Chapter 4

She fell onto her bed and tumbled to the floor, her limbs a bit paralyzed from the intense cold of traveling through time. Dianora clawed her way onto the bed and rolled on her back, staring at the canvas ceiling. “Lords of Space, keep him safe.” She was being ridiculous, since whatever battles Garrin had fought ended thousands of years ago but she was having a hard time sorting out reality here in the present from reality there in the past. When she was steady enough, she retrieved her handheld and watched the feed, not at all surprised to discover she had indeed vanished from view right after expressing her desire to go to Garrin. The truth was clear on the holo record. With a pang of regret, she erased the footage. No one was going to believe her and the longer this went on, the less inclined she was to even try to explain matters to anyone else. There was no good answer to her illicit possession of the ring and even if she sought out Dr. Soren and admitted the truth, which he might believe if the gem was indeed an AO device, she’d be in deep trouble for keeping and using an AO artifact.

She’d never be allowed to do so again.

And she’d never see Garrin again.

“Where am I going with this?” she asked herself, running her hands through her hair, leaving the curls tousled. “There’s only one way for us to be together—I’d have to go there and stay.” She and the ancient ruler certainly had an attraction to each other and chemistry together off the charts but that wasn’t enough for her to abandon her life in her own time. Was it? Ruefully she admitted to herself Garrin hadn’t asked her to either, although he’d certainly been making his interest in her clear enough last night.

“He thinks I’m a damn fae or a demigoddess or something,” she said. “Just because I have the ring. I need a plan.”

Dianora was sure she couldn’t keep up this double life for too long. She’d be rotated off the planet eventually in any case and departing employees went through a full body scan to ensure they weren’t taking any forbidden items, and their possessions were searched. She couldn’t hide the ring. With a shiver she remembered how Garrin had told her the legend of the woman who received the gem from the AO lord in the first place and how the last time she tried to use it to go to her lover, the stone refused to take her. If the same thing happened to her, she’d be crushed.

“But the man is dead and gone.” She made herself state the ugly truth.

Her alarm shrilled, startling her into a stifled scream. Time to rise and shine and start a new day working on the dig. Never mind she hadn’t slept a wink.

Holding her head, she staggered to the table and silenced the alarm. How much of the wine did I drink anyway? As she stumbled toward the bed, she nearly tripped over an object lying on the floor and saw the goblet on its side, gleaming in the light. Picking it up with trembling fingers, she caught a whiff of the wine. “What in the seven hells do I do with this now?” No one would ever believe it had been mixed in with her pile of dirty pottery and she couldn’t plant it anywhere on the dig because it wouldn’t belong there and would contaminate the accuracy of the site. With a heavy heart she buried it in her container of personal items, wrapped in a tee shirt, as a problem to be solved later. Maybe she’d stick it in the mud at the river site and then find it, which wouldn’t be as bad as placing it in the main dig.

Dianora took a medinject of headclear and a fast trip through the refresher, changed clothes, making the sure the ring was safely tucked into a tightly closed pocket and headed for the mess tent.

Derek caught up to her right outside. “Whoa, you look like you had a rough night,” he said bluntly. He leaned closer. “You haven’t been indulging in the feelgoods too much, have you? Dr. Soren can’t abide excess imbibing. We had a serious problem on our last dig, on Hackent Nine and he nearly lost his contract with the Sectors because of it.”

Dianora wondered if the refresher had failed to remove the fumes of the powerful Argorn wine. His guess was so right on the nose. She denied the allegation anyway. “I have a darn head cold that won’t quit,” she said, sniffling dramatically. “Maybe it’s allergies. We’re in the middle of a dense forest after all. And all the dust I stir up every day cleaning the artifacts doesn’t help.”

“Wear a mask,” he answered.

She made a face as she moved through the breakfast line. “I hate those things, so restrictive.”

Determined to allay his suspicions, she made herself keep the conversation going. “What are you working on these days while I clean shards?”

“We’re still in the grand chamber, trying to translate the inscriptions. Found intriguing new stuff. Apparently ole Garrin did manage to win a few battles against whoever his enemy was, before the end came.”

“The Craadil,” she said automatically, ignoring his dismissive reference to Garrin.

Derek stared at her, eyes narrowed. “How did you know? We haven’t published any of the translation to the shared database yet.”

“Lucky guess. I saw the name somewhere or I heard it.” Dianora’s double life was catching up to her now as Derek continued to eye her dubiously. “Anyway, it’s an exciting breakthrough for the team. Congratulations.”

