From Flash Fiction Site…Microcosms

Circle of Murder
Jeff Messick
Corpse, Tea Party, Crime
230 words

The detective walked into the room.

The guests sat in their chairs, nervously eyeing the detective as he scribbled on his notepad. One guest didn’t move, having been dead for almost an hour. Cups of tea, now long cold, sat before them, still untouched.

Finally, he leveled a finger at one of the women, the Hollywood Starlet and grinned. “It was you, in the Kitchen, with the Candlestick!”
The starlet sighed, then looked at the ground, defeated.

The lights went out, then on again, moments later. The guests were all arrayed around the room again, suspiciously eyeing each other over their cups of tea. The tea was hot, and freshly brewed.

The detective walked into the room…

The guests sat in their chairs, nervously eyeing the detective as he scribbled on his notepad. One guest didn’t move, having been dead for almost an hour. Cups of tea, now long cold, sat before them, still untouched.

Finally, he leveled a finger at one of themen, the retired Colonel and grinned. “It was you, in the Billiard Room, with the Pistol!”

The Colonel sighed, then looked at the ground, defeated.

The lights went out, then on again, moments later. The guests were all arrayed around the room again, suspiciously eyeing each other over their cups of tea. The tea was hot, and freshly brewed.

The Professor whispered, “Dear God, not again…”

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 21)

I’m posting the final chapter of a novel I wrote in homage to Highlander: The Series.
I will add this disclaimer.
I do not own the characters for this novel. I am not receiving monetary reimbursement of any type for this piece of fiction.
Oh, most importantly…enjoy.
Feel free to leave a comment on what you thought of the story.

Highlander: The King and I Chapter 21

Duncan struggled to his feet with Methos and Merlin’s help. After a few deep breaths to get his bearings he turned to find Joe offering him his katana. Duncan looked at Excalibur and to his katana and then back to the mystic weapon. MacLeod then bowed to Joe and took his sword back.

Duncan left the group, walking slowly back to the Pilot Stone. He reverently ran his hand across the words in the stone.

“My sword is returned to me. England is safe. Until Arthur is needed again shall Excalibur wait.”

Without hesitation, Duncan swept Excalibur up and plunged it into the stone, exactly where he had drawn it from. When he removed his hand, he felt saddened and less whole. Still, he smiled and sighed, he would definitely miss that sword.

MacLeod walked back to the others and found them examining the crystals. All of them were now burnt and pitted, obviously ruined. One piece remained whole and Duncan was proud to notice it was the one that belonged to Amanda. He reached out and took it. Merlin nodded and turned. He threw the remaining pieces into the night.

“It is time for me to leave then.”

Duncan asked, “What will you do?”

“I will wait and protect England when she needs it. I will return to being a legend, or myth depending on who you ask.”

Methos grinned. “Don’t wait so long to pop up next time.”

“No. I have been absent from friends for too long. Perhaps England can do without me for a few weekends here and there.”

The magician turned to Duncan. “Your honor sir is a formidable force. When the time comes that only one of us can remain, this world would do well for it to be you. I myself, am honored to call you friend.”

“As am I Merlin. I have become part of a legend because of a living myth. I have learned of magic in our lives that I never thought existed. I am proud to have been your student.”

Merlin clapped him on the shoulder. “Farewell Highlander! I look forward to visiting with you in the future. Keep a close eye on that mortal too, he is destined for greatness in his own right.”

“Joe? He’s the best friend an Immortal could have. Anymore greatness and he’ll be a bigger pain than not.”

Methos snorted. “Looks who’s talking.”

With a laugh and a wave of his hand, Merlin walked away. He shook Joe’s hand and walked into the morning sunrise. With another wave of his hand, the darkness crept back in. It was, after all, night in England.

Duncan noticed the fog too, where had that come from? The Pilot Stone was a dark shadow. Duncan moved towards it and could not see Excalibur at all, or the writing that had been so prominently displayed.

“Was it all a dream?”

Methos laughed. “Of course not. He just loves his little tricks, that’s all. If you should truly need Excalibur, you shall find it. Call it a trust for us kingly types.”

Duncan returned the smile. “At least those kingly types that can draw it.”

“Ouch MacLeod. That hurts.”

Joe patted Duncan on the shoulder when the Immortal returned. “Way to go Mac. I never had a doubt.”

“Never?”

Joe laughed. “Nope, never just one doubt. It was more like a whole host of them.”

“Thanks for my sword Joe.”

“Not a problem. He didn’t deserve to touch it anyway, that was blasphemy.”

Methos shrugged and sighed. “Well then, I’ve got to head out. Got plenty of things to do.”

“Wait a minute Methos. You, Merlin, Mordred, Morgan, and Nimue. That’s a lot of immortality in one place.”

Methos raised an eyebrow. “Well it was really up north with Merlin.”

“How many Immortals did you run into in Camelot?”

Methos almost giggled as he turned and began to walk into the fog. “Remind me to tell you about Guinevere sometime.”

Methos’ laughter echoed out of the fog and he vanished from sight.

Duncan shouted after him. “Methos!”

* * *

Merlin looked into the lake and sighed. He was so tired and yet so excited. What MacLeod had told him before they had reached Stonehenge was a godsend. The Highlander was a student of science and yet he had taught magic to Merlin. It worked for MacLeod’s cousin. It may have been only a dream, but to have a dream as real as that would be worth a thousand lifetimes to him.

“I must believe in myself. I must believe in her. I must believe in my need of her.”

Merlin sank to his knees before the lush vegetation on the shore of the lake. He repeated the mantra to himself and willed himself to truly, for the first time in his whole existence, believe in the magic of love.

He could never guess how long he knelt there, or how often he had the stray thought of quitting this insane idea. But then he was gripped by his longing for his love, his self, his soul.

Merlin renewed his effort. He chanted and believed every word and thought. Then he prayed to all the old Gods of heaven and earth.

Finally, he whispered. “Please Nimue, I need you.”

The silence was shattered by a great splash of water beyond the reeds. With new tears streaming down his face, Merlin splashed into the shallows and swept aside the reeds, uncaring of the cuts and lacerations to his hands.

She was there! Nimue was there!

She managed to get to her feet in the water and looked at him. “My love. My dear sweet Merlin, I have come back to you. I told you that you would find a way. Our love could never be separated forever.”

