Ivanhoe Gambit

12

De Bracy was losing his patience. "I am not here to bargain with you, Jew," he said to Isaac. He reached out and grabbed the man by his beard, giving it a vicious yank. Isaac cried out in pain. "I know you're a rich man, the banker of your accursed tribe. It is not as if I'm asking for the moon."

"I would sooner be able to give you the moon, Sir Knight," said Isaac, "than gather together the ransom you demand!"

"A thousand pounds in silver," said De Bracy. "Those are my terms. I will not bargain. I am a reasonable man. If silver be scarce, I will not refuse gold. Is your life not worth such a sum?"

"And what of my daughter's life?" said Isaac.

"You need not fear for Rebecca's life," said De Bracy, chuckling. "Brian de Bois-Guilbert's desire is for love, not death. She will be safe enough from violence so long as she pleases him. When he grows tired of her, I'm certain you will have her back."

"No," said Isaac, "I beg you, save her from such shame. I will do anything you ask; her dishonor would be more than I could bear!"

"You will bear much more before I am through with you," De Bracy said. "Look around you. You are in my dungeons now, not your house in York, where you are free to dictate terms to those from whose disadvantages you prosper. Prisoners ten thousand times more distinguished than yourself have died within these walls. But their deaths would be luxuries compared to yours. A man can be made to suffer untold pain and still be kept alive to suffer more. Do you see that range of iron bars above the glowing charcoal? You'll be stripped of all your clothes and placed on that warm couch. You will be basted like a roast, so that you do not cook too quickly. Is not a thousand pounds of silver a paltry sum compared to such a fate? Choose and choose now, for I an; running out of patience! A slow death upon the coals, or a thousand pounds of silver, those are my terms!"

"I will pay your ransom," Isaac said, "only preserve my daughter's honor and let her go free."

"I told you, Jew, I will not bargain with you! Besides, I have already given my word that Bois-Guilbert shall have her. I would not go back on my word as a knight, not for the sake of apathetic Jew."

"Then you will get nothing," Isaac said, staring at him with hatred. "Not an ounce of silver will I give you, unless I were to pour it molten down your avaricious throat! Do your worst. Take my life if you will and let it be said that the Jew, in spite of all his tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian!"

"Very well, then," said De Bracy. "I will put your resolve to the test. You'll be whimpering for mercy within moments. Strip him!"

At that moment, a trumpet call was sounded and there was a commotion up above, the sounds of men yelling to each other. Andre de la Croix ran into the dungeon.

"Maurice, come quickly! The Saxons are attacking!"

" What? Are you mad?"

"It's true, I tell you! Listen. It is the outlaws. They have gathered in force and are even at this moment attempting to storm the castle!"

"What absurdity is this?" De Bracy said. "Why would the outlaws attack Torquilstone?"

"They cry for Cedric's freedom."

"The Saxon? I have but two Jews, I have no Saxon!"

"So Bois-Guilbert says. He commands the castle in your absence. They will not listen. Brian says that only force is good for dealing with them."

"How many of them are there?"

"A thousand, at the least."

"Brian is a fool. With such a number, they might well take the castle if they are determined enough. I will show them that Cedric is not here."

Isaac momentarily forgotten, De Bracy started out of the dungeons, on his way to the castle above. Andre followed him.

"I don't know what insanity has overtaken them," De Bracy said, "but these cells are all empty! See for yourself. I-"

At that moment, the sound of Cedric's voice was heard shouting from within one of the cells.

"What the devil?" said De Bracy. He flung open the tiny window of the door and peered inside. "Cedric!"

"Release me, villain!" Cedric shouted, launching himself against the door.

De Bracy slammed the window shut, stunned. He opened the window in the door of the next cell and saw Athelstane. In the adjoining cell, he found Rowena.

"Is this your doing, de la Croix?"

"I rode into the castle with just my squire," Andre said. "You know that. You, yourself, admitted me."

"But how in God's name did they get here?"

"There is no need to attempt to deceive me, Maurice," said Andre, smiling. "I am on your side."

"Don't you jest with me, de la Croix!" said De Bracy, grabbing her by the cloth of her doublet and slamming her into the wall. He felt the swaddling cloth beneath. "What's this?"

