They came to a turn in the road where it dipped down into a valley, and the four drew their horses to a halt. The only thing moving before them were scavenger birds. Ian scowled, gave a shrill, high wail that seemed to echo for several seconds, and the crows once more took to the air. The bodies of men were sprawled here and there along the road the length of the valley.

Marcus swore softly. "No survivors here. Best hope there were others beside Pedyr that tried to ride free."

"If I were Harold, and badly outnumbered, I'd have sent riders out to find help, or at least to have someone survive to tell Ferret what the hell happened here." Ian urged his horse into motion, and the others followed. They spent a grim few moments riding the battlefield, identifying their fellow mercenaries as well as the bodies of the slain merchants. But one fact was immediately apparent.

"Where's the bastards who did this? Twenty-five battle hardened warriors all dead, and not one attacker's body to show for it?" Timmons waved his arm at the scene. "I don't believe it. And where's Harold?"

"The attackers took their dead with them. That way, there's no clue who did this, Timmons. But we will find out who it was, I promise you. Harold's here, somewhere. Spread out and search away from the road."

**********

It took awhile before they finally found the body of Harold Long Axe. Ironically, it had not been too far away from where they had paused at the first view of the valley, and it was Diego who found it. The Saxon had apparently made his last stand facing his attackers with his back to some rocks. Here, too, the bodies had been taken away, but there was so much blood left behind not even the rain of the night before had been able to wash it all away. Someone had covered the big man with his own cloak, and it had been that drab brown cloak that hid him from being seen earlier. The three younger mercenaries dismounted, Diego stepping back as they gathered around the body and Timmons leaning down to pull the cloak away.

Harold had met Death the way he'd wanted, with both eyes open and a challenging snarl on his face. From the broken off shafts in his chest, the brigands had finally realized they were no match for the axman and had brought him down with a volley of arrows. Even then, after dropping that deadly weapon, Harold must have tried to fight on: a bloody dagger was clenched in his right hand, his left hand curled into a fist.

"Damn you, Harold!" Timmons' voice was rough with the effort to control it. "You had to go and win your bloody bet, didn't you?" He knelt to take a closer look. Even without the final arrows, the Saxon had so many wounds he would have bled to death eventually.

"He held the road. The stubborn bastard must have tried to give Pedyr and the others as much of a start as possible." Ian looked back down the road as if once more studying the battle. It was as good a way as any to hide tears that were starting to well in his eyes.

Timmons exchanged looks with Marcus. "I bet him three gold pennies he wouldn't die in Espana." He reached into his coin purse.

"What are you doing?"

"He told me I'd know how to pay up if he won. I guess Harold was right." He reached for the dead man's closed left fist and pried the fingers open. Something slid from the open hand to the ground, causing Timmons to stop for a few seconds before placing the pennies in the palm and closing Harold's fingers over them.

"What was that in his hand?" Marcus craned his neck trying to see, but Timmons had put his hand out to push himself back to his feet.

"Nothing. A small rock, most like Harold grabbed it to throw and had no chance to use it." But as he rose, his hand closed over the object and hid it from view. He turned to look at Ian. "We should send someone to Castille in case none of the riders Harold sent made it through." His glance shifted towards Diego.

Ian noticed that look, and also the hand signal for caution that Timmons flashed so that only he and Marcus could see. "Yes. Someone should. Diego, could you bring word to the King? We'll send back to Ferret at Toledo; we'll need help to honor our dead. Tell His Majesty that no doubt Captain Ferret will wish to speak with him after we're done here."

Diego didn't answer at first, but then nodded. "I am truly sorry about your friend and the others. The fortunes of war, eh?" He mounted his horse. "I will tell the King at once. I doubt we shall ride together again, my friends. It has been an honor." He nodded once to them all, whirled his horse, and rode off at a gallop.

"Seemed a bit anxious to leave to you?" Timmons drawled to the others.

"No. I don't think Diego has a dishonorable bone in his body. Now, what was it that you wanted him not around to hear?"

"Not hear. See." Timmons opened his hand. "Look familiar?" Within his hand lay a small tangle of green and gold cloth, and with it, a button, with a device of a lion rampant engraved on it. It was a match for the buttons on the tunic Diego wore.

"De Vivar!"

Ian looked back as Diego reached the crest of the road and vanished from view. "I can't believe he'd have a part of this. Besides, he was with us."

"That doesn't mean he didn't know it was planned. He could have even passed word on to someone telling them when the caravan was leaving!" Marcus' voice rose now that there was only the three of them there to hear. "It's possible, Ian!"

"Alright. It's possible. But I cannot believe it's the case." At any rate, we have a job to do here. Marcus, you ride back to Ferret. Tell him what's happened." The half -elf grimaced. "Timmons and I will have the bodies waiting for him and the others."

He leaned over and once more covered Harold with the cloak.

"We take care of our own."