Merlin gathered her up in his arms and wept. “My dearest Nimue. We shall never again be apart. I love you.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “And I, you.”

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Coming soon!

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 20)

For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting chapters of a novel I wrote in homage to Highlander: The Series.
I will add this disclaimer every week as well…
I do not own the characters for this novel. I am not receiving monetary reimbursement of any type for this piece of fiction.
Oh, most importantly…enjoy.

Highlander: The King and I
Chapter Twenty

The early evening sun painted a fiery red and orange tapestry across the western sky. The rain had cleared out and the chilly clear air was as stark as a polished mirror before it’s shattered into a million pieces. Shafts of sunlight, low to the ground, lit the Megalithic structure, almost igniting it in stunning clarity. High above Stonehenge, the first stars began to appear, twinkling like hard diamonds on a deep blue cloth.

Duncan MacLeod missed it all. He stalked towards the Pilot Stone, willing the sword to appear to him. Anger pounded inside him like the Bering Sea on the shores of the Aleutian Islands before a rampaging storm. He had been a complete idiot. He had actually allowed himself to be dishonorable by trying to be too honorable. It would be enough to set Plato’s head spinning.

Inwardly, he was seething at himself; boiling over in his own thoughts at his own stupidity. Outwardly though, he was cold and hard, like the stars hanging in the clear air so far above.

Merlin stepped next to him, followed by Methos and lagged behind by Joe. “So the plan as I see it is to collect the sword and then find the most advantageous place for you to meet Mordred.”

Duncan did not pause. “Sounds good to me. He’s long overdue my attention and I want my sword back.”

The three Immortals gathered at the stone. Excalibur was there again, gleaming in the failing light. Duncan felt drawn to it again, felt its need to be released from the prison of cold stone that held it.

“My God.”

They turned to find Joe reverently looking at the weapon jutting from the stone. The man’s eyes were wide with obvious astonishment. Methos stepped aside, allowing Joe to move up to the stone.

“It’s beautiful.”

Merlin examined Joe for a bit. “I feel I have underestimated you. I have not released the enchantment that hides it from most everyone. Yet, you can still see it.”

Joe reached and reverently touched the hilt. “Yeah, well don’t sell us mortals short. We were here before you and will likely be here after.”

Methos furrowed his brow. “What about that last of us ruling the mortals?”

Joe chuckled and turned away from the stone and headed towards the car again. “You can rule a people for so long before they overthrow you. As long as Watcher’s records exist, you really don’t have immortality.”

Merlin nodded and turned back to MacLeod. “Your friend is a wise man.”

Duncan did not respond. His gaze was locked on the sword. He felt the need to be connected to it. He wanted it.

Methos said, “Take it MacLeod.”

Richie had been right. Duncan knew his honor was intact. He was again the Immortal he had always been. He was a warrior, a protector and a teacher. He was of sound mind and body again. More importantly, he was of sound soul and drive. He almost pitied Mordred. There was still enormous anger in him, but it was controlled, filling the tiny portion of him where he had crammed the despair over Richie.

Duncan reached up to the glowing hilt and grasped it firmly. He would finally have peace to mourn. He would finish this crisis and mourn his student and friend. He would take the time to refocus his self to battle his own demons.

He quieted his racing thoughts, released a cleansing breath and pulled on the sword. It didn’t move. Panic gripped him and he tugged harder. The blade remained in the rock and he felt the sword resisting him.

Then the feeling washed over him of another Immortal. He turned his head and saw Mordred coming. Merlin and Methos moved off between Duncan and his enemy. Duncan turned back to Excalibur and pulled again. Tears threatened his eyes and he nearly whimpered.

He threw is head back and cried out. “Richie! I can’t do this!”

A gentle voice tickled the back of his head. “Listen to Joe.”

Mordred was calmly walking through the confines of Stonehenge. Duncan’s feverish gaze swept across the structure and fell on his mortal friend. Joe stood stock still, staring back at him.

The words came crashing through his head. The words Joe had said on the docks of Bristol harbor. To learn the path of honor, one must learn to forgive. To learn the path of forgiveness, one must first learn to forgive themselves.

He had forgiven himself for Richie’s death. He was at peace knowing that Richie did not blame him at all for Duncan’s action. His honor had to be intact. Mordred had taken more steps and was only scant yards away.

Duncan forced himself to calmness. He had never allowed himself to panic and was certainly not going to start now. He focused himself on his center, on finding his true self.

Mordred slowed. His easy smile aimed directly at MacLeod. He reached inside his coat and withdrew his flamberge. The wavy blade glinted in the now dimming light. Duncan felt that dimming was his chances at surviving as well. He tugged on Excalibur again and again it didn’t move.

Merlin and Methos were huddled together, discussing fiercely, though quietly. Joe stood near the tall structures of Stonehenge and gazed almost passively at Duncan. The mortal was his best friend, though he was also mortal, and would do his duty and observe only.

But Duncan knew Richie had forgiven him. MacLeod’s soul and honor was clean. Why couldn’t he draw the sword? What other attribute was he missing?

Mordred turned to the other two Immortals and sneered at them. He was enjoying himself.

Joe shouted to him. “Mac, it’s not about Richie! It’s about you!”

Richie had said that hundreds of times in his life that MacLeod could remember. This memory though was powerful. Duncan took a deep cleansing breath and let go of Excalibur. He closed his eyes and took another breath in. He knew now.

“I killed my student. I grieve. I am not at fault. Trying to protect you from harm drew you into a design that doomed you. I will remember you Richie. Ahriman killed you to get to me. He has been punished. I have been punished. I killed my friend, but I am still alive. I will fight to survive. I forgive myself for the guilt I have shackled myself with. I am free. I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and will not allow my friend’s honorable sacrifice to be tarnished.”

Duncan felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. All the rage and pain from Richie’s death flowed out of him and he was suddenly focused. There was no more anger within him, only cold calculation. He turned back to Excalibur and felt joy. The sword called to him.

Mordred raised his sword and shouted at the sky. “I challenge you! I challenge the King of England to a final battle!”

Methos stepped back as Mordred stepped forward, grinning menacingly. “Once more we cross swords my king, but this time there will be a different outcome. I swear it.”

“He is not your king. I am.”

