Date: Wed, 13 Sep 1995 13:05:48 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: The Dark Side, Part 2 of The Dark Side of the Mirror, Part 2 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Amanda mounted the steps from the quai and turned westward. After a few steps she paused, glancing about thoughtfully. She couldn't feel Duncan's presence from here, which meant that he couldn't sense her either. She found a shadowed spot on the parapet overlooking the quai and settled down to wait. She grew bored in fairly short order. It was too dark to read by the streelights. A few low-lifes came to sit beside her and try to strike up conversation, but she sent each one away with a scornful gaze and a few acid words. It was pleasant to find an outlet for her annoyance, but she wasn't about to forget that Duncan was the true cause of her anger. She watched the barge intently for any movement or change. Amanda sat bolt upright as a whisper brushed across her senses. It grew to a whining crescendo, and she swallowed hard. Her eyes darted both ways along the quai, the street, the river, and saw no one. The other Immortal had paused just near enough that his presence was unmistakable, but not within sight. The aura was heavy with power and menace. She had sensed it earlier this evening, and been alarmed then. Feeling it a second time, she wondered if someone was stalking her. Her -- or Duncan? She had no desire to meet this unknown Immortal unless she was in a position of strength. For a moment she considered slipping back down to the quai and the safety of the barge, but she was still too annoyed at Duncan to accept his protection. She would do better to head for one of the nearby churches that crowded the streets of Paris. In doing so, she would also lead the stranger away from Duncan, and have the satisfaction of offering Macleod _her_ protection. Amanda got to her feet and walked slowly down the street away from the direction she thought the buzz was coming from. The stranger's presence faded to a gentle hum, then strengthened again. She was being followed. She picked up her pace gradually, like someone trying not to panic. She turned her head repeatedly, crossed the street during a meager gap in the traffic, tried to project nervousness. It was working; the stranger was getting closer. Now she had to decide where to go. St. Sulpice was not the closest holy ground, but it lay in the winding streets of the Quartier Latin, which might give her an opportunity to turn the hunt around and catch a glimpse of her pursuer. She hurried across the Boulevard St. Germain. The other Immortal was gaining on her, the buzz growing louder by the second. She had been successful at being chased, now she had to avoid getting caught. With a predatory grin, Amanda began to run. She doubled back through the cramped streets, trying to remember which ones were short cuts and which were dead ends. The stranger's buzz faded, grew stronger, faded again . . . and died. Amanda stopped, panting. It seemed that she had confused her pursuer. She began to work her way back eastward through the cobbled streets, hoping to turn the tables on the stranger. The buzz came again like the clash of cymbals, roaring in her ears. With an involuntary gasp Amanda broke into a run again, throwing herself around the next corner at top speed -- -- and ran directly into the other Immortal. They both fell to the street. Amanda rolled and leaped to her feet at once, but the strange man had grabbed her arm. He was reaching into his coat. Amanda brought her hand down in a sharp chop to his wrist. He pulled his hand out of the way, weaponless, and caught her strike on his palm. Now gripping her by one arm and the opposite hand, the Immortal chuckled and pulled her hard against him. "Well, if it isn't Amanda," said an accented voice. "What a pleasant surprise." "Connor?" said Amanda uncertainly. "That's right. Now, how long has it been? A few centuries, at least. The last time I saw you, you were at the back of the crowd that came to witness my hanging. I wasn't sure I would wake up with my head attached." "I swear, I didn't tell the gendarmes!" she gasped. "I wasn't the one who informed on you!" "No, but you were the one who robbed the Baron, and got away with all the goods, and never shared a sou with me." "You know I didn't mean for you to be caught! What was I supposed to do, give myself up?" Connor shook his head, chuckling. "You haven't changed at all," he said, releasing her. Amanda pulled away and tugged her swordhilt free of her coat. Connor held up his hand. "I'm not here to fight you. That grudge is a little stale, after two hundred and forty years. What are you doing in