Word was that the plague wasn't nearly as bad as the last one. No comfort to Lajaka, who thought plagues happened too bloody often if a man could remember another to compare the two. The worst part, though, was that there wasn't a damn thing most people could do to stop it from striking someone down. Sure, plenty tried to get away, hop on a ship to anywhere-but-here, but while there were plenty leaving Adeluna, there wasn't enough space for all the people trying to get out of the city. Some ships packed anyone who could pay into every spare hold. Others, the smart ones, didn't take anybody, not after hearing about caravels adrift at sea, everyone aboard dead of plague. Some of the smart ones ended up dead, anyway. Didn't matter if you were smart, dumb, strong, weak, rich, or poor, the plague could still carry you off.

At first, Lajaka had been crushed to learn that Luthene and Galin had left Adeluna for Arri- some desert kingdom, she'd been told- not long before she'd arrived in the city. Then the sickness started, and Lajaka was relieved they were away from it. The only problem was that she was still stuck there, and what if she caught it? Travel from another world, then halfway down the continent, only to die of plague so close to her goal.

But it seemed whatever force was keeping them apart wasn't done laughing yet. Lajaka had been to see an armourer to have her sword sharpened when she stepped out of Adeluna and into… some other place. She had no idea where in the world she was, or if she was still in the same world at all. It was a city, Lajaka figured that out on her own, but what city? Where?

After about an hour of wandering, Lajaka still had no idea where she was. It was hot, and full of roses and women, but while that was curious, it wasn't a clue. A few times she had considered asking someone, but that would peg her as an outsider even more than her strange speech and dress. In Adeluna, there was snow on the ground, and she dressed for it. While she looked like a fool in a heavy tunic and long trousers, she'd look even more the fool naked.

When she sat down near a fountain to try and cool off, Lajaka saw a curious thing. Well, more like she heard it: the sound of a Highland man offering anyone with a crescent the chance to best him with a sword and earn ten. It wasn't the contest she found curious, though; it was the voice. She knew it! A little older than she remembered, but then Lajaka was probably just used to hearing him so young, too. Then she got closer, finally able to see him, and her heart stopped. It couldn't be. He was dead, she'd done it herself, but there he was anyway. He'd grown a beard, but Lajaka remembered the scar. He even smelled the same.

For a while, Lajaka stood back and watched others try their hands against him, and losing. The only way she'd ever know if it was him was to get him talking, and that wouldn't happen here. Digging around her pocket, she pulled out a few coins, examined them, and after selecting one she put the rest away. When the last man lost against the Highlander, Lajaka handed her silver to him, face up, and drew her sword. "Here's the deal. You take that, and when I beat you, you use it to buy me a drink, alright?"

"Come on you strange-eyed bitch, you can do better than that!"

One of the local woman, a fighter of renown by her own admission as she boasted about beating him bloody like any woman of Arri could, back away from him, her lip bloodied from the hilt of his sword.  Mathuin was not a giant of a man but he had the strength of a warrior who had carried a sword nearly his whole adult life and the speed of a striking viper.  The wrists, Colum had told him when he was old enough to train with a sword, are what made a swordsman.  Any fool could hack away with a blade like it was a threshing hook come harvest time, but it was the wrists that helped control a blade in a way most men could not.  He had never had the patience to become a proper master, preferring to fight in pitched battle than duels.  But it was more than enough to see off most of the better swordsmen he had ever faced. 

The Rosenite was no different.  She had seen the Highlander at it all day, through the heat and the unrelenting sun, and thought that he would be tired enough now to be easy pickings.  So when she swung and her blade rang against his, she was surprised how easily she slipped past his guard.  Only, as she tried to thrust home and draw blood, he was not there. As soon as the pressure of his blade eased on hers, she stepped forward, lunging, and he stepped to the side, letting the blade pass harmlessly by him and tapping the bridge of her nose with the pommel of his own sword.  The blow was hard enough to stun her and break the skin, leaving blood trickling down her nose and mouth.  She shook her head and attacked again, trusting the strength of her race and the speed of her youth against the impudent old man.  

