John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

“Quisnam est illic?” The man turned, squaring off, as he peered in her direction, his sword at the ready.

Then something in her mind snapped and her body moved. She leapt up, barely able to mount the skittish steed again, and her pulse raced as she saw two, then three men start towards her, stopping when they saw she had mounted.

“Ad Equos!” One man shouted, and they ran to secure their horses, preparing to mount and give chase.

Maeve was up, finally shifted into riding position as the rush of adrenaline chased the emotion from her mind with pulsing fear. Her sudden movement caused the Arabian to rear up, turning its head to cast a wide eyed glance at the oncoming soldiers. At that moment she heard a taught snap and the leather rein gave way, suddenly slack in her hands. The tumult of the horse’s movement almost threw her free, but she leaned forward to hold on to the horses neck and mane. Kuhaylan regained his balance, came down, and thundered away, gaining speed even as he ran up the low embankment of the river, a silvered blur in the night.

It took all her skill, but she was able to steer him west across a grassy field towards the old Roman road by using her legs and reinforcing every desired direction with her voice. She could hear the sound of riders behind her, laboring up the embankment to give chase, but no horse in the land was the equal of Kuhaylan that night, and he ran full out, galloping away, drinking the wind as his powerful body carried her out onto the road. The clatter of his hooves and the wind in her ears was all she could hear now, and she rode north, a cold rippling wave of chaos in the night.

“I think we’ve got her!”Kelly was jubilant as he completed the retraction sequence. “Let’s get down to the Arch. I want to make certain she phased in properly. Come on!”

The three of them rushed to open the heavy metal door and make their way down to the Arch. When they arrived they found Maeve sitting there, legs crossed, though her hooded outer cloak and robe were missing.

Kelly was the first to her side, extending a hand to help her up with a warm smile. She seemed somewhat disoriented, and her eyes were swollen and red, as though she had been crying. He put his arms around her, guiding her back across the thick yellow event horizon to the safety of the inner chamber where the others waited.

She blinked at them, and Paul was the first to speak. “I know we asked a great deal of you, Maeve,” he said.

“Thank God,” she sighed with obvious relief. “You got me out just in time. I made it to the entry point well enough, with Dodo and his men in hot pursuit, though they were well behind me. But I was about to have company! There were also men waiting there, out on the road, and a cleric as well. It was all I could do to steal up and get close to that tree stump, but they saw me and one of the men came running at me just as I felt the shift begin. I slapped the Arabian’s rump as hard as I could, and the horse bolted. That bought me just enough time I suppose…”

She nodded sullenly, still taking comfort in the warmth of Kelly’s arm. “That apple was a good idea,” she said at last. “I fed it to the horse.”

“And the note?” Paul asked, still not certain she had been able to decipher the message and take any decisive action.

“Oh, I got the note,” she eyed him sternly. “I read it and then ate the damn thing. Couldn’t risk a piece of that nice lined paper floating off into the 8th century in a careless moment. But that was the least of my worries. Alright… I killed the bishop, saved the realm, and rode off to glory. What’s next?” She smiled wanly, but they could see she was still shaken with emotion.

“Sounds like a good game of Darkspawn Chronicles,” said Kelly smiling. “Let’s get you upstairs and get some coffee. Then we can check the Golems and see if you actually did save the realm.”

Nordhausen was too impatient to wait. “What did you decide, Maeve? What did you do? Anything?”

She told them the story of her encounter at the farm and all that happened afterwards as they rode the elevator up and made their way back along the long corridor. The incident with the wolves seemed to register with Paul. He recalled his own harrowing encounter with a wolf outside the hidden archive when he had fallen through the Well of Souls and was lost in the land of the Assassins.

Robert was amazed at how the hieroglyphics had so clearly sketched out the imperatives in that last wild scene where Dodo and his men came upon the bishop.

“A loose twine!” he said, amazed. “So it had nothing to do with a corral in the Arab camp, or even the rein on that Arabian, eh?”

“Well…” Maeve hesitated a moment. “Now that you mention it, thank God that rein snapped when it did. It loosened the pressure on the horse’s mouth and stopped him from rearing even more at a critical moment. I was able to get him down and into a run, and that saved me. I owe that horse my life a few times over.”

Robert was suddenly energized, and was the first to rush to a History Module when they reached the lab, eager to see if anything had changed.

“Believe me,” said Maeve. “It was hell to stand there and watch that. I really don’t know if I could do that again.”

“Well, I know its small consolation, “ said Paul, “but Robert and I are grateful we won’t have to shift in and murder Lambert ourselves!”

“No, I made certain someone else got the job,” she said flippantly, but he could see she was still deeply troubled.

Paul gave her a reassuring touch on her shoulder. “You were the only one who could have done it, Maeve. Just riding the damn horses would have been beyond any of the rest of us. You did what you had to do, in the heat of the moment and with great clarity, in spite of how frightening it must have been. Well done!” he finished with a smile.

Nordhausen shouted at them from the History Module. “Get over here, people! We’ve got variations!”

The Golems were churning and sifting and sampling the Meridians, and Robert was the first to see that the colors were already changing. “Look,” he pointed. These years are all turning from yellow to green now.”

Paul looked and saw the colors changing all through the cells marking the early 8th century. The year 705 was now a solid green, as were all the years after until the line reached the year 714. There it remained stubbornly amber. “That’s odd,” he said. “Kelly, should we give this more time?”

“I’d love to say we had plenty to give,” said Kelly, but we’ve got about ninety minutes fuel left on the number three generator. Our closer got us through the eighth inning here, but I’m not sure he can get us those last three outs.” He was at their side, now, still holding Maeve’s hand. “What’s the problem?”

“We’re seeing no changes beyond this year,” said Paul. “714… Wasn’t that the year Pippin dies?”

“It’s also the year Grimwald was supposed to have been killed at Lambert’s chapel,” said Maeve.

“Right,” said Paul. “But the variations seem stuck on that point in the continuum. Lambert’s death looks like it was not entirely decisive.”

“He wasn’t killed at the villa!” Robert pointed excitedly. “He was killed at the ferry by the river this time. The Bishop Hubert was the one who ordered the chapel to be built at the site of Lambert’s death, and that chapel became the center of the future city of Liège. Has it moved?”

Paul called up a map from the Golem data. “Hard to tell when you look at the city in contemporary times,” he said.

“No,” said Maeve. “I was there. The ferry site was not that far from Lambert’s villa at Leodium. It would not have affected the location of the city that much, but it may have had some impact on the assassination of Grimwald.”