Mordred whirled around. Duncan stood next to the Pilot Stone, firmly gripping Excalibur and feeling it sing in his soul. He could do anything with this sword. They were bonded. He strode towards Mordred, feeling an ache for battle. Excalibur may have been created, never needing to be used, but it wanted to be used. How Methos had fought that need Duncan couldn’t guess.

Mordred pointed his sword at MacLeod. “You are not the King!”

Duncan waved his free hand at the Pilot Stone. “Read the words Mordred. He who draws this blade shall be king of England. I drew the sword. I am King. All those years of war and conflict and the only thing we Scots needed to do was draw a bloody sword. It’s sad really.”

The intense eyes widened until Duncan thought Mordred’s head would explode. He felt good and loose. He was ready for a fight, but not here, not at Stonehenge.

Mordred managed to get his control back. “Fine, I will not argue your stupid little ploy. Once I kill you, I can still kill him. Are you ready to die Highlander?”

Duncan shook his head. “We can’t fight here. This is holy ground.”

Mordred spit laughter back at him. “This run down relic? This is a damned calendar. Druids worship here, but it’s not holy ground.”

He suddenly rushed forward, raising his flamberge overhead and charged at Duncan. MacLeod stepped forward and deflected the coming blow. He whirled with Mordred passing and snapped Excalibur towards his foe. The shining silver tip of the legendary weapon reached just far enough to catch Mordred’s side as he passed. Duncan pulled the sword back and began to jog backward towards the heavy stones. As he shucked his coat off, he saw the blood on Excalibur’s steel.

Mordred stopped and felt his side. The wound was minor at best, but he was wounded. He turned his head to Duncan and snarled with growing hatred.

“I don’t know how you did that Highlander. I may not be invulnerable to you now, but I don’t need to be either.”

Duncan readied himself for the next charge, but Mordred instead walked towards him and engaged. The attacks were dizzying and ferocious. Duncan knew the instant their blades touched that he was going to lose. Mordred was even better now than at the church. His talent with a sword was godlike.

Still, Duncan fought, blocking and deflecting so much that he rarely, if ever, pressed forward. He dodged between the huge stones, keeping Mordred moving and always with an obstacle close at hand. Even with that strategy, Duncan was quickly covered in minor wounds of his own.

He considered the sword in his hand, the legendary Excalibur and felt the power within it. He willed it to help him in any way it could. He felt energy suffuse him. Mordred was mildly surprised when Duncan suddenly went on the offensive, pushing his opponent back. The surprise lasted only moments and again Duncan was losing badly. He felt like the amateur he had been when he had entered Consone’s studio so many years before. He felt as Richie must have felt having to train with Duncan.

Thoughts of Richie brought a spike of anger to him and he again took the offensive. He paid the price of more cuts and nicks, but he managed to get inside Mordred’s guard. Duncan brought his off hand up into Mordred’s face and felt the nose shatter under the heel of his hand. Mordred staggered backward, blood smearing across his mouth. Duncan followed, bringing Excalibur up, around and across Mordred’s chest. The other immortal leaped backward, but only after acquiring a long shallow cut from his shoulder to his sternum.

Before Duncan could press his advantage though, Mordred returned the favor by stepping in quickly and savagely elbowing Duncan in the throat. MacLeod turned with the blow and ran backward, giving himself room to maneuver and time to recover. Mordred stayed right with him though. Duncan knew his time was close; the other Immortal was just too good. Even Duncan’s incredible will and formidable talents would fail as they almost had with Grayson.

Joe called out to him. “The crystals are the key Mac!”

Of course! Mordred himself said the crystals controlled his ability. Duncan grinned at his opponent, causing Mordred to hesitate. The first time Mordred had attacked, he’d been a novice. At the church, he’d gotten progressively better. If the stones controlled the ability with a sword, then it could be that a change of weapons would change the ability.

Duncan knew he couldn’t survive much longer. The only way to survive was to run, or to trick Mordred. Running was out of the question; that much was certain. However, to trick Mordred might be easier, though if he was wrong it would spell disaster. It didn’t matter much anyway. Mordred was only toying with him.

Duncan dropped into his stance that he hadn’t seen in many years. Mordred crept up on him, curiosity fighting against his obvious rage. Then MacLeod launched his last offensive. He leveled Excalibur and used Walter Reinhardt’s misdirection move to confuse Mordred. The Immortal took the bait, or the crystals did and Mordred was wide open. Duncan lunged forward and nearly skewered Mordred. The other Immortal skipped backward to reset himself, but Duncan stayed with him and forced the flamberge up.

Mordred attacked as Duncan had planned, coming overhead in a massive chop. Duncan set himself, took the blade on his own and then swept into Annie’s signature move. Time slowed to a crawl. Duncan’s blade skipped up and around the flamberge, not hopping over the waves of steel as Duncan had feared. The swords ever so briefly locked and then the flamberge flew out of Mordred’s hand and away. It stuck upright in the ground at Joe’s feet.

Duncan wanted to shout in triumph, but only backed away to rest a bit. Even with the energy Excalibur was feeding him, he was exhausted. Joe grabbed the flamberge with his free hand and jerked it from the ground.

Mordred screamed at him. “You can’t interfere!”

Joe merely grinned back. “Sure I can. We mortals operate on a different set of rules.”

With that phrase, Joe tossed the sword away, into the darkness. Mordred lost whatever semblance of control he had left and screamed again, a loud, primitive howl of rage and frustration. Duncan let him continue because it let him rest more.

Suddenly, Mordred stopped his cry and turned back to MacLeod. “It doesn’t matter really, I have another weapon.”

“I suppose you do.”

Mordred reached inside his coat and pulled Duncan’s katana from within. With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Mordred shucked off his coat and advanced towards Duncan again.

Duncan stood and readied himself. If he was wrong, he would die quickly. Mordred raised the katana high and advanced again and Duncan saw it. Mordred’s feet were placed wrong for the Japanese weapon. The angle of the blade was wrong too, as if some child had picked up the weapon and tried to simulate what he’d seen in a movie.

“Give up Mordred. You can’t win.”

“I will be King!”

Mordred slashed downward with the katana and Duncan barely moved. He ran Mordred through the chest. The Immortal’s whispered cry of pain was lost on the night air. Duncan put his shoulder to Mordred and pushed him back, jerking Excalibur free as he did. Mordred fell to his knees.