He ripped open her doublet with a quick motion, revealing the cloth. "You're wounded! No, you're…" He saw the bulges beneath the cloth and his eyes grew wide. In that moment, Andre stuck her dagger into his stomach up to its hilt. As De Bracy jerked, she leaned into him, placing both hands on the dagger. She twisted the blade and used her weight to drive into him, jerking the dagger up several times in a ripping motion.

De Bracy sagged to the floor and she pulled the dagger out of him, wiping its blade on his clothing. Clutching his stomach, he stared up at her in disbelief, making choking noises.

She glanced at him only briefly, to make certain that the wound was fatal, then she left him to die in his own dungeons.

The word spread through the outlaws' ranks like wildfire. Richard had returned. No one knew who had been the original bearer of the news, but Lucas was convinced that Irving had infiltrated runners into the attacking force. The news was passed rapidly. Richard, it seemed, had returned to England to take back his throne and to restore justice to the land. No one was exactly sure what "justice" was, but it was generally supposed that the Saxons were going to get a fair shake at last. Evidently, the king had met up with one of the outlaw bands and was even now on his way with a party of knights to join in the attack on Torquilstone. It was, of course, the sensible thing for him to do. Even the outlaws understood that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert were allied with John and, as such, posed a threat to Richard. The news that was greeted with the greatest jubilation was that the king had decreed a blanket pardon for all the outlaws who would help him in his cause. Irving had done precisely as Hunter had surmised.

"You can bet that he won't make an appearance until he's certain that everyone has heard the news," said Bobby, sourly. "Well, that might make our job a little more difficult, but it still won't make it impossible. Before the day is out, we'll know which way this thing is going to go."

So far, it was going pretty much of its own accord. It was next to impossible to control such a large and undisciplined band of men. Outlaws from all over the countryside had arrived to take part in the revolt and they were out for blood. Finn, trying to do the best he could under the circumstances, was trying to direct the assault upon the barbican. It wasn't the ideal way to take a castle, but they were forced to follow the momentum of the attack and control its flow to whatever degree they could. Besides, the outcome of the battle was of no consequence to them. In that respect, there was a familiarity about the situation. It was like a standard temporal action. The soldiers from the future were fighting a war within a war. Irving was their objective. So long as they were able to take him out, what happened to Torquiistone didn't really matter.

The air above the castle was a hailstorm of arrows. Most of the cloth-yard shafts failed to find a mark, but given such a profusion of arrows, the archers took their inevitable toll. Anyone who risked showing themselves upon the battlements stood to become a pincushion in short order. Each lattice and aperture became a target for the bowmen and the Norman men at arms returned the fire with their crossbows at their peril. Finn's men were moving forward under the protection of mantelets and pavisses, which provided at least some protection from the arbalests being used to defend the barbican. Once that was taken, then the other outlaws could move forward for a mass assault upon the outer walls and postern with rams and scaling ladders. It would be a bloody conflict with heavy losses.

Above the din of battle, a trumpet call was heard and, from across the meadow, a formation of knights approached at full gallop. In their vanguard, a knight wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet rode beside his banner.

"He must have completely lost his mind," said Bobby. He removed one of his warhead arrows from his quiver and fitted it to the bow. "This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. The moment he gets in range, I'm going to let him have it."

"I don't know if that's wise," said Lucas. "Maybe we should wait until he gets into the thick of it. If he falls in the middle of the battle, it might not be as noticeable."

"I really don't give a damn," said Bobby.

"Don't be hasty," Lucas said. "There are outlaws all around us who are very pleased to see this man. Remember, he just pardoned all of them. They're not going to take it too kindly if they see you drawing a bead on him. The idea is for us to get the job done and get back alive."

"Maybe. But it might be best just to take our chances. Finn's right. Our job is to take him out and then let the refs worry about fixing things up."

"All right. So we'll take him out. But let's not rush it and blow the deal. Has it occurred to you that he knows we're here? Do you think he'd be so stupid as to make such an obvious target of himself?"

"What are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at is that there's no guarantee that the guy wearing Richard's armor is really Irving. He might be one of the others and the man in Richard's armor just a decoy to enable him to get past us."

