saw was indeed from the very same spring he and the blonde had bathed in as it wound its way through the Hills. In the course of a few days it had journeyed some distance from its original starting point, but the clear water had not been the only thing moving from that grassy knoll.
Logan was daydreaming of Cyrene when the dead Reakthi attacked.
The Guardsmen's horses reared and startled shouts went up from the band of uniformed men. Disbelief filled their eyes as the chestplated corpses advanced, and two men went down before their comrades could even bring themselves to trust their eyesight. Instantly, swords were drawn, but no Reakthi blood stained the ground. Stabbed, impaled, or dismembered, the cadavers continued forward, breaking through the lines of Guards in their steady advance toward Logan. Even decapitated the lifeless Reakthi fought, their one purpose to recapture Matthew Logan. Eldath, his mount surrounded by dead Reakthi, did not even think to turn toward his captive. He and his troop were being attacked by corpses and none of them would fall. Logan was the very last thing on his mind.
A snort pulled Logan free of his initial surprise and he turned to find his horse at his elbow. Throughout the confusing tide of Reakthi and Guardsmen, the young man saw the bearded face of Aelkyne before he was swept up in the battle.
The white flare of hope roared to life in Logan's breast, and he leapt astride his stallion. Hooves beat the hard-packed earth as the yellow-and-green mount galloped free of the battle. Mindlessly, the Reakthi corpses tried to follow, but the squad of Guards blocked their path. Swords and axes clanged, and blades cleaved into dead flesh, yet the chestplated dead kept struggling. Concerned only with the animated cadavers, Eldath urged his men onward.
Logan escaped in the chaos.
The black clouds became friendly, protecting Logan from eyes hidden in the heavens, and the almost identical hillsides also grew amicable, hiding Logan from his captors. The blazing white spark within him strengthened, swelling the young man with good fortune. Twice he had been captured; twice he had escaped-both times with Jewel intact. Abruptly, the friendliness of the Hills increased, and the abnormal breeze touched him from its subterfuge in the west. Acting on instinct, Logan directed his mount that way, trailing the wind of unbalance deeper into the mountain range.
The Guards and Reakthi were some two miles behind him when Logan finally brought his horse to a stop. Perched atop a ledge, the young man peered out toward the south. Hills stretched before him, but that odd, unnatural feeling was somewhere close by. Curiously, Logan looked east, then west. Each time he was greeted by more hills. To the north, however, the bizarre unbalance crouched among the hills, and Logan suddenly saw the cavern hidden in the crook of a mountain.
"Smell anything?" he asked his horse as he directed it toward
the cave.
The green-and-yellow horse hesitated a moment, sensed no danger, then halted again. Quizzically, it cocked its head to one side, and Logan thought perhaps it too had sensed the strange, abnormal wind blowing from within.
"You think there's anything in there?" he questioned his mount.
As if in response, the stallion snorted and shook its green mane. Slowly, Logan urged the horse in, and an unearthly green light illuminated the cavern walls. Like the corridor of a house, the stone widened out to reveal a tall figure leaning over a glimmering orb of color. Dark brown hair streaked with grey crowned the head, and a trim beard and mustache decorated the lean face. Wild, dark brown eyes flicked up from the glowing ball and fixed on Logan. A strange smile spread across the face.
"You've come back?" the tall figure inquired. "I didn't think you'd find me. Isn't that right? Oh, no? Perhaps not. Then again… Sit! Sit! Make my home comfortable."
Logan blinked in confusion, his blue eyes transfixed on the robed form facing him. The rocky chamber was filled with miscellaneous devices, and the ever-present buzz increased as Logan scanned the room. A sudden thought exploded into his mind and he turned on the lean figure.
"Are you the Smythe?" he questioned.
A lean but strong hand stroked the trim beard. "Hmmmmm? The Smythe? Oh, me? Why, yes. I suppose so! You are who?"
"I'm Matthew Logan," the young man returned, smiling as he dismounted. "Jesus Christ, I never thought I'd find you!"
"Jesus Christ, yes!" the gaunt spellcaster echoed. "Find me you have! Or did I find you?" He paused a moment as if to puzzle out the question; then, curtly, he turned back to Logan. "Did you come here to give me more girls? If you did, I really don't need them. I'd much rather want clay. Clay, you know? Have you ever built with clay?"
Logan threw his horse a questioning look, but his mount's green eyes gave no indication of danger. Shrugging, the young man withdrew the gleaming Jewel and handed it to the eccentric wizard.
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