Chapter One

Methos awoke to absolute misery. His chest was screaming with each throbbing heartbeat; every breath was agony. He knew instantly that he had died again, and he remembered how.

He had been about to get into his Jimmy when it had happened – a knife to the heart, courtesy of an old familiar face he ’d foolishly thought never to see again. After the stabbing, Methos had just had time enough to note the identity of his assailant, speak his name, and experience a generalized wave of shock and fear. Sinking into the inevitable blackness, he also felt a passing annoyance that he ’d chosen this of all days to wear a brand new sweater.

Now he found himself in what appeared to be an abandoned power station – there never seems to be a shortage of sinister deserted buildings for this sort of thing, he reflected grimly -- being taunted by his strutting kidnapper. The man had a taste for the sensational, but Methos knew from long experience that he was someone to be feared.

“So you ’ve come to kill me, ” he said to Kronos.

“It ’s what I do best, ” leered his former crony. But after more discussion it became clear that Kronos was really after something else. “I ’m giving you a choice: You can lose your head …or join me. ”

Not much of a choice, Methos thought. Joining Kronos meant a return to old ways long cast off, and Methos hated regression. Life should always be about change and forward progress. Dying, on the other hand, had the element of change going for it, but represented the ultimate halt in forward progress. What to do, what to do …

He was right on the point of hedging his bets, of playing along with Kronos to buy some time to figure a way out, when something unexpected popped into his mind and past his lips.

“How about what ’s behind door number three? ” He himself was amazed at having uttered it, but kept his air of detached cynicism firmly in place.

“I give you an important choice to make, and you answer with a joke, ” Kronos intoned, shaking the shackles he held ominously. Methos suppressed a sigh. Always one for dramatic excess was Kronos. He did so lack balance. “Not a very smart course of action under the circumstances. Your mental gifts are not what they used to be, brother. ”

“Not at all, ” said Methos evenly. “You offered me a choice; I ’m simply returning the favor. ” Seeing Kronos ’ puzzled expression, he continued.

“Here ’s how I see it, Kronos: You want to return to the glory days of the Horsemen, but you need someone to plot and to strategize; someone to temper your tendency to rush in with guns blazing when a quiet ambush with knives is called for. ” The irony of how he had come to be sitting here registered briefly before he shrugged it aside.

He paused, noting Kronos ’ glaring silence, then continued again.

“So you create a situation in which you feel I ’ll be forced to join you, knowing as you do that survival is always my top priority. ”

“It ’s truly your greatest talent, brother. ”

Methos gave a sarcastic nod of thanks. “But there ’s a rub here, isn ’t there? You may not want to believe it, but you know that I, unlike you, have changed since we were together. You ’ve learned how I ’ve been living these last two thousand years. You know I ’m not the guy who once rode with you. ”

Kronos said nothing; he continued to stare unblinking into Methos ’ eyes, half-smiling.

“And I think you know that if I ’m forced into doing something, ” he leaned closer to Kronos, “you can never be sure that I won ’t find a way to …improve the situation. ”

“Ah, Methos, you haven ’t changed as much as you believe. You ’ve just tried to deny your true nature. I saw this starting to happen to you two thousand years ago. I ’d have helped you halt it, if you ’d have let me. And as for not being able to trust you, ” – here Methos saw Kronos finger his blade absently – “I know very well how your mind works. Keeping a step ahead of you will be a worthwhile price for your considerable services, brother. ”

“Perhaps, ” Methos granted, dearly wishing Kronos would drop the brother crap, “but what if I offered you a chance to win my wholehearted cooperation – a happy camper instead of a partner by force? ”

Kronos smiled his disbelief. “And just how would I get that from you? ”

“We ’ll strike a bargain, make a wager. A contest, just like the old days. ” He noted the spark in Kronos ’ eyes at that. “If I win, you exit stage right and never darken my life again. No challenge, no head-taking, just ‘sayonara, sweetheart ’ and you ’re on your merry way. ”

Arms folded, Kronos chuckled, happy to indulge him for the time being. “And if I win …? ”

Methos sighed, to underscore the point. “Then I surrender. I join you, resume my place at your right hand …and the Four Horsemen ride again. ”

He waited a beat, watching as Kronos ’ expression turned almost comically to surprise, just as Methos had known it would. He, unlike his captor, was a virtuoso of drama.

“What do you mean, the Horsemen ride ag — “

“I know where to find Caspian and Silas, ” Methos said deliberately, pausing for yet another bit of dramatic effect. “I can take you to them …but only if the wager is made. ”

Kronos stared at him for a long moment. The beating of his heart was no longer painful, but Methos was uncomfortably aware of it anyway.

“Tell me what you have in mind, brother. ”

Ten minutes later, Kronos was laughing, but the hard edge in the sound eradicated any hint of humor. “You were always the mad one! ” he cried with almost grudging admiration. “Can you honestly think I ’d accept these terms? It ’s ludicrous. ”

“No more ludicrous than many of our past contests, really. Just a bit updated. ”

“It ’s a ridiculous suggestion, really beneath you. You must have come to cherish life a lot less than I remember in the past two thousand years. ”

“You know as well as I do that the content of the contest is irrelevant to the gravity of the dispute. That was always our way. ”

“You talk so reverently about the old days, brother, ” Kronos said with vicious heartiness, his voice ringing through the empty building. “And yet where have you been all these centuries but running from them – hiding from your true self, from me. ” Putting his sword to Methos ’ neck, his voice lowered abruptly, infinitely more threatening. “I can take what I want from you right now, without any games, without any bargains. ”

Steadily (though with some effort), Methos replied, “You can ’t do that without breaking the cardinal rule, the one that you created and we enforced. ”

Still holding the sword to Methos ’ throat, Kronos looked him in the eye for a moment before saying, “We never raise a blade to each other …in anger. ” He took a step back, lowering his steel but not his steely gaze, once again half-smiling. He was clearly appreciating Methos ’ agility in finding just the right notes to sound, again and again.

Careful not to gulp noticeably, Methos nodded. “You can take my head, sure. That ’s not what you want. You can probably force me to come with you, but again, that ’s not what you want. What you want, Kronos, what you truly want from me, you can only get with the contest. ” He leaned back and cocked his head slightly, affecting his trademark look of detachment and nonchalance.

“What I offer you, if you win …is loyalty. ” He took a breath, forced himself to add, “ …brother. ”

Kronos ’ eyes burned into his, afire with the promise of choices.

A short time later, Methos left the abandoned building, alone and intact, hands thrust casually into his coat pockets, his easy stride belying the churning he felt inside. He had won the first hand, but he was playing a game fraught with risk, and there were a great many wild cards in the deck he was using. There was certainly no cause for celebration yet, nor even for relaxation.

At least, he noted with a downward glance, the knife had somehow left no hole in his new sweater.

Chapter Two

The outside of MacLeod ’s dojo looked the same, somewhat seedy and deserted. Methos was very thankful for the deserted part right now. The last thing he needed was a parade of clan members, calling on ‘the MacLeod ’ for help. It was going to be difficult enough to convince MacLeod to help him without an audience. This problem required privacy and delicacy to resolve.

The long walk from the abandoned power station had given Methos some time to formulate a plan. The wager was made, but Methos knew Kronos was not above stacking the deck in his favour; that just meant that cunning and guile would be necessary. Methos was comfortable with that; he hadn ’t survived five thousand years without embracing some underhanded methods himself. If Kronos wanted to stack the deck, he would soon find that his ‘right-hand man ’ had a few wild cards up his sleeve.

Five feet away from the doors of the dojo, Methos stopped. It was better to stay just out of sensing range of MacLeod; Methos did not doubt that Kronos would follow him. Hopefully, his seemingly random twists and turns on the walk over had muddled the trail sufficiently. Ironically, the slow physical twists had paralleled the rapid mental twists required by the situation. Slouching a little further into his long coat, and once more marvelling at the pristine state of his sweater, Methos reviewed his plan.