“A true King has honor Mordred. A true King cares for his subjects more than himself. Arthur was the only true King of England. Him and him alone. He was the one and there can be only one.”

Duncan stepped into his strike and cleaved through Mordred’s neck. As the body fell to the ground, Mordred’s hand opened and the crystals fell out. Duncan turned towards them and the Quickening took him. Searing bolts of electricity roared through the confines of Stonehenge, caressing the megalithic structure and slamming into the Highlander’s body without remorse. In his mind’s eye he saw the dojo again. Richie was whistling and applauding as hard as he could. Next to his student, Consone was beaming with pride, applauding as well.

Wave after wave of energy hammered into Duncan until he felt his head would explode. Excalibur was above him, bringing all the energy into him. A light show of unbelievable energy raged across the night. Thunder was heard across the green lands of England.

And with a mighty roar of victory, the Quickening ended and Duncan collapsed to the ground. It was over.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 19)

For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting chapters of a novel I wrote in homage to Highlander: The Series.
I will add this disclaimer every week as well…
I do not own the characters for this novel. I am not receiving monetary reimbursement of any type for this piece of fiction.
Oh, most importantly…enjoy.

Highlander: The King and I
Chapter Nineteen

Duncan MacLeod sat across from Merlin, staring into the magician’s eyes and reading ages of history and experience in them. The hotel dining room was empty and completely quiet. Even graveyards in the dead of night were raucous compared to what could be heard in the vast room.

“Once again my friend, I ask you to believe. I ask you to quiet the part of your mind that requires proof and design. The impossible is ordinary where I travel. The preposterous is everyday in my world. Believe in me and believe in what I can show you.”

Duncan inwardly sighed. He was so tired. He was also at his last nerve. Duncan was so close to giving in and returning to Paris that it surprised even him. His honor was gone and unrecoverable. He had even thought about tanking his next fight just to end the shame. But then, Merlin had yet to fail him. At least it could be argued that the magician was still trying to help.

He closed his eyes and reached for his chi. “I believe.”

He felt Merlin’s hands touch the tops of his own. They were dry, and yet smooth. Duncan wondered briefly why the magician’s hands weren’t course like others of his kind, where sword fighting was more common than not.

“Let go of logic Duncan. Let go of the modern world. Believe.”

Duncan yanked his wandering thoughts back and doggedly suppressed them.

“I believe.”

Merlin’s voice sounded subdued. “You saw the sword. You touched Excalibur. You saw magic. Believe.”

Duncan smiled. “I touched Excalibur. I believe.”

And then he did. All the logic and scientific needs flooded out of him like the biblical flood from the story of Noah. To replace it, the onrushing tide of stories and myths of magic and magical legends roared into him. He was suffused with life and energy. He was whole.

Duncan’s eyes snapped open, but Merlin was not there, nor was Methos, whose quiet presence had been behind Merlin when the exercise had begun. Even Joe’s lined face of concern was gone. There was a haze only. A subdued white fog permeated everything around him; his sight, his mind and his being.

Slowly the haze lifted; revealing hardwood floors and padded mats. Sounds leaked out of the distance and slowly grew in volume. Voices and other sounds from a gym surrounded him. Charlie’s gym opened before him, no Duncan Macleod’s own dojo. He smiled at what he saw. It would always be Charlie’s dojo.

“Mac!”

Duncan took a step back in shock. It was Richie! Dressed in almost trademark jeans and white T-shirt, the younger Immortal looked fit and actually happy. Duncan felt sorrow tear at him. How could Richie be happy when he was dead? And he was dead by Duncan’s hand.

Other figures in the dojo finally became clear to him. They were all Immortal, and more importantly, they all died by his sword. There were others too that he did not recognize. The dojo was doing superb business.

Duncan allowed Richie to lead him to the office. The young dead Immortal closed the door and beckoned Duncan to take a chair. Duncan was sitting before he knew what happened. His eyes came to rest on the nameplate decorating the desk. It said in simple block letters: Richie Ryan.

“How is this possible?” croaked MacLeod.

Richie threw his arms up with a crooked grin and shrugged at the same time. “Who’s to say? You’re here, I’m here the rest of the gang is here though a good half are in Paris I think. You’ll be leaving, we won’t.”

“Richie. You’re…you are…”

Richie leaned back in the big chair and grinned widely. “Dead? Yeah, I know. It was a bummer at first, but I got over that. Consone saw to that. He could have been a preacher.”

The younger Immortal leaned forward. “Mac. You don’t have a whole lot of time here. You need to pull yourself together. We have a lot to talk about.”

“How can we be talking Richie? You’re dead!”

Richie sat back again, still smiling. “We’ve covered that.”

“Merlin’s playing mind games with me.”

Richie grew serious in a heartbeat. “No Mac. He’s giving you an opportunity to learn and grow. He’s giving you the tools you need to survive and thrive.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand. Look, let me be more direct. When you take someone’s head, you receive all their knowledge and power, right?”

Duncan nodded.

“This is it. Consider it your energies given life. We exist within you all the time. All our experiences, even those of us with relatively few, are now a part of you. Merlin has given you a chance to talk to us, and heal yourself.”

“You can’t heal me Richie. I cannot be healed. My honor is gone. I have none left because I did the most despicable thing imaginable. I killed my student and my friend. I murdered you.”

Richie nodded and clasped his hands in front of him. “I hope you find this as amusing as I do, but I think I now know more about honor than you. Finally, I get to teach you.”

Duncan cocked his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t find that amusing at all.”

“Good to see you still have fire in your heart Mac. You’ll need it.”

“Then instruct me. Let’s get this farce over with.”

Richie furrowed his brow at Duncan’s comment. “Let me ask you a question. How many students have you had in your Immortal lifetime?”

“I don’t remember. There have been quite a few.”

“How many are left alive?”

Duncan shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Richie continued like a trial lawyer. “Are any left alive?”

“Ditto my previous answer.”

“Would it be safe to say that some are dead now?”

Duncan sighed. “Of course, you’re dead too.”

“Was their deaths your fault too?”

“I didn’t kill them. I killed you! They didn’t die because of me, you did!”

“Mac, I was your student. You taught, I learned. But aside from all of that, I was still my own person. I lived, laughed, and loved. I was even honored to become your friend. You were the single most important person in my life.”

