"In the light of the Mother's Mirror, all truths are known."

He'd been a child when he first heard that, listening with the few other children as one of the women of Clan Silver Rose told the old tales. He'd frowned at the words. The Mother's Mirror was the moon; surely truth was just as plain in broad daylight? Despite that streak of skepticism, Ian had always been drawn out beneath the light of the moon, a legacy of elven blood, he supposed. Over the years here at Camelot, he often walked alone at night along the gravel paths of the castle gardens. The place had seen many events in his life, and in the silence and the moonlight, he found a comfortable peace.

Tonight was not such a night. Tonight his thoughts seemed to turn over and over.

The conversation with Tav was what he kept returning to in his mind as he made his way down to the shore of the pond where he'd often talked with Will, T'Shel and Corwin. He stood looking out over the water, a slight grin playing across his features as he heard in his memory the shouting of the several times one or the other of them had gotten a sudden dunking. He shook his head as if to clear it of the noise. "This getting me nowhere." So, drawing Deathkiss from the sheathe across his back, he thrust it point first into the sand and sank to his knees before it. Placing his hands palms down on his knees, he focused his eyes on the blade glowing in the moonlight and turned his thoughts to Tav's words once more.

Blackhawke's former squire had spoken some hard truths. Lord Hawke had been missing for some time now, and Ian had done his best to conceal that fact from Talor and his mercenaries. The ruse of having someone ride along the front lines clad in an old suit of Hawke's armor had worked well, but now too many people knew of it, and knew that Hawke had disappeared. The recent news from Riga had been the final straw. By now the word that Hawke had failed to attend the Council there for two months in a row was widespread, as was the call for an election to name a new Protector. Tav had urged that Hawke's eldest son, Stephen, be named his Heir as soon as possible, with Lady Xan as her son's Regent. That would hopefully give any one mulling over usurping Blackhawke's lands and titles pause.

That, of course, was before the wolves had begun circling in Riga.

Ian frowned. He had not been persuaded by Tav's words at first, having seen lands with young heirs torn apart almost as often as those with a crowd of claimants for vacant titles. And, to be honest, he had been reluctant to give any sign to others that might be read that Ian Blackthorn believed his liege lord was no longer alive. Ian refused to accept that might be the case, but he well knew how naming young Stephen would be viewed by the citizens of Camelot. There would be those not willing for one reason or another to accept a child in place of the warrior. Factions would form; confrontations would take place. The Black Watch would be facing Camelot's enemies from without while trying to keep order within. But in the end, Ian had been forced to admit Tav and Corwin were right: naming the Heir was the best course of action.

News of the game playing out in Riga merely reinforced the wisdom of that course, as well as bringing back memories of a dead foe. Lord Brakis was rumored to be mounting a bid for the title of Protector. Ian had helped Blackhawke rid the world of Brakis' brother, Bornek, and had little doubt that Brakis would make some move on Hawke's children seeking his vengeance. Patrols had already been increased in the area around Castle Blackhawke. No harm would befall his lord's family if there was any way Ian could prevent it.

He sat quietly, letting the peace of the night fill him as he continued to gaze at the sword. So much a part of him, that sword, for so many years. He had always tried to raise it only for just causes, even in his years as a mercenary captain, and he had gladly sworn his fealty to Camelot and Lord Blackhawke upon it. Camelot had given him more than he had ever dreamed of having: a purpose, a home, and a family. Family; his peace shattered on that word, for his family was still not whole. With a soft curse, he rose with elven grace and sheathed the sword once more, than turned his eyes as he had so often of late towards the West. They were out there, his missing daughters. He could feel them, albeit faintly, and his heart cried out for the twins he'd not seen since they were barely a month old. Nine years now, nine since last he'd held them in his arms.

Four since he'd learned they were still alive, that they had not perished.
Four years he'd meant to find them and fetch them home.