“The important thing now is to convince MacLeod to help me. I can ’t possibly handle Kronos by myself anymore. He ’s grown more erratic with the passing years. He never would have taken me down in public like that five hundred years ago. ” A passing pedestrian shot a worried look toward the strange man talking to himself, but Methos didn ’t even notice. He had bigger problems than being thought odd.

“I ’m going to have to tell the Boy Scout at least some of the truth; but not all of it. No, the Highlander cannot accept who I once was. He only needs to know that a dangerous man is threatening the world, and I cannot stop him alone. Friendship, and the terms of the wager, should take care of the rest. ” Unfortunately, the plan provided precious little comfort now that the time had come to implement it.

Swallowing his fear, a somewhat damp and harried looking Methos strode slowly into the dojo, where an equally harried looking Duncan MacLeod met him. Opening his mouth to invoke the protection of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Methos was summarily cut off by the one question he didn ’t want to hear.

“Methos, glad you ’re here. Have you ever heard of an immortal named Kronos? ”
The Old Man ’s vaunted air of detachment failed him utterly. “K-Kronos? Um, why do you want to know? ”

The calm, cool, sardonic part of Methos, the part that had served him so well during his recent confrontation with Kronos, struggled to control the atavistic fear that coursed through his limbs. He had a sudden urge to confess the whole truth to MacLeod, and deal with the fallout afterward. What is it about MacLeod that throws me out of character so badly? It ’s a wonder I ’m still alive after spending so much time with him, Methos thought.

MacLeod, meanwhile, continued awaiting the information he was sure Methos could provide. Methos opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Drawing a deep breath, and calling on some calming mantras learned on one of his sojourns to Tibet, he tried again.

“Kronos is a very old, very dangerous immortal. He has little regard for human life, and a horribly inflated opinion of his own worth. He is a megalomaniac, with a flair for the overly-dramatic … and he is the reason I came here today. ”

Duncan MacLeod was completely flummoxed by Methos ’ short speech. Although the tone had been that of his friend, the honesty underlying the words contradicted everything he knew of the world ’s oldest immortal. Part of him instinctively distrusted Methos ’ sudden decision to give a straight answer to a simple question. The greater part of him, however, responded to the vulnerability and fear he sensed oozing off the older immortal.

“I need a favour, MacLeod, ” Methos continued. “Kronos is here, he has a plan to do harm to untold numbers of people, and I need your help to stop him. ”

Stopping for breath, and to keep from revealing more than MacLeod needed to know, Methos was transfixed by the sensation of another immortal. Turning to scan the room, he noted that the elevator from the loft was about to disgorge its occupant.

The lift doors opened, and a woman who looked like she had been crying stepped out. “Look, Duncan, I know I said I ’d wait upstairs, but I have to help. I have to do something, ” she stated as she walked into the dojo. As she did, she caught sight of Methos, who had frozen in place.

“You! ” Cassandra screamed, drawing her sword. MacLeod instinctively stepped between the two immortals.

Throwing his hands in the air, Methos reverted to sardonic type. “Great, it never rains but it bloody pours, doesn ’t it? Do something MacLeod, your guest seems determined to skewer me. ” A note of desperation coloured the last words, ruining the image of unflappability that Methos was trying so hard to project.

MacLeod, his arms full of a very angry and determined Cassandra, thought he was doing something. He turned to advise Methos to run, but what he saw on his friend ’s face made his words stop in his throat.

Methos had all but collapsed on one of the dojo benches. He was shaking his head, and had an air of complete defeat. Looking up, Methos stared directly at Cassandra. “Hello Cassandra, you ’re looking well. ”

“You know her? ” MacLeod had gone from protective to puzzled. A part of his mind noted that this was not uncommon where the world ’s oldest immortal was concerned. He was even beginning to wonder if Methos did it on purpose, keeping everyone around him off balance to make surviving easier.

“Know me? Know me? ” Cassandra shrugged out of Duncan ’s loosened grasp. “Of course he knows me, he was one of them, a Horseman. He was responsible for the destruction of my tribe and for enslaving me. ” As she spoke, Cassandra paced the dojo floor, arms and sword swinging wildly, each word driving her to new heights of anger and passion.

“He was Death, the brains of the Horsemen. He rode with Kronos, Caspian and Silas for a thousand years, killing, raping and pillaging as he pleased. He captured me, and then taught me to fear and serve him. He ruled my life; he was my life! ” With a quick spin, Cassandra once again thrust her sword in Methos ’ direction. MacLeod followed her closely, ready to avert bloodshed.

“Death … it was the perfect role for him. I was convinced that he alone could bring me back to life; he alone had the power to deny me that final gift. All those I had loved were gone, and this, ” she gestured angrily toward a silent Methos, “was what replaced them. A thief, a killer, a rapist who thought of no one but himself and his brothers. ” The last was said with such distaste that Cassandra all but spat the word out like poisoned wine.

MacLeod, silent during Cassandra ’s indictment of his friend, turned to Methos with hope and fear in his gaze; hope that Methos would deny the allegations, and fear that he wouldn ’t. “Methos …? ”

“I ’m sorry MacLeod. Everything she says is true. ” Methos drew a deep breath, the only outward indication of how this admission pained him. Swallowing hard, he continued.

“I was the monster that mothers warned their children about. I killed, and I killed wantonly. No one was safe, not the people living in quiet villages, not the merchants in the caravans, not the soldiers defending those caravans. We were strong, and we took what we wanted. ” Resignation echoed in Methos ’ tone, the words rang with painful truth. Duncan shifted uncomfortably, and with a sudden burst of earnestness, Methos continued before MacLeod could interrupt.

“You have to remember MacLeod, the times were different then. What you had was what you could hold. The more you had, the harder you fought to keep it. We had power, and we did all we could to keep it. If that involved hurting others, well, that was the way of the world then. ” Closing his eyes briefly, Methos mentally strengthened himself with a meditation mantra. He then turned toward the woman who had inspired memories of desire and revulsion in him for two thousand years.

“Cassandra, ” he said quietly, “I can ’t tell you how many times I have thought of you over the years, always with regret. I cannot bring your people back, and I cannot change what happened then, but know that I have changed. Death is long gone, relegated to well-hidden journals. Your people live on in you, they – “

“Do you really think I believe any of your lies? You must remember that weak, cowed girl who lived for a brief smile from you, or a gentle caress of your hand. ” Cassandra was in higher temper now than she had been earlier.

“Don ’t try your tricks on me, Methos. I see the light of Death in your eyes when you speak of the past. I see your nostrils flare, filling with the scent of remembered blood. When I close my eyes, I can still see the look of disdain on your face as you allowed Kronos to take me from your tent. I screamed your name; I waited for you to save me. ” Cassandra stalked closer to her prey.

“After I stabbed Kronos and escaped through the desert, dying countless times, never knowing if this would be the last, I vowed to myself that I would never forgive you. ” Cassandra ’s sword was suddenly menacing Methos ’ neck, and he wondered if this was the end.

MacLeod quickly stepped forward, pulling Cassandra and her sword away. “Methos, I don ’t know --. Maybe you should --. ”

“Look, MacLeod, I know this is hard for you to understand. ” Methos could hear the impending dismissal in Duncan ’s tone, and rushed to disarm the Scot before he could show Methos the door.

“I ’m not trying to excuse what I did, and I ’m certainly not asking for your forgiveness. I have lived with my regrets for much longer than you have been alive. I have accepted who I was, and I have changed. ” Cautiously standing and turning toward Cassandra, Methos continued.