Mathuin laughed as she came, a deep, throaty sound and the corners of his eyes grew wrinkled with his laughter.  "Thank you for obliging me," he said as the blades rang again, and he stepped back quickly, hoping to catch her off balance, but it did not work.  She recovered and swung at his legs with a fast, whistling cut.  His laughter doubled as he leaped over the hissing blade like a child skipping rope and struck her head again, this time with the flat of his sword against her temple.  She gave a soft sight as her strangely-colored eyes met his in a look of utter shock, then collapsed to the stones of the bazaar.  Mathuin took a ladle of water from the bucket where he lounged, waiting for trade, and dashed it over the collapsed woman's face.  She sputtered, still stunned, and he grabbed her arms to help her to her feet.  "You underestimated me, young lady.  Learn not to do that or someone else may not be so generous.  Now scamper off, will you, and remember these words.  They are ones that may keep even you alive.  Age and treachery will beat youth and skill every time.  Now run along!"  Laughing, he pushed her into the arms of the women who she had boasted to and resumed his spot against one of the cool stone walls at the edge of the bazaar, calling out for new challengers.

The sun was near setting and the market was dying down.  Propping his blade against the barrel, Galin counted the coins in his purse with a smile.  He would be sore come morning, he knew, and there were a few scratches that might need a proper cleaning, but he had made enough to keep him in food and drink for a week to come.  He was just about to sheathe his sword when a Highland woman approached him.  He smiled as she came on, noting the well-worn appearance of her sword.  A proper fighter, he thought to himself, and he pushed himself off the wall toward her.  "A voice of home," he said, raising his own to draw what little crowd might be left.  "It would be a shame to take your coin, of course, even if I did buy you that drink anyway."  As he drew closer, he plucked the coin from her outstretched hand and looked it over.  "Oh Maker's bollocks," he whispered, seeing a far different monarch on the coin than he had in the last two years.  "Actually, love, let's just have that drink.  It is not every day I get to meet someone from my own corner of the world.  Anyhow, the sun's setting and I'm bone tired, and luckily, I know a fine tavern just down the road.  Follow on."  He raised his voice again.  "Tomorrow, my friends, I will be back.  Bring me some better challenges, will you?"

He sheathed his sword, bowed to the crowd, and turned out of the bazaar.  The inn where he was staying was an easy walk away, a walk he took in silence.  The woman had a coin from his time and was of his own people.  It was enough to set a cold chill down his spine despite the heat of the day.  He held the door for her as they arrived, using it as a chance to look at her more closely.  Something about her seemed familiar but he could not place it at all.  All he knew was that she had the coin and that meant she may have some answers.  As he settled into a small table across from her, he poured them each a cup of the sweet, local wine.  "Long live the King," he toasted, and raised his cup to touch hers, then drained it in a single gulp before refilling it.  "Can't stand this stuff as compared to a proper ale but up in this heat, it's all that keeps," he said offhandedly as he drank from his second cup.  "Now, I have questions for you.  I'll assume you have the same, so I will go first.  Who in the nine hells are you and where did you come up with that particular coin?  And if you give me some bollocks about it being some coincidence, we will be having that sword fight for certain.  We understand each other?"

Age and treachery will beat youth and skill every time. Lajaka remembered that bit of advice. It had helped her in a fight, and many an arm-wrestling contest. Hearing it again was chilling.

Giving him the coin had been a gamble, but one that had paid off. As soon as he saw it, he decided to skip the fighting, end the challenges for the day, and go straight for the drink. Fine by her; she was tired and plenty thirsty, and she wasn't sure if she actually could beat him. Lajaka followed the man to the tavern, and held the door open for her. Reconnaissance, Lajaka thought. As she walked past him, she inhaled deeply. She had been confident before, but now she was certain: he smelled the same. She wasn't like to forget it, either, seeing as she'd been the one who slit hit throat.

Of the three versions of this man she'd met, this was the one who looked most like her step-father. He was more heavily scarred, however, and there was more grey in his hair. Because Lajaka had keener senses, she also picked up on things he wouldn't notice, like the subtle differences in how a man smelled depending on what he ate, and how long ago I had been since he bathed. There was always something that never changed, however, and thus far she'd picked that up in all three of him. It was the same for her, too.

