But he woke slowly, and as the dreams faded their details melted like fog, and he could no longer remember them. His nightmares were replaced by reality, and that was almost more frightening than the dreams.

He sat up slowly, the soreness in his muscles a reminder of yesterday, of running for his life. He groaned, and looked around. Dim light was filtering through roots that made up the entrance of the cave, morning light. Pocahontas was sitting with her back against the wall a few feet away. As far away as she could, actually. It was a small cave.

“Good dawn,” she said. Another one of her weird phases. English, yes, just not quite right. Another world. He shivered.

“Good morning,” he croaked, and she tilted her head to the side. That must sound as strange to her as what she said does to me. Oh well.

She tossed the water jug to him. It was almost empty, so he only took a sip.

“Finish it,” she said. “We have another long walk ahead of us today, and it will do more good in your stomach.”

Hopefully it would be at a little slower pace this time or he might not survive. He swallowed the water.

“I don’t think I asked your name last night,” he said, more clearly now.

“My name is Llara,” she said. She sort of…rolled the first “L”. He was not sure he would be able to imitate it.

“Llara what?” he said. Eh, not as hard as it sounds.

“My full name is elven, and very, very long. I sometimes use my Uncle’s name, ka’Vardin, when I am trying to avoid attention. It is a common enough name here in the north. But you should just call me Llara.”

He smiled. “Alright then. Llara it is.” He set down the jug, and started brushing sand off his shirt. It had actually been rather comfortable, considering. “Hey,” he said, “what do you mean, ‘the north’. Where are we?”

“Oh, I forgot that you don’t know,” she said. “Of course you don’t know. We are in one of the northern most areas of civilized habitation. It is only about a fortnight’s walk north of here to the Icewall Mountains, and beyond them is the White Waste, where the snow doesn’t melt, even in the summer. No one human lives there, that I know of, and only a few go hunting there in the summer.”

“Wow. Okay, it certainly doesn’t feel that cold. It’s about the same as it was in the foothills of the Smokies, in October. I mean, it’s not warm, and I’m glad I have my hiking clothes, but it doesn’t feel like the ‘Frigid North’.” He wiggled his fingers in air-quotes.

“Midsummer was two days ago. This is as warm as it gets here. I don’t know where your October is, but you are fortunate that you came here in the summer. In the winter you would have already frozen to death in those clothes.”

“God, it feels like everything in this world wants to kill me. Orcs, rocks, the freakin’ ground falling out, and now I avoided freezing to death by shear luck. Wonderful.”

She smiled. “Well, I don’t want to kill you. Yet.”

“Gee, thanks. And October is a month, by the way. In the Fall. The Smoky Mountains are where I was hiking.”

“Interesting. There is a Smoky Mountains here as well. They are far to the South and East of here, and are rather smaller than Icewall Mountains. My Uncle told me that they were so named because the morning fog never seems to go away. I wonder if yours are named for the same reason.”

“I don’t know. It makes sense, though.”

“You will have to tell me more of this October the Month, but first…” she tossed him the small bag she had unburied last night. “Cheese, and smoked venison, and bread. Well, hardtack, which is like bread but has the potential to break your teeth. And lasts forever, which is the primary reason for it. None of it is particularly tasty, but it will fill our stomachs, and there is enough there for a few days.”

She started crawling toward the entrance. “Now, enough sitting. If we move quickly, we should be able to make it to my uncle’s cottage almost before sunset. But we will have to eat while we walk.”

Kyle grabbed the bag, and his sword - his sword. It still sounded strange.

He crawled out of the cave after her.

The sun had just risen, and the light was still soft as it filtered though the huge trees. They seemed like some kind of pine or cyprus, but he wasn’t sure. It was beautiful. He looked around for a moment, entranced. Llara had already started walking, and after a moment, he followed her.

“They certainly are majestic, aren’t they,” she said, looking back at him.

“They’re beautiful. What are they called?”

“The darrow tree. They are, all of them, much older than us. Some of them were probably alive at the fall of the Empire.

“Now,” she said, “we need to be fairly quiet, but tell me more about this October the Month.”

He smiled, and told her.

Honestly, it sounded like a dream. Or the ravings of a madman. But there was a hint of truth to it. For one thing, although the world was large, and there were many lands Llara had never seen, she had never heard of any place like the ones he spoke of. The names were strange, and from what she could tell from what he was saying, the customs even stranger. How could he have flown from one land to another? Were their Wizards that powerful there?

There was also the little details about his journey - the floating bridge in the tunnel of clouds, the doorway like water - that were too close to what her uncle had talked about to be coincidence. Either this was an informed lie, a well planned deception, or…or Kyle was telling the truth.

“Then I woke up on that hill. You know the rest.”

She was quiet for another moment, then said “I think you may be from another world.”

“Yeah, or I’m crazy. I quit thinking I had somehow ended up in Zimbabwe when you showed up.”

Zimbabwe. Another strange name. “What is the name of your world?”

“Um…Earth?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a question? No, no. I understand your hesitation. It sounds like a strange question to me as well. But it is yet another confirmation that you are not from this world.

