Sean Dalton - Time trap

He never heard it, never sensed it. There was no rush of air, no whisper of sound although there should have been something to warn him.

The projectile hit the back of his skull with a force that felt as though the mountain had fallen on top of him. He stumbled, feeling his body go slack in midstep, feeling his arms fly up of their own volition, feeling himself fall. Glaring sheets of red and yellow flared inside his skull, blinding him. Then the pain rushed over him in a sticky, nauseating wave. Behind it came an awful blackness, one he wasn’t sure he could escape.

He fell, and never felt the ground.

Noel awakened by degrees, gradually becoming aware of intense, uncomfortable heat and overwhelming thirst. When he finally managed to drag open his eyes, he found himself lying on the ground. Sunlight beat harshly down. Heat radiated off the dusty ground and the cliff face towering above him.

Dim noises of other voices and the sounds of activity filtered in, none of it intrusive enough to bother him. Thoughts, drifting like puff clouds in his brain, slowly came together and began to make sense.

He remembered running. He remembered being shot in the back of the head. With effort he raised his hand and groped along the base of his throbbing skull. He touched a spot soggy with clotted blood, and his head exploded with agony.

“Easy, my friend,” said a voice.

A gentle hand gripped his shoulder while the clammy perspiration was wiped from his face with a cloth. Squinting, Noel fought back waves of stabbing pain, and stared up into a face silhouetted against the sun.

“Don’t speak,” said the man. “Are you thirsty?”

Noel’s tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He peeled it loose and managed to croak out, “Yes.”

His friend moved away, and Noel lay limp and uncaring of what happened to him. Somewhere behind the throbbing, a corner of his mind remembered that he had an emergency injection in his LOC device. Using it would give him a painkiller, and would also send an emergency assistance call to the main time computer. All he had to do was push it.

He rested a while longer, until the terrible pain ebbed to a bearable level.

“Here is water,” said his friend, returning.

Noel dragged open his eyes. Cautiously he lifted his head.

“Wait. I want to move you to the shade. Will it hurt you too much?”

“No,” he gasped. “Try.”

“Very well. Have courage. I shall probably hurt you.”

Strong hands scooped Noel up under the armpits and half lifted him. The pain came back with a vengeance, splitting jaggedly through his head until he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to hold back a cry. He was dragged a short distance and propped against the rocks. The coolness of the shade, however, was a relief that made it worthwhile.

Grasping his left wrist, Noel ran his fingers over the copper bracelet until he found the proper control hidden inside its circumference. Until now, although he’d been hurt once before on a mission, he’d always prided himself on his toughness in coping with anything that came his way. But this was different. He wanted out, and he wanted out now. It didn’t matter if these people around him saw him vanish into thin air.

He pressed the emergency call, and the LOC grew slightly warm upon his wrist. Relief coursed through him because until now he wasn’t sure if his device was even functioning. A few seconds later he felt a tiny prick; numbness went through his veins.

The man helping him gave him a cup of water. Noel found it icy cold and clean, and drank thirstily. Deadened by the drug, the pain faded in his skull. He let out his breath in relief and focused for the first time upon his new friend’s face. He had a few minutes before emergency assistance yanked him home. He did not want to think about the possibility that he might find himself trapped again between the time streams. The fear of once more facing that nightmare could not outweigh the fact that he was in serious trouble here, his mission out of control, and himself injured. Whatever the cost, he had to get out.

“Better now?” asked his benefactor.

Noel looked at the handsome, well-molded features beneath a rough-cut shock of thick chestnut hair. The man’s eyes were as blue as the Peloponnesian sky. He was young, perhaps twenty to twenty-five-although with these people’s short life spans that would be considered middle-aged. His face was tanned from hours in the sun, with tiny squint lines already cut into his skin at his eyes and mouth. A thick, puckered scar ran along his neck and disappeared beneath the embroidered collar of his tunic. His garb proclaimed him a rich man, for his heavy silk tunic was royal blue in color with purple lining the wide sleeves. His coat of arms was emblazoned at his collar and upon the hem of his tunic. His strong legs were encased in purple hose, and his shoes had been made from a heavy cloth that resembled tapestry. Thin, supple leather soles had been stitched to the bottoms for protection, and the points were fashionably long.

The man smiled and extended a well-shaped hand in friendship. Jewels made dull by the shade adorned his fingers.

“I am Theodore of Albania,” he said. His smile grew wry. “I would introduce myself as Theodore, governor of Mistra, but that, alas, seems unlikely to come true.”

Noel’s eyes widened. “You’re the prince who was ambushed last night.”

“Yes,” said Theodore. “Or at least I was. It seems you have caused them some confusion on the matter.”

“I–I don’t understand.”

“Although you handle the Frankish tongue fluently, your accent is that of a foreigner. I heard you taunt the boy in Latin, and it is of a very old-fashioned derivation that would interest my old tutor greatly. He was an antiquary and fancied himself rather an expert in Roman Latin.”

Noel wondered if he was hallucinating. Theodore’s answer made absolutely no sense. Raising his hand to his eyes, Noel rubbed them a moment. How much longer until the recall happened? He was sweating lightly, from concussion or from nervousness he couldn’t tell.

“I still don’t-”

“No, of course not. I tend to ramble from my point. It is a fault of mine,” said Theodore smoothly. ‘These bandits are a suspicious people. From something you said, I gather they are convinced that you are me.“

Noel frowned, feeling his headache threaten to return. “I- what?” he asked stupidly.

“It seems that despite my finery and my good manners, they do not think I am Theodore. I suppose they wish to convince themselves that I am a servant masquerading in your place. While you, good sir, in your simple clothes and awkward tongue, are the governor. They seem to admire you for nearly escaping their clutches. I wish I had thought of the ruse.” He made a comical face that had serious frustration behind it. “I might well be to the gates of Mistra by now.”

Noel’s hand fell to his lap. He frowned. “This is crazy.”

“Have some more water,” said Theodore. He put the cup to Noel’s lips, his gaze watching the bandit guard who wandered close to survey them for a moment before walking on. “Now, listen, my friend,” said Theodore in a low, urgent voice as soon as the guard was beyond earshot. “It is not such a crazy idea if we can make it work.”

Noel nearly choked on his last swallow of water. He sat upright too fast, and had to shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness. “No-”

“Hear me, please,” said Theodore, placing a hand upon his chest. “No harm can come to you this way, for I am too valuable as a ransom prisoner for killing. Convince them that you are Theodore the Bold, and I shall make you a rich man when this is over.”