He stared across the pond towards the western sky, then turned his face away and began the walk through the deep shadows towards the firehall. Ties of blood and love demanded he drop all and leave Camelot to itself until he'd found his daughters. Ties of honor and friendship countered that his place was here until either Hawke's son was firmly established in place or until Ian's liege and friend had returned home. And by doing so, he was also keeping the family here, Skye and their other children, safe.

A turn in the path and he strode free of the tree-lined way and out into the clear area around the fountain. Once more the full moon was in clear view and Ian looked at it with angry eyes.

"All right. You've sent me hither and yon to carry out your wishes. Now hear what I ask. Keep my daughters safe until I come for them. Keep them safe and alive. That's all I ask." He looked down for a second, then once more raised his head. "You don't want to find out what I will do if you don't." His eyes flashed defiantly, and then Ian Blackthorn stepped back into the firehall, shutting the garden door behind him.

A laugh floated over the sound of the fountain's water.

05/2001


Ties of Blood and Honor II

"Is there anything else, Marcus?"

Ian leaned back in his seat and waited for his second in command to speak. The two men had spent the better part of the last few hours discussing plans made necessary by Blackthorn's probable trip to Riga to stand as young Stephen's champion should the need arise. It might not come to that, but Xan was sure the Rigans wouldn't allow a woman to fight, and Stephen was still young and hadn't even squired yet. Not that either one of the two, could not handle many situations; Riga might be a bit surprised by what Blackhawke's wife and son could do if only allowed. At any rate, he was going. Xan had asked, and he'd gladly help the woman warrior.

"Sir? Did you hear me?"

Ian blinked. He had sneaking suspicion he'd been staring blankly across the table at Marcus the last few minutes instead of paying attention. "I'm sorry, Marcus. Please tell me that again."

"Some border kingdom is boiling over with a new cult or the next thing to it. They run about shouting "The One Way is the Only Way." Our agents say they talk about spreading out to other kingdoms, among Them, Camelot."

"Reeaallly?" drawled Blackthorn. "Hmm. Well, if they show up at Camelot's borders, they'll find their way is not OUR way. I'll speak to Corwin and Ashe about them. Perhaps encountering two powerful mages will show them the error of their Way, hmm? Anything else?"

Marcus shook his head. "I think we're covered. Milady Skye and I will hold down the fort here with Lord Corwin's help. Sirs Evan and Charlemagne will maintain the eastern patrols, Ashley and Sir Alodar the northern. Zephyr and Talor have gone to ground for now. We should be fine, sir."

"Then I think we're done here, Marcus. You can let Timmons know he'll be coming with the escort." Ian stood, stretching his arms, half turning towards the window that looked out over the weapons yard, then looked back at Marcus. "Oh. Ashe will also be keeping an "eye" out for that intruder after Lady Selia. And there's a likeness there on the desk of some woman that ViruLord is after for some reason. Keep an eye out for her and VL as well. No telling why he's suddenly back here."

"Alright." Marcus reached out and picked up the rolled piece of parchment, briefly unrolling it to look at the drawing before tucking it into his swordbelt. He stood, started to give a salute, then stopped and scowled. "Ian, are you sure this trip is wise? This Brakis has no reason to love either you or those of Lord Hawke's blood. I'm sure he wants revenge for Bornek's death, and here come Lady Xan, her son, and you, right into his own country!"

"Marcus, there's no other way Xan can keep the Blackhawke title either for young Stephen or Lord Hawke other than going to assert the claim of Stephen as Hawke's legal Heir. I've no doubt Brakis is eagerly awaiting our arrival. Let him. He's not the only one with plans. I'm of a mind to look about in Riga for Blackhawke."

"You think Brakis took Blackhawke?"

Ian nodded. "Think about it. He takes Blackhawke, forces a move to replace him, and forces `Hawke's family to come into his playing field where he can complete his vengeance."

"But how did he get Blackhawke in the first place?"