"The man's got a point," said Hunter. He had come up right behind them and now he beckoned them back under the cover of the trees. They went a short distance away from the drawn lines of the outlaws and found that Hunter had brought his chronoplate with him, along with some other equipment. "Okay, I'm going to make it fast, so listen up. I just hope to hell you guys have been cleared on these weapons at some time, because I haven't got the time or the inclination to start giving lessons right now. I brought back a couple of Swedish "K" grease guns. Lucas, you hang on to my Colt, I've brought back another. Bobby, here's a. 45 for you, too. If things get really hairy, I brought back a few pyrogel grenades, Mark Fours. Here's a bunch of magazines-"

"Are you kidding?" Bobby said. "This stuff's prehistoric!"

"Not in the 12th century it ain't, pilgrim. Listen, I had a hell of a time just getting those grenades. What do you want, a GE/Krupp four-barrel pulser? I almost got myself fried getting my hands on these. TC ordnance isn't exactly just lying around for the taking, you know. I'm not putting my ass on the line for anybody. If you can't do the job with this stuff, you just can't do the job, so hang it up."

"Okay, okay," said Bobby. "So what's the plan?"

"The plan is to move fast as hell," said Hunter. "Lucas is right. You don't know which of those jokers is Irving, so Bobby, old friend, you just take one of these pretty little Swedes and you open up on all of 'em."

"If Irving's wearing nysteel, a submachine gun isn't going to do the trick. It might beat his armor all to hell, but it's going to be pretty iffy."

"Right. But you can bet your ass it's going to knock him down," said Hunter. "It'll kill anybody who isn't wearing nysteel. The guy who gets back up is your man. Then you can use one of your fancy arrows on him. Right?"

"Great," said Bobby. "Give me that thing." He took the grease gun and quickly checked it.

"You all still got the PRU's I gave you?" Hunter said. "Where's Delaney?"

"He's up with the assault force," Lucas said. "Yeah, we've all got'em."

"Good. They're all slaved to this unit." He indicated the chronoplate. "I'll stay back here and try to keep my eye on you. Like I said, I'm not going to lay my ass on the line if I can help it. If I see you're in trouble, I'll yank you right back here. Likewise, if you're in a jam, the PRU will bring you right back to this spot, so we've got a double safety, your control and mine. Any questions?"

"No," said Bobby. "Let's do it."

"Get a move on. Those knights are coming on fast."

They moved back forward, Bobby using his body to shield the "K." As the knights rode up to the scene of battle, the barbican fell to the outlaws and the Norman men at arms began to sally forth from the castle to defend the postern. Hunter bent over his chronoplate and, seconds later, Finn Delaney stood in front of him.

"What the hell?" Finn said.

"I used the PRU to snatch you back here," Hunter said. He tossed Finn the other grease gun, then handed him a Browning nine-millimeter and a satchel of grenades. "Now listen up. We could be in deep shit unless we find Irving's chronoplate. You can bet your ass he hasn't got it with him."

"How the hell are we going to do that?" said Finn. "We haven't got enough manpower to institute a radius search-"

'"We don't have to. It's a gamble, but I think his plate is in Nottingham Castle. I scanned Hooker over there just before he died. I could still be wrong, but it's the best guess I can make right now. I'm going to clock you over there. Now there will be people in your way, but you've got them at a disadvantage now. You go through that castle and you find that damn plate. There's some plastique in that satchel. You find it and you blow it, got it? And then our friend won't be able to getaway."

"That's assuming that you're right and the plate is there," said Finn.

Hunter shrugged. "You got a better idea?"

"No. Okay. Clock me out."

"Good luck."

Finn disappeared.

Irving rode at the rear of the formation, his nysteel armor relacquered from its original black shade to one of green. Up ahead of him, the sheriff rode at the front of the formation, wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet. Some of the other knights had unlacquered armor, others, who held lands, wore the colors they were known by. Irving had no doubt that if the temporal agents were to strike, they would move first against Sir Guy. He would have to remain on his guard, watching out for them. Once he had them spotted, he could move to neutralize them. He kept his hand on his PRU. As they approached the battle, suddenly there erupted from the outlaw ranks a staccato clattering and Sir Guy and the two knights immediately to either side went down. Irving looked wildly about the scene. The formation was broken up when the first three knights were hit. Three more died before Irving had the man spotted.