After a quick meal with lots of synth caff, Dianora poured herself a cup to go and headed for her station. There was a new pallet of artifacts waiting for her and she had to spend the first hour unpacking all the items and adding them to her ever growing stack. Her supervisor poked her head in while she was in the midst of this effort.

“You’re falling a bit behind,” Isabel said, eyeing the pile and then pivoting to survey the completed items. She made a negative tsking sound and shook her head.

“There was a new shipment from the dig today but I’m going to work late and catch up,” Dianora answered, continuing to clean the item in her hand despite her fatigue and a growing headache.

“Anything interesting? Anything with Garrin’s name on it?”

“Sorry, no, nothing but ordinary pot sherds. We must be excavating his kitchen,” Dianora said with a laugh.

“Many times the most interesting stories and best information came from garbage middens,” Isabel said in mild reproof. “Archaeology 101.”

But when you’ve drunk wine with a legendary king from a golden goblet, it’s impossible to be satisfied with the broken crockery. Dianora had a sudden longing to know what Garrin was doing now, in his own time. She wanted to be there, not here, which gave her serious pause. In the space of a few days the damn ring had upended her entire existence. It had to be cursed, no matter what Garrin’s family thought about it.

“Well, carry on. I’ll expect an update tonight.” Isabel left with a breezy wave.

Dianora set aside a few loose coral beads which had been inside one of the pots, recorded the minor find and set to work with determination. This was her chosen career, she had to buckle down again because obviously her superiors were dubious about her after the last few days. Her life was here, not in a nearly mythical past. But increasingly as she worked, her mind wandered to Garrin and the glimpses she’d had of the world in which he dwelt. She wanted to know more, not merely as an archaeologist but as a woman drawn to a highly interesting man.

In the middle of the afternoon as she set the tenth identical pot on the shelf after cleaning it, Dianora was strongly tempted to throw the next one on the floor. This was all so pointless, when she could simply slide on the ring and go to ancient Belmane.

“I need to plan better though,” she said out loud. “Not just travel on a whim. Maybe take a few things in my pockets he could put to good use. He already thinks I’m some kind of semi divine spirit, so I should deliver a few items which would seem magical in his time.” She wasn’t worried about messing up the historical record, figuring anything she could carry on her person probably wouldn’t survive the thousands of years into this time, if the objects were even found. Human artifacts, even the high tech ones of her time, didn’t have the sheer durability of the AO devices. And so far her trips appeared not to have upset history too much, despite her saving his life in the dungeon. His civilization remained dead and long gone.

Intrigued, she began a list of what to take. She needed sleep desperately so perhaps she wouldn’t go until tomorrow night, which gave her time to assemble a few useful items. She’d have to trust Garrin would survive in the midst of his desperate war until she arrived again. The ring won’t take me if I’m too late.

Reinvigorated, she devoted her full attention to her real work and made a big dent in the pile of artifacts. By the end of the day she was nearly caught up and left her work station whistling cheerfully, buoyed by the idea of seeing Garrin one more time, in about twenty-four hours. Figuring she needed to mend fences with her colleagues, as her behavior had been odd for the last few days, she ate dinner in the mess tent and then participated in a few lively card games, making and losing small bets to the more skillful players’ amusement. Pleading her mythical head cold, she left early and headed for bed. Walking away from the noisy gathering, she reflected again how unreal being here now felt. Garrin was in the real world where momentous events were happening and the stakes were serious, nothing like few credits wagered on a card game and placating judgmental co-workers doubting her work ethic.

Pausing in the center of the camp, she tried to orient herself to how the area would have looked in Garrin’s time but it was nearly impossible to associate any of the mounds and partially excavated ruins to the fortress where she’d first seen him. And her second trip had been to a mountain fortification, like a medieval castle from the small amount she’d seen.

With a shrug, Dianora continued to her tent. Tomorrow night she’d see more and make every effort to use her training as an observer to soak in details. She had to be careful here in the present not to know too much. That was clear after the way Derek reacted to her slip with the name of the ancient enemy.

But no one would ever guess I was time traveling.

Satisfied, she went to bed and slept dreamlessly for a change.