“This world is called Turmia, which is a word from the Ancient elven language. I believe it once simply meant ‘here’, or ‘all of this’. Something like that. My point is that even if you were from a far away land, you would know that this place is called Turmia, and by your expression it is clear you have never heard that before. The elven empire covered all the world, and the name is the same in every language.”

Kyle grunted. She was not sure what that meant. Perhaps he was still not convinced himself? Perhaps he still thought he was in a far-away land in his own world?

“My uncle told me once that there are many worlds, not just one, and that they are layered on top of each other like a pile of leaves. Each world, each universe, its own leaf. Those who live in each universe never know that there are others, because we cannot see outside of our own leaf. Our own world.

“He said that it is very, very hard to cross from one world to another, almost impossible. But there is a way, something called the Well of Worlds. It’s like a tunnel between worlds. And that sounds it could be the tunnel of clouds you saw. I don’t know how you managed to get across, but I can only guess that is has something to do with that stone. Perhaps it is like a key for the Well of Worlds.”

Kyle leaned back against the wall. He sighed. “Well, at least you believe me. I’m still half convinced I’m nuts, an’ I’m not sure what that says about you, but at least you’re not treating me like a raving lunatic. And I’ve seen some pretty weird shit. Shit that seems real. Maybe too real to be my imagination.”

“I think I should bring you to my uncle. He could tell us more. Like how I am able to understand your speech. It seems like another world should have another language.”

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ that myself. What was that weird, babble, er whatever, that you were saying when you first started running at me?”

“Babble? Hardly. I’m not sure exactly what I said, but I was warning you about the orcs, and you just stood there like a stone, staring at me like I had two heads. Then, well, then the orcs got there.”

“Yeah. Fun guys.”

She looked at him sharply. Fun? Was he in league with them after all? Then she realized he was being sarcastic. He seemed to do that often. Perhaps it was a sign of nervousness?

She took her hand off her sword. She did not remember putting it there.

“You’re joking.”

“Um, yeah. Sorry. Maybe not the best time. Your village. Sorry.”

“Not my village, but I am also sorry.”

Suddenly she yawned. Damn, she was tired. She had been up well before dawn, and it was dusk now. And she had been running and fighting all day. But did she trust this stranger enough to sleep with him here?

Kyle yawned then, and she yawned again in response. Damn, she would just have to risk it, and hope her watchdog spell would wake her up if he tried anything.

“Let’s sleep. We have a long day in front of us tomorrow. I have more questions, and I am sure you do too, but they will have to wait. I am exhausted.”

“Fair enough. Should we, like take turns keeping watch or something?”

“The orcs will not find us here.”

“Um, ok. How do you know?”

“This place is hidden from them. They could not find it even if they knew where to look.” At least, I hope so, she thought. These orcs were something new, maybe they could pierce a ward. Well, she did not exactly have a choice. There was no where else to go.

“Right. I’d argue with that, but I’m exhausted.” Kyle laid his back on the sand, and seemed to fall asleep.

Llara muttered a prayer under her breath and laid down as well, at the other end of the cave. 

She was asleep almost before her head touched the sand.

He looked at Pocahontas - er, Llara. He could see her quite clearly now in the bright light from the stone. Her pale skin was green in the light, and she looked almost as shocked as he felt.

Then he felt it. The tingle of something in his palm, like a tiny, gentle spark of electricity between his hand and the stone. His memory flashed back to what had happened last time he held the stone, and he dropped it.

He was surprised to find that he actually managed to let go this time. 

The stone hit the sandy floor with a gentle thud, and the light went out.

Kyle stared into the dark as his eyes adjusted to the dim-again cave. What the fuck was that?

“Let me see that.” Llara was holding out her hand and looking at him in puzzlement.

“Fuck that shit. Get it yourself. I’m not touching it again.”

She just looked at him.

“It started to do that tingly thing in my hand again. Last time that happened, I blacked out and woke up on a floating bridge in the middle of a tornado, then ended up here gettin’ spears thrown at me. So fuck that shit. Get it yourself.”

“Fine.” She reached down and picked it up. It did not glow.

Llara studied the stone, turning it around in her hand. “Can you read this writing?”

“No.”

“It looks a little like Dwarven, which is odd.”

Kyle started laughing. Right, that was odd. Sure.

“Why are you laughing?”

He laughed harder, then started coughing. Still recovering from the run. He drank some more water.

“Sorry. Dwarven. Right. That’s odd. As opposed to everything else that’s happened. As opposed to sitting in a cave, hiding from orcs, with a girl who can apparently recognize dwarven writing. Because I’m in middle earth and dwarves exist here.”

She was looking at him, saying nothing. He looked back at her. “What?”

“At first, I thought that you were from some city in the south, and you had no knowledge of orcs because you don’t have them there. And you dressed so strange because you were a noble. Now I think I was wrong. You are from much farther away than that. I think you may be from another world. That, or you’re crazy.”

“I’m startin’ to wonder that myself.”

“For now, I’ll assume you are not insane. And not lying.” She put the stone back on the sandy floor. “Tell me exactly what happened when you first picked up this stone.”

He did.

Of course, Pocahontas was not even breathing hard.