“You have changed over the millennia, don ’t you think it possible that I have also? You don ’t know me, not as the man I am now. Give yourself a chance to see that, then decide if I still need to pay for crimes two thousand years old. ”

Methos felt he had done all he could. He could still see the questions in MacLeod ’s eyes, and the hatred in Cassandra ’s. He wondered if Cassandra was right about seeing Death in his. While he hoped she was wrong, he feared she was not.

Finally, MacLeod spoke. “Why did you admit to this Methos? You could have run from here, disappeared off to Bora Bora, and never had to deal with any of this. ”

“I told you, ” Methos said calmly, “Kronos is back, and he wants me back too. I don ’t want to go back to that life MacLeod. ” Ignoring Cassandra ’s disbelieving snort, Methos continued, “I have a plan that would remove Kronos from all our lives, but I ’m going to need your help to pull it off. ”

Turning unconsciously imploring eyes on MacLeod, Methos leaned back against the wall of the dojo to await their answers.

Chapter Three

He waited, aware for the third time this evening of the pounding of his own heart. Absolutely everything was at stake, and it was all up to MacLeod now. Watching him, Methos could plainly see the younger immortal ’s struggle to decide what was right.

Methos reflected with some amusement – which he did not display – that MacLeod ’s strict code of honor coupled with his complete lack of duplicity made carefully watching his face the closest possible thing to mind-reading. The old man ’s observations were now telling him that a desperate war was being waged within the Highlander ’s head.

MacLeod looked at Cassandra, the most terrifying wild card Methos could possibly imagine. He was no longer stunned by her presence – clearly, she was here because she ’d been tracking Kronos – but he fervently wished she were elsewhere, for many reasons. The most pressing one right now was that she could tip the scales away from MacLeod lending his help with the plan.

MacLeod ’s eyes traveled from Cassandra to Methos, who tried to look his most unimposing and needy. Then MacLeod looked back to Cassandra, and Methos felt his side of the seesaw rising. Intervention was required.

“Look, MacLeod, ” he said, causing the other two immortals to jump at the breaking of silence, “let ’s take this to a less public venue, shall we? Anyone could walk in here, and we don ’t need any more players. ”

Duncan considered this for a moment before saying, “All right, up to the loft, then. ” Cassandra glared at Duncan, but stopped short of protesting as he touched her arm in a silent request for indulgence. She made sure Methos went into and out of the elevator before her.

Once in the loft, Methos did not help himself to a beer, nor did he sprawl in carefree comfort. He sat properly on a straight-backed chair and waited for the other two to stake out their own territory before speaking, humbly, in a non-inflammatory tone.

“If I wanted to rejoin Kronos, I ’d be with him right now, you know. ” That seemed like a good thing to get out on the table right away. “I ’m here because I can ’t take Kronos down by myself. I need the help of someone I can trust. ”

Cassandra ’s laugh was so bitter Methos could almost taste it. “Trust! The concept is as foreign to you as Mars is to an earthworm. He doesn ’t trust you, Duncan, he just knows he can use you, exploit your sense of honor and loyalty. ”

“Not true, ” said Methos, his tone light and sardonic. “I ’m trying to exploit his sense of indebtedness. Can we say, ‘dark quickening? ’ ” Mentally, he kicked himself for being overly flippant and added more seriously, “But I don ’t think I ’m wrong in believing the flow of trust has gone both ways over the years, am I? ” It never hurt to play the debt card with an honorable man.

Duncan ’s expression changed, became less certain. He was clearly acknowledging the truth of the old immortal ’s words in the internal conversation he was having. Cassandra saw this as well and pounced in fresh fury.

“You can ’t be considering this! It ’s ridiculous to think you can even believe him. This, this …man ”--she said it as though she meant “worm ” or “rat ” — “ would sell you out to the highest bidder to save his own head, and he wouldn ’t have a moment ’s unrest about it after. ”

To Methos ’ quiet delight, he saw that her extreme prejudice was beginning to backfire, pushing Duncan toward a defensive stance over someone he still considered a friend, despite some lingering questions, some new doubts, and the ubiquitous gray areas.

“You ’ve told me what you experienced with him, and the Horsemen, ” Duncan said gently but with resolve, “but you don ’t know what I ’ve experienced. I realize I don ’t know all the truth, ” he tossed a sidelong glance in the old man ’s direction, “but I do know there are layers of it, and they ’re not all black and white. ”

His calm seemed to fuel Cassandra ’s rage, or maybe it was just that she sensed the tide turning in Methos ’ favor. “Truth! When it comes to him, there is no truth! There is no black or white, there is only what he needs and what he can make you believe to get it. ” Methos shifted uneasily, knowing that she wasn ’t far wrong.

She had been storming about the dojo with violent gestures and much pivoting and pacing, but now she was looking at Methos and her body was suddenly quiet. He held his breath a moment – had she seen his own misgivings reflected on his face?

Almost in response, she shook her head slightly. “You monster. You ’ll use him, a good man, a man you ’ve convinced that you are worth caring about, and you ’ll toss him to the animals to throw them off your scent. ”

The chair was suddenly too uncomfortable to sit on for one second more. Methos got to his feet a little faster than he meant to, shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets with more force than intended. He stepped away from both of them, toward the outside wall of the living room, calling once again on those mantras. He was using them more tonight than he had in the past six months.

Even when he heard MacLeod shouting Cassandra ’s name, it didn ’t quite penetrate the din of his own consternation, the struggle for self-control. She was nearly upon him, sword ready for business, before he realized he needed to turn around. The world ’s greatest survivor, he thought bitterly, nearly taken down with his back deliberately turned to a known enemy. What a note that would make in the Watchers ’ annals.

There was no time to draw his steel. He could only duck her first stroke, aimed with an admirable lack of preamble at his neck, and lunge away from her wilder second swing. As her anger swelled she left herself open to counterattack, and Methos sprang forward, grabbing the wrist of the hand wielding the sword and blocking assaults from her free hand. Forcing her sword hand backward caused her to take a step in that direction, and he used the momentum to spin her back hard toward the corner of the room.

Slamming her into the wall, he felt an unexpected and potent flood of revulsion such as he ’d never experienced during any physical confrontation. She was kicking, bucking, fighting to regain positioning for another attack, but the more he applied force to her, the more he tasted bile. In spite of the situation, he released her, suddenly terrified by the betrayal of his survival instinct and his own mind and body.

She misread his look and actions as simple fear and pressed her advantage, backing him against the adjacent wall with her sword under his chin, locking her triumphant eyes with his bewildered ones. The whole incident had taken just seconds and Duncan was now at her side, dragging her away with one arm, disarming her with the other. He failed to notice how easily the sword came out of her hand.

Methos, even in his distress, was aware of what he and his attacker had communicated in that brief moment of close eye contact. She had read him much more accurately in that instant than she had the few seconds before – maybe more accurately than anyone ever had done -- and what she ’d seen had mystified and profoundly disturbed her.

Join the club, sweetheart, he thought limply, wiping his brow with a shaking hand.

Chapter Four

Duncan stopped pulling Cassandra when he realized she was moving away from Methos of her own accord, nearly collapsing onto the sofa. Methos remained wedged into the corner, breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed but still on her. Duncan stood halfway between them, frowning, knowing that something more than the attack had passed between the two but unable to say what.

Duncan ’s uncertain hovering was amusing to Methos, perhaps because he himself was fighting a bit of shock and hysteria, and he chuckled softly as MacLeod struggled to define his role in this moment. The emotional link continued to throb between Methos and Cassandra, as palpable in the room as a massive electric current, and Duncan was obviously uncomfortable about not fully understanding its content.

“Relax, MacLeod, ” Methos said mildly, almost genially. “We ’ll be good. ” He made a show of removing his rumpled trench coat – which they all knew contained his sword – and tossing it onto a nearby table. Straightening his sweater, he moved with deliberation to sit down again, this time in a cushioned chair adjacent to the sofa, but at the far end from Cassandra.