Paris?" Amanda straightened her coat uncertainly, settling the sword back in place. "Oh, uh, business," she said lightly. "Robbing the national treasures, eh?" Connor glanced around. "Have you met up with Duncan? I heard he was having some trouble with Kalas." "Yeah, but that's all over now." Connor rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me _that_ was the power surge that blacked out half of Paris." "All right, I won't tell you. Did you come here because of Kalas?" "No." "To visit Duncan, then?" "Not exactly. I've been thinking about it, though. He has a barge on the Seine, right?" "Yes, on Quai de la Tournelle near the Ile de la Cite." Amanda frowned. "But if you knew he was there, why were you following me?" "Following you?" "From the quai. That was you, wasn't it?" "I haven't been near Quai de la Tournelle all night." "Oh, no." Amanda's hand went to her mouth. "So that really was someone else?" "What's wrong?" "There was another Immortal around. I thought he was after Duncan, or maybe me. Duncan was expecting him, I think. I tried to lead him away from the barge. I'd just lost him when I ran into you." "Oh. So?" "Connor, what if he went back to the barge? What if he went back for Duncan?" Amanda turned downhill toward the river, walking quickly. Connor followed. "What if he did? Why are you worried about Duncan? He can take care of himself." "I know, but -- he's been strange, lately." Connor stopped in his tracks. "Strange how?" he said in a tight voice. "Just . . . distracted, short-tempered -- you know. Come on!" They started walking again. "How long has he been like this?" "A few days. Ever since he fought Kalas." Connor grabbed Amanda's arm and pulled her to face him. "Amanda, are you sure it was a stranger you sensed on the quai?" "Well, I didn't actually see him, but -- yes, I'm certain it was a stranger." "It couldn't have been Duncan?" "I was watching the barge the whole time! He never came out. And I couldn't have sensed him from inside, I was out of range." "Hmmm." "Can we go now?" Amanda tugged her arm free and started down the steps to the quai. She caught her breath with relief when she saw the barge. The lights were on, and everything seemed peaceful. "I think it was someone older, anyway." "How could you tell?" "Just -- the power of his Quickening. It felt like he was older than I am. Certainly older than Duncan." "I see." Amanda paused at the foot of the ramp. "He's not here. Where did he go?" She ran onto the deck of the barge. "Duncan?" Connor glanced around curiously. "Does he usually leave the lights on when he goes out?" "No." Amanda opened the door. "He usually locks the door, too." She clattered down the steps to the interior of the barge. Duncan was nowhere to be found. "So," Connor remarked, swirling the Scotch in his glass, "the disk was destroyed by Kalas' Quickening?" "That's right," said Amanda, tossing the blackened piece of scrap metal onto the table. "It blew out his computer, too." "Along with half the appliances in the city," Connor commented sardonically. "Well, yes, but great deeds have their price." "Hmm. And ever since then, Duncan hasn't been himself?" "I wouldn't put it that way. He's just depressed. You know how he gets after a fight." "I know." "And he's lost a lot of friends in the past few years." "We all have," Connor pointed out. "Duncan was pretty upset about Fitz." Connor raised his head. "Fitzcairn?" "Yes. Kalas killed him. You hadn't heard?" "No. When was this?" "Just over a month ago. Duncan was there, but he couldn't prevent it." Connor punched his thigh, his mouth twisting. "Were you very close to him?" "No, I'm just tired of hearing bad news." Connor reflected. "He and Duncan were good friends, though. In fact, the first time I got involved with Fitzcairn, it was because of Duncan . . . " ============================== Connor walked wearily into the courtyard of the posting-house, one hand on the bridle of his limping mare. An ostler peered out the door of the stables, noted the quality of Connor's clothes underneath the dust, and bustled over to take the horse from him. "Is there a blacksmith in the area?" "Yes, sir, that there is. I can have the boy take your mare to him, if you'd like." "You do that, then," Connor said, handing the ostler enough money to pay the blacksmith and a generous tip besides. Then he headed for the inn, thirstily envisioning a frothing pint of ale. He stopped with his foot on the doorstep as a familiar tingle jarred his senses. There was another Immortal here. Unless he wanted to steal a horse, Connor was stuck here until his mare had been re-shod. With a muttered curse, he circled around to a quiet area behind the stables, as if he