Redemption, Chapter Fourteen
morga...@my-deja.com
by Beck McLaughlin
Methos, Duncan and Cassandra are the property of someone else, alas, and
no copyright infringement is intended. Everything else is mine.
Comments, criticisms and flames can be sent to bec...@umich.edu.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MacLeod swung from the rafters, landing on top of the idol's broad,
marble brow. He dropped to his haunches, drawing his breath, feeling
his heart like a hammer in his chest. He could see through the open
door of the tomb. Mercenaries were running toward the woods, drawn
there by Joe's shooting -- the decoy had worked. Time was what they
needed -- time for the boy, Tom, to get to Cassandra's radio and find
some outside help.
". . .matter. They'll find him!"
Vortig's voice -- but why couldn't he *feel* him? Duncan moved
cautiously to the edge of the dragon's head and looked down. The
mercenary commander came down the steps and into the Tomb, dragging
Cassandra with him. Methos followed.
Duncan lay flat against the marble, shaken. What was going on? Why
were they invisible to his senses? From the moment he'd set foot in
this place, he'd been aware of a strange, muffled sensation. Something
was interfering with what he had always taken for granted.
Vortig shoved Cassandra toward the idol. She stumbled and went to her
knees. Methos held himself aloof, leaning indolently against a pillar,
unmoved by Vortig's brutality. The mercenaries brought an old man, an
islander, and threw him down beside Cassandra. Waving them back, their
commander drew his sword and placed the tip against the elder's spine.
"Open it," he ordered Cassandra.
The Immortal woman's slim shoulders drooped. She bent forward, laid her
hands on the marble dais supporting the idol. There was complete
silence, then a loud grinding sound filled the tomb. MacLeod almost
gave himself away when the idol beneath him began to move. Ponderously
the dias rotated slowly to one side, revealing an broad, shallow pit.
Suddenly, that curious, dampening sensation was gone. MacLeod felt the
other three Immortals acutely and -- something else -- something that
roared along his nerves, similar to the buzz, but subtly different and a
hundred times more powerful. Methos' straightened abruptly, looking
around, eyes narrowed. Vortig seemed unaware of anything other than the
widening pit.
It contained a marble altar and upon the altar, a young man. Aquiline
features were still, eyes closed. His long hair fanned around his
shoulders, dark red, a remarkable color. The ears, barely visible, had
a faint point to them. Faerie, the priestess had said.
Duncan saw no evidence of breathing. Most noteworthy was a thin, red
line around the sleeper's neck.
"At last!" Vortig cried, taking a step toward the pit.
"Don't do this!" Cassandra pleaded. "Please!"
Snarling, Vortig kicked her away. "He cost me my kingdom and he cost me
you. Either reason is, by itself, enough to condemn him!"
"Think again, Vortig!" Duncan swung over a scaled ear, landing on the
leaf-strewn floor. Vortig hissed, stepping back and drawing his own
sword, while, all around, his men brought up their weapons.
"This is none of your business, MacLeod." Vortig scowled. "I've no
quarrel with you. Leave now and you can live to face me later."
Duncan looked down at Cassandra. Her lower lip was caught between her
teeth. There was a reckless, desperate look in her blue eyes. He
looked around to Methos. "Surviving?" The Highlander could not resist
the jibe, pushed by the sharp, cold ache of disappointment.
"Why not? You made your position clear enough." A glittering smile
touched those austere features. To Vortig, Methos said: "Shoot him.
Don't risk hand to hand. He's very good."
"Yes, I've had the pleasure." Vortig regarded the sleeper, then Duncan.
"Why not? I've waited all these centuries for my vengeance. I can
wait a few more minutes. Will you take him, Methos?"
"Gods, no," replied Methos, appalled. "He's way too good for me."
"As you wish." The mercenary laughed harshly and attacked.
Vortig had almost taken Duncan that day in New York. The Highlander was
well aware of that as he parried the blows coming at him, danced along
the curving edge of the shallow pit. Silence filled the Tomb, broken
only by the ringing of the swords and the harsh breathing of the
combatants.
Duncan desperately focused on the next thrust, and the next. Vortig
seemed untiring, pressing him ceaselessly. Duncan was holding his own,
but barely. A rumbling distracted him. The idol was moving back into
place! He had a glimpse of Cassandra's anxious face, then paid for his
moment of inattention. Pain streaked down his side. Duncan lost his
breath and could not draw another one. Reeling back, he just avoided a
riposte. Turning, stumbling, he fell under the idol, rolled to the
other side. God! Punctured lung.
Blood bubbled into his nose. He tasted copper. Grimly, willing himself
to stay alive, he lurched around the idol's tail, scarlet splashing over
the painstakingly carved scales. Vortig, laughing, lunged at him
again. Then, unexpectedly, the mercenary commander stepped back,
stopped and wiped his brow. "Methos!"
Duncan staggered, watching in disbelief as Vortig handed his own sword,
hilt first to Methos. Methos, mouth dropping, simply stared at him.
"Take it," Vortig sneered, "unless you think he's still too dangerous?"
"How generous." Methos looked thoughtfully from Vortig to Emrys
Aurelius, then shrugged and moved out onto the floor. "No offense,
MacLeod, but I really, *really* want off this damn island!"
MacLeod tried to draw a breath, choking on his own blood. The pain was
less, but he wasn't healing fast enough -- not nearly fast enough.
"I promise to make this quick." There was sincere regret in the soft
voice.
