Morning had come sooner than he had wanted it to. Still the night's tasks were complete and he could head home now. Softly he chuckled to himself, recalling just where home was. He had found a place in the bowels of castle Camelot when he had first arrived here. He had watched it for many weeks before moving into it and claiming it as his own. In truth, the hideaway which allowed access to the viewing of a secret room, had not seen use in many a year. It still made him smile to think that within Camelot there were secret holes to spy upon secret holes to spy upon the good people there. He guessed that trust was only as far as you could see... even within a place such as Camelot that stood for trust and honor.

NightMyst moved across the rooftops as silently as his name. Glancing down he chuckled, noticing others trying to make their way through the mud filled streets below. Why travel in that filth when there were roof tops with clean breezes? A sudden change in the direction of the wind caused a gust of smoke from below to suddenly blow into the drow elf's face. "Well at least the wind is clean elsewhere besides here at the Hook," he said softly to himself. Pausing for a moment to allow the smoke to clear from his eyes, he glanced below to insure none had seen him when a tall figure crossing the street caught his lavender eyes.

"Now what would bring Blackthorn to the Hook this early in the morning?" he asked out loud to himself. Silently he made his way along the roof to the front of the building just in time to see the person in question hang up a brush and enter a place called Amazing Grace's though the sign above the door left one to wonder what was amazing about the place.

Myst had spent the night tracking his next job. It had not been all that difficult as the merchant was a simple man. After closing shop he had headed directly to one of the local gambling dens that were popular here in the Hook. The merchant owed a great deal to money to someone and had refused to pay though he continued to gamble using the money gained from each day's business. His employer had finally decided to cut his loses and had hired Myst for that purpose.

The drow sat and waited for the Captain of the Black Guard to exit the establishment, his curiosity aroused. Since Sarah had changed, Myst had stopped going to see her, feeling she was better off without him. He had even given up on his quest to find his lost kinsman. There was something about this place, this city that seemed to keep him from leaving though. Perhaps one day he would understand it. For the time being, he was one of the best assassins in the area and his fee reflected that. He'd been a little surprised to find the note for his latest assignment on the rooftop of the guards' barracks at the castle. He had found that this was one of the best ways to gather information for the only one that talked more of the happenings of Camelot than the guards were those same guards when they had been drinking.

His attention was drawn back to Grace's below when the front door suddenly opened and a rather large man with red hair emerged in a hurry. With a jump, the fellow sprang to the side of a passing cart and quickly moved in behind the driver. There was a flash of early morning light from a knife's blade and a startled look from the driver, then the cart made a sudden turn to the left.

As NightMyst rose and crossed from this rooftop to the next, he saw Blackthorn emerge from the establishment and begin to cross the street in the direction of the cart. It was clear to Myst that wading through the mud, Blackthorn would never catch them. With a small leap, Myst crossed to the next rooftop and followed the cart as it made its way deeper into the Hook, finally stopping in an alleyway.

From his advantage point above, Myst heard a muffled cry and then silence. Shortly thereafter the red headed man emerged driving the cart and the original driver was no where to be seen. Myst shrugged, being none too concerned for the driver, and continued to follow the red haired man as he made his way towards the docks of Camelot. The cart finally stopped near a tavern, which was frequented by many a sailor as they first came to shore. The faded sign over the door read "The Barnacle". The man that Myst was following stopped the cart in the alley behind the tavern and entered the back door after knocking three times.

Myst pondered his next move for a moment then crossed the rooftop to the roof of the Barnacle. Grasping the edge of the roof he flipped over it, dropping the two stories to the ground. As his feet touched the ground his knees flexed absorbing most of the impact. Silently Myst moved to the door and listened. Voices were raised inside and he easily heard them. Someone was asking for a berth onboard a ship that was departing for distant parts. "Aye, I'll git you on board `er Merry. I know `er Capt'n. Though the WaveBreaker ain't no luxury vessel," came the reply. Myst's keen hearing suddenly heard the approach of footsteps from the side of the tavern. With practiced ease, the assassin scaled the wall of the tavern and flipped himself onto the rooftop just as the stable boy rounded the corner carrying two pails.