They had run for what seemed like hours. It had not even been a simple run over even ground, which would have been hard. Instead it had been a crouched darting and weaving through trees and undergrowth, trying to make as little noise as possible. His legs had started to hurt after only a few minutes, but every time he started to think about stopping there would be a noise or movement in the forest, just out of sight. A constant reminder of their pursuit. Each time they heard or saw something the girl he was following would change directions and speed up, and somehow they managed to avoid contact.

After only a little while he had been too tired to even see clearly, much less think. All he could do was follow her, and he knew that if he had been alone he would surely have been caught.

The girl, on the other hand, moved through the forest like she had been born for it. She never seemed to tire, made almost no noise, and always seemed to know where she was going.

Kyle was finally starting to catch his breath, and he looked around a little.

They were in a tiny space under the root base of an old tree, where two rocks leaned against each other. The tree had grown over the two boulders, and covered them, forming a triangular space underneath. The entrance was a hole between the roots of the tree, barely big enough for Kyle to fit through, and completely concealed in underbrush. The cave was only about ten feet long, and maybe six feet wide at the back and narrower near the entrance. There was just enough headroom at the peak of the cave for Kyle to sit up, so he did.

The girl was at the back of the cave, her back to him, digging at the dirt floor.

Kyle said “What-” but at that moment she pulled something out of the dirt and turner around.

“Good,” she held up a bag. “Still here.” It was covered in dirt, but it looked like canvas coated in wax. She pulled at the wax at the top, ripping it off and pulling the bag open. She pulled a small cloth-covered bundle out of the bag, and unwrapped it. “And still good.”

She dug a bit more, and pulled a pair of clay jugs out of the dirt, their tops also sealed with wax. She tossed one to Kyle. “Water. Drink up.”

Kyle tore the wax seal off, pulled out the cork, and chugged.

He downed almost half the bottle before stopping and gasping for breath. The last time he had something to drink he had still been in Tennessee.

“Alright then, stranger.” She was looking at him intently. “Let’s talk.”

“Heh. Yeah, let’s. How ’bout we start with where the hell are we, and why are people trying to kill us? What did you do to them, and why’d you have to get me mixed up in it?”

She blinked. “What? I did nothing. They’re orcs. Killing is what they do.”

“Are they some kind of gang, or something?”

“I…I’m not sure what you mean. They are orcs. Do you not have orcs in the south?”

“What?” Kyle stared at her for a moment. “You keep saying ‘orks’, do you mean, like, Orcs? Like real orcs, like Tolkien orcs?”

“I’m not sure what tribe they are, but yes, orcs. Although these are much more organized than I’ve seen before. I saw them marching rank and file this morning. Not sure what that means, but it can’t be good.” She paused for a moment, staring at nothing, distracted.

Kyle leaned back against the wall of the cave. “Great. I’m in Middle Earth. God, I must be tripping. Or in a coma. Or something.”

The girl looked at him again. “Well, either all Southerners are this strange, or you are sun-touched. Either way, let’s start again. My name is Llara ka’Vardin.  What’s yours?”

“Kyle Hunter.”

“Ky-el. Interesting. I can tell from your clothes that you are quite wealthy in your land, and you are clearly not from the north. So, nobleman, where are you from?”

“I live in Atlanta, but originally I’m from Florida. And until last night, I was in Tennessee. Now where the fuck am I now?”

“I’ve heard of none of these places. This is the Darrowood, and we’re almost a day’s hike north of New Rinsdale. Or where New Rinsdale used to be.”

“Oh god. I’ve got to be tripping.”

“No, you are, um, sitting. Were you hit on the head recently? Perhaps when you fell?”

“God I hope so.”

She blinked. “That is a strange wish.” She carefully wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sort sword at her waist. “You’d best tell me how you came to be alone on Broken Hill in the middle of an orc invasion. If you had anything to do with what happened in New Rinsdale, I swear by Kala I will end you now, addled or not.”

Kyle held out his hands, and backed away a little. He did not like the look in her eyes. “Woah, woah, calm down. I’ve never even heard of New Rinsdale. And the last thing I want to do is get involved in some gang shit.”

“Speak, Ky-el. Tell me your story. Now.”

“Um…” How much of it should he tell her? How much of it was he sure of anyway? “Look, I was just hiking the Appalachian Trail, and I saw this shiny rock in the water. I reached down to get it, and I must have hit my head or something, because next thing I know I’m face down on that hill. Okay? That’s all I know.”

“You’re lying.” Her hand tightened on the sword.

Shit. He was not even sure himself what had happened, how could he explain it to her? Well, he had better think of something, she looked like she thought he was working with the orcs or something  

“Look, I don’t know what happened, I swear. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know how to get home. If I did, I’d be out of here right now. See, here’s the rock I was talking about!” He fumbled in his pocket, and yanked out the rock, glad it was still there.

Light was filtering in through the vegetation blocking the entrance to the little cave, just barely enough to see. Kyle’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and when he pulled the stone from his pocket he expected to see it glimmer, just a bit, in the dim light. Like it had in the water when he found it.

He did not, however, expect it to glow.