It wasn't hard to spot him. He stood all alone, firing a submachine gun. A submachine gun! Incredible! They must have reached total desperation. All around the man, the outlaws were drawing back in panic, fleeing from the noise and the destruction that they could never understand. Even as he watched, more men went down in front of him as the man kept firing in short, steady bursts, and then bullets were ripping into him. It had all happened so fast, he barely had time to think. He hit the ground hard, caught his breath and struggled to his feet, thankful that he had kept his grip on the PRU.

"Bingo!" said Bobby, tossing the grease gun to Lucas, who came running up beside him. "The green knight! Cover me!" He nocked his warhead arrow and drew back his bow. "Game's over!" Bobby said.

As Irving got up, he hit the PRU and clocked himself back to Nottingham. He reappeared inside his chambers in the castle. The temporal agents were desperate men and they had resorted to desperate tactics. Well, the game wasn't over yet. He still had his chronoplate and that was where he had them, superior firepower notwithstanding. He could still outflank them. He quickly made the necessary adjustments on the plate, then clocked himself back onto the scene of the battle, in a different location, seconds before he had clocked back to Nottingham.

Bobby had drawn his bow and was aiming at the green knight, but even as he let the arrow fly, Irving disappeared. At that same instant, Irving appeared behind him. Even as the Irving Bobby was shooting at was clocking out, the Irving who had clocked in behind him plunged a dagger into him.

"Bobby!" Lucas shouted. He swung the grease gun around and fired, but Irving was no longer there. Instantly realizing his error, Lucas spun around and only had enough time to hurl himself sideways as Irving brought his sword down in a vicious arc. The sword missed him, but just barely.

Suddenly, Lucas was on the ground at Hunter's feet. Hunter had used the PRU to yank him away.

"Son of a bitch is playing fugue games,'' Hunter said.

"I've still got the gun, give me some grenades," said Lucas.

"Forget it, man. You don't want to go filling the air with slugs when you might be clocking right into 'em. We're just going to have to play that game ourselves. No other way."

"I've got no armor!" Lucas said.

"I've got some mail and half-plate. It ain't nysteel, but it's the best I can do. Throw it on and get back out there."

"This is crazy!"

"Tell me about it. Only two ways it can end like this. One of you dies or Finn finds that plate. Better cross your fingers, pilgrim."

He clocked Lucas back into the action, at a point just before he left.

Even as Irving was bringing his sword down on Lucas, Lucas appeared behind him. Before Lucas could strike Irving, another Irving appeared behind him and Lucas felt a momentary shock as Irving's sword glanced off him even as he was clocking once again. Irving had the advantage in that his armor was effectively impregnable. Lucas made up for his disadvantage in that he did not have to worry about clocking himself out or in. Hunter was at the controls. The only thing he had to worry about was that Hunter would stay on the ball. The action began to accelerate with amazing speed. There was no chance to use the weapons Hunter had brought back. He was right. In a fugue situation, the last thing you wanted to do was to fill the air with bullets, cutting through space into which you might be clocking. Given the speed with which the combat took place, it was only possible to fight with the weapons at hand.

To the outlaws and men at arms observing the action, the world seemed to have gone mad. One moment, there was one knight fighting another. The next, two knights fighting two. Three knights fighting three. Four knights fighting four.

Each of the antagonists used their PRU units to return to their respective chronoplates again and again, where quick calculations and recalibrations would be made as they fought to catch their breath. Then they would clock back into the battle, materializing on the scene in their own immediate past, seconds or minutes before they had departed. The pressures of the temporal fugue were immense. One error in calculation, one slip in concentration and it would all be over. As the cycle progressed, those not involved in the fugue were confronted with a dizzying reality. Events happened at a much faster pace for them than for the combatants. In an instant, there were suddenly dozens of green knights and dozens of Ivanhoes hacking away at each other, more appearing as others winked out as though they had never been there to begin with.

Many of those who observed the phenomenon came to a gaping halt, mesmerized by the impossibility of what they were confronting. Not a few were killed as they stood staring in shock. It was an eerie scene: the fugue combatants going at each other for all they were worth, those around them either fighting, oblivious to what was happening around them, or simply standing with their weapons in their hands, staring uncomprehendingly. Many simply dropped their arms and ran.

