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?”

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 16)

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 Sixteen

“The rest of the story is rather boring. I woke again, finally, and rested for some time. I cast illusions over the stone with the sword in it as I didn’t want it found yet. I knew the enchantment would keep it secure, but I was being overly cautious.”

Duncan was shaken with what he had heard. It was such an imaginative story full of wizardry that he still couldn’t believe. He was sure that he didn’t truly believe it either, but after what Morgan had done to him by just her presence, he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he believed anymore. It was all very confusing.

The Highlander’s background in living history kicked in. “According to legend and very little historical fact, the final battle took place near Bristol.”

Merlin laughed; a deep rich sound full of obvious mirth. “Mortals! Knowing that I couldn’t leave things as they ended, I worked one last feat of magic. I know the area of Glastonbury well and am aware of its mystical properties. Only by having the story of King Arthur as a long lasting legend could I see the future of this land as promising. I moved it all: the sword in the stone, the battlefield, even the memories of the survivors. I moved it all to the area around Glastonbury and let the mortals do the rest. I then took the sword and moved it again to where it now rests.”

Duncan nodded. “Alright, assuming that, after hearing the story, why didn’t you use Excalibur? You seem extremely well within the confines of your own spell to wield the weapon. Such power would beckon even the most steadfast of us.”

“Spying on the enemy. Sleeping with the enemy. These are not actually honorable things. So I actually created the sword outside of my ability to use. I moved it by magic, I never drew it. I can’t.”

Duncan nearly grinned at the obvious regret the magician was showing. If the story was true, the creation of the sword and denying himself its use was by far the most honorable thing Merlin could have done. Again Duncan ran headlong into his own beliefs. He didn’t know what he could accept as real anymore. Finally he remembered what he had told Joe. It did not matter what the truth was, or if magic existed or not. He was chosen to the deed and would see things through. Still, Morgan had completely seduced him and could have taken his head easily. He wondered if he could have stopped her.

Duncan asked, “So you used your arts to rewrite history and move everything to a different location to instill legend in the minds and hearts of mortals?”

Merlin smiled. “In essence, yes.”

Duncan returned the smile, feeling the cathartic release from hearing the end of Merlin’s tale. “And you said the rest of the story is boring.”

The magician laughed again, a great hearty mirth with an accompanying slap on Duncan’s back. “Well, it’s boring to most.”

“So, Excalibur is somewhere near Glastonbury then?” asked Methos.

“Yes Arthur, in a most holy of places, if you believe in holy things.”

Duncan stood up. “Let’s go get this done then.”

The magician held up a hand. “Tomorrow is soon enough my friend. Let us find some refreshment today and some rest. Tomorrow may find us stressed and I would not wish to face Mordred without all my faculties.”

* * *

His dreams were interrupted by a gentle knock on his door. The wave of the presence passed unnoticed as Duncan passed from dreams to wakefulness. He shook his grogginess clear and moved to the door. Through the peep hole, he saw Morgan had returned. Even with the distorted view afforded him; she still took his breath away.

Duncan steeled himself mentally and cracked open the door. Morgan’s smile greeted him. She was much more modestly dressed than the last time he’d seen her, sporting jeans and a windbreaker. Still, she made the fashion look incredible.

He was relieved he had managed to grab a robe. Even though they had shared a night together, he felt somewhat uncomfortable. It was an unusual feeling for him. Normally Duncan was more confident than most. Perhaps the fact that she so easily confused him the first time made him uneasy.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked.

Her smile never wavered, and still seemed genuine. “If you’d like to. I had such a good time with you I wanted to have a second date with the famous Highlander.”

He felt his heart leap. This time however, he crushed the feeling ruthlessly. Still, he couldn’t be rude. Duncan opened the door and allowed her entry.

Duncan said, “We didn’t go anywhere last time. I assume this time you wish to go somewhere so you can confuse me again.”

She laughed. Still clear and melodious; her voice echoed about the room. He felt himself shiver. She was working her power over him again, but this time he knew it. Merlin had said the power was in the belief. Duncan kept a fierce hold on his logic and mind. Her attraction was enormous, but this time he had a fighting chance.

“My sweet Duncan, please don’t be so crass. I did take an opportunity to learn from you, since you offered so nicely.” She winked suggestively and he felt the rush of blood in his veins. “This time I promise I won’t pump you for information. Of course I make no promises I won’t pump something else.”

Her smile left no doubt what she meant and Duncan felt fire coursing through him. However, there was a saving grace for his beleaguered defenses. She had not shown anything so blatant the last time she had visited him and her off-color joke seemed out of place. He latched onto that thought and tightly held it like a dog with a meaty bone.

She examined him in his robe and gave a little sigh. “Of course, staying in might be good too.”

Duncan stammered, but only slightly. “No, I’ll change. Please excuse me.”

He left her there, feeling as if he had to rip himself away. After he reached the bathroom, he felt as though he’d run a marathon. He shook it off and focused his mind. She wanted something and he had to convince himself it wasn’t him. He dressed slowly, forcing his logic to examine what she had said for any ideas of what she wanted. He needed an anchor, something to tie him to reality. A slight smile appeared to him in his reflection. He knew what he needed.

When he returned, Morgan sat quietly in a chair strategically facing the bathroom. There would be no escaping her. Duncan knew he could ask her to leave, but that would be like surrendering. He had to face her and her power.

Morgan stood, or rather flowed upward like gas escaping through a vent. Every movement was focused to show her litheness and sensuality. She had brought her best moves for this encounter. Duncan vowed silently to persevere. There were no armies, no fighting, but there was definitely a war raging between them.

When she started moving, he wasn’t sure. She just flowed through the doorway and down the hall. Duncan found himself following, feeling somewhat lost in a dream. The hallway rolled by and there was the elevator. The feeling of an Immortal washed over him, but he suddenly didn’t care. He was lost in her.

As the elevator door closed, Duncan thought he saw Methos, running for him. Beside the elder Immortal, Merlin was running too. The look in the magician’s eyes spoke only of fear.

