The moon was nearly at its zenith when Yarrow decided his nephew was not going to cooperate and walk into his trap. Apparently the druid High Priest had arrived at the same conclusion; he approached the elf, flanked by two of his acolytes who did their best to look threatening, but given the fact that Yarrow towered over them by two feet, it was a losing battle. One fidgeted with the ceremonial axe he bore, the other looked nervously at the copper bowl and knife in his hands. The priest, on the other hand, seemed to have been partaking of the ale and a few crumbs on his lips said he'd eaten as well. The man seemed... drunk?

"You promised us a sacrifice! Where is he?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid he has somehow lost his way."

A small smile on Axeman's face sparked Yarrow's intuition and he turned back to the priest. "Who would have been the vi... er... I mean the willing sacrifice if I had not offered you my nephew?"

"A man of noble birth... "

"Like yourself, perhaps?"

Axeman looked at Bowlbearer and then both looked at the High Priest's back. Yarrow was always appreciative of ambition when he saw it and so was delighted when the two stepped forward, grabbed their superior firmly by the arms, and dragged him away towards the center of the grove. Humans! So predictable! He walked away from the crowd, summoned the Road, and left to find out where Ian had gotten himself off to this time.

*********

Ian followed the two young priests down a wide path that wound around and around the grove, his head pounding in time to the great drums that boomed out through the trees up ahead. At first he tried to guess what herbs they had drugged the meal with, but eventually his attention centered on the combat that awaited him. His guides began to sing a song to Spring and to the Mother and the Horned God. Others along the way sprinkled him with water scented with vervain, majoram, mint or rosemary. Ian growled in irritation as one priest liberally flicked a mixture at him with a rod of ash. He had no time for this. There was a battle to fight!

It seemed they walked for hours as Ian's vision narrowed itself down to the path ahead. He looked neither left nor right, even though strange shapes loomed about and an occasional flash of a light reflecting the torches crossed his path. Then suddenly they were free of the forest and entering a large clearing. On the far side loomed the largest Oak tree Ian had ever seen, but no sign of Cernunno's man.

Ian took three steps into the center and a priestess came forward to silently tie an armband of black fur about Ian's bicep. Behind him another completed his half of the three fold circle using a branch of a blackthorn tree to draw a line across the open space Ian had entered through. And still no sign to the opponent.

Finally, the Goddess appeared in her aspect as Arianrhod, and the Horned God stepped out of the shadows. Behind him the king oak groaned and as Ian watched, the bark seemed to stretch. First a hand, then a leg, and finally the rest of the warrior seemed to push through the tree's bark until he stood free of it. A priest stepped forwards and tied another armband on the warrior, this one made of fox fur. Blackthorn tried to think of why that seemed so important... but all noise ceased as Arianrhod's silver branch chimed out over the crowd. All about stood representatives of every magical race of beings, their eyes now focused on the Goddess and the two fighters before them. A simple move of the branch brought two elderly priests bearing bronze swords and large square wooden shields that they handed to Ian and the other man. There was no other armor. This was all they would need.

"It is the Equinox, and the Oak King must step forth to battle the dark!" Arianrhod pointed towards him. "So has it been, so shall it be! The warriors will fight `til the first light of dawn! Stand witness to the Trial of the Grove!" She lifted her arm, and the great drums boomed once more, this time a beat that pounded faster and faster, pulling Ian's heartbeat with it, pushing the blood pulsing through his body in a red hot rage. He looked across at the Oak King, then setting his shield on his arm, he raised his sword and rushed across at his foe.


Equinox 6

"The old gods are dying... ha!".

In a valley at the far tip of Wales, Owen ap Gryffd spat on the ground and looked up at the mountain at its northern tip. Clouds shrouded its peak, and thunder rolled across the valley as lightning seemed to turn the dark to day, the same as it had done for centuries uncounted on the day of the Equinox. The White God's priests had come and said their Christos was the true god, and the old gods would pass away. But as Owen looked out his cottage door in the early predawn hours, he wondered if any one had informed the gods of their impending doom. If so, they were not, it seemed, going to go quietly...

********

Ian lost all sense of time. All he knew, at first, was that there was a man with a sword and shield trying to land blows on him, and instinct was to protect himself while hurting the other man back, and hard. He pushed the other with his shoulder, slashed at head and arm and leg, all rational thought set aside in a blind rage. There was no other world outside this circle. And so they fought, watched by the eyes of those both human and nonhuman gathered to witness.

At times the combatants seemed to flicker and change, the horned headdresses merging to first horned men, then men with stag's heads. Twice Ian and the Oak King seemed to change entirely into great stags, horns locked in a dance of death. And then they separated, and once more were men, bleeding from a score of cuts and breathing hard with exertion. They charged once more across the circle. But now the rage began to die, replaced by pain and exhaustion... and reason.

Blackthorn now was fighting not with blind instinct but that of a warrior who had wielded a sword for most of his life. He circled the other, the nearly worthless shield raised, eyes watching for an opening. He frowned to himself as they once more traded a series of lightening quick blows... there was something about the way the Oak King parried his attack, a subtle move... something he had seen before... but where?

Around them, one by one, the more magical onlookers began to fade. Ian did not notice. His eyes were intent on the other man. He launched a flurry of slashes and thrusts, watched... THERE! He slid forwards, his sword sliding past the parry to lodge in the other's side. At the same time, he felt a burning pain and something grated against his ribs, and looked down to see the enemy's sword. And so for a few seconds they stood, locked together by their weapons, and looking at the other this close, Ian recognized the man behind the mask...

"Herrel?"

The other whispered something that sounded like "Ianno?" and then they pulled apart, each falling to their knees, bloodied swords raised for a final blow. Then, almost in unison, they let their weapons drop.

