The minute the big grey horse raced out through the gates of Camelot, Blackthorn felt as if a great weight had been taken off his back. Ian loved and respected nearly all within the fabled halls, but sometimes he felt the urge to get away. Perhaps this was why Blackhawke took his own little jaunts, he thought; there was no one to ask for decisions, no one telling him what mistake he had made now. It felt great, except for the absence of Huney and the children.

He gave the grey its head, letting the horse eat up the miles in a rush of freedom. Dawn found them on the far side of the valley that the castles and town nestled in. He reined up, looked back, and then heard Tien's Gabriel Bells once more. They were still ringing and he had told Xan he would check with some of his old friends in the mercenary guild. He had not sent any messages out as yet... he frowned. He could not let Xan down. There were some merc companies in the port cities to the south of Camelot, and if he turned that way. He could be there in half a day's time, and back by Saturday, perhaps Friday if he rode through the night. That way he could be back to his wife and children, and compete in the Spring Tourney. Perfect!

A few hours later, Ian was leading his horse down a winding country road. Nothing was wrong with his mount, but he had ridden it most of the day. He felt the urge to stretch his legs a wee bit, and Horse probably appreciated the rest as well.

As he approached a bend in the road, a flight of birds exploded from the bushes right at the bend. Blackthorn frowned then quickly tied his horses reins to a nearby tree. He loosened his sword in its sheathe, then stepped out into the middle of the road and stared up ahead. For a few heartbeats, all was still... then with whoops and loud war cries a group of three horsemen suddenly charged around the corner of the road, bearing straight at him with swords drawn.

Ian watched the approaching horsemen with a critical eye. They were bunched up, nearly bumping into each other, an easy target for a bowman, had he his bow ready. He grinned to himself as he saw a fourth horseman round the bend behind the first two, then just sit and watch his companions. He knew that rider, and he now knew the best way to answer his attackers.

He made no move to flee or get out of the path of the horses. Instead, Blackthorn unclipped his sheathed sword from his sword belt and held it in front of himself. He waited until the warriors were thirty yards from his position... then he suddenly leapt forward to his left, sweeping the still sheathed sword up to smack resoundlingly on the chest of the horse closest to him. It had the desired effect. The horse reared, throwing its rider, then bumped into the next horse, who began bucking wildly as its rider fought for control.

Ian ran around him and grabbed the totally befuddled third rider out of his saddle and slammed him into the ground, then returned to the first rider, bent over, and held a dagger to his throat. "Now, if I had taken my sword out of my sheathe, cub, what would have happened?"

The boy, for that was what the warrior was, swallowed hard, his face pale. "I'd be dead, sir... "

Blackthorn nodded. "Well there is that... but that would not be the worst of it, would it, Ferret?"

He glanced up and back over his shoulder as the fourth horseman rode slowly up, roaring with laughter. "Oh, no, Ian, not the worst by far! The HORSE would be dead! We can get recruits by the boatload, but a good horse costs money! And this little escapade is going to cost all three of you a month's pay!"

The road filled with more groans from the recruits as Ferret, Captain of the Twisted Otter Mercenary Band, sat grinning at them. He merely shrugged, then pointed at Ian. "Just be glad you can tell your mates at Mess tonight you tried to run down Ian Blackthorn and lived to tell about it!"

The recruit Ian held at dagger point gulped again... "Blackhawke!"

Ferret rocked with laughter in his saddle as Ian grimaced, then helped the boy up. "No, I'm the other one." Blackthorn turned to look at his former teacher, shaking hishead with a smile. "How have you been, my friend?"

"Passable, Ian. But something tells me you didn't ride all the way down here from Camelot to check after old Ferret's health, did ye?"

"Ferret! I'm hurt! " Blackthorn laughed as he walked back to untie his own horse and mount up. He moved Horse over close to Ferret's, so he could speak without the recovering recruits hearing all they said. His face became sober as he nodded to the older man."I came looking for some answers for a friend."

"I heard you were dead, Ian."

Blackthorn grinned across the table at Ferret. The older mercenary had brought him to the Ugly Monkey Inn, a favorite haunt of the sellswords. The place hadn't changed a bit: pipe smoke swirled through the room, and the sand spread on the floor showed occasional dark splotches, blood-stain markers of frequent arguments settled at the sharp end of a sudden dagger. "I seem to remember a certain old man telling me not to believe everything I heard! You must be slipping into your dotage, Ferret!"

"Me... slipping? This from a man who could have knocked those three cubs off their horses with a small fireball, but chooses to risk life and limb? I thought I had taught you better than that."

"You did, I just was thinking of the horses." It was a stupid excuse, Ian thought, but Ferret seemed to buy it, much to Ian's relief. He saw no reason to worry his old friend with the news that he had died, but had been resurrected and was without his Talent anymore... besides there were people in this room who would jump at the chance to even old scores if they knew he was without magic. He changed the subject, fast. "About that favor for a friend: there is a woman in Camelot, Lady Xanthia. Xan has been a good friend to me... saved my butt a few times, as a matter of fact. She has a husband, Tien Shien Han. Little guy... three eyes... y'know 'im?"

Ferret sipped his ale slowly, then shook his head. "Nay, a thing like three eyes would have stuck in my mind... wait... I did hear something about a three-eyed man... " Ferret scratched his chin." Now what... oh, he doesn't use a sword much, right? Mostly hands and feet?" Ferret nodded. "I've never met him, but I've heard of him. What of him?"

"He's gone missing, or worse, Ferret. I need you to ask around, let me know if you hear something. He was on some sort of raid with a man named Fakhran. That one let Xan know her husband had been taken, but refused to tell where they had been so we could rescue or ransom him. He claimed it would violate the Mercenary Code... breach of privacy with his employers."

Ian watched as Ferret spat disdainfully on the sandpacked floor. While the privacy of a contract was indeed sacred among mercenaries, only one other thing was even more sacrosanct: the obligation a man's swordbrothers had towards their fellow mercenary's family in time of grief. The sad ballad being sung very far off key by a group of drunken veterans bore witness to that, as its dying mercenary begged his mates to carry word to his wife.

Blackthorn looked at Ferret. "And I want this Fakhran, Ferkhran, whatever his name is, blackballed until he coughs up some information. Spread the word."

"Aye, I'll do that!" Ferret grinned as he changed the subject. "So, I hear ye are a dad again. Life has been good to you, Ian, hey?"

"Yes, I suppose it has."

"You suppose? Ian, you haven't changed that much after all. You still are less afraid of dying than of the outside chance you may have to live a happy life!" Ferret chortled, then rose and held his hand out. "Twas good to see your face, again. Now I have those cubs to fuss over. You best go home and wait. I'll send ye word when and if I hear something."

They shook hands, and parted at the doorway of the Ugly Monkey Inn. Ian stood and watched as Ferret walked away, thinking that while he missed that man and his old way of life, the Twisted Otter Mercenary Company was no longer his home or his family. Camelot was. He mounted Horse, and headed for home.

4/98, 5/98