A Knight’s Beginning
"Ian, come in here."
Hearing the command, the young boy, who had been walking down the hall, turned and went into the room. He stopped in front of the older man sitting in the chair. "Sir," he addressed him.
"What do you want the most, Ian?"
"To fight, sir," he replied without a moment of hesitation.
"And what would you do to achieve this goal?"
"Anything honor will let me, sir." His hazel eyes remained fixed on the floor while he answered the questions.
"Very good, Ian. That is all that I wanted. You may go to your lessons now."
He left the study and continued down the hall. Walking into the room at the end of it, Ian saw one of his tutors standing beside his desk, waiting for him.
"You are late for your lesson."
"I am sorry, sir. Mister Irons wanted to speak with me."
The tutor nodded his head. "Now that you are here, we can get started."
*******
In his study, Kenneth Irons was contemplating his young charge. His answers had pleased the older man. Ian would soon be ready to be sent away to learn what it is that he was meant to be. "Not just yet though," Irons murmured to himself.
He stood up and paced over to the fireplace. He stared into it with his hands linked behind his back. After awhile, he turned away from it and walked over to his chair.
*******
Ian was in his room later that day when he heard a light knock on his door. He walked over to it and opened it, and a young boy stepped inside. He was about the same age as Ian, but that’s where the comparisons stopped. They were as different as night and day. While Ian’s hair and skin were dark, this boy’s were light. He had light blond hair and green eyes. Ian was a couple of inches taller than him as well.
Their differences weren’t just physical. Ian rarely lost his temper, but the other boy often did. He also always acted like he was superior to Ian.
"You are not studying your lessons, Ian."
"You are not my tutor, Luke."
"I told him I would make sure you were doing as you were told."
"No," he replied calmly. "You are doing this on your own behalf."
Before Luke Matthews could come back with a reply of his own, a shadow was thrown across the room. The two younger boys looked up and saw Kenneth Irons standing in the doorway. "Luke, what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be studying your own lessons?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then get to them."
"Yes, sir," he said walking past him out of the room.
"Ian, shouldn’t you be studying your own lessons?"
"I am finished, sir."
"Good."
"Did you want something, sir."
"No."
Ian wondered why he had come if he hadn’t wanted something, but he knew better than to question Mister Irons. The older man left the room without another word.
*******
The next morning Ian went with his riding instructor to the stables. He walked to a stall where a young black Arabian stallion was sticking his head over the top of the lower door. He had a thin strip of white running down his head. He also had a small white sock on his left hind leg.
He was already tacked up, so Ian grabbed the reins and led him out of the stall. Once they got into the training arena, his instructor helped him into the saddle. He settled in the middle of the horse’s back and took the reins in his hands once again.
"Just take him through his paces for now," the instructor told Ian.
He nodded, then lightly tapped the horse’s sides with his heels starting him forward in a walk. They went smoothly into a trot, then to a canter, and finally a gallop. Then, they made their way back through them to a walk. Boy and horse came to a stop at the same spot where they had started. He looked at his trainer for further instructions.
"Now take him through the dressage movements."
Ian nodded, and they headed to the center of the arena. They started to go through the movements, but Ian’s mind was not focused on the task. This had become routine to him, and he was bored with it.
The stallion, Gypsy’s Dragon, threw his head up and lifted his front hooves from the ground. Ian almost slid from the saddle, but grabbed a handful of his mane and stayed on his back. Once he had the stallion calmed down, the instructor stormed over to them.
"What was that about, Ian?" He nearly screamed the question.
"I am sorry, sir. My mind was elsewhere."
The stallion was prancing around and pulling on the reins.
"Try it again. Keep your mind on what you are doing this time."
Ian turned his attention back to the horse. He asked him to move forward with his legs, but the stallion wouldn’t behave. He would move the wrong way or not move at all. Finally, the instructor told him to stop.
"He’s not going to cooperate now. Take him back to his stall, and we’ll try again next time."
As soon as Ian was out of the arena, the trainer headed to the house.
*******
Ian walked Gypsy’s Dragon around the yard outside of the stable to cool him off. Then, he led him back to his stall, untacked him, and brushed his sleek black coat. He was trying to find things to do to keep from having to go back up to the house knowing there would be trouble when he did. He had seen his instructor walking up to the house; he would be speaking to Irons now.
He put the brush away and slowly made his way up to the house. He would have to face him sometime. It might as well be now. When he got to the house, Ian tried to make it to his room without attracting attention, but it was useless. As he was slipping past Irons’ study, he heard the older man call out, "Come in here, Ian."
His head lowered as he walked through the door. He kept his eyes on the floor, not wanting to see the anger he knew was in his master’s face.
"Your riding instructor came to speak with me. He said your skills are not improving. That you don’t seem to be interested in what you are doing."
"It is just the same thing over and over again."
The slap came out of nowhere snapping his head around. "Do not interrupt me."
"Sorry, sir," he replied as tears sprang to his eyes. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it still hurt.
"If you don’t take more interest in your lessons, you will never improve. You can do better, and I will not tolerate this. Now, get to your room and study your lessons until it is time for lunch."
"Yes, sir," he replied nodding his head and backing out of the room. He hurried to his room and shut the door behind him.
*******
After eating lunch in strained silence, Ian went through his day the same as he always did. He made sure to stay focused on his lessons. They ate dinner in silence, then he went up to his room and awhile later went to sleep.
The next morning Ian walked downstairs and felt that something was different. The front door was standing open, so he crept over to it and peeked around the corner. Irons was standing on the porch looking down the drive. He turned his head when he heard the boy’s footsteps.
Ian’s gaze went to the floor. "What is happening, sir?"
"Luke Matthews has left us, Ian."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"The priest that brought him here just came to take him away so he can learn his vocation. Just like you will one day, Ian."
The young boy’s eyes lit up. "When will I learn to fight?"
"Soon, my boy. But not yet."
An hour later Ian headed to the stable. When he got to Gypsy’s Dragon’s stall, the stallion was tossing his head around. He let himself into the stall and tried to calm the horse, but it was no use. He finally gave it up and started to put his tack on. The horse wouldn’t stand still for it though. He sidestepped as Ian tried to lift the saddle onto his back. It took him more than a half hour, but he was finally ready to go to the arena.
He led Gypsy’s Dragon to the entrance, then mounted. His instructor was waiting for them. "Let’s get started."
Ian nodded his head and started to do as he told him. Gypsy’s Dragon had other ideas, however. First, he reared up on his hind legs. Then, he took the bit in his teeth and raced across the arena, turning just in time to avoid hitting the wall. Ian couldn’t pull him up or even slow him; all he could do was to hang on for the duration on the ride.
Finally, the stallion tired himself out, and after several bucks, he stopped and stood still in the middle of the arena. His coat was white with sweat, and his sides were heaving from the exertion. Ian slid from the saddle as his instructor stormed over to them.
"What was that about?" He demanded to know.
"I don’t know, sir."
Seeing that the boy was upset, he took a deep breath to calm down. "I will have to talk to Mister Irons about this. Take care of him."
"Please don’t, sir."
"Just go take care of your horse."
Ian led the horse outside and walked him around the yard. Once he was cooled off, he led him back into the stable. An hour later he headed up to the house. As soon as the front door closed behind him, the young boy saw Irons step out of his study. His face was as calm as usual, but his eyes were livid. "Come in here, Ian," he ordered the boy.
