'The part that you have just torn off! Oh, friend-Logan, you have blinded yourself!'
Logan screwed up his face, replacing the lens and blinking it back into place. Immediately, it slipped over his cornea, and his vision cleared. Contacts, he breathed. Dreams are not this exact!
Casting a quick glance at Thromar, Logan saw the fighter was gaping at him. 'See?' he retorted. 'I'm not blind.'
'No, indeed!' Thromar roared. 'You must be a spellcaster!'
'I'm no spellcaster!' Logan shouted in frustration. 'My God!'
'Your god?' wondered Thromar. 'Which one?'
Logan's eyes blazed as he turned on the fighter. 'You're the most infuriating dream I've ever had!' he accused.
Thromar released a thunderous laugh. 'And you are by far the most interesting, friend-Logan!'
Logan shook his head in submission, sitting heavily upon the grass below him. A thousand words were tumbling over and over in his mind; half-formed explanations swirled within him and died before birth. Contacts! There was no way to comprehend how the lenses had gotten there-dreams were just not that accurate!
Learn to decipher dreams from reality, unreality from falsehood, falsehood from truth, or doom shall fall upon your worlds!
With a frown of puzzlement, Logan flopped back onto the grass and stared up at the star-filled night. The unsettling presence of wrongness rematerialized, almost as if it were taking a substantial form over the young man and circling like an invisible bird of prey overhead. Surrounded by the unnerving feeling, Logan slept.
A thin mist hung in the air as Logan awoke. For a moment, the young man thought he was back in Santa Monica, but the recurring disharmony rudely reminded him of where he was. Small beads of dew clung to his body like transparent leeches, losing their grip as he moved and splashing to the ground. His breath escaped in a white cloud of haze as he got to his feet and spied Smeea eyeing him with her brilliant, crimson eyes. Her rider was nowhere in sight, and an uncomprehensible fear swelled within Logan's breast as he feared being alone in his madness.
A massive hand clamped down upon Logan's shoulder and he wheeled about, twisting as he grabbed the hand. Thromar let out a holler as he flipped over Logan's back and landed upon his backside, his chainmail tinkling like bells.
'By the gods!' the fighter boomed. 'Never have I been bested so easily!'
Logan suppressed a relieved smile as he helped the large man to his feet. Thromar's black eyes were wide as he peered down at the young man, inquisitively stroking his reddish brown beard. 'You're quite sure you are not a spellcaster?' he asked.
Logan sneered. 'Positive.'
'Spellcaster or not, you are probably rather hungry,' Thromar declared. He tossed Logan a small roll and popped two into his own mouth. 'Eat, friend-Logan, and, when we get to Eadarus, we will set about getting you a horse.'
Logan stopped chewing the slightly stale bread. 'A horse?' he replied. 'You don't have to buy me a horse-I don't want to be a bother.'
Thromar flashed him a crooked smile. 'Who said anything about buying you a horse? We're going to steal you one.'
'Steal me one?' exclaimed Logan. 'I don't need a horse that badly! The last thing I need to happen is to get caught! Then I'll never get back!'
'Caught?' Thromar boomed. 'Caught by whom?'
'The police-or whatever you'd call them here!'
Thromar took a swig of wine from a leather flask. 'The only ones who would try to stop you are the King's Guards,' he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, 'and they're too fearful to come within a league of Eadarus!'
'But what about whoever we steal it from?' Logan objected. 'What happens to him?'
Thromar sighed heavily. 'Friend-Logan, let me tell you something about Eadarus: Everything there does not belong to the person who has possession of it. One owner stole it from another, who, no doubt, took it from someone else, who must have snatched it from the first thief, who had to have stolen it from some store to gain possession of it in the first place. Do you understand?'
Logan chewed as his head bobbed up and down slowly. 'Oddly enough,' he responded, 'I do.'
The pair crossed a stone bridge stretched across the river and began their descent into the valley. Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, Logan could see hunched figures clad in black hastily scrambling out of the town and into the foliage surrounding the outside gates. Watching the dark forms, Logan could sense his contacts rolling about on his eyes, as comfortable as if he had just placed them in. He had almost believed this ordeal to be real when he had first discovered his contacts in place, but now, only in a dream could he sleep with his lenses in and feel no discomfort.
Traverse not into folly.
Musing silently, Logan trailed Thromar into the cluttered town and down a cobblestone street. Carts and horses wound their way across the narrow roads, the noises they made drowning out the cries of the merchants along the roadway. Large clusters of people milled about small shops made out of some kind of canvas, and larger groups meandered through the wood and stone structures behind them.
The clothing, Logan noted, was anything but medievalish. The young man had been prepared to see men and women dressed in Elizabethan styles, but an assortment of costumes and materials paraded before Logan's curious eye. And those Reakthi had thought his sweat suit was weird!
As the two ventured farther into the town, the small canvas shops gave way to women. Multitudes of scantily clad females lined the cobblestone paths, eyeing prospective clients as they rode or walked by. The men who walked the streets wore darker clothing, and hoods covered much of their features. Obviously not the better portion of town, Logan thought.
A sudden voice rang out from the crowded walk: 'Thromar!'
Logan swung his head around to see a girl race toward them.
'Bella!' Thromar roared.
Bella happily charged Smeea, gripping Thromar's leg with long-nailed fingers. Logan saw she was rather short and stocky, but her face could classify her as 'fetching.' Bobbed black hair reached almost to her shoulders, and the slits in her light blue gown seemed to go up to her arms.
'Thromar,' she breathed, 'come with me. It has been so long since your last visit.'
The huge fighter was about to leap from Smeea when he spied Logan out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat loudly until he had Bella's attention and then nodded in the young jogger's direction. Bella gave the fighter's companion a brief smile, her lips painted red.
Logan took an exaggerated step backwards. 'Hey!' he exclaimed. 'Don't let me stop you! I don't want to be a bother!'
Thromar grinned with his yellowing teeth and sprang from Smeea. 'Thank you for your understanding, friend-Logan,' he said. 'I shall not be long.'
Bella jerked on his arm in silent protest.
'Well, not too long. Await my return; I would hate to lose an ally such as you.'
Logan waved the two off. 'Don't worry about me,' he told them. 'This is my dream; nothing'll happen. Maybe I'll shop around for a horse.'
'Just don't purchase anything until I get back,' advised Thromar as he was led by an impatient Bella into a nearby building.
Feeling confused and awkward, Logan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and wandered off through the town. Is it my dream? he asked himself. Since when had he ever had complete control over what was going' on? Never. That didn't mean it wasn't his dream, but it certainly didn't confirm it.
Logan spied a building that looked as if it could be a bar, and, as he neared, he was sure of it. Two men staggered out, bumped into one another, and sprawled flat on the ground. Another man sauntered out, grabbed hold of a whore, and slung her over his shoulder. Logan started forward but immediately restrained himself. He had no need to get involved with this idiotic land. He only wanted to wake up.