He was not surprised by his own composure. He had a façade to resurrect, and fast.

Cassandra ’s eyes still burned into his. He faced her calmly and said, “I hope you see now that I mean you no harm. ” She narrowed her eyes and sneered her answer to that, which he ignored; he ’d said that merely to remind MacLeod that his actions during the clash just now had been purely defensive and, ultimately – never mind the reasons – self-sacrificing.

Duncan moved to sit beside Cassandra, giving Methos an excuse to check his face and see that the younger immortal had indeed gotten the point. The hum of anxiety in Methos ’ head began to diminish minutely.

“Why don ’t you tell me exactly what you want from me, Methos? ” Hallelujah, the Highlander had decided at last to cut to the chase, if only to hasten his departure and hopefully forestall another conflict. Methos leaned toward him slightly, monitoring his own intensity carefully.

“I got Kronos to agree to a wager tonight, ” he said. “If I win, he makes tracks for parts unknown and I never hear from him again. ”

Duncan and Cassandra stared at him as though waiting for a punch line. More explanation was clearly called for.

“You see, back when we were all together, ” he was trying to avoid the “H ” word and setting off Cassandra all over again, “there were often disagreements, primarily between Caspian and Silas. Those two were always fighting over some piece of plunder, food...it was always something. ” Women were also a frequent bone of contention, but that was a subject to be skirted around just now.

“For a long time, we lived with the constant fear that one of them would get the drop on the other and take his head before Kronos or I could intervene. Kronos had long before decreed that everything we had was to be shared, but disagreements still erupted.

“So, Kronos declared a new rule of the brotherhood: ‘We never take a blade to each other in anger. ’ ” Methos noted Cassandra ’s darkening expression of recognition. “And that worked, to a point. At least, they could be persuaded to drop their weapons at the mere mention of that rule. But we still lacked a mechanism for resolving disputes. ”

Cassandra gave an impression of bored hostility, but MacLeod was clearly engaged. It gave the old man renewed energy as he resumed the tale.

“So I came up with the idea of the contests. Simply put, they were non-lethal competitions, and usually non-combative. The idea was to take the focus away from the antagonism during the contest, so that by the time a winner was declared, the loser could accept defeat without requiring revenge. ”

“How civilized, ” Cassandra observed dryly.

“What kinds of competitions? ” Duncan wanted to know.

Methos sat back, not quite sprawling, appearing to relax and giving the impression of having to think about it a little. “Well, let ’s see...Once, we had them climb to the topmost branches of a tall tree, and hang from them for as long as they could. The one to stay up longest without losing his grip or having the branch break was the winner. Silas ’ weight got the better of him in that one.

“Another time, we had them bury themselves in sand up to the neck and piled feathers in a circle drawn a few inches in front of each man ’s face. The first man to blow all the feathers out of his circle was the victor. Silas walked away with that one. What a set of lungs, even compressed by sand. ” A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he remembered Silas ’ childlike glee at winning that particular competition. He ’d gotten to keep a goat as a pet rather than have it become a meal.

“So, you convinced Kronos to do something like that? ”

“He agreed to settle our dispute with a contest, right. ”

“The dispute being whether or not you rejoin him as his partner in evil. ”

“More or less. ” Methos met Duncan ’s gaze levelly, suppressing a shrug that he felt would not enhance his appearance of sincerity. Cassandra gave a snort as she turned her head away. Duncan ’s expression was not that of a man convinced he ’s hearing the truth.

“Sorry, Methos, but I find it hard to believe that Kronos would be willing to bet something he wants that badly on the outcome of some silly contest. ”

There it is, Methos thought. He ’d hoped MacLeod would accept the wager at face value. It would have been simpler that way. No matter; he had it covered.

“I said he ’d agreed, not that I expected him to honor the agreement. ” He noted with satisfaction Cassandra ’s head snapping back toward him and MacLeod ’s raised eyebrows.

“You think he ’ll renege if he loses? ”

“I ’m sure of it. He ’ll likely cheat as well, if he can figure a way. ”

“So what ’s the point of the contest if — ”

“The point is that it ’s a throwback to the old days, which Kronos is desperate to recreate. He may not intend to cooperate if he loses the challenge, but he ’ll bloody well participate. ”

“Yeah, but if you win — ”

“If we win. ” Methos waited for the expected look of surprise and was not disappointed.

“We? You mean, you and me? ”

“And a third, if we can find one. ”

“I thought this contest was for you and Kronos alone. ”

“He wanted it that way, but I insisted on teammates. It makes it harder for him to force the outcome his way, evens the odds a bit. More variables, less control. ”

“So who is Kronos bringing in? ”

“Don ’t know; that ’s his problem. The identities of my teammates are irrelevant to him, too. What matters to him is that I ’ve resurrected a ritual from the days when we rode together. ” Methos stole a fleeting glance at Cassandra. Her continued silence was a worry.

“But if the outcome doesn ’t really matter — ”

Methos allowed himself a burst of impatience. “Of course it matters! You want to know why I don ’t just fight him and get it over with, don ’t you? Well, the answer is – because I ’d lose! We ’re not equals anymore, not even close. I ’ve grown and evolved while he ’s remained as brutal and savage as he was two thousand years ago. The man I am now doesn ’t stand a ghost of a chance fighting a man who ’s dreamed of nothing but power and death for thousands of years. ”

Cassandra broke her silence to snort her derision. “Coward! No stomach for killing anymore, and no guts to face your own death. ”

“If cowardice is the desire to remain alive, fine, I ’m a coward. I know a fight will be necessary by the time this is done. But I want it to be on my terms, in my own time. ” Methos sat back, projecting calm once more. “Before I can challenge Kronos, I need to even the playing field, put us on the same level —but outside of a context of violence. The contest will serve the purpose it was designed for: to distract from the original conflict. Within the structure of the contest, we will become equals again, and that is the mindset I need both of us to be in before I face him with a sword. ”

He could see Duncan was becoming convinced. The deed was nearly done.

“But for the contest to work, I need a team. I need someone I know I can trust, MacLeod, to help me do what must be done —not just for me, but for the good of all the people Kronos will hurt if he isn ’t dealt with. ”

Duncan rose from the sofa, walked a few steps, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he turned, arms folded. “Okay, I ’m in. But we still need a third. ”

Methos ’ sigh of relief was barely visible. “Yes. I was thinking Richie, or perhaps Aman — ”

“I ’m doing it, ” Cassandra said brusquely.

“What? ” Duncan looked incredulous.

“Absolutely not! ” thundered the world ’s oldest immortal, all calculated thought momentarily forgotten.

“You need a third, and you don ’t have much time. Kronos will lose patience soon enough. You ’ve managed to convince Duncan to throw in with you, and I ’m coming in to look out for him. ”

“Cassandra, I don ’t need a protector. I know what I ’m getting into. ”

“Not a protector, just another set of eyes and ears. And as for what you ’re getting into …well, only one of us here really knows the truth of that. ” She glared at Methos, daring him to protest.

He only sat staring at her, calculations flying once again. Having her in the contest was the last thing he wanted. Just being near her excited too many emotions, stirred up uncomfortable memories. She was a distraction, and an avowed enemy, and the sum of everything he had ever hated or loved.

But she would be something else again for Kronos. Having her in the mix could prove useful in disturbing the emotional state of the man who wished to lay claim to Methos ’ freedom.

It was the best of ideas; it was the worst of ideas.

