"Ferret needs you," the note read. "Come as soon as possible."

Ian looked about for the messenger, but the ragged boy had already melted away into the late afternoon crowd of the marketplace. He frowned as he looked up at the fading daylight. While Ferret was across the Channel in France, Blackthorn knew he could reach his old mentor in only a few hours, but it would necessitate a night away from Skye and the children. He headed for the stables, fully intending to send a guard with an explanation, but suddenly it seemed to fade in his mind as he set foot to stirrup and swung into the big bay's saddle. He'd send word from Ferret's camp. Yes... that would do.

A half mile from the gates of Camelot, Ian stopped, summoned a gate and rode onto the Road. As he began to close the way behind him, he smiled sadly. He'd known he would someday get this message. The life of a mercenary was a dangerous one, and Ferret had always been a frontline commander, never content to merely stay in the rear as his men died. At least he might have the chance to tell his old friend how much he had meant to him. But the further along he went on the Road, the more the mists characteristic of this way between worlds thickened. Even the ball of light he summoned to light his way was quickly lost to view.

Ian drew rein and frowned. This was not natural, and he came to the sad conclusion he could not keep riding on blindly, even if it meant he would miss the chance to bid farewell to his friend. He turned Horse back towards the way he had come, and swore softly. The way back was equally fogged in. "Damn it... " He dismounted and began leading Horse slowly back, trying to keep the glowing Road beneath them in sight. But the haze grew more dense, and even the ground was now shrouded in the roiling clouds.

In only a few steps, master and beast were fully engulfed, and now came the sound of silver bells. Ian swung his gaze about, no matter what direction he faced the bells seemed to be right in front of him. He struck out blindly in another direction, even though he knew this was a mistake.

"Never leave the Road," he'd warned his men, and here he was ignoring his own rules. Stories of men lost to those bells ran through his head, and then suddenly it seemed they just did not matter. In fact, he suddenly thought there was naught to fear here! Yes! The ringing grew louder, and the mist began to thin and shred on the loud wind that suddenly whipped Ian's hair about his face. He brushed it back, and when he looked in front of him once more...

A woman stood there. No... not just a woman. Blond hair glowing like the sun curled about her neck, and small colorful birds flew off and on her shoulders, bringing her news of the world. Across her chest, cradled in her arms, lay the branch of an apple tree, and the fruit it bore was silver, and rang with a clear sound that seemed to touch Ian's soul. But he refused to bow or kneel. Instead he merely nodded to her as if they were meeting by chance in the firehall. "Good eve, Rhiannon."

And Rhiannon of the Silver Bells smiled in reply. "Good eve, Iannovethallion Blackthorn. Well met. I have a task for you." She gestured him forward, and Ian hesitated only for a second before following her into the mist that once more hid all from view.


Equinox 2

"Where IS he?"

At a spot elsewhere and elseWHEN along the Road from where his nephew was lost in the mists, Yarrowvathallion cursed in frustration. This had seemed so simple a plan! Ian would surely respond to a message concerning the older man, and the only option open to get there was the Road. The note had worked, Yarrow had felt the distinctive signature of Ian's Gifts when he had set foot on the Road. It was difficult not to identify it now, what with the strange mixture of elven and dragon. But now nothing! Where had his nephew gotten off to?

The glances the Druid high priest was giving him told Yarrow his human tool was wondering much the same thing. The grove they were standing in sat in the midst of a swamp, not far from where Camelot would rise in about a thousand years. Apparently the Equinox held great significance, because the island was overflowing with a whole herd of priests and acolytes who were incessantly pounding on bodhrans and playing those awful bagpipes.

When Yarrow had appeared and promised the High Priest or whatever a sacrifice of a prince for the rite, the man had been extremely grateful. Now he was looking at the elf with a interesting mixture of fear and anger. Yarrow quelled him with a long stare. "Patience, my friend. There will be a worthy sacrifice to satisfy your gods."