Finn materialized in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. It took perhaps a moment before anybody noticed him. By the time they did, he had quickly taken stock of his surroundings and was already on the move, firing as he ran. He wasn't taking any chances. His weapons gave him a devastating superiority, but all it took was one archer who would not panic and he would become just another statistic. Fortunately, most of them did panic. They had no reference for gunpower or lead projectiles fired too fast to be seen. Some of the guards stood frozen on the battlements, watching in disbelief as the bodies of their comrades literally came apart before their eyes. Those who survived the initial burst of firing fled, screaming with terror. By that time, Finn had already aimed and thrown one of the pyrogel grenades. The courtyard became a place of havoc, filled with the sounds of submachine gun fire and men screaming in agony as they fled from a horror they did not understand. Those who had survived the blast of the pyrogel grenade, but were still near enough to catch the fury of the explosion, became wreathed in flame and were consumed in seconds. Walking corpses in a halo of fire, charred crisp as a cinder, vocal chords seared away so that screaming was no longer possible, they made several halting steps and fell into a pile of ashes on the ground.

Finn didn't waste time with the door. He hurled a grenade and dived through, rolling and firing as he came up. Those who died didn't even have enough time to draw their swords. There was a brutal simplicity to Finn's tactics. He simply had to slaughter everyone in sight before he could take time to search for the plate. He only hoped that Hunter had guessed right and that it was here. As he ran down the corridor, slipping in a fresh magazine, a group of men came running to meet him, responding to the alarm. He cut them down to the last man, then reached for another clip. He jerked as a crossbow bolt hit him from behind, entering his shoulder from the back and coming almost completely through the other side. He dropped his grease gun. Throwing himself to the side, he came up with the 9mm Browning. Three quick shots dropped the archer even as he was drawing back his crossbow to fire a second quarrel.

For a moment, all was silent, save for the sounds of running footsteps somewhere close by, echoing all around him. Finn glanced quickly at his wound. He left the quarrel where it was. Removing it meant risking a flow of blood, since it could be the only thing holding a blood vessel together. The wound didn't look fatal unless, possibly, it became infected. There was no point to worrying about that now. He didn't even feel any pain. He retrieved his SMG and loaded another clip, then took off at a run down the corridor, staying close to the wall and keeping an eye on what was behind him. He couldn't risk being surprised again. He had to clean the castle out and find the chronoplate.

It could be anywhere. He had to search the entire castle for something the size of a briefcase.

Andre ran directly to her quarters, oblivious of all the commotion around her. The castle was under attack and its commander lay dead or dying beneath her in the dungeons. She had only three things on her mind. She had to get her armor, she had to take steps to protect Marcel, and she had to find a way to dispose of Bois-Guilbert. She was what the black knight had called his "inside man," and her duty was to defeat the defenders of the castle from within by depriving them of their leaders.

She had resented his remark at the time he made it and she had said so, protesting that she was not at all a man on the inside and that she had no desire to be a man; then he had told her that the term was used to describe someone who attacked a force from within their own ranks, a spy, one who pretended loyalty until the time to act was ripe.

"You mean a traitor," she had said.

"Treason is defined purely subjectively," he had told her. "I could have called you an 'inside woman,' but seeing as how you are a man on the outside, within the walls of Torquilstone you will… oh, never mind. You can't see the humor in it, can you?"

"I see no humor in being asked to play the part of a traitor," she replied.

"You will be treasonous to John if you do as I command. If you do not, then you will be treasonous to me. I ask you to consider which of the two you would prefer. It seems contrary to your profession to speak of treason. You are a mass of ambiguities, de la Croix."

"Of what?"

"Never mind. I'll make the matter of your honor simple for you. As a mercenary, your loyalty rests with your paymaster. Since I have outbid the competition, your course would seem to be quite clear. Does that satisfy you?"

"I suppose that it will have to."

"Good, I'm so glad. Take this." He handed her a PRU.

"What is it?"

"Where you will be going, you will encounter danger. This is a charm of sorts. Keep it with you at all times. It will protect you."

She started to examine it.

"Do not play with it," he said, sternly. "It has powers you would not understand. Merely keep it on your person. Take it as a token of my concern for you."

She stared at him steadily. "Who are you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I am your king."

"Or the devil," she said.

"If you like."

