Date: Fri, 10 Mar 1995 19:27:01 -0800 Reply-To: Noah Johnson Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Noah Johnson Subject: "Blood And Steel" 1/1 (Long) This is my second story on this list, and truth be told, I don't think it's as good as my first. I like it anyway, though. Also, it is a crossover story, Highlander/Forever Knight. I hope that's appropriate. BLOOD AND STEEL By Noah Johnson This story is copyright 1994, by Noah Johnson. Permission is given to reproduce it, in its entirety, and including this notice. Long ago, Duncan MacLeod had learned to appreciate a nice quiet summer evening. When the air still held the day's warmth, but was beginning to develop the night's chill, it seemed slightly magical to Duncan's somewhat romantic mind. As he strolled through the streets of Paris, it occurred to him how many evenings he had seen in his life. Some warm, some cool, some stormy, some calm. Some of them he had seen from a soldier's barracks, others from the patio of the royal palace of Versailles. On more than one he had been drawn into a duel. He noticed absently that his walk was leading him into one of the seedier areas of the city, and for just a second he worried about being attacked. He was, after all, dressed expensively. A target. He didn't let the thought bother him, or disturb the enjoyment of his walk. Unless he ran into a mugger with a decapitation fetish, there was nothing too terrible that could be done to him. He could be beaten, even robbed, but bruises heal and money is only money. And for him, at least once, death had proven not to be permananent. He remembered that day in the early years of the strange, sad 17th century, when, during one of his homeland's innumerable clan wars, he had been stabbed through the lower chest. Fatally. And less than an hour later he had stood up, holding his healing wound and calling for his father. The next time a sword killed him, though... Duncan chose to avoid _that_ line of thought. Instead he reflected that, if he lived long enough, Richie Ryan might one day be reminiscing about the first time _he_ died, at the hands of a two-bit carjacker. Before he could stop it, that thought led him to recollection of the most painful thing to happen to him in more than a few decades; the death of Tessa Nel. He remembered something his clansman Conner had said to him once: "They only have one life, Duncan, and it always ends too soon. That's why you've got to cherish your mortal friends while they're alive. Before you know it, they'll be gone. Believe me, I know." Duncan sighed. Conner had been right, of course. Not that that made it any easier. Most often, he left his friends and lovers first. Sometimes to keep them from seeing that he never aged, more often because he couldn't stay to see them die. He'd had to, though, more times than he liked to think of. Susanna, Su Li, Dancing Bear, and now Tessa. There had been a few other women since her, as he tried desperately to forget and move on, but it never worked. Duncan was beginning to grow morose when his thoughts were disrupted by the Quickening. A tingle at the edge of his psyche, coupled with a tiny shudder and a brief wave of nausea. An Immortal. Close. Before he knew he was in motion, he had his back pressed to a wall, and one hand slipped beneath his lapel. He felt the hilt of his katana, making sure it was in place, looked about quickly for witnesses, then set off through the grimy, quiet streets in the direction he'd been moving when he felt it. As he expected, the Quickening grew stronger. As he drew closer, Duncan began to suspect it was two Immortals he was feeling. Then he rounded a corner and heard the clash of steel on steel. A duel. Even as he hurried toward the sound, though, he heard the swords go silent. One of the two Quickenings flared and died, and Duncan knew that for one Immortal, the Game had come to an end. He felt a bit of bleed-off from the Quickening; not much, but enough to shake him a bit. Then he felt the other Immortal pass out of range very quickly, and Duncan ceased to feel him. _Whoever he is, he's got stamina,_ Duncan thought. _Taking another Immortal's head usually leaves me exhausted._ He wondered for a moment if he might have to face this Immortal, and made a mental note not to try to outlast him. Or her, he amended. He rounded a final corner and saw a vacant lot, illuminated by a single streetlight, wherein a headless body lay. A long cutlass lay next to it, apparently having fallen from his hand as he died. The yellow light of the streetlamp made the scene look more than a bit macabre. Duncan realized he had become so inured to carnage that he needed strange lighting to make a dead body disquieting. He walked into the lot and looked about for the head. He found it about twenty feet from the body, next to a broken bottle. He felt a touch of disdain for the killing stroke, which had either been unskilled or made with a dull blade. He reached down and gently turned the head face-up. A narrow chin with a scraggly beard, and a nose that looked to have been broken too often. An almost handsome face, now trapped forever in an expression akin to resignation. A stranger. No one he knew. _Who were you, Immortal?_ he wondered. _What era gave birth to you, how did you feel when you were first killed? Who taught you the lore of our kind, the rules of the Game, the art of the sword? How many years did you wander down through, pretending to be your own son, your own grandson? Had our paths crossed during these centuries, would we have been allies or enemies? Who did you love during your time on this earth, and did you mourn as I do when they died? What kind of man were you?_ A scrape from behind him brought the highlander to his feet, hand on his sword. A shadowed figure stood just outside the pool of light cast by the streetlamp. As Duncan looked directly at him, he felt something tug at the edge of his deepest senses. Not quite a Quickening, not quite anything else, it seemed familiar. He knew than that whatever the figure might be, it wasn't human. He drew his katana and faced it. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Show yourself." A choke of laughter came from the figure. "MacLeod?" it said. "Duncan?" The voice seemed distantly familiar to MacLeod. He scowled in uncertainty. "Step into the light." he said. As the figure moved forward, Duncan recognized a half-smile above a dimpled chin. Blue eyes and curly blond hair completed the deceptively cherubic image. It was a face he knew. "Nicholas?" MacLeod said in disbelief, lowering his sword an inch. "Duncan, you old mercenary, it is you!" exclaimed the vampire. Duncan tried to remember the last time he had seen Nicholas Knight. All he could come up with was Europe, sometime in the eighteenth century. "Nicholas, how have you been? What've you been up to?" Duncan was exuberant at the sight of the man who might qualify as the strangest of his many friends. He was pleased enough to see Nick that he momentarily forgot about the headless body at his feet. "Oh, I've been doing all sorts of stuff. Given up killing. Right now I'm trying to cure my... ah... condition." Nick shrugged. "A cure? I didn't know there was one. Um, Nicholas, we should probably talk someplace else." Duncan said, gesturing at the corpse. "Ah. Yes. Quite." Nick said, apparently just noticing the body. "Did you kill him?" he asked, as they left the lot together, Duncan taking the dead Immortal's sword with him. "Me? No. Someone else did." "Did you see him, by any chance?" Nick asked. "No, he left before I got there. Want to go back to my barge for a drink, talk over old times?" Duncan said, changing the subject. "Er, Duncan, I haven't had a drink in eight hundred years that wasn't blood. The talk sounds good, though." Nick seemed slightly embarrassed, as though vampirism were an ongoing faux pas. Duncan shrugged. "Okay, I'll drink, you talk. What line are you in these days, anyway?" "Police work, actually. I'm a detective." "A cop? You? I'd never have thought." Duncan grinned in disbelief. "I've changed a lot, Mac." Nick said, his half-smile reappearing. "How about you; still a merc?" Duncan chuckled. "No, I'm in slightly more respectable work these days. Of course, I've got a lot of money in various places. Right now I own a martial arts hall in Seattle. Before that I was in antiques." Nick laughed. "Now _there's_ a racket for an Immortal..." Back at the barge, Duncan poured himself a glass of scotch and sank into the leather couch as the vampire seated himself in an armchair. "So, Nicholas, how long has it been, anyway?" Duncan asked. Nick's eyes rolled upward in thought. "I think the last time we saw each other was... Vienna." "That would be... 1735 or thereabout." Duncan reflected. "I think the last time we actually spent time together was that ball. You remember, at the Duchess' place." "I don't..." Duncan laughed suddenly. "Oh, right, _that_ one. I got deported right after that." "You weren't long on scruple back then, I recall." Nick teased. "I beg your pardon?" Duncan said, stung. "If I remember, you killed a waiter that night." Nick's expression darkened. "Yes, I did." There was a silence. "But I've given all that up these days." "Of course." Duncan said, taking a sip of scotch and savoring it. "Mm. Splendid. You cannot get better scotch than this for love or money, Nicholas." Nick made a face. "Don't torture me. I can hardly remember what it's like to eat and drink." "Normal food makes you sick, is that right?" Duncan asked. "I'm afraid so. French food especially." "That's too bad. I love French cooking, myself." Nick winced. "How can you eat all that garlic?" Duncan laughed louder than he had in too long a time. "You didn't used to have a sense of humor, Nicholas." he observed. "You didn't used to be so intense." Nick returned. Duncan's face went serious. "Two hundred and fifty years can change a person." "True enough. Hell, a century ago I was still killing." "So tell me about this cure you're looking for." Duncan pressed. Nick waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, it's vampire stuff. Wouldn't interest you." Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Everything interests me, Nicholas. Who knows, I might even be able to help." Nick shrugged. "It's... been a long, difficult search, and so far I haven't got a damn thing. I'd really rather not talk about it." "All right. So what brings you to Paris, anyway?" Nick sighed. "More vampire stuff. What you might call an internal matter. Not Immortal business, anyway." "Are you a vampire, or a Mason?" Duncan inquired sardonically. "Or are the undead a secret society these days? Can you at least show me the club handshake?" "Look, Duncan, it's really nothing you need to worry about!" Nick insisted. Duncan put his glass down. "Nicholas, I've been putting my nose in other people's business since the New World was still news, and you're my friend. Now, whatever this is, I get the impression it's a problem. If I can help you, I want to know about it. Now are you going to tell me, or do I have to get a wooden stake?" Nick sighed in resignation. "You have got to be the stubbornest, nosiest, most intrusive person I've met in the last eight hundred years." "Highland charm." Duncan grinned. "Since you insist on knowing, there's a rogue vampire around. We really don't need some incautious jerk stirring up hysteria, and I've taken it upon myself to... well..." "Kill him." Duncan said flatly. "Again." Nick supplemented. "Actually, that's what I was doing in that lot earlier. I'm pretty sure I saw him go in there." Duncan went quiet. "What?" Nick asked. "There was a duel in that lot. If your vampire was there, he saw it." Duncan murmured. "Well, maybe. I was following him pretty close." Nick said warily. "Have you ever seen an Immortal's duel end, Nicholas?" Duncan asked. "It's not a subtle thing. If your vampire was anywhere close, he couldn't have missed it." "So what are you saying?" "Just that if this vampire saw it, he's in possession of a rather dangerous secret." Duncan sighed. "Come on, Duncan, other vampires must know about Immortals." Nick said. "Nick, you're the only vampire I've ever had dealings with. I've only met one other Immortal who knew that you exist, and he's dead now. Not even the Watchers know about vampires." "The