Lajaka found a small, out-of-the-way table and sat down, and he took the chair across for her. There was a pitcher on the table, and he poured something for both of them. A sweet wine, she thought. He toasted the king, and while Lajaka went through the motions, even making a face at the taste of he drink, her eyes flickered around to see if anyone had heard him. She hadn't been in Adeluna long, but she knew those were dangerous words. That he felt he could say them so freely meant he was mad, or they were well outside the kingdom and the reach of the queen.

Ordinarily, Lajaka would have wanted to ask questions first, seeing as she gave herself away already with the coin. Still, she had an advantage over him, already knowing who he was and where he came from, so she decided to answer without protest.

"My Ma named me Lunar, after an old friend of hers who died just before I was born." When there was no recognition on his face, she went on. "Everyone calls me Lajaka now, though, here and the place where I came from. And before you hurt yourself thinkin' about it, you don't know me. Different worlds, you and me. But we both had a king, and that coin is one of the ones I had in my pocket when I came through a portal in the Highlands. That was a little more than three months ago, I think. So no coincidence me havin' that coin. Findin' you, though, that is a coincidence." 

Lajaka drained her cup, not really tasting the wine, and held it up for him to refill. "My turn," she continued. "First, you should know that if you lie to me, I'll know it, and I'd rather not have to fight you neither. So, what's the last thing you remember before you ended up here, and how did you end up here in the first place?"

So she was nervous about his toast, he noticed, from the furtive glances she was casting around as he spoke. He smiled and looked her over, judging how far he could trust her from how she reacted. She had likely been in the South if she was worried about the toast, and was not sure how far that worry over the King went. Maybe she was unsure where she was, which meant she was new to the land, at least more so than he was. It gave him some sort of advantage, he thought, knowing the lay of the land in a way she clearly did not. It also told him that the cracks were still opening and part of him wondered if there was a way to get back. There was so much that he needed to do back where he came from and it would be a blessing to return to his home and go back to his private war with the Spirit Lord.

Her name was Lunar, though it held no meaning for Mathuin. He remembered vaguely one of the leaders of the New Order may have had a name like that but it was not something that stuck out in his memory as anything of import. Lajaka likewise meant nothing to him and he wondered what strange dialect gave rise to the name, foreign sounding to the Highlander’s ears. And she seemed to know that he would not know her and this intrigued him even further. “So, you’ve been here three months, Lajaka? And in that time, have you met others from across the rifts? I have been here a good sight longer and they have been scarce as hen’s teeth for me.” She seemed to know him and it puzzled Mathuin some, a puzzlement he disguised by sipping his wine. “And don’t worry about the toast. We’re in Arri, far side of the world from the Queen in Adeluna, so we can toast whoever we bloody well like now.”

He filled her cup as he weighed her questions. They were fair but he was unsure of how much he wanted to reveal, especially if she did know if a man was lying or not. “Don’t be so quick to pick a fight with a man who’d best you, love,” he said with a wink, and then leaned back in his seat. “As for your questions, here’s the truth of it. I was out on patrol in the north, looking to ambush some of the buggers from the Spirit Lord’s hall in a pass just outside the vill of Dun Caric. Not a big place, Dun Caric, but they cared for us, even if the enemy made ‘em suffer for it. We knew they would be coming, so we lined the vale, ready to come out of the trees and strike ‘em. As they passed us, we attacked and I was busy gutting some bugger when the ground looked like a rippling pond of silver then him and me were here, him still dying and me confused out of my head since the vale I landed in was the same, only no battle to be seen. That was two years ago now, give or take the odd week.

“Luthene’d told me about ripples and portals and the lot, but that was never really a concern of mine; she was ever the scholar anyhow.” He drained his cup and filled it again. “So these two years I’ve been living in this strange damn place, making sense as best I can of how my sorry arse ended up here. Now you, what is it you remember of your time, Lajaka? And do ya know anything of mine? Maybe between us we can figure a way out of this shitehole of a world, yeah?”

"Met a lad whose ma was half-orc," Lajaka explained. "I liked the sound of it better than the one I'd been usin'. Anyway, you're the first I've seen not from here," Lajaka dmitted. "And I've been lookin' since I got here."

As the man answered her, Lajaka sipped her wine. She was adjusting to the taste of it, and while she still would prefer whiskey, it was liquid and it might get her drunk if she had enough. When he mentioned Luthene, she had just taken a mouthful, and nearly choked on it. She knew they had both been there, but it still hurt her to hear it. From the man's story, she knew that he had somehow fallen through a portal before Lajaka had met him. Yet that had been two years ago, the same amount of time he'd been in this world. Could Timedeath be the cause?