He did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room. Irons slammed the door behind him as he entered the room. Pacing over to the window, he stared outside for more than a minute. This whole time Ian stood fidgeting in the center of the room.
The older man walked over to the fireplace and watched as a log fell, sending up sparks. Ian flinched as he saw a spark fall onto the floor. Irons quickly stepped on it. Then, he picked up one of the tools and scooped some hot embers from the fire. Walking over to Ian, he said, "Hold out your hands."
He hesitated, but after a moment he reluctantly did it. Irons dropped the hot coals into the boy’s hands. He clenched his jaw, but showed no other outward sign of pain. The coals were burning his hands, and he wanted to drop them. He knew, however, that if he did, he would be punished even more.
After five minutes of this, the embers were cooling off. "You may drop them now."
Ian sighed as the hot objects left his hands. "It wasn’t my fault, sir," he said in almost a whisper.
His head snapped around, and there was a red mark on his left cheek.
"I did not ask if it was. Now be silent until I ask for you to speak."
"I am sorry, sir."
"I told you that you must stay focused on your lessons. And you couldn’t even control the horse. What do you think I should do?"
"I don’t know, sir."
"Well, I do. I will get rid of that horse. And you will concentrate on your other lessons."
"No, sir. You can’t." His head had come up, and his eyes were filled with panic. The next blow sent it back to its former position.
"Do not interrupt me. I will not tolerate it." His face had gone white with anger. Once he got it back under control, he continued. "That horse has become dangerous. He could have killed you today. I will not let that happen again."
"I won’t let you do this," he said with more courage than he felt.
Irons grabbed a handful of Ian’s hair and pulled his head back. "You have no choice in the matter," he told him as the handle of the fireplace shovel hit the young boy in the stomach. He doubled over and fell to the floor. The older man nudged him with the toe of his shoe and said, "Get up and walk over to the wall. And remove your shirt."
He did as he was ordered knowing it was futile to resist. He knew what was about to happen. Irons walked over to a corner of the room. When he returned, he was carrying a whip. Ian put his hands against the wall and closed his eyes in preparation for the punishment he knew was coming.
The first blow didn’t draw blood, but it did hurt. With each flick of Irons’ wrist, the whip struck the young boy’s unprotected back. After ten blows, blood was running down his back from several gashes. Fifteen minutes later, Irons finally lowered his arm.
Ian’s back was covered with blood. He now slid to the floor and lay there, not moving. The older man walked to the door and called down the hall, "Doctor Immo, come in here."
When the doctor arrived, he saw Ian laying on the floor. He looked at Irons with a look of shock on his face. "What happened?"
"Take him to the infirmary," he said, not answering the question. "And take care of his wounds."
He nodded his head and walked over to the boy. Gathering him up in his arms, he carried him out of the room and down the hallway. He laid him out on the bed and started to ten to his injuries. After washing the blood off of his back, he put some ointment on the gashes and bandaged them. Then, he did the same with the boy’s hands. Immo gave him something to make him slightly more comfortable, then left the room.
*******
Ian slept off and on alternately for two days. During that time, he had rolled over onto his back. When he woke, he started to sit up in bed. The pain that spread across his back caused him to lower himself back down onto the bed. The events of the other day came back to him, and he groaned from the memory. He laid still until the doctor came in. Then, he only turned his head to the side.
Immo smiled when he saw that the young boy was finally awake. "Glad you are still with us, young Nottingham."
Ian struggled to sit up again, but it was useless. The pain was too much for him. The doctor reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "Just lie still. You’re going to open your wounds again."
He did as he was told, and Immo started to unwrap the bandages from his hands. They were covered with blisters and both of them winced at the sight. The doctor applied more ointment and wrapped them with clean bandages. Then he told Ian, "I have to turn you over so I can look at your back."
The boy nodded his head solemnly. When the doctor was finished, he said, "It will be at least a week before you can move around at all. I’m going to go let Mister Irons know you’re awake."
Ian just nodded. He closed his eyes as Immo left the room. When the two men entered five minutes later, they thought he was sleeping. "Thought you said he was awake."
"He was when I left. He must have fallen back to sleep while I was gone."
The young boy didn’t want to open his eyes to let them know he could hear them.
"Why don’t you wake him up then?"
"Because he needs his rest."
"Fine," he said, sounding irritated. "Just let me know when he wakes again."
"I will."
When Irons left, Ian’s whole body relaxed. He hadn’t even known it was tensed. After only a few minutes, he had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
*******
Two weeks later Ian was able to move around without causing too much pain. His hands were healing rapidly, and he could grip objects without trouble. A month after the beating, his back was nearly completely healed.
Six months later Irons called him into his study. "What do you know about the Witchblade, Ian?"
"Only a female may wield it, sir. It will give her powers she would not know otherwise."
"Good, Ian. I will control it or her one day."
"And how will you control the Witchblade?"
"In order to control the Witchblade, I must control the woman who wields it. And this woman must be tested, must be made to run a grueling gauntlet, and in so doing learn to use the Witchblade. The will must be tested; it must be measured. Tell me what you know of will, Nottingham."
"The will is the link between the soul and the universe."
"Well spoken, young Nottingham. And now the time has come for you to go abroad to learn your vocation. To explore your special gifts."
Lessons Abroad
Ian stepped out of the limousine and stood there staring in awe at a huge plane. "Is that it?" He asked, his voice filled with amazement.
Standing on the other side of the car, the driver shook his head. "No. Mister Irons’ private jet is over there." He was pointing to a plane across the airfield. It was as magnificent as the one before them.
The driver grabbed Ian’s bag from the trunk and headed over to the plane. The young boy followed close behind him. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and his black hair glistened where it hit. They reached the plane standing apart from the larger ones. He tossed the bag to a man standing in the plane, then turned to Ian.
His short, thick arms grabbed Ian’s thin ones and pulled him close in a brief, affectionate embrace. All of Irons’ staff felt a certain protective, caring feeling for the young boy. The driver was no exception. When he let him go, he said with a sad voice, "Good-bye, Ian."
He just looked up at the older man through his large, serious, hazel eyes and nodded. Then, turning toward the plane, he let the man help him up into it. He watched out the window in silence as it took off. The ground disappeared beneath them, and they were in the air.
An hour later Ian came awake as the plane landed with a jerk. His eyes blinked several times, and he looked around. "Are we there already?" He asked, not thinking he had been asleep for that long.
The pilot shook his head. "Not yet, son. We just have to make a stop here, then we’ll continue on."
Ian nodded, then turned his gaze out the window.
"You can get out and stretch you legs, if you’d like. We’ll be here for at least a half hour." The pilot’s voice came from beside him. He nodded again, opened the door, and stepped out of the plane. Returning after only a few minutes, he sat in his seat and waited until it was time to leave again.
The pilot shook his head in amazement at the dark-haired boy’s patience. Most children would be squirming in the seat waiting to leave, but he just sat there as still as could be. His eyes were looking straight ahead. There were deep thoughts going on behind them though.
He watched out the window in silence for the rest of the trip. When they landed again, Ian stepped out of the plane and waited to get his bag. Once he had it, he turned around and was momentarily blinded by the bright afternoon sun. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath before opening them again.
There were many people walking around the airport. Ian had never seen that many different people in one place before. He had never gone far from Irons’ mansion while he had lived there. And he had been with him since the age of five. There were few memories of his life before that time. Only brief flashes of things he couldn’t place.