The elevator moved, upward. He was about to ask when Morgan placed a gentle hand on his face and crooned quietly. Resistance washed out of Duncan. He gathered her in his arms and held her. She snuggled against him like a cat and sighed. His arms reveled in contact with her. He felt a stiffness behind her, something inside her coat, but he did not care. Morgan was with him again and all was right.

The elevator doors opened and Morgan led him out into a small foyer. She opened another door and led Duncan out to the roof of the hotel. The moon was bright overhead, a bright silver eye of God staring at them unblinkingly.

She led him out into the night and spun around to face him. With a sigh of something like hunger, she moved in and kissed him. The beautiful woman flowed away like fog on the moors and stood looking out over the city.

“I could love you Duncan.”

The Highlander said nothing. He ached for her, wanted her back in his arms where she belonged. He watched her, longing for her touch, her kiss, her breath on his skin.

She reached behind her head and drew her sword. Morgan slowly turned to face him, sword at her side. She was lovely, dangerous.

“I could, but I cannot. You would own me and I cannot allow that. I have ensorcelled you like no other man before you. You are mine and you cannot resist me.”

She walked around him, caressing his neck and shoulders with her free hand.

“Ah, my dearest Duncan, what might have been.”

She walked away from him again, holding the sword almost as lovingly as she once held him. “This sword is special. I’ve had it since the day I became Immortal. I’ve used it for battle, beheadings and my spellcraft. It’s been through everything with me.”

She turned to him again, bringing her sword up to strike. “It will be with me until only I remain. Fair travels Highlander, I had hoped you would be a little different than all the other men.”

The door behind Duncan burst open and Methos spilled out, Merlin close on his heels. Morgan stepped forward and struck, her sword a liquid silver streak of light. The blade snaked in incredibly quick, faster than the eye could follow, faster than anything could register.

It stopped short of Duncan’s neck, impeded by another shining blade. Duncan forced the block forward and away, toppling Morgan and unceremoniously dumping her on the rooftop.

“You almost had me Morgan, until you started talking about your weapon. I know war. I live for battle. Swordplay lives in my blood. My soul itself longs for battle. I live for battle more than I am captivated by you. By turning your attention to wanting my head, you freed me from wanting you.”

With a feral cry, Morgan rolled backwards and sprang to her feet. She attacked instantly, which Duncan easily blocked. She was nowhere in his league. Morgan didn’t seem to care though, she kept her attack up.

Duncan was conflicted though, deep inside. He blocked her next attack and backhanded her roughly. Again Morgan crashed to the rooftop. As she made ready to rise again, Duncan kicked her blade away and placed his sword at her throat.

“Don’t Morgan. Stay down, stay away.”

She looked down at the roof in defeat. Duncan turned and found Methos and Merlin looking at her as well.

“Told you he couldn’t do it.” Said Methos.

Merlin stepped forward, his own sword whipping forward. Duncan was surprised by the attack. Had it been for him, he would have been sorely wounded. As it was, it intercepted Morgan’s blade. Merlin moved past Duncan and pushed Morgan back to clear an area.

“You can’t interfere!” Cried Morgan.

Merlin snarled at her. “You never challenged him. You tried to murder him. I challenge you Morgan.”

Morgan threw aside her sword and stood up to the magician. “You can’t kill me. You need me too much. Throughout everything between us, you need me.”

Merlin shook his head slowly. “You were so wrong about so many things in our time together. You were wrong to take Nimue from me. I will always care for you in some manner and yes, I will miss you. However, again you are incorrect. There can be only one.”

Merlin struck so quickly it seemed as if he hadn’t moved. A deep rumble of thunder crawled across the skies and the light from the moon dimmed as a stray cloud covered it.

Methos took Duncan by the shoulder. “Let’s give him some privacy.”

The two Immortals moved away as the Quickening hit the legendary magician of England.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 15)

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 Fifteen

Duncan felt the silence this time. Could it have been possible that Merlin knew more pain in losing one he cared about? But he hadn’t actually killed Nimue, at least not directly. The pain written in Merlin’s face was so stark and clear, he wondered how the magician lived with it. Yet as he watched, Merlin closed his eyes and tucked all the emotion away. When the magician’s eyes opened again, they were as Duncan remembered all along their trip. It was if the grief were gone.

“So you see, my new friend, I too know pain. Sometimes the scars we carry so far outweigh even what we are and what we do. Had I never given her the path to her first death, she may have lived out a normal life, or perhaps found her Immortality and lived with it. I caused her death, rebirth and final death because of my love for her.”

Methos said, “It’s no wonder you were in such a disheveled state when you arrived in Camelot. Gods, what you’ve been through. How long had you been imprisoned?”

Merlin laughed, shocking Duncan with sudden levity. “It took me another two weeks to even find that out!”

Duncan smiled haltingly, then wider as Merlin’s amusement flooded over them. Soon, he chuckled and finally joined in with Merlin and Methos in laughing at such an absurd fact.

“So what happened?” asked the Highlander.

* * *

Travels of Merlin Book 8 Part 2
488 AD South of Edinburgh

As soon as I was able, and that took a while, I began to travel for Camelot. With deep drifts of snow blanketing the countryside it was difficult. I stole food. I killed animals along the road, anything to stay alive and moving. Repetitive deaths had left me weak, but thankfully not nearly what I had been after creating Camelot.

I forced every last speck of thought about Nimue from my head. I cast spells to block off parts of my mind when I could to help. I spent my time formulating a plan. I could stay with Arthur and his knights and meet the enemy, or I could take the attack to the enemy.

I wanted to kill Morgan. She deserved no mercy and would get none from me. That’s when I seized upon my best option. If I was with Arthur, then I would have to protect him and his men from whatever Morgan threw at them. If I took the battle to Mordred’s army, then I could do some serious damage, but had no knowledge of how effective my actions would be. I could slay half the army before becoming powerless, but would that be enough to guarantee Arthur’s victory?

