Chapter 3

Waking with a start and a sharp inhalation of breath, she looked around frantically to discover she stood in a prison, with cells stretching away on both sides. The cold stone walls behind her were damp and the stench was fearsome. In her peripheral vision she saw rodents scurrying away. Lights of an indeterminate kind flickered in brackets on the walls and one threw its illumination directly onto the face of the man sitting slumped against the wall of his cell, across from where she now stood. Her arrival must have been soundless because he had his eyes closed and appeared to be asleep.

Not seeing any guards, Dianora crept closer. “Garrin?” Could this truly be the ruler of the Belmane, in the long ago era?

In the flesh and now staring at her with piercing green eyes, a frown wrinkling his brow. His gaze flicked to her hand, which was over her heart. “You have the ring.”

As a member of the Archaeological Service Dianora had received the newest, most comprehensive translator implant available in the Sectors. It was said there were branches of the military with more advanced units but these were fine for the need the archaeologists had. Apparently the device could make sense of the ancient Belmane language. “It came to me, so to speak,” she said. Advancing to rest her hands on the bars of the cell, she surveyed him as he rose a bit shakily to his feet.

His clothes were torn and barely covered his body, revealing sharply defined muscles marred by wounds which had clearly been left untreated. His face was bruised and his lip was cut. As he moved, a chain clanked in the dirty straw under his feet and he could barely reach the bars, restrained by the cuff on his ankle. Stretching out his hand, he took hers, checking the ring. “Who are you, mysterious pale lady? Did the gods send you?”

“Why are you here? What’s going on?” Dianora glanced around in disbelief. There’d been no trace in the records of Garrin becoming a prisoner but of course the whole point of the expedition to which she was assigned was the lack of information about the lost civilization of Belmane. Are dreams ever this realistic? The analytical part of her mind was mulling over what exactly had happened to her. She couldn’t possibly be thousands of years in the planet’s past, could she? The touch of Garrin’s hand was warm and electric on her skin and even in these conditions, battered as he was, his face was compelling as he bent to hear her.

“The fucking Craadil took the fortress through treachery of one I trusted like a brother,” Garrin said with undisguised hatred. “Can you get us out?”

“Us?” For the first time she checked the other cells and realized there was a large group of men imprisoned here with Garrin. Men in the same disheveled and abused state as Garrin were crowding against the bars of the adjacent cells, watching her.

Garrin recaptured her attention with a squeeze of the hand and an urgent whisper. “Quickly, my lady, there’s no time to waste if we’re to escape before the dawn brings our deaths. Why else would the gods have sent you here?”

Feeling as if she was in an adventure trideo and no one had told her what her lines and stage business were, Dianora searched the nearby area and spotted a big ring of oddly shaped keys hanging on a hook a few feet away. Freeing her hand from his, she ran to grab them and hastened to the cell, trying one key after another with trembling hands until finally there was a loud click which echoed in the space and the door opened.

“Now the ankle cuff,” he said, pointing at his leg.

She ran through the keys again. “There’s nothing here that small. I’m sorry.” There had to be something she could do. With a surge of hope, she remembered her tool kit, sealed in one of the leg pockets of her cargo pants. She’d expected to clean and catalog artifacts today using those tools and the delicate instruments in the kit ought to make good lock picks. Going to her knees in the disgusting straw, right next to him, she pulled out the kit. “Can you move a bit more into the light?”

He shifted and Dianora chose a probe and worked it into the primitive lock. She had to shake it and reinsert it once or twice but finally the cuff unlocked and fell away from Garrin’s ankle. With a muffled cry of triumph, he pulled her to her feet, kissed her soundly and grabbed the cell keys. He ran along the line of cells unlocking them and his men surged into the walkway. Several of the prisoners who must have been higher ranking were chained by the ankles in their own cells and Dianora showed Garrin how to unlock the cuff, giving him one of her probes, while she took care of the first man.

Finally all the prisoners were free.

“What now?” Dianora asked. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“We must go quickly and quietly to the secret ways,” Garrin said, addressing his men, who nodded. “By dawn we must be out of this place and well on our way to the forest or we’ll be easy meat to recapture. Head for the west wall and I’ll reveal the secret door momentarily.”

“Weapons?” asked one of the men who had been chained.

