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CHAPTER 6

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Although it felt like the battle had raged for an hour, Artie realized only a few minutes had passed. He surveyed the carnage around him. Burned or bloodied bodies were scattered around. Several of their fighters had already run to the encampment, collected everything of value and set fire to the rest.

Without the sword in his hand, Artie felt the odd buzzing in his mind slowly dissipate. His fingers itched to pick it up again but he resisted the urge. There were no enemies left to chase down. The skirmish was over although he wondered just how effective killing Gerza-Set would be in the long run. If someone had made the flame-thrower then surely another one could be made and strapped to a willing fighter. But Artie didn't have the heart to say as much. He was exhausted and sore and he just wanted to go home.

Using a dead man's shirt, he finally clasped the grip of the sword. Another shirt wiped it clean. Making sure his skin didn't come in contact with any of it he slid the sword back into its protective sheathing and sighed wearily. Then he selected a cleaner section of that same cloth and wiped the red splattered droplets off his glasses.

The helmet he left on but only because he needed it for translation purposes. If he'd been given the choice, he would have ripped it off because he now knew the truth of them. In times of imminent danger these two artifacts clearly joined powers and howled for blood. And it was insatiable in that quest.

"Donjonik!" a voice hollered from a lone warrior who'd been left behind to warn them of approaching danger. He raced up to them, panting from the effort. "Something strange has happened!"

"Out with it!" the leader prompted when the man was a bit too slow in speaking.

"I'm not sure what to call it. A giant light, back in the field we passed. Like a huge gem. But big enough to encompass a man."

Artie rounded on him. "Is it a doorway? Can you tell?"

The warrior looked at him as if surprised to see him alive. "Indeed, although we'd have to hunch for it to cover us."

Before they could say a word, Artie was off and running as if his very life depended on it, which, in his case, might well have been true. These people would have accepted him openly and fully but he knew he never wanted to be in another battle like that one. And certainly that would happen if he was trapped here.

He didn't bother to waste time shedding his clothing or armor. Arms pumping, legs churning up dirt and foliage, he hurtled toward the field with the portal and would have screamed with relief if his lungs had held enough air for it. Regardless of whether he made it there on his own two feet or crawled the rest of the distance, one way or another he was going to get home.

Booted feet were still pounding as he neared the glittering doorway. With a last desperate burst of energy, he threw his entire body, head first into the portal. First he felt its pull as it sucked him in but unlike the first time he had no intention of resisting. He embraced the sensation, glorying in the knowledge that he would get back to his nice 'safe' life.

'Unless the artifacts bring you somewhere else,' he mind screamed. He tensed but it was too late. He went through. And landed on a hard polished concrete floor. The chainmail covering his torso and chest provided no traction and he kept sliding until his helmeted head thumped into a metal rack.

Artie's hand rose to snag the helmet. "Jeez," he muttered as he pulled it off and let it thump to the floor with a loud clatter of metal. Aside from that hand, the rest of him just lay there, stretched out, arms and legs spread-eagled, chest heaving as he struggled to fill oxygen-starved lungs.

He stared up at the ceiling of the Warehouse and let its glorious sight wash over him. Home. Home.

"Arthur?" The emotionless voice penetrated his joy, dragging him, kicking and screaming, back into reality.

He closed his eyes, afraid to look at her. "Mrs. Frederic." He said the name slowly, with just the tiniest hint of distaste. She was here to ruin his joy. He knew it.

"Nice duds…dude," a smooth voice stated sarcastically. That would be Pete, who'd be teasing him over this for at least a month.

"Well, ya gotta give him credit for having sexy legs." That'd be Myka. He could imagine the laughter in her large green eyes.

And of course Claudia had to get in on this final indignity. "Maybe. But the whole bondage thing, including the leather panties, just isn't working for him, ya know?"

Embarrassment washed over on him and he did the only thing he could think of. He rolled over onto his stomach, which was foolish since the back view was no improvement.

"If one of you, one of you," he emphasized again for effect, "makes fun of my ass, I swear I'll put all of you on inventory duty 24/7 for a month!"

"All of us, Arthur?" That rich serene voice turned ominous. "Remember who you are speaking to."

Still face down, Artie turned his head so that one eye could focus on her. "Mrs. Frederic, I have just finished hacking and slashing my way through hordes of crazed barbarians in order to retrieve the second half of a bifurcated artifact and if I can survive that I can survive anything, including your displeasure. So yes, inventory for you too…Irene."

He closed his eyes for a second, waiting on her anger to fall upon him but when he looked up again, she had vanished.