A middle-aged man and a young girl a couple of years older than Ian were walking toward him. The man stopped and asked, "Are you Ian Nottingham?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Then, I welcome you to Japan."
*******
The Nakatani family welcomed Ian into their home like he was their own son. After eating dinner, their daughter, Maeko, showed him around the place. Fences stretched around the property, keeping the thoroughbred racing horses from running off. A small, dark-gray almost black mare was running around the enclosed pasture and tossing her head.
"What is that one’s name?" He asked curious.
"Knotaflower," she replied with an air of disdain. "She’ll be lucky if Dad keeps her as a broodmare."
"Why is that?"
The girl gave him a sideways glance before replying. "She is too wild to do anything with. We can’t get close enough to her to even put a rope on her."
Ian started toward the fence, but Maeko’s voice stopped him. "What are you doing?"
His face turned toward her, and a small, brief smile broke out on it. Then, he put his hands on the top rail of the fence and vaulted over it. Landing on soft, cat-feet with his knees slightly bent, he straightened up on the other side.
His legs carried him forward on light feet as he talked softly to the mare. She stopped in her running and looked at him out of a nervous eye. As he approached, she took a quick step back. He stopped and held out his hand, closed in a fist. The mare took a cautious step forward and sniffed at it.
He slowly straightened his fingers and lightly touched her soft, velvet nose. She snorted, jerking her head away, but didn’t move. Ian continued talking to her in a soft but firm voice. The words were barely loud enough to make it to Maeko’s ears, and she didn’t recognize the sound of them. They weren’t the English or Japanese ones she was used to.
Soon the black mare settled down, and he was able to run his hand down her neck. Satisfied for now, he turned and walked back toward the fence. The mare followed a couple of steps behind him.
He climbed to the other side and grinned at Maeko. "She is not wild, just fiery. All she needs is a light touch and firm voice."
"How did you do that? What were you saying?" She asked in astonishment.
"I just told her that it would be better for her to be calmer."
"Not in English."
"No, I said it in Gaelic. Horses like the sound of it better."
She looked up at the sky, then back to him. "We should probably be going back now. It will start to get dark soon."
When they arrived back at the house, Mister Nakatani was standing in the doorway, waiting for them. "Ian, your room is ready. You may go to it now. Your lessons will start in the morning."
The young boy nodded and walked past him. Maeko started toward her room, but was stopped by her father’s arm. "What do you think of him?"
"He’s good, Dad. He calmed that wild mare and acted like it was nothing. I still don’t know how he did it."
"Do you believe he has something special?"
"Yes. He definitely does."
He nodded his head. "I thought so as well."
*******
When Ian woke up the next morning, there was an outfit sitting out for him; a pair of loose, black pants and shirt. He put them on, then walked out of his room. Mister Nakatani was waiting for him.
"You are ready then?"
"Yes, sir."
The young boy stood in the middle of the room waiting for instructions. The older man had to smile at his student’s patience. "The practice of Kata will improve your focus, body movement, spirit, elegance, and confidence. Concentration and focus need to be maintained to avoid becoming too lax in your practice of Kata. You must carefully control your breathing and movement," he explained.
Ian’s face was serious, and he just nodded. His new teacher continued. "You will learn to punch, block, and kick your opponent. Learning to avoid staying in range of attack and to manipulate the distance between yourself and opponent so that you can move in, strike, and move out again is a benefit of practicing Kata."
"When will I learn to fight?" Ian asked, growing impatient. He started to shift his weight from one foot to the other.
"Patience, my son. As soon as you learn patience, you will be able to learn to fight. But without patience, you will never master any art."
Ian looked down at the floor, ashamed of his lack of control. When his eyes lifted, there was a thoughtful statement on Mister Nakatani’s face. "You will learn patience with time. Soon, you will realize how essential it is."
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Most of the maneuvers will begin in the natural position. Stand with your feet as far apart as the width of your hips. Your hands should be held relaxed at your sides in fists."
The young boy did as he was told. They began to go through some basic moves. At first clumsy, Ian soon was doing them with ease. An hour later the older man said, "That is good for today. Go get changed, then we will eat."
*******
That afternoon Maeko took Ian down to the stables. Knotaflower was standing by the fence, and she nickered at him as he walked up to her. Just as he started to climb to the other side, the young girl stopped him. "Ian, where are you going? Dad doesn’t want you to go near her unless he’s around."
He sighed and lowered himself back to the ground. They continued into the stable where Maeko pointed out a gray colt. "You can ride him for today."
"Why are we taking them out?"
"Because they need the exercise. Dad can’t get to all of them all the time, so I told him we would help."
They tacked up two of the horses and rode down a trail. About a half hour later, they came to a straight, flat stretch of ground. "Let’s race them," Maeko said with a grin.
Ian nodded, and they let the horses out into a gallop. The colt that she was riding pulled ahead of his. The distance started to grow between them. Leaning over the colt’s neck, he whispered something, and they started to close the gap. Soon the colt’s nose was next to the other colt’s flank. His hooves dug into the ground, and a moment later their noses were even. Then, Ian’s colt pulled ahead.
He pulled him up after they were several lengths in the lead and waited for Maeko to catch up with them. She smiled at him and said, "That was fun. We should be going home now."
*******
"Ian, how long have you been with us?"
"For five years, sir."
Over the past few years, Ian Nottingham had gone from being a small, twelve-year old boy to an almost full-grown man of seventeen. He towered about a foot above his host. Long, black, curly hair was clubbed tightly back. He had a calm appearance and was self-assured in every movement he made.
"That is how long it was that you were to be here. You have learned much from me. The rest of what you need to know, you must learn on your own. Do you believe that you are ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then it is time for you to return home."
*******
The next day Ian said his farewells to the Nakatani family. He saved Maeko for last. They had grown very close over the past several years, almost like brother and sister. Taking her hand in his, he said, "Goodbye, ane." Then, he leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.
She tightened her grip on his hand and smiled at him. "Goodbye, otouto."
Several hours later Kenneth Irons’ private plane landed at the airport, and Ian climbed off. The same driver that had left him there five years before was there to pick him up and take him home. He didn’t stop talking on the whole ride back to the mansion. From how everyone had missed him to what they all had been up to during the time he was gone.
When they arrived, Irons was waiting on the porch. Ian stepped out of the limousine, straightened to his full height, and walked up to the house. The sun glinted off of his hair and warmed his black-clad back. Irons took the young man’s hand in his with an affectionate look in his eyes that he tried to hide.
"Welcome home, Ian."
"Thank you, sir."
They walked inside before Irons said anything else. "There is going to be a banquet here tonight celebrating your return. I had a suit laid out for you in your room. Once you get a shower, put it on and come back down here."
He groaned inwardly, but just nodded his head and said, "Yes, sir."
He showered and dressed in fifteen minutes. The suit consisted of a white shirt and black tie under a black jacket, black dress pants, black socks, and polished, black shoes. He frowned at the uncomfortable fit, decided it was best not to complain, and walked out of his room.
When he arrived downstairs, there were already people in the dining hall. Making his way over to where Irons was standing, he made his gaze travel to the floor. The older man saw him and smiled to himself. He loved the feeling of control he had over Ian.