“Take a squad and see what you can scrounge at the armory on the next level but don’t get caught. Then join us as rapidly as you can.” Garrin checked with Dianora, startling her. “Are you ready?”

She retreated a step, the two. “I’m not going.” Her laugh was nervous. “None of this is real—I’m in a really weird dream. Rubbing her fingers over the giant stone in her ring, she said, “I want to wake up in my own bed, now.”

The cold assaulted her and she threw back her head to scream but her breath was stolen away before the sound could begin. Automatically she closed her eyes and had the sensation of a rushing wind sweeping her away. Garrin spoke to her but his words were lost in the sound of the storm.

The mystery ladyvanished in front of his eyes, leaving only her toolkit behind, on the straw where she’d dropped it earlier. Garrin grabbed the packet and gestured to his men. “No time to waste, we must be gone before the guards are sent to fetch us for the executioner.” He sprinted as best he could toward the place where an entrance to the hidden passageways was concealed. The ancestor who built this castle had been a suspicious old man by all the tales and insisted on being able to roam his fortress without being detected, to spy on people and to escape if there was ever an assassination or coup attempt. He’d had the architect and the builders executed when the work was done—the old times had been barbaric all right.

As he ran, Garrin was grateful to the long gone king, and to his forebears who’d kept the secret closely guarded. Fortunately the man who’d betrayed him knew nothing of the passageways, so therefore neither did the Craadil. Pushing through the crowd of soldiers, he reached the wall and located the trigger point. There were gasps as a portion of the stonework slid aside in fits and starts. “Hurry, there’s no time. Be quiet, always take the lefthand branch when there’s a choice and you’ll come out in the far meadow by the river. You may have to force the door there. No one’s used these passages in centuries.” He pushed the first man inside and kept the line moving. Their luck wasn’t going to hold forever.

Bakuln, his sword brother and right hand man, came up with the squad he’d taken to the armory, all of them bearing weapons now. “The enemy is lulled into a false victory,” he said, handing Garrin his own sword, with the emblem of his House on the hilt. The blade felt right in his hand and as if the sword was giving him strength to overcome his wounds and the beatings he’d received since being taken prisoner. Bakuln continued his rapidfire report. “The overconfident fools celebrated too much and got blind, stinking drunk. The patrols are barely moving and certainly not alert. We might actually carry this escape off.”

As soon as the last soldier had entered the wall and began making his way to safety, Garrin motioned for Bakuln to climb into the opening and followed closely. Pivoting, he managed to get the door to close again and the two men set out to follow the others. “We’ve got to get to the meadow before dawn and escape into the woods,” he said as they scrambled through the narrow passage. “We’ll go to the mountain fortress and pray it hasn’t fallen to the enemy.”

His nerves were strung tight the entire time he was inside the walls. When he stepped out into the meadow and saw his loyal guards, who were to have died with him at dawn, he had to swallow hard. “We’ve been blessed by the gods this night,” he said loudly enough for them to hear over the sound of the nearby river. “We’ll regroup and regain strength at the mountain location and return to retake our home from traitors and enemies.”

There was a cheer, which he instantly hushed, and then the escapees formed themselves into a company, doing a quick march into the forest, heading away from the capital city and the castle. Garrin appreciated the determination and toughness of his men, given they all bore injuries and wounds from the fierce combat when they’d been overwhelmed and the castle taken. The soldiers helped each other now and several men had to be carried by their fellows, having used the last of their strength to escape. He feared a few wouldn’t live to enjoy this miraculous freedom for long, being too badly injured.

“Who was she?” Bakuln asked as the column jogged through the forest. “She had your family’s ring.”

“I have no idea,” Garrin answered. “I can only guess the gods sent her tonight, after I’d abandoned all hope of any rescue or intervention. Our future was short and grim, my friend.”

Bakuln grunted his agreement and by mutual unspoken agreement they stopped talking to save their energy for the escape. Garrin continued to think about the mysterious woman. Indeed, he couldn’t stop reliving the moment when he’d shivered at the touch of deepest cold and opened his eyes at the sound of his name to see her standing outside his cell, in strange garb and wearing the ring. At first he’d thought she must be a hallucination but once he touched her hand, he knew she was real. Not a demigoddess or divine messenger though. Too uncertain and nervous to have been sent by the gods. Let the men believe the myth. Garrin was sure she was a real flesh and blood woman. Certainly she’d been able to unlock the cells and to get the cursed chains off but when the tool slipped, it cut her hand. And when she’d refused to come with him out of the castle she’d seemed quite frightened and babbled about being in a dream.