My best option was to take on Morgan, since I wanted her dead anyway. To take her magic out of the fight, I would battle her alone. That didn’t guarantee Arthur’s victory either, but it did guarantee I could slay Morgan. That would be enough for me. Besides, Arthur needed to show his men victory without the aid of magic so that they would become confident that they could handle it. It would usher in the beginning of the end of the Age of Magic.

Finally, my power returned to the point I could transport myself a distance and began to do that along with my walking. I traveled the length of England in two days. I wanted to hail Arthur and talk to him in private, but not knowing for sure where Morgan’s army was, I dared not wait. My strength may have been returning, but my mind was still lagging. I had forgotten I could check on that army at any time.

The end of the first day’s travel, I sat at a small fire and poured water into a shallow hole I had dug. I had found a small depression cut into a hillside. It was, thankfully, out of the snow, allowing me to use the fire to dry my robes and undergarments. Death to an Immortal may be less of a concern than a normal human, but dying from exposure is very painful. I couldn’t afford the energy it took to be reborn again anyway. Using the old magic, I opened a window to view the invading horde. What I saw frightened me. There were so many. Even Arthur’s knights would pale at the sight.

Within my window, I saw a vast carpet of blackness moving across the snow. As if a million roaches banned together to crawl across a white floor, such was the sight to me. I did not need to count, that would have taken another week. I could estimate and the number I drew in my head nearly made me quit.

At the head of the vast host, rode Mordred. He shouted and screamed at his troops, urging them onward. When someone fell, Mordred ordered his men to march over the fallen man. In that I saw something I could use. Arthur’s men would fight for him and his ideas. Mordred’s men would fight because they were told to. A slim advantage it was, but it might be enough. I had to hope it was.

Near the back of the host, slaves carried a palanquin, within which rode Morgan. Apparently she still didn’t trust Mordred enough to ride with him. Even though I hated her now, I had to see the wisdom in not being near such a dangerously unstable Immortal.

The mere sight of her though ripped apart the walls in my mind and Nimue’s memory came back to me. The picture in my water window vanished and I lay on the ground, wracked with guilt and shame. Uncontrollable weeping swept over me and I succumbed for most of the night. My love was dead, if not by my hand, by my actions. I would never forgive myself for my selfishness. The night did not pass quickly for me, wrestling away her memory again, desperately trying to lock her away where I couldn’t think about her until such time as I was ready to try. I felt that time would never come.

By morning, I had managed to put her away again. I hadn’t slept at all. I looked a sight, but didn’t care. While true the shunting of thoughts about her may have been easier the second time, it was still a titanic battle with myself. Reaching Arthur and preparing him was all I cared about now. Just outside the barren earth, before the snow, I found a stout limb and fashioned into a serviceable staff. It helped me keep going. I continued traveling the way I had been until enough strength returned for me to transport the rest of the way in one casting.

I arrived outside the gates of Camelot in the late afternoon. The massive gates were flung wide and people were going about their business. No one noticed my arrival. Dizziness hit me and forced me to my knees. I let it pass by watching the people I could see, gauging how they acted. I wanted to know if they suspected an army was coming. Someone had cleared all the snow from the gates area. There were merchants hawking their wares within the courtyard. I even spied a minstrel circulating through the small crowd lightly strumming his lyre.

It was so clear that they knew nothing. Any other time, I would have been greatly bolstered by seeing such open friendliness and helpfulness between mortals. But knowing what Mordred’s army would do to these people made me sick and afraid. I lurched to my feet and stumbled for the main keep. I had to find Arthur.

Find him I did, in the Great Hall of Camelot’s keep, being the only building with guards. I had created Camelot with mighty magic, but did not know the layout. Not having the time to deal with the guards, I cast a small bit of magic that made them sleep at their station, unaware of anything around them. Even though it would last only a few minutes, I still felt more guilt added to my plate. Rather than face that guilt, I threw my power at the doors and they swung open violently.
Arthur was holding court and appeared surprised, though who wouldn’t be at the sight of me. He examined me and I saw the hint of a smile. Again though, I had no time for pleasantries.

I cried out. “Arthur! Saddle your knights! War comes to England!”

He countered smoothly. “What? Tell me why I should ready my people to fight.”

I leaned on my staff, trying not to let dizziness overwhelm me again. “Forgive me, but time grows short. Mordred marches and he has numbers to turn the hills black. He comes for you.”

Arthur considered carefully, yet quickly. I was amazed and proud of how much a king he was. He showed no nervousness, only confidence and trust.

He stood up. “How long?”

“Three weeks, four at most. He’s driving them like a demon, letting them rest long enough to eat; then pushing onward.”

Again he considered quickly and said, “That might be a boon. If his troops are tired, then perhaps we may persevere as we are fresh.”

“He brings magic with him.”

Arthur crossed the courtroom in long strides, politely waving everyone away until he was close to me. “Merlin, please do not alarm everyone with that sort of talk.”

Such a leader he was to not have his people frightened of something beyond their capabilities. Another time I would have clapped him on the back and congratulated him. This was not the time. Ugly truths were coming and he would be better off facing them.

I said, “Mordred has a witch on his side. I know not the full extent of her powers, but they are enough that I knew their presence from two leagues. I advise caution, but rally your troops Arthur. We win this war, our dream is realized.”

I lied so easily this time it never occurred to me. I am still not sure why I did. He trusted me though and did not notice.

Arthur asked me. “Where have you been?”

“There is no time to talk of that now, you must march. Take Excalibur and lead your men. When all is done, we will talk at great length. I must go and deal with the witch.”

Before he could ask or say anything else, I left; partly because I had to do what I said and find a way to deal with Morgan and partly because I had found myself lying again. I told myself that it was the pain I had endured and the necessity of responsibilities that I had. Yes, I lied to myself as well.

I stopped at a tavern, knowing I needed nourishment before proceeding on my journey. As I ate, I vowed to train myself to be more like Arthur and what he had created at Camelot. I didn’t know it yet, but I had fallen victim to a new magic, one that Arthur wielded with sharp elegance. It was the magic of truth and ideals.

