Eric’s confidence in his fighting skill didn’t last very long, once his opponent started his attack. He’d dodged the first two thrown knives with good reflexes, then avoided the plunging attack this person had made. It was hard not to feel a little too confident after those feats of dexterity, he thought. But when it came to speed, he was about to learn just how lacking he truly was.

The figure made no response to his comment about talking. They pulled some kind of short rod from within their cloak, and Eric felt the tingle in the air that was the sign of strong magic. Then, with a brief flash of light, the weapon expanded, becoming a long, sturdy stick that looked to be made of wood, with reinforced metal ends. A quarterstaff, he thought, then immediately corrected himself. This was a full-length war staff, a bulkier version of the graceful quarter or bo staves. It packed much more of a punch.

Well, he might know a lot about the war staff thanks to his knowledge of medieval weaponry, but it didn’t do him much good with facing one. For that, he would have to rely on the skills he’d learned since arriving here. He’s got a longer reach, Eric thought. So the obvious solution is to get in close and cramp him for space. Don’t grant him the room required to wield his weapon. Unfortunately, this required getting past the weapon, and the stranger didn’t give him a chance to work out a strategy for that.

The dark-cloaked stranger started off with a few heavy swings, gripping the war staff with two hands and cleaving it through the air, aiming for Eric’s head, arms, and torso. Eric parried the first strike away from his head, then jumped back to avoid the strike on his right forearm. He darted in almost at once, getting close enough to leverage away the force of the weapon, letting him push it aside with his smaller blade more easily. He was close as he could be now, nearly face to face. He could see the bright brown eyes under the deep hood, the brows furrowed in concentration.

Then he felt an iron-clad punch hit him in the stomach, with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. As he staggered back, too stunned to retaliate, the staff came around with alarming speed and slammed into the left side of his collarbone. The pain wasn’t as bad as it should have been, which worried him at once. He knew that, in case of severe breaks, pain could be dulled by shock. And, as if to reinforced this point, two small windows of text had appeared in his field of vision, one after the other.

He tried to swing his right sword but it was horribly slow, and the figure side-stepped it easily. Then they lashed out with a kick, catching Eric high in the chest and knocking him flat. Stars popped in his eyes, and his field of vision was going dark with pain. 3 HP gone in a matter of seconds, he thought, his mind filling with panic. And to make matters worse, he had a debuff of -40 in both attack and defense. Half of that debuff might be a short duration, but 2 rounds would be plenty of time for the stranger to kill him.

Making up his mind in an instant, he opened his mouth and shouted as loud as he could. “Attack! Guards! There’s an attack!”

It wasn’t the most courageous option, he knew, but what choice did he have? His shout surprised his attacker, who hesitated for a second. In that brief time, Eric clambered back to his feet and ran for the main road. It was only twenty or so feet from him, he knew, but even twenty feet felt like a mile to him as he staggered toward the lantern light. He heard the unmistakable sound of running footsteps behind him, knowing that his opponent was closing in for the finishing blow.

Two sharp sounds, that of metal striking metal, then a slamming impact. In spite of himself, he turned to see what had happened. His attacker had come to an abrupt stop, weapon raised and looking up at a nearby roof. Broken pieces of wood and metal lay around him on the ground. Following his gaze even as he kept running, Eric saw another figure up above, holding a crossbow pointed at the stranger. They were silhouetted against the moonlight so their features were hidden, but Eric was sure he recognized him.

Rajlen Korin opened fire once again. His crossbow seemed magical, for it fired three bolts in rapid succession. Each one was batted away with a quick flick of the war staff, but they had the effect of keeping their target in place. The dark-cloaked attacker couldn’t chase Eric and keep the bolts away at the same time. Finally, his vision was dominated by torch and lantern light, and he wasn’t able to make out any more details of his attacker. He turned sharply, heading in a random direction, trying not to pass out from the pain of his shoulder.

People stared at him in alarm as he bolted past them, and a few shouted questions or concerns, asking if he needed an emergency healer. He ignored each and every one of them, too focused on putting distance between himself and the attacker. What if Korin couldn’t hold them off long enough, or worse yet, what if the stranger killed Korin? The Rajlen archer was dangerous in his own right and had a superior position, but that might change.

His mind whirled with thoughts. Why had Korin bothered to save him in the first place? Was it because he respected Eric and wanted to see him live? Or had he just assumed the attacker to be involved in the affair Eric was investigating? If that were the case, Korin might have just been trying his best to take out a dangerous foe. Had Matthias ordered him to do that? He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but failed miserably.

