Date: Sun, 9 Oct 1994 17:10:00 +0100 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: MB Overton Subject: "End of the Road" Part 3 The story continues...hope it's being enjoyed. HIGHLANDER "End of the Road" Part 3 When Richie awoke it was to the sounds of blades clashing. Alert to the possibility of immortals fighting, perhaps a threat to Duncan's life, he started to spring out of bed. Then he remembered Flint's surreal arrival last night and relaxed. He picked up his clothes, dressed, and left the bedroom. Sure enough, Flint and Duncan were practicing with each other in the main part of the shop, the display cases of antiques moved to one side. Richie leaned on the balcony and watched and enjoyed, weighing up Flint and Duncan's fighting styles with an eye that had grown expert over his past year with the latter. They fought very differently. Of the two, Duncan was paying far more attention, at least overtly, every movement short and to the point, the katana whipping back and forth to counter Flint's occasional attack and then make his own. There, Richie realised suddenly, was an oddity; Duncan made far more attacks than did Flint. The older immortal tended to drift, hovering at the edge of the fight and defending himself as necessary until his opponent made a mistake and left a gap open. They were fairly evenly matched on those stakes, but the physical difference in apparent age gave Duncan superior strength and Flint more speed, while Flint's doublesword more than made up for it in the sheer adaptibility of the weapon. Even then they would have been evenly matched, but for the experience Flint had gathered over a lifetime ten times longer than Duncan's. "Getting tired, old man?" Duncan asked as Flint stepped back a couple of paces. "That'll be the day, youngster," Flint answered with equal sarcasm, stepping forward and flicking his wrist so the lower blade whipped out towards Duncan, who parried instinctively. In knocking the lower blade backwards, the inertia was imparted to bringing the upper blade round and down, hovering inches from Duncan's neck. Both immortals stopped moving and Flint smiled a little superiorly at Duncan. "Nice fight, guys," Richie said. Duncan turned; Flint only had to look upwards. "Morning, Richie," they both said simultaneously. "So are we doing anything today or are we just practising at being Errol Flynn?" Richie inquired, descending the staircase and noticing a plate of toast that somebody had put there. He grabbed a piece and began to munch on it as Flint and Duncan folded or tucked away their swords. "I think that depends on our guest," Duncan said, taking a piece of toast for himself. "Depends on me?" Flint wore a look of wide-eyed innocence. "What do you mean, depends on me?" "Let's stop playing games, Flint," Duncan sighed. "You always come to meet one of us for a reason. What is it?" Flint regarded Duncan and Richie appraisingly. "No. Not yet. I'm not ready to tell you just yet. It's not the right time. I'll tell you when the right time is." For a moment, Richie caught a flash of weariness in the immortal's expression that once again clashed violently with his appearance. Just as quickly it was gone and Flint smiled brightly at them once more. "I do want to do a couple of things, though. First, and most important, being a proper breakfast." He started towards the kitchen, but Duncan stepped forward. "Flint." The other turned. "Yes?" Duncan's expression carried a grim warning. "I've been involved with your plans before. If either Tessa or Richie get hurt I'll manage to kill you somehow." Flint started to answer, paused, and looked sad suddenly. "Such suspicion, Macleod. Such suspicion." He turned and went into the kitchen. Duncan and Richie were left alone in the shop and the latter seized the opportunity. "Mac, can I ask a question?" "Sure." "How long have you known this Flint guy?" Duncan shrugged, still looking in the direction of the kitchen. "About three hundred years, on and off. We've met about six times before." "And he's trustworthy?" Macleod grinned. "No. Why?" Richie didn't return the grin. "Well, look. I was here in the shop and I never heard him come in. Then those three guys jumped me and started threatening to cut my throat if I didn't tell them where the safe was. The point is, Mac, they got in real easy." Duncan nodded, seeing Richie's point. "You think Flint helped them?" Richie shrugged. "He never stepped in to help me, you know. Not til you and Tess came back from the movie." Duncan took another piece of toast. "He'd have helped if you were in that much danger. I