Sean Dalton - Time trap

Noel shifted his gaze back to Theodore and frowned. The worst part of it was that he wanted to help this man. There was something noble-for lack of a better word-about the prince, some aspect of character that shone from within him even when he was worried and abstracted, as now. That kind of charm was hard to resist.

The words of his mentor Tchielskov came back to Noel, haunting him: “ You must not involve yourself with the lives and concerns of the people you encounter. Change no course of events. That is our primary directive. Interfere, and you alter history forever. Meddle, and you might eliminate your own existence. Remember that when your heart urges you to practice compassion.”

“Something is wrong about this,” said Noel aloud, still frowning.

Theodore’s gaze swung to meet his. “Obviously.”

“I’m not talking about morality,” snapped Noel. “The ambush. Your men scattered upon the mountainside. How many? Fifty?”

“Seventy-two.” Theodore’s eyes held anguish. “All dead? Or any wounded?”

Noel thought of the scavenging dwarfs and their little daggers. He looked away first. “All dead.”

Theodore remained silent.

Noel said, “But that’s what I mean. Seventy men at arms, enough to man a garrison, and these hill bandits take them out? It doesn’t add up.”

“The Milengi did not carry the main brunt of the fighting,” said Theodore, giving him an odd look. “It was that fiend, Magnin Phrangopoulos, and his army who came upon us like the hounds of hell. To engage in combat without announcement, to engage in combat from ambush, and at night… he may call himself a knight, but God pity his black soul, if he still has one.”

“Look,” said Noel, unable to resist his own curiosity, “your pride is hurt right now. It was a nice post, being governor, but your emperor will ransom you. At least your hide is still intact. You’ll get assigned another post. You don’t have to take this to heart-”

“Hell’s teeth, how dare you tell me to fold my bones and be grateful I can sit far away from the action while that damned gasmoule bastard has Sophia in his clutches!”

His voice carried loudly enough to cause the guard and some of the other bandits to glance their way. Noel reached out and caught Theodore’s wrist.

“Calm down,” he said. “I just asked. Who’s Sophia?”

Theodore shook off his hand. His eyes burned like fire. ‘The Lady Sophia is my betrothed.“

“Uh-oh. He grabbed her during the ambush and made off with her? No wonder you’re so upset.”

“Upset? I-how can you be so ignorant of the world around you? Lady Sophia lives at Mistra. Her father was its most recent governor, and his death opened the post for my appointment. She is alone at the castle, defenseless save for the garrison there that has probably surrendered by now to Sir Magnin’s forces. Who is to protect her?”

“Someone will,” said Noel.

His quick assurance received the stony glare it deserved.

Uncomfortable, Noel shrugged but a warning twinge from his skull told him not to move. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “You’re saying she has no one to watch out for her? No trusty servants?”

“I am saying that Lady Sophia is sixteen, fair, and innocent, no match for a man who knows not God, who mocks all laws save that which his sword arm makes for him, who pillages and thieves and stirs people into revolt against their masters. She… she is on yon hill, a half day’s ride from me. I am this close, and I can do nothing!”

Theodore’s eyes were so raw with anxiety it felt like an intrusion to watch him. “She is waiting for me to rescue her. I am her only hope. How long can she hold out?”

“I do offer you my sympathy,” said Noel, “but-”

“I am her protector!” cried Theodore. “If I fail her, if I fail her…” His voice quivered away and he put his hands to his face.

Noel frowned, disturbed by the man’s weeping. A wave of compassion swept him and before he could stop himself, he set his hand upon Theodore’s shoulder in silent comfort. Inside he raged at the imperative that kept him from getting directly involved in the lives of history. He hated inaction. He hated appearing cold and heartless before this man, who wept before him without shame.

Briefly he knew the temptation to strike back at fate. If he were indeed trapped here, then why not live as he chose? Why not interfere? After all, those who had sabotaged him would have to suffer the consequences, not him.

But once you adopted a principle you didn’t throw it off just because the going got rough. Besides, he didn’t want to think about having to spend the rest of his life here. It brought back that numb, crawling sense of hopelessness to the pit of his stomach.

Who was to say, however, that Sir Magnin’s usurpation of power was the way history was supposed to go?

You are going to get in awful trouble for this, accused a voice in his head.

Noel hesitated a moment longer, but he hurt, and he was mad, and he was scared. Maybe the only way to get the Institute’s attention was to kick the time paradox principle to hell. Maybe then they’d think about rescuing him.

“All right,” he said. He tapped Theodore on the shoulder. “Come on. You’ve squeezed enough tears.”

Theodore’s chestnut head whipped up. “You think I am unmanly?”

“Where I come from we don’t cry over trouble. We do something about it.”

“Oh, brave words indeed,” said Theodore, mocking him. “Having refused my request, you now choose to criticize-”

“I’ll help,” said Noel.

“What?”

Noel wriggled a little, feeling uneasy, but determined to go through with his decision. “I said I’ll help. Briefly. If you think these Greeks are going to really believe I’m the prince, then I’ll go along for a while. But only a short while, understand?”

Theodore gripped his hand, a smile shining from his blue eyes. “Only until I make good my escape. You have my thanks, Noel of Kedran.” He glanced around swiftly to be certain they were unobserved, then shifted so that his back blocked the guard’s view of Noel. Drawing something from a pocket in his sleeve, he passed it to Noel. “Here. My seal of office. Guard it with your life.”

Uneasily Noel wondered what his impulsiveness had gotten him into. But he allowed Theodore to put the object in his hand. The seal was made of gold, and although small, it was quite heavy. He looked at the relief of a two-headed eagle and recognized it as the symbol of Imperial Byzantium. Tracing it with his finger, he shivered as a sense of history flowed from it into his flesh.

“I’ll keep it safe,” he said. “You have my word.”

Theodore smiled, his whole face lighting up with a charisma that made Noel wonder how he had managed to resist the man this long. “I have a plan,” said the prince in a low, eager voice. “It is a desperate one, full of risk, but with God’s help we shall make it work. Listen closely.”

Noel leaned toward him, but his attention was distracted by a horse and rider galloping into the camp and plunging to a halt in a dramatic swirl of dust.

Theodore turned to look also, and his face went pale.

“What is it?” asked Noel in alarm. “Who-”

“See the badge of the falcon on his left shoulder?” whispered Theodore in a hollow voice. “It is one of Sir Magnin’s men.”

A cheer rose from the gathering bandits, and Theodore’s shoulders dropped. “God help us all,” he said in despair. “He must have taken the castle.”

The other courtiers came running from the far end of the pen. “My lord!”

Quick as lightning, Theodore whirled to his feet. “Nicholas, all of you, heed me,” he said. ‘This is Noel of Kedran, a stranger who has agreed to join our cause-“