The next dayDianora alternated between diligently working at her assigned tasks and making excursions to get her hands on the items she intended to take with her. She managed to appropriate one of the medkits, which contained a number of useful medinjects and sensors, designed to handle emergencies, and hid it in a backpack she intended to sling over her shoulder. The big acquisition, which she was amazed she”d had the daring and the luck to get her hands on was firepower. Two blasters and six recharges to be exact. She’d wandered into the supply hub in the midafternoon, when the dig was busiest and no one much was around camp and gotten one weapon with no trouble from the clerk, telling him a small lie about being assigned to go to the river dig tomorrow to pick up a load of new artifacts. Then when he was called away to attend to a more urgent matter, she’d forced herself to steal a second blaster and the recharges from an open crate stacked behind the ones the man was drawing stock from. She figured it would be a long time if ever before the weapons were discovered missing and no one would suspect her.

Certainly the clerk had no suspicions and she left the supply hub with her treasures safely in her deep cargo pockets, along with the ring tucked into its usual spot.

Isabel had complimented her on how well she’d cleared her backlog of pots and shards to clean and hinted at a better assignment in the near future. “Dr. Soren needs help uncovering the murals in the secondary chamber and you know we’re getting two interns in a few weeks. The students can take over this job and leave you free to learn new skills.”

Dianora thanked her extravagantly, afraid she’d overdone the grateful routine but Isabel left the area smiling. Dianora resumed her self-imposed task of making sure the memory in her handheld was full of the kinds of plans and drawings for technology a medieval society might be able to use to advance its level of civilization. Eventually the device would run out of power and of course she couldn’t connect to the interstellar net from thousands of years in the past but she hoped she could relay a good deal of the information to Garrin’s master craftspeople. The medkit held a device with a wealth of medical information which might be also useful. As long as Garrin’s people believed she was an emissary from the gods, they should accept her knowledge as a good thing, not sorcery. She hoped.

She was going to need a crash course in their belief system in order not to make any embarrassing mistakes. Another item for her endless to do list.

Every now and then small frissons of guilt ran through her. She was planning to upend the history of this planet even more than she already had when she saved Garrin’s life. She was fully intending to inject modern tech into a medieval world, which was another infraction of Sectors’ law. What gave her the right to meddle on such a massive scale? Each time the doubts ran through her mind she’d touch the ring in her pocket and square her shoulders. She’d been picked for this task. Maybe whatever spirit or intelligence lay in the AO jewel didn’t want the Argorn civilization to end with Garrin’s death. Who could ever even hazard a guess to what motivated the ancient alien visitors? All she knew was she couldn’t walk away from Garrin and his people now.

Dinner was torture for her since she planned to leave this time as soon as she got to her tent, but she figured she’d better act normal. Anticipation was building in her though, making her nerves taut and it was all she could manage to converse with people and play a few hands of cards after dessert.

Finally she was alone in her tent. Locking the flimsy door, she packed her backpack with the items she’d assembled. At the last minute she tucked one blaster into her cargo pants, where she could grab it easily if needed. After all I have no idea what kind of situation I’ll be arriving in the middle of.

Drawing a deep breath, Dianora withdrew the ring from its pocket and held it in her palm, while she looked around the tent. She wasn’t sure if she was actually planning to stay in the past—a lot would depend on what happened with Garrin, after the promising beginning of their one night spent talking and kissing—but she felt prepared for the eventuality. Laughing at herself, she slid the ring onto her finger and rubbed her thumb over the big gem, which was already glowing.

“Take me to Garrin.”

She emerged from the freezing cold into a maelstrom of men and Craadil battling each other fiercely, hacking at each other with swords and spears. The sound of the clashing weapons and men cursing and yelling was deafening and the sights in front of her eyes were so appalling she stumbled backward and fell. Blood and the wounded and dying were everywhere on the battlefield in front of her and she’d never experienced anything so horrifying in her entire life. Clinging to a nearby boulder, Dianora forced herself to her feet and tried to make sense of the spectacle. Garrin had to be close by or the ring wouldn’t have brought her here.

An arrow went zinging by her ear, barely missing her and she dodged, crouching beside the rock. Her stomach was heaving and she was crying. I can’t stay here. This is madness. It wasn’t even the danger she herself was in, being on the periphery of this deadly combat, which motivated her. She was overwhelmed by the nightmare of medieval style hand-to-hand battle she found herself in.

“Take me back to my quarters,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the stone in the ring.

Nothing happened.

