Blood Stone: Part I

His uncle had once told Ian Blackthorn that to master the Dance of Blades one had to shut out all else but the blades, both his and that of his opponent. The intricate pattern of steel passed down from warrior to warrior among his mother's people demanded no less than total concentration even in the practice of the forms. In which case, Ian was failing on this overcast day; failing miserably. For the third time in as many minutes, Ashevathallion extended his sword arm past Ian's guard and delivered a stinging slap to Ian's upper shoulder.

"Sloppy, Iannon, sloppy!" The elf lowered his practice sword and regarded his nephew with narrowed eyes. "You are troubled. Perhaps we should continue this later, when you can devote more attention to the Dance.

"Thank you, Uncle. I apologize for my inattention." Ian bowed to Ashe and after his kinsman bowed in turn, he walked out the side door of the arena, stopping only to grab his tunic and sword belt on the way. It was turning cooler and he quickly pulled the tunic over his head, checking to be sure it didn't obstruct the daggers sheathed at his wrists. Then he set out into the gardens, taking the long path that wound down towards the pond and then to the rear garden gate. Something was wrong; he could not put a finger on it, but there was something, and he was worried.

There was Talor, for one thing. So far the former student of the great Merlin had proved elusive, but he was ranging closer to Camelot, and now there was that stretch of forest beyond the river where scouts had entered but not returned. Ian had been forced to divert a few of the elven trackers to the O'Donnell matter, but most of his best men were sitting on this side of the river, and chaffing at the bit to cross it. For now, they'd have to wait, and watch for any sign of Talor crossing to this side. Lord Blackhawke had sent Ian copies of the reports and maps tracking the child stealer's progress, each one marked with Hawke's notes and comments faithfully transcribed. The latest put the estimated arrival in two weeks.

Two weeks, and then children would begin to disappear.

Ian reached out with his Gift, briefly checking the wards he had placed about the hidden Blood Stone. It was still there, untouched. He wondered if he might distract Talor, taunting him how he'd lost the stone, or even by offering it in trade for some child's life. It grated to even consider bartering with what held a child's soul in exchange for another, but if it came to that, he would do it. And as horrible as it might sound, if he told this to anyone else but Skye, Talor was not what worried him the most.

It was Lord Blackhawke.

Ever since Tav, `Hawke's former squire, had asked him if their liegelord seemed somehow changed, Ian had begun to observe Blackhawke closely. Much to his discomfort, something DID seem wrong with Stephan Blackhawke. Ian could feel it, but restricted both by his own codes and by those of his lord, the half-elf was unable to confirm it. A Healer could not interfere unasked, and Blackhawke would never countenance Healing anyway. But there was something wrong. There were things anyone could see if they were knowledgeable enough: tightening of the mouth, a strain around the eyes, a hand put out to steady oneself as he rose. He worried for the man he both served and thought of as a friend. Perhaps he should speak to Xan about this.

He finally reached the rear garden gate and slipped the sword belt on so that Deathkiss rode in its sheath across his back. A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees and was cool enough to make him shiver as he slipped over the gate and into the forest.

The seasons were about to change, and Ian Blackthorn worried about what other changes the Autumn might bring to Camelot.