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 direction.
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
