Date: Sun, 12 Mar 1995 18:15:19 -0500 Reply-To: Amparo Agnes Bertram Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Amparo Agnes Bertram Subject: Masters and Princes (01/10) MASTERS AND PRINCES (Part 1 of 10) by Amparo Bertram Swords clashed in Duncan's dreams. Screams and shouts echoed through the swirling mist of his own private nightmare world. Sparks of light burst around him, blinding in their intensity. He groped for a weapon, but his hand touched only the clinging fog and came up empty. He stumbled to his knees on the rocky ground and a figure rose up in front of him, a cowled skull in place of a head, the specter of death. It spread its muscular arms wide, one hand clutching a horned staff. Lightning crackled from its clawed fingertips as tendrils of the mist writhed about it in agony. It looked directly at him...and laughed... Duncan sat up abruptly, gasping. His blankets twisted about him from his struggles and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He shoved his way out of bed and padded to the sink in the darkness. A few splashes of cool water on his face woke him completely from the nightmare, but it couldn't banish the alien voices. They whispered to him from hidden corners, causing his skin to tingle with electricity, like the first hint of a Quickening. He clutched at the sink to keep his balance. The intensity of the voices fluctuated, reminding him of a weak radio signal, but they refused to leave him alone. Could this be another psychic attack? That cowled figure... He shuddered, recalling the series of nightmares and hallucinations visited upon him several months earlier. He didn't know who might be responsible this time, however, and that explanation didn't account for the hair-raising charge accumulating around him. Much better to be safe than sorry, he decided. Unprecedented types of attack could be just as fatal as the traditional. The room swam in and out of focus in a shining red haze as he staggered to his sword, snatching it up and brandishing it at an unseen foe. A moment of complete disorientation ruined his already shaky equilibrium and he fell to the ground, barely catching himself in time to prevent his head from knocking against the dark rocks. Rocks? He shook himself, the dizziness fading but the confusion remaining. Where had rocks come from? Why did the shouts ring in his ears, as though he were in the middle of a battlefield? Could he still be asleep, dreaming that he had awakened? The mist turned out to consist of dust rather than water vapor. It caught in his throat, making him cough and drawing tears from his eyes. He could spot dark figures scurrying about as beams of light lanced through the murk, but details were impossible to make out. An occasional tremor shook the earth beneath him, accompanied by the roar of an explosion. He wiped at his eyes, leaving smears in the dust that stuck to his damp skin. A shadow hulked in front of him, a more intense darkness at least the size of a mansion. Smaller shadows darted through the air above him. Birds? Too large. Helicopters? Before he could speculate further, a searing light ray gouged a crater next to him, spewing stones in his direction. A large piece of shrapnel knocked his sword from his hand and sent it skidding away. An engine whined by overhead, the dust it stirred up sending him into another coughing fit. He rolled out of its path, in an effort to avoid another blast, and felt the ground vanish beneath him. End Part 1 <*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*> Please direct all comments, flames, or requests for missing parts to me at: weyrbrat@umich.edu =========================================================================