6/2002


Champion: Part XXI

In the cold light of dawn, Ferret looked like an old man. He'd already begun to go gray by the time Ian had met him the previous year, yet he'd never really seemed old to Ian. But as the sun rose and the mercenary captain turned away from the pyre they'd built for Harold and the others, the years seemed to have weighed down all at once on the man. He paused as he walked by Ian.

"When it's my time, that's what I want. You'll remember." This last was not a request, rather a command.

"That won't be for sometime, sir." Ian turned to follow his mentor, but Ibrahim put out a hand and stopped him.

"Let him go, my young friend. Let him mourn with dignity in private. He'll be back."

Marcus must have ridden like a madman to Toledo to bring the news of Harold's death, for Ferret and all the members of their mercenary company had arrived late the next afternoon. Silently, they viewed the bodies Ian and Timmons had gathered together, and then parties spread out to cut down the trees needed for the funeral pyre. Harold had on one memorable drunken occasion made his wishes known how he'd like to be sent off this earth, provided his comrades had the time to spend on it. "If not, shove me in a hole and cover me up quick, and get back to the fighting." They'd shouted him down, told him he'd live forever, and bought him another ale to whet his wits.

And now here they were, and the men of the Twisted Otters were determined to follow the ax man's wishes.

When they'd cut enough wood, they built the pyre, and silently set the bodies in place atop it. More than a few stopped to place a coin on Harold's chest, paying up on long standing bets made half in jest before they'd gone to battle. Then Ibrahim stepped up to scatter small bags of herbs among the wood, and when the Moorish physician was done, a grim faced Ferret had used a torch to set the pyre aflame. That whole night they stood and watched their comrades burn, united in grief and anger, weeping unashamed until only memories and ashes were left.

Ian watched as Ferret walked away to where Harold's body had been found, then turned to reluctantly follow Ibrahim and the others back to the camp. "The Captain has lost more than a friend." the Moor murmured. "He's lost part of himself."

"What do you mean?" Marcus and Timmons stepped closer as Ian asked the question.

"Harold was the only one left who knew Ferret before he was Ferret. In losing the Saxon, he's lost his past. None of you know his real name, do you? Well, neither do I. Only Harold knew it, and now he is gone. Ferret is alone now while in the midst of a crowd. and that, my ifrit, is a truly lonely thing."

Timmons scowled. "De Vivar will pay for this! Ferret won't let him get away with killing Harold."

"Alas, my young friend, the politics of Kings sometimes leaves no room for vengeance." And Master Ibrahim, Royal Physician to King Alfonso the Sixth of Leon and Castile shook his head. "The best we can hope for, in this case, is perhaps simple justice."

*********

They'd shown Ferret the button with its bit of green and yellow cloth as soon as he'd arrived, and he'd stared silently at it before taking it to tuck into his sword belt. He'd asked them a few questions, and then dismissed them, and had not spoken of it since, even on the long ride from the valley to Alfonso's capital. But when the King summoned the mercenary captain to an audience, Ferret insisted his three officers accompany him to tell their story once again, this time to the King himself. And when Timmons reached the part where he told of finding the button clenched in Harold's dead hand, Ferret slapped it down upon the table and stared fiercely at the King.

"So? What are you going to do about this?"

Alfonso shook his head. "I don't know. Jesu knows I've tried everything to win Rodrigo over since I took the throne. He still blames me for Sancho's death, even though it was my brother who was besieging me when he died. Rodrigo was always Sancho's man, and death hasn't changed that, I fear."

"What does that have to do with Harold's being killed?" Marcus leaned forward in his chair, his face nearly as red as his hair.

"Absolutely nothing. As I'm sure Captain Ferret would tell you, the hard reality is, your friend was only a mercenary, a sell sword. I'll not tear my kingdom apart over the death of a mercenary." He watched the three soldiers calmly as his words sunk in. "I'm sorry. It's a fact for those of your profession. Best you come to terms with it now while you are young and able to find another life if you wish."

Ferret nodded. "Then what about treason?"

"Now that, I can act upon." Alfonso steepled his hands and leaned back in his chair. "The caravan was carrying al-Qadir's annual tribute for my protection of Toledo. De Vivar knows that, and by attacking it, he is attacking me. And that, my friends, is treason."

"I want to be the one to swing the ax that takes his head." Timmons looked across the table. "Somewhat fitting he should face an ax for his treachery, wouldn't you agree, Sire?"

"It would be, yes. I almost wish it could be done. But it can't. Captain, I shall send a herald to the de Vivar estates to summon Don Rodrigo to answer charges of treachery against my kingdom. You are all dismissed from my presence until then, with my thanks for your services in this matter." The King stood, and left the room even before they'd finished bowing.

Ian glanced at Ferret as they left the audience chamber. "Why won't he make de Vivar pay with his life?"

"He can't." The older man shook his head. "El Campeador is too popular. Alfonso could dispense his justice, and end up losing his throne. At any rate, we won't know for sure what His Majesty will do until Rodrigo de Vivar arrives in to face the accusation."

