Frantically, Logan tried to follow the tracks, but hooves and feet branched off, sweeping away Cyrene's dainty footprints. Fearing the Reakthi had caught up with the girl, Logan traced the footprints farther into the mountains, the blue ogre trailing behind him in silent puzzlement.
Logan halted, pointing toward the horses' tracks. 'You go that way,' he instructed the ogre. 'Follow those prints. We've got to find Cyrene.' He hesitated a moment, knowing the beast would not understand personal names. 'She's a white girl. Can you find her?'
'Whiiiiiite girrrrrrrl?' the ogre repeated.
'Yes! Yes! She might be in danger! We've got to help her!'
Worriedly, Logan hurried after the tracks, leaving the ogre to follow the others. Cyrene! His mind raced. Alone, on foot, against at least two troops of men! She'd never be able to outrun them or defeat them. She was helpless. Logan knew that. He had been with her, slept with her-he knew how soft and fragile she was. She couldn't face two troops of soldiers! Oh, God! Don't let her die! Let her be all right!
As the sun dropped lower into the west, shadows began to invade the Hills. All sense of direction fled the young man as he pursued the prints, and all that mattered was rescuing Cyrene from the death the Reakthi would give her.
Scrabbling madly around a corner, Logan let out a shout as a horse suddenly blocked his path. The horse released its own startled snort, skittering backwards as it eyed the young man. A hint of recognition sparked in the green eyes. Slowly, Logan approached the stallion, smiling as sunlight gleamed off its yellow hide and green mane.
'I don't believe it,' he murmured, patting the horse's nose. 'You picked the exact time to come back!'
The young man swiftly replaced the Jewel in a saddlebag and climbed into the saddle. The yellow-and-green horse tossed its head happily, eagerly obeying Logan's command to follow the tracks. Clouds of dirt spewed into the air behind the stallion as it charged across level ground, following the military footprints. The sun had almost completely disappeared as Logan and his horse rounded a gigantic boulder, their hoofbeats resounding about them. Unexpectedly, the yellow-and-green mount halted, barred by a squadron of uniformed men awaiting them. Hoofbeats which Logan had thought were his horse's own sounded, and two mounted men blocked any hope of retreat.
One of the Guardsmen on foot smiled. 'Outsider, you are hereby under arrest by order of His Ultimate Paramount, King Mediyan, for presenting a danger to Sparrill and her Ruler. Sentence may be reduced if you agree to work for the King-if not, you shall be slain.'
Great! Logan thought. They weren't Reakthi, they were Guardsmen! And now Mediyan wanted Logan as badly as Vaugen! Where the hell are Moknay and Thromar when I need them?
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.'
