Field of Death: Part XII

The sun shone, and cloud shadows sailed over the grass. Behind him, clean sheets snapped loudly on the breeze, and the hair on the man in front of Ian lifted a bit.

It was the only thing moving on the dead man.

"Damn it, Ian! The girl says it was minutes!"

He looked up at Skye and nodded. "He's getting bolder. He's killing in the daylight now." Turning back to the seated body he gently pried the carved wooden toy block from one rigid hand. "That might work to advantage now: more of a chance he might be seen." Ian stood with the block, then looked about until he spotted Marcus.

"Marcus, I want you and your men to fan out. Visit every farm and cottage in the area, and ask if anyone saw anybody this morning walking or riding to or from here. And get the trackers going, Maybe we'll have some luck this time."

Skye laid one hand on his arm. "Ian, I 'm going with Marcus. I have some of my men here with me; we'll cover more ground with more troops." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she threw propriety to the wind and gave him a quick kiss. "We'll catch this bastard, love." Then she moved briskly away, the scent of sandalwood lingering in her wake for a few seconds.

Ian watched her ride off with the others. Then he steeled himself to once more face the pain in the eyes of yet another grieving survivor.

*****

Evening found him still recalling the look in the eyes of the girl.

He sat in his office, the lettered blocks spread out before him, the unmarked one set off to one side. In all his career as a warrior, he had never felt as helpless as he did dealing with this maniac. He fought the urge to fling the blocks out into the moat.

Six dead. Six people dead, six brothers or sisters left to mourn. So there were really twelve victims at least, for the pain the killer caused would be a long time healing. He reached over, idly picking up the blank block and turning it over and over again in his hands. He'd never been close to his half brother, Sethan, his brother by blood. Not as close as he felt to Corwin, the brother of his heart.

...cold eyes, rigid face to match the cold of the Mid-Winter's night. A lithe figure astride a horse, so sure of his seat that elf and beast seem one entity. Sethan, older brother, full of disdain and contempt for his half-mortal sib. He turns his mount away to join their uncle Yarrow as Rowan hides a frown.

"I'm sorry, Ianno," their birth mother says. "I'd hoped with time…"

"Perhaps another century or two?" he answers...

There had been no century to try to reconcile with Sethan, no time to bridge the gap between them. Ian rolled the block across his desk to hit the others. He'd long ago stopped wondering about that might have been, if Sethan and he had become as close as he now was with Corwin. But, he thought, Skye had been right in her assessment of Sethan as they talked quietly one night in their bed. "Half-elven or full blooded, Ian, it would have made no difference. He was jealous, plain and simple. It's the oldest story in the world, the older child feeling displaced by the younger."

His hand froze in mid-reach for the uncarved block as a soft curse left his lips. He reached instead for pen and parchment, and wrote quickly:

To the Lord and Lady O'Donnell,
Greetings. I'm sure you are now aware of the continued deaths of former residents of your Flaxley holdings. I write this to ask if you are aware of any incidents in Flaxley in the past of such a violent nature between brothers? In particular, where an older brother attacked a younger. Or perhaps a circumstance in which an older child was passed over in favor of a younger in a question of inheritance?

Any cases in which a mother has died in giving birth to a second child may also be of aid. Anything, any instance where siblings may have fought, is of possible importance in solving these heinous crimes.

Please reply as soon as you are able or let me know if you feel a meeting would be more efficient. Send word back with this messenger if the latter is the case.

Ian Blackthorn

He summoned a rider and sent the message on its way to Valorward, then started down the stairs himself, bound for the Great Hall. At the foot of the stairs, he nearly bowled over Timmons, fresh back from patrol. The sergeant fell in beside him as they crossed the courtyard.

"How was patrol?"

Timmons grinned. "Caught us a slaver."

"You followed procedure for that?" Ian didn't miss a stride, listening as they strode onwards

"Aye, freed the slaves, hung the head trader in their chains, took the guards to the docks to be shipped across to Spain for the galleys there." There was a note of satisfaction in Timmons' voice; Camelot was notorious for its refusal to tolerate slavery in any shape or form. "So, where we going?"

"To talk with Chamberlain. I'm sure he has the records on immigrants from Flaxley. Maybe we can get some clue from them."

But when they entered the Hall, they found the familiar figure absent from his desk. A note signed Donitello Ferlita, Chamberlain of Camelot, told of a summons to attend to family matters. Ian cursed in exasperation, then motioned a few guards over and told them and Timmons what they must find. In a few minutes, the neat desk and the cubbyholes on the wall behind it had been rifled through and half-open rolls of parchment were scattered all about.

"Ian! What did you do?"

He looked up as Skye strode across the room. "I know, I know, it's a mess. But I have to find those Flaxley records!"

Skye shook her head. "Remind me never to send you into my herb room to fetch anything." She turned green eyes to the desk. "Didn't you ask him earlier to find those? Did you check Chamberlain's desk?"

"They weren't on it."

"Ah. But what about in it?" She opened one draw, then another. On the third try, a small drawer, she removed a worn leather book. "Hmm. The dungeon records. Chamberlain certainly has a lot of records of things you wouldn't expect." She looked back in the drawer. "Wait. What's this?" And with a small laugh of triumph, Skye turned and handed him a sheath of paper bound with a neatly tied black ribbon.

Written on the top sheet, in Chamberlain's neat hand, were the words: "A Record of Flaxley Settlers in the Environs of Camelot and Their Holdings."

"Is that what we are looking for, Ian?"