He didn’t fault her for the way she’d left. She’d come to his aid, given him a fighting chance—at least now if he died, it would be as a warrior, on his feet, not as a tethered beast led to public slaughter after watching all his friends and comrades die first. For that alone he owed her.

He wished he knew her name. She knew his after all. Despite her strange clothes, she’d been a strikingly attractive woman too, with ivory skin so pale it practically glowed in the dungeons. He’d remember her all the rest of his life even if they never met again, and he’d measure any other women against the standard she set in their brief encounter.

Putting more energy into his stride, he hastened to encourage the men who were flagging. He refused to lose any more of this brave company. His lady had given him a chance and he intended to use it well.

This time Dianoradidn’t lose consciousness completely when the ring snatched her away from the dungeon on her command and suddenly she felt her firm mattress under her and the only sounds were the usual ones of the camp beside the dig site. She heard someone call a greeting to a colleague as they passed close by her tent and opened her eyes.

She was on top of her bed, but dressed in her work clothes and by the chrono on her desk, four hours had passed since she’d gone to her work station. She sprang to her feet in shock and yanked the ring off, shoving it into her pocket again. What the seven hells? People didn’t sleepwalk during the day, did they? How had she gotten here? Had anyone seen her? The lower pocket on her cargo pants was open and her toolkit was missing. A few bits of smelly straw clung to the bottom of her work shoes and when she headed for the door, she was surprised by a stinging cut on her hand, which she’d acquired when the probe slipped on her first attempt to open the cuff on Garrin’s ankle.

Real? It was all real? Had she been transported back in time by the ring and prevented Garrin from being executed by his enemies? Had she changed the history of this planet by her actions?

History be damned, how could she possibly have left him there to die? She saw his face again in her mind’s eye, tired and careworn but handsome, and fired by determination to save himself and his men. “I didn’t think it was real,” she said out loud. “It was all so weird.” And who in the seven halls were the Craadil? She didn’t remember the name from any of the research done on the planet and the site.

Head whirling, she opened the door gingerly, afraid to find a completely changed world in front of her but as she stepped outside, the camp looked reassuringly normal. Walking to her work station, she began to relax. Although having another disturbing vision and evidently sleepwalking to her tent was alarming, at least she hadn’t changed the future. With a small chuckle, she altered her path and ducked into the mess tent to grab a snack and a drink. The holo Dr. Soren had showed them all of the great hall excavation was on a loop and she paused to watch, suddenly hungry for a glimpse of Garrin’s face, to compare the carved representation to the man she’d seen.

“Lords of Space, where’s the box?” Dianora recoiled when the segment with Garren’s statue played. His hand was no longer outstretched and holding the damn wooden box. Instead he rested it on the ornate hilt of a sword slung at his side.

“Did you say something?” Derek paused at her side.

“Wasn’t he holding a box?” she said, gesturing at the holo.

Frowning, her colleague glanced at the display. “No, definitely a sword, which fits for a warrior king, as he’s believed to have been.”

She swallowed hard. “I’d better get back to work.”

“I stopped by to see you an hour or two ago,” Derek said, walking with her across the open space. “You weren’t there.”

“I—I had a bad migraine and I had to go lie down. I’ll work late tonight to make up the time.”

He grinned. “As if you don’t work late every night. You work too hard, kid. Take a break tonight and join us in the mess hall for games night.”

“No thanks, I really had better make up the lost hours. I don’t want to get in trouble with Isabel or Dr. Soren.” They’d reached her workstation and she stopped, nervously juggling the food and drink. Derek reached across her to trigger the latch and his closeness made her uneasy. He’d been giving off hints of interest in her as more than a colleague and Dianora didn’t want any entanglements on this first, all important job.