The man nodded, then took a few steps back, much to Yarrow's relief. The man badly needed a bath. They all did. But the elf turned and faced downwind from the stench and once more sent his mind and Gift down the Road, searching for Ian. The kinslayer had escaped a similar fate twenty years before, a fate that would have saved the Sithryn much grief, and the life of Rowan as well. Yarrow meant to see him meet that fate tonight, and in a way that would leave him free of shedding the man's blood himself. That is, if he could stand this damn racket and smell long enough! "Where are you, Iannonvathallion? The goddess awaits!"

********

Ian did not know how long he followed the elusive figure. The mists still swirled about him, and the reins he held in one hand not only held Horse but also his one tangible link to reality. All he knew for sure was that he must not lose sight of Rhiannon, that she had a task for him. Part of him raged in his mind, trying to force himself free of the need to follow, but the harder that portion of his spirit tried to break free, the stronger the compulsion became. At last it took him over completely, and with a last desperate Mindcall to Skye and Corwin that went unanswered, he stepped out of the Road and into a grove of great oak trees that gleamed silver in the spring moon.


Equinox 3

Ian followed the goddess out of the Road into a grove of the largest oak trees he had ever seen. They were larger even than the trees of the Green Silences, and that very fact was what told him he was nowhere even close to Camelot. He walked along behind her, still leading Horse, as bright silver moonlight illuminated their path. On up ahead, a large bonfire burned in a clearing where the grove widened out, and dark shapes could be seen dancing against the firelight, their voices raised in song to the Goddess. Male voices came from the other side, their own song in deep counterpoint to the women.

The closer he and Rhiannon drew to the fire, the more Ian realized the control over his mind and body was lessening. He weighed his chances of escaping, then discarded them as Rhiannon turned to regard him with a knowing smile. "Hear me out, Iannonvethallion ... and then, if you insist, I will send you safely on your way. By the way, your friend is alive and well."

"A lie, Rhiannon? I did not think gods lied! Well... at least not such small ones."

"I did not have the note sent, Ian. You must look elsewhere for that blame. But I am not hesitant to grasp such an opportunity."

Blackthorn nodded. "An opportunity for what?"

"Wait! All will be clear soon!"

A young acolyte ran up and took Horse's reins with a reassuring smile and Rhiannon gestured Ian to sit on the ground by the fire as the dancers silently filed away. "Just hear my request. I promise you all I need is a night, and then you may go."

"Alright then. He sat cross-legged opposite from her and glanced across the fire to where a massive figure sat in the same position next to a smaller figure. The two wore headdresses with stag horns. Or did they? He told himself it must be a trick of the light, but through the flames he thought he saw their forms flicker, and the horns were actually part of their heads. Another flicker, and it seemed their heads were stags heads on mens' bodies. He rubbed at his eyes. "What do you want?"

She, who on this night showed Her aspect as Rhiannon, laughed and the silver branch jingled in delicate harmony. It is the Equinox, Ian. Twenty years ago to the night you stood ready to serve the Goddess, and another took your place in the sacred grove by your father's castle. Twenty years, and now it has come full circle."

"He's dead," Ian replied, and found himself still grieving a friend.

"Time then to make it right. Your task is to take part in the ritual combat in this grove at midnight, and your opponent is there!" She pointed across the fire, and the two horned figures stood. Both were plainly naked except for the antlers and great torques about the neck. There! The champion of Cernunnos!"

He nodded. "I will do this. But not for you. I do it in memory of Herrel!"


Equinox 4

They took Ian to another clearing, a smaller one that held a clear running stream and a small pond, and there he stripped off his clothes and all his weapons. It was all he could do to keep a straight face as a young druid no older than young Simon nearly had his jaw hit the ground as the pile of daggers Ian kept all over grew next to the sword and the garottes. But at last he stepped into the pool and bathed, then emerged to dry himself.

When he was done, another group of acolytes approached. One fastened a torque about the half-elf's neck while another set upon Ian's head a horned headdress similar to the one his opponent wore. Only when they started to withdraw did he realize that was all they had brought for him to wear. "Hold on! I need more than this!" They nodded and produced a breechcloth so he could quickly cover himself, then sat on the ground as he waited.