With increasing panic she tried again with no result and had to accept she was stuck here for now. Getting behind the rock as much as possible, she peered around the edge and tried to find Garrin in the melee. He wasn’t too far away, fighting two Craadil warriors. His men were clustered in a loose circle with him at the center, trying to protect him as much as possible and defeat their enemy opponents. Garrin seemed distracted, as if he was fighting while trying to search the battlefield for something and she realized he must have gotten a glimpse of her.

As she watched, one Craadil nearly took off Garrin’s head with a scythelike weapon but the king ducked at the last second and slammed his sword into the enemy’s gut. Dianora swallowed bile and decided she had to reveal herself. Forcing Garrin to be distracted right now was going to be fatal. Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet and stepped away from the rock. “Garrin! Over here!”

He focused on her briefly, eyes widening, and began a renewed assault on the remaining enemy soldier attacking him. Dianora thought he was subtly shifting the battle in her direction. Telling herself he wouldn’t let her be captured or killed didn’t do much to soothe her terror. Let him reach her and she’d be safe though, she was sure. She tried to evaluate the state of the overall battle but had no frame of reference for such things. Were the Argorn winning or losing? Was it a stalemate?

A yell from close at hand startled her and she screamed as a Craadil soldier came at her, eyes gleaming red with battle fury. He parted his lips, displaying fearsome teeth and gave another guttural shout. Her translator handled the new language with no difficulty. “Garrin’s woman. I observed how he watches you, how desperate he is to reach this spot. You shall be mine, little pretty one, no matter how hard he fights to save you.”

Belatedly she fumbled with her pocket, frantically trying to draw the blaster and cursing herself for not having done so the instant she arrived. She had no time to complete the move, much less draw her weapon as the enemy grabbed her by the arm and lifted her from her feet as if she was a doll. He shook her, bringing her close to his face, where his fetid breath washed over her. Dianora tried to punch him but the man merely laughed at her effort.

There was an angry shout and the Craadil spun to face Garrin, who took advantage of the enemy’s distraction over his capture of Dianora and ran him through with the sword. Dianora fell to the ground with a thud as the wounded enemy launched a furious attack on Garrin. She crawled out of the way as the rest of what had to be Garrin’s personal guard came running up to help. The activity was attracting attention and other Craadil broke off their individual battles to come join in the skirmish over her.

With horror and a sense of déjà vu she knew this was the scene she’d dreamt twice, with Garrin and his men making a desperate last stand to protect her and hold off an overwhelming number of the enemy. She reached into her pocket, an icy calm coming over her, and withdrew the blaster. Prior to joining the expedition on Belmane she’d had the basic four hour course on using the weapon but had only fired at targets, never living beings. The blaster was heavy in her hand. Although it was more substantial than the ordinary civilian model she’d been told it wasn’t as rugged and deadly as the ones used by the Sectors military. Rising, she tried to take aim but the fighters were moving too fast and too close for her to take a chance on inflicting damage there.

She raised her aim toward the Craadil racing at them from every corner of the battlefield and targeted a particularly gruesome individual who appeared to be wearing a necklace of human ears. The blaster failed to fire and, cursing her ineptitude, she released the safety and tried again. The buzzing of the weapon was an odd counterpoint to the sounds of hand-to-hand combat. The Craadil she was aiming at fell, although she hadn’t done more than strike a glancing blow of the blaster’s power but she’d disabled him. Emboldened, she swept the ranks of the enemy line with a constant stream of the energy and saw the warriors fall, wounded or dead. The blaster beam set fire to the dry grasses of the battlefield and wind drove the flames toward the enemy lines.

Alerted by a sixth sense, she whirled, already firing and cut down a Craadil who had his axe raised to kill her. Beyond him was another pair of the enemy and she dispatched them as well. The brushfire was raging, the flames growing taller and no more Craadil emerged to challenge her.

Garrin swept her into his arms. “You’ve done well with your godly fire, my lady, but we must withdraw while the flames give us cover.”

Staring at the carnage around her, Dianora dropped the blaster from suddenly nerveless fingers, leaned over and threw up until she was faint and trembling. Going to her knees, she recovered the weapon but had no strength to stand. Sheathing his sword, barking orders at his men, Garrin lifted her from the ground and she clung to him, closing her eyes against the horrific sights of the battlefield where so many had fought. The Argorn took off at a dead run, heading for a line of trees in the distance.

“No horses? No chariots?” she said, more to herself than to Garrin. “This time has a lot of catching up to do.” Dianora bit her lip and shut up, concerned she was babbling.