think." "That's what I mean. You can't trust the guy." Richie glanced warily in the direction of the kitchen and lowered his voice. "I mean, he's six thousand years old, you know? You can get people go mad in a year. He's had six thousand chances." Duncan laughed. "He's no more mad than I am, Richie. Strange, yes, but not mad. You just have to try and get used to him and the way he works. He's not like us ordinary guys." Richie snorted. "If we're ordinary...jeez, we're in trouble." "I heard that," a voice said from the direction of the kitchen. Flint had a bowl of cornflakes in his hand and was looking at them with an amused expression. "Don't worry, Richie. I'm not going to take a sword to you in the middle of the night...though I could," he added with a slightly shark-like smile. "You just try it," Duncan warned. "A Scotsman's home is his castle, right?" Flint needled. "You ought to trust me a little more, Duncan. I'm not strange, and I'm not mad. Like everybody else, I work on my own moral code. I work from the beliefs I was taught when I was five years old by my parents all those years ago. Can I help it if people have lost those beliefs?" "Even immortals can change," Duncan said quietly. "We all have the courage within us to keep pace with the centuries." "Millenia," Flint corrected. "And stop preaching, Duncan. You did that when we first met..." ... "You be careful," Jane admonished Duncan, fingering the front of his suit absently and trying not to look in the direction of a little wood in the mansion's grounds, where a silent figure waited. "I don't want you to end up like those others you defeated." "I won't, dinna worry," Duncan grinned. He gave her a reassuring kiss, then leapt over the balcony and dropped the six feet to the grassy lawn, straightening up and walking across to where Flint leaned against a tree, holding what looked like a long rectangle with a pointed end. "Ready?" Flint asked. "Ye're going to fight me with that?" Duncan said incredulously. Flint glanced down. "Oh, sorry. Forgot to fold it out." He split the length of the rectangle up and down until they formed a boomerang-like arrangement, the upper blade serrated and the lower one straight. Duncan gazed at the strange design of sword in interest, making a mental note to give it a closer examination when he'd defeated Flint. "You can back out if you like," Flint offered. "Ye must be mad," Duncan snorted, and he brought his katana up in front of him, holding it ready in the two-handed grip. Flint held the doublesword by the handle in the middle and watched him carefully, but not with any particular alarm. The thought that he wasn't really regarded as a serious threat angered Duncan, and he lunged forward with the katana, met with a resounding clash from the lower blade of the doublesword. Duncan barely ducked in time as the upper one swept past his eyes, the movement of the lower blade nearly tearing the katana out of his hands. With considerably more respect, he circled Flint and looked for an opening in his defences. The doublesword was a better weapon than it looked. "Give up yet?" Flint asked. "Never!" Duncan feinted forwards and Flint instinctively flipped the lower blade to defend, allowing Duncan to strike forwards..except that by simply moving his hand outwards Flint brought the upper blade to parry, knocking the katana away. "Ye can give up if ye want," Duncan grunted, impressed by Flint's speed of movement. "And lose Elise?" Flint grinned. "No thank you." Duncan grimaced. "Why d'ye hafta hae her, anywha'? There's a lot of people in yon world, ye dinna need her." "True," Flint allowed. "It's all egotism. Good old-fashioned egotism, that's all. I don't like losing things..or people, for that matter." He flashed forward suddenly with blinding speed, the blades of the doublesword whipping backwards and forwards in a mixture of feints and attacks that Duncan was hard-pressed to defend himself against. Just as suddenly the attack stopped and Flint stepped back with a grin, knowing that he had the advantage. The smile infuriated Duncan. He lunged forwards and now it was Flint's turn to be hard-pressed to defend, the advantage of the doublesword countered by Duncan's total concentration and unification of purpose with the katana, wielding it as if it were an extension of his own body. Sparks flew as the three blades clashed, lighting up the combatants with unearthly glows, Flint's vulpine features with that demonic grin against Duncan's short-haired open face. When the victory came, it came suddenly. Mistaking a feint for an attack, an error