After sending Marcus out with some men to secure the perimeter of the field, Ian motioned Evan Christopher over and spoke quietly to his former squire. " We've had a suspicious death. Marcus is already left. I'd like you to assign extra guard details and see to their placement. And send patrols out along all the main roadways out of the city."

The young knight nodded. "It will be done, sir."

As Evan hurried out, Ian took a glance back at Jesib. The boy looked up, still dazed as he called to Ian across the room. "Don't move him, sir. He's hurt. You'll want a healer. And he's cold, so you'll want to make a fire for him. I covered him with my cloak."

Blackthorn could only nod, then with a final swift kiss to Skye, he left to try to do the only thing that could be done now for Fionn: catch his killer.

*********

Wilson's Field was only a few minute's ride from the Hall, long enough though, to reflect on the irony that Ian had only met the boy less than an hour before Fionn had been killed. He seemed a nice enough lad, bright and hardworking. It hardly seemed fair he'd been murdered. But then again, murder never was fair.

A few minutes after leaving Camelot, Ian heard a horse race up behind his. A nearly breathless Evan smiled. "The patrols are all dispatched as you ordered, sir." He brought his horse up next to Ian's, falling into his old position from his time as squire. The bright spring sunshine felt good, and if not for their destination, they might have been two knights out for a pleasure ride. Then they rounded a curve, came to a wooden fence beside the road, and Ian dismounted.

"Wait here, Evan. Any more of our men arrive, send them around to the other side of the field to Marcus."

"Aye, milord."

Handing the reins of his mount to Evan, Ian turned and slipped over the top of the fence to crouch on the other side and examine the ground. The grass was already growing, not yet plowed under for the Spring sowing, and he could see the path Fionn took laid out in flattened weeds. A few feet further along a small muddy patch of bare ground drew his attention. There was the print of a boot heel. He measured it with between his thumb and forefinger. A small foot, and Fionn had not been a large lad, so it most likely belonged to him. Ian stood, sucking his teeth, then continued along the path of bent over grass by the fence. A bit further on he found another print, a full bootprint, but larger. There were no other tracks the rest of the way to the well. Nevertheless, Ian nodded to himself.

"You followed him, didn't you?"

The path continued along the fence, finally reaching a bend towards the well. Lying there in the grass, covered by the cloak of his brother, was the body of Fionn. Ian slowed his pace; Fionn was not going anywhere, and there might be something in the area that might help catch the killer. There! Splatters of blood in the grass near a spot where the higher grass was flattened. The body had been moved, but whether it was the killer or distraught brother was the question. There didn't seem to be any sign of a struggle, either. Satisfied there was nothing else visible near the body, Ian walked over and lifted the corner of the cloak.

The young man who had been so full of life the night before almost seemed to be merely asleep. A brief surge of anger seized Blackthorn, that someone had done this thing here in Camelot. Once again he crouched in the grass, gently turning the neck of the corpse and sucking his teeth, then examining the hands and arms. He stood, walked around to the other side, then stopped as he heard movement coming up the path. It was Evan, sword drawn, a worried expression on his face. "You can sheathe your blade, Evan. Whoever did this is long gone."

"No accident then? A thief perhaps?"

Ian shrugged. "Unfortunately, there's no way to tell what the reason was until we find the killer. What I can say is that Fionn was killed from behind. There's a deep clean cut across the neck and no sign he tried to defend himself. And the attacker wasn't lying in wait, he followed him; there's two bootprints back there, one Fionn's and another. He may have been followed from Camelot when he left last eve." He lifted the corner of the cloak again, then frowned. "Hello! What's this?" He knelt and reached into removed Fionn's coinpurse. "There's more than money in this."

He opened the bag, reached inside, and withdrew a square object. Evan craned to get a look.

"What is it, sir?"

"A child's toy: A wooden block." Ian turned it over in his hands. "With the letter F carved upon it. F, for Fionn?"

"A keepsake, perhaps?"

Ian covered the body once more, then stood. "Perhaps. I'll know more when I talk with the family. What I want done now is this, Evan: first, I want the body taken back to Camelot and examined by the healers. And second, find Marcus. Tell him I want the men he brought out to guard the field to form a line like a line of battle and walk across from where they are to here, and watch the ground for anything out of the ordinary."

"Aye, milord." Evan saluted, then turned to go.

Ian raised his voice. "And I want whoever just fell out of that tree out here... NOW!" He looked towards the bordering woods, and a few seconds later, a figure stepped out into view.

Blackthorn 03/2001


Field of Death: The Watcher

The Watcher's eyes followed her past his hooded cloak, a curtain of rain between them as she moved carefully from shop to shop. She would pause briefly at one, then run in the rain to the next and then the next. Finally, she came closer to him and he could hear her. As her voice reached him, the Watcher closed his eyes and his features calmed somewhat as he listened.

"Tell me your name again?" asked the shopkeeper with squinted eyes.

"Summer. My name is Summer. I came here this morning and your wife said you would be interested in these carvings my brother made."

"Summer," the shopkeeper repeated then asked, "What is your last name?"

She sighed, her shoulders dropping some as she said he full name, "My name is Summer Raynne."

