Zackaron. I am Master.'
The gnarled Groathit responded by flinging deathly black rays at the dark-eyed sorcerer. Zackaron threw up an arm and deflected the crackling bolt, causing it to explode against the mountainside.
Thromar leaned toward his two companions. 'Who do we root for?' he wondered.
'We don't,' retorted Moknay. The Murderer frowned as the muddy Hills bucked underneath them. 'The longer those fools fight, the more energy escapes from the Jewel.'
Silenced, Logan turned back to the battling wizards. Howling quarrels of thaumaturgy cast eerie shadows across the Hills. Groathit was stumbling back, holding the glimmering Jewel in one arm while dazzling blasts of magic sprang from the other. Zackaron casually advanced, his face set in a grin of certainty. Blistering streams of enchantment shrieked from his fingers, and his aura of force blazed in happy compliance. One of the beams yowled through Groathit's defenses and knocked the chestplated wizard into the ooze.
Vaugen and his men pulled their horses back, the Imperator raging at his warriors. He was directly in front, and the cluster of horses at his back denied him the chance of safely backing away from the blinding display of magicks before him.
His good eye flashed his fury as Groathit pulled himself from the quag and released sanguine bolts from his palm. Zackaron's protective screen flickered as the blood-red rays struck, yet he retaliated with ruby beams of his own.
Logan's eyes fell upon the Jewel Groathit had left within the slime. The glaring golden tongues of energy continued to waver and dance across the facets but practically went unnoticed. The wailing streaks of sorcery rocketing from the wizards' fingers nearly drowned out the constant flare of the gem.
Those wizards were so busy fighting they probably wouldn't notice if someone crept in and took the Jewel from them, Logan mused.
'Don't try it,' Moknay advised, reading Logan's thoughts. 'It would be folly to try and creep in there with those two hammering the mountainsides with their magical claptrap! Besides, if one of us could do it, we'd probably have both sorcerers on our backs!'
'What the hell can we do?' Logan wanted to know. 'The longer we wait, the more the Wheel tips!'
'It's no use trying to explain it to those two,' Thromar snorted. 'Battling wizards are like drunken men: Neither wants to be disturbed and both are very indignant when they are. They'll fight one another for that Jewel until the Wheel does tilt and we all blow up!'
Moknay gave the dueling sorcerers a glance and then turned back to Logan. 'Any idea what the Smythe meant about you being able to stop the Jewel?' he questioned.
Logan sneered. 'I think he was being sarcastic,' he replied. 'Remember all that crap about how powerful I could be if I stayed? He was probably referring to what I'd be able to do once I was as powerful as he was.'
'Fat lot of good that'll do us!' grunted Thromar. 'The Wheel isn't going to wait until you're a spellcaster.'
'It would have had a long wait 'cause I'm not going to be a spellcaster!' Logan answered. He swung his gaze to the battling magicians. 'No one's going to be anything unless that Jewel isn't stopped soon.'
The horses behind the three men neighed uneasily, pawing the mud with their front hooves. The barrage of theurgy must have been unnerving them, Logan surmised. I know it's bothering the hell out of me! That stupid buzz hasn't let up once!
'Groathit!' Vaugen shouted. 'Not toward me, you fool!'
The Reakthi spellcaster glared over his shoulder as he was forced to retreat. Vaugen frantically fought to pull his horse away while the men behind him struggled likewise. The cluster of hooves and unstableness of the ground worked against the Reakthi, and Vaugen remained exactly where he was, Groathit stanced in front of him.
'Have you had enough, Reakthi?' Zackaron jeered.
Groathit kept one foot near the glaring Jewel. 'You shall rue the day you dared combat me, madman!' he warned.
There was an eruption of flame that almost scorched Vaugen's mount, and Groathit was devoured. In his place stood a grotesque mockery of the human form. It was some hybrid between human and crocodile, and it pointed an iron-clawed hand in Zackaron's direction. Thundering blasts of magic knocked the dark-eyed wizard to one side, and his halo of energy winked out.