exploited by the opponent, weapon flying away into the undergrowth and the loser on his back on the ground. Flint stood above Duncan, the lower blade of the doublesword pinpricking the latter's neck, a cold smile on the former's face. "Game over," Flint said softly. "Finish it," Duncan said through gritted teeth. "I dinna fear death." "You should. You'll never stay alive otherwise." Flint hesitated and looked up at the lone female figure standing on the balcony, her hand over her mouth in fright, staring at her champion defeated. "I might look after her for you, you know. Make sure she comes to no harm." "Finish it!" Duncan snapped. "Dinna play games!" "But that's what we always do, isn't it?" Flint said. He suddenly lifted the doublesword away and stepped back from Duncan. "Besides, I have a romantic soul. I've never yet killed an immortal who's got an attachment to someone else, especially if the someone's mortal. They have such short lives as it is. Doesn't seem fair to make those lives unpleasant." He looked down at Duncan, who hadn't risen. "I suppose you won't let me take Elise now because I've beaten you?" "Ye'll have to kill me," Duncan said stoically. "I thought it'd be something like that." Flint sighed. "A pity, she's a nice strong girl. Good body. Get up, Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod..there'll be no killing today." Macleod rose, slowly and warily. "Ye give your word? Ye won't try to take Elise while Talbot's alive?" Flint smiled. "By the time Talbot's dead, assuming Napoleon has nothing to do with it, Elise will be too old for me. Don't worry about it, Macleod, I promise. No Elise. Mind you, if Jane's free at any time.." Duncan glared. "Ye just try it." Flint grinned. "No sense of humour, you Scots. None." ... There is a little place just outside the city of Seattle, very difficult to find unless you know it, which is not much bigger than three miles square but nonetheless is wrapped in solitude and quiet - a forest, with only three trails through it. One of these trails leads up a hill to a position overlooking the entire city, and it was on this hill that Duncan, Richie, Tessa, and Flint were standing. "I would have liked to have been there," Flint said sadly. "Darius was something of a younger brother to me, once. I always used to beat him at chess until he became a warrior. Then he got better and kept beating me, all the time." "I remember him as a man of peace," Duncan said. "I remember when he became a man of peace," Flint retorted. He sighed deeply and looked out over the city. "I visited him then and asked what he thought he was doing. He could have been a great power, that man. Europe was a mass of warring tribes to which Darius could have brought order, peace, stability for development." "What did he say?" Tessa asked. Flint shrugged wistfully. "He said that prisons can be padded with every luxury but they remain prisons. I think he was talking about the role of a warrior-leader. He didn't want to be trapped in the role of king, having more people hate him than he made happy." "Darius did the right thing." "Perhaps. I don't know. Maybe I should." Flint screwed up his face in a frown for a moment. "I can think of three other immortals in the world today who are over two thousand years. That makes four of us. Just four people. And sooner or later we're going to go the same way as Darius as well. Even me." "You?" Duncan said incredulously. "Do you know what I thought the when I met you? It came to me then that this whole Game was a setup from the beginning." Flint looked at him quizzically. "I beg your pardon?" Duncan shrugged. "Well..it seemed to me unfair that one of the very first immortals was going to win the Prize. You were - are - better than anyone else I know, even me. What was the point of having all the immortals in between?" Flint laughed. It was a pleasant, melodious sound completely at odds with his normal teenager's voice and it gave Tessa a little shock. It was the laugh of someone her and Duncan's age, or perhaps older. The laugh of someone who'd seen other times. "Nice try, Macleod, but..." Flint's voice trailed off and he returned to staring at Seattle again. "I've known for some time that I'm not going to win the Prize. There can be only one, but it won't be me." "That sounds suicidal," Tessa said slowly, staring. Flint took a deep breath. "Exactly. I think now's the right time to tell you, Duncan. That's the reason I came. I want you to take my head and my Quickening." ...end of part three... =========================================================================