Love,
Gone looking for Hawke. Back soon. Don't worry.
Yours Always, Ian

Marcus glanced over Ian's shoulder. "Oh, very good. I'm sure that will put any worries she might have to rest."

"Just take this to Skye in the morning."

"Couldn't I just…leave it by her breakfast plate?" Marcus grimaced. "She's not going to be very happy about this, you know."

"I know. But it's the only lead I have. Once before when Lord Hawke was ill, he spent time in a monastery west of here. I'm going to go and return as quickly as possible. I can use the Road. Now, the armor…"

"I was wondering about that." Marcus sank into the chair across from Ian in the barracks office and watched as the half-elf shoved the food he'd gotten from Lumiere into a saddlebag. "What do we need some old armor of Lord Hawke's for anyway?"

Ian checked his wrist sheath daggers and then the four in each boot. "I want two men to use it. Have them stay well back from any fighting, but make sure there is a guard of a dozen men around each. One goes to the western end of the line along the river. The other goes to the center of the bulwarks right at the opening we left for the mercenaries to try. Hopefully, they'll rush him and we can cut them off. Make sure the man on the west appears first, then have the one at the center appear three hours later. That will give the impression Hawke is on the move. But whatever you do, make sure those men fall back when they are attacked; having one of them fall will defeat the purpose." He shoved a larger dagger in the sheath that was concealed behind his back,

"Anything else, m'lord?"

Ian stopped, saddlebags slung over his shoulder. "Double the patrols. And pray that either Lady Xan or I find the real Hawke."

"Good luck, Ian"

The tall man nodded. "Keep them all safe for me, Marcus." He walked out and a few moments later Marcus heard the party ride out. He sat in silence a minute, then walked out to Sgt Timmon's room and entered. He roughly shook the snoring man.

"Wake up, Timmons. I have a set of armor I want you to try on."

12/2000


Blood Stones X

Shortly after sunrise, far to the west of Camelot, a group of seven riders suddenly appeared on a hill. They drew rein, and Blackthorn looked at the six men who had come with him. "It's another few miles to the monastery. Give me a half hour's start, then take up positions where we discussed. If I am not out of there by sunset, you all know your orders."

Ian rode off without another word, mind already weighing the problem. When Xan had said she'd seen three black riders approaching a monastery, he'd suddenly thought of the only other time in his memory that Blackhawke had been treated for an extended period of time by clerics. It had been at this monastery he was now riding towards; in fact, it had been he and the missing Tav that had ridden here to fetch Hawke home that last time. He may have been clutching at straws thinking his liege might be here, but at least he was finally on some sort of trail. Hopefully this was the right one.

He seemed to recall Hawke saying admission had been difficult to gain on that other occasion and he'd had to camp outside the walls for a bit. So Blackthorn had figured that into his plans; his men would remain at a safe distance, watching until the monks came out to speak with him. If they let him in, and no sign was seen of him again by sunset, each man had assigned tasks to perform. A half hour later, after tugging hard several times on the visitors' bell, he dismounted and led Horse under the shelter of nearby trees. He grinned and sat on a log, then began loudly singing as badly as he possibly could. One way or another, someone was going to come out to see what all the racket was.

He looked back towards the east, and wondered how his other plan had worked.

**********

"WHERE IS HE?"

A middle-aged Healer frowned deeply at the officer bellowing at the tent flap. "Sir, we've wounded men here. Keep your voice down, please."

The officer rounded on him and glared. "Is there a Sgt. Timmons here?"

"Aye. Down the back of the tent. He's not badly hurt."

"Not yet he isn't." The soldier marched down the aisle between the pallets where apprentices tended their patients until he stood looking down at a man covered with a grey blanket. "Timmons..."

The blanket moved a fraction and Timmons peered out, his voice weak as he made reply. "Aye, Marcus? Did the men hold?" Marcus stared. "Did the men hold? Did the men hold?"

He reached down to yank the blanket off the man. Timmons looked none the worse for wear accept for a bandage around his head with a small spot of blood. "What were your orders, Sargeant?"

"I was to ride near the front dressed as Blackhawke…Sir!" The last was barely a pitiful whisper.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And fall back if attacked, weren't you? But no. Not Sergeant Timmons! He leads a countercharge. You bloody idiot! You fool! You dolt! You… you…"

"Incompetent?"

"INCOMPETENT! What were you BLOODY thinking?"

"Well...you see. I was supposed to be Blackhawke, right? And I'm sitting on that horse, closest to being a knight I'll ever be, and I says to myself, "Timmons, you can't do this. Wouldn't be right."

Marcus stared at him. "Are you daft, man? What wouldn't be right?"

Timmons looked at him. "I couldn't do it. Blackhawke wouldn't run, and I weren't about to make it look like he would do that sort of thing, not in front of that Zephyr and his men. So…I…er…charged…"

"You charged. You nearly got yourself killed!"