Watchers?" Nick asked, confused. Duncan smiled faintly. "Immortal stuff. Nothing to worry yourself about." Nick winced. "I asked for that, I guess. So what are you getting at?" "Nicholas, we have kept our secret since the earliest times. How many vampires have you known who knew about Immortals?" The vampire frowned in thought. "...Once, in fifteen twenty-something," he began slowly, "I remember meeting an old, half-insane vampire who said there was a conspiracy of immortal people who spent centuries hunting vampires to cut off their heads. I'm not sure how much he believed his story himself. God knows I didn't at the time." "You see? Our circles have kept apart for more centuries than either of us has lived. And now a vampire who you admit yourself is unreliable may know about us. To me, this represents a personal threat." "Now, hang on, Duncan, there may be another explanation. Like, um, what if this vampire already knew about Immortals? It's perfectly possible. He may even have known one of the duellists. Might even have been helping him in the fight." Nick shrugged. Suddenly, Duncan was on his feet, and his eyes were very dark. "Out of the question." he said bluntly. "Oh, come on, Duncan, why not? It's as good a possibility as any other, and it fits all the facts." "No it doesn't." Duncan growled. "Immortal duels are one on one. Those are the rules." "Rules get broken all the time, MacLeod." Nick insisted. "Not ours." "What if an Immortal were particularly unscrupulous?" "NO! I have _known_ unscrupulous Immortals, I have known selfish Immortals, I have known Immortals that can only be described as _evil._ But none of them, _none of them_ would dare to break the ancient trust!" Duncan roared. Nick found himself leaning back in his seat, unconsciously getting out of the way Duncan's diatribe. "Duncan, calm down!" he exclaimed, surprised at the Scot's violent reaction to his suggestion. "If you say that couldn't have been how it was, that's good enough for me. I'm sorry if I offended you." Duncan blinked and rubbed his forehead. "Of course, Nicholas. Sorry to fly off the handle like that. I... that's a very serious matter to me. The rules of the Game have been an axiom of my life for centuries. Sometimes they're the only thing that doesn't change." The vampire nodded. "I know how that is." he said, remembering all the times he'd wished there'd been people around who could relate to his own unique problems. "Nick, it's getting late, for those of us who sleep at night." Duncan said with a yawn. "I'd rather turn in just now, maybe have a new perspective on this problem in the morning." "Sure, Duncan. I'll meet you here tomorrow around seven, all right?" "Right. See you then. Good night, Nicholas." The following evening, Duncan, decked out in black trenchcoat and blue silk shirt, was waiting on top of his barge at seven o'clock. He felt the air move as something landed softly on the roof behind him. "Hello, Nicholas." he said without turning around. "Hello, Mac." nodded the vampire. Suddenly a blond, youthful head appeared over the edge of the barge. "Hiya, Mac. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friend?" Richie said. "Of course. Nick Knight, this is Richie Ryan. Richie, this is Nick." "A pleasure, Richie." Nick nodded. "Same here... whoa." Richie shook his head as if to clear it. "Sorry, but when I looked right at you... man, that was weird." "Ah, you're an Immortal, then?" Nick asked politely. "Yeah, and you?" "Something similar." Nick said. "That's all you need to know." Richie nodded. "Gotcha. Consider my curiosity curbed." "Well, this is all very nice, but Nicholas and I have business. See you around, Richie." Duncan said, leaving the barge. "Later, Mac. Nice meeting you, man." he added with a nod in Nick's direction. "So where to, MacLeod?" Nick asked as they walked off the barge. "You tell me." Duncan shrugged. "I was thinking we should head to my hotel, finish catching up on the last couple of centuries, and compare notes on this business with the vampire and the duel." "Sounds good to me. You have a car?" "Duncan, I flew here." "Right. We'll take mine." As they seated themselves in Duncan's car, Duncan asked, "So, you in Paris by yourself?" "Hm? Oh, no, I brought along a friend from Toronto. I didn't intend to, but she insisted on coming." "She?" Duncan inquired with a grin. "MacLeod, not everybody is a bed-hopping dirty old man like you, you know. She's just a friend. She works with the coronerUs office." Nick said in exasperation. "Great. She works in a morgue, and you're dead. Match made in heaven. Was that how you met?" "Well, actually, yes, since you ask. Quite a nice lady, actually. I think you'll like her. Her name's Natalie." "Does she know you're a vampire?" "Yes. She's very supportive of my trying to find a cure. In fact, if it weren't for her, I might have given up by now." Nick looked out the car window as his mind wandered back over decades of a continually fruitless search. "So you really don't want to be a vampire, then?" Duncan asked. "No, I don't. You don't know how lucky you are, Duncan. Your brand of immortality comes with no strings attached." Nick sighed. "I wish you were right, Nicholas." Duncan muttered. "Well, you don't have to kill to sustain your life, do you?" "Actually, Nicholas, I do. Every time I meet an Immortal who wants my head, I have to kill him. That's what the Game is all about. You're not the only one with blood on your hands, you know. We do what we have to." "You don't have to leave a corpse behind you every night, though." "No, but I can't fly." "I beg your pardon?" "An Immortal, Nick, is just like a human being, except that we can't die. Vampires get all kinds of superhuman powers to go with their curse. We just get a sword and 'good luck, pal.'" "Well, there is that Quickening thing you told me about. That early-warning system that lets you know if there's another Immortal nearby." "Convenient, but not on a par with vampiric powers." Nick sighed. For some reason, he couldn't stand arguing with the Scot. "Duncan, I don't know about you, but I'm not enjoying this conversation, all right? Can we drop it?" Duncan was about to say something, but instead just shrugged sadly and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. We've got more in common than we remember sometimes." Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the Hotel Bristol, where Nick was staying. Duncan parked and turned off the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. "Aren't we getting out here?" Nick asked. "In a minute." Duncan replied. After a brief period of time, he said, "Now we're getting out." "Why the wait, MacLeod?" Nick asked, locking the door behind him. "Just waiting for someone to arrive." Duncan answered, ignoring the hotel entrance in favor of the alley beside it, where a motorcycle was unobtrusively parked. "Go home, Richie." Duncan said. "Aw, c'mon, Mac." Richie pleaded, stepping out from behind the trash can he'd been hiding behind. "Richie, maybe someday I'll tell you what this is about. In the meantime, go home." "All right, all right. Man, I hope I'm not that self-satisfied when I'm four hundred." Richie said, putting his helmet back on. "Good night, Richie." Duncan said, leaving the alley and rejoining Nick. "Out of curiosity, Duncan, how did you know he was following us? I didn't spot him." Nick asked as Richie rode off. "Neither did I. But he always follows me. Gets him into more trouble than you'd believe. If I told you the number of times I've saved him from the effects of his own recklessness, you'd call me a liar." "Well, he's young." Nick shrugged. "That's the problem." Duncan returned. "Damn fool kid thinks he'll live forever." "Duncan, not to rain on your parade, but he will." Nick pointed out, not sure if MacLeod was serious. "Maybe. If he stops taking stupid chances." "Duncan, are you always this overprotective?" Nick asked gently. "Nicholas, believe me, this kid needs it." "Does he?" Once again, Duncan cut off his intended words. "Let's just head up to your room before he comes back." he sighed. The Hotel Bristol was luxuriously furnished with every hedonistic comfort one would expect from a first-rate Paris hotel, Duncan noted on the way to Nick's room. The carpeting was deep, warm, and decorative without being garish. The lighting was subdued, unobtrusive, but entirely adequate. Duncan didn't want to think about what Nick must be paying for his room. "Your taste is the same as ever, I see." he observed. "Are all vampires as decadent as you are?" Nick thought for a moment. "Most of the ones I know." "This hotel is a bit lavish even for you, Nicholas. See that?" Duncan said, pointing at a portrait of Napoleon that hung casually on the wall. "That's not a reproduction. I'd say that that scrap of canvas is older than any building on this block, and probably worth more than my car." Nick smirked at the painting. "So? Napoleon's a hero in France; there's a lot of portraits of him hanging around. Can't imagine why." Duncan snickered. "No kidding. He was a good general, but more concerned with himself than anything else, toward the end. Really not much, as heroes go." "Did you ever meet him?" Nick said, pulling out his key as they came abreast of his room. "Napoleon? Not personally, but I knew someone who did. Tried to tell him not to invade Russia, but he wouldn't listen to..." Duncan's voice trailed off as he entered the room and found a woman sitting on the couch. A woman who was neither an Immortal nor a vampire, and who, from the look on her face, had heard the last part of their conversation. "Oh, I'm sorry." she said. "I thought Nick would be alone. I didn't realize he knew anyone in Paris." "Oh, hello, Natalie." Nick said, coming in behind Duncan, thinking fast. "This is, um, a friend of mine. Duncan, Natalie. Natalie, Duncan." "Pleased to meet you, Duncan." Natalie said. "Am... am I in the way here?" "No, of course not." Nick said placatingly. "I do wonder why you're in my room, though." "Oh. I, um, got you a present. I thought I'd surprise you." she said, pulling out a white cardboard box from behind a cushion. Nick took the box and opened it, pulling out a cashmere turtleneck sweater in a deep wine red. "Oh, this is great, Natalie." he said, holding it up. "I love it." Natalie seemed slightly embarassed still, and shrugged in nervous self-deprecation. "Oh, I was just out shopping today, and I saw that, and I thought it suited you. The color especially. It's the same shade as, ah, that." she finished with a vague wave toward a bottle sitting next to a wine glass on the coffee table. Looking at it, Duncan was absolutely sure that it did not contain wine. Nick noticed her uncertain glances in Duncan's direction, and said calmingly, "Oh, you can talk in front of Duncan, it's okay, he's... well..." Nick was uncertain how to phrase it. "I'm also a vampire." Duncan finished hastily with a dark glance at Nick. "Oh, are you?" Natalie said politely. Duncan noticed that she was apparently more comfortable with him now that she knew that. "Oh, yes. You might have heard what we were talking about when we came in." Duncan said, reflecting that while he had told a lot of lies to cover his Immortality, this was one that he'd never used before in four hundred years. "Oh, yeah. Napoleon. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm being rude." Natalie got up from the sofa and went to a cupboard. Before Duncan could find a polite way of asking what she was looking for, she came out with another wine glass. Duncan kept from wincing, but his jaw clenched. "Here," Natalie said, "Nick never liked drinking alone anyway." "Why, thank you." Duncan said tightly, accepting the glass from Natalie with a forced smile. Nick had seated himself on the sofa and was filling his glass from the bottle. "Here, Duncan," he said with a malicious grin, "let me pour you a glass, too." "Thanks, Nicholas." Duncan smiled, his face nearly shaking with the strain of it. Nick filled Duncan's glass and raised his own in a toast. "Here's to the twentieth century." he said brightly. "The twentieth." agreed Duncan, trying to think of a way out of what he was about to do. He failed to find one, and instead drank. The blood was thick, viscous, and sticky, tasting of salt and iron. It reminded Duncan of having seawater