A young woman, she couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, was walking toward them. Her medium-length black hair hung in curls, and brown eyes danced with excitement. Her dress was simple, but elegant. The green cloth hung to the floor, and thin straps crossed over her shoulders. The dress narrowed at the waist, and the skirt was straight.
Irons put a charming smile on his face when he saw her approaching. "Hello, Darvy. This is Ian Nottingham," he said, putting his arm around the young man’s shoulders. "Ian, this is Darvy Rose. She’s the new assistant trainer. You may want to talk with her about that horse."
"Yes, sir."
Irons turned away to greet the other guests who had just arrived. Ian headed to the door so he could escape all of the new arrivals. Darvy followed right behind him. When they were outside, she asked, "So what’s this about a horse that you need to talk to me about?"
"While I was in Japan, I trained one of my teacher’s horses. But I was the only person who could ride her, so he is going to ship her here."
"Why did you need to talk to me about that?"
"I did not know that I did until a moment ago. Mister Irons most likely wanted you to be aware of it."
Darvy leaned against the porch railing and let out a long sigh. Then, a short laugh escaped her lips.
"What’s so funny?" Ian asked.
Shaking her head, she replied, "Never expected to be here in the city. Definitely not standing on the porch of the richest man’s mansion with such a handsome man."
Ian’s eyes widened with shock, and he was left speechless for several moments. When he regained his composure, he asked, "Where are you from?"
"Originally or before I came here?" She asked with a laugh in her voice.
Her laughter was infectious, and he couldn’t keep the smile from crossing his face. "Why not both?"
"Okay. Well, I’m originally from Colorado, but lived in Pennsylvania before I came here. And you, Ian? Where are you from?"
"I really don’t know. I came here when I was five. I don’t remember much before that."
Before she could ask him anything else, a man came out of the house and told him, "Mister Nottingham, Mister Irons is looking for you."
Ian nodded, and the man walked back inside. He looked at Darvy, shrugged and rolled his eyes, then turned to follow. She watched him walk away for a moment and went inside as well.
"Ian, this is your party, and you disappeared."
"I’m sorry, sir."
Irons just nodded and turned back to his guest. A few minutes later Ian jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He sighed when he saw that it was just Darvy. "Please don’t do that."
"I’m sorry, Ian. Didn’t mean to startle you."
"It’s okay. I just don’t like people coming up behind me."
They stood there in silence for several minutes before Darvy said, "You don’t seem very comfortable."
He shrugged. "I hate wearing suits and being made to please people who can’t even remember your name."
Just then they saw someone walking toward them. A frustrated sound similar to a growl escaped his lips before he plastered a smile on his face. Darvy was doing her best to stifle the laugh growing in her throat.
"Ethan, it’s good to see you again."
"Thank you, sir," he said through gritted teeth.
The man moved away and started talking to someone else. "See what I mean?" He asked with a look after the man.
"Why didn’t you just correct him?"
"It would not have done any good." He noticed everyone heading toward the dining tables, and they followed.
*******
A couple of days later, Knotaflower arrived. Ian went down to the stables and was lifting the saddle over her back when he heard footsteps coming toward him down the aisle. Turning his head, he saw that it was Darvy.
"Good morning, Ian. Want some company?"
"Sure."
They headed out to a trail and rode in silence for about half of a mile. The mare was pulling on the reins, so Ian let her move out into a trot. The colt Darvy was riding stayed with them. He grinned as the mare moved smoothly into a gallop. He glanced back and saw that they were gaining on him.
A moment later out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colt stumble. Darvy pulled him up, then slid from the saddle. Ian turned his mount around and headed back to where they were. "What happened?"
"I’m not sure," she replied as she felt along his legs for any breaks in the bones. "I think he just took a misstep."
She straightened up and led the colt forward a few steps. He limped heavily on his right foreleg. "He must have pulled something when he stumbled," she thought out loud. "We’ll have to slowly walk him back."
Ian nodded as he slid out of the saddle. When they arrived at the stable, he helped her pack the colt’s leg in ice. Then he unsaddled Knotaflower, said goodbye to Darvy, and walked up to the mansion.
A Knight & Dragons
"Ian, come in here."
The young man bowed his head and walked into the room. "Yes, sir?"
"Where have you been for the last few hours?"
"I went riding with Darvy."
"For over three hours?"
"Well, we talked for a while as well."
"You two have grown close over the last five years," he remarked with a smirk.
"Yes, sir. We have become friends," he replied with a glare.
"I’m sure you have."
"Sir, what is it that you wanted?"
Infuriated at this outburst, he pushed himself out of the chair and stepped in front of Ian. Grabbing his chin firmly in his hand, he said, "I will tell you when I’m ready to. Until then, do not speak out of turn."
"I am sorry, sir."
Irons stepped away and walked over to the window. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared outside for several minutes. Once he felt that Ian had waited for a sufficient amount of time, he turned around and walked back over to his chair.
"There is a special forces unit being assembled by the defense department. I feel your skills make you an ideal candidate for this unit. What do you think about it, Ian?" He asked, even though it didn’t make any difference to him what the young man thought about it.
"I think that whatever you feel is best for me is what I shall do."
Getting the response he wanted, Irons smiled. "You’ll leave in a week. That is all. You may go."
Ian nodded, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.
*******
A week later, Ian tossed his small, black bag into the trunk of the limousine. Then, he turned around to face Darvy. She had come up from the barn to tell him farewell and was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and an old shirt. He had on a loose, black shirt and black pants. Her eyes were moist as she shook his hand.
"Goodbye, Ian."
"Goodbye, my friend."
Ian stepped back, then turned around and climbed into the back of the car. As it pulled away, he glanced out the back window and saw her standing there, watching him leave. After a while, he fell asleep and didn’t wake up again until the car stopped and was shut off. His eyes opened, blinked several times, and adjusted to the change in lighting. He wasn’t sure how long he’s been sleeping, but it had been early evening when they left, and now it was shortly after noon the following day.
He opened the door, stepped out of the car, and looked around. He was in a clearing surrounded by trees. There were several buildings on one side. On the other was what looked like a military training camp. A man was walking toward him. "Are you Ian Nottingham?" He asked in a raspy voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Go put your stuff in there," he told him pointing to a building where ten other men were standing.
He nodded his head and walked over to it. The men were blocking the entrance, however.
"I must get in there. Please move out of the way."
"Who are you?" One of them asked in a thick German accent.
"Does anyone truly know who they are?" Ian asked as the beginning of a smile started to form at the corners of his mouth.
"He wanted to know your name," a British voice said from his left.
"He should have just said that. My name is Ian Nottingham. And what is yours?"
"Mine is Aldric Barnett," the Brit replied.
"I am Agustine Baldwyn," the German said.
They stepped aside and let him pass, following as soon as he did. There was an empty bed along the wall on the far side of the room. He tossed his bag onto it, then turned to Aldric and asked, "Can I know everyone else’s names, or are they to be kept a secret?"
The corner of the other man’s mouth curled in a smile, and he said, "Not at all. My fellow countryman here," he was pointing to the man standing beside him, "is Barden Adalson. The two Frenchies there," he said with an amiable smile, "are Alexandre Bayard and Colyn Deveral. The other German there is Berne Dedrick. The Italians are Armond Drago and Federico Gavino. The Russian on the end there is Adrik Kolya. And..." He was interrupted by a large, black man standing farthest to the right.
"I will introduce myself, Aldric. "I’m Hector Mobius."