She glanced back at the man, and sighed. Honestly, he was not doing all that bad. He was no hunter, but he moved much quieter than most cityfolk. It seemed he did have some experience in traveling in the forest, and he was keeping up with her rather well. He was breathing heavily, obviously pushing himself, but they were moving quickly. Not as quickly as she would have liked, but faster than she had expected a city dweller to manage.

On the other hand, she did not have much experience with people from the cities. She was making assumptions, something her uncle always warned her about. Conclusions based on assumed facts made for foolish decisions, as he said.

Llara studied the man for a moment as he followed her through the woods. He was tall, but not excessively so, and had an average build. He was fairly well muscled, but they were soft, like he had gotten them from sport, not work.

He had dark brown hair, cut somewhat short. He barely had a beard, just some stubble. He had clearly shaved recently, no more than two or three days. His skin was clear, with no scars or marks, and darker than hers. Darker than most everyone in the north. She had heard that men from the south had darker skin, so perhaps he was from there.

His clothes were very fine, although they were somewhat torn and durtied now, and that alone placed him as coming from the wealthy cities to the south. In fact, the cloth his clothes were made of was so fine that she guessed he was a noble of some kind. They were very strangely styled, nothing like she had seen before, but of course her exposure had been limited. She had seen a few officials of the Queen in New Rinsdale, a very few, and many merchants over the years, although only a few truly wealthy ones. None of them dressed like this man. He must be from farther south, she thought.

She was thankful for the differences, of course. The rich city folk she had seen had all dressed in bright colors, and the wealthier or more important they were, the brighter. This one was dressed in greens and browns, and although the greens and browns were brighter and clearer than any she had seen, at least they blended in with the forest.

She wondered what his story was. She still did not know why he had been on Broken Hill, miles from any road or town, alone and unarmed. And so clearly confused. He had looked more puzzled at seeing her than she had at seeing him.

Well, both of their questions would have to wait. For the moment they were running for their lives.

She glanced back at him again. He was obviously tiring quickly. It was clear he could not keep this pace up for much longer.

“Listen,” Llara said. He looked up at her, panting. “I know a place near here where we can rest. We’ll talk then. Okay?”

He was panting heavily, but he nodded, and managed to say “Okay.”

The dream had been so vivid, it had almost felt like it was real. He could almost feel the cold from the snow on his feet.

He blinked again, and looked around. He was standing, somehow, and breathing heavily. He was holding something, and when he looked down it was - the sword from the dream!

Kyle shook his head. What the hell? It was wet, and dripping onto the floor.

He looked around, and behind him on the floor was the body of the man from the woods.  He was laying on his back in a pool of liquid, completely still, and oh my god that’s blood.

He had not seen it right away, because the dim light made it hard for him to distinguish the dark red from black. The man had been eviscerated, guts spilling out onto the floor. The stench hit him then, the foul smell of feces and the iron taste of blood, and his stomach rebelled.

He turned away, and threw up. He shuddered, and heaved.

After a few minutes, he recovered enough to move. He stood, breathing shallowly and carefully facing away from the body. He had dropped the sword when he threw up, but he grabbed it again. There were still two of those men out there trying to kill him, and at least he would have something to defend himself with. There was still blood on it, but thankfully it was not dripping anymore.

He edged around the body, looked around. The room was large, circular, and filled with debris.  The stone ceiling had fallen in several places, although light was only coming through in the one. Around the edges of the room were arranged a half-circle of stone…tombs? They were huge stone blocks, around four feet high by four feet wide, and almost eight feet long. On the top of each one was a carved stone statue of a knight, in full armor, laying on its back as if asleep. Each one held a carved stone sword, hands clasped around the hilt at their chests and blades facing downward.

All except one. The statue closet to Kyle had no sword.

Kyle looked at the metal sword in his hand, and shuddered. Frighteningly, this was not the weirdest thing that had happened today.

Suddenly the light got dimmer, and Kyle looked up at the hole in the roof.

There was a silhouette of a head over the hole, but it was two small for one of the men from the woods.

“Hey, you alive down there?” It was the girl. Pocahontas.

“Yes! Yes! I’m right here!” Kyle ran to the debris pile and waved. He still had no idea who this girl was, but at least she was not trying to kill him, and maybe she could get him out of this hole.

“Huh, you made it. I thought I saw one of the Orcs crawl down there after you.” 

“Um, yeah.” Kyle’s stomach heaved again at the thought of what had happened to the other man, but he managed to control it.

“Wow. You’re tougher than you look. Hang on, I have a rope.” She disappeared, and a moment later the end of a rope dropped down through the hole. Her head appeared again. “I tied it off to a rock, but I’m gonna hold it too.  Your gonna have to climb.” She disappeared again.

Kyle grabbed the rope and looked at it. It was thin, and almost felt like silk, but there were knots tied in it every foot or so. He had never been much good at rope climbing, but he knew the concept, and was certainly motivated.

He carefully tucked the sword through his belt, like he had seen on movies, trying to angle it so it would not stab him. And he climbed. 

It was surprisingly easy. Maybe he was in better shape then he thought. He pulled himself up through the hole, and rolled onto his back in the heather, breathing heavily.

“Merciful Kala, you are slow.” She was rolling up the rope and shoving it into a brown leather backpack. He grunted, and stood up.