Even then, Duncan didn't quite believe it. Instinct alone brought his
arm up to parry the thrust that came at him. He blinked the mist from
his eyes, swung away, avoiding another swing. A third connected,
straight through his arm. He grunted, dimly grateful it wasn't his
sword arm. He reeled around, coming up against a wall of Vortig's men.
They pushed him back, laughing.
Another vicious lunge almost undid him. Duncan feinted to the right,
then lurched past his adversary. Methos swung around, cutting him off.
Steel flashed. Pain rocked the Highlander. Knees turned to water and
he went to the floor, vision flooded by crimson.
"Finish him!" shouted Vortig, impatiently. "Now, damn it!"
Methos' face was a white slash against the encroaching darkness.
Duncan's kitana clattered from nerveless fingers. He could not draw a
breath. Methos lifted his blade, saluted the Highlander sadly --- then
spun around, driving the sword deep into the gut of the man standing
behind him. Vortig gasped, eyes bugging out in shock as Methos withdrew
the blade. The air sang once more with the flight of steel, up and
across, severing Vortig's head in a single balletic movement.
There was a moment of shock. Duncan watched the head roll across the
flagged stones, coming up against the marble dais. Sightless eyes met
his. Vortig's men broke their paralysis and lifted their weapons,
aiming them all at the slender figure drooping in the shadow of the
idol.
They never had a chance to fire. The Quickening arrived with a spectral
wind, racing through the building, tugging at hair and clothing, raising
the scattered carpet of paper-dry leaves in dozens of tiny whirlwinds.
Then followed the lightning, stitching from one side to the other.
Mortals screamed and, throwing down their weapons, ran. Methos' body
twisted, sword flying from his hand as the energy seized him, crashed
through nerve and sinew. From the idol's ruby eyes came more lightning,
fine and red as blood. It wrapped around the ancient Immortal and, for
an instant, Duncan saw something else there.
Cassandra tugged at the Highlander, pulling him away. A flash of
brilliance obscured everything and for one long, bewildering moment
Duncan heard music, strange whispers. Something brushed his arm - cold,
but silky soft. A tingling run through him. Suddenly he could breathe
easily again; the pain drained away. Vision cleared. The Tomb was
still, empty except for them and Lucius.
Duncan stood up shakily. Methos knelt beside Vortig's body, head bowed
to the floor. The idol was back in place, no hint of the man lying
beneath it. Cassandra stared at them both, then went to untie Lucius.
"I --- I can't believe -- he *handed* me the damn sword," Methos gasped,
letting Duncan pull him to his feet. "I was racking my brain for ---
for-- any excuse to get my hands -- on . . ."
"Have you ever come up with a plan that *didn't* depend on pure luck and
split-second timing?" The Highlander demanded testily. Methos laughed,
shaking his head, trying to catch his breath. Duncan steered him to the
dais and sat him down. Cassandra joined them. Her eyes moved to
Methos, then slid away.
"Is he really Merlin?" Duncan asked, looking down at curve of marble
that again hid the sleeper.
She nodded. "Emrys has powers we don't. Telepathy, telekinesis --
maybe others. Although you must take his head to take his life, he's
not Immortal, not like us. The Folk claim he's Faerie, that he's roamed
the ancient forests as long as time itself They worshiped and protected
him long before he meddled in the politics of men and became notorious."
"Legend claims Merlin was done in by a woman," Methos pointed out.
"Legend claims a great many things, most of which aren't true," she
retorted. "It was accurate when it claimed that he brought Arthur to
power, but it wasn't Arthur that cornered Vortigern in Wales, it was
Embrys -- or Myrrid as they had begun to call him." She shrugged sadly.
"He and Vortig met on the battlements, while the castle burned. Emrys
was good, but -- you know what kind of swordsman Vortig was."
Duncan nodded soberly. "The best I ever faced. If he hadn't handed the
sword to Methos, I'd be dead."
"Treachery will overcome skill every time," agreed Methos. "I take it
Emrys lost? Why didn't Vortig take his head?"
"No time. Arthur came -- finally. Vortig left Emrys, tried to flee --
and died in the fire."
"You were there?"
She nodded. "I had my own reasons for wishing Vortig dead. We took
Emrys' body north. Eventually, we came here. Someday, the wound that
nearly killed him will be healed."
"If you were there, you should have finished Vortig while you had the
chance." Methos said sourly.
"There are a great many things in my life I *should* have done," she
retorted. He flinched and looked away. Duncan's heart sank.
There was noise outside -- helicopters. Duncan scrambled to his feet.
"Damn. Sounds like Vortig's men have regrouped."
Methos was already running toward the door, scooping up an abandoned
rifle. He stopped suddenly. Tom ran in, took one look at Methos and,
with a roar of rage, launched himself at the startled Immortal. Behind
the boy were other men, but not Vortig's mercenaries. Canadian Coast
guard! The boy had done what he was told -- got help.
Dodging, swearing, Methos avoided being knocked to the ground.
Cassandra caught her ward before he could go after Methos again. "NO!
It's all right, Tom! Things aren't -- what they seem."
The boy subsided, clearly off balance, and endured Cassandra's fierce
hug. Relieved, Duncan saw Joe walking in with a Guard officer. The
Watcher winked and grinned. The officer at his side looked dourly from
Cassandra to Duncan's bloody visage, to the headless corpse lying beside
the idol. With a sigh, ignoring Joe's sparkling eye, Duncan stepped
forward, resigned to explaining the unexplainable.
***
continued
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