A smile drew across the demonic Groathit's face, revealing needle-sharp fangs. His eyes both glistened red, but the right was brighter than the left.
Zackaron pulled himself from the mire and glared at his opponent. 'You like to change shapes, do you?' he snarled, and spittle trickled down his chin. 'You face one who is the Macrocosm! And I would like to see you change again!'
Intricate patterns of light formed in the dark air before Zackaron as lightning speared the black clouds. The marshy ground continued to groan, tilting sympathetically with the unseen Wheel. As if suddenly unbalanced by the shifting hills, Groathit toppled to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat. His demonic form was forcibly ripped from him by Zackaron's dazzling conjurations, and the Reakthi spellcaster could feel his very flesh churn and bubble under the dark-eyed wizard's commands. His gnarled limbs fused together, and folds of flesh covered the magician's mouth and eyes. When the sparks of light diminished around Zackaron, a titanic maggot writhed through the sludge where Groathit had been.
Revulsion shook Vaugen by the shoulders as he gaped at his mutated spellcaster. There was another flash of fire from Zackaron's hands, and Groathit bulged and shifted like the very Hills themselves. A grotesque hue of brown spread across the disproportioned maggot, and its flesh turned as mucous as the mud around it. Excrement's foul odor stabbed through the gale as Zackaron transformed Groathit into a massive mound of dung, but flickers of magic sprouted from the wizard's hands once more, and Groathit underwent another change.
Amusing himself, Zackaron drew a hand upward, and the pliant blob of protoplasm that was Groathit obeyed. The pinkish substance bubbled skyward, stretching like what Logan thought resembled Silly Putty. A mouth suddenly materialized in the pulp, and an agonized scream shredded through the mountains. The shriek was answered by a crackling shaft of lightning as the Jewel pulsed brighter.
The mounts of the Reakthi troop nickered, their eyes glazed as they nervously glanced around them.
Zackaron brought his hands together and Groathit re-formed in a bellow of sorcery. Overcome by unbearable pain, the Reakthi spellcaster slumped to the mud, his chest heaving in his effort to breath.
'Next time,' Zackaron warned, 'do not challenge one who controls the very forces of the multiverse.'
The wizard arrogantly strode through the rain and muck to lift the Jewel that lay beside Groathit's twitching foot. Logan's horse suddenly snorted behind the young man, and Moknay's horse also jerked its head up fearfully.
'Wait a minute,' Logan whispered to himself. 'The horses…'
In question, Moknay and Thromar turned to look at the nervous mounts as Zackaron faced Vaugen and his troop. 'Do any of you wish to battle me for what is already mine?' he queried smugly.
Even Vaugen's grey eyes were aglow with fear.
Zackaron seemed distraught. 'Pity,' he sighed as madness trickled into his voice. 'Pity me.' He swung on Logan and his friends. 'Any of you?' he demanded. When neither of the three responded, a sad frown came to Zackaron's lips. 'What good is this game unless someone will play, hmmm? If no one will play, I shall take my Jewel and my leave.'
How badly can things go? Logan asked himself. The damn Wheel was probably going over on its side and the Jewel still hasn't been placed in check. Not only that, Zackaron had gotten the Jewel away from Groathit but seemed to be slipping into his usual insanity. Pretty soon he'll be more interested in making things from clay rather than checking the Jewel. The whole world will go up in flames while Zackaron tries his hand at making someone!
The flaring Jewel suddenly spiraled out of Zackaron's hands and landed in the slosh, spraying filth as it hit. A thunderclap accented its splash, and twin quarrels of electricity slashed the sky.
Illuminated by the lightning, a wet and bedraggled figure crouched on the hillside, spiderlike. 'No,' the newcomer informed. 'You cannot take what is his! You must not leave with what is Pembroke's!'
A childish smile played upon Zackaron's lean face. 'You wish to challenge me for what is mine?' the wizard asked, ignoring the fallen Jewel.
'Pembroke will,' Pembroke replied, snarling. 'Child is his!'