"Luthene," Lajaka said when he finished. "Your wife?" She wanted to know about the boy, too. Did this man have a son? One who looked like him, but with her eyes? She didn't know his name, but she'd seen him. If he mentioned a son, she might have a better idea how far back in time he'd fallen.

"Dun Caric was at peace, last I was there. Controlled most of the Highlands right to the Steppes. Spirit Lord dead and gone, the nation crushed and incorporated into Dun Caric's holdings." She thought about telling him that he'd lead the place for a while, but he'd never actually liked leading anyway. "I know less about your world. Similar to ours, but there was a big war that I don't think happened in yours, or not the same way. See, where I'm from, a goddess made the world by folding time, wanting to undo her marriage to another god and the son they'd had. He was spitting mad about that, of course, and off to war the world went. But what you need to know is that the folding, it ain't perfect, and cracks between worlds appeared. If I'm right- and I'm usually right- your world and mine used to be the same, before the folding. This world is kinda the same, too, but with Timedeath instead of folding. Cracks, too." Lajaka paused and took a drink. "I ain't sure how to get back. If there's a pattern to the portals, I ain't figured it out yet. Worst part is, I ain't sure there's a world to g back to. I ended up here because things there were falling apart, in an apocalyptic sort of way. But I think we're drawn to certain people. I went looking for my Ma, or whatever version of her exists here, and I found her, by chance. Then I found you, and not an hour ago I was in Adeluna getting my sword sharpened. Something happened to bring me here, and I ain't sure it was random luck."

Again, Lajaka finished her drink and held her mug out for more. "And age and treachery might beat youth and skill, but what about youth, skill, and treachery?" She leaned back in her chair, trying to think of something more to ask. "Tell me about your life there. Family? And Dun Caric, how'd that come to be? Who's in charge there?"

So he was her first. Interesting.

It was hard to find people that had come over through the rifts or cracks or whatever they called them around here. Some, like Mathuin, had blended into the new world nearly seamlessly and disappeared into the fabric of Revaliir. Others did not, made a nuisance of themselves, and were likely killed. The rest, the Maker only knew. Mathuin had done a lot to keep himself from notice and this woman had taken to him straight away. Something was strange about all this and he wanted to find out who she was to him, or some other version of him, so he would know if she was a friend or a foe. From her reaction when he mentioned Luthene, she clearly knew of his past in some fashion, up to the moment he left. Luthene and he had not been reacquainted until two years before he left when he found her in the Highlands, seeking shelter in her forge while he was hunted by scouts from the Spirit Lord. After that, she had joined him in his campaign and fought by his side.

“Wife… that’s about the sum of it, but we’ve never given vows or the like. But she was that to me in all but name. Maybe she will be yet, if I can get myself back across the rift to my folks. We’ve been together about two years, give or take, as best I can remember with the whole jumping shite.” He shrugged a bit defensively. He regretted not having properly asked for her hand, thinking he had all the time in the world. What an idiot he had been.

“Dun Caric in control of the North? You must be mad! Maker’s bollocks.” He grinned and shook his head in disbelief. “When I was there, it was a flyspeck of a village, one large hall and a palisade, a few shops, and a half decent tavern. The Rusty Codpiece, if I remember correctly.” He chuckled, as he nearly always did, at the name. “And you’re saying it’s running the Highlands and they finally stopped squabbling like old matrons? So the Maker does love us, just not in my bloody world!” He sank the rest of the wine and refilled his cup, nodding to the barman for another jug. “And that war… Oh, that war happened for sure. A bloody domestic squabble killed a thousand odd men from my troop, and that treacherous mage bastard tried to double cross everyone at the end.” He patted the hilt of his sword so she could see. “So I settled that score, at least. After the war, they had me on the dirty duty of hunting down supporters of the Godslayer into the hills and vales of the land. It was bloody work and kept me blind to the Spirit Lord taking the Highlands under sway. By the time I noticed, it was too late and I was left with only a handful of the men I started the war with to fight the bastard.”