"It was a lucky swing. I actually killed the bugger. Funny, I never realized how much work a horse will do for a knight."

"Timmons?"

"Aye, sir?"

"If you had gotten killed, I would have hired someone to bring you back from the dead so I could have the pleasure of wringing your neck, you loon!"

"Why I didn't know you cared, Sir!"

"Oh shut up, Timmons" Marcus turned to leave, then stopped as Timmons spoke once more. "Can we do it again tomorrow?"

Marcus was still swearing as the Healer escorted him out.

12/2000


Blood Stones XI

Marcus walked back across the courtyard to the barracks from the Great Hall, a grin on his face. Seeing Lady Mallory just now reminded him of all the escapades she and Keera had gotten into a few years back: dyeing the squires uniforms purple, shortsheeting the barracks bunks…there was quite a list of pranks.

He nodded to the guards on duty at the barracks entrance and then walked upstairs to Blackthorns office and sat at the desk. The reports from Lord Ashley and Sir Christopher about the effects of Blackthorn's trick were encouraging. For a second day, "Blackhawke" had appeared at several points on the defences along the river, the timing of the impostors dressed in Lord Hawke's older armor predetermined to make it appear he was traveling up and down the line. Timmons was not among the fake Lord Hawkes this day; Marcus had worried the man would get completely carried away and end up leading the whole damn army over the river at Talor. Besides, he owed Marcus money from some wagers. It would be hard for him to pay up if he got himself killed.

Glancing at the maps on the wall, he suddenly gave a laugh and then went to the door and called down the stairs, "Timmons!" By the time the Sergeant came upstairs and into the office, Marcus had sat back down behind the desk. He looked up. "How's the head?"

"Good as new, sir!" The man looked at Marcus eagerly. "Can I wear the armor again?"

"No, Timmons, I have another assignment for you. Lady Mallory is home."

"Three gold pieces say she and Keera put frogs in the boots of the men again."

"Done" Marcus held out his hand. "Pay up. It's the middle of winter, you dolt. The frogs are all wherever they go in December."

"Ahhhhhh…but I didn't say when…just that they would! Another wager then.."

"Nevermind. New assignment, remember? You are to take some men and tighten the security around the barracks. Stables, entrances, baths, laundry, kitchen, wells… anywhere two young ladies bent on making mischief might strike. Be creative; they will."

"Care to place a wager I stop them?"

Marcus stared across the desk. "You bloody well just do it! Dismissed!"
Timmons saluted and left. By the time he had gathered his detail together, he'd made six bets that he'd catch the women in the act of whatever prank they would attempt. Since he was in charge of catching them, it seemed a safe bet to him.

********

Ian sensed Xan's arrival shortly before she revealed herself, having been long familiar to the "signature" of her use of her gifts. But he kept on singing as loud and as badly as he could until she yelled at him to stop.

"Horse is quite used to this; it's not the first time I've used this method of gaining entrance somewhere."

She raised her brow. "Entrance? That voice will peel the walls bare!"

"Milady, if I sang in my normal voice, it would not be remarkable. But if I were inside yon monastery listening to this racket I'd be wondering who the hell was screeching like that out here and then when it didn't stop I'd bloody well try to make it stop."

"It hasn't worked, though, has it?"

"Well, you interrupted me! But I must admit I expected someone before now. Ah well. Plan Two."

Xan blinked. "What is Plan 2, Ian?"

He smiled, then walked to the front gate of the monastery, drew Deathkiss and hammered at the gate with the pommel of the sword, the blows booming on the wood. He smiled again as Xan joined him.

"Plan 2…barbarians at the gates." He looked up at the walls.

"Hello! Anybody home?"

12/2000


Blood Stones XII

Marcus would never have believed he could be so tired just from issuing orders and reading dispatches. He stared blearily at some request from the barracks kitchen for more supplies and scrawled his name across the bottom.

"A bit droopy eyed, are we?" asked Timmons from where he leaned in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest and looking quite pleased with himself to boot. "Why don't y' get some sleep?"

"We? You look pretty chipper to me, Timmons." Marcus flung the quill pen down on the desk and leaned back to look at the sergeant. Twenty years they'd known each other, long enough for Marcus to know that when Timmons had THAT smile on his face, he was quite pleased with himself about something or other. "Why so happy?"

The other man chuckled and walked further into the room, then sat down across from Marcus. "Well, those lasses' little prank the other eve has the men all a-flutter."

"You mean Ladies Keera and Mallory?" Marcus said dryly.

"Aye. The lasses." Timmons waved a hand.

"The lasses you were supposed to keep from playing any tricks on the men as they have done so often in the past?"

"Aye. As I was sayin---"

Marcus pressed on, keeping his face straight. "The lasses who, so I'm told, cost you 30 gold pennies in lost wagers that you could do that simple task?"