were answering a call of nature. He loosened his sword in its sheath. In a few minutes another man stepped around the corner of the stable and gave him a stiff nod. Connor sized up his opponent: a dandyish fellow, and rather short, but seeming fairly sure of himself without being brash. Taking a puff from his pipe, the shorter man pulled his sword out and saluted Connor. "Hugh Fitzcairn," he said crisply. Connor returned the gesture. "I'm Connor Macleod of the clan Macleod." Fitzcairn's brows rose and he circled around slowly. "Indeed? Would you be any connection of one Duncan Macleod?" "We're clansmen," said Connor. "You know Duncan?" "I've met him." "As a friend, or an enemy?" "I might ask the same of you, good sir," Hugh responded with dignity. "I'm an old friend of Duncan's," said Connor. "In fact, I taught him everything he knows." "Everything?" Hugh was impressed. "Did you teach him this?" He feinted quickly and then lunged at Connor. Connor ignored the feint, parried, and thrust home in Fitzcairn's breast. "I see you did," gasped Hugh, sinking to one knee. His pipe fell to the ground. Connor held his sword at the wounded man's throat. "Now," he said firmly, "are you friend or enemy to Duncan?" "Oh, friend, most definitely," Hugh wheezed. "You expect me to believe that?" "Perhaps not," Hugh admitted. "But if you take my head, you'll never see your clansman again." "Is that a threat?" Connor growled. Fitzcairn sank oblivious to the ground. Connor bought himself two pints of the inn's best ale and downed them both before returning to the back of the stables to await Fitzcairn's revival. Soon enough, the other Immortal opened his eyes and turned his head with a start. "I hardly dared to hope that you would believe me," Hugh mumbled. "I didn't," said Connor, "but I thought I should make sure before taking your head. What do you know about Duncan?" "He's in great danger." "Where?" "France." Connor frowned. "That's nonsense. He's in the Orient." "He just returned last year. Now he's gone to France to try to free an aristocrat from the mobs, but I think he may have been taken prisoner himself." "Duncan wouldn't be such a fool. They're cutting off heads over there!" "Precisely what I told him," said Hugh, sitting up and patting at his disordered curls. "But you see, there's this Comtesse --" "A woman," Connor muttered. "I should have known." "Her husband was killed, she barely escaped with her life, and she's most distraught over the probable fate of her father, the Duc de Givagny, and her brother, the Vicomte de Tourennes. She begged Duncan to help them. So . . . he did." Hugh retrieved his pipe, dusted it off, and began to knock out the old ashes. "Why didn't you go with him?" Hugh cleared his throat. "Well, someone had to stay and comfort the poor woman . . ." "How do I know you're telling the truth?" "Speak to the Comtesse de Roulembert, if you like! She'll say just as I did. But first you must let me change these clothes. It simply wouldn't do to appear in a lady's presence like this." He gestured at his bloodied shirtfront. "You might consider a bath and a shave yourself, my dear fellow." Connor just glared. "What makes you think Duncan has been taken prisoner?" Hugh shrugged. "I don't _know_, of course, but if all had gone well he should have been back here three days ago. If he had minor trouble, he should have returned no later than yesterday. I believe he must have been detained." Connor paced the length of the stables once, twice. "We're going to France," he snapped at last. "We?" "You and I. You can show me where Duncan was going." "My dear fellow, be sensible! As you yourself pointed out, they're chopping off heads over there!" "And your head will be one of them if I think you're lying to me about Duncan. Go get your things. We can be in Portsmouth by tonight." "I beg you to reconsider. You distrust me, that's plain to see. Why would you wish to keep me with you, when a word from me could have you denounced as spy or an aristo?" "Because you know where Duncan is. And I can denounce you just as easily, if you give me trouble." Connor stalked off to see if his mare was ready yet. Hugh Fitzcairn rolled his eyes. "I can see that this will be a very trying journey." ========================== "So you went to look for him," Amanda concluded. "Did you find him?" "Eventually." Connor's mouth quirked. "It wasn't easy." "Nothing's ever easy, with Duncan." Amanda stood up and began to pace the floor, looking out the small windows of the barge. "Do you think we should go look for him now?" "Give him a little time. Maybe he just wants to be alone and think." =========================================================================