As she reached her quarters, she took out the charm that he had given her and, for a moment, she considered throwing it away. She wanted nothing to do with black arts, but it was too late for that. She had allied herself with a sorcerer and, king or not, he was her master. She hated him. She would kill him if she could, but could the sorcerer be killed? She had tried before and failed. Perhaps he had such a charm himself. She stared at it. If it could give her some measure of protection, she would do well to keep it. She knew that she would need all the protection she could get before the day was out.

Marcel assisted her in arming for battle.

"I will go with you, Andre. You'll need my help."

"No, little brother. You remain here, where it will be safe until I come for you. I would not want to lose you now."

"Nor I you," Marcel said. "Sir Brian is a strong knight. He will make a dangerous opponent.''

"And I will fight better knowing you are safe," said Andre, "than I would if you were by my side and I had to constantly watch out for you."

Marcel drew back indignantly. "I can take care of myself," he said in a wounded tone.

She pulled him to her. "Of course you can. But I would worry anyway. Indulge me and set my mind at rest. There will be other battles for you when you're older. Now I must go. Remember, stay here and do not be tempted to look outside upon the battle. The Saxon archers shoot straight and true."

With sword and shield in hand, she left him and walked quickly down the corridor. Her heart was racing, as it always did in the excitement of a battle. She would have to find a way to kill Bois-Guilbert in such a manner as to not leave herself vulnerable to the men whom he commanded in defense of the castle. She stopped by an aperture and, holding her shield ready to protect her face, risked a quick glance outside. The barbican had fallen. Any moment now, they would begin to attack the outer walls with scaling ladders and they would start ramming at the gates. Given their number, it was inevitable that they would soon gain entry to the castle. Given a firm hand and strong leadership, the defenders of Torquilstone might still repulse them, but not if they were deprived of their commanders. De Bracy was already accounted for. Only one remained.

She stopped a man at arms who went rushing by her in the corridor. He looked terrified.

"You!" She approached him. "Where are you going?"

"I… I was…"

He was running away to find a place to hide, no doubt. "Where is Sir Brian?"

The man was near hysteria. "You ask for Sir Brian," he said. "Sir Brian bellows for Sir Maurice! The Saxons bellow for our blood! They are on us like flies upon a carcass and where is De Bracy?"

"DeBracy'sdead!"

They both turned toward the sound of the voice and saw De Bracy's torturer. Andre cursed her luck. She had bolted the door to the dungeons, but the man must have broken through. He held a mace in his hand. The beefy torturer had murder in his eyes as he pointed at her with his mace.

"There stands the culprit! Sir Maurice breathed his name before he died!"

Andre ran the man at arms beside her through with her sword and pushed his body aside. Holding the mace with both hands, the torturer advanced upon her. Suddenly, he stiffened and dropped his mace, a look of surprise upon his face. He pitched forward. As he fell, Marcel stood revealed, a bloody dagger in his hand.

"Marcel! I told you to remain behind! I could have dealt with-"

Marcel's eyes widened. "Andre! Beware, behind you!"

Instinctively, she threw herself to one side, thereby avoiding the killing stroke. The nysteel armor might have saved her, but her reflexes were too quick for her to think of that. As it was, she caught a glancing blow on her brassard and, stunned, she dropped her shield and staggered. Marcel leapt forward with his dagger.

Andre heard him cry out and raised her head in time to see Bois-Guilbert withdrawing his sword from her little brother's stomach.

"God! Marcel!"

"So," said Bois-Guilbert, "De Bracy's dead and we have a traitor in our midst. As God is my judge, I will show you the price of treason, de la Croix!"

"I have already paid that price," said Andre, glancing at Marcel. "And in a moment, God will be judging you."

What opposition there was was either dead, in flight, or hiding. Finn had to find the chronoplate. It would not be where anyone could readily see it. If Irving had been using Nottingham Castle as his base of operations, then it stood to reason that he'd keep the chronoplate secure within his chambers. But which of the rooms were his?

Finn ransacked them all systematically, tearing everything apart to find the object of his search. In several of the rooms, he found men and women cowering in fright. There was a chance that they would not have attempted to interfere with him, but he could not afford to take it. He shot them all. If they succeeded in their mission, the refs would have a lot of cleaning up to do. If not, the point was moot. There were a lot of lives at stake. Somehow, that thought did very little to comfort him.