in his lungs. He forced himself to swallow. "Well, I guess I'll leave you two." Natalie said, heading for the door. "Sorry to intrude." "See you, Natalie." Nick said. "Thanks a lot for the sweater." "You're welcome. It was nice meeting you, Duncan." she said, with a wave to MacLeod. Duncan nodded tightly with a frozen smile on his face. Natalie left, closing the door behind her. "Nicholas, I'm going to kill you." Duncan said. "I'm going to hammer a wooden stake through your heart, cut your head off, pound a nail into it, fill your mouth with garlic, and burn your body and head in separate bonfires." Nick was shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry, Duncan." he managed between snickers. "But if you could have seen your face..." he went off into further hilarity. "Really, Knight, that was the most revolting stuff I've had in centuries. How can you drink it?" "Survival." Nick replied, his laughter trailing off. "That wasn't... human, was it?" Duncan asked with a gesture at the glasses on the table. "No, no." Nick said with a dismissive wave. "I got from a lawyer." "Nicholas, I'm going to assume you're joking." Duncan winced. "I am, don't worry. It's perfectly all right. It's cow blood." "Oh, well, I take it all back. Pour me another glass, while you're at it." Duncan said sarcastically. "This from a man who eats haggis." murmured Nick. "What's wrong with haggis?" "Oh, nothing." Nick lied. "Besides, I haven't had haggis in decades. It's entirely out of fashion. These days I hardly feel Scottish, sometimes." "Well, you don't look Scottish, either." Nick observed. "I was adopted. From outside the clan." "Oh. Any idea who your real parents might have been?" "No. I used to have a theory they were Gypsies, but it was the sixteenth century and adoption procedures were fairly informal at the time." Duncan pulled a silver hip flask out of his coat. Nick laughed a little. "Yeah, the sixteenth century. I remember what Europe was like then. The height of the Renaissance. Boy, those were the days." Duncan shrugged. "We didn't get much of that in the Highlands. I was eight when the century turned. While you were off enjoying high culture, I was already learning to be a warrior." he took a drink from the flask. "Do you carry scotch on you at all times, Duncan?" Nick asked, as an aside. "No, but when I get together with old friends, I like to take a drink with them. By all means, have another glass of blood." "Don't mind if I do." Nick said, pouring the thick red fluid into his glass. "So tell me, what was Scotland like back then?" "Wild." Duncan said with another sip of scotch. "The land, the people, all of it. Untamed. Even Caesar, in conquering Europe, got as far as England, took one look at Scotland, and built Hadrian's Wall to keep us out. Clan wars, that's what we did. The MacLeods and the Stewarts. The MacLeods and the MacKinnons. The MacLeods and the Frazers. That was Scotland, for a thousand years. It was how I got killed the first time. Conner too. Out on a muddy battlefield in some stupid grudge match." "You miss it, don't you?" Duncan reflected a moment. "Sometimes." he answered. "But you can't go back again." sighed Nick. "That's how it is for us. Every time you turn around, a century's gone and the society that you were born into is gone, evolved into something new. Even I miss the old days sometimes, when the sun circled the earth and a king was still a king, back when a sword still meant something." he chuckled a bit. "Here I am getting sentimental again." Duncan glanced at him seriously. "For some of us, a sword still does mean something." Nick looked at Duncan in a different light. "That's right, isn't it?" he murmured. "To an Immortal, life really boils down to the sword. It's the only thing that never changes. People come and go, but you always have a sword. After a while it's more than a weapon, it's a part of your being. Sometimes a sword is the only friend you have." Duncan took another sip of scotch and blinked. "Now _I'm_ getting sentimental." "No, go on." Nick said, interested. "The thing is, Nicholas, an Immortal is always an Immortal first and a man second. And to be an Immortal is to be a player in the Game. And that means a sword. That's part of the continuity in our lives. Wherever you go, whatever you do, someone will want your head. It's one thing you can always count on. That's why all Immortals are swordsmen. Those who aren't, die. It becomes the defining center in your life, the sword. Your sword, and your skill in handling it, are the only thing keeping you alive." he paused, and drew his katana from inside his coat, holding it up, looking at it almost reverentially. "For us, a sword is both life and death." Nick suddenly had an odd thought. _If I ever do an oil painting of MacLeod, it will be in that pose, holding the sword that's been his religion for four centuries_ he thought, without knowing why. "Who lives by the sword oft dies by the sword." he said, trying for a feeble joke. MacLeod shook his head. "Not all of us." he said. "One of us, only one, will someday win the privilege of dying like a normal man, expiring of old age, in bed, surrounded by his children. That's what the Game is all about." "I thought the last Immortal would have ultimate power or something like that." Nick said. "No. Well, yes. Yes, but for many of us, that's almost a sideline. There are those who want to rule, or conquer, or pacify, but for me and a lot of others, the important thing is that after all the centuries of lying about who and what we are, and shedding blood, and watching our friends die around us, we'll just be human. At last, finally, human again." Nick nodded slowly. "I can relate, Duncan." he said. "I know the feeling exactly." The two men sat, and drank, and talked, for several hours after that. It was around three-thirty that Duncan realized he was famished. "Nicholas, would you mind if we carried this conversation to an all-night caf? I've just noticed I'm starving." "Hm? Oh, sure, Duncan, let's. Sorry, I should have thought of that. We've been sharing so much in common all night I forgot you needed to eat." "Understandable. Come on, I know a good place