“Thanks for getting me out of there, but who are you? Where are we?”

She glared at him while she slung the backpack over he shoulder. “No time for that now. There’s a lot more of them out there, and we weren’t exactly quiet.”

There was a noise in the forest, and Kyle stiffened.

“I hope you can run,” she said, “because I’m not gonna die ’cause I was waitin’ for you.” She started running, away from the noise and towards the forest on the other side of the hill.

“Shit,” Kyle muttered, and he ran after her.

It creaked when his enemy moved as well.

He looked at the man in front of him. It was one of the barbarians, the savages of the north. The man wore animal skins, poorly tanned, and his hair was long and dirty. There was blue paint on the mans face, in geometric patterns meant to make him look fierce. Or perhaps it was some religious thing, a call for strength to the barbarian’s savage gods.

The man carried a sword, a long blade and a long handle. It looked rather unwieldy, but the barbarian was built like a brick house and was probably considerably agile. He would have to be careful.

He glanced at the barbarian’s boots, furred things made from the skin of some northern animal. They looked warm. He looked at his own, steel boots, and grimaced.

It was at that moment that the barbarian screamed, a wordless howl of rage and challenge, and charged. 

The man moved faster than seemed possible, considering his size. Still, he was able to dodge aside at the last moment, catching the barbarian’s long blade on his own sword and turning it aside just enough to get out of the way. The impact made a ringing sound, and the vibration shook his hand. He had been right, the barbarian could swing that sword a lot faster than it looked.

He snapped his sword up, again just in time to deflect a blow. This one would have taken his head clean off, had he been a little slower.  The vibration from the impact made his hand a little numb, but he was not worried.

Again the swing came, and again he dodged and deflected. But this time, the clash of the swords was different, and a piece of metal shot off into the snow, hissing when it hit. Steam rose from the shard, and the barbarian paused in his furious assault to look. A thin sliver had been shorn from his huge sword.

The barbarian stared, and he could see the sudden recognition. Clearly even the barbarians of the north recognized this blade.

He saw a look of fear cross the barbarian’s face, and he smiled.  This had been over before it began.

The barbarian swung again, a mid-height blow aimed at his chest. This time, he caught the blow on his sword squarely, but moved himself, letting the impact turn him in, closer to the barbarian. He pulled his sword up, in a close cut for the barbarian’s stomach.

The huge sword came around just in time to block the blow. Another chip of metal hit the snow.

He twisted again, sword sweeping high, then low, two more blocks. Then came the moment he had been waiting for.  The barbarian opened himself, blocking too low and leaving a space in his defense. His sword darted up like quicksilver, glinting in the sun. It sliced across the barbarian’s stomach and up, tiny droplets of blood flying from the sword into the air.

He stepped back, thinking the fight might be over, but the barbarian roared, and swung again. He moved, the sword darting like a snake, and cuts opened on the barbarians left thigh and right arm. A thin spray of blood misted over the snow now, bright red against the white.

The barbarian staggered back, right arm useless, but did not fall.

He stepped forward, easily knocking aside the barbarian’s feeble, one-handed attempt at a defensive swing. His sword moved, whistling a little in the crisp air.

The barbarian staggered again, and dropped the long sword. Hand went to throat, where blood was now pouring down, soaking into the fur clothes.

The man fell back, and hit with a crash.

He could hear the barbarian trying to speak, but the only sound was a wet gurgle. Blood was pooling, melting the snow.

He crouched next to the barbarian, and wiped his sword on the man’s shirt.

He turned away, and began to walk.

He rolled over, slowly, dirt and bits of heather falling off him, and looked around.

He could not see much. Light was pouring in from the hole overhead, and brightly illuminating the immediate area, and blinding him to the darkness beyond. He could not see any walls, so the chamber had to be fairly large. The floor was flat and stone, and he was sitting in a rather large pile of dirt and small stones. The ceiling looked like it was made of large blocks of smooth stone, and he had fallen through a hole where one of the blocks had fallen out. He could see it, just at the edge of the circle of light. The pile of dirt he had luckily landed in must have fallen through the hole before, and weakened that area until it was only a network of roots. And of course, his weight had carried him right through it. Head-first.

He was taking another glance around when he heard snarling from above. One of the men from the woods was looking down through the hole above, leaning over the edge and knocking more dirt down.

Kyle simply stared at the silhouette of the man against the light for a moment. What the hell was going on? Who were these people? Most importantly, why were they trying to kill him?

Maybe that girl had done something to deserve this, like stealing something. They must have assumed that he was her accomplice. Maybe if he could talk to this one, he could explain what had happened. Not that he was exactly sure what had happened, but still. It was worth a shot… Kyle started to wave to the man above him, opened his mouth to say something, and-

A rather large clump of dirt hit him square in the face. He rolled to his side, out of the way of the falling soil, rubbing at his eyes and spitting dirt out of his mouth.

And with a thud, a spear landed in the pile of earth where he had been a moment before.

Screw diplomacy, Kyle thought, and scrambled to the side, still spitting. Luckily, he had closed his eyes just in time, so not much had gotten in. He was able to look back up at the hole, where the man was trying to climb down. Kyle backed away, still on all fours, out of the circle of light. He moved slower then, as the light faded, testing the floor with each step. Clearly this chamber was not exactly structurally sound, and if the ceiling could collapse, he saw no reason that the floor would not do the same.