Barden was a small man of about twenty-five with dark blond, almost brown hair and green eyes. Aldric had the look of an aristocrat. He had a thin nose and sharp, blue eyes. His light blond hair was cut short. He was about an inch taller than Ian. Alexandre had auburn hair that hung past his ears. He had a serious look in his brown eyes. Colyn had short, black, curly hair and brown eyes. He had a friendly look to him.
Agustine had light blond hair and soft blue eyes. He stood with an air of dignity; his shoulders drawn back and his head held high. Berne was a large, bear-like man with shaggy brown hair. His blue eyes were hard and cold. Armond was tall with dark brown hair, and his brown eyes were slanted. He stood apart from the others, seeming aloof. Federico had a hawk-like face; sharp brown eyes, a thin pointed nose, and thin lips. His hair was light blond, almost white. He seemed to be completely at peace with himself. The Russian, Adrik, was dark-skinned, dark-haired, and had brown eyes.
They were called to dinner, and Ian and Aldric walked to the dining hall together. All eyes were on him as they ate in silence. When everyone had finished, they went back to their sleeping arrangements. Ian sat on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to meditate. A moment later he heard footsteps approaching him. His eyes opened, and he turned his head. The large, bear-like German was standing in front of him. "What do you want?"
"You are not one of us," he said in a German accent that was hard to understand.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You do not belong here."
"Then why is it that I’m here?"
The large man shrugged. "I have not figured it out."
Ian closed his eyes and turned his head away. He could feel the air pushed toward him as the German reached for his shirt collar. His left hand reached up to block as his eyes opened. Berne seemed surprised by this quick reaction, but recovered in time to throw a punch at Ian’s head.
He moved out of the way by rolling to the other end of the bed. Air rushed by his head as he did this. His right foot caught the other man behind the knee, causing him to fall to the floor. Ian jumped from the bed and landed solidly on his feet. The other men gathered around in eagerness for the fight that was about to come.
Berne had regained his feet and was coming after Ian again. He tested a punch to the face, but only came away with empty air. He tried again, this time aiming for the mid section. Ian spun out of the way, and the large German stumbled, but stayed on his feet. He went after Ian again, and wrapping his arms around his back with his hands clasped together, he ground his knuckles into the smaller man’s spine. Ian was bent back nearly in half and could feel a stab of excruciating pain go through his back. He kicked his feet out and both men fell to the floor.
Ian, being the quicker of the two, was on his feet first. Berne slowly got to his and advanced. Ian circled him warily, then lifted his left leg, pivoted on his right, and sent his foot into the large man’s stomach. He doubled over in pain and let out a gasp of air. It was filled with as much shock as pain.
As he was straightening, the other men started to move away. The man who had met Ian when he first arrived strode over to them. There was rage and fury in his face. "What do you two think you’re doing?" He demanded.
Ian just stared at the floor. "Nottingham, look at me now!"
It was a struggle for him to raise his eyes. He was accustomed to Irons demanding that he didn’t make eye contact. "Sorry, sir."
"That’s better. Now what was this about?"
"I do not know, sir."
"What do you mean you don’t know?" He roared at him.
Aldric stepped forward and said, "On Nottingham’s behalf, sir, he was only defending himself. Dedrick went after him."
He nodded his head. "Thank you, Barnett. I will speak to you," he nodded at Berne, "outside. Now!" He added when the German hesitated.
He returned ten minutes later, but only glared at Ian as he made his way to his bed. Aldric walked over to his new friend and sat beside him.
"I must thank you," Ian told him.
"For what reason."
"You spoke up for me back there. You had no reason to do that."
"Do not think another thing about it."
He moved away to his own bed. A moment later someone turned off the lights, and they went to sleep.
*******
Several months went by while the group trained. Aldric and Ian became good friends during this time. Berne remained hostile, but everyone else was friendly or at least pretended to be.
One morning after practicing at the target range, he was stopped by the sergeant on his way back to the barracks. "You did excellent in there. You didn’t miss one target, and your hits would have been fatal."
"Thank you, sir. What good is it if they can walk away?"
"Exactly my thoughts, Nottingham. You’re good with a gun. How are you with a knife?" He asked as he handed one to him.
They walked to the practice area, and he showed the sergeant what he could do on a dummy. The older man was impressed with what he saw. The model was virtually destroyed. "Where did you learn those moves?"
"When I was younger, I studied in Japan for several years."
The sergeant nodded his head, then left.
*******
"Adalson, Deveral, Drago, Nottingham, and Barnett, you are the black team. The rest of you are the white team. The bullets in your rifles have been replaced with blanks except for one in each gun. Your knives have not been dulled. You do not want to be hit with either weapon. Do you understand?"
They all nodded their heads and said, "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now break up into your teams."
They did as they were told and started the game. A few shots were fired, but no hits made. After a while, Aldric crawled out from behind his shelter and started toward the other team’s lines. Shots sailed over him, one slamming into the ground right beside his head. He continued forward until a bullet caught him in the shoulder.
Seeing that his friend and team member was injured, Ian leaped from behind his shelter and ran over to him. Then, he dragged him out of the way as his other team members laid down a withering cover fire.
Berne went around and came up behind him as soon as Ian was back in his place. He sensed him coming, spun around, and knocked the knife from the German’s hand. The game ended without any more hits being made.
"Barnett, get to the infirmary. The rest of you, good job. Nottingham, I’d like to speak with you. Everyone else may get to their barracks."
"What do you want, sir," Ian asked once everyone else had gone.
"That was quick thinking, and you showed loyalty to your unit. Signs of a true warrior."
"Thank you, sir."
"You may go now."
Ian walked to the barracks, but couldn’t sleep, so he got up and made his way to the infirmary to see how his friend was.
"He’ll be fine," the doctor told him. "It didn’t do any real damage."
After visiting with Aldric for a few moments, he made his way back to the barracks and was soon asleep. The next morning all of the men met in one of the buildings for a battle simulation. When it was over, they were to report to the infirmary for their weekly dose of drugs that were supposed to enhance their aggression as well as intelligence. Ian didn’t like it, but he did as he was told. He didn’t suffer from the side effects like some of the others at least. For him there were no delusions of grandeur, excessive aggression, or paranoia. Aldric didn’t suffer from them either. The drugs also made all of the men sensitive to certain frequencies of sights and sounds around them. Strobe lights were especially bad. The other members of the team remained loyal to the unit, but those two were loyal to each other more than to anyone else.
*******
A week before Thanksgiving the sergeant gathered the eleven men together. "Black Dragons, you have your first assignment. Mark Voren is the son of an important diplomat. Two weeks ago he was abducted by militant forces. Law enforcement agents can’t find him, so they have asked us. We depart in the morning. Any questions?"
"No, sir," they said in unison.
Early the next morning, the men were ready to go. They climbed into the helicopter and flew to what would be their base camp. When they arrived, they set up camp, changed into black pants and shirts, and painted their faces black. Mobius was the only one who didn’t. They waited for it to grow dark, then slipped on black gloves. They didn’t want any flash of pale skin to give them away. Grabbing their weapons, they departed from the camp.
They split into four groups of three men. Ian, Aldric, and Agustine were in one, and Federico, Mobius, and Alexandre were in another. Berne, Adrik, and Barden were in the third, and Colyn, Armond, and the sergeant were in the last. Ian’s group went north, Federico’s went east, Berne’s went south, and Colyn’s went to the west. Each group had a walkie-talkie with them and were to be reachable at all times.