He refilled her cup from the new jug and smirked at her cheek. “You’ve got a mouth on you, that’s for sure, Lajaka. I still think I’d take you, fair fight or dirty. You don’t survive a death god lightly.” Winking, he pondered her question a little more. “Life there, well, what you would expect I guess. Living for the fight, Luthene, Colum with his one eye, Fergal, all good blades from the war. Never had a time for a family outside the lads, really, and wouldn’t have wanted one until they’d be able to live safe on their own land.” He scratched his beard, feeling the edge of his long scar under the hair. “Now what’s this about Luthene being your ma? I know you didn’t say it, but I ain’t as dumb as I look. You nearly choked when I said her name and now you’re prying about family, so be level with me. What’s her story and yours, then? I’ve been straight with you, so do me the courtesy of returning the favor, alright?”

The cogs in Lajaka's mind turned as he spoke. Wife in all but name, and no mention of a son. If she was anything like her ma- and why wouldn't she be- she'd have insisted on formalising their relationship if she was going to have a child by him. So no boy. That meant he was a good fifteen years or more behind the time when she had met him.

"Not the whole of the North," Lajaka corrected. "The orc still have their land, and there's a big bloody desert not controlled by nobody. But Dun Caric has the Highlands, and there's still some squabbling, but mostly united. War does that. When it came down to fighting each other or fighting him, they came together to fight him. Just need the right sort of man to bring them together and lead them." Again, Lajaka didn't mention that he was the one to do that. He'd never believe her.

Lajaka smirked when he mentioned had a mouth. He didn't know the half of it. She was still relatively sober, after all. He went on to talk about his life, and again, no mention of a son, or even expecting one. Then he asked about her mother directly. Lajaka wasn't exactly hiding it, but she wasn't prepared for the question, either. Three months of not telling people who her mother was left her surprised when someone did figure it out.

"I been straight with you," Lajaka replied. "You just ain't asked the right questions until now." She sighed, gulped back the rest of her wine, and then nodded. "Aye, she's my Ma. Not the Luthene with you, or the one here, but the one in my world." Again she paused. Lajaka six like telling this particular story. "I happened because of a particular set of circumstances that ain't been repeated in your world, or this one. Might be there's just one of me. She, uh, never really planned on me, and she was terrified of the no-good fucker who got her pregnant to begin with." She hoped that explanation was clear enough for him. "I was born in a small town in the south, then we came north when the king died; I was about four or five, then. I never knew who my father was, and many years later, I went looking for him. And then in Dun Caric, I found him. Not by blood, mind, and I don't give a pig's shit about him. No, I met a man father to me in the ways that mattered. He took his sweet time about making it official, too, but they were planning it, before the world went to shit." Lajaka leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "So I'd damn well better be able to beat you, seeing who I had teaching me to use a sword."

Reaching for the pitcher, Lajaka refilled her glass and drank deep. "I ain't sure if it's possible to get back, or if there's anything there for you on the other side. But if you're willing to take the chance, I have an idea. Just promise me that if you do make it back, you ask her proper, you hear?

"And what sort of man is that, then, that can get the buggers there to put things aside and fight together? He’d have to be the second coming of the bloody Maker, from what I had up there. Me, I was slogging through the glens with a handful of trusted men, using what locals would volunteer when an ambush needed doing, and even that was like pulling teeth. Maker’s bollocks but it would be a scary day to have all our lot under one banner. Might even keep the likes of Adeluna from being right bastards whenever they like.” It was a fantasy, of course, one he knew he would never see in his lifetime, or for a hundred lifetimes. The clans were as they ever were, disjointed and more likely to attack each other than see the futility of the internecine war that marred their lives. Mauthin shrugged and sipped his wine. It was a fine idea, at least, but he would not hold out much hope for it in this world. And, he reminded himself, it was no concern of his. He was a traveling man of the world, not a Highlander. He had to try and remember that.