“All right, ” he said. “You ’re in. ”

“On one condition, ” she said, sliding along the sofa toward his chair. She leaned in close and he could feel the desert heat radiating from her body. “If anything happens to Duncan, and you still live, you will face me. No running, no maneuvering. Just a fair fight. ”

She had placed her hand on the arm of his chair, as close as she could be without actually touching him anywhere. Her hair exuded scents too modern to be remembered from their time together, but which somehow seemed familiar. With a start, he realized he was breathing hard, erratically.

“It ’s a deal, ” he managed. She leaned back, satisfied, and the temperature of the room returned to normal.

Chapter Five

Methos closed the door of his apartment behind him, leaning on it for a moment before carefully engaging all three locks. He didn ’t turn on the lights, preferring the illumination provided by the cityscape spread before him through the floor length windows that served as the outside wall. Glancing around the studio-style condominium, he reflected briefly on the immortal penchant for open, easily defended spaces.

Removing his coat, but keeping the Ivanhoe nearby, Methos sank gratefully into a low, over-stuffed armchair. He considered grabbing a beer, but determined it unworth the effort; exhaustion, both physical and mental, lined his face.

Well, the deed was done; MacLeod had promised his support. Not, however, without first dragging more of the truth out of Methos than the oldest immortal had intended. If only Cassandra hadn ’t been there, and hadn ’t insisted on becoming involved. Methos stiffened as thoughts of Cassandra filled his mind. Rising, he decided perhaps a beer was in order.

Beer in hand, Methos slowly made his way out of the kitchen area. His steps were automatic, as his mind replayed those moments with Cassandra in the loft. She had changed over the millennia. She had become a frightfully astute woman. One not fooled so easily as the girl had been, first into believing he cared, and then into believing he didn ’t. That last thought brought Methos up short. Dear God, had he really cared for her?

Perching on the edge of his chair, Methos tried to be honest with himself. It was a practice begun shortly after he left the Horsemen, and one that had stood him in good stead through the years. He realized he was more unsettled now than he had been since those last days with his brothers. During the confrontation at MacLeod ’s he had veered from his usual self-possession to an almost reckless disregard for his own head. His emotional barometer was swinging like it was hurricane season and he was living on the coast.

The last time Methos could recall feeling this way was shortly after Cassandra escaped the Horsemen. Kronos had been displeased, but Methos hadn ’t really cared. The same sense of dislocation and shock had pervaded his mind then too. But, if he was going to be honest with himself, and he was, loss had been his predominant feeling then. Loss of something just beyond his reach, something not quite recognized. Methos dragged the almost forgotten bottle of beer to his mouth, swallowing blindly until lungs desperate for air forced him to stop for breath.

Gulping air like he had the beer moments before, Methos recognized a truth he had long denied. It was that sense of loss that had prompted him to search for something more fulfilling than a life of killing and pillaging. He had finally found some of the things he longed for in his current life … friendship, love, and good company. The fact that his search had taken so long only made him cherish these things more dearly.

Methos realized that he was not ready to give up his life, either to the machinations of Kronos, or to the resentments of Cassandra. Her addition to the contest raised the stakes considerably. Leaning back once again in his chair, Methos eyed his nearby chess set. Lifting the queen, he pondered the board, and his current schemes.

Kronos snapped his cell phone open with a quick flick of his wrist. Ah, instant communications, so much faster than the old days. These days of cellular phones, instant messaging and access to vast amounts of information on the internet favoured men like him, men of action.

“Yes, ” he barked. Few people had this number, and he did not have to be polite to any of them. “What ’s that? Well of course he is, I told you he would return. Yes, well, I know my brother. No, stay there, watch him … and if he leaves, follow him. And don ’t lose him again. ” The threat was implicit in Kronos ’ tone.

Closing the phone and placing it back in the pocket of his leather jacket, Kronos picked up the knife he had been cleaning and sharpening when the phone rang. So, the rabbit had returned to his hole; Kronos had been sure he would. Methos had always relied on having time and space to formulate his best plans. Often, he would closet himself in his tent for days, planning their next raid or evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of the last one.

Kronos recalled having to fetch his thoughtful brother more than once so he wouldn ’t miss one of Caspian ’s entertainments. Each time, Methos seemed offended that his sanctum had been violated. Wouldn ’t he be upset to know that I have someone watching his every move? Kronos laughed aloud at this thought, the sound echoing through the empty room.

“Ah, brother, ” Kronos mused aloud, “I have bested you once already. You think that I am so easily outmanoeuvred. Plan all you want in your dark room, I will be one step ahead of you all the way. ”

Kronos noted with amusement that his heart rate had increased. His senses were humming, alert to the smallest sounds, from the dripping of water off a nearby pipe, to his own quiet breathing. He had missed this feeling, the anticipation of locking horns with an able opponent. Placing the knife back on the small table before him, Kronos examined all the weapons he had lain out, and began to plan their best uses.

Methos idly replaced the queen on the chessboard. The best thing he could say about his plan right now was that he had adapted to changing circumstances; he had improvised. That thought rang a bell in his mind, and he recalled his last improvisation. It had resulted in near disaster for Joe, MacLeod, himself, and many others. Shaking his head, Methos finished his beer and resolved that this situation would end differently.

Lifting a white pawn, Methos held it poised over the board briefly before placing it deliberately in an opening gambit position. Kronos had taken the wager; he had unwittingly given Methos the time he needed to plan. As with all opening gambits, this one set the board in motion. It was open now to move and counter-move.

The white knight glimmered in the reflections of the city lights. Methos reached out to run a finger down its proud mane. “Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, ” he murmured, “protector of the innocent, defender of the wronged. I am neither, and still he comes to my aid. ”

Methos had a brief pang of something that felt suspiciously like guilt. MacLeod had indeed agreed to assist him in his plan, and had not pressed for details. How would the noble Scot react when faced with the other Horsemen? Unconsciously, Methos checked the position of his Ivanhoe. Catching himself, he realized he ’d answered his silent question.

The urge to pick up his sword conquered, Methos stared at the other pieces of the set. He still had many pawns to carefully place before the contest, some were expendable, and some were not. Safeguards must be imposed on the actual field to protect the important pieces. As he plotted position and strategy, his eyes were drawn again to the lonely queen. So regal she looked, but she was a deadly piece. Her moves could determine victory or disaster.

With great care, Methos turned his attention to the black pieces on the board. Once, he thought, I would have aligned myself on this side of the board unquestioningly. The white queen and all her soldiers would have been my enemies. “And now? ” Methos chuckled as he muttered to himself again; this was turning into a habit. “Wonder if I could find a set in shades of grey? ”

Kronos lifted a short sword from the table before him. It had seen hard use over the years. He had often thought of having another forged, but returned to this one time and again. It, like his brothers Caspian and Silas, was a faithful companion, willing to be used whenever necessary. Kronos smiled as he thought of the coming reunion of the Horsemen. He had long desired such an occasion, and it was ironic that the most reluctant of his brothers would be responsible for it.

Passing a whet stone slowly over the length of the blade, Kronos questioned his ready acceptance of Methos ’ claim to have knowledge of the other Horsemen ’s whereabouts. If it was, in fact, a ploy to buy time, the punishment meted out would be harsh. Both Caspian and Silas had vital roles to play in the coming contest, roles that would guarantee Kronos ’ victory. Testing the edge of the gladius with his thumb, Kronos grunted his satisfaction and put it aside.

With dagger and gladius attended to, Kronos turned his attention to his broadsword. Unlike the others, it had not been forged for him specifically; rather, he had claimed it as his prize after besting another immortal. Kronos ’ grin was feral as he recalled the overconfident man who had relied on his greater size to defeat his opponents. The years of sparring with Silas had paid off, and Kronos had easily taken the man ’s head. That man had underestimated the fierce Horseman, and had paid the ultimate price.