"Summer Raynne?" the shopkeeper smirked then nodded, "I know your younger brother. Taylor is his name, yes? He's talented, but I had no idea he was selling his carvings. Let me see one."

Summer quickly pulls a statuette from her bag and sets it on the countertop, "He made this one yesterday."

As the shopkeeper lifts the carving to inspect it, another set of eyes open to do the same. Exquisite. What talent! How he captured the beauty in the most simple of subjects. The curve of a leaf. A hand's gentle press. One could almost hear the song of the bird set on the hand carved there.

"I might have a customer who would be interested in just this kind of piece," the shopkeeper said, "I'll give you two gold pieces."

Summer paused then smiled, "Mother and Father will be pleased and Taylor will be thrilled! Since coming here from Flaxley, we've had a hard time of it. This will be well met and will help to put food on our table."

The shopkeeper stopped and looked at her, "You play this game well, Summer. Three gold pieces."

"Five."

"Four"

"Sold."

The Watcher looked on as the shopkeeper smiled and handed her the gold. The transaction was over and the girl walked the other way, trying to stealthily slip the gold into her sleeve as she moved from shop to shop, in and out of the rain. After she disappeared around a corner, he moved from his spot toward the shop she'd just visited.

"Oh! Hello! I have just come across a piece you would be interested in. A local who is a fine artist has made this exquisite piece." He holds the carving up to show.

A gloved hand places five gold pieces on the counter without a word and takes the carving.

The shopkeeper effects a broad smile, "It is always a pleasure doing business with you," then turns to put the coins in a box. He starts and turns quickly to catch the man as he steps for the door, "Will you be needing any other carving tools? We've a fine selection, as you know," his words not stopping the man from moving to the door. The shopkeeper calls out behind him, "Or we can sharpen the one you have!" As the form disappears around a corner, the shopkeeper shrugs and goes about his business.

Ernie 03/2001


Field of Death: Part III

The figure stepped out into the open and Ian recognized him at once. It was Adenilo, a messenger from the elven kingdom of Erathia who was passing through Camelot on the way to another elven court. "What are you doing here, Adenilo?"

The elf stepped further into the sunlight, drawing his cloak tighter about himself as he gave the body a troubled glance. "I was moving northwest across your forest, trying to avoid the thicker area to the east, when I heard horses and decided to investigate. I'm sorry if I have offended you."

"It's lucky I know you were still in the Hall last night when Fionn left, else you'd be a suspect." Ian regarded the elf with a thoughtful expression. " You may find the rivers impassable today. The rains have swollen them. If you do, come back to the Hall; you are welcome to stay as long as you need shelter."

Ian watched as the elf nodded and in a few steps seemed to vanish among the trees, then he turned to Evan. "Alright. Let's take Fionn back to the Hall."

*********

It was a subdued journey back, following the men who had fashioned a makeshift bier by interlocking their shields. Ian had them hustle their cloak-covered burden through the hall, grateful that Elspeth had apparently already left with Jesib. He stood to one side in the infirmary, watching as the healers cleaned the body, then waited to see if their examination could yield anymore information. When that hope failed, he gathered the discarded clothes and went out to the hall, taking a seat next to Skye. He quickly set bloodstained tunic aside, then the breeches, finally turning back to the coin purse he'd removed from the belt. Untying the strings, he emptied the contents out on the table.

"It's so sad," Skye murmured as she squeezed his arm.

"Aye it is, love." Ian poked at the small pile of objects: some coins, a piece of folded parchment, a key, and lastly a well worn stone with a streak in it, a lucky piece no doubt. He opened the parchment, having to smooth it out with his hand, then read. His lips tightened and he refolded the paper, placing it gently on the table. "And that, I think, is saddest of all. An unfinished love poem to Wilson's daughter; he'll never finish it now." Finally he picked up the key, regarded it silently, then set it down next to the toy block. The rest he put back in the pouch and placed with the clothes, sure they could not be of use in finding the killer. Once more he picked up the block, turning it around and around.

"That was on the body?"

He nodded. "Strange, heh? A child's toy; it has to have some significance, but what?" He stared at it in his hand, something about it niggling at his mind. Skye gave his arm another gentle squeeze.

"Ian, you'll find him. He won't get away with this, whoever he is."

He nodded, set the block down on the table and kissed his wife. But even then, his mind was wondering what the block could mean. Perhaps it was only a fluke, and had no meaning at all.

As it turned out, he was wrong.

*********

Marcus found him in his office, reviewing the latest dispatches on the movement of Zephyr's mercenary army.

"There's been another one, m'lord. "

"Another what?" Ian didn't look up, not realizing what Marcus was trying to tell him.

"Another killing. A small room behind some shops down where the Hook meets the Merchant's District."

Now he had Ian's attention in full. " A robbery?" But the look on Marcus' face told him it was more than that.

"No, m'lord. A man, killed in his own bed, and ..another block left, m'lord."

"Damn it! Ian stood, grabbing his cloak as he walked past Marcus for the door. "Get Timmons and some men, then follow me." He didn't wait for a reply, knowing Marcus would act immediately, but went down the stairs for the door as quick as he could. He stepped it into the bright sunlight of the courtyard and made for the gate and the path into the town.

The sun may have been shining, but it seemed to Ian a dark shadow was gathering.

Blackthorn 03/2001