Duncan felt tightness in his throat. The wound he kept so carefully locked and bandaged had been breached. The pain and despair rushed out of its prison and swarmed him. Seeing Richie sitting there, talking with him so much like when he was alive was so painful as to seem unbearable. He almost pushed it away, to imprison it again, but he couldn’t. He let the rage and anger wash over him.

“Why the Hell didn’t you stay where you were? Damn it Richie! The demon used Joe against me too! You had to have known.”

Richie shrugged again. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

Duncan launched himself to his feet and slammed his big hands on the desk. “Everything would have worked out fine if you had just stayed the Hell away from me!”

“Why would I do that?”

“Damn you Richie. Because I told you to!”

Richie stood up slowly, actually matching Duncan’s intensity. He leaned on the desk himself and moved his head within inches of MacLeod’s.

“You are not my father.”

“I was your protector!”

“No you were not. You were my teacher and my friend. I saw an opportunity to help you and took it.”

Duncan stood up and looked at the ceiling. His cheeks were wet with tears. He could feel the heat of anger in his face and shoulders.

“I still killed you. I knew the demon dealt in lies, but let myself get sucked into his world. It doesn’t matter at all if it was my fault or not. I killed you, it was my sword. I should have had control. I lost my control, and with it, my honor.”

“You know what Mac? You sound just like the kid you always treated me like. I was a child when the gift was bestowed on me, but I grew up fast. You made me. You forced me to grow up and take responsibility for who and what I was. Now it’s you whining about stuff you couldn’t control.”

“I am not whining!”

Richie laughed, loudly. “Oh yes you are. Poor little MacLeod. Poor little Immortal that is so much more honorable than everyone else. I killed Richie so I’m not worthy. I killed my student, oh boo hoo. Cut the crap Mac, I’m not buying it.”

“Easy for you to say Richie. It wasn’t your honor to lose. You weren’t responsible for protecting everyone and being the savior to the world. I lost control and killed the only true friend I had left. Damn it Richie, it’s my fault you’re dead. It’s my fault my honor is gone. Why can’t you understand that?”

Richie rubbed his palms against his eyes briefly. “Because it ain’t true Mac.”

“Oh, so now I didn’t kill you?”

Richie came around the desk. “No, you most definitely killed me. I’m saying you’re not responsible for it.”

“Are you deaf? It was my hand on the sword that killed you! That makes it my fault!”

Richie stepped close to MacLeod and growled again. “Stop treating me like a child. You are not my father.”

Duncan pushed Richie away. “We’ve already covered that.”

Richie pushed back. “Not enough to get through your thick skull.”

“Honor demands that I be responsible for my actions. I killed you and in that moment, my responsibility to you was breached.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t know it was me. You can’t be held accountable for what you could not know.”

Duncan turned away. “But I did know. I knew the demon was lying, but I fought anyway. I should have known what could happen.”

Richie almost ran around to get into Duncan’s view again. “But I blundered in where I should not have been.”

“Which is the point where you died.”

“Mac, who’s responsibility was it that I was there?”

Duncan stopped. “What?”

“You trained me to fight. You trained me to be responsible for my actions.”

Duncan nodded. “Of course I did. It was my responsibility to train you and keep you as safe as I could until you were ready.”

“Was I ready?”

Duncan placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You would have done well if it wasn’t for me. You were more than ready.”

Richie nodded as if he had made a point. “So, when would I be ready to be independently responsible for myself?”

“You already were. You were self sufficient and ready to be on your own.”

Richie gripped Duncan’s shoulder tighter and lightly shook him. “Right. So I was there on my responsibility. I was trying to help you. I took the responsibility to seek you out and try to help. Granted, it was a bad decision. Mac, it was my responsibility, it was my honor. It wasn’t yours.”

“What are you saying?”

“There comes a time when you have to allow someone their own honor. You have to allow others to be responsible for their selves. You can’t save everyone Duncan. You can’t assume the responsibility and honor for those no longer under your protection. I was there to help you of my own free will. I died. Your honor is not damaged because you do not control me anymore. Your honor is secure.”

“But I killed you!”

Richie shook Duncan again. “Yes! But your honor stayed intact. You went on without me and defeated the demon. You remember me. I did the most honorable thing I know of. I went to help a friend. You removed yourself from the fight after I died and gathered your strength and will to fight. My death led you to greater strength. I gave my life for you Duncan. Don’t tarnish my honor by denying your own.”

Duncan stood quietly for a long time. Finally, he stepped back and bowed to his former student. “My student becomes my teacher.”

Richie gave his trademark grin. “It was just a thought.”

Duncan lurched forward and drew Richie into a huge bear hug. “Gods I miss you Richie.”

The younger Immortal slapped him on the back. “I miss you too big guy. Even though I’m always with you, I miss our talks.”

Duncan stepped back and wiped away a tear. “You won this argument. You won it well.”

“So, what’s next?”

A visceral hatred enveloped Duncan before he realized it. “I have a score to settle with Mordred.”

“Good. You’ve got a little time left here, so let me show you around a bit. I also have a thought for Merlin if you want to pass it on.”

Richie gave Duncan another hearty slap on the back and guided him from the office of the dojo and out onto the floor.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 18)

For the next several weeks, I’ll be posting chapters of a novel I wrote in homage to Highlander: The Series.
I will add this disclaimer every week as well…
I do not own the characters for this novel. I am not receiving monetary reimbursement of any type for this piece of fiction.
Oh, most importantly…enjoy.

Highlander: The King and I
Chapter Eighteen

Rain fell lightly on the pier and over the water. Duncan leaned against the rail and stared into the distance, focused on nothing. Confusion ruled him. From his first awareness and ever after, Duncan had maintained a faith in honor. His father and clan had taught him what honor was and how it was maintained. Hideo Koto and reinforced those teachings with eastern thought.

It didn’t matter who his teachers were or what he had learned. All that ran through his mind was knowing somewhere inside him that his honor was damaged. He had contemplated the possibility that Merlin had made an error, but he dismissed it because the magician had shown nothing but truth.

Three days had passed since the loss of his honor and he was no closer to solving it than he was in the back of the car for the drive to Bristol. He hadn’t spoken for the entire trip and kept to himself afterward. His soul hurt.
It had to be Merlin’s error. Duncan had always carefully guarded his honor with both his actions and his choices. But, to lay blame at the feet of the magician would be a sure violation of whatever honor he had left.