Taking a chamois cloth and sword oil in hand, Kronos mulled over the options left open to Methos. He was counting on his brother to draw Duncan MacLeod into their contest. His initial surprise at hearing Methos suggest a contest that involved others had been quickly supplanted by the desire to include MacLeod in the wager. Seeing his brother in the company of a man who had thwarted him before angered Kronos, and he longed for the chance to destroy MacLeod and the bond he so obviously shared with Methos. Any other teammate would be of secondary importance, he concluded. Still, Kronos meant to keep someone close to Methos; knowledge was power.

Setting the broadsword down carefully, Kronos sat quietly and watched his breath plume in the cool room. His weapons were as ready as he could make them. His mind was fully engaged by a challenging opponent in what promised to be a test of both strength and skill. A slow smile spread across his face, pulling at his scar and bringing a dangerous glint to his eyes. “Soon brother, ” he whispered his promise, “soon. ”

At the same time, both men rose and prepared for sleep to claim them. They had a meeting the next day, one that would pit them each against a worthy adversary. The stakes were high in this contest, and neither wished to lose the advantage.

Chapter Six

Cassandra stood at the window, staring at the past. She had been up for some time, but had never really been asleep anyway. There was no time or energy for sleep. Not anymore.

She felt a gentle hand on her arm, turning her. Duncan ’s caring eyes offered her what he held in his other hand – a cup of hot tea. She started to turn it down, but changed her mind. He could not make things better for her, but why deny him the comfort of trying?

She had decided not to blame him for the decision he ’d made last night. Cassandra understood the young Scot ’s somewhat simplistic approach to life; envied it, truth be told. Would that things were truly the way he liked to see them: evil enemy, friend good. He had spoken last night of shades of gray, but she knew that it was just an intellectual concept to him, not something he ’d faced head-on and really understood on a deep emotional level.

With a pang of regret, she realized that by the time this was all done, if he still lived, he ’d have more than a passing familiarity with the notion. She briefly mourned in advance the impending loss of his remaining form of innocence.

Duncan continued to hover nearby, ready to offer assistance, but obviously without a clue as to what kind he could give. Cassandra gripped his arm in gratitude, then turned to lean against his strength as his arm lifted to grant her entry into his embrace.

“It ’ll be all right, ” he said softly.

The bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Well, it will be resolved somehow, that much is certain. ”

Perhaps because he could do nothing to alleviate the pain he could hear, Duncan put his other arm around her and rested his head against hers. She knew he was becoming increasingly troubled about Methos – perhaps was not even aware of that yet – and she wished she could spare him the pain of learning the truth about what he thought was a close friend.

The thought of Duncan and Methos associating as friends was so disquieting, so akin to a betrayal, however unwitting, that she pulled away from the younger immortal abruptly. His face clearly questioned what he ’d done to offend her, but she had no internal resources available at the moment to reassure or comfort him. There was only the low hum of chronic anger, and humiliation, and hate.

She crossed to the sofa and sat at the end, pulling her legs up and under her. He followed but, responding to the nonverbal cue, sat at the far end from her. It was a long time before he dared to break the silence.

“Cassandra, I want you to know that whatever you went through … whatever … happened … Well, you can talk to me about anything. ” In his clumsy way, she knew he was offering his shoulder to cry on, but he probably wasn ’t even conscious of his second agenda: to discover exactly what his “friend ” might be capable of.

Some part of Duncan was still clinging to the hope that Methos had simply “fallen in with the wrong crowd ” and had only been present during the atrocities, not a full-fledged participant; certainly not an instigator. He was like a child who, upon learning that his father had committed murder, sought to determine that it was really an accident, or self-defense, or a big misunderstanding.

Perhaps, Cassandra decided, it was time for Duncan to grow up.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

“That first night with Methos was bad. I was his new toy, one that had to be explored, prodded, tested, to find out what made me tick. It was a night of great discovery, for both of us. He learned about what frightened me, angered me, what pained me the most; what he could do to provoke me into greater resistance or deeper timidity; what I would do to avoid additional punishment. ” She turned her head, looking Duncan in the eye. “I learned what it was like to live in Hell. ”

She watched his face, saw the resistance. No, he was thinking, the Methos I know would not do such things. My friend could not be capable of that. There must be some explanation, some sort of mistake …

“That first night was bad, ” she repeated, “but the nights that followed were worse. Because he was armed with the knowledge he ’d gained about me, and his next step was to use it to systematically break down my defenses, to strip me down to the bare essentials. How many slaps were needed to make me flinch at the sudden movement of his hand? How many stabbings to the heart would it take to make me submit instantly just at the sight of a knife? ”

Duncan shifted on the sofa, his emotional resistance still whirling in his dark eyes. She pressed on.

“And it wasn ’t simply torture for the pleasure of causing pain, you understand. There was no passion in it for him, at least not after that first night; it was all to his purpose, to make me ready to be remade as his perfect slave. First you have to knead and manipulate the lump of clay, you know, make it pliant, before you can mold it to your chosen form. He was simply carrying out a well-thought out method of retraining. ”

She saw in the Scot ’s eyes a flickering – perhaps recognizing a trait of his “friend? ”

“But even his early cruelty was easier to bear than what he inflicted on me later. As my ‘retraining ’ progressed, and succeeded, I began to … look forward to our time together. The days were long and dull and filled with labor. At least at night … I had contact with someone, even if it was someone who had begun as a tormenter. He began to show small kindnesses, or what passed for kindnesses under those circumstances. When punishment is the standard, not being punished can be seen as kindness.

“Anyway, it began to seem as though he … cared. About me. He seemed to ignore the other women the Horsemen kept, opting for me over the rest. Eventually, I spent all my time in his tent, caring for his things, preparing for his arrival at the end of a long, hard day. I began to feel, ” she managed a cynical smile, “as though I was his woman and not merely his slave, though certainly there was never any balance of power between us. He was simply my life, my day and my night, and the only thing I had to look forward to other than hard labor and arbitrary cruelty from the other Horsemen. He was, at least, preferable to that sadist Caspian or the power-mad Kronos. Or at least, I came to believe that he was. ”

Duncan would no longer make eye contact with her, staring across the room, motionless except for the vigorous working of his jaw muscle. His body was rigid; one hand gripped the arm of the sofa such that his knuckles stood out white on his tanned skin.

“Do you know, Duncan, what it feels like to believe you are cared for, and then be tossed aside like a broken jug or a worn-out saddle? ” His eyes lowered, but still he would not turn his face to her. “Well, I found out, in the most heartless possible way.

“I had always noticed Kronos watching us together, could see him seething as Methos ’ preference became more and more noticeable. Kronos liked to control everything, including the private lives of his brothers. An allegiance formed with anyone outside that circle was a threat to his power.

“The night finally came when he could no longer tolerate the situation. Methos had begun to treat me almost tenderly. I even dared to think that he loved me! ” She gave another bitter laugh. “What a fool I was, though I had no objective way to gauge such things. If someone stops beating and torturing you and you gradually stop believing that each day might be your last on earth, then maybe that is love, in your world.

“Anyway, the Horsemen had just returned from a long ride and I had everything ready for Methos, just the way he liked things. Cool wine, fresh fruit, myself made as pleasing to look at as possible. He noticed these things, and indicated his approval. It meant the world to me as he stroked my cheek and really seemed to look into my eyes. In his, I thought I saw a glimmer of a man unlike the one who had taken me by force and cold-heartedly destroyed and transformed me.

“Then, Kronos barged into the tent and announced that since they shared everything, he assumed that Methos was ready to share me. Methos stood and faced him, and I believed with all my heart that he would tell Kronos ‘no, go to hell, she is mine and mine alone. ’ ” With an ironic smirk, Cassandra looked at Duncan, who this time returned her gaze. “Can you imagine someone in my situation actually believing
that? Or that it even seemed like something to hope for? ” She shook her head, still smirking, as though laughing at some foible of innocent girlhood.