Timmons looked balefully at the Lieutenant. "Aye, those are the ones."

"Oh. Good, I just wanted to be sure."

"You're a nasty man, Marcus. As I was about to say, it sort o' stirred up the men. Got their competitive juices flowing, you might say. It sort of piqued their interest in pulling an extra tour of guard duty or two."

This, thought Marcus, could only mean one thing. "What was the wager?"

"Oh…just that I'd catch the lasses if they try again, before anyone else. Five gold coins on it with the men in charge of each shift. That's with all six shifts."

"That's another 30 gold pennies if you lose, Timmons."

Timmons smiled broadly. "I won't lose. I can't. Didn't they promise no more tricks?"

"Yes." Marcus was not too proud of himself over the whole incident. Mallory and Keera had left cookies outside the door to Timmons' quarters, but some of the men had "liberated" the treats before Timmons had returned. A half hour later, thirty boisterous warriors suddenly found themselves with orange lips, teeth, and tongues. Marcus had punished the ladies by having them in turn eat more cookies so that they looked like their victims. While it had kept the men satisfied, it had not been a pleasant afternoon and Marcus had felt guilty. He blinked at a sudden realization. "They can't win…but neither can you!"

"Oh I know that. But it keeps the men on their toes. Besides, I just won 50 pennies so I'm not greedy."

Marcus stared at him. "But, you lost 30!"

"Marcus, I am dismayed, I am! I thought I'd taught y' better than that! Always hedge y' bets. Aye, I lost some on that bet that I would stop them, but I won 50 back by wagering you'd bring them to justice, as it t'were!" He beamed fondly at his superior. "That's a profit of 20 pennies. Y' did me proud, Marcus, y' did me proud!"

********

Ian was no shapechanger, and he certainly wasn't going to push his luck by sneaking up on Xan at her campfire. So instead, he gave a whistle and marched into the firelight with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. He grinned as he set the bag down and nodded towards the monastery. "Still quiet?"

"As a churchmouse. Nothing's stirred. Are we sure there's anyone in there?"

Ian spread a cloth out on the ground and began pulling bread, cheese, some venison, and a clay bottle of wine out of the bag and setting it all out between them. "Hmm… good question." He cut some meat and then a slice of cheese, laid them on top of a slice of bread and handed the makeshift trencher to Xan then assembled one for himself. "Well, if they don't budge after what I plan next, then we'll assume they are either dead or just deaf. Say, did you check out that cave?" He looked at her as he handed her a cup of wine.

"Ian, what plan?"

"Oh! Let's just say a little waking up." He gestured, and suddenly thunder boomed over the monastery, so loud the noise caused the visitors bell to shake and ring.

"More wine?"

01/2001


Blood Stones XIII

"Please, please, can't you go away?"

It was midday when the monastery door creaked open a few inches and a very tired looking monk peered out to see who had beset the door without mercy the last few days. A woman sat cross-legged on the ground sharpening her sword, while a tall blond-haired fellow leaned next to the door, whistling as he stopped his hand in the act of knocking once more. He smiled brightly and sketched a slight bow.

"Greetings, Brother. We come seeking my liege, a man who had sojourned here once before in his illness, and had ties with your Order. His name is Lord Stephan Blackhawke; is he, perchance, within these walls?"

The monk turned deathly pale and began to shove the door shut. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Ian's foot shot out and kept the door open as he stared at the younger man. "Do you mind if we look about inside?"

"It's against the rules! You just can't come storming in here, this is land consecrated to the Holy Mother Church."

Ian pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside. "Ah, well, the thing of it is, I am a lowly half elven barbarian who doesn't know any better. Coming, milady?" He looked back and the sitting woman seemed to flow to her feet and push past the monk to join Ian. "Now, would you be so kind as to direct us to your infirmary?"

**********

Two hours later Ian and Xan left by the very same gate, and without Blackhawke. Ian scowled as the wooden door shut behind him and bolts loudly shot home.

"I'm sorry, milady. I was so sure this was the place."

"It's alright, Ian. I thought it was as well. He certainly left quite the impression with them, didn't he?"

Blackthorn nodded. "Half wants to kill him, the over half nearly faint with fear when you mention his name. He'd said something about parting ways with them once, but it seems it was not a friendly leavetaking." He led the way back to the campsite and began breaking camp as they continued to talk.

"Now what? That was our first solid lead and it was a dead end."

"Now, I go home. There is too much going on with Talor and Zephyr for me to stay away. And you still have that cave you mentioned to check out."

"Aye, that I do. But first I want to check on my children and talk with Sir James. Then on to the cave. This may have been of no use but we are not done looking for Stephan yet!"

Ian nodded. "Not by a long shot, milady. Not by a long shot."

01/2001