The presence invaded his thoughts and managed to rouse him from his staring. He turned and found Methos and Merlin standing a respectful distance away. Both Immortals wore concerned looks. Neither spoke though, which suited Duncan’s mood. He turned back to the rail and leaned on it with his elbows again.

“MacLeod.” said Methos.

“What?” He growled.

Methos stepped forward. “We have to figure this out. Mordred will find us. It’s a matter of time.”

Duncan barked a short laugh. “Well then, I guess he kills us. I couldn’t draw it. There’s not much else I can do then, now is there? Unless the whole problem is with Merlin’s magic.”

He almost spit the last word. It surprised him; the venom he was feeling. There was no other logical choice though. Duncan’s honor was more measurable than someone’s claim of magic. The logical side of his mind argued with him. Honor was no more measurable than magic if you depended on provable amounts.

Merlin asked, “Did you believe?”

Duncan replied, “I must have, I saw the sword. I could feel it wanting to be drawn. As Methos said, it was like grabbing a battery.”

Merlin nodded carefully. “Then there is nothing wrong with my magics.”

Duncan turned and stared at the magician for a long time and spread his arms in defeat. “Then I am not honorable enough. I don’t understand it, but that’s the only explanation left.”

Merlin eyes showed amazing sympathy. “Highlander, it’s not how honorable you are. It’s having true honor that allows you to draw the sword.”

“Then I guess I don’t have that either. Talk about insult to injury.”

Duncan turned back to the water and leaned on the rail again.

He heard a car drive up and a door open and close. He couldn’t muster the desire to even care. The water flowed and flowed, uncaring of anything other than moving along its allotted course. That echoed his mood to perfection.

Methos said, “Ah, you’re here.”

“So, the Merlin, eh?”

Duncan turned to see Joe examining Merlin. In turn, the magician studied Joe.

Merlin suddenly smiled and took Joe’s offered hand. “Yes, I am Merlin.”

Joe shook his head in amazement. “Wow, a legend standing before me. I suspected you might be more than a story, but never thought to speak with you. I am honored.”

Duncan felt something like a physical blow to his midsection. What could Joe know of honor? Even worse, to be questioning his friend’s honor, he diminished his own even more. A certain amount of despair began to creep up on him.

Methos interrupted the discussion between Joe and Merlin before it really could begin. “Joe, talk to him. You know him better than any of us. Help him, please.”

Joe nodded and moved toward Duncan, his smile disarming as always. Duncan could read volumes in Joe’s eyes though. It was a book even larger than the Chronicles of Methos. Joe may have known even more than Merlin. In Duncan’s crumbling world view, suddenly he felt humbled to be seen by Joe.

Merlin and Methos moved off, leaving the mortal and his Immortal friend to the water and the rain.

“It pretty damn near takes an act of God to have Methos call me to come talk to you. It takes even more for you to need someone else, much less a mortal. What the Hell happened MacLeod?”

Duncan turned back to the water, the only source of comfort he could find. “I don’t know Joe.”

“Well then, what did Merlin get wrong? He did get something wrong, right?”

“Only an Immortal of true honor can draw the sword Joe. I saw it. I saw Excalibur and it’s simply the most wonderful weapon I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I couldn’t move it a centimeter. I couldn’t draw it.”

Joe asked, “Because of the magic of Merlin?”

“It’s because of his magic that no one’s ever found the sword Joe. It’s because of his magic and my belief in it that I could even see it. No, it’s not the magic. The only things left are my Immortality and my honor. The Immortal part doesn’t go away.”

“Ouch. That must hurt pretty bad.”

Duncan smiled at the water. “You have no idea.”

“You’re still the most honorable guy I know Mac, Immortal and mortal alike. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Apparently not. Then again, Merlin did say it’s not how honorable I am, but true honor.”

Joe cocked his head to the side. “Well what does that mean?”

“I have no idea. Ask Merlin. Ask Methos. They seem to be the ones with all the answers. The only good thing I see here is that they look as stumped as me.”

“I really wish Richie were around. His hare-brained ideas would be real welcome right about now.”

Duncan caught himself smiling, just a moment before all the pain came rushing back in. All the horrible, deep, soul rending pain tore at him, past all his carefully crafted defenses. The rain falling gently on the water masked the tears that fell from Duncan MacLeod.

“He’s never coming back Joe. I killed him, he’s dead.”

Duncan’s voice caught and even all of his iron will couldn’t force more voice through. More tears fell. Duncan stood and raised his head to the rain, letting it wash away the stains of his guilt and sorrow.

“And you can’t forgive yourself for the accident that it was?”

Duncan whirled on his mortal friend. “It was no damn accident Joe! I thought he was Kronos, or half a dozen others. I thought it was Ahriman!”

Joe grabbed his friend’s coat at the arm and shook it once, hard. “You were blinded by the demon’s lies. It wasn’t your fault!”

“My sword Joe! My sword went through Richie’s neck. I swung that sword. I killed him! Not Ahriman, not Kronos and not the god damned tooth fairy. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod killed Richie. My sword, my responsibility!”

Joe was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“Which is why you have no true honor. To learn the path of honor, one must learn to forgive. To learn the path of forgiveness, one must first learn to forgive themselves.”

“I can’t Joe. I just can’t. I won’t.”

* * *

Merlin looked on in sadness. They had not moved too far away.

The magician said, “I am a fool.”

Methos looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

“It was so obvious the look on his face when I told him of Nimue. The wound I inadvertently opened scarred his soul. That he even functions to keep in the Game is beyond my ability to even imagine.”

Methos shrugged. “Richie was special to him. He annoyed Duncan to distraction. He broke whatever rules he could get away with. He didn’t listen. All those things, and yet there was something very special about him.”

Merlin nodded. “I begin to understand. There are those in one’s lifetime that transcend all others. We can be only lucky enough to experience it.”

“Like you and Nimue?”

Merlin nodded again. “Yes.”

“I’ve had that too, for a mortal though. She meant everything to me and I would gladly have given my head could she have survived.”

Merlin smiled. “All this talk we’ve had about magic and it’s the truth that love is the strongest of all. Our friend Duncan no doubt has loved many in his life, but I think this Richie was as close to a brother as he could ever have.”