He didn’t know how long it took him, but somehow, he made it to safety. Though he hadn’t realized it, his path of escape had taken him directly into the Temple District. Followers of the many different gods were strolling up and down the wide lane that split the various temples and shrines, talking quietly with their fellows. They noticed Eric as he passed them, and their faces went pale. Clearly thinking that someone was attacking people in the district again, many simply turned and hurried away. A few made warding gestures in his direction, and one or two even looked slightly hostile.

One figure was different, however. Just as he came into the district and dropped to his knees, chest heaving with the effort of his mad dash, a woman came rushing over to him, her face full of concern. She had long brown hair falling loose over her shoulders and kind warm brown eyes of the same shade. She immediately dropped to a crouch beside him, looking into his face.

“Oh, my gods!” She exclaimed. “You don’t look good. Come quickly, we must get you down and heal you up!”

He was too weak to resist or try to deny the help, and she was surprisingly strong, slipping under his uninjured shoulder and propping him up. Fighting back a wave of nausea as the movement twinged his broken shoulder again, he glanced blearily around as she started leading him to one of the buildings. Through the haze of pain, he saw the wolf’s head crest above the door, the personal heraldry of Shigeru Tokugawa. By accident, he’d made it to the temple after all.

“Master Tokugawa!” Another voice, this one deep and sonorous, reached them. “Who is that? Put him here. Come quickly!”

As Eric glanced around, wondering where Ehran Tokugawa was, the woman laid him gently on a soft cot placed along one wall. He vaguely heard her speak to the healer that had rushed over. “I don’t know his name. He just stumbled into the Temple District, all beaten up. I think he was attacked.”

“Could it be connected to that unfortunate business the other day?” The man asked. Not waiting for an answer, he had untied the clasps of Eric’s armor and pulled it off. “Perhaps we should call a member of the Guard to question him.”

“I don’t think he’s a criminal,” the woman said. She was working around the man, handing him cloths and other equipment without him needing to ask. She clearly worked here. “He seems decent enough.”

“If you say so, Anya,” the man said, now removing Eric’s sword belt. He pulled his tunic off with one quick movement, his movements careful and measured. “It’s a pretty bad break. Get me a potion for pain and materials for a splint.”

“Already have them,” she said, pushing the required items into the healer’s hand. The man set to work quickly, putting the neck of the small bottle to Eric’s mouth. He refused to drink it at first, but when the healer pinched his nose, he was forced to open his mouth to breathe. The potion started to work at once, rendering his entire body numb. Grunting in satisfaction, the healer started to bind Eric’s shoulder.

Why wasn’t he using magic to heal the wound before he started binding it? Eric’s tired brain mustered the one thought through the sea of exhaustion that had replaced the pain. Maybe the man had done it, and he’d been too delirious to notice. Or maybe he couldn’t work that kind of magic. He turned his head lazily to watch the healer work. His face, full of gray hair, was contorted in concentration as he tended to Eric’s wound. After the shoulder, he gingerly probed the area of his chest where the kick had landed.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” he muttered. “Don’t need to do much. The bruise will be gone in days.”

Eric tried to muster the energy to thank the man but found he couldn’t accomplish even this small task. Another potion was fed to him, and he started to feel drowsy. A sleeping draft, he thought. It was the last lucid thought he had before he slipped into the world of dreams. The change happened so smoothly, so effortlessly, that he couldn’t tell when he crossed over. His dreams were strange.

He was at home, in Fairbanks, typing away on his computer. It was dark outside, and he had to finish this chapter before he got back to playing some video games. But he was tired, too tired to concentrate. The lines of text blurred on the screen, and he blinked hard. Then his door burst open, and the attacker from the alley in Ahya charged him, swinging that heavy staff. He dodged frantically, tried to draw his sword before realizing he was unarmed, then dove out the window. He landed on the pavement outside his apartment and ran for his life.

Finally, he made it to the gas station at the nearby corner. The lights were on, even though there were no customers. Heaving a sigh of relief at the safe shelter, he went inside. Might as well buy a drink while he was here. He selected a bottle of sweet tea, brought it up to the counter, and fished out a copper coin. Then he glanced up. The woman, Anya, the one who had carried him to the temple, was working behind the desk and took the copper coin with a friendly smile. It went into the register, next to the normal paper money, looking quite out of place.

Confused, he looked back down at himself. He was dressed in his normal Earth clothing, a simple tee-shirt, and jeans. But at his side was a coin pouch. Strange, he thought. Something wasn’t quite right with the situation. Glancing back up, he saw that Anya wasn’t there anymore. In her place was Samuel Bragg, smiling widely at him in that self-amused way he had.

“You look a little lost for words there, Eric,” the Archmage said cheerfully, looking quite out of place in a red vest and black jeans. His hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and he looked unarmed. “I think you’re dreaming of the wrong world.”

Then everything went black, and he dreamed no more.