With a wave, he went on his way, saying over his shoulder, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Later,” she called as she stepped into the office. Setting the snack on the desk, she checked the pile of items waiting for her attention and was relieved not to find anything else changed from the morning. Hastily she sat and checked her messages, answering a quick query from Isabel and tacking on a note about the ‘migraine’ and the plan to work late. Dianora ate the energy bar in a few quick bites and washed it down with the drink before picking an artifact from the pile and bringing it to her desk. When she reached for her tool kit, to start cleaning the small pottery shard, she remembered it wasn’t there in her pocket.

“I left it behind,” she said in a whisper. “In the dungeon.”

This could all get very unsettling, trying to decide if she was actually time traveling under the influence of the ring, or merely having extremely vivid hallucinations because of the same ring. Eyeing the scratch on her hand, she sighed. There could be any number of explanations for the tiny injury and for the missing tools besides a trip into the distant past. With a muttered curse she set aside the pottery and logged into the expedition’s database, searching for any mention of the Craadil. In the end she found only one obscure reference made in passing on a partially obliterated fresco, calling them ‘demons from over the seas’.

“But point being they did exist and I never heard of them before Garrin said the name.” Stretching to ease her back muscles, Dianora immediately second guessed herself. “But maybe someone mentioned it in my hearing or I scanned it in my research before I got here.”

Since she couldn’t proceed without the proper tools, she made a trip to the camp resource depot and had to wait while two researchers checked out blasters, which were authorized during excursions to the river site, as there were large predators and deadly snakes in the surrounding forest. The whole process was quite informal and quick luckily for her, since she needed to get back to work as expeditiously as possible.

The clerk didn’t even ask her how she’d lost her original tools, merely shaking his head and muttering about careless new hires.

She didn’t feel like quarreling with him, so she was soon on her way again.

Knowing she needed to accomplish a lot today to make up for her earlier distraction, Dianora worked steadily on her waiting artifacts. It was difficult to make herself stick to the task at hand though. Cleaning dirty, cracked pottery with fragments of art and isolated script seemed pointless next to the alluring temptation of going back in time and seeing it all for herself. She could find out the answers to everything this expedition wanted to know and more. She could ask Garrin?—

Dianora’s breath caught at the idea of sitting and talking to the man at length, of being with him and getting to know him. It was an enticing prospect and she had to stop herself from reaching into her pocket to touch the ring. “This whole thing is pulling me out of orbit,” she said out loud, rising to place the cleaned bowl on the proper shelf and select another item. “I can’t possibly believe I’ve been time traveling because of some gaudy ring.” But there were legends and rumors floating around out in the Sectors about the impossible things Ancient Observer relics could do, or had done, in careless human hands. She’d always discounted the ideas as unfounded and unsupported but her skepticism was before she started having her episodes in the last day.

She did work late into the evening, taking a dinner break and trying to enter into the conversation and good spirits of her colleagues in the mess tent but she felt as if there was a force screen between herself and them tonight. She possessed knowledge they didn’t—she’d actually talked to Garrin and helped him and his men escape their imprisonment. All the other archaeologists had done was dig in the dirt and scratch at the surface of the ruins.

Dianora told herself this was a dead end train of thought but she couldn’t shake the pall of disassociation. When she finally knocked off work, powered down the lights and headed for her tent, she dreaded the idea of another day tomorrow, doing the scutwork of a dig. Two days ago she’d been grateful for the job and the opportunity to learn and work her way up the hierarchy in the Archaeology Service, willing to do whatever was required. Now she was impatient to re-enter the actual world of the vanished Belmane and seek out answers.

To be with Garrin again.

In her quarters, she tried to go to bed but her mind was buzzing with all the things she wanted to know and should have asked when she had the chance, although since Garrin had been under time pressure needing to escape the Craadil occupying his castle, it probably hadn’t been a good opportunity. Dianora couldn’t sleep, no matter what she tried.

Rising, she crossed to the chair where her cargo pants were slung and pulled the ring out of her pocket. Holding it to the dim light, where the giant stone glowed and sparked, she said, “All right, I’m going to find out the truth tonight, one way or the other.” Setting the ring on the bed, she got dressed and then spent ten minutes setting up her handheld in the right place to capture a long running holo of what would happen next.

Satisfied the camera was filming, she took the ring and slid it on her finger without hesitation. “Take me to Garrin,” she said, rubbing her thumb across the stone as she remembered doing in the dungeon corridor when she’d brought herself home the last time.