Ian reached inside his tunic and pulled out the gold chain he wore about his neck. On it were two items. One was a medallion that looked like it was a dragon's scale. The other was covered by a small bag with runes drawn on it. Ian opened the bag to display a red crystal. "This was taken by Lord Blackhawke from the neck of a sorcerer he killed at Lord Bornek's castle. He was using it to feed Bornek energy while I was fighting him." Ian replaced the bag, then pushed the chain back down inside the tunic. "I think Brakis may have used another such mage. If my theory is right, that is how he got `Hawke out of a locked room."

"Ian, you could be wrong, you know. Someone else could have him."

"I know. Right or wrong, I'll not let Hawke's wife and son go to Riga unchampioned."

**********

"… So Lady Xan, she says, `If you are fine, Ian Blackthorn, you're a pig farmer' and th' Captain says…"

"OINK!" roared the rest of the table as Gryff nearly spilt his ale. He shook his head.

"Five men? Five men against all those orcs?"

Timmons nodded. "And that's where the 'Pig Farmer' business got started. It's not an insult, unless they make it one. So next time, wait and see if they are joking before you try to gut them, alright, Gryff?" The older man smiled as the Welshman nodded, then looked up as a hand gripped his shoulder. "Hullo there, Marcus! You've got that look on your face. What's the Captain got you worried about now?" He signaled the barmaid to bring Marcus an ale as his friend sat down between him and Gryff.

"This trip to Riga. I don't like it." Marcus took a sip from his mug and then set it in the table. "Bornek's brother is there."

"Bornek! I hope he's doing a slow burn in Hell! There was a bad one, Gryff. He even had me framed for killing that Lord Barrensi. Bad cess to THAT one, too!" Timmons spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust.

Marcus wiped some ale from his lips before continuing. "So, Timmons, you are going along with some of the men from here and some men from Blackhawke Castle, and you'll keep a guard on the Captain's back." He motioned at Gryff with the ale mug. "And you, young sir, will guard Timmons' back. Clear?"

Gryff's eyes grew wide, and all he could do was nod. Timmons laughed and slapped him on the back so hard that this time Gryff did spill his ale. He didn't mind.

His mind was already full of thoughts about the trip to Riga, and what he might witness there.

06/2001


Ties of Blood and Honor III

It wasn't often that one saw Chamberlain anywhere else in Camelot other than at his desk in the Great Hall. So when Ian came out of Horse's stall and practically bumped into the man, he blinked in mild surprise.

"Why, Chamberlain, were you waiting for me? If I'd known you were standing out here I would have stopped currying Horse long enough for you and I to talk. I apologize!"

The smaller man shook his head. "No need, milord. I quite enjoyed watching. It was the first time I've heard you use your native tongue when you were not angry about something. He understands it, your horse, doesn't he?"

"Aye, he does. And he responds only to that language. But come, walk with me and tell me what brings you here?" Ian took in the papers Chamberlain held in one hand, and the burlap bag held in the other, a bit away so whatever that was leaking from the bottom didn't hit Chamberlain's clothes. He also noticed, as they turned and walked for the stable doors, that a few of the horses thrust their heads over their stall gates and watched the smaller man with eager eyes. A few murmured words from his companion confirmed Ian's guess that Chamberlain was not a stranger to the stables at all. They were nearly at the door when Camelot's chief scribe handed the papers to Blackthorn.

"I took the liberty of listing those taverns between here and Riga that are known to be of good reputation. Those of the scribe profession oft must travel and over the years we've shared experiences with each other. I hope you will forgive my presumption, milord, but I thought, since this trip will harrowing enough, Lady Hawke and young Lord Stephen should at least have proper lodging when it is available."

Ian smiled. "It was not presumptuous at all, and I'm sure they thank you, as do I. I'll make use of this, I assure you. Umm…what's in the bag, if I may ask?"

"Oh, you may, sir. It's why I came seeking you. Here." He held out the bag until Ian took it then took one step back. "A present from your sons, I believe. They were in my desk this morn and when I opened the drawers, jumped out. Lumiere helped me gather most of them back up."