Kyle moved off of the pile of dirt, and out of the direct light. He trusted that his eyes would adjust eventually, but they had not yet, and it was nearly completely dark around him. Compared to the brightly lit dirt mound, the rest of the chamber was very dark, and even the dirt mound was dimmer now, as other man was covering most of the opening with his body.

The other man was now hanging feet-first through the hole. His torso was so thick that he barely fit, especially with the metal plates he had strapped to his body. Large clumps of soil and roots, stones, and other debris were raining down.

Suddenly, the man fell, and landed heavily on the dirt pile. However, unlike Kyle, the man had fallen feet first. Kyle could see that most of the impact had been absorbed through his legs, and even though the man toppled over, Kyle was sure he was in better shape. Kyle’s shoulder throbbed in agreement.

The other man scrambled to his feet, and Kyle stood, slowly, and started backing carefully away. He knew the light must be blinding the other man, just as it had blinded him before, so now all he had to do was keep quiet, and maybe he could avoid being skewered.

The man pulled his spear from the dirt with a heave, and Kyle shuddered at the way his arm muscles bulged. His arm must be as big around as my thigh, Kyle thought. The other man was only about thirty feet away now, and the monster mask looked a lot more frightening up close. And a lot more real. Kyle held his breath, and tried not to move at all.

The man looked around, intently, and then his eyes locked on Kyle. Shit.

Kyle threw himself to the side, almost in time to avoid the spear. Almost. It nicked his shoulder, a glancing blow that tore his shirt but only barely cut the skin. Still, the dull ache and numbness of his left shoulder blossomed with fresh pain.

Kyle glanced at the man, who had pulled out some kind of really large knife, almost like a machete, from his belt, and was charging towards him now, close on the trail of the spear. Kyle turned, and ran full tilt into the darkness, mortal terror sending adrenaline blasting through his veins. He ran blindly, heedless of the possible danger of something ahead compared to the absolutely certain danger behind.

And inevitably, after only a few steps, he ran into something. It was some kind of stone block, almost waist height, and at a slight angle to the direction of Kyle’s path. He hit the object hard, smashing into it with his foot first, and then his hip. He managed to get his hands in front of him in time to absorb some of impact, but the momentum still carried his face down to hit his left cheek against something hard with a wet thud.

He groaned, and slid to the floor, seeing stars.

The man was on him almost immediately, the huge knife swinging down at him. Kyle rolled, and with a ringing sound the machete hit stone instead of flesh. The blade rose again, silhouetted against the light, and Kyle grabbed for something, anything, to defend himself with.

His hand closed around something smooth and round, cylindrical. Without hesitating, Kyle grabbed it and pulled, his only thought on getting whatever it was between him and the machete.

The blade came down, and-

The crystal clear sky, with no clouds in sight.

Or trees. Or mountains.

Kyle sat bolt upright, soreness forgotten as the memories of what had just happened crashed over him. He looked around frantically for the portal, but it was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting on the side of a low hill covered by small plants with purple and white flowers. He thought they might be heather. Scattered throughout the heather, all down the hillside, were huge blocks of stone, and although they were now worn by the weather and covered in patches of moss, they clearly had been intentionally carved into rectangular shapes, as though they had once been the building blocks of some huge structure. At the base of the hill, forest began, almost as if there was a line where the forest would grow no farther.

He looked behind him. There was a low wall circling the top of the hill, easily forty or fifty feet across from what he could see, but only eight or nine feet high. The top was jagged and broken,As though it had once been a tall tower that had since been shattered. The stones that made up the top of the shattered tower were now scattered all down the hill.

Kyle stood slowly, and looked around. He was certainly not in the Appalachian Mountains, but he was at least on solid ground, and somewhere on Earth again, not floating in a tornado. Maybe I was dreaming? It had seemed so real, but the idea was so extraordinary that he could not think of another explanation. He must have experienced some kind of unconscious dream, and woken up here. Wherever here was.

“Well, I guess I need to try to figure out where I am.” His backpack was gone, and along with it his camping gear, his food, and his cell phone. Not that it was likely the cell phone would have done any good here, but it would have been nice. He grimaced, and looked around again, trying to get his bearings, but the hill was too low for him to see over the trees. The sun was almost directly overhead, so he could not even get a bearing on which way was north.

It also meant that it was noon, and he had been unconscious for a full night and half of the morning, if not longer.

He took a quick inventory of what he had, patting his pockets to assure himself. His pocket knife, matches,

Then he almost smiled. He had been using his compass the day before, and had dropped it in his pocket instead of returning it to his pack. He pulled it out, and looked at it, hoping to at least get his bearings.

He grimaced again. The needle was moving erratically, and certainly not pointing in any one direction. There must be a lot of iron in this hill, he thought. Damn.

He heard a noise, and looked up. Is a cracking, crunching sound, the sound of someone or something moving through the forest, disturbing the undergrowth. It was getting closer, coming toward him. Kyle clicked closed his compass and slipped it back into his pocket.