But it was nearly a week before El Campeador arrived at the king's court, and with him was Diego de Vivar, his son.

6/2002.


Champion: Part XXII

"I fear this is the last time we shall meet for a long time, if ever again, my young friend."

"Yussuf?" The mists parted and Ian found himself in a large room with shelves filled with scrolls. It reminded him of the library in the Green Silences. Yussuf sat on a stool, slowly rewinding a scroll as Ian walked closer. "Why the last time?"

"The crisis is over. Zantar is contained once more, the Balance between Light and Dark regained. There will be a period of adjustment now. It set some things in motion that must be dealt with, but the Balance will hold."

"I don't understand why we don't just destroy the Dark Scroll."

"There is no Light without Darkness. Without it, how would we recognize Light?"

"It's brighter!" Ian shot back. "Alright, alright. I won't argue. I wish I could tell you I'm saddened, but to be truthful, I'm relieved it's over. I don't like the idea of someone else riding around in my head. What happens to you now?"

"I'll rejoin the others in the Scroll of Light. "

"And what of me? Will I spout off more gibberish like that bit the other day?"

"You'll forget any knowledge of Parsi in another day or two. And even the memory of me."

Ian frowned. "And the Scrolls?"

"Those you will have knowledge of, and will do what you decide the best way to keep them together and safe."

"You trust me that much?"

Yussuf smiled. "Iannonvethallion…"

"Don't call me that!"

"Alright, but it's who you are, Ian Blackthorn. A time will come when you'll reclaim that part of your heritage." Yussuf stood. "Our time together is over. But I will say this: there will be times when all seems lost, and when those times come, Ian Blackthorn, look to the Light within your heart. It will never fail you." And he turned to walk away as the mist rose and hid him from Ian's sight.

*********

"I am here as you commanded, Your Majesty." Rodrigo de Vivar bowed deeply with perfection. A few steps behind him to his left, his son bowed as well. As they finished, father and son kept their eyes focused on the king, not looking at those gathered at base of the dais. "You wished to speak with me about some foolish rumors?"

Alfonso leaned forwards on his throne, a cool expression on his face. "Don Rodrigo, you are accused of attacking the tribute train from Toledo as it traveled here to Castille, with the deaths of all its members and guards. As you no doubt recall, Toledo is under my protection for five years, so an attack upon its citizens is an attack upon my own royal person. How do you answer this charge?"

"Baseless, Majesty. Is there a witness, any one who can point a finger and say without a doubt I was responsible for this deed? Let him stand forth, and speak!" He turned to sweep the room of courtiers with disdain on his face.

By the base of the dais, a tall figure stepped towards the de Vivars and held out a clenched hand as Rodrigo turned back to face the throne. Ian held his hand only a few inches from the Spaniard, and slowly unfolded his fingers to reveal the button lying on his palm. "A dead man sends his regards, Don Rodrigo."

De Vivar raised a brow. "A button? What buffoonery is this? You could have found that anywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if these mercenaries didn't do the deed themselves and are covering their crime by accusing me, Majesty!"

"You accuse the man who saved your son's life? A strange sort of gratitude, de Vivar." The king looked at Diego.

"A ruse, a planned bit of theater to gain my son's trust."

Ian closed his fingers about the button. "Harold Longax is not here to put the question to trial by combat. But I am more than willing to stand in his stead."

"Father! Blackthorn could not have known who I was. I could have been a servant or page for all he knew, and still he pushed me aside to take that knife. This is unworthy of you!"

Alfonso stood and walked down a few steps. "Enough. We will question your men and retainers. I'm sure one of them lost that button, and it won't take long to discover whose it is." He glanced up as there was movement among Rodrigo's retinue. "Why, Teo Diaz de Vivar, you look as if you've seen a ghost! Perhaps we should start with you, eh?"

Rodrigo looked at his cousin, then shook his head. "Enough. Yes, I attacked the caravan. Do not punish my men, they were following my orders as their liege lord."

By now, the king had descended to stand even with his vassal. "I have always admired that quality in you, Rodrigo, your concern for your men. Sad you could not show the same concern for your king or country."

"Sancho was my king."

"If I were Sancho, your head would have been on a spike over my gates ten minutes ago."

"But it isn't, and it won't ever be. You need me, now more than ever, Your Majesty. I'm sure your agents to the south have already sent you the same news that mine sent to me."

Ian looked at Ferret. "What are they talking about?"

"The Moors across the Strait are talking of invading Espana to help their kinsmen here. It will take time to unite all the tribes, but they say a new leader has risen and is gathering more followers every day."

"This must be what Yussuf meant about things the Scroll set into motion."

Before them, the King stood staring at Rodrigo, De Vivar returning the look with a confident smile. "You dare not try me for treason, Alfonso. It would tear Castille to bits at a time you need to prepare for the invasion to come. You need me."

"You need El Campeador."

7/2002 Bill West