Ian raised one brow, then opened the bag, barely grabbing a frog that tried to escape. "Hmm. I see. My apologies, and I'll speak to the twins." He barely hid his smile as he had a sudden image of Lumiere and Chamberlain chasing frogs across the Great Hall. "I'll see these fellows get back to their home. Thank you, Chamberlain."

"Milord, might I ask you a question?"

Ian nodded. "Of course."

"Isn't this a risky trip? You are all going into a land you know nothing about, other than the news we occasionally hear from Riga. Must all three of you go into what might very well be a snake pit?"

"We've no choice but to go if Stephen us to defend his claim as Heir. But as to the snakes, Chamberlain, well, let's just say I've a few ferrets looking for them."

**********

The door to the inn in San Rey opened and a few eyes turned to the two men and the hound that stepped through into the room. They, to state the obvious, were not going to go unnoticed anyway. The leader was a dark-haired man of average height and a lively face, and by himself, he would not be out of the ordinary. His clothes were slightly worn, but of fine cut, and obviously those of a noble. He would have blended into the tavern main room crowd easily…if not for the great wolfhound by his side, and the other man at his back. Perhaps giant was a better term, as he banged his helmeted head on the top of the doorway, then bent to enter. The smaller man sighed a bit, then looked about.

"Is there an innkeep about, or is the ale all for free this eve?"

That brought a roar of laughter and also the innkeep, who wiped his hands his hands in his apron as he bowed. "Yes, milord?"

"I am Devlin O' Neill, tanist of my clan and bearer of a thirst so great it would drain the oceans. I require a room for my man, my hound, and myself."

"I'm sorry, milord, but we are out of rooms and - " his hand flashed out grab the heavy coin purse the Irish prince tossed to him "we have a sudden vacancy, I believe. This way, Lord O'Neill; I've a table where you can drown your thirst whilst I clear out your room."

And so Prince Devlin O'Neill came to San Rey with Korys his guard and his hound. He sat quietly at his table, spoke civilly when spoken to, regaling any who cared to listen with wild tales. Eventually, when the table became crowded, he waved the "giant" away to sit with a nearby table of guards, and let loose his hound to scavenge with the rest of the dogs for scraps under the tables. After a bit, his voice grown hoarse, he seemed content to simply sit and listen to the others talk.

********

"So, my brave heroes, what have we learned?"

It was some three hours later and they had at last retired to the promised room. Devlin sat on the edge of the one bed and looked at the others.

"Korys learn food here too small. And the guards talk about who to support, this Sir Richard or Brakis. Most like Brakis."

Devlin nodded. "Aye, my new friends seem to agree. And Richard seems to have had been beaten lately, And you, my loyal hound?"

The wolfhound walked over to the bed, reared so his front paws were on Devlin's shoulders, and then, to a loud laugh from Korys, licked the Irishman's face with vigor. Then falling back, the hound seemed to blur and a young man with shaggy red hair sat in its place on the floor.

"Damn it's cold! Toss me a blanket would you?"

Devlin did so, first wiping his face. " I suppose I deserved that, Conary. Did you hear anything of use?"

"Not much more than that." He stretched languidly. "There's two other possible claimants to the Protectorship, someone named Pinet and a woman called Hildegaard from the north. Not much support. And the common folk speak fondly of Lord Blackhawke, but believe him dead. They don't seem to think Lady Xan is strong enough to come here and defend her son's rights.

"They not know Xan Lady then!" hooted Korys.

"They don't indeed. Well enough, then. We sleep, and back to work tomorrow. Remember, we don't ask questions. We just listen, and learn. Conary, would you like the bed with Korys tonight?"

"I think not. I think he has fleas." The Farnesian ducked a flung pillow, Changed, and then proceeded to roll about the floor with the Norseman in play.

The hell of it was, Devlin thought as he idly scratched at an itch, Conary was right.

06/2001