It began to grow light again several hours later, and none of the groups had found anything. They all heard the sergeant’s voice as he said, "Find a well-hidden place to rest until dark. No fires. You will have to eat your rations cold. When you find them, whichever group does, alert the rest of us, then wait. Do not go in by yourselves."
When dark came again, the teams headed out from their temporary camps. More than an hour later, Aldric spotted the flames from a campfire. They crept closer, and Ian could make out twenty men outlined by the fire. There was another man farther back bound hand and foot. He was also silenced with a cloth in his mouth.
Ian got on the walkie-talkie and alerted the rest of the unit. Then, they waited. Half an hour went by and there was no sign of them. Then, an hour. Finally, impatient and disgusted, Agustine said, "Let’s go. It vill be morning bevore they get here."
"No," Aldric countered. "We are to wait."
They quietly argued, not wanting to alert the men they were watching. Agustine’s determination finally won out. They started forward silently. The German slipped on a patch of mud and caused a commotion as he fell to the ground.
The men around the fire jumped to their feet, grabbed their rifles, and tossed some shots through the air. Ian and Aldric dived to the ground as the bullets whizzed over their heads. Crawling closer, they each got off a shot, then rolled away from their former position. Ian got to his feet and sprinted toward the camp. He heard the bullets coming at him and spun out of their way. He couldn’t do this forever though. He was almost to the camp when a searching fire sent a bullet through the muscle of his calf.
He fell to the ground, but pushed himself back to his feet. As five of them men rushed at him, he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind. He struggled until the soft, British voice of his friend said, "Ian, relax. It is just me."
Relaxing, he allowed Aldric to drag him to safety. Then, he rolled over on his stomach, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and shot at the advancing men. One of them fell and didn’t get up again. Then, the rest of the unit arrived. Ian took out two more men, then lowered the gun and closed his eyes. Blood was pouring out of his wound, and he was quickly growing weaker.
When the last man had fallen, Alexandre walked over and freed the young man. Aldric made his way over to Ian and kneeled down beside him.
"I owe you my life."
"No, we are even now."
"We will never be even. You saved my life."
Before Aldric could reply, the sergeant came over to them and asked, "How are you, Nottingham."
"In pain, sir," he replied with a pain-filled grin that turned to a grimace.
"Can you stand up and walk?"
"Yes, sir."
He pushed himself slowly to his feet. Taking a step forward, he stumbled and almost fell. Aldric caught his arm, keeping him on his feet. Ian’s face was pale, and his eyes were filled with pain, but he clenched his teeth together and took another step.
"Colyn, take him back to our temporary camp, and I will have the chopper pick you up there."
"Yes, sir."
They had to move slowly and rest often for Ian’s sake, and he lost consciousness a few times, so it was almost midday before they reached the camp. When they arrived, Aldric took his bandanna and wrapped it around his friend’s wounded leg. The bottom half of the leg was covered in blood. It was dripping into his boot as well. It was another hour before the helicopter arrived. They got Ian onto it, and headed back.
They arrived back at the compound shortly before it began to grow dark. Aldric and Colyn helped Ian to the infirmary. Then, the Brit and the Sergeant waited while the doctor took care of his wound. An hour later he came over to them and said, "He has a fever, but I gave him something to bring it down. He should stay off the leg for a week or two. If he does that, he should be fine."
They thanked him, then Aldric went to the barracks and fell asleep. The Sergeant stood outside for a moment, looking up at the stars. Then, he went to bed.
*******
Ian stayed in the infirmary for ten days before he could get up to walk to the barracks and his own bed. He had to stay there for another week. While he was recovering, he hadn’t eaten much and was thin and weak. When he actually walked, he did so with a heavy limp.
Three weeks after he was wounded, the sergeant came to the barracks to speak with him. "Nottingham, I’m sending you home for a month, so you can recover properly. After that time I will see how your progress is and if you are ready to return. You are no good to me in your current condition."
"I understand, sir."
"The chopper will take you home in the morning."
The next morning Ian walked outside with the help of a crutch and waited for the helicopter to arrive. While he was waiting, he saw Aldric walking toward him.
"When will you be returning?"
"In a month if my condition improves."
The Brit shook hands with him when his ride arrived, then turned sharply around and walked away. He was going to miss his friend. A man helped Ian into the helicopter, and they were gone.
The pilot landed a couple of hours later, and Ian was helped out and up to the house. Irons was waiting for him on the porch. "There is a room ready for you downstairs."
"Thank you, sir."
The older man just nodded and turned away as a servant helped Ian to the room. He had been in there for an hour when there was a knock on his door. He looked up and saw Darvy standing there. Her face was filled with worry. "Are you all right, Ian?"
"I will be fine."
Her face relaxed in relief. "I’m glad to see you. Although I wish you were home under different circumstances." And for good, she wanted to add, but knew she couldn’t let him know how she felt. It would only end in disaster.
He smiled at her and said, "Maybe we can go for a ride before I return."
"Just get better," she told him before leaving.
*******
The two weeks until Christmas went by quickly. The day after it, Darvy came into Ian’s room and sat beside his bed. He had regained most of the weight he had lost, and his natural color had returned. His former strength was returning as well, but he was still somewhat weak.
"Ian, I’m leaving next month. I got a job offer out in Colorado. I accepted it, and I’m moving on the eleventh of next month."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
Two weeks later the sergeant arrived at the mansion in person to see Ian. He could now stand without help and only walked with a slight limp. "I think you are ready to return. If your doctor agrees, then you will leave with me tonight."
Doctor Immo gave his okay, and Ian gathered his things together. When they were leaving, he saw Darvy standing down by the stables. "I’ll be right back, sir."
She met him halfway, and he took her hand in his. "Good luck."
She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Stay safe," she whispered.
She watched him as he walked away. Then, turning away, she went about her work.
*******
When they arrived, everyone but Berne came out to meet them. "Welcome back, Ian," Aldric greeted him.
"It’s good to be back," he responded.
Everyone else greeted him, then things went back to normal.
*******
"Nottingham, I just finished talking to your master. He wants you to return to him."
"Why, sir?"
"You have been here for three years. He feels it is time for you to return."
The young man just nodded his head.
"You’ll leave in the morning."
"Yes, sir," he replied, then turned on his heel and strode from the room.
A Knight’s Return"
Ian stepped off of the plane and saw Irons’ driver waiting for him. He climbed into the back of the car, closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep. He hadn’t slept for more than two hours total the night before. He had been excited to be going home, but was also somewhat sad to be leaving his comrades. He had been afflicted with a nightmare as well.
A knight stood in the middle of a large arena as a huge, black dragon advanced on him. As they began to battle, more dragons appeared. He could sense their unspoken feelings of betrayal as their eyes tore into him. Soon, he was surrounded by ten of the dark creatures. He slew them one by one until there was only a single dragon left. It advanced on him and backed him against a wall. Just as it was about to strike, Ian jerked awake. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. After taking several deep breaths, he was back to normal and returned to sleep.
*******
When they arrived at the mansion, Irons walked out to meet them. "Glad you made it back safely, Ian."
"As am I, sir."
They walked inside and the younger man carried his bag up to his room. After almost two years, his limp was hardly noticeable. When he reached his room, he unpacked his bag. Then, he changed into some riding clothes he still had from before he left for the Black Dragons and walked downstairs. Irons was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he turned around as Ian came down them. "Where are you going, Ian?"
