"Didn't expect this, did you, Blackthorn?" Zantar laughed near Ian's ear. The man shifted his grip slightly and the dagger withdrew from against the throat with the movement. Ian could feel the pressure as the smaller Moor tried to pull back and readied himself.

"Let him go, Jhalid! You are outnumbered!" Diego had stopped and drawn his sword, but Marcus and Timmons were still below him, the water in the flooding creek now at mid-knees. "Even if you kill him, you'll not escape!"

Jhalid, or what was once Jhalid, cackled. "Ah, the Lion's cub. Perhaps I should have sought you out first before your father. He's too proud, but the other…" Before he could finish the taunt, Diego rushed at them, roaring out denial. As he did, Ian took advantage of the moment, pulling down hard on Zantar's dagger with both hands, and stamping his right boot down on the Moor 's own foot. He followed up with a quick hard elbow to his captor's stomach. There was a grunt, the dagger dropped, and then the two them fell to the ground. Diego was yelling at Ian to get clear, but Zantar kept his grip despite the half-elf's attempt to break free. Struggling furiously, the pair rolled a few feet away, and then over the embankment and into the water below.

While the water was not very deep yet, the coldness and the strength of the current made up for that. Ian couldn't get his feet under him, but neither could Zantar, and they were pushed along the rocky creek bed as each tried to find a handhold that would let them stand and attack the other. At one point, they were swept within inches of each other and Ian lashing out with a fist felt it make contact with the jaw. Then the waters separated them and Ian 's back slammed into a boulder, knocking all the air out of him. He was too stunned and cold to move.

"Grab my hand!" A voice called from his left and overhead. He looked up and saw Diego leaning out from the bank, arm extended, his legs anchored by Marcus and Timmons. "Come on, do it!" He reached up, locked hands with the Spaniard, and within a few minutes, lay exhausted on dry land beside his friends.

Ian tried to stand, but his legs felt like stone, and Timmons set his hand firmly on his chest. "Stay down, will you? You look like a drowned rat. Marcus and I will go after him."

"There's a farmhouse not far from the ford." Diego pointed back the way they had come. "I'll take him there to dry off. Meet us there when you return."

"Right. Sit on him, if you have to. We'll be back as soon as we can." Marcus nodded to Timmons and the two mercenaries set off at a run along the bank.

********

"Alright, what's eating you, Timmons? You've been pale-faced all day and hadn't said more than a few words until just now. What's wrong?" They were far enough away from where they'd left the others to give them some privacy for this talk, but when Timmons didn't answer his question, Marcus stopped running. The redhead waited as Timmons turned to look back at him. "I mean it, man. I've never seen you like this."

The Englishman scowled. "It's that damn dream. I can't get that raven's croaks out of my head, nor…" He swore, smashing at a overhanging branch with a sweep of an arm. "Harold's voice either."

"Harold? You hear Harold in it as well? What does he say?"

"Nothing. He isn't talking, Marcus. He's singing that damn chant like he did at the bridge that day." He turned and started walking.

"Well, that doesn't mean anything! You had that second helping of food when we ate. Maybe it's the beans talking." Marcus hurried after the other, drawing even with him. "It's only a nightmare, Timmons. I wager Harold is someplace dry and with a mug of ale. Don't fret at shadows."

Timmons wasn't listening. His eyes looked past Marcus, down at the water. "There he is." He pointed at a dark shape lying on a spit of rock and sand. "He's not moving. What's your guess?"

"Could be unconscious." Marcus grabbed a long piece of dead branch from the ground and walked cautiously out onto the sand, then stopped the length of the branch away and jabbed at the Moor's back. There was no reaction. "Or, he could be dead." He jabbed once more, and when that still got no sign of movement, drew his sword and waited for Timmons to join him. The big man turned Jhalid over. "Dead it is. Looks like he smashed face first into a rock. Well. that's a relief."

Marcus sheathed his sword. "Is it now? So where's the damned scroll?"

********

Ian was bone tired by the time they reached the farmhouse. He let Diego do all the talking with the farmer, just glad to be near the fire roaring in the hearth. A few coins flashed in the firelight, and then Diego sat down beside him. "They'll have a bowl of lamb stew ready for you in a bit. You should get out of those wet clothes, too." He pointed across the room at a small door. "They say you can change in there."

"Thank you." The half-elf rose, reached down for his saddlebags, and started for the other room.

"What did Jhalid mean about my father? Back there, when he ambushed us? How could he have spoken to him?"

"In dreams. He speaks to those he tempts in dreams. Or so I'm told."

"In your dreams. How do you know that the one who speaks to you is not the real evil one?"

Ian turned, looking across the room. "Ask your kinsman that died who is evil. I should think it would be quite obvious by now."

"My father would never stoop to evil! Never!"

"I don't know the man. We've met only once."

"That's right, you do not know him as well as I do. He would not listen to evil, he has too much honor!" Diego's face flushed.

Ian nodded. "So it seems. Zantar didn't sound as if he had been successful with him." He started for the door again

"One other thing. You saved my life when you took that dagger. I saved yours when I just pulled you out. The debt between us is paid."

"Yes, yes it is. You have my thanks." The half-elf nodded, then turned, walked into the smaller room, and closed the door behind him.