The flash of intense cold enveloped her from the top of her head to her toes and she closed her eyes. Either the holo would see her vanish and confirm the wild hypothesis she was a time traveler, or the holo would show her falling onto the bed in a dream state, which would be more likely but very disappointing.

“I’mgrateful you’ve returned to me,” Garren said from where he sat at a small table, a goblet at his elbow and maps spread in front of him. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see Dianora, although his smile was welcoming and did things to her inner core.

The man was charismatic all right. She could see why his name carried forward to her own time even after his civilization had died out.

“Have a seat,” he said, rising and moving a second chair to the table. He held out his hand and she moved forward to take it, feeling as if she was a character in a historical trideo drama. “We’ll drink wine and talk. I’m anxious to hear your counsel.”

Seating herself in the chair, Dianora paused in dismay. “I—I’m not qualified to offer any advice, sir. I came seeking answers.”

He poured a second goblet of the wine and handed it to her. She sniffed the bouquet, which was fruity and spicy, and sipped. The drink warmed her all the way down and Dianora knew she’d better be careful not to imbibe too much. “We can trade advice for answers then,” he said affably. “Are you from the realm of the gods?”

Choking on her second sip of the wine, Dianora laughed and set the goblet on the table, the analytical part of her mind thinking this elaborate item would be a priceless artifact in the future. “Hardly. I’m from the future. Far in the future.” Would he believe her? “The ring transports me through time to here.”

Garren gazed at her with narrowed eyes and shrugged. “What is the future but another realm? And what does the future say about my current dilemma? Will I prevail over the Craadil and retake my throne?”

Comets and stars, he had to lead off with the most difficult question, didn’t he? Fortifying herself with a third, bigger swallow of the excellent wine, Dianora said, “To be honest, I don’t know. The historical record stops with you and your civilization ends. By the time my people come along, there are no more Belmane and no Craadil either. I’m thousands of years ahead of you.”

Head tilted, he continued to study her. “Belmane?”

“You. Your planet.” Too late she realized he might not even know he lived on a planet. “My people are from the stars and Belmane is what we call this place.”

Garren appeared to accept the explanation. “Our myths and legends speak of travelers from the stars, but only in the ancient past. So your people come again and find us gone?”

“You’re calm about it.”

“I don’t believe fate is preordained. A man or a woman has the power to change the world around them and I’ll never rest until I do. The Craadil won’t bring ruin and death to my people while I live and breathe.”

She wanted to offer him hope. “It may be we’re changing things already. I mean, for all we know you were supposed to die the day I first came and helped you get out of the dungeon. What do you call your people?”

“We’re the Argorn,” he said, toying with a quill pen lying beside the maps. “And your name, my lady?”

She blushed. “I’m sorry—I’m Dianora Devlin. I’m an archaeologist.” She heard the implant translate her profession as ‘seeker of ancient artifacts’. Not too far off.

“You search for relics of the past? Or my present?” He smiled and took another drink. “Odd my ring came to you after so many eons passed. I have to wonder if there isn’t more to it than simple coincidence.”

“Your ring? It was in a box when I found it.” She held out her hand and admired the glinting stones, which showed off well in the illumination he had.

He reached over and folded his hand gently around hers, his touch warm and oddly sensual. “The ring has been in my family for generations upon generations. I was to have presented it to the lady who would become my wife and share my throne but apparently—in your account—I never had the chance.” Giving her hand a small squeeze, he released her and reached for his wine, eyeing her over the lip of the cup. “Would you like to hear the story? The ring originated in the stars, as you claim to do.”

Eagerly she sat on the edge of her chair. He was about to give her the answer to the question which had inspired the entire expedition she was working for and she couldn’t believe her luck. “Absolutely. Tell me.”

“As I told you earlier, we Argorn have been visited by people from the stars before, practically before the beginning of recorded time, when my people were barely risen from savagery, scratching out a few crops and hunting to survive. The noble Lir’taray and his court descended upon the village from the stormy skies in a glowing star of their own and stayed for a year, teaching my ancestors much, which made us the blessed and anointed us to rule forever going forward.”

“Is there anything besides ancestral memory and family histories to back up the story?” she asked, slipping into professional mode. ”Any written records?”