“But he didn ’t say that to Kronos, ” Duncan prompted. She heard not dread in his voice, but resignation. He knew how the story ended, but she wouldn ’t spare him the telling.

“No, he didn ’t. He faced Kronos for a brief moment, then stepped aside without so much as a glance in my direction and let Kronos drag me, screaming, from his tent. He wouldn ’t even meet my gaze as I was taken away. He just listened to me beg for his help and did nothing. ” She stood, still holding the untouched tea, and took a couple of steps away from the sofa.

“That was the final straw for me, that perverse betrayal. I realized that I had nothing left to lose; to remain in that situation was a living death. How much worse could physical death possibly be? I got a lucky opportunity to stab Kronos – not realizing that it would only temporarily kill him – and fled the camp to the desert and eventual freedom. ”

They were silent for a long time. When Cassandra turned to look at him, she saw a different Duncan MacLeod than the one who ’d started this conversation. He looked at once enhanced and diminished, and grimly resolute.

When he met her eyes, she softened a little. In his, she saw the pain of unwelcome knowledge, of empathy for the trials of one friend, and the anguish of betrayal by another. Gone was some of the simplicity that had endowed his eyes with much of their lively glint that always thrilled her. She had one more twinge of guilt for robbing him of the comfort of his illusion; this she ruthlessly suppressed. The time for clear-sighted understanding was upon him, upon them both.

Setting down the tea cup, Cassandra returned to the sofa, this time sitting next to him and wrapping him in an embrace meant to comfort. He submitted, putting one hand on her arm, but his body remained rigid and tense. It occurred to her that this story had altered not just Duncan ’s relationship with Methos but the one he had with her as well. The message was so offensive that it had irreversibly contaminated his rapport with the messenger. Her sense of loss was great, but balanced by the belief that she ’d done what had to be done.

We all have to grow up sometime, she thought.

Duncan pulled free from her and rose to go stand at the window, staring at the future.

Chapter Seven

“You came back. ” Kronos sounded surprised and smugly confident at the same time. The net effect on Methos ’ stretched nerves was less grating than it would have been the day before. A good night ’s sleep had gone a long way to rebuilding his emotional defences. Truly, Kronos ’ gleeful sarcasm was the least of his worries right now.

“Yes, well, I ’d rather not have to keep looking over my shoulder for you for the next thousand years. ” Methos slouched further into the power station as he returned the opening salvo.

“My dear brother, you won ’t have to look far to find me, I ’ll be right beside you, every step of the way. ” With that statement, Kronos finally turned to face Methos fully, enjoying the sullen look that graced his brother ’s mobile face. Crossing his arms over his chest, Kronos leaned his hips against the table behind him and crossed his booted feet. “Once I win this wager, I plan to keep you near me always. ”

Methos quickly repressed the shudder that thoughts of Kronos ’ nearness produced. He asked himself, once again, why he had agreed to meet on the Horseman ’s ground? They could just as easily have finalized details of the contest elsewhere. Shaking his head, Methos realized just how far off his game he had been the night before. Good thing I ’ve got it together now, he thought.

“Right, always … whatever. ” Methos brushed Kronos ’ words away with a gesture of one long-fingered hand. Stopping well outside Kronos ’ reach, Methos shoved his hands in his jeans pocket, looking the picture of relaxation. “Let ’s get this over with, shall we? The less time I spend here, the better. ”

“What ’s wrong, brother, does my mere presence taint the air you breathe? ” Kronos moved slowly away from the table as he spoke and began to prowl the room like a panther. “Afraid your new friends might see us together? Wouldn ’t want to be seen with one of the bad guys? ”

Methos was doing his best to maintain his façade of disinterest as Kronos circled the room. He clenched his jaw to resist turning his head to track the movement, but couldn ’t help stiffening when his adversary moved directly behind him. So intent was he, that he almost didn ’t notice Kronos ’ stealthy approach.

“Well, brother? ” Kronos breathed in Methos ’ ear. “Cat got your tongue? ” He seemed disappointed when Methos did not startle at his closeness, but grinned slyly as he felt his brother ’s back muscles tense.

Methos counted mentally to five before moving smoothly away from Kronos. “If you ’re done playing? Good. ” Spinning, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here are the locations of Silas and Caspian, as promised. It took some work, but I tracked them down. ”

Kronos moved sinuously into Methos ’ personal space again. “So, you weren ’t trying to buy time last night. I am somewhat disappointed in you brother, I expected more obstacles. ” Kronos tapped the folded paper thoughtfully against his lips. “You have given me much more information than you usually do. Perhaps you don ’t want to win? Hmm? ”

“You might want to read that before you gloat, ” Methos said dryly, struggling not to pull away from the leather-jacketed menace in front of him. He watched closely as Kronos read the paper, noting the darkening gaze and the muscle that twitched next to the scar as the truth sank in.

“You have given me nothing! What use are they on the other side of the world? ” Kronos stalked away from Methos as he yelled. Turning on his heel, he faced Methos once more. “What trickery is this? ” The quiet tone seemed more threatening than the previous shouting, and Methos swallowed.

“No trick. I said I would give you their locations, I never claimed they lived down the street. ” The drawling sound of his own voice comforted Methos. “I ’m willing to … delay our contest to give you time to fetch your team. ” By the end of the sentence, Methos sounded so bored with the whole exchange he almost convinced himself. Unconsciously, he straightened and pulled his hands out of his pockets.

“One week, Kronos. I ’ll give you one week to gather the other Horsemen. Eight days from now we meet at a facility of my choice to settle our wager. If you do not appear at the appointed place and time, I shall assume that you forfeit. I do believe that concludes our discussion for today, so, if you ’ll excuse me, I have things to do. ” Methos began to walk calmly toward the door, but was stopped halfway there by Kronos ’ laughter.

“Now that is the Methos I remember, always plotting, trying to gain the advantage. Using word games to claim victory. And you say you have changed. ” Kronos laughed harshly once more.

“If I were still the person I was then, I would arrange to have you killed while you fetched the others. You should be thankful I ’ve changed, it ’s increased your life expectancy. ” Methos ’ hands clenched as he tried to ignore the fact that just such a plan had occurred to him that morning. Only the inherent difficulties involved in finding headhunters on such short notice had stopped him from pursuing the plan further.

“Methos, only you would consider getting soft and lazy a change for the better. ” Kronos continued to chuckle. “It was a woman, wasn ’t it? Silly question, its always a woman with you. First Cassandra, now that little chit … What was her name, Alexa? ” Kronos narrowed his eyes as he spoke, watching for the reaction that was sure to come.

“Don ’t you EVER speak that name again! ” Methos exploded into action, crossing the floor to grab Kronos by the lapels of his jacket. “I don ’t know who told you about that, but you are never to mention her to me again, do you understand? ” He gave Kronos a shake for emphasis.

“No one ‘told me ’ about her, I saw her for myself. ” The self-satisfaction in Kronos ’ tone was evident, and it shook Methos. Clearly, there was more to come. “Did you think I found you by accident brother? I first saw you in Greece, on the arm of a beautiful young mortal. I have tracked you since then. I thought of killing her when you left her on Santorini, but one of my employees discovered she was already dying. I had time, ” he finished smugly, “so I decided to wait. ”

Kronos never saw the blow coming. One minute, Methos had him by the jacket, the next he was laying on the floor, gingerly touching his sore jaw. “Well, ” he complained, “that was surprising. ”

“Get up you bastard, I ’m not done yet. ” Methos stood above him, fists clenched, pupils dilated, breathing heavily. As Kronos regained his feet, Methos lashed out again. Prepared this time, Kronos ducked the first punch. Setting his feet, he began to dodge. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage somehow.

