Rod struggled frantically to get his feet under him. Whatever lay at the end of those two meters, he wasn't going to like.
Then, through the mesh, he saw it—a jury-rigged thing of telescoping legs, framing a triangular arch that showed only a blaze of sunlight, harsh on his eyes. He recognized the transdimensional gate that had taken himself and his family to the alternate universe of Tir Chlis, and he bellowed in rage and panic, channeling every ounce of it at the gadget——
He was an instant too late. The net cut into his back, heaved up, and shot through, just as the contraption behind him burst into flame.
Sickened, he struggled against the ropes, got his feet under him, and surged up to stand. He thrashed the net off him, and whirled about, wild-eyed.
In every direction, as far as he could see, grassland swept away to the horizon. The air was filled with the fragrance of growth, and the sunshine enveloped him with warmth. It wasn't very far up—which was easy to tell, because the land was flat as a chessboard. He turned, staring, amazed at the silence, all the more vivid for the few faint bird-calls and the murmurings of insects. The land rolled up behind the net, up and up to a high ridge. Everywhere, everywhere was grass, waist-high.
It wasn't Gramarye.
Rod glared about him, powerless to do anything about it. They'd been very neatly caught, he and his wife…
Fury transformed into horror. The ambush had been admirably planned; they'd knocked Gwen out in the first few moments. But how far out? He dropped to one knee, clawing the net away from her, cradling her head in the crook of an elbow, patting her face, caressing it, slapping very gently. "Gwen! Come to! Wake up—please! Are you there? Wake up!" He poised his mouth in front of her lips, felt for breath, and relaxed with a sigh. She was alive. Everything else was secondary—she was alive!
Belatedly, he remembered his psi powers—not surprising, since he'd only had them for a year or two. He stilled, listening closely with his mind—and heard her dream. He smiled, insinuating himself into it, asking her to wake, to speak to him—and she did.
"Nay, I am well now," she murmured. "Twas but a moment's discomfort…"
"A little more than that, I think." Gently, Rod probed the side of her head. She was still; then, suddenly, she gasped. Rod nodded. "Goose egg already—well, a robin's—but it'll be a goose egg."
She reached up to touch the spot tenderly, then winced. "What did hap, my lord? I mind me thou didst turn, with a warcry…"
"A gang of thugs jumped us. They knocked you out on the first swing—and they had me outnumbered. Caught us up in a net, and dragged us through a dimensional gate."
She smiled. "A net? Nay, I must needs think they did find thy skill too great for them."
"Why, thank you." Rod smiled down at her. "Of course, there's also the possibility they were under orders not to kill us—and fighting is more difficult when you have to knock somebody out, but not kill him."
Gwen frowned. "Why dost thou think they abjured slaying?"
"Because they used cudgels, not pikes. But, when they couldn't take us alive, they settled for kidnapping us out of our own time and place." Rod frowned, looking around. "Which means there should be somebody around, waiting for a second try."
"Aye, my lord. If they wished us alive, they must needs have had strong reason." She gazed up at him. "What is this 'dimensional gate' of which thou didst speak? I catch, from thy mind, memories of Tir Chlis."
Rod nodded. "Same type. But how'd they know where to waylay us? That gate had to be set up ahead of time."
"The crone," Gwen murmured.
Rod smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course! The whole thing was a setup! She didn't really need my help… she was a Futurian agent!"
"They knew thou wouldst not refuse to assist one in need."
Rod nodded. "So good old helpful me gave an old lady a hand, and she bit it! Told me right where to go—and set up her trap." He shook his head. "Remind me not to do anyone any favors."
"I would never wish that," Gwen said firmly. "Yet in future, let us beware of all gifts."
"Yeah—we'll open them under water." Rod looked around, frowning. "Wonder what alternate universe they've shanghaied us into this time?"
A ululating cry slashed through the air, and thirty purple-skinned fur-kilted men rose up out of the tall grass a hundred yards away.
Rod and Gwen stared.
A spear arced through the air, to bury its head in the earth half a meter from Rod's feet.
Rod snapped out of his daze. "Wherever we are, we ain't welcome. Run, dear!"
They whirled and charged, Gwen gathering up her skirts. "Our abductors could at the least have sent a broomstick!"
"Yes, very careless of them." But Rod chewed at the inside of his lip. "Still, maybe you had the right idea there, dear. Let's try it and see. Ready?" He slipped an arm around her. "Up we go!"
They leaped into the air. Rod put all his attention into staying up; the natives became secondary, dim and distant. They rose up a good twenty feet.
"Turn," Gwen suggested.
Rod banked, worrying about the "why" later. Until he got good at this game, he'd have to let Gwen do the steering.
She had novel ideas. They swooped back toward the natives like avenging furies.
The savages screeched to a halt, partly from surprise, mostly from alarm. Good little victims weren't supposed to attack.
"Attempt a war-cry," Gwen advised.
Rod grinned, and let out a whoop that would have shamed all the rebels in Dixie.
That was a mistake; it gave the savages something familiar. They snapped out of their shock and closed ranks in front of the flying Gallowglasses.
"Wrong tactic," Rod decided. "Hold tight." He thought up hard, and soared way high over the savages' heads, thoroughly out of bowshot. Then they swung down.
"Wherefore so low, my lord?" Gwen asked.
"Just in case I run out of lift."
Gwen blanched. "If we are going to strike the earth, my lord, I would prefer not to fly so swiftly."
"Don't worry, babe, I can stop on a dime. Of course, it doesn't do the dime much good…"
The ground rose up beneath them. They rose with it, too, of course—and the whooping barbarians were growing smaller very quickly, behind them. Up, and over the rise— and the savages disappeared below the curve of the ridge.
"Surely they must be the half of a mile behind us, now, my lord," Gwen protested. "Will they not have given up by now?"
Rod nodded. "If you say so, darling. I just hope they were listening."
They slowed, and dropped gently to the ground. Gwen smiled as her heels touched earth. "Thou dost progress amazingly in thine use of thy powers, my lord."
"Oh, you know—just practice." But Rod felt a thoroughly irrational glow at her praise. "I must say, though, I'm surprised it didn't put more of a shock into our hunters."
"Aye." Gwen frowned. "What manner of men were they?"
"Oh—just your average barbarians."
"But—they were purple!"
"The human race is amazing in its diversity," Rod said piously. "On the other hand, you never know—the color might wash off in a good rain."