Knowing time was still short, I gathered up the food and other items and whisked myself away. I traveled quickly, throwing away thoughts of secrecy or safety for speed. The landscape was carpeted in white and stillness. The land was expecting something, you could feel it. All sounds seemed hushed.
I wanted to engage Morgan away from her army. I wanted it her and me, no other interference. I also needed time to rest before I attacked. My powers may have been impressive, but I was also very weary. I was also growing nervous that she may hold the power to defeat me. I was confident that she did not yet know I had escaped my prison, but that surprise would not hold her long. I had to plan and execute flawlessly. Being fatigued, I was no longer sure either was possible.

Before I was ready to consider where I was, I found her army. Luckily, I was still far enough away that I was not noticed. They were moving so much faster than I anticipated. I only hoped the warning I gave Arthur would bear up to reality. I hoped also, that he would heed my warning and muster for war. I almost changed my plans for the sheer size of this army frightened me. Arthur didn’t stand a chance. So, having no other choice, I trusted him to do his part and steeled myself to do mine.

Over the next two weeks I scouted the army, flitting about with magic to gauge their size and fervor. I needed to know exactly what Arthur would face. Information would be invaluable to him, if I could get it to him. Or, did I engage Morgan and take her out of the equation?

I waited for Mordred to call a halt. It was an excruciatingly long wait as well. As the massive host ground to a stop, I moved off towards my target. I took a bold approach and walked directly through the men, moving purposefully with as much outward confidence as I could muster. I didn’t have to because the men were exhausted and did not care who walked by them. They just needed rest.

At last, I put my plan into effect, pausing briefly to bend light around me, effectively making myself invisible. I found a woman alone and entranced her quickly. Making sure no one else could see her, I twisted light around her until she appeared to be Morgan. I brought her to the palanquin and propped her up. I peered inside and Morgan was actually asleep, a huge advantage. I bound her with yet another spell and removed her, enveloping her in my own invisibility. Finally, I wrestled the disguised woman into the palanquin.

I was exhausted and could feel my grip on my magics slipping. I was out of time. With a silent sigh, I hefted Morgan over my shoulder and moved away from the camp. She was light, so there was no further strain physically.

The last bit of luck I had, came just as I stole away from the camp with my burden. Mordred forced the host to move again. So, I made my way about a mile before my powers slipped and the army had moved away. I dropped Morgan inside a small area of bushes, free of snow. She was awake, though my binding still held. My fatigue was great and I could see she was fighting the binding. Her eyes bored into mine and the hatred was evident. With my failing power, I entranced her to sleep again. To my surprise, it worked and she slumped to the ground. Without a thought to her faking, I collapsed beside her, already asleep.

I finally awoke two days later. Morgan was there next to me, staring her fire at me. I felt the power and I involuntarily shivered. However, being mostly rested, she was no longer a match for me. Thinking that was a mistake.

I used a small amount of magic to bring food, only then remembering I had supplies left over. I removed those supplies and ate everything I could. Only a small amount remained. Finally, I turned to Morgan to offer that last food to her. She threw off the binding spell that I had forgotten to strengthen. Eldritch energy surrounded her, lending a fearsome countenance. I stepped back and defended myself.

As we began to fight, somewhere to the south, Arthur’s forces met Mordred’s. In our small arena, Hell came to earth. She called lightning from the sky and sent it at me. Morgan formed huge fireballs and hurled them. More electricity flowed from her hair and fire shot from her eyes, all directed at me. She held nothing back.

I deflected her onslaught. I dodged missiles of destruction. I blocked more and used my magic to build an impenetrable defense. The bushes were destroyed. The land around us was scarred and cracked from her rage. She never said anything, just hurled her magic at me.

Finally, I went on the offensive, trusting my magics to keep me protected. I too, hurled electrical energy and fire at my enemy. She deflected as easily as I had. I switched tactics, trying to bind her again. She expected that and blocked, though she had difficulty. Being a magician, I loath physical violence, but I moved closer to her during each of my attacks. I kept her busy blocking and deflecting until I had the chance to strike. I clubbed her with my fist, knocking her away and to the scorched ground.

She tried to get up, but her arms gave out and she muttered into the dust. As I moved towards her, she managed to right herself and turn over.

“It’s over Morgan. You lost.”

She smiled grimly. “I think not Merlin. How you escaped, I shall never know, but I will not let you defeat me. Mordred is even now slaughtering Arthur.”

Away, over the hills in the distance, lightning fell from the skies. I could feel magic in the air, but after our battle, everyone would be able to.

“I warned him Morgan. He was ready. There is no slaughter.”

Morgan sank to her knees. “No.”

Fearing a trick, I backed away and kept my defenses up.

“Merlin, I have been so wrong. I tried to control Mordred and his anger. I tried to love you then lock you away. I will not fight you anymore. You are too strong for me.”

Behind her, in the distance, lightning stabbed from the skies again and again. I wondered at the display. It could not have been natural, but the only powers that could cause it were Morgan or myself. I had to help Arthur, but I couldn’t leave Morgan. I prepared to bind her again, albeit more powerfully than the first time.

“I am done fighting, but you should know something. Mordred and I figured you would come to Arthur’s rescue, so we planned for it. Arthur and his army are doomed.”

Something was wrong. She hadn’t expected me to escape the prison she left me in. She had no cause to believe I would be a factor in the battle either. I finished my spell to bind her and nothing happened. I was confused. I cast it again and the same result. On the horizon, more lightning struck downward.

She made no move to defend herself, yet my magic did not touch her. It was impossible. Nothing made sense. In confused frustration, I cast fire at Morgan, bathing her in eldritch heat. When the fire subsided, she sat there, unharmed, smiling at me.

Then I knew. I quietly murmured more magic and shredded the illusion before my eyes. The Morgan before me vanished and I saw the real Morgan, steps away, casting magic to call lightning from the skies. She had fooled me by building an illusion after I had felled her. Anger enveloped me. She had fooled me again.