For the rest of the day, Myst waited for the man to leave the tavern but he never appeared. As night fell he decided that it was time to go himself. Making his way across the rooftops, he crossed the city till he was close to the castle of Camelot. There he was forced to drop to the street and proceed on foot. There was a long delay as he watched the guards upon the walls and timed their movements. When the time was right, he gave a silent prayer to Lloth the Spider Queen and sprinted across the open space, scaling the wall with his bare hands. If any had been watching it would looked as though he had run straight up the wall.

Once inside the walls of the castle, he made his way through one of the secret entrances he'd discovered into the castle itself. Over the past months he had learned many of the secret ways of this old castle and that knowledge had proven useful on more than one occasion. Slipping through the various passageways he finally found the door he wanted. A small vile from his pocket produced the required oil to insure that the hinges would not squeak when he opened the door. Slipping from the passageway into the antechamber of the Blackthorns' rooms, he closed the doorway behind him till it only remained open a crack. On silent feet, NightMyst crossed to the door leading to the sleeping quarters and listened. There was a soft even breathing from within that told him someone slept there. From the sound of the breathing he was certain it was female and not whom he was here for.

Crossing to the room's desk, he quickly took up quill and ink and left a note with what information he had learned and the whereabouts of the man named Merry as well as the ship's name and departure scheduled for the morning tide. With a faint smile he signed in simply 'Night'. "And that should pay for he use of the barracks roof as well as my lodging, M'Lord," he softly said. Crossing back to the bedroom door he removed a small needle from the cuff of his cape and used it to affix the parchment to the bedroom door.

Footsteps in the hallway alerted him to the approach of someone. As silently as he came, he slipped back into the secret way and closed it behind him. Following little used paths, he went down to the underways of the castle and his home. It had been several days since last he had slept and it was time to do so. After checking to make sure no one had discovered his hiding place, Myst curled up on his cot, drawing his cloak close about him. "Time to finish my job when I wake," he said, closing his lavender eyes and drifting off to sleep, secure that should any come near, his minor wards and spells would alert him in time to escape.

*********

In a distant location, cold grey eyes watched within the pool of water and waited til the assassin had left. Soft words were spoken and in the picture displayed within the pool the not eon the door suddenly flared to fire and was quickly consumed. "It wouldn't do to have him find that, my friend. No, it wouldn't do in the least." Quietus chuckled softly to himself and waved his hand over the water's surface restoring it to its mirror like image of the ceiling. He smiled; wondering what Thorn would make of finding the needle still embedded in the door. "This is indeed starting to get interesting," Q said to himself as he turned back to the pool to check on other plans he had already set in motion.

Daniel Judge 1/00

*********

The Lost: Part VI

The wind howled around the tower walk, snatching at his cloak and tangling his hair.

Ian did not care.

He'd lied to his lord's ladywife earlier this evening. Xan had asked him what he thought Bornek was up to with his warrant for Timmon's arrest as a suspect in the death of Lord Barrensi. He had kept a normal face, sipped some coffee, and professed to be as puzzled by it all as she.

The truth was, he knew all too well.

For a moment, he heard Ferret's dry voice riding on the air. "Lie. Prevaricate. Mislead. And when you've caused as much damage as you can, do it again. The more confusion among the enemy, the fewer troops you will send into battle, the fewer your losses."

He looked up at the sky, lifting his arms as if begging for an answer. The wind whipped his cloak straight out behind like an unfurled battle standard. "So, Old Man, how do you fight it? How do you keep it from falling apart?" For a full minute he stood like this, daring the weather to knock him down; then slowly he let his arms fall back to his side and he turned away from the wall and walked towards a nearby door. There were no answers on the wind, and the more fool he for thinking so. He stepped inside out of the winter's night and descended a long winding stairway that led him back to the now deserted firehall.

Bornek was playing a dangerous game. By accusing Timmons he was by extension accusing Ian, as well as the entire Senior Staff. Ian had hoped to draw Bornek out. Instead he'd become entangled in the man's scheming. Well..no help for it now. He walked across to the desk in the corner belonging to Chamberlain, rifling a drawer until he found some blank parchment. He wrote for a few minutes, then set the quill aside and read the letter once more:

Dear Hadrian:
Greetings! I send this letter to ask for your help. If for some reason you hear I have been incarcerated or executed, I ask you to bring the Twisted Otters to Camelot and protect my family as well as that of my liege Lord Blackhawke. I would have designated Marcus to carry out this request, but I fear he will be jailed or worse as well. If we are dead, get Skye and our children, and Lady Xan and her bairns out of Camelot. Get them to the O'Malleys in Ireland.