"Down to the stables to ride."
"You cannot do that."
"Why not, sir."
"I do not own any of the animals anymore. After Miss Rose left, I sold all of them. I hadn’t felt like hiring anyone else." He had never told Darvy or Ian that he had been the one who had gotten the job for here out in Colorado. He didn’t want her to get involved with Ian and distract him from his duties, and he could tell that was the way things were going.
With a look of disappointment, he turned and walked back to his room. Once Ian was out of sight, the older man walked into his study, picked up a letter from his desk, and scanned the contents.
Dear Ian,
You haven’t answered any of my previous letters, but I thought I would try once more. I hope you are not upset with me. I don’t remember doing anything to cause that, but just want to voice this fear. If you don’t answer this letter, I will figure you are upset with something and will stop trying to contact you.
Everything is well here. I’ve had this job for about two years now and am doing well. Everyone on the ranch is kind to me. They are almost like a family to me now. Just last week the wife of one of the ranch hands had a baby boy. They named him Patrick Dakota. I was asked to be his godmother and accepted. He is a beautiful boy with green eyes.
Several letter ago I told you about the young man who had started to "court" me. After a couple of week, I realized I loved him. When he asked me to marry him earlier this week, I said yes. We are planning the wedding for early next year. I hope you will be able to make it.
Well, I will stop boring you with the petty details of my life. I hope this letter finds you safe and healthy. Goodbye, my dear friend.
Your good friend,
Darvy Rose.
When he had finished reading it, Irons crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire. "You can have the same end as the rest of them," he muttered to himself. Now he was sure that he had been right to get her away when he did.
Walking out of the room, he made his way to the kitchen to find out how much longer it would be until dinner was finished.
*******
Darvy had been in the city for a week before she had enough courage to drive to the mansion. It had been three years since she had left, and she wasn’t sure how she would be received. When she finally did, a servant answered her knock and after she asked to see Ian, took her into the library to wait.
Five minutes later, he appeared. He was dressed in his usual black attire with his long hair pulled back. He seemed surprised to see her at first, then smiled in greeting. "Darvy, it’s been a long time since we’ve talked."
"I know. You never answered any of my letters."
"What are you talking about? I never got any letters from you."
"I sent them here hoping Mister Irons would know of a way to get them to you. Guess he never did."
"No, he never did." They were silent for a moment, then Ian asked, "Would you like to take a walk?"
"Yeah, I would."
They walked outside and started down the path to the old stables. When they were almost there, he finally noticed the gold ring on her left hand. "When did that happen?" He asked.
"Six months ago. A hand from a neighboring ranch, Keith Matisan. He’s a good man, and he loves me."
"That is good. Do you love him as well?" Irons had always told him that love was pointless, that there was always something else behind someone’s words and actions. That nothing anyone ever did was for love.
"Yes, I do. There has only been one other man I have cared as much for."
They lapsed into silence again for about ten minutes, then she asked, "Are you out of the military now?"
"Yes, I am. I was honorably discharged a year ago. Mister Irons wanted me back here."
"Do you miss it at all?"
"Not the killing. It was necessary, and we were ordered to do it, but I think only a couple actually enjoyed the doing of it. I do sometimes miss my comrades though." They were silent until he asked her, "What are you doing back here?"
"My boss wanted me to look at some horses he was thinking about buying. I thought I would visit while I was here. I have to return in a few days."
They had reached the stables and turned around. Having nothing else to talk about, they walked up to the mansion in silence. After saying goodbye, Darvy returned to her rental car and drove back to her hotel.
*******
Ian was about to step outside when he heard Irons call his name from behind him. "Ian, would you please come in here?"
He had wanted to escape from the house for a bit, but that didn’t seem to be possible at the moment. "What is it, sir?" He asked as he stepped into the study.
"How long has it been since you returned from the Black Dragons?"
"Four years, sir."
"And what have you been doing in that time?"
"Training. Always trying to improve myself, sir."
"Good," he replied as he swung his cane at the younger man’s body.
Ian blocked the blow and took a small step back. Irons had a wide smile on his face. "You haven’t lost your alertness or swiftness at least. Now I have something of which to speak with you."
"What would that be, sir?"
"Two years ago the Black Dragons unit was disbanded. The men were sent home. Only they didn’t return home."
"Where did they go?"
"They split into smaller groups and went rogue. They have stayed out of sight for the last two years. Now they are surfacing. You are to find them and take care of them."
His eyes went wide with shock, but before he could say anything, Irons dismissed him. He strode out of the room as a sadness descended on him. He knew what his master really wanted him to do. It was to kill them before they caused trouble for him. He didn’t want to hunt down his former comrades, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Orders were orders.
*******
Later that night he cleaned his guns and made sure they were fully loaded. He knew he would have to leave to do this job soon and wanted to be ready. Just as he was putting them aside, the door opened, and Irons stepped into the room.
"Do you want something, sir?"
He shook his head from side to side. "I have some information for you. Three of the Black Dragons were spotted this morning."
"Where, sir?"
"A small town in the middle of Northwestern Pennsylvania. Whispton. It’s only about an hour from the Ohio border."
"I will leave in the morning, sir."
"No, Ian. You will leave tonight. With the use of my jet, you will arrive in less than a half hour."
"Yes, sir."
Once Irons had left, he gathered together several days’ worth of clothing and threw it into a bag. Then, he shrugged into his long, black trench coat and slipped his guns on. Pulling black gloves over his hands, he picked up his bag and walked downstairs. The driver was waiting for him there. Ian handed him the bag, then they walked out to the waiting car and drove to the airport.
A little more than an hour later, they landed at a small airport about fifteen miles north of the town. Ian thanked the pilot, then climbed out of the plane and looked around for the car that should be waiting him. The dark was gathering, and it was getting hard to see, but his vision was better than most people’s. He soon spotted the car and walked over to it.
Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel. Grabbing his bag out of the trunk, Ian walked inside and paid for a room. He laid down on his bed, but it took him a long time to fall asleep. When he finally did, it wasn’t for long. After only sleeping for a few hours, he awoke. This happened again a few hours later. He finally gave up on sleep when the sun began to rise over the horizon.
He pulled on his pants and a shirt, shoved his feet into his boots, put on his gloves, and slipped into his trench coat. Hiding his guns underneath the coat, he walked out of the room. Ian ate breakfast, then left the hotel.
He walked down to a creek that ran through the woods at the edge of the town. Staring into the low, murky water left from a somewhat dry spring, he let his thoughts be carried away with the slow current. Several minutes later he heard the squashing sound of mud as someone took a step on the opposite bank. Ian’s eyes shot open, and he sighed in relief when he saw that it was only a young, teenage girl.
"Who are you?" She asked, staring at him with suspicious brown eyes. "You don’t belong around here."
"No one you will ever need to lay eyes on again," he replied, turning away. As he did so, a man stepped out from behind a tree. The girl saw him as well and gasped in surprise and fear.
Berne Dedrick had not changed much in the last four years. He still resembled a large bear, and his hair was as shaggy as it had been then. The only thing that had changed was his eyes. Instead of only being hard and cold, they now held an insane light as well. He also had several weeks growth of beard on his face.
"Get out of here," he told the girl.