The crossbow bolt in his shoulder was beginning to cause him a great deal of pain now. He could not afford to dwell on it. Hunter had to be right, he had to be. The thought of so much killing to no purpose…

Where was it?

There remained two more places where he had not searched. Please, God, Finn thought, let it be in one of them, please. He tried the door. It was bolted from within, like several of the others had been, where people had attempted to hide from him. He took a small amount of the plastique and blew it open. A man rushed at him with a sword. Finn shot him. There was no one else inside. He looked down at his attacker.

He wasn't even old enough to shave.

Irving clocked back into his chambers. Safe, for the moment, behind a bolted door. He was breathing hard. He was almost completely spent. Each time, he tried to rest a little, to catch his breath, but the strain of the temporal fugue was beginning to wear him out.

He had almost bought it when the fugue began. They were using a chronoplate as well! He had been certain that the other referee would not have risked it, would not have had a plate issued to his team. This changed everything. Obviously, there was no chance of tracing the plate. He hadn't been aware of it before and that meant that the tracer function had been bypassed, just as he had done on his unit. Those fools! Didn't they realize what they were forcing him to do? He had gone to a great deal of trouble to become Richard and he hated to abandon his role, but he had to recognize the possibility that he would have to clock out to another period, start a new scenario. They might never find him then. They had forced his hand. He hated to leave now when he had come so close, but it appeared that he would have little choice.

But before he did anything else, he had to bring the fugue to a conclusion. He could not risk being outmaneuvered. He had to stop that man; he was the only one left… And perhaps that would even end it. He had killed the other agent. Perhaps when he killed this one the scenario would take a turn in his favor. Maybe this time the other ref would be too late. He still had a hole card.

Andre de la Croix.

She was carrying a PRU slaved to his chronoplate. He could clock her back into his chambers and bring her back into the fugue with him. He could not hope to explain the mechanics of a temporal fugue to her, but she already believed him to be a wizard, he could pass it all off as sorcery and tell her that the only thing she needed to concern herself with was the death of his opponent. Together, they would outnumber him and he would stand no chance. He had given her the unit in expectation of trouble, but he had not suspected just how badly he would need her. He would end it now.

Reaching for the control console of the chronoplate, he punched out the sequence that would clock her back to Nottingham. Then, when her usefulness was ended, he could kill her at his leisure.

Bois-Guilbert was putting up a valiant struggle, but he was being hammered into the ground. He couldn't understand how de la Croix's armor was standing up so well under his repeated assaults. Both knights were exhausted, but where Bois-Guilbert's armor bore the marks of Andre's assaults, de la Croix's armor was undamaged. She had already drawn blood.

Andre was fighting with a fury unlike anything that she had known before. For the first time, she felt the fire of blood lust coursing through her. She was tired and Bois-Guilbert was strong, but her ensorcelled armor and her charm gave her protection he did not enjoy. He had killed Marcel and he would pay.

With a savage stroke, she smashed at him. He caught the blow on his shield, which was badly battered, and the force of it was too great for him to hold on. She struck again and he lost his shield. Holding his sword with both hands, he attempted to strike back, but de la Croix was on him with a vengeance, pounding away at him, breaking through his armor, getting past his defenses…

He was growing weak from loss of blood. He could not accept that he was losing. It could not be happening, it was impossible. Her sword came down in a vicious chopping stroke and he felt it bite into his armor, penetrate through into his arm. He cried out and felt his sword slip from his hand, felt the floor come up beneath him…

For a moment, there was an incandescent respite. He looked up and saw de la Croix poised with sword held overhead.

"Damn," he whispered softly.

The sword-

— came down.

Irving never knew what killed him.

Andre froze. She did not know what had happened. One moment, Bois-Guilbert was at her mercy, prepared to meet his maker. The next, she was… elsewhere. And her sword had split the sorcerer's head right down the middle. He was at her feet, kneeling before some strange and mystifying apparatus. His helmet was on the floor, inches away, as though he had only just removed it. Dazed, she backed away and watched the corpse topple.

The door exploded inward and Finn Delaney barged into the room. He fired a quick burst into her chest, knocking her off her feet, and then he saw the chronoplate and Irving's corpse. Andre lay on her back, not moving. She was in shock. Not giving her a second glance, Finn set the charge on the chronoplate and hit his PRU. When Andre looked up, he was gone.