I dropped all my shields and prepared the same binding that Nimue had used when we were trapped. Morgan turned and smirked, calling another lightning strike, on me.

My world erupted in sound and fire. Skin was flayed from bone by electrical energy. It was a Quickening in reverse. Somehow I managed to stay on my feet, standing barely and smoke pouring from what was left of my robes. The ceramic shakers of salt and pepper in my pocket had shattered, adding their remains to the ground. Standing became too difficult and I fell to my knees.

Morgan came to me, sensually swaying her hips and looking lovely as death. She began to laugh, truly enjoying herself.

“The mighty Merlin; felled by trickery. You truly are a master of your arts and I would have no way to best you. However, your heart is too pure and trickery is beneath you. Such fine ideals, if they did not kill you.”

My body protested, but I reached around behind me and drew my sword. I had to get her close enough to strike. She was too smart for that though.

Morgan stopped. She raised her hands to the heavens and began to chant. My mind was so shattered that I knew not what she was casting. I also knew I could not stop her. My head went down in defeat and then I saw the pile of black powder next to me.

Her voice began to build towards the climax of her casting. In desperation, I grabbed a handful of pepper and threw it in her face. My arm screamed in pain, echoed by tortured muscles through my sides and back. I was in agony.

Morgan stopped her words, surprised. She made to continue moments later then sneezed. I seized that moment and with the last of my strength I lunged forward and pierced her heart with my blade.

My Immortal gift had already begun to heal me, thank the Goddess. I lurched to my feet and gathered my thoughts and energy. I should have taken Morgan’s head, but something stopped me. I regret that, I truly do. I moved myself by magic to the site of the battle.

The scene was incredible. No one fought except for Arthur and Mordred. Wasting no time, I cast a fog over the battlefield. Next I moved the clouds aside and caused the sun to always be in Mordred’s eyes. Since each was a part of my magic, the fog did not protect him from the sunlight I allowed to peek through.
I could do no more. I made myself watch for Morgan. I knew her Immortality would revive her, but not what she would do then. She apparently knew when enough was enough. I did not see her again.
My attention turned back to the fight and I saw what should have been the end. Arthur skewered Mordred. The scream of pain echoed across the land, no doubt continuing the myth of dragons living in our lands, such was the sound. Yet, Arthur chose escape. He drove the sword into a stone and vanished. My strength was gone. I passed out.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 14)

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 Fourteen

After a day’s practice, and the storytelling, Duncan felt refreshed. He was still a little annoyed with Methos’ constant silent looks. He even told the elder Immortal to stop, but was also sure that command would be ignored. He may have been older, but sometimes Methos was more of a child than not.

However, he was far away from all of it as he moved through his kata again. His movements were fluid, not unlike smoke drifting on the wind. His face was placid, perhaps carved from marble. He was at utter peace with himself and everything around him. His exercise ended and the ballroom was silent.

Duncan bowed towards the others then accepted the towel Methos threw to him.

“That was all it took to defeat Ahriman?”

Duncan lost most of his inner peace, though he kept a small bit. “All? Every champion throughout history has had to find their own way. Since the demon is again imprisoned, all of us have been successful. It took much to learn my way. The price was too high.”

Merlin took a swig of his water. “I see your pain Highlander. Though I would posit that it hurts less than when I mentioned it the other day.”

Before Duncan could protest, Merlin waved it away with his hand. “Let me tell you how high a price can be. I’m not competing Duncan, just remembering.”

* * *

Travels of Merlin Book 8 Part 2
488 AD South of Edinburgh

She shuddered, a trembling that shook every limb and caused the wooden frame of the bed to rattle louder than the torrential rain falling outside the cave. Suddenly she sat up, sucking in a huge breath and releasing it with a spasm of coughing. Her lustrous hair flew around her in a cloud of iridescent strands, shading her features from me.

Finally, her spasms stopped and she sat there, bent over enough that her hair continued to hide her beautiful face. I began to worry that something was terribly wrong. Then I heard the laughter, low and barely discernable with the rain, but it was there. Suddenly, Nimue threw her head back and laughed at the ceiling, falling back on the bed until tears cascaded down her cheeks.

I couldn’t wait any longer. “Nimue?”

The laughter stopped so abruptly, I wondered if I had heard it at all. She slowly got up and straightened her hair before looking at me.

“My dear Merlin. My dearest love. I am going to live forever! With you!”

She rushed to me and nearly knocked me over in her zest. She devoured me with kisses and passion. I managed to carry her back to the bed and the rest of the night passed in the blink of an eye.

We lay together in the early morning light, feeling the cool breeze waft over our naked bodies as we lay entwined.

“There are rules.” I said.

She snuggled closer, even though it had to be impossible to do. “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, I’m safe. And now with Immortality, I am as powerful as you in the old magics and no one can harm me.”

I said again. “There are rules and you must learn them. You will find that perhaps I haven’t done you a favor after all. You may live for centuries, or only moments, depending on how you follow the rules.”

“But I am Immortal!”

I sighed. “Yes, but should I or anyone else take your head from your shoulders, you will be dead and gone, Immortality or not.”

She looked at me for a long time, just digesting the most important rule of our game. “So, this gift too has a price.”

“Yes, but I am here to teach you and you will do well I think.”

“Teach me what I must know my love, but first, teach me what I need now more. Teach me how to bind Mordred.”

I showed her again, and she echoed the instruction with enthusiasm and skill. Mordred would never know what hit him. I almost pitied him.

At the end of that week, Morgan returned, and with her was Mordred. Even without the presence warning of our nature, one could feel Mordred’s malevolence, he wore it like a dark cloak. Mortals shrank away from him like roaches exposed to light. No one stayed near him longer than absolutely necessary. Even Morgan, with her calm easy grace, could be seen to tremble slightly when forced to turn her back on him.

A page found Nimue and I and delivered the message that I was to meet Morgan for the evening meal. Nimue bade me to go and she would stay at the cave. I was unsettled, but decided it was more important to know what Morgan had done and was going to do. I still worked for Camelot.