Methos chuckled. “Polar opposites. Why they didn’t kill each other sooner is beyond me.”

It was the magician’s turn to chuckle. “As brothers are wont to be my good Arthur. It is in true brotherhood that you learn who you are. It is in true brotherhood that you learn what you can be. You have given me an idea.”

Methos looked at Merlin. “I did?”

Merlin clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes you have. A splendid idea is occurring to me. First though, I need to know something.”

“Anything.”

The magician sighed. “Tell me everything you know about Richie.”

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 17)

For the next several weeks, I’ll be posting chapters of a novel I wrote in homage to Highlander: The Series.
I will add this disclaimer every week as well…
I do not own the characters for this novel. I am not receiving monetary reimbursement of any type for this piece of fiction.
Oh, most importantly…enjoy.

Highlander: The King and I
Chapter Seventeen

The rain clouds were back, matching the general mood of the rental car as it sped across the countryside of England. From the outskirts of London, no one had said a word, each lost in their own worlds. Morgan was dead. They all had issues with her when she was alive. None of the surviving Immortals enjoyed killing, preferring to live and let live. Morgan had brought it on herself, but the regrets and in Duncan’s case, the guilt, kept piling on.

The Game was a tireless one. Those that succumbed to fatigue often gave their lives soon after. Duncan himself had retreated to Holy Ground on more than one occasion to escape The Game and learned that you cannot run away. Sooner or later it catches up with you. Still, a little time away to refresh in peace was a boon.

Every Immortal dealt with guilt and regrets, even those that were considered evil. It was spiritually draining to continue to hunt others with the express purpose of ending their lives, even if you were competing for some ultimate prize. The Kurgan, as described by Connor dealt with those issues by being crazy as a loon and overwhelmingly intimidating.

As the kilometers passed, Duncan began to open up to himself. He carefully examined the wound left in him by Richie’s death and tried to deal with it, at least nominally. He had done this all his Immortal life, healing himself incrementally.

Why had Richie died? The answer was obvious in its simplicity. Duncan had cut his head off. Duncan winced in the back seat of the car. Brutally honest with himself, he sometimes was so much so he injured himself further. This was one of those times. Guilt pressed in on him again. Morgan had forced the issue and had died, albeit by Merlin’s hand, but Duncan had been there.

Richie had been forced into the situation created by Ahriman’s control. Again, even though Duncan was under the demon’s influence, he was still there when his student had died, so like Morgan’s death, Duncan was ultimately responsible for the killing of his student. The blade that took Richie’s head was wielded by Duncan. No excuse or justification would ever change that simple fact.

The pain rushed up and overwhelmed Duncan. He did as before, balled it all up and forced it away. It was too much and way to fresh for him to handle. He missed his young friend, so much more than he thought was possible. The Game claimed its victims without a care and usually Duncan was able to handle the consequences of who and what he was. Richie was special though, more than just a student. He had occupied a very important place in Duncan’s life. He was a friend and almost a sidekick. Richie had done a lot on his own, away from Duncan, but could always be counted on to return. He wouldn’t return ever again.

Duncan closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He concentrated on that sole aspect of his being. Within his mind’s eye he started his katas again, each flowing into the next until once again he had the images of the kata he used to defeat Ahriman. Duncan felt his calmness suffuse his body. His heart rate evened out and his building stress peaked and even began to regress a bit.

As Duncan concentrated, his mind cleared and he came close to being one with himself, as so many of his eastern teachers had taught him. He finished his kata in his mind and took a deep cleansing breath. It would help him deal with Richie’s loss. When his mind processed that thought, all the despair came crashing back in, but Duncan’s mind cushioned it enough. He would deal with it, he would survive.

“Where did you put it?” Duncan asked, shattering the monotonous silence.

Merlin chuckled. “Where every mortal knew I would. Or at least where every modern day mortal would think I would. Granted, it is artfully concealed and no one, Immortals included could find it without me, but it is ridiculously easy to guess.”

Methos said nothing, just kept scratching away at his notebook. Duncan saw the hint of a smile riding the elder Immortal’s lips and knew Methos knew the location.

Duncan sat back and thought. He’d been in England so many times in his life, trying so hard to fight for Scotland’s right to exist, free of the yoke of a foreign ruler. He had traveled the country in its entirety several times over as well. Lastly, he’d gotten to know the legendary magician pretty well over the short time he’d known him. Merlin appeared to have an innate sense of history and humor. He would place Excalibur in the easiest spot to find. He would hide it in plain sight where everyone would expect to find such a linchpin to history. Where would the sword that made England a country be hidden? It would be in the same place that marked England as a country of history and legend.

Duncan took a deep breath and smiled. “Stonehenge.”

Merlin actually giggled, which shocked Duncan. “That was ridiculously simple, now wasn’t it?”

Duncan shared in the laughter because it made perfect sense. The legend of King Arthur and his magical sword is so important to what England is as a country; couple that to the legends and mystery that shrouds Stonehenge like the massive fogs that cover London. It was such an absurd risk to hide the sword of Arthur in such an obvious place, except for the magic that cloaked it.

Methos looked up from his writing. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

Merlin looked at Methos like the elder Immortal had grown a horn on his nose. “It’s worked for 1500 years. I think that stands the test of time.”
Methos nodded. The magician’s point was taken. Then Methos laughed too.

“You would think all the times I deferred to your decisions because you were right would teach me to just trust you now.”

Merlin nodded. “Yes my dear friend, sage advice. Just trust me. Everything is going to work out just fine.”

* * *

Rain was heavy in the air, as if the dark grey clouds above could barely hold it. The rest of the drive to mystic Stonehenge had been pleasant, though only marginally more talkative.

Duncan stepped from the vehicle and heard the distant rumble of thunder. There was energy in the air. He could feel vibrations in the air and knew them to be energy from other living things. He felt aware of all things. It was humbling and intoxicating at the same time. Electricity danced upon the air, only seen sometimes as flashes of lightning in the distance, but it was in the air. History was waiting. Destiny called.

Merlin stepped out next, followed by a nearly reverent Methos. The eldest Immortal looked out over the ancient construct and openly worshipped. He was clearly amazed. Duncan felt it too, it was Holy Ground, if for nothing else than the sheer history of the place. He felt like taking a knee in reverence.