a few blocks from here." Duncan said, getting up and vanishing his sword inside his coat. At the caf, they got an outdoor table on the street and Duncan ordered coffee and crpes. "So, Nick, what about that vampire you mentioned last night?" "That's right, we haven't gotten around to him, have we? Well, he's going by the name Levino, last I checked. He's into careless and indiscriminate killing. Acts like he's never heard of the concept of secrecy. Medium height, dark hair and eyes, scar on his neck. Hostile attitude, no regard for others, possible borderline psychotic." Nick said, looking as though he were reviewing a mental file folder. "Nicholas, you've been hanging around with cops too long. You're starting to talk like one." Duncan observed with amusement. "Well, I am one." Nick answered. "Detective Sergeant Nicholas Knight, Toronto PD, homicide division. So there. What about this Immortal you said was near our vampire the other night?" "I don't know. I didn't see him. I could tell you what the loser of the duel looked like, though. I've always had a good memory for faces. Speaking of which, did I ever tell you I used to know an Immortal who looked just like you?" "Well, they say everyone has a double somewhere." Nick, not noticing that Duncan's face darkened a bit when he said that, unaware that all too recently a woman named Lisa n had said those same words to MacLeod. Shortly before trying to kill him. "No, I mean _exactly_ like you. Except that he wore glasses. His name was Michael Moore. Doctor." "Why are you referring to him in the past tense?" Nick asked warily. Duncan looked uncomfortable. "Oh. He, ah, went insane. I had to kill him." "Great stories you tell, MacLeod." observed Nick drily, wincing a bit at the image of a man with his face having his head cut off. "Maybe that wasn't the best choice of..." Duncan's voice trailed off and he suddenly looked toward the pedestrian traffic that even in the wee hours moved on the Parisian streets. "What is it, Mac?" Nick asked. "ThereUs another Immortal nearby." Duncan replied. Just then, a face came in sight that Duncan was sure belonged to the Immortal he sensed. A long nose, olive-colored skin, and slicked-back hair. A Mediterranean-looking man, who, tellingly, was wearing, even in summer, a long coat that hung somewhat oddly on him, to Duncan's experienced eye a sure sign that he was carrying a concealed sword. Duncan stood up from the table in one quick movement, and without catching the man's eye, started to follow him, leaving Nick at the caf with Duncan's rapidly cooling coffee. After a minute or two MacLeod returned. "Sorry, Nicholas." he said. "It's just that I was fairly sure I knew that fellow. He looked familiar. I couldn't catch up to him before he turned the corner, and after that I lost him. I had a hunch he might have been the one from the vacant lot the other night." "What makes you think so?" Nick asked. Duncan shrugged and sat down. "I don't know. Just a feeling, I guess. Makes me wonder where I knew him from." Nick pulled a pencil out of his pocket and dragged a napkin in front of him. "Then let's get a picture of him." "What?" "You describe him, I'll draw. I've been working with police artists long enough to at least fake it. If it is the guy from the other night, it might be important. Come on." Duncan shrugged again. "All right. What do you want to know about him?" "Start with the shape of his face." "Long, thin, but with a strong jawline." Duncan said, looking upwards, trying to picture the man's face. "Mm-hm." Nick said, scribbling on his napkin. "Hair?" "Dark, short, slicked straight back." Duncan said, looking at the image Nick was producing. "No, the hairline was further down. Yes, like that." Several minutes and two napkins later, they had a rough, angular sketch of a human face that Duncan agreed looked about right. "Oh, one other thing." he added. "I almost forgot, he had a long horizontal scar on his throat. Looked like someone just missed taking his head." "Scar, right." Nick said, adding a few jagged lines to indicate the scar. "Uh-oh." "What now?" Duncan asked, suddenly cautious. "It's just that this-" he said, turning the napkin to face Duncan, "...is the vampire that I'm here to deal with." "Are you certain?" Duncan said, grabbing the napkin and examining the sketch. "Fairly certain." Nick replied. "The description matches on all counts, and the scar is the kicker. It's not a common place for a scar." "More common than you'd think, among Immortals." Duncan muttered, rubbing his neck and staring at the drawing. "But not vampires." Nick said. "Are you certain that the man you saw was the Immortal you sensed? Maybe an Immortal was nearby, and you were following the wrong guy." "It's a possibility." Duncan admitted. "Wait. I've just figured out where I know this man from." he said, holding the napkin. "Where?" "You remember that ball in 1735? In Vienna? You mentioned it the other night." "Yeah, I remember it." "Well, that's where I met this man. He's definitely an Immortal. He was calling himself Gavanti at the time." Duncan said, looking upward as he remembered events two centuries past. "Another Immortal? How many of our type were _at_ that party?" Nick asked incredulously. "You, me, Conner, this guy, and that vampire you used to hang around with. Whatsisname. You remember, the ugly one? Scary eyes?" Duncan searched for the name. "LeCroix." Nick muttered darkly. "That's the one. Anyway, this Gavanti showed up, and Conner and me sensed him, but he seemed okay, and besides, we were having a good time, so we didn't make an issue of it." Nick suddenly frowned, and started stroking his chin with one hand, trying to remember something obscure. "LeCroix... said something that night." he said slowly. "Something... about a scar. He said... he said that he'd had to bite through one to feed that night. He said it impeded his strike, but the blood was worth it. Like champagne, was what he said." A look somewhere between fear and amazement was slowly crawling across the vampire's face. "Duncan," he said, "what would happen if an Immortal's blood were drained out of his body?" "He'd... appear to die." Duncan