Never a swift writer, it took Ian the better part of a half hour to finish the letter. When he did, he summoned a sleepy page to take it to the couriers office for copies to be made and then sent off. Ian always varied the hour and number of copies of messages to keep unfriendly eyes guessing. One at least always got through. He tidied up the desk, blew out the candle and nodded to a yawning Lumiere as he walked upstairs to the suite. He frowned to himself; He'd told Skye they would be moved into the their new home by now, and yet here they still were.

He'd told her they would have the girls home by Midwinter.
And still they were lost to him, still hidden away on Isle as Ian awaited word someone had found the one man he knew of that might be able to tell him how to gain access to the warded island.

He sat next to the bed and slowly undressed, hung his sword from the corner of the head board and hid a dagger under his pillow before slipping between the covers and lightly kissing Skye. She smiled in her sleep, nestled her cheek on his chest and all the world seemed to stand still for Ian. For right now, this moment, nothing else existed or mattered outside this suite. He kissed Skye's hair, then let go of the worries of the day and drifted off to sleep, grateful for the few hours of peace his wife's love gave him.

Just before he fell asleep, he heard Ferret's answer.

1/00

*********

The Lost: Part VII

All around him was mist, clinging to his armor, whirling away as if mocking him as he slashed at it with Deathkiss. He raised his voice to command pitch, knowing that it could be heard during the height of any battle.

"Marcus! Timmons! Report!"

No answer.

Silence. Ian once more called for his troops, then took a horn from his belt and blew three short blasts on it. He waited in vain for a reply, and after another call pushed forward through the mist. After a few minutes it began to shred away like worn cloth and he stumbled out onto a scene of carnage. As far as the eye could see lay rubble and burning ruins, and bodies, bodies everywhere. Here and there winged and four legged scavengers tore at the dead, but there was no human in sight, not alive at any rate. "Marcus!", he called but a flutter of wings and a mocking raven's call was all the result he had. He walked on.

He found Marcus a few minutes later. His aide was surrounded by dead men, some wearing the Black Watch uniform, others wearing a device Ian knew but could not place. Marcus' face was frozen in a deathmask of defiance, as was Timmons' when Ian found him shortly thereafter, his right hand holding his sword, the other clutching the battle standard. By now a feeling of dread seized Blackthorn as he picked his way across the battlefield towards a battered castle. When he recognized the body of Sir James lying in the mud, the dread became full blown panic. This was Camelot. Off there in the distance, that other ruin burning in the winter glare was the last of Blackhawke Castle.
What had happened?
What had he done?
He ran through the shattered gates. Not a building was intact. All that was left, amazingly, was the bar, with the ever present form of Lumiere. The bartender looked at Ian, pushed a pot of coffee and a cracked mug across the bar top towards him, and then disappeared down behind the bar.

"Lumiere! Wait!"

Silence again. Ian ran around behind the bar, looking for the door to the cellar, but found nothing but an unbroken slab of stone. He cut angrily at it with his sword to no avail. He was alone again. He set the sword on the bartop, pulled off his helm and looked about. He could see all the way to the harbor, where burning sails told him of even more destruction. At least Skye and Xan and the children were all safe in Ireland.

Weren't they ?

Something stirred in the mist. He picked up Deathkiss and turned to face it, waiting as he heard spurs ring on stone. The first thing he saw was Blackhawke's battle flag held aloft. Then the entire column of riders came into view: it was the men who had gone with the Hawke on the campaign. And walking at the forefront, carrying the body of someone Ian could not see, was Lord Blackhawke himself. His blue eyes blazed in accusation at Ian as he drew closer.

Who was it he carried?

Ian fell to his knees, laid his sword out on the ground before himself, and waited for the judgement of his liegelord.......

"Ian! Ian! What is it, my angel?"

He rubbed at his eyes, settled back under the covers, and took Skye back into his arms. "A nightmare, love. Shhh, go back to sleep." He held her until she did, and then lay there awake the rest of the night, one thought running over and over in his mind.

"Please let it be just a nightmare."

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