Methos had thrown the first blow in rage. The same could be said for the second and the third, but by the time Kronos had dodged the fourth blow, Methos ’ calculating mind had settled somewhat. He quickly controlled his breathing and began to plan his attack.

Feinting with his left hand, Methos landed an open-handed blow to the side of Kronos ’ head. While that had his opponent distracted, he followed through with a sharp rap to the solar plexus. Breathing deeply, he deflected the kick Kronos levelled at his ribs, and spinning with the force of the kick, he drove his left elbow into the back of Kronos ’ head. He caught the hand that lashed out at him, snapping two fingers quickly.

At the sound of the breaking bones, Methos felt a surge of joy sing through his blood. As Kronos attempted to pull his injured hand back, Methos drove two fingers into the pressure point at the shoulder joint. Kronos ’ scream brought a small grin to Methos ’ face. Dropping the arm, he stepped back and drove a kick through Kronos ’ kneecap. The grin widened and his breathing deepened even more.

Kronos felt his knee dislocate, and crumpled to the ground, cradling his broken fingers. They were already healing, but the knee would take a little longer. Methos circled him like a bird of prey, deciding where to next rend flesh from bone. Before Kronos could fully react, a hand had snapped out, rocking his head back with the force of the blow. Blood poured from his broken nose as Methos hovered over him, right hand pulled back with fingers stiffened, ready to drive the killing blow into the larynx.

During the frozen moment, Kronos noted the dilated pupils, the flared nostrils, and the heaving chest of his opponent. This, he thought triumphantly, was the Methos he knew, the cold killer who dismantled his opponents to enjoy their pain. His own heart rate, already responding to the fight and the pain, increased even more.

“Do it, ” he urged. “Kill me brother, and when I revive, we will celebrate the reunion of the Horsemen. ”

As the words left his mouth, Kronos knew he had spoken too soon. Panic flared briefly in the eyes above his before they were shuttered. Methos lowered his raised hand, and flexed his fingers. Stepping away and searching blindly for the door, he looked momentarily lost. Beginning toward the exit he had finally located, Methos heard Kronos speak behind him, pitch rising as Methos continued to walk away.

“Leave brother, for now. But remember that I was correct. You have not changed as much as you think. Death hovers at your shoulder now. He will ride again. ”

Chapter Eight

Duncan rose early the next day. Sleep had been hard to come by, so an early exit from bed was easily accomplished. Leaving his hair down and his shirt off, he drank a little orange juice before heading quietly down to the dojo.

Once there, he did some light stretching and warming up, preparing his mind and body for the real exercise he was there to do. Throughout this warm-up time, his mind was carefully blank, busy with white noise, concentrating only on the feeling, the motion, the proper use of each muscle group.

Satisfied that he was ready, he lifted the katana and began his kata.

The forms were more than automatic; they were a part of him, a part of who he was and how he was. They not only required no thought to perform, they actually made clearer thought possible, which was why he so often turned to them when he was deeply troubled. Usually he would find better focus doing kata without the sword, but today he felt the need to swing the steel as he thought.

Moving, stepping, flexing silently in the deserted dojo – the kata took on a life all their own, liberating his mind from his body, and the journey began.

Well, it tried to begin. Every journey begins with a single step, but not when both feet are glued to the floor. The matters he was there to deal with seemed mired in mud, difficult to lift to the surface. There were obstacles in the way, impediments to the consideration he needed so desperately to do. Doubly frustrating was the knowledge that he had certainly planted those obstacles himself.

Becoming aware that his motions had grown tenser and less controlled, Duncan concentrated on relaxing his muscles and slowing his breathing. When he felt the forms taking over again, he returned to the problem with a different approach.

He should begin by identifying what he was feeling. Allowing his mind to bathe in the slow, steady river of physical movement, he waited for the first emotion to swim toward his consciousness. It came fast and hard and with little warning, and he spent some more energy slowing the slashing of the sword and relaxing his grip on the hilt, never halting the smooth rhythm of the kata.

Anger, then, would seem to be the dominant emotion. Little point in questioning himself about the object of that anger.

The overt thought of Methos triggered another spate of agitation, which he controlled this time with less effort. Hell, yes, he was angry with the old immortal. His sense of betrayal was almost overwhelming. Technically, he knew that Methos had never lied to him about this part of his past, but it was difficult to justify leaving something of this magnitude unspoken.

True, it was not the way of the world ’s oldest immortal to spontaneously share information about his past. But the Highlander couldn ’t accept that his “friend ” had been harboring a secret so horrendous and never even given clues, to perhaps prepare Duncan for the day when he was ready to share this part of his past. This led naturally to the possibility that Methos had planned never to confide this particular secret; certainly he would not have done so now, were his back not against the wall. It was hard to accept that Methos wouldn ’t have trusted him with this knowledge, in the face of the bond that the two of them shared. Or that Duncan had thought they shared.

This last thought brought another rush of anger and, forcing himself to remain disciplined and focused physically, he was able to identify the source: If he had been so misled by Methos as to be completely unaware of the old man ’s true capacity for violence and mayhem, how could Duncan know what elements of their friendship were real and what parts were simply vapor, convenient fictional constructs that Methos had erected to crowd the landscape of his character and avoid exposure? Perhaps their very friendship was a cover, a façade of respectability behind which to hide an unspeakable period in his life.

The one undeniable truth of the situation was that he had made a friend, a friend who ’d become important to him, and that friend had now turned out have once been a monster.

He winced, not at the line of thought but because he had nicked his arm. Astonished, he stared at the cut – more than a nick, after all – and watched blood ooze out and trickle along his arm and to the floor. When had an errant blade last injured him during kata?

Grabbing a white towel from a shelf, he mopped up the blood from the floor, his sword, and his now-healed arm, then resumed his kata. Soon his thoughts returned to his previous perception of Methos as a non-violent, even rather harmless friend. How could Duncan trust his own judgment about anyone now, when it had been proven so egregiously unreliable?

The whisper of the katana as it glided through the early morning darkness in the dojo belied its lethal potential should anything more substantial wander into its path.

Yes, Duncan acknowledged, it was perhaps the discovery of his own faulty appraisal of Methos that cut him most deeply. To survive as an immortal who strives to stay out of the Game, one must learn to assess other immortals – their desires, their needs, their ambitions and true intentions – thoroughly and accurately. While Duncan had never claimed to know exactly what made Methos tick, he had until now been pretty sure that power, cruelty, and killing were things he not only didn ’t crave, but actively shunned.

To learn now that the man had been a part of the most vicious and reviled instruments of death and destruction the ancient world had ever known was to learn that Duncan ’s ability to judge people was considerably less dependable than he had believed it to be.

Smoothly, he continued his sinuous, almost hypnotic exercises, severing imaginary ties with his ever-fluid sword.

Pictures filled his mind now, imagined versions of the slaughtering of innocent villagers and families, furnished with some details by Cassandra ’s impassioned account of the Horsemen raiding her desert camp. But these pictures were soon displaced by his own real memories of the Texas homesteaders butchered by the man he had then known as Melvin Koren. He well remembered the savagery displayed by “Koren ” and his gang of run-of-the-mill hoodlums. It wasn ’t much of a stretch to mentally amplify the carnage by a factor of four.

Imagining Methos in the company of such people had at first been painful, something he recoiled from. Now it activated within him a depth of rage he hadn ’t realized he possessed. Methos had been one of the four, just like Kronos. Duncan no longer had trouble seeing the charming, boyish face of his “friend ” and placing it within the massacre scene he imagined from Cassandra ’s description – only now, the ready, sly, always ironic grin was lent a sinister glow by the grisly context.

Duncan ’s katana sliced again and again into the growing morning light, whispering of wrongs to be righted and pain avenged.

His exercise was nearly complete. Soon, Methos would be here to discuss the details of the contest.