Michael coughed loudly, hurting his chest even more than it already hurt.  He was lost in these caves, that was certain.  That wasn't the worst of his problems, however.  The biggest problem were the stones.  He turned his head and looked down into the palm of his hand where they laid.  Red, Green, and Blue... the colors of light.  They were anything but, as Michael had found out.  When he had finally awoken from his daze, he found himself nearly paralyzed with pain.  That was good in that he had feeling in his entire body, bad in that he couldn't move.  After a time, he had managed to get to his feet, whereupon he limped his way out of the cave.  He hadn't been sure why he had done that, and he wasn't terribly sure now.  He just wanted to get away, in case another of the Great Old One's followers happened by.  A second use of the stones would probably have killed him quite painfully.
    How had it even happened?  He asked himself the question over and over again.  He had made no conscious effort to use the stones.  He was no wizard - even if he had wanted to use the stones, he wouldn't have known how.  His best rationalization was that the stones had reacted to his reflexes... he had meant to draw his sword against Donovan, and the stones took it from there.  He didn't like that thought at all - the idea that the stones could pick up on his reflexes and act before he could stop them.  He didn't want to use the stones.  He wanted to throw them into the sea.  There were two problems with that idea, however.  One was that it was conceivably possible for Stinnett to find them there, and retrieve them.
    The other was that he couldn't let go of the stones.
    Oh, he could open his palm and gaze at them, as he was doing now.  He could even roll them around in his hand.  But the moment he tried to fling them outward, his arm stopped obeying his commands.  He could transfer them to his other hand, but that was about all he could do.  So they were currently located in his non-sword hand, and he was hoping that he wouldn't have to use them.  But he was afraid that he would.
    A draft of cold air blew across him as he passed a smaller passage to his right.  Curious, he forced his still-aching body to move down this new passageway.  The considerable pain he had felt ever since he had come to earlier had lost its edge, but was still present.  Vaguely, he hoped it would go away.  He continued to follow the passage, which was angled slightly upward.  As he did so, the air got considerably colder, and the small gust he had felt had grown in strength.  There was also an ample supply of light coming from the opening.  Which was far better in Michael's mind than relying on the light the stones had been shedding - a sickly yellowish-brown, more diffuse than the sort that had destroyed Donovan, but no less repulsive.  Again, the stones had acted on their own.  The moment Michael had left the area where he had awakened - and its light - behind, the stones had started to glow.  At the time, it had made his gut wrench, but that had worn off as he had gone on.
    Michael emerged from the cavern and into the first daylight that he had seen in what must have been years.  Taking deep breaths of air, he wanted to cry out for joy.  He was finally out of the blasted caverns!  He was, however, no less lost for it.  That thought didn't impinge on his mind all that much.  He was out in the free air once more, and that was what he focused on.  There was a slight trail leading down the side of the mountain (he was at a considerable elevation, he realized) and down into a wasteland below.  He could almost make out something near the horizon - a town perhaps.  If he was lucky, it was Plinth.  If he was unlucky, he had emerged on the other side of the mountain, and he had a long way to go before he reached civilization.  If one could call a town like Plinth civilization.  In fact, recalling his last visit there, he had a bit of a score to settle with them....