She seemed to have a very wide knowledge of a whole host of worlds and it was starting to prick the part of Mathuin’s mind that told him he was in danger. Something was not right and he waited, letting her tell her story, trying to put his finger on just what it was that made him uneasy about her. “I hope the bastard got what he deserved,” he interjected when the manner of Luthene’s pregnancy was discussed in broad terms and he meant it, even in another world. Some things just would never stand in his eyes and that was one. And she found a father in Dun Caric, not the one that birthed her but another man. And Dun Caric was the center of the North’s human holdings. Something about it set off an alarm for him and his eyes narrowed slightly. She was not lying but she was still holding back. He “ain’t asked the right questions” and it was starting to become clear that she was selecting her narrative very, very carefully. Mathuin let out a long, slow breath, listening to her offer of a chance to return to his time. It was interesting to him, of course, but he had to deal with the queasy feeling in his gut first, to see if he could really trust her.

“We will come back to that if you don’t mind,” he said with a smile, trying to keep from barking at her in frustration. He was not a fan of these sorts of mind games, preferring the simple, brutal honesty he employed with his men back when he had them. “Instead, I am wondering how in the nine hells you know so damned much about me. You ain’t even asked my name and you’re talking about my world and worlds like mine and you ain’t even been in this one three months. So what’s your real story, eh?” You know I ain’t known you but that means you know me. So I’d like to know just how you’ve done that. And you’re keen on my family life as well and I figure there’s more there than simple polite curiosity. So what is it you ain’t telling me? No more of these “right questions” shite. The whole truth, if you don’t mind, or else you’ll see the back of me faster than you can spit.” He looked at her intently, into her familiar eyes, and waited, fingers drumming on the wood of the table, for her answers. She held all the cards but he could still walk away. If the last two years taught him anything, it was that he could always just walk away.

"Aye, or a man who figured the Maker called him to do it. Wasn't off in the head, neither." Lajaka shrugged. Perhaps he'd never believe it was possible unless he actually saw it. Might be he wouldn't even believe it then. 

Lajaka let the comment about him go without remark. In truth, she had no idea what had happened to him, nor did her Ma. He stopped being someone important, she knew that much, but that was the last her Ma heard. Not that she really asked around, mind. And Lajaka, once she knew about him, hadn't looked much herself, either. Only father she had worth the name was Galin.

Finally, he started asking the right questions. Lajaka sipped on her wine until he had said his piece. When he finished, she crossed her arms again and said "Galin." She cocked her head to one side. "Figured you'd know by now why I never had to ask your name. There was a man like you on my side, too. Here, too, but younger, and the hair's wrong. I don't know his story yet, though. Truth is, I don't know a whole lot about yours, neither. Most of what I know comes later." Lajaka drained her wine cup again, sloshing it around in her mouth before she swallowed. She wanted to tell him, but he already wasn't inclined to trust. How would he feel it he knew the rest? 

Then again, this time she had the chance to save him. That was worth taking. 

"When you fell into this world, you fell back in time, too. At least fifteen years. So what I know is your future, and it don't end well. I'll tell you, but only because it means you won't fall into the same trap again. And if you get back, you promise me that when it all happens, if it happens, you won't be there when you and I were supposed to meet. I won't tell you unless you swear it." She waited until she had his word, then dove into the story.

"It started about two years ago. Galin- my Galin- was mostly retired after leading the clans against that same arsehole you're fighting off. He started having problems with his memory, forgetting things he'd done, and remembering things he hadn't. At the same time, what's left of Dun Caric's old enemy started poking the bear, and he had to respond. I went with him. As we were planning things, we realised something was funny about the whole mess. Not enough men at the fort, and there was a room no one could get eyes inside. Turned out their plan was to march on Dun Caric itself, but for some reason they needed to draw Galin out."

Lajaka paused, took a deep breath, then went on. "When we got there, we realised what was in the room was a crack, leading to another world, same as ours but the arsehole had never been defeated. Your world. They'd found a way to bring men between the two worlds, and there was a big fucking army on the other side waiting to come to my world. So through the crack I went. Didn't have no plan, just knew I had to try and figure out how to close the thing. Got lucky when some Highland men showed up to put holes in that army, but it had been a trap. They wanted to draw you out, same as my Galin, because they needed the both of you for a ritual that might merge the worlds.

" When I was there, I saw a boy, maybe fifteen. Spitting image of you, 'cept for the eyes. Her eyes. They almost killed him, but you managed to get him out. They captured you instead." She lowered her head. "That's when I found out about the ritual, trying to save you. But when I learned that needed you, that they couldn't do it without you… I killed you." Again she paused. "Wish I could say you went out fighting, but it didn't go that way. But it was quick."