said, with dawning comprehension. "He'd be unconscious for several hours, maybe overnight, and be extremely thirsty when he woke up. He'd also lose a few pounds." "But he'd live." "And if his blood were drained by a vampire and he didn't die..." "He'd become one." Nick finished. "My God." Duncan whispered. "Is it possible?" Nick muttered. "Could that even happen?" "I can't think of anything preventing it." There was total silence at the small caf table for a few minutes. Then Duncan spoke. "So how are we going to kill him?" "Kill him?" Nick asked, jolted out of his thoughts. "You wanted him dead before, and as for me..." Duncan shrugged. "All of us have to die, before the end. Someone's going to kill him. If not me, someone else." "That's a rather cold attitude." Nick observed. "Sometimes you have to be cold." Duncan looked Nick in the eyes. "Nicholas, some things should not exist in this world." Nick nodded. "Duncan, dawn's approaching. Let's get some sleep, and see about him tonight." "Good idea. My car's back at your hotel." Duncan got up, leaving some money on the table for the food he'd barely touched. He and Nick began walking back through the dark streets. Nick seemed preoccupied for a moment, then nodded to himself and spoke aloud. "You're right, Duncan, some things really shouldn't be allowed to live." They were almost all the way back to the hotel before he turned to the highlander and said, "Duncan? Isn't that what people say about... us?" Duncan slept until noon, and spent all afternoon at his computer, so that when Nick knocked on his door shortly after sunset, Duncan had several documents ready to greet him with. "Good evening, Nick." Duncan said, opening the door for him. "Evening, Duncan." nodded the vampire. "So what's on tonight's agenda?" "Well," Duncan said with some pride in his voice, "I spent all day hacking away, and I've tracked this Levino fellow to earth. I have his address, phone number, police record, and credit rating." Nick looked at Duncan with surprise. "When did you take up hacking?" he asked. "About ten years ago." Duncan answered. "I figured that with computerized records, it would become a lot harder to keep my secret, so the logical thing to do was to learn to beat computers at their own game. Comes in handy a lot." "Wonders will never cease." Nick muttered, taking a seat on Duncan's sofa. "So now that we have the guy's phone number, what?" "We give him a call." Duncan said, picking up his cordless telephone. He dialed Levino's number, and after a couple of rings the other end was picked up. "Hello?" said a flat-toned voice on the other end of the line. "Hello, Levino. This is Duncan MacLeod." There was a pause. "MacLeod. I've heard of you." "There can be only one, Levino." "Name the time and place, highlander." "The lot where you fought two nights ago. Alone. One hour." "One hour. Put your affairs in order, highlander." "I don't think so." "You'd be amazed. Others have been." There was a click as Levino hung up. Nick was looking at Duncan expectantly. "So?" "So I'm going to fight him in one hour at the lot where I ran into you the other night." Duncan replied. "Not alone?" Nick asked. "Alone if possible. This is still an Immortal duel. If I need help, though, give it." "That wouldn't violate your laws?" "Not really. I'll be fighting an Immortal. You'll be fighting a vampire. They just happen to be the same person, is all." Duncan said with a shrug. Nick frowned as he examined that line of thinking. "Duncan," he said, "were you ever in the legal profession?" "Never." Duncan said. "Just as well. So let's go meet this fellow. It ought to be interesting to meet a totally unique entity shortly before his death, if nothing else." Nick said, getting up from the couch. "Hm. That's right. This is the last hour a vampiric Immortal will ever exist." Duncan said, getting his coat and sword. "We're going to make the breed extinct. What will Greenpeace think?" "You seem pretty sure we'll kill him." Nick observed as they went out the door. "Suppose we lose?" "Then we'll both be dead and won't have anything to worry about, so it's not worth planning for. 'Only victory is an option worth devoting thought to.'" Duncan quoted. Nick tried to place the unfamiliar quote. "Sun Tzu?" he guessed. "Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, I'm told." Duncan replied. "Of course, it only applies to life-or-death duels." "Who?" "An Immortal. Died before I was born. From everything I've heard, he was among the best." Duncan took a moment to think back on what Conner had told him of the eccentric Egyptian who'd taught Conner to be an Immortal, and his face darkened a fraction. Like Darius, Ramirez was gone. The two men took their time walking the mile or so to the vacant lot, taking detours and stopping to watch the Parisian night life, both of them in spite of themselves giving thought to the possibility that this was the last time they would ever do so. In particular, they walked the last few blocks to the lot slowly, through a dark and disreputable area of Paris, where almost no one dared the streets at night. Even so, they arrived early. The other party had arrived even earlier. The lot was perhaps twenty yards across, hard-packed earth scattered with weeds and debris. Buildings rose on three sides of it. A streetlamp illuminated one corner of it brightly, leaving the remainder a maze of shadows. Leaning casually against one wall was a man in a light-colored trenchcoat, smoking a cigarette and fingering the scar across his throat. "Good evening, Gavanti." said Duncan, stepping into the pool of light beneath the streetlamp. "Or whatever your name is this year." "No, it's really Levino, highlander. We all rotate back to our real names sooner or later, as you know." the Immortal's eyes went wide as he saw the second figure step into the light. "Knight! What are you doing here?" "We know what you are, Levino." Nick said quietly. "Bringing a witness, MacLeod?" hissed Levino, turning to MacLeod. "An ally." Duncan said simply. "You'd never dare to break the rules." "We're not." Nick interjected. "You're not a very good vampire, you know. Good vampires keep their secrets