A figure burst out of the forest at the base of the hill, running at a dead sprint. It was a woman, a girl really, no more than sixteen or seventeen, moving straight up the hill toward him. She wore a brown leather skirt and matching vest over a rough brown shirt. She had a leather quiver full of arrows over her shoulder, wooden arrows with feather fletching, and was carrying a wooden bow in one hand as she ran.

She could have been at home as a native on the set of Pocahontas. She even had several feathers tied into her long braid of hair, which was flying out behind her as she ran.

Just like Pocahontas, he thought. Except that she was very clearly Caucasian. Her hair was bright blond, and her skin was very fair. She even had freckles.

In that moment she saw him as well, and her eyes widened in surprise.

She changed directions a little, sprinting straight at him now, and she yelled…something. It sounded a lot like gibberish. Definitely not Spanish or French. It almost sounded…like Arabic? He only spoke English, but he watched the news, and he would have thought he would be able to recognize most major languages. But this was…different. A sudden feeling of panic washed over him. He must be a long way from home.

The girl seemed to realize that he did not understand, and pursed her lips in frustration. Kyle just stood and waited for her, not knowing what else to do. She stopped in front of him, and with a disgusted look on her face, said “Talagi. Fredin thilinith givorni. Alsicati isith hard to figure how you got yourself lost out here when you don’t even understand the trade tongue.”

Kyle was shocked. She had not stopped talking gibberish and then started speaking English. She had flowed so smoothly into it that he had not been able to distinguish exactly where she had switched. He blinked, a little confused, but said “Thank god you speak English. Was that Arabic?”

“What?” She looked a little confused as well, and more than a little annoyed. “No time for games, nobleman. This was a bad time to get lost in the woods, and a bad patch of woods to do it in. There are orcs after me, and they will certainly kill you if they find you here.”

At that moment, there was more crashing near the forest edge, and the girl grabbed Kyle’s arm and turned him around, up the hill. “Run!” she yelled, and shoved him. He staggered a little, surprised by the strength of her push, but kept his balance and started to run a little.

“Faster, nobleman!” the girl yelled again, darting past him at a full sprint. She sounded a scared, and a little frustrated. There was more crashing in the forest, getting closer, and a guttural yell. Kyle decided it might be a good idea to listen, and started to run faster.

There was another guttural yell, and a bigger crash, and Kyle glanced over his shoulder just in time to see three figures burst through the undergrowth.

They were tall, all of them over six feet, maybe closer to seven, and broad shouldered and very muscular. Kyle was reminded of how some football players looked close up. They were wearing some kind of armor, plates dull metal sewn onto thick leather pants and jackets. The plates covered the fronts of the thighs, the shins, the forearms, and the chest, somewhat molded to fit. It looked crude, but strong.

They wore helmets of the same dull metal, round on top and reaching down to cover the cheeks and nose. And under that, they wore…some kind of monster mask? Greenish, with big tusks. Kyle had heard of some African tribal warriors wearing masks to war, and thought perhaps this was similar. They carried crude weapons, the one in the middle carried a spear, and the other two held axes. They were made of metal, and looked…effective. And the men held them like they knew how to use them.

They were running, and as they got through the brush at the edge of the forest they looked at Kyle and started to run up the hill. They were shouting something, wordless snarling yells, and-

Twang, swish. The feathered tip of an arrow sprouted from the thigh of one of the men. He fell, hard, but was getting up almost as soon as he landed.

“Run!” the girl yelled again, and Kyle realized he had actually stopped to stare at them. The yell snapped Kyle out of his surprised stupor, and suddenly those weapons seemed much more real, and certainly meant for him. A surge of adrenaline flooded Kyle’s veins, and he started to run, really run, up the hill.

Something whisked past him, and the spear the middle man had been holding buried itself in the ground ahead of Kyle. He veered to the left, running faster.

Suddenly his toe caught on something. A small rock, hidden in the undergrowth. He fell, moving to fast to stop himself. A tiny touch of instinct left over from a year of childhood martial arts rose to the surface, and he tucked in, leading with his shoulder. He hit the ground hard, face in a heather pant and shoulder into the dirt and-

Through it. The dirt was soft, and crumbled away into…nothing. Kyle fell, face first, surrounded by crumbling dirt, small stones, roots, and heather plants, into the dark.

Llara felt a momentary twang of pity for the mayor. He had been a nice man, if not particularly bright. She couldn’t remember his name, but then, she had been fairly young then. No more than thirty or so. She had been more interested in playing with the other children on their very rare visits to the village than getting to know the mayor. In any case, New Rinsdale had a field, and a bit more of a wall. It was still only a wooden palisade, but it was higher, and had a walkway around the inside of the wall for guards.

Llara stepped out into the field, and blinked for a moment in the sunlight. It had been well before dawn when she left, and it was almost noon now, but her hunting trip had been well worth it. Over her shoulders she carried not one, but two large wild turkeys, and she had a rabbit hanging from her belt. She wouldn’t eat the rabbit, of course, her god had forbidden it, but the townsfolk could, and she had been hunting for them anyway. They needed it considerably more than she or her uncle did, and she hunted more for sport than for the meat. Besides, it might make the townsfolk give her uncle a better price on the supplies he was buying.