She started to do as he said, but before she could even take a step, the large German had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a restraining way. "You vill not be going anyvhere."
"I always knew you for a coward, Dedrick."
The other man reached a hand down, and it came back up with a gun. The girl dropped to the ground and stayed there, her body shaking from fear. Ian rolled away as bullets began to come from Berne’s gun. His guns came out as he regained his feet. One bullet took the German in the chest, and the second went in through the middle of his forehead. Before he had even fallen to the ground, Ian was off and running through the trees. He hadn’t gone far when he saw Agustine Baldwyn and Adrik Kolya standing on each side of a tall, wide tree. He stepped behind a pine tree as they opened fire on him. He heard the bullets as they slammed into the tree trunk and sailed harmlessly past his head. Taking a second to catch his breath and think, he then stepped out and returned their fire.
One shot hit the Russian in the hip and spun him around. The next took him in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. His eyes stared unseeing at the sky. Augustine followed him, then Ian ran back toward the town. When he reached the spot where he had seen the girl, he slowed and began to walk. She was just beginning to lift herself from the ground. She was trembling with fear and stood unsteadily on her feet. "Who are you?" She asked again, this time in a shaky voice instead of a suspicious tone.
"Do not worry about that. I am gone," he replied as he took off again.
Once the town was in sight, he started to walk again. It wasn’t until then that he felt the sting on his neck and jaw line. He rubbed his hand against it, and it came away wet with blood. The bullets must have chipped some bark fragments from the trees, and they had hit him there.
When he arrived back at the hotel, he climbed into his room through the window, grabbed his things, and climbed out again. Ian drove to the airport, then left the car sitting there. The plane was waiting for him. He was glad Irons had ordered the pilot to stay until the young man had finished the job.
When he arrived back at the mansion, Ian slowly walked into the house. He was exhausted and just wanted to lie down and sleep. Irons stepped into the hallway from his study and smiled at Ian. "How did it go?" He asked like Ian had just returned from a business meeting.
"The three dragons have departed."
"Good work, Ian."
His hair had fallen down and was covering the dried blood on his neck and face, so Irons didn’t notice it. Ian walked up the stairs, fell onto his bed, and didn’t open his eyes until the next morning.
*******
Three months after his first Dragon hunting trip, Irons sent Ian out again. He went to the town and paid for a hotel room. The next day when he was walking around the town he saw his former Italian comrades sitting at a table in a small restaurant. They saw him as well, and their eyes narrowed. He continued walking, but knew he would see them again before long.
That night he was returning to his hotel in the dark when the two men stepped out in front of him. He drew his sword and took a step forward to meet them. Armond drew his gun, but before he could fire it, Ian swung the sword and cut deep into the other man’s chest. Federico’s fate followed the same path.
Ian started to run back to the hotel, but someone spotted him before he could make it. They thought someone running through the streets in the dark looked suspicious. He sprinted the rest of the way, reached through the open window, and grabbed his bag off of the bed. He was glad he hadn’t taken anything out of it yet. When he was almost to the car, half a dozen hands grabbed him.
Spinning around, he pulled one of the men off balance, and he fell to the ground. The other men soon followed their comrade. Then, ten more men jumped on him. He struggled with them, but their strength of number overpowered him. One of the men hit him over the head to knock him out. It stunned him, but was not enough to send him into unconsciousness.
After interrogating and only getting his name out of him, they threw him into a jail cell, and he went over to the cot. With nothing else to do, he fell asleep. The next morning he woke to the sound of approaching footsteps, but didn’t open his eyes until the cell door swung open. The guard stood in the doorway and glared at him. "You are free to go now, Mister Nottingham. We got a call this morning and were told to release you. Just never let us see you here again."
Ian grabbed his stuff from the office and left the town behind him. When he returned to the mansion, Irons was waiting for him on the porch. Ian could tell that he wasn’t pleased. "What happened, Ian?"
"Someone saw me. I did not get away quick enough."
"Was all your training for nothing?"
"No, sir. It will not happen again."
"It better not. Before you arrived, I received word of two more of them. Get changed, then you will leave again."
"Yes, sir."
*******
The next morning Ian was walking out of his hotel when he was surprised by the face of Aldric Barnett. His friend had changed though. His face was no longer friendly, and he looked at Ian as though he had betrayed them all. The Brit drew his gun, but Ian had his out first. The people on the street just watched them, thinking it was being staged. The two men stared each other down for several minutes before Ian lowered his gun. "I don’t want to kill you, old friend," he said in a voice that was only slightly more than a whisper.
"Your mercy can go to bloody hell, you traitor," he screamed at him as he squeezed off a shot.
Ian wasn’t prepared for it, and the bullet tore through his side. He fell to the ground, but managed to hold onto his gun. He shot from that position after a moment’s hesitation. He hadn’t wanted to kill him, his friend, but now it seemed he didn’t have a choice. The bullet took Aldric right through the heart, killing him instantly.
He struggled to his feet and saw Barden Adalson step forward. Ian was getting tired of this, so as the other man raised his gun, he aimed at his shoulder. Just as he tightened his finger around the trigger, however, a spasm of pain went through him, and the bullet took the man through the ribs. As it came out of his back, it cut clean through his spine. He fell to the ground never to move again. Ian fell to the ground as his legs gave out on him and saw his blood soaking the street. I’m dying, was his last conscious thought before everything around him went dark.
Ian woke with a groan of pain and looked around him. He realized he was in his own room back at the mansion. He had no idea how he had arrived there though. Trying to sit up, he felt a sharp stab of pain slice through his wounded side. He lifted the blanket that covered him and saw that someone had bandaged him. Just then, he heard the door open and looked up to see Doctor Immo standing there.
"How are you doing, Ian?"
"Not too great, sir," he managed to croak out in a voice that sounded strange to him.
"Not surprising. You’ve been out of it for a week. I finally managed to bring your fever down last night. You lost a lot of blood from that wound. You’re lucky to be alive, son."
"I do not feel that way."
"Don’t worry, son. You will feel better in a few weeks."
The doctor gave Ian something for the pain and to let him sleep. Then, he slipped out of the room. A month later Ian was able to walk around for a short time, but he was still weak. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for killing his friend, even though he knew he hadn’t had a choice. If he hadn’t, he would be the one who was dead now.
*******
Three months after he had been wounded, Ian was called into Irons’ study. "What day is it?’ The old man asked him.
"November eleventh, sir."
"That is right. The new wielder will emerge today, Ian."
He stood there in silence, waiting for his orders. He didn’t wait long. "Go down to the Midtown Museum and wait for her to arrive. You’ll know her even though you don’t. Make sure everything goes as it should."
"Yes, sir."
When he arrived at the museum, there was only a half hour until it closed. He walked to the Joan of Arc exhibit and stared down at the gauntlet in the display case. An hour later he was still there even though the museum had closed. There was a commotion outside, then two people, a man and a woman, ran inside. They exchanged some shots, then she lost him.
Ian stepped away from the showcase and waited for her to appear. When she did, the young woman seemed to be mesmerized by the Witchblade. Ian stepped behind her, but she didn’t notice him until she straightened up from her crouch.
"Magnificent, isn’t it?" He asked with a quick smile as she spun around and pointed her gun at him.
"Sorry, sir," she said in an embarrassed apology. "You shouldn’t be here."
Knowing her adversary was behind him, Ian moved out of the way of the new wielder.
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