As alone as he’d felt in the time station, the isolation he felt now paled that into insignificance. He was lost a century after his own time and five centuries before “TT-86” would exist, in a land where he looked nothing like the native people and where the only men born in Europe were his enemies. He had no food, no water, no weapons, and no way of reliably obtaining more. Without so much as a knife, he couldn’t even make a bow to hunt game. Of course, he could probably find the gate again, if he stumbled around long enough looking for it.
Kynan grimaced. Never thought I would long to crawl back into hell … .
Of course, he’d begun to doubt that TT-86 was hell over the past few weeks. He’d begun to change his mind about the girl, Margo, too. She was a young fool sometimes, but she had courage to match a warrior’s. He didn’t understand why she had left her grandfather’s protection to hunt diamonds, any more than he understood the reasons any “’eighty-sixer” did anything, but he thought her grandsire would have been proud to see her on their journey down the river to the sea.
The last he’d seen of her, she’d been struggling in the sea, same as him. Kynan spat sand out of his mouth and stumbled to his feet. He’d accepted her leadership of his own free will. Kynan Rhys Gower did not abandon his leaders when they were in trouble. Margo was somewhere to the north. It was up to Kynan to find her again and help her bring Koot van Beek back with them through the gate.
He started walking and kept doggedly on, pausing to rest only when his legs threatened to buckle. Each time he rested, weariness urged him to just lie where he’d fallen and sleep, but each time, he forced himself back up. He kept going through the night and the long, steaming day which followed, moving steadily northward along the wild strand. Kynan caught the scent of the Portuguese settlement before he came within sight of the ramshackle little town: wood smoke, hogs, refuse.