Suddenly she froze, all thoughts of her hunt and its rewards gone. There was smoke rising from the village, thick black smoke, and a sudden shift in the wind brought the smell of burning flesh to her nostrils. “Uncle!” she gasped, and dropping the turkeys she ran for the village, stringing her bow as she went.

Llara darted across the field, her thoughts on her uncle, when out of nowhere something hit her, hard. Her bow flew from her hand, but she hit the ground in a precise, practiced roll, her years of training keeping her from going sprawling. She ended the roll on her feet, and swept her sword out in the same fluid gesture, turning to face her attacker.

She relaxed when she saw who it was, however. “Uncle,” she said, “You scared me.”

“Get down,” he said, moving up to her quickly and pulling her down, so that she was in a crouch in the grass next to him.

Llara slid her sword back into its scabbard, somewhat awkwardly in her crouched position, and looked at her uncle. His grizzled face was lined with worry now, and he ran a hand through his snow-white hair, a nervous gesture he had always had. She smiled in relief. It was good to see that face, which was even more familiar to her then her own. She had known that face for as long as she had been alive.

She should have known he would be able to take care of himself. He was in excellent condition, both physical and mental, even if he did look like he was well into his sixties. In fact he was, as well as she could figure it, nearly ninety, but he could still keep up with her in the woods, and while he was no longer physically her equal, he had other talents that more than made up for it.

“Sorry about knocking you over like that,” he said quietly, “I needed to stop you, and you were running a bit faster than I thought.” A tiny smile flitted across his face and disappeared, the worry returning to his face.

Llara’s relief at finding her uncle alive and well faded slowly, replaced by concern that mirrored his. “What’s going on?” she asked. “A raiding party?”

“No, they’re far too well organized. There is something strange going on here. Something I haven’t quite figured out yet.” The worried look deepened.

Llara waited for her uncle to say more, but he simply continued to watch the village. “Well?” she said. “Aren’t we going to try to do something to help the village?”

Her uncle looked over at her. “My dear, there is no village left. There were well over a two hundred orcs.”

Llara stared at her uncle in shock. Two hundred? There were less than a hundred people in the whole village, including women and children! If there were two hundred orcs, well… it would not have taken long. And that smoke had been billowing into the sky for quite some time. At this point there certainly would be nothing left of the village to save. “What made them attack the village? Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a few, my dear.”

“Well?”

“Don’t worry about it, dear.” He grinned at her, but it was a weak smile. He was clearly upset, but trying not to let it show. Llara sighed. Her uncle had always been like this. Always protecting her.

Suddenly her uncle crouched down farther in the grass, and Llara followed suit, and followed her uncle’s gaze toward the road leading to the village. A column of orcs had just come into view around the village palisade. It was on the other side of the village and not visible from here, but it was clear they were marching out of the village gate. The column turned onto the south along the road in ordered ranks. Llara was surprised, but now she knew what her uncle meant about them being far too organized. She had never seen a raiding party march in a column. Raiding parties were unorganized, chaotic. It was one of their weaknesses, and she and her uncle had exploited that weakness on many occasions.

These orcs, on the other hand, looked more like an army. Llara had only seen a column of soldiers once, a division of Turmian infantry escorting some noble somewhere, but this column of orcs look far too similar to that one. In fact, there was even a figure on horseback riding at the head of the column. Llara shielded her eyes against the sun and looked closer at the rider. It was too small to be an orc, more the size of a human. The rider was dressed completely in black armor, of a style she had never seen before, and he had a long black cape flowing out behind him. Even his horse was black.

Suddenly, as though he could feel her watching him, the rider turned to look directly at her. A cold feeling washed over Llara, and she shivered suddenly. She could feel his eyes on her, feel him looking at her, through her, and she could not look away, she couldn’t look-

“Get down!” her uncle said sharply, pushing her to the ground, breaking her eye contact with the rider. The cold feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Llara almost sighed in relief. She had felt like the rider’s eyes were dissecting her, and it was not an experience she wanted to either continue or repeat. She shuddered. “Something is very wrong here,” her uncle said.

Llara raised her head slightly to look again, almost against her own will, her curiosity overwhelming her fear. The rider was barking out commands to the orcs, although what they were was lost to the distance. It was obvious the commands concerned Llara and her uncle however, because the rider was gesturing toward them commandingly. The orcs began to break ranks, and started moving toward them. Even their charge was orderly, Llara thought, before she began to react to the threat.

Llara scrambled to the side and grabbed her bow from where it had fallen. Her uncle, however, had not moved. He was still staring at the rider so intently she wondered that he was not burning holes in the rider’s cloak. “Uncle,” she said, trying to get his attention. “Uncle, they’re coming.”

Then she noticed that the rider had stopped issuing commands, and seemed to be staring back at her uncle. Remembering the rider’s gaze, and what it had done to her, she hurriedly moved toward her uncle, but just as she reached him he turned his head to look at her.

“Llara,” he said, and she paid close attention. He only used her name when it was important. The rest of the time he simply called her “dear.” It was one of the many peculiarities that made him who he was.

“Meet at home,” he said. “Llara, run!”