After a bit, they brought him an earthen cup filled with dark ale that was so full of hops his mouth was bitter. Then they handed him a large piece of coarsely ground bread made from many grains. He chewed it, washing it down with yet more ale, the Fruits of the Earth... the Gifts of the Mother. He sipped more, and looked at the moon's reflection in the pool, and thought of that night twenty years ago that Rhiannon had mentioned... "Herrel!"

********

"I am sixteen years old, a man grown, and ready to take my place with the others!"

"You are MY son, and you will do as you are told. I forbid it!" Lord Blackthorn glared up at his son ("and when did he become so short?" Ian wondered) with the air of one who did not lose arguments with his son. But they were not alone this time. This time, they stood going toe to toe in the hall of Blackthorn Castle, and the other young unmarried warriors and most of the court were witness to the fight.

It was the Equinox, and soon the Goddess, in the person of her priest, would choose the Champion from the ranks of the young unwed warriors. Ian had become a member of that group at Midwinter, his eyes shining as Herrel, his only friend here, had woven the warrior braid at his neck. It was his proudest moment in his young life, and now his father would rob him of it by trying to protect him. He would not have it! He started to tell Lord Blackthorn this, but before he could, the priest stepped forward, his ash wood staff booming on the hall floor as he slammed the end down. "You defile the festival with this arguing! The lordling will take his chances with the rest! Be done with this!" And amazingly, Lord Blackthorn fell silent and nodded.

A strange look passed between the two elder men, but Ian paid it no heed as he pushed by them to stand with the rest of the men, taking a spot by Herrel. His dark haired friend smiled and gave Ian a warriors grip in welcome. Ian stood taller because of it. Herrel was already the second best swordsman in the guard, and he was only two years older than Ian. "Be still, Ianno!" and Ian turned to watch the priest approach once more.

In the man's hands was a large flat loaf of bread. As he stopped in front of each man, the warrior would reach out and tear off a piece of bread, then turn it over to expose the bottom crust. As each one did, a tense murmur among the onlookers gave way to jests and catcalls as the crust was revealed to be unblemished and the bread eaten. Ten men broke off bread. Only two remained, Herrel and Ian.

The crowd noise grew louder as the knowledge sank in. One of these two would go to the Grove with the priests and fight the Oak King in a ritual combat as old as time. The priest walked towards them slowly, stopping once to adjust his robes. Then he was standing beside them, and with a shared grin Ian and Herrel reached out to claim their portions. The older boy held his piece up, and the hall erupted in loud cheers and paeans to the goddess as the priest placed a crown of oaks on Herrel's head and an armband of fox fur on the young warrior's arm. Ian was left to look on as the Champion was hustled off, his own portion of the bread knocked to the floor and trampled.

He never saw Herrel again. The next day, when the men returned from the Grove, they were silent, their eyes haunted. Ian went from one to another until at last he came to Cathal, the best warrior in the band and the man who had fought Herrel as the Oak King. "Where is Herrel?" he asked, and then his throat went dry as he saw the expression on the other man's face. "He's dead, isn't he?" Cathal looked away, then back. "I don't know, milord Ian. I truly do not know. We fought, and the boy... Herrel... he beat me... fair and square. But instead of the usual rites, the priest... " he licked his lips, "he said Herrel had been chosen. We tied him to the Oak, but then... "

"Then what?"

"Then... I SWEAR this is true... the tree... SWALLOWED him. It just opened up and ... took him!" That was all the explanation Ian ever got. His pointed questions to the priest met with vague answers, and his father had no interest in pursuing it either. In fact, strangely enough, Lord Blackthorn suddenly became very friendly to the Druid, and Ian was left to mourn his friend and to ponder over a mystery he vowed to solve. A few months later, events in Ian's own life forever changed him, and in his struggle to deal with those changes, the fate of Herrel slipped further into the unknown.

**********

They came for him a few minutes before midnight, and he stood and followed without question. He realized the ale had been heavily laced, but somehow it did not seem to matter. A cool spring breeze blew across his face, and Ian smiled. He would do as Rhiannon asked. He would do this in Herrel's name.

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