Her mouth was dry when she finished, and Lajaka emptied the pitcher into hgr cup, and drank deep. "I figure that's your best shot, though, if you want to go back. Get to that hill. Might be we'll get lucky."

"For fuck's sake, don't use that name."

His voice was a rasping hiss and his left hand shot out and gripped her arm like a vice. His eyes, usually calm and twinkling with what seemed to the world like his own private amusement, were hard and cold and his lips pulled back in almost a snarl. He had spent the last two years avoiding that name like the plague, picking a new one and building a new life in this land and here, in a tavern in a strange city in the North of the world, some slip of a girl had threatened to being it all crashing down around him. He let go of a breath he had not realized he was holding and slowly released his grip on her arm and leaned back to sit comfortably in his seat. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” he said between deep breaths. “I spent two years burying that name along with everything else that came with it, the war, the Highlands, your bloody mother, the lot. Ain’t a man alive in this world that knows me as such and I want to keep it that way, you understand me?” Sometimes the past was too painful a thing to face, even for a man who had faced down the terrors he had in his time. The past, a man’s memory, it was the deadliest enemy of them all.

He drank as she spoke, fighting the urge to leave immediately. Something about her earnestness was compelling and he remained rooted in his seat as she asked for his promise that he not put himself in the position her story would tell. And he wanted to know badly enough to give his word, something he never did lightly, especially after all it had cost him before. “Aye, you have my word. If this all works, I won’t be wherever there is whenever then is, no matter what is happening on my side. So tell me all you know.”

It was a fantastic story. Two years ago, he would have laughed and said she was touched in the head and meant it. Now he knew there could be truth to those words. He was living proof of that and it made him cringe. So, the war had not gone as he had hoped. That was a bitter pill to swallow for a man that never was truly bested and had the pride to match that reputation. But that was not the worst blow. He had a son. With Luthene, he had a son, and now that son would never be, not unless he forced a way back to his time. He grimaced and blinked, trying to maintain his composure even as it felt like a great rent was being torn in his soul. This is why he had buried Galin when the rift snapped shut. He could not live as he did and still be tied to that world, to those people he lost or it would overwhelm him.

“So…” His voice was soft, almost inaudible over the quiet din in the tavern’s taproom. “He survived? At least, you saw him escape safe before I was taken?” The fact that he was asking a woman that admitted, after a fashion, to killing him did not matter. Part of him needed to know that somewhere in the folded lines of time the Goddess created to hide her shame, his son lived. He had never been blessed with children that lived to see their tenth year. It was a burden he carried in quiet acceptance, trusting that the Maker had chosen to take his little ones as some punishment for his failings or simply because he was bored and loved to meddle in the affairs of the world for his amusement.

Mathuin slumped in his seat, trying to make sense of the last five minutes. He had lost the anonymity of a traveling swordsman making coins at market fairs and was forced to confront the man he had been, the man he left for dead in the world that spat him out into this one. It was enough to drive a man mad. He closed his eyes as she said her last words, speaking of the mountain where it all happened and the idea that, from that summit, he may be able to return. It was too good to be true, he told himself. He had met others who were not of time age and they had tried every spell and stratagem imaginable to try and return to their homes and to his knowledge, not one succeeded. He shook his head and opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on Lajaka.

“I do not begrudge what you did, so you know. If it stopped them from ruining a world where the clans were at peace, I would have worked he blade myself.” His voice was husky with emotion and he looked at her as though for the first time, remembering her words about the man from Dun Caric. He did not believe that he would make it back but knew that he would try. But he knew, as a deeper certainty, that there was something he ought to do in this world. He reached his hand out again and clasped hers, the tenderness a contrast to how he gripped her just moments before. “I was wrong to lose my temper. You see, I have lived alone for these last years and it has taught me to protect myself at all costs. But,” he paused and his tone dropped even lower, almost a rumble in his chest, “but I am not alone anymore. If the rift reopens, praise the Maker for it, and I will keep my word. But if it does not, neither of us will be alone in this place anymore.” He smiled as he spoke, hoping she saw the sincerity in his words as he blinked away the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. She had been his daughter once, after a fashion, and if the portal would not return him, maybe she would would be again.