Mordred met me at the door, shifty and wicked in shiny black leather. The sneer that rode his lips was the closest he ever got to a smile. He was never still either, always moving and in what seemed random directions. Mordred’s eyes though, locked on you and you felt the pressure, the hatred and the disdain.

I did the only thing I could do, I ignored him completely. It was probably a dangerous thing to do, but I still felt Morgan had him on some sort of leash and she wasn’t done with me yet.

Morgan crossed to me and threw her arms around me. I returned the embrace, but felt her stiffen slightly, she knew. There was no way to disguise that I belonged to another. Mordred missed it completely even though he was watching like a hawk.

She whispered to my ear. “I did not expect our time together to be forever. I just wish I had the time to say goodbye.”

I answered in her ear as well. “Our time I will always treasure as special to me.”

Morgan separated from me and accepted the chair I pulled out for her. Servants were arriving and beginning to set a feast to the table. Mordred dropped onto a bench, seemingly uncaring of what was going on around him. He even took a cut of beef from a just placed platter and attacked it noisily.

Morgan grimaced slightly then turned to me with her best smile. “Tell me of my camp while I was gone.”

I returned the smile evenly as I sat at her right side. “You know well what has transpired here, your messengers departed on time daily. How fared your journey?”

“I fared quite well Merlin. Our army will march this winter and we will crush Arthur, for who likes to fight in winter? I’m certain Arthur will not be prepared to fight while the land is locked in ice.”

I stopped eating what the servant had placed for me. I had six months at most to warn Arthur. She knew I was an agent of his, even let me know she knew, yet she still was telling me her plans. She was dangerous, far more so then Mordred could ever think of being. I decided she was bluffing to leave me no time to warn Arthur.

Morgan continued, “But enough of boring war talk, tell me of your new student. How fares Nimue’s studies?”

I am not sure why I told her, but I did. “She is the most gifted student I’ve ever known. She has learned everything I know, in only a month. Things that took us several lifetimes to learn, she does as if she’s known them as long as we. She is our equal and quite possibly our better. The Old Magics sing in her blood.”

It was Morgan’s turn to pause in her eating. It was not fear that coursed briefly across her eyes, but cold calculation. So, her plan for me involved Nimue somehow. I had come to suspect that too, the circumstances of my meeting my young student seemed rather coincidental.

Morgan finished her brief pause. “How is that possible? Is she a goddess to learn so much mystical art in a month?”

I laughed. “No, she is not a goddess, though perhaps she could fill the station should it become vacant. She is gifted beyond my ability to describe.”

Morgan put her food down and lightly cleaned her fingers with a napkin. “Perhaps a demonstration of her newfound talents is in order. I am truly curious to see what she knows.”

I thought through all the angles I could and found nothing that would endanger Nimue or myself. I was confident I could protect her if need be. The only thing I had left to figure was how to warn Arthur quickly and maintain protection of Nimue as well.

Morgan and I left together, me leading her to the cave. I was sure Nimue would not be happy to see me bringing Morgan, but Morgan and I had an understanding that our relationship was over, or so I surmised from her whisper to me earlier that evening. I was sure she would behave herself. Morded stayed inside.

The walk to the cave was not exactly a far journey, but it was uphill, so Morgan and I did not talk much, she seemed out of breath along the way, but kept her head down and the pace up. It was like she knew where she was going. I never remembered the journey being so short.

The feeling of another Immortal came to us and we found Nimue in the cave, against a wall, clutching her stomach. I rushed to her to see what was wrong.

“What is this feeling?” she whispered.

I hugged her briefly. “A warning system to let you know another of our kind is near. It allows you a brief moment to prepare to be attacked.”

“Nimue, my sweet!” called Morgan, striding up to the newborn immortal. “I hear you are a student to end all students of magic.”

Morgan’s eyes did not hold the smile that curved her lips, something was very wrong, but I decided to wait and see what Morgan planned to do. Nimue not only could cast powerful magic, she could do it quickly and ruthlessly.

Nimue curtsied. “Thank you milady, but you give praise where none is due. My teacher has no peer.”

I smiled. My cheeks burned slightly at the compliment.

Morgan narrowed her eyes a bit. “Show me something my dear. Show me something spectacular.”

“Yes, my dear Nimue, impress us all.”

Mordred slunk into the cave. He must have been near us in our journey that I didn’t feel his presence. Morgan didn’t appear too surprised and that didn’t register with me.

“You!” Nimue snarled.

I prepared my magics silently. Mordred would not harm her. She faced him, trembling in unconcealed rage. Would if fire could have shot from her eyes, he would have fried where he stood.

Nimue’s raspy voice kept on. “All those years of touching me, hurting me end now. You shall now feel the wrath of killing my parents! Now you will grovel before me as you have so many times made me do before you.”

I moved before her, trying to calm her, but Mordred shoved me into the cave. As I fell to the floor, he said, “You have no parents wench. You’re Immortal and we have no parents, nor children. You were a plaything to pass the time.”

I scrabbled to my feet, already mouthing a spell to deal with him, but Nimue had been prepared. She lifted one small hand and pointed at Mordred, finishing the last bit of incantation of the binding. I moved to her, while Mordred laughed at her.

Her hand glowed with eldritch energy, power ready to unleash.

“I bind you Mordred, forever.” She whispered as she let the energy go.

I saw Morgan step to Mordred with a satisfied smile on her face. I saw the horrible truth and turned to grab Nimue and stop her, but it was too late. Morgan finished her own incantation and Nimue’s spell reversed and slammed into us instead. A shining curtain of intermixed shadows and light descended from above and encompassed Nimue and I, cutting us in our cave from the outside.

“No!” I screamed.

Morgan cried, “Yes! You are by far more powerful than me Merlin, as is your young student here, but experience teaches as well, and Nimue is a neophyte compared to us. She falls prey to a simple ploy, but more importantly, the true target is caught in the amber as well.”

I was an idiot, falling prey as truly as Nimue had. Concerned with her safety from Mordred to the point I ignored the true threat. I had failed to protect Nimue.

