He wore dark green boots, trousers, a short-sleeved tunic of some kind and gloves on his hands. His copper-hued arms were thickly-muscled and graced with the occasional scar. A huge, serrated knife was in his right hand, which he had used to cut his way into the tent. A green cloth was wrapped around his head in such a way that Donna thought his entire face was bandaged from some injury. But then she saw the eye slits and realized that it was some kind of mask.
Short and barrel-chested, Donna figured that he could’ve been a wrestler on her world. A small black bow was strapped to his back, and a quiver of arrows rested near his right hip. The arrows caught her eye because they were of different colors: light-green, black, gray and orange. Donna could see a bandolier of ten throwing knives across his chest.
The intruder was halfway to the table when he noticed both Donna and the guards posted outside. The masked man seemed frozen for a moment, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The din of the distant battle kept the two guards’ attention and masked the sound of his entrance. But Donna knew that if she made enough noise, they’d hear her and rush in. Maybe, just maybe, such an act might earn her a bit of mercy from her captors.
Slowly, the masked man sheathed his blade and crept toward her. Donna shied away, afraid of what he would do next. The intruder read her body language, halted and reached under his shirt. He pulled out a gold crucifix on a chain. Donna’s eyes widened hopefully as he gestured for her to wait a moment and then put an index finger over his mouth, quietly begging her to stay silent. He rushed over to the table and eyed the officer’s maps, letters, and some of the scrolls.
Donna impatiently kept an eye on the guards, who still hadn’t peered inside. Tense minutes uneventfully passed. The masked intruder stepped away from the table and found a small chest. He flipped it open and pulled out a bottle of the offier’s wine. He carefully uncorked it as he pulled a small black tube from inside his belt and poured something into the bottle. Then he re-corked the wine bottle, put it back into the trunk, and closed it.
He then looked over at Donna with a thoughtful pause and again gestured for her to stay quiet. She reluctantly nodded as he silently approached her, gently picked her up, and walked her over to a stash of weapons at the rear of the tent. He set her down and picked up a plain-looking shortsword from the officer’s arsenal. Carefully, he used it to cut her ankles free.
“My name’s Ruiz Velaquez,” the masked man whispered in English. “You’ve probably got a ton of questions. They’ll have to wait, ‘cause we’re low on time. Wait a few minutes, creep out the back of the tent and head straight – and I mean straight – for the tree line.”
Ruiz finished freeing her ankles and worked on her wrists.
“Less than a mile out is a creek. Stop there and lie low. I’ll find you and get you out of here. If they catch you, you didn’t see me. Make ‘em think that you scooted yourself over here and cut yourself loose. Understand?”
Donna nodded as he cut her hands free and handed her the short-sword. Ruiz gave her a thumbs-up and started to leave. The law student quickly pulled her gag down.
“Who are these guys?!” Donna anxiously whispered.
“Kiltarim,” Ruiz replied. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, they’re the bad guys: Nazis with swords, if you will.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait! Where are you from?”
“Chicago,” he whispered without looking back.
With that, Ruiz slipped out of the tent.
Donna watched him creep away, wishing that she hadn’t left her watch on her dresser – back on Earth. She tightly gripped the short-sword and counted to 120. Satisfied that a few minutes had passed, Donna slipped out of the tent. Beyond dozens of soldiers’ tents was a patch of tree line. She simply ran toward it, her instincts screaming that sneaking around in a pink sweater wasn’t going to work. Besides, the fleeing law student figured that the Kiltarims were all having fun at the battle. But, as she raced past a tent, Donna pretty much collided with a lanky young soldier who was lugging a small pot of hot stew.
They both fell. The soldier howled in pain and cursed as the stew landed on his face. Donna didn’t hesitate. She raised the short-sword in a two-handed, downward grip and stabbed him through his upper-right leg. The wounded soldier’s piercing wail of pain made Donna wish she had a gag to stifle him with. While the notion of killing him went through her head, Donna didn’t have the heart to finish him off. Donna rose, left the blade in the soldier’s leg, and then ran for the tree line. Unfortunately, the cook’s screams of pain alerted three of his comrades, all of whom gave chase. She dashed into the woods with the firm intention of covering that mile between herself and the creek.
The soldiers, swords drawn, raced after her.
The brilliant part of Donna’s brain kicked in and reminded her of the common mistake fleeing co-eds made in horror movies: tripping over stuff when running through wooded areas. Sure enough, the fleeing co-ed looked down and avoided roots, low branches, and what looked to be a purple turtle. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder. Donna could hear their shouts and curses as the soldiers kept up the pace under the fading sun.
By the time she heard the bubbling sounds of the creek, her lungs and legs were both at their limits. Right as she reached the creek, one of the soldiers tackled her from behind. They tumbled down a low bluff and landed in the water. Donna was too winded to scream as she fought to rise. But the black-bearded soldier simply kicked her legs out from under her. He laughed as he held her under the water for several long seconds. As he pulled her out, Donna coughed up water and gasped for air as he dragged her along by her hair. The Kiltarim said something in his native tongue as he turned to his comrades and froze with shock.
Ruiz stood over the slashed-open corpses of the other two soldiers. In his right hand was his fighting knife, now covered with blood. The Kiltarim soldier released Donna, drew his sword, and carefully closed in on his masked foe. Ruiz patiently let the soldier come within ten feet of him. Then he flicked out his left and hurled a pair of throwing knives he had been holding back. The soldier’s eyes widened as both blades sank neatly into his throat, where his armor was weakest.
Ruiz casually walked past the Kiltarim who clutched his throat, fell to his knees, and gurgled a curse before he died. The killer calmly knelt, slipped his blood-covered blade into the creek, and let the flowing water clean the blood away. Donna gawked up at him.
“Sorry: I didn’t catch your name?”
“Donna Vishe,” she replied, mystified by his display of skill.
“You okay?”
“Y-Yes,” Donna replied, her adrenaline ebbing. “Where are we?”
“They call this world Mintath,” Ruiz said as he stepped over to her and gallantly offered his left hand. She took it and let him pull her to her feet. He flicked the water from his blade and then sheathed it.
“How long have you been here?” Donna asked as Ruiz took her by the arm and led her toward the other side of the creek.
“It was sometime in … ’92, I think. I was testing for my black belt. Yeah, five years now.”
“Five?” Donna asked with a frown.
“Yeah,” Ruiz glanced at her. “Five winters have passed since I came here. Why?”
“It was 2010 when I left.”
The shrouded man reacted with evident shock … then sadness.
“I’m sorry,” Donna said.
“Time flies when