”The visit from the gods predated our written language I”m afraid. All the accounts which exist were written generations later, to preserve the knowledge as best we could. Much had been forgotten or twisted by then. The physical gifts Lir’taray left behind were certainly all gone, lost to time. Except these lamps you see around the room, which continue to burn when darkness falls, although we’ve no idea how and certainly can’t construct more. They’re precious and only for the use of the royal family.” He grinned. “There may be cave paintings at Batonnemi, which is where he arrived.”

Dianora committed the name to memory. Dr. Soren would certainly want to dig there. She’d been taking the lamps for granted, which was a rookie mistake. Of course a medieval civilization wouldn’t have powered illumination. There should be torches and candles or perhaps oil lamps. Making another mental note, she planned to examine one first chance she got. The expedition hadn’t found any at the dig site. So much to be done.

Garrin was staring at her, eyebrows raised. “You went off into your own world, my lady. What perplexed you so?”

Nervously she brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry—I was thinking about the lamps. And uh my work in my own time. Please go on with your story. You were telling me the Ancient Observers left?”

“The stone remained, however, for it was jealously guarded by the women of the family line.”

She pointed at the large gem set into the ring. “This stone?”

“Legend and lore state Lir’taray fell in love with a maiden of the village and they became as married during his stay, although no children resulted.” With a self-deprecating chuckle he added, “I claim no rights of divinity or even the much diluted blood of a god.”

“What happened?” She was impatient for the rest of the story. The details reminded her of other incidents recorded on farflung planets where AO had visited. Dianora would be researching all of it as soon as she set foot in her own time.

“When the year passed, Lir’taray said his time here was done and he’d never be returning. He wanted to take the girl with him but his own people said no to him, because she wasn’t blood of their blood. So he gave her the stone in secret, telling her to hold it and wish to see him and she would be brought to wherever he was for a brief time.”

“Stars and comets, did she use it?” This was like a fairy tale or a really good myth but here she sat, thousands of years in her own past, wearing the gem in a ring so there must be a strong element of truth.

“So the legends say. But the last time she tried to travel to see him the stone refused to take her and she believed he was dead. It was said the stone had other powers, which she’d learned to use, becoming a mighty and feared sorceress. Since that time the ring has been passed down in the family, usually to the oldest son or daughter of the previous holder. At some point it was set into a ring. No one else was ever able to use the stone to work magic, much less to go visit the gods but it’s tradition for the new owner of the ring to either wear it themselves if female or for a man to gift it to the woman he loves.”

A wave of disappointment swept over her, remembering the box and the statue of Garrin offering the gift to an unknown woman. Of course a man like him would be married. Scientific thoroughness drove her to ask her next question, although her heart didn’t want to know. She was getting in over her head with this guy. “Is there a woman here you planned to give it to? Or did give it to? What happened to her?”

“Until the present time, I’d never found a woman I believed the stone would choose.” He gave her an intense look. “Or one I could be captivated by. I would have had to marry eventually but I could refuse to gift the ring, giving it directly to my oldest child when the time came.”

Nervously she drank more wine. The story was affecting her. This man was affecting her even more. Dianora was on the best date of her life, sitting here thousands of years in the past, talking to Garrin.

“Enough of the ring,” he said, breaking the mood. Pulling the maps to him, he added, “Time for advice. Tomorrow we attack a Craadil stronghold. The treacherous bastards are holed up in a fortress guarding a strategic mountain pass I”ll need if I”m to bring my main army up and march on the city.”

”You’re going into battle tomorrow and I’m keeping you up all night talking?” she asked in horror. “I’m sorry, — “

“No, my lady, don’t berate yourself.” He was out of his chair in an instant and drawing her from hers. “Do you think a commander sleeps the night before battle? You’ve eased my burden by distracting me tonight and reminding me of my family’s heritage and honor. Always you come to me when my need is great. If you’d only come once, to free me from the dungeon, I would have been eternally blessed but seeing you again tonight was a gift from the gods.”

Dianora relaxed into his arms, savoring the strength of the man. She could hear his heart beating under the tunic he wore. “I should be wearing a lot of flowing robes,” she said nervously.

He kissed her forehead. “Much as I’d no doubt enjoy seeing you bedecked in all the finery, I find your garb practical for the tasks you say you do in the future. Certainly your pockets produce miracles.”