to themselves. It's either me or the Enforcers for you, Levino. Duncan and myself each have our separate reasons to kill you. We're just going to do it at the same time." Duncan let himself smile a little. "Forces are aligned against you, Levino." Levino snarled. "Let's do it, then. I'll take both of you together. My powers are beyond what either of you can imagine!" he reached into his coat and produced an Italian battle rapier with a swept hilt. "You first, MacLeod." "With pleasure." Duncan said, moving back his arms and shrugging his coat from his shoulders. It slipped smoothly to the ground, revealing MacLeod's lean build, and the katana in his hand. He stepped into the lot in a fighting stance and the duel began. The two combatants circled in toward each other slowly, cautiously, each waiting for the other's first move. Then, as they reached a point just outside each other's attack range, they stopped. There was a moment of breathless stillness. Then Levino moved, in a lightning attack that MacLeod barely parried. Duncan riposted, but Levino was quicker. A series of fast sword clashes followed, as MacLeod tried to pit his greater skill against the other's superhuman strength and speed. Watching, Nick found himself not breathing. Suddenly, Levino enveloped MacLeod's blade, pushing it aside, stepping in fast, and reaching out with his free hand. Before Duncan could stop him, he grabbed the highlander's shirt front and, with a fast sweep of his arm, hurled MacLeod bodily thirty feet away, where he crashed into the far wall of the lot. The collision knocked MacLeod's breath out and stunned him. Levino grinned, and started to move in for the kill. On the lot's edge, Nick saw a god-given opportunity. Levino's back was to him, and his attention elsewhere. Fast as a panther, Nick snatched from the ground a jagged piece of wood from an old packing crate. Making certain that one of its ends was at least vaguely pointed, he threw it javelin-style with vampiric strength. It arrowed across the lot and punched through Levino's body with a wet ripping sound. Levino's back arched from the impact, and he almost dropped his sword. He looked down at the jagged, bloody end of the makeshift stake that protruded from his chest. Slowly, he turned around to face Nick. "That." he said slowly. "_Really_ hurt, Knight. I'm going to make your death a lot slower for that." With the rough stake impaling his body, he began walking, with some obvious effort, towards Nicholas, causing the latter to do something that was, in the light of his years of experience with such stuff, rather shameful. Nick froze. He was used to certain laws in his life, among them that when you put a stake through a vampire's heart, he went down and stayed down. Part of his world was shattered in that moment. The undeniably grisly figure of Levino made its way inexorably toward Nick, who could not bring his mind to think of what to do. Behind him, though, moved another figure, also moving with effort, holding his side where two broken ribs were dragging themselves back into place. In his other hand was his katana. He walked with a grim determination that brought him directly behind Levino, who was too focused on advancing toward Nick to notice the small sounds from behind him. Duncan brought his blade up, and went into a kind of pirouette, spinning with his entire bodyweight. His sword flashed once, low, across the backs of Levino's legs. Levino fell to his knees, instantly hamstrung. Before he could turn to see what had hit him, Duncan completed his spin, and his sword flashed again. Levino's head bounced once on the hard ground. Duncan fell to his knees himself, pain distorting his features as his ribs tried to heal themselves. Then the energy began to pour forth from Levino's body. Every nerve ending in Duncan's body fired simultaneously. He jerked to his feet like a puppet on strings. Wind from nowhere blew across him, making his shirt flap. Another wave of energy passed through him. In the deepest reaches of his mind, he could feel Levino's life. Birth, death, Immortality, swords, enemies, and then one night at a ball in Vienna, when he'd met two Scotsmen, and one vampire. Again the Quickening flashed, as the recesses of Duncan's psyche learned about vampirism and the centuries that followed that strange night in 1735. Duncan's body contorted and, for a few brief seconds, his feet left the ground and he hovered three inches from the earth. A final brief flash showed him the duel he'd just fought, from the opposite perspective, and then it was over. He collapsed again, his muscles tingling and his mind reordering itself. Nick hurried over. "Duncan, are you all right?" he asked, crouching by the highlander and helping him to his feet. "Fine. I'm fine. There's no way you ever get used to that part. Four centuries, and it still catches me off-guard." he smiled a little. "Twice in one night Levino's done that to me." "Are you recovered from hitting the wall?" Nick asked. "I've had much worse. I just didn't expect that he could do... that." Duncan said, waving vaguely at the spot on the wall where Levino had thrown him. "He's a vampire, Duncan. I mean, he was." Nick looked at the body. "The way he kept going the the stake through him... My entire life I've never seen anything like that." He looked at the corpse again, lying headless on its side, the stake still through its chest, and shuddered. Duncan saw the shudder and was slightly confused. It was, after all, only a body. An uglier death than most, perhaps, but he and Nick had both seen worse. Then he understood. "It still gets to you." he said quietly. "After eight hundred years, you're still basically an innocent." "Yeah, I suppose you're right." Nick said, turning away from the corpse. "So what does that make you?" Duncan picked his coat back up and stowed his sword inside it. "I'm what I have to be, Nicholas. I'm a warrior." Nick looked at him almost appraisingly. "Yes, I guess you are. Blood isnUt the exclusive right of vampires, after all." The two immortal men walked off together, vanishing into the fog. =========================================================================