Morgan looked at me through the curtain. “Now, with you out of the way, so to speak, I can finalize my plans for winter. Fare thee well Merlin.”

She stepped back, grinning with evil abandon. With a flick of her wrist and a harsh word, the mountain fell before Nimue and I; shutting us away in darkness. The sound was tremendous, but I heard nothing over the guilty tirade my inner voice was screaming at me.

Finally, the trembling stopped and the ground settled. I heard Nimue’s voice and light flared from her slender hand. Her face was etched in anger and sorrow at the same time. Her eyes searched mine frantically.

“Oh Gods, what have I done?” she cried, shaking beside me.

All my strength left me and I collapsed beside her. “Nothing my love, nothing anyone else would not have done.”

She sobbed and we fell together in the dirt, spent and defeated. Arthur and Camelot would fall. Britain would be scoured. Nimue and I would live forever in our cave, never to leave. At least we had each other in our immortal imprisonment. Our love might provide some nourishment. Nimue’s light went out and we huddled in the darkness. Our despair was great and we were sure even the Goddess had turned her eye from us.

How much time passed, I will never know. Eventually, my mind climbed out of my entombment and began to function. I cast my own light, of a more permanent nature upon the rocks. In their new glow I began to take stock of our situation.

“How did the falling rocks not harm us Merlin?”

It was good to have a question to answer. “The binding will lock away the target, but also keep them safe from harm. It is a purposeful binding that will make your target live on to regret that he lives. Eventually madness sets in.”

“What a joyful thing to look forward to. Do you hate me that I did this thing?”

I stopped pacing the cave and came back to her, gently helping her stand. “Nimue my love, I cannot harbor anger for you. We were victims of a foul plan that was well executed. There is no blame here for you. I however, should not have allowed this to happen. I should have seen this plan moons ago.”

Nimue hung her head and whispered, “Do you still share love with me?”

I gathered her to me. “Forever and always.”

“Even as we begin to die again and again?”

I actually smiled. “I cannot think of a lovelier companion in death than you my love.”

Then time passed us by. We spent our time together, finishing our meager supplies. Nimue and I talked, loved and even laughed in our prison. As the weeks moved by us, we began to fail. Then we began our deaths. We made our bed together and lay upon it, as not to disturb each other. We tried everything to conserve what little strength remained.

Once, upon my awakening, she sighed and moved closer to me. “Merlin, we cannot continue like this. There must be a way to escape this hell.”

I stared at the ceiling after brushing her head with a kiss. She was right, there had to be a way. Every spell has a counter. Even Morgan had a counter for the binding. She redirected it. Perhaps I could find a way to redirect ourselves out of the trap.

Nimue whispered, “How can the magic be dispelled?”

I shrugged, feeling the tired muscles protest. “Only the caster can reverse the spell and Morgan is not about to dispel it.”

I felt her stiffen slightly, knowing my sweet Nimue was about to die again. The despair was too great. I knew I was losing what little grip I had left on sanity. When I had died a thousand times from building Camelot, I had a purpose to sustain me. Now I had only abject failure.

Nimue was not dying though. “Merlin, how could she dispel it were she to try?”

My brain was so bitterly tired from berating myself. It had not functioned well for a while. There was comfort in allowing it to process non-acidic thought again.

“Well, my love.” I croaked, “She could not truly dispel the binding because it is her Immortality that powers it. To dispel it, she would need to lose her head.”

Nimue sighed and snuggled closer. “Morgan did not cast the spell my love. I did.”

I had forgotten, and how that was even possible, I never knew. What I did know, was what she would say next.

“Were I to die, would you be able to escape?”

In a time of great changes, another change occurred. I lied.

“No. I am trapped with you for all time.”

“Sweet Merlin, ever the knightly one. I am doomed and willing to accept that. If my death can set you free to save Arthur; that is what you must allow to happen.”

“No.” I said again.

“Need I take matters into my own hands again my love?”

I shook my head. “There must be another way. Something we have not thought of yet. Give me time and I will think of it.”

Nimue’s hand caressed my cheek. “There is none and you know it. You cannot protect me and save Arthur at the same time.”

“Arthur’s probably already defeated by now.”

Her hand stopped. “Don’t say that Merlin. Never give up hope. I will give you time if you give me hope. Together we will be free.”

With that, she died again. I lay awake, scouring my knowledge for any hint of an escape from our trap. I knew, as she had said, there was no escape. Only by her death could I emerge.

After my next interlude in the realm between life and death, I awoke to find Nimue standing over me. She offered her hand to me and I rose. No words were spoken as we crossed to our table where we had ground herbs so many times. Her hands were warm and smooth, so very much warmer than the air in our prison.

Upon the table, my sword lay unsheathed. The steel glimmered in the faint magical light. I tried to back away, but with surprising strength, Nimue held me fast.

“My love,” she said. “There is no other way. By either your hand or my own, my life must end. Should I take my own life, you will be miserable for all eternity. If you take my head, knowing how strong our love is, there will be a healing.”

“But,”

Nimue raised a hand to my lips. “Hush Merlin. There may not be any other way to escape this hole, but there may be a way to return to you in time. Your knowledge and power are unequaled. If there is a way, you will find it.”

I took the sword from the table. She was wrong, there would be no healing. I would be miserable anyway. She pulled me in and kissed me tenderly.

“I love thee Merlin.”

“And I, thee, sweet Nimue.”

The next action occurred without my will. For years after I would always think she controlled me, but she didn’t. She was right, saving England was of far more importance than the love of two Immortals.

My sword arced up and around. Nimue was smiling lovingly as her beautiful neck separated from her shoulders. I heard a sigh of relief. The almost invisible iridescence of the trap spell winked out, proving that the magic was indeed cancelled. Then the Quickening hit me.