“I had to get a new set of tools,” she said, chiding herself for sounding inane.

“I won’t offer to return yours,” he said with a mock frown. “They’ve already been claimed by my master craftsman and I’d have to kill him to retrieve them.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t.” He raised her chin gently, searching her eyes, and kissed her. His lips were warm against hers and tasted of the wine, further intoxicating her and when he pressed for more, to be allowed entry past the barrier, she opened to him without hesitation.

The kiss was long and epic, the two of them locked together as if they were the only people in the world. When it ended, Dianora wasn’t sure her legs would support her and she expected the king to move to the bed, but trumpets sounded outside and Garrin gently put her aside. “I must join my troops and rally them for the march and battle ahead. Fearless as you are, my lady, I won’t risk you in combat. Best you return to your own realm. I’ll gladly accept your wishes for our success today.”

“Absolutely,” she said, standing forlorn as he began donning his battle armaments. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I’ll come again when I can, I give you my word.”

“It pains me to refuse you anything,” he said with a cocky grin, picking up a crested helmet and a red cloak from a nearby chair, “But I can’t lead my men in good conscience and be careful. Taking risks is my lot. If it be my fate to fall today, my last thoughts will be of you.”

Dianora must have looked horrified because he came back to her for another hug and a hasty kiss. “I don’t plan to fail today, that I can swear to. Let me see you safely on your way.”

She took a deep breath, stepped away from him, grabbed the wine goblet on a sudden impulse and rubbed her finger across the giant stone. “Take me to my own quarters in the future.”

As the cold enveloped her, she tried desperately to keep her eyes open for a last glimpse of Garrin.

The waveof cold struck him and he stepped back a pace, staring at the spot where Dianora had been a heartbeat before. Seeing the ancient ring in action was a strange thing indeed. He might have believed he was having a wine inspired dream but she was real. Their kiss had been real and he’d wanted so much more but there was no time. Again. There’d been no time in the dungeon either.

As Garrin finished readying himself for the march and the battle, he reflected on their evening together, talking like old friends. There was an ease between them which he’d never possessed before with any woman, and Dianora was fascinating to talk to. The things she must know, if she was truly from the far future as she stated! But of course he knew much about this world and this time she had no idea of. He’d enjoyed her questions and the chance to simply sit and converse. Not flirtation, not the stilted remarks of a courtier seeking to curry favor with the king, not a woman hoping to find her way into his bed and claim the title of his queen.

He smiled. Plainly Dianora desired him as much as he wanted her. His cock was still hard, thinking about how she’d felt in his arms and the too brief taste of her kiss. The ring understood they belonged together. A thought struck him and he paused in his preparations. Was the ring here in this time as well? He’d have to find out when he reclaimed his castle at the point of a sword and the head of an army. The family heirloom was locked away in a special place only he knew of. His heart beat faster. If he did lay hands on the ring, could he go to her? Passively waiting for her to show up unexpectedly wasn’t to his liking. Once all this was settled with the damn Craadil and the traitors in his court, he’d take himself to wherever she lived and make a forceful case for them to be together in his time. Garrin had no desire to try dwelling in her realm. He was the king here, he had duties and responsibilities to his people and this was his place. Dianora appeared to be a person who could adapt to life in Argorn and if she agreed, he’d make every effort to see she was happy and cared for.

The decision to go to her was to his liking although his head ached as he pondered how the ring could be on Dianora’s finger and in his castle safe simultaneously. These machinations of the gods and their devices from the stars could vex a man if he considered them too deeply. But there was no woman here in my realm who stirred my heart and senses the way she does. The ring knew who I needed. I hope it was right and I am what she needs.

There was a knock on the door and Bakuln stuck his head in. “The men are assembled and ready.”

“Let’s get this counterstrike underway then. We’ve a long way to go to reach the enemy position.” He strode from his room with determination, Bakuln falling into step with him and they descended the stairs to the courtyard together. He allowed himself one more mental image of Dianora clasped in his arms and tasted their kiss, a promise of what could be if he could only defeat the damn enemy and regain his throne.

Setting foot in the courtyard, returning the salute of the assembled soldiers, Garrin shut away his memories of love and concentrated on the battle ahead. Divided attention could get a man killed in war.