after all-his dream.
Logan almost choked as he took his first swallow of the ale. The beverage tasted slightly like beer, only much stronger. There was something in it that Logan thought tasted like malt, and some tiny seeds of some sort swirled within the dark liquid. Hops! Logan recalled. The little seed-things are called hops. Yeech! Worse than drinking orange juice with too much pulp! Nonetheless, the young man had not had anything to drink in this dream, and his throat was rather dry, so he greedily emptied the large mug. Moknay pounded the bar when he noticed the mug was no longer full, and the barkeep refilled it.
Logan downed his second mug in seconds.
'If you want anything else to drink,' Moknay quipped, 'the Sea of Hedelva is about twenty-three leagues north of here.'
Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Thromar had earlier that morning. 'No, thanks. I didn't know I was that thirsty.'
Moknay smirked, turning his back on the bar. Picking at a hop that had gotten stuck between his teeth, Logan pondered how he could have dreamed such a drink. He wasn't one for beer-never had been-but this ale certainly tasted similar. And why was he so thirsty? Dreams didn't usually have the dreamer stop to eat or drink. Sometimes a dream could supposedly last over a number of months and never once would the dreamer stop to have dinner or go to the bathroom.
Logan blanched. Bathroom! What do I do if I've gotta take a piss? Huh? Since when had he ever thought he'd need to go to the bathroom in a dream? Christ, Matthew! Wake up before you drive yourself insane!
The smug Murderer beside Logan twisted around, tapping the young jogger upon the shoulder. He waved a gloved hand in the direction of the door, and Logan blinked. There were two figures silhouetted in the doorway, and the dim light was glinting off what could have been a blood-splattered chestplate. An arm with an ugly sword wound running across its flesh lifted in Logan's direction, and a finger extended accusingly.
'Friend,' whispered Moknay, 'I think you have visitors.'
'Aw, shit,' Logan cursed.
Moknay grinned, his grey eyes twinkling. 'Fear not,' he soothed. Suddenly he bounded onto one of the tables, glaring down at one of the men seated there. 'What?' he roared. 'You think grey is drab? Cur!'
A grey boot lashed out, catching one of the men on the chin and knocking him out of his seat. The man's companion jumped to his feet in astonishment, eyes wide.
'Hey!' he shouted. 'You can't do that!'
Another man one table over got to his feet. 'Seems to me he just did,' he answered, delivering a wild punch at the fellow.
A chair hurled across the tavern and fragmented against the far wall. Like an erupting volcano, shouts and yells echoed throughout the building as more and more drunken patrons joined in on the brawl. Mugs sailed overhead, and benches and tables overturned as bodies thumped to the floor.
Logan let out a frightened cry and leapt behind the bar for protection. A mug crashed above his head, showering ale down upon him, and he almost got clipped by a fist when he stood up to look for Moknay. In the dim lighting, the Murderer had simply disappeared, and Logan felt a twinge of guilt since he had doubted the fellow's sincerity. Still, he could not see the two Reakthi, and that much relieved him.
When Logan attempted to find Moknay again, there was a sudden blur of white before him. Breaking through the cluster of bodies and dim light, the Reakmor leapt forward, drawing his jagged sword. Logan's death gleamed in his eyes as he sprang for the young man, releasing a triumphant war cry as he hurdled the bar.
Logan stumbled back in surprise, his hand jumping to his own sword. Intense fear swelled up inside him as his hand slipped and missed the golden handle which was slippery from spilt ale. Logan could only gape as the Reakmor he had wounded dove over the bar and lunged for him.
Warm fluid sprinkled Logan's cheek as the Reakmor jerked to one side, his war cry becoming garbled as blood filled his throat. A fine stream of crimson trickled from his lips, and the color drained out of his face. His barbed sword clattered to the floor as he crumpled upon the bar, twitching fingers futilely grasping for the dagger that was lodged in his neck.
Feeling his stomach twist in protest, Logan bolted to his right, eager to get out from behind the bar. He had been safe from the brawl Moknay had started as a diversion, but a sitting duck should the other Reakthi corner him back there!
As Logan ran, a gnarled figure in a silver chestplate barred his way. A black robe covered the lean body, and short, blue-grey hair spiked outward from atop his skull. Flaming, sunken eyes glared at Logan from a shriveled and taut face while bony hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
'Get out of my way!' Logan demanded, this time firmly gripping his sword's hilt.
The silver-chestplated man smiled cruelly. 'What will you do if I do not, man from another world?' he queried sarcastically.
That's twice somebody has called me that! Logan noted.
'Man from another world nothing!' he spat back. 'This place isn't real! You're all my creations!'
A spiked eyebrow raised in question. 'Are we?' the newcomer remarked. He slowly shook his head, the shadows of the tavern playing across the many wrinkles of his face. 'I should think not… although… we may become so later. As for this place being real… I can assure you, we are quite real.'
Logan's mind was screaming. Truth! Holy Mother of God, why do I sense truth in what he's saying? He's telling the truth!
'I am Groathit, greatest of the Reakthi spellcasters,' the silver-chestplated warrior announced. 'You are to come with me.'
Logan, shaken, partially withdrew his weapon as his rationale raged in silent turmoil. 'I'll go with whoever I damn well feel like going with!' he roared.
Truth! God damn it to hell, how can he be telling the truth? I'm dreaming! Listen to me, goddamn it! You're dreaming! You're not really here! You can't be here!
Another voice entered the fray within Logan's mind: Learn to decipher dreams from reality, unreality from falsehood, falsehood from truth, or doom shall fall upon your worlds!
A warning! Logan's mind howled. Falsehood from truth! Maybe he is lying! Maybe the truth I sensed isn't really there at all!
The young man froze both physically and mentally as he realized something: Worlds. Not 'world' but 'worlds'! It was a warning! He really was there!
Now more than ever he wanted to get back home!
'The Reakthi can use you in the conquest of this land,' Groathit was saying. 'With your help we shall crush these barbarians.'
Barbarians? the young man repeated in his mind, suddenly filled with a hellish anger. These 'barbarians' had helped him! Thromar and Moknay had aided him! He would have been dead-really dead-if it hadn't have been for them. All the Reakthi had done had been to rain war and danger upon Logan and his newly acquired friends.
Without Thromar and Moknay, he could have gone mad!
With a roar of defiance, Logan lunged, blade first.
The lean Groathit waved a gnarled hand, and Logan's thrust sent him directly through the wizard. Eyes wide, Logan spun about as the sensation of mismatchment deadened his nerves and caused his head to swim. Through blurry contacts, the young man saw Groathit's form waver and become solid once more.
'It is futile to fight,' the spellcaster growled.
Gritting his teeth, Logan ignored the buzz of disharmony and charged. He slashed at Groathit's midriff with all his might behind his weapon, anger feeding an inhuman strength to his muscles. The wizard barked a harsh laugh as the sword passed through his body, throwing Logan off balance. Glancing up from the floor, Logan saw Groathit step toward him, a hideous frown upon his face.
'I am to bring you to Vaugen,' he informed Logan, a bench thrown in the brawl passing harmlessly through him. 'He has need of you.'
The spellcaster smiled, and Logan froze. The wizard's teeth were gradually lengthening, elongating into large, needle-sharp fangs. His sunken eyes flared red, and the tips of his bony fingers erupted, releasing iron claws. There was a sudden blossom of flame, and the concussion threw Logan backwards as he was once again beset upon by the feeling of dissent.