Diego clenched a fist. "My father would never do evil."
"Never."

5/2002


Champion: Part XIX

"Well, now what do we do?"

The morning after the storm had dawned crisp and bright. The warm sun bathed the cloth-wrapped body of Jhalid in its light as the four young men stood around it. Marcus and Timmons had brought it in shortly before midnight, leaving it in a small shed outside the house at the frantic insistence of the farmer's wife. But this morning, after a hearty breakfast, they'd carried the body out on a plank. After setting it down, Timmons had asked the obvious questions.

"Is he dead; I mean, truly? He'll not rise up in his sheets and kill folk like those barrow-wights Harold told us about?"

Ian examined the body closely with that sight his elven blood and abilities gave him. "There's no trace of magic, no taint of evil. Yes, he's well and truly dead. And the Scroll is missing."

"It's most like destroyed, if it was washed away in that storm." Diego gestured towards where the creek now held a low level of water. "If it's still in there, it's a wad of soaked parchment."

"There's the problem: if it's still in there. Do we want to take that chance, ride off and then have it be able to take control of some innocent like these folk?" Ian nodded his head towards the farmer and his family who were milling uneasily around in front of the farmhouse. Some child cried out as it saw Ian's movement. The half-elf frowned. "No, we have to be sure. We'll search the creek. I think I know how we might be able to it. Meanwhile, I'll ask our host to give Jhalid a burial.

"Let me ask him." Timmons stepped closer. "Begging your pardon, but it might go easier if I ask him. Plain to see you and Diego here are nobles. They'd do it but I doubt they'd be happy about it and might even take it out on Jhalid's body. Me, I'm common folk to the bone. It'll come better from me, asking a place for a poor dead bastard to rest in peace. That, and a little compensation." He held out his hand, and nodding, Ian dropped some coins into it to be given the farmer. He added a few more for the hospitality shown, and Timmons walked away to make the request.

**********

An hour later, the four searchers were riding slowly down the middle of the creek bed. They'd entered it from the point of Jhalid's attack, searching the bank down to the water's edge. Ian had done so with leather scroll case in hand, hoping the Scroll of Light might be pulled towards its evil counterpart. Now, as they rode, he held it out ahead as if pointing a sword, augmenting his search with that elven sight once more, Marcus riding next to him to grab him if he seemed ready to fall. Diego and Timmons meanwhile rode off to either side of the bed, visually searching the rocks and bushes where the scroll might be entangled.

"Where is it?" Ian chanced a thought towards Yussuf. "Did someone find it?"

The voice, when it came, was a whisper in Ian's mind. "Not yet. It is near, But it is hiding itself. It feels me growing closer."

"Can we find it? What can we do?"

"Pray."

Ian scowled. "I've no faith in gods."

"Fine. Then let me."

Blackthorn's horse suddenly halted as the half-elf held the scroll in his hand towards the sky and started to speak in words none of the others understood. But it was Yussuf who spoke through Ian's voice:

Baga vazrak Auramazdâ, hya im
âm bumâm, adâ hya avam asm
ânam adâ hya martiyam adâ hya
shiyâtim adâ martiyahyâ !

A great god is Ahuramazda, who created
this earth, who created yonder sky,
who created man, who created happiness for man!

The Scroll of Light seemed to glow, the light not blinding Ian and his companions, but warming them, and illuminating the world around then in such a way that everything seemed clean and fresh. Again that prayer sounded from Ian's lips, and a flame seemed to spring into being in mid-air. It hung there in front of them, and then floated off, down stream. A few yards it stopped, then suddenly darted for the left bank and straight at a bush. At the same time, Ian's arm swung the Scroll at the same spot. "Baga vazrak Auramazdâ!"

The flame seemed to spread in a circle, as if burning at something, then it flared and disappeared.

There, hanging from a strap tangled in a branch, was a scroll case.

The Scroll of Darkness had been found.

********

While Ian secured the two Scrolls in his saddle bags, the three others exchanged looks. None of them recognized the words Blackthorn had shouted, and Marcus finally asked what they had meant. Ian answered immediately with a translation which may have made his fellows more at ease but did nothing for his own peace of mind. He was sure it was the language Yussuf and Zantar had spoken when alive. He accepted Yussuf had used him as an instrument It had been necessary. What did disturb him was his sudden mastery of Ancient Persian.

At any rate, with the Scrolls now reunited, the balance was restored. After a few hours rest, the party set off back towards Toledo. Diego led them away from the ravines and canyons. "We'll cut across to the main road between Castile and Toledo. We'll make faster time back on it."

But the storm of the previous night had caused some flooding in low spots along the way, and though they were able to pass them safely, the process did slow down. It was late afternoon when they noticed the large numbers of birds circling in the sky a mile or so ahead. Crows suddenly shot out of a ditch to the side of them. Marcus calmed his horse, then handed the reins to Timmons before walking over to investigate. He returned to the road with a sick look on his face.

"It's one of ours: Pedyr. Dead for a day or more."

Ian looked stricken. "He was on that guard detail wasn't he, with Harold?"

Marcus nodded. The three mercenaries had an idea what this must mean. Almost as one, they turned and looked at the scavengers aloft down the road ahead. They drew their swords, and rode grimly on.

Somewhere, a raven called.

06/2002