illuminating a stark, unknown world of boulder and crag. He was cold, drenched to the skin, and the earth beneath him was shaking.
Noel looked up, half scrambling to his feet on instinct more than anything else. Out of the night came a group of horsemen, on top of him before he really saw them. Crying out, Noel threw himself to one side and rolled frantically to avoid the galloping slash of hooves.
One struck him a glancing blow anyway, and the pain was like a shock, numbing him all over again. More horsemen were coming, with yells that rent the night in furious counterpoint to the storm. Noel dodged and scrambled among the riders who were oblivious to his existence. Flashes of lightning in strobe action played upon upraised swords and metal helmets. The sounds of thunder, screaming horses, yelling men, and metal clanging upon metal were deafening.
Rain lashed into his eyes, half blinding him. He had one split-second glimpse of a horse coming at him before it knocked him aside with its chest, hooves digging, nostrils distended, white gleaming around its eye. Sheer instinct made Noel grab the reins to save himself from being trampled. The horse’s impetus slung him around hard enough to wrench his shoulders. He cried out and let go, stumbling to keep his balance. The rider swung at him with his sword.
Noel could not dodge it, and only luck and perhaps the darkness put the flat of the sword to him instead of the edge. Still, being struck by a yard long piece of iron packed a wallop that tumbled him down the slope.
Winded and gasping for air from his flattened lungs, he felt a sickening drop beneath him.
Fear came back, like hot bile in his throat, and he thought he had slipped back into the time stream. But it was only a short fall before he thudded onto solid ground again, and went rolling down the hillside with too much impetus to stop himself, lost in the darkness and the rain and the howling night while the battle raged on in a thunder of hooves, swords, and jingling harness, oblivious to his existence.
His shoulder hit something solid, like a boulder, and he slewed sideways, his wild progress slowed. He slid on his back several more feet down, scooping ice-cold mud down the neck of his tunic. He had time to realize that he wasn’t in Constantinople. He wasn’t in a city at all.
That realization brought a new brand of fear all its own. Then his head bumped against a stone, and the stars themselves fell upon him. He knew nothing more.
CHAPTER 2
“Poke ’em first ere ye cut their purses.”
“Aye, I’m doing it, ain’t I?”
“Well, poke ’em harder than that, ye dolt. The first one playing as he’s dead will put a dagger in yer throat.”
‘Then you do it!“
“Nay, get on with ye and stop dawdling. We’ve not got much time.”
“Look at this one. Not a mark on him. He must have looked up to call on God for mercy and drowned himself in last eve’s storm.”
“Blasphemous dolt! Hold tongue or it’ll be cut from ye.”
“All right, all right. It was only a joke.”
“A poor joke, and at God’s expense. If yer not careful, Thaddeus, ye’ll end up with a worm eatin‘ out yer soft parts.”
“Don’t say to me about worms, not and you half-poxed.”
“I’ll pox ye-”
The arguing voices buzzed in Noel’s head like angry bees. His comprehension came and faded, along with his hearing. A dim sense of curiosity enticed him to open his eyes, but they were glued shut and too heavy to bother.
“Ooh, look at this one. A fine ring on his finger, with a diamond even.”
“Let me see.”
“ ’Tis mine. I saw it first!”
“Let go, ye dolt. All we find today be goin’ to the treasury.”
“No fair, I say,” said Thaddeus, his voice a whine. “You don’t have to say all we found. It’s pretty. I want to keep it.”
“And how will ye wear it if all yer fingers be cut off yer hand, eh?”
Noel managed to drag open his eyes. He found himself staring into a man’s dead face, covered with blood dried black from the side of it that had been hewn away. A single brown eye stared sightlessly back at him.
Shock and nausea rose through Noel. With difficulty he held both down and closed his eyes again. Maybe, with luck, he was dead too.
A rustle told him the scavengers were coming closer.
“What’s this then? A pilgrim, do ye think?”
“Aye, George, by the look of him. But pilgrims have slim purses. Go on to the next one.”
“Nay,” said George. “Let’s steal his cloak. It be a fine blue color, and we can sell it for a good price at market. Poke him sharp now.”
“I’m not poking him. You do it.”
“Ye found him.”
“So and I did? You poke him.”
There came an oath and a rustle. Something pointed jabbed Noel hard in the ribs. In spite of his intention to play dead, his eyes jerked open.
Two dwarfs stood peering down at him, their heads looking too large for their ill-proportioned bodies. When he opened his eyes, they cried out and stumbled back. One slipped on the mud and sat down hard on his rump.
“Alive!”
“I warned ye!”
“Get away from him. He’ll go for us.”
“Be quiet, Thaddeus.” With a thump to his companion’s head, the dwarf in a green hood and homespun tunic turned back to Noel and knelt beside him. “No harm to ye, sir. No harm to ye.”
Sense returned to Noel. He was lying on his stomach, with one hand beneath him. His fingers groped stealthily and closed on the hilt of his dagger. All he had to do was draw it quick.
The dwarf in the green hood reached out his hand.
“Be careful, George!”
“Quiet,” said George over his shoulder. “Ye’ll spook him.”
“Even horses bite,” muttered Thaddeus, keeping his distance.
George reached out again, and Noel pushed himself to his hands and knees, bringing out his dagger before he keeled over again. He was as weak as a wet kitten.
He tried to lift his head. It felt incredibly heavy. “Byzantium,” he mumbled.
“What’d he say?” asked Thaddeus, creeping closer.
George pushed back his hood, revealing a shaggy mop of gray-grizzled hair so knotted and tangled it probably hadn’t been combed all year. “I made no sense of it.”
Noel raised his head higher and spat mud from his mouth. It tasted metallic and cold. He spat again. “Byzantium,” he said.
“What?”
“Byzantium,” said George. “Yer a stranger travelin’ far then, good sir, if ye mean yer from Constantinople.”
Noel frowned. “No,” he said. “ Going there. I am going there.”
“Not from here you won’t,” muttered Thaddeus. “He’s right addled, George. I’ll bet he don’t even know his name. Where does he think he is and who was he with, eh? Damned Byzantines all around us, ain’t there?”
Noel rolled himself onto one elbow and sat up. The world spun around him for a moment, then his vision
