The Lost: Part IX

In the early morning hours just before the dawn, a shadowy figure appeared in Altonbury Wood. Clad in worn black leathers and cloak, his great war bow in hand and arrows and longsword slung across his back, Ian loped easily along a small path towards the bridge leading to Wiltonshire. Every once and again he would stop and look at sets of boot prints in the frozen over mud and pick out characteristics to identify the imprint. When he had finished, he would nod to himself, stand, then move along until he found another set to examine.

Ian wasn't sure what he was looking for, but the frustration of little or no information about Bornek's supposed death had at last worn his patience down, and this morning he'd decided there had to SOMETHING he could do to end this situation. He'd summoned an entrance to the Road and here he was, poking about the woods like a restless wolfhound. Even so, he would not have much time. A storm was in the air, and no doubt what little sign had not been trampled underfoot by searchers would soon be covered by a fresh blanket of snow, and then even his half-elven abilities would be of little use. He pressed on, and hoped there would be enough time.

Truth to tell, he really didn't expect to find anything. But there was a great hollow spot in his heart at the moment. His family was gone: Skye, Ashe and the children safely in Ireland, and Corwin ... well, it had been so long since he'd seen his brother it seemed he'd been gone for years. Despite the reassuring touch of his faint presence in the Soul bond from so far away, Ian still missed his brother and the quiet conversations over whatever problems they faced. He hoped the negotiations that delayed the return of the Lord of Amber ended soon. For now, the only thing that helped ease the ache in the half-elf's life was to throw all his energies into the matter of hand: the deaths first of Barrensi and then of Bornek.

Morning passed quickly as he investigated a dozen trails and clearings along the way to Wiltonshire. A short stop was made in one of the latter around midday to wolf down two journeycakes and half a waterbottle. He tied his blond hair back with a strip of leather to keep it from falling into his eyes when he crouched over some foot print, and then set off again. He trotted silently along , almost part of the shadows in the deepest part of the wood. An hour was spent following the spoor of the bear Dark Hunter had mentioned to a cave, then backtracking back to the main trail to leave some markings so his men could later come back and find the cave. That gave him some small satisfaction that this trip was not a total waste of time.

It was short-lived once he reached the spot where Bornek had supposedly been killed. After two hours, all Ian had to show for his efforts were some muddy footprints and the discovery of the spot the ambushers had lain in wait. He cursed himself silently for a self-indulgent fool as he looked across the bridge that marked the boundary with Wiltonshire. The answers were over there, probably at the Stag's Inn, and he was going to get them, one way or another. He swiftly unslung the bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and in one smooth motion sighted and fired, driving the shaft through a wooden post at the opposite end of the bridge. The black arrow was his notice.

Whoever was behind this had best beware.