The large stone slabs of the place were by no means perfectly shaped. There was little symmetry left, but the overall impression left on Duncan was awe. Each rough hewn rectangular block placed exactly was humbling because of the massive size. Duncan had seen television shows that depicted how Stonehenge may have been built, but the majesty of being there always rocked him.

Merlin swept by Duncan and proceeded directly into the structure. There was such purpose to his steps that Duncan began to feel actual nervousness. Still, he followed the magician without words. Methos fell in with him.

“You sure?” The elder Immortal asked quietly.

Duncan paused a bit. “Hell of a time to ask that Methos. Like I told Joe, my beliefs don’t matter if something exists to help me in my tasks. I’m ready for anything, as long as Merlin delivers.”

Methos smiled. “He’s never let me down. Not even when we parted so many years ago.”

The astounding majesty of the place silenced them as they entered the perimeter. Merlin did not pause. He headed straight for the pilot stone. His gaze was locked on it. Duncan stopped, closed his eyes and tried to reach his center within the boundaries of this holy historical spot. He was astonished at how easy it was. Duncan was the center of everything. All was right, he was ready.

Duncan opened his eyes and finished the distance to where Merlin stood. The magician had his hand on the stone, eyes half open and an ever so small smile on his lips. He appeared thankful.

“Years of searching and I found you. Years of preparation and all is ready. From the time I created this sword, it has been used to unite a country and hold together a legend. Now it will be used for something it was never created for. I am saddened in part that this has occurred but rejoice in knowing what I created so long ago can now avert tragedy.”

Duncan examined the rock, curious at why he saw nothing. He was like Methos had been though, willing to trust the magician. Merlin sighed and took his hand away from the stone. With a quick glance to verify no one else was at the site, Merlin turned to Duncan.

“Now, my new friend. I have to ask you to do something against your very nature.”

Duncan let his head tilt slightly to the side. He knew what was coming.

Merlin continued, “To pierce the veil, you must learn to believe in the old magics. There was a very good reason I brought the sword here. This spot is ancient and brings out belief from everyone who sees it. It was true then, it remains true now. Seeing the immensity of this place, people are willing to believe nearly anything. It does not matter whether there is truth in the belief or not.”

Duncan said, “You want me to believe in magic.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, you already do. I want you to accept magic as a natural force of this earth. It is equal to religion or faith. It is equal to science.”

The Highlander mirrored the magician’s head shake. “I can’t. I do not believe in what I can’t see. I feel foolish saying it, but it is true.”

Methos appeared next to Duncan. “Morgan worked her magics on you and you did not see those.”

“She worked magic on me because I saw her and believed that she could do whatever she wants. With as beautiful as she was, there is no chance that could be argued.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “Were you to find something you could not see, would that further open your mind to the impossible?”

“Maybe. I cannot answer that without knowing what you mean.”

“Are you willing to try?”

Duncan smiled. “My mind has been more than opened after meeting you Merlin. My heart trusts you so I feel that you speak true. I am willing to trust that you can indeed show me wonders I think are impossible.”

“Give me your hand Highlander.”

Duncan raised his hand to Merlin and the magician placed his own over Duncan’s. He guided Duncan’s hand to the stone. To his astonishment, he felt etchings in the rock. He put his other hand to the stone and felt those etchings. They were words.

“I moved everything. I removed the inscription from the first and added it to this. I figured Arthur wouldn’t mind.”

He who draws forth this blade, shall be King of England.

Duncan felt his breath catch. All the history and legend crashed in on him and he was awash in sudden emotion. His eyes searched out Merlin and saw the answer in the older Immortal’s eyes.

“Yes Duncan. It is all true.”

Duncan almost stammered. “Somehow, inside of me, I thought it was all a story. You had the sword hidden somewhere or something like that. The inscription was part of the legend. But it’s all true.”

Methos placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Now you know how I felt when I drew it. You are at the center of history MacLeod. Unfortunately, this history will likely never be known.”

Duncan closed his eyes and felt the words again, shaking his head in disbelief. “You have shown me something I cannot see.”

Merlin’s hand took Duncan’s shoulder opposite of Methos’. “You can see Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Open your eyes and accept that magic can do things as well as science or even your own hands. You feel the writing; you know and accept that it is there. Now accept that you can see them and open your eyes.”

Duncan did as the magician asked and nearly cried out. The gasp that came out of him was not for the words that blazed in front of him, even in the low light let through the clouds. Above the writing his eyes locked on impossibility. The hilt of a sword jutted from the rock. The handle was beautiful in words he could not think of. The unique and detailed artistry on the pommel was unmatched by anything Duncan had ever seen. His logical mind was further subdued by knowing by sight that the intricacy on display before him could barely be matched in the modern age, much less when the sword was said to have been created.

Duncan whispered. “My God.”

“This coming from a markedly non-religious Immortal.” Said Methos.

The quip was somewhat half-hearted though as Methos was drinking in the sight of the sword as well.

“I have missed this blade. It took me until now to know it.”

Duncan stepped back. “It was yours, created for you and this land. Don’t tell me you can’t because I know you Methos. I know you, Arthur. It is yours. Take it again.”

Methos didn’t argue. He stepped forward and grasped the hilt reverently. He breathed out and pulled. Nothing happened. The elder Immortal stepped back, tears running down his face.

“My time with this sword is done. My service to this country was complete. The sword must be passed on to the next. Duncan, you are that Immortal. Take Excalibur and let’s put an end to Mordred.”

Duncan’s heart cried out for Methos. The loss must have crushed the elder Immortal. However, his eyes still locked on the blade and Duncan felt the reverence. Methos was still captivated by the ideal behind the sword, the reason it was created.

Then Duncan stepped forward and reached for the hilt. As his skin touched the artwork his hand tingled. Methos had been right, it was like a battery, full of power. Suddenly, Duncan felt complete and whole. Even the completeness he had felt moments before was nothing compared to how right it felt to have this weapon. Mordred wouldn’t stand a chance.

He pulled on the blade, head bowed in the same reverence that Methos had showed. He looked up at the blade and the shock hit him. It hadn’t moved. He tugged again and the blade remained firm in the stone. Duncan turned his shocked gaze to Merlin.

Merlin whispered, “Gods of heaven and earth. Now what do we do?”