It was dawn. It broke across the clearing not in a glorious burst of sunlight but in the gradual coming of a cold gray morn. The great drums ceased, the silver bells rang, and the torches of those around the ring arched out to land in a bonfire in the center. The Druid High Priest stepped forward and with a loud voice proclaimed: "Behold, the Sun had come, and neither Life nor Death has triumphed over the other! All is in Balance... All is as it should be!"

Ian Blackthorn blinked. "You mean I wasn't supposed to win?" He slumped forward as he glared tiredly at Arianrhod, then the night once more fell across his eyes.


Equinox 7

"He is awakening, Mistress."

The first thing Ian noticed when he woke was the face of the goddess. The second was the golden torque about his own neck, finely wrought and shaped liked coiled rope. The antlered headdress was gone... so was every other bit of clothing, as little as that had been. He shifted his legs and sat up quickly, glancing up at Arianrhod. She did not look happy. Flanking her on both sides were the various clergy.

"Shurrukai? What does it mean?"

Ian frowned. "It's Sithryn. But could I have my clothes back, please? This grass is wet!" He waited as one of the priests laid his Black Guard uniform and elven mail beside him... then stood up... back to Arianrhod and tugged on his breeches.

"I'm The Goddess, Ian... It's not like I don't know how a man is put together. Now answer my question. You were mumbling "Shurrukai" while the healers worked on you."

He busied himself looking at his wounds. The final wound to the side a white puckered star-shaped scar, the wounds to his arms and legs still angry red welts, but closing. Apparently his own healing powers were useless here. "Umm... it means fire dragon" He turned back to face her.

Arianrhod raised one perfect brow. "A love name, heh? No matter. You will forget her. You are my Champion, and as such must stay at my side, at ALL times!" She gave him a look he could only interpret one way, and laughed as he blushed. "I was cheated of you twenty years ago. I will have you now."

And Ian Blackthorn tugged on his shirt, tucked it in, pulled on the elven mail, and then looked up into the face of the Goddess Arianrhod, and said simply, "No."

"No? NO? How dare you?"

"No, Arianrhod... How DARE you? You told me a night... now you say a year? Shall all the worlds hear how the Goddess lied to snare a lover?"

"He's right, Arianrhod. You lied to him... again."

From out of the shadow of the great oak stepped the god... now in his aspect as Arawn, Lord of the Wild Hunt. "You told him a night... and it's been a month."

Ian slung his sword over his back, then his cloak. "I'm leaving ... NOW!" He pushed past her and walked over to where Horse was tethered. "Find yourself another Champion." He stopped as agony like he had never felt before erupted about his neck. The torque seemed like fire.

Arawn stepped forward, placed his hand on Ian's shoulder, and the pain ceased just as suddenly.

"You interfere yet again? He's mine, Arawn! Mine, and I mean to have him this time!"

"Will somebody," Ian asked as he pushed himself to his feet "just tell me what the HELL she is talking about?" He glared at the two immortals, eyes blazing, his patience at an end.


Equinox 8

"Why would a goddess want me?" Ian blinked. The idea seemed totally absurd. "And what's this about twenty... ". He stopped as he thought back to the fight. "Herrel!"

Arawn nodded grimly. "Aye, Herrel. He was not the one the Goddess had Chosen. You were. But your father made sure you did not go to the grove that night. He had plans for you, he could not chance you losing... or worse."

"My father manipulated the Choosing? But how?"

"He bribed my priest! He used some charcoal on his thumb to mark the underside of the bread, then made sure Herrel got that piece!"

The blue eyes of Arianrhod flashed with remembered rage. "He paid for his sacrilege later. As did your father! And as did Herrel!"

Arawn nodded. "Herrel paid... but unfairly. He was innocent. So, I took him to serve me as the Oak King. Much to Arianrhod's ire. He fought for me these many years since."

"And now?", Ian asked, dreading the answer. "Did I kill him?"

"No, Ian. But the Balance has been struck. He is free of my service. It will be hard for him. He's still the eighteen year old boy you knew."

"Who cares about the boy! What about Ian? He was destined to be mine that night, and he will be!" Arianrhod took a step towards Blackthorn.

"There is only one person I was ever destined for, and you are not she. You've kept me from my wife long enough. Now let me go!" Once more he turned to go, and once more the torque flared around his neck. But this time, he kept his feet and turned to stare defiantly at the enraged goddess.

Arawn too stepped forward. "Be careful, Lady. This one is already mine." He made a gesture and the silver boar's head brooch he'd gifted to Ian flared on Blackthorn's cloak. "He is under my protection, for the love I bore for his mother!"

"Then he will serve me another way! Iannonvethallion Blackthorn, I bind you to my Will. Three times you have denied me... three times will you repay me the slight! Three times will I call you to serve me, in all ways save the one you swear you will not." With that, she raised her hands, and the golden torque shimmered... then seemed to sink into Ian's flesh. "With this collar I bind you! And since you spurn me for a mortal wife, you shall NOT tell others of how you have shamed me! I lay a geas upon you! You may not speak, or write, or draw, or MindSpeak to anyone of what you have seen or done this night! Perhaps your wife may be as unwilling to forgive you as I! Now go!"

Ian nodded, his eyes still defiant even though the pain about his neck was ferocious. He turned, looked at Arawn, and said before he walked by him, "Send Herrel to me. I will help him." Then he set foot to stirrup, swung up on Horse's back, and looked up as the mists once more enveloped them. They thickened, then whirled about him in wild wind. When the wind stopped, the mists vanished, and he found himself on a hilltop overlooking Camelot. He urged Horse forward towards home. He hoped Skye would be able to forgive him. Even as the face of his beloved wife flashed across his mind, Arianrhod's voice filled his ears...
"Three times, Ian Blackthorn!"
"Three times!"

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