I have taken many heads in my life and each one is unique. Some were violent, some not. But never before, nor after had a Quickening enveloped me as this one. Nimue was alive again, though in spirit, and we made love once more. When the energy passed, I laid there across our beds and wept.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 13)

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 Thirteen

Duncan heard the voice of his old samurai teacher Hideo Koto as he readied himself to battle. His knees were bent, easily supporting his weight. He was balanced and drawing the strength of the earth. His replacement katana was an extension of his arm, a living breathing extension every bit as much alive as he was. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t the same as it should have been. Still the warrior makes the weapon.

Three steps away, Merlin faced him with an ancient longsword with distinct Viking heritage. Duncan recognized the stance from Connor’s teachings and knew Merlin’s opening gambit would likely be a sword fighting style of Scandinavia.

Methos barked from a chair just off the practice floor. “Begin!”

Merlin attacked immediately, coming in a high lunge. Duncan dropped back a step and readied a response, but was caught off guard as Merlin flowed into a low slice attack from southern Asia. His weapon wasn’t suited for it, but the magician completed the move so effortlessly, Duncan was impressed. He was also ready to break the magician’s attack.

Duncan engaged Merlin’s blade as it passed and forced it up and away. He then reversed his wrist and chopped inward towards Merlin’s exposed neck. The magician flowed away as if he were a bank of fog. Suddenly, he just wasn’t there, but out of Duncan’s reach.

“Fine response Highlander!” Merlin shouted.

Duncan responded with a feral grin and moved after the magician, feinting left and quickly snapping to an overhead chop. His katana moved so quickly the blade blurred. Merlin blocked easily and responded with a succession of high attacks, forcing Duncan backward. He recognized the magician’s attack had a rhythm to it and that was a weakness he would exploit.

The next attack hesitated a split second, then Merlin attacked low, faster than a strike of lightning. The sword slapped against Duncan’s calf. Merlin was laughing while looking at the blade of Duncan’s katana as it rested under his neck.

“Break!” cried Methos.

The combatants stepped back, Merlin grinning. Duncan smiled back and bowed.

“Felt the rhythm?”

Duncan nodded. “I knew what you were going to do, just not when. I figured it was better to go offensive.”

Merlin said, “Well, you win that round for sure.”

The magician gestured towards Methos and the bottled water near him. They moved off the practice floor and bowed towards it in unison. The floor was hardwood and not for swordplay really. It was a ballroom dancing floor, but Merlin rented the ballroom for the afternoon and bade the others join him for practice and sparring. The Game didn’t have any hard and fast rules for practice, but those Immortals that did not practice, usually didn’t live long.

Duncan tossed a bottle to Merlin and sat in a chair. As the others joined him, he opened his own water and drained it. It was good to lose himself in practice again. His bad humor from the morning was almost gone.

“It seems from your retelling of history that women were throwing themselves at you. First Morgan, then Nimue.”

Merlin laughed. “Ah, what a travesty modern times has made of a woman’s role in history. Women are to be treasured and protected, that much each time can agree on. However, it’s easier to get in a woman’s way nowadays than it was back then. Competition is the key.”

Methos stood up. “So true. Women in those times knew they had to get a certain type of man to be able to get out of conditions most of them were living in. Competition was fierce. However, the women of that time were by far stronger in character.”

“So how about a man’s need to brag?” asked Duncan.

Merlin chuckled again. “No bragging my friend. Both women did exactly what I told you they did. I was so careful to remember not to fall prey to magic. In essence, that’s exactly what happened.”

* * *

Travels of Merlin Book 8 Part 2
488 AD South of Edinburgh

Even Morgan could not have guessed how apt a student Nimue would be. She learned everything on the first try, making a mistake so seldom as to never have made one at all. Her thirst for knowledge outstripped my own. I taught her everything in that month, even things I had protected from Morgan. I trusted her and she proved on many occasions that the trust was well placed.

Our time together included so much more than just student and teacher. Before Morgan, I had never really known love. After Nimue, I knew what I had with Morgan was not love either. Everything about the young Immortal intoxicated me. In the space of a month I had lost much of my self and had it replaced by a sense of us. I wondered what I would tell Morgan when she returned.

I also lost track on what exactly I was supposed to be doing for Arthur as well. My studies of the camp were on a hiatus, because I told myself nothing would change while Morgan was gone. At least in that respect I was correct because nothing in camp changed.

Nimue lay beside me, lazily tracing mystical signs on my chest. It was near the end of the month where Morgan could be expected to return.

“Merlin, will you teach me a spell of binding?”

I was confused. “You already know several. Why do you need another?”

A look of anger crossed her eyes. “I need a powerful binding spell to lock away someone forever.”

I rolled on my elbow and looked down at her. “You are powerful in so many ways and yet you need more? Who could have you so frightened?”

“Mordred.”

I looked at her and saw true fear in her eyes. She needed more than a binding spell. She needed one to hold an Immortal. That required more power and more finesse. As I had known with the making of Excalibur, the drain would be enormous since the gift of immortality was strong already.

“Of course I shall teach you, my love. Just be sure for the binding spell I shall teach you is powerful beyond your knowledge. It is the singular most powerful spell I know. Once in place, nothing can remove it.”

She rested her head against my chest and whispered. “Thank you.”

All the next day we stayed in our cave. The cave we had found on our search for potion making. I taught her and again she responded with brilliance. She was truly the finest student ever. However, at the end of that day, I had to tell her the truly horrible part of what she asked.

“What do you mean, only an Immortal can cast this magic?”

I sighed heavily. “There are beings in this world that cannot die. We live forever, never succumbing to old age. I am one, as is Mordred.”

Her eyes flashed in anger. “Then why teach me at all if I cannot affect him? Damn you Merlin, I thought you would help protect me.”

“I have taught you all you need to know to protect yourself from anyone. You wanted the most powerful spell you could cast to protect you from Mordred and I have done that.”

Nimue almost snarled. “I’m not one of these Immortals so I can’t cast this magic.”

She stared daggers at me, but I remained silent. Minutes crawled by, seeming to take hours. After all the learning she had completed so easily, her ability to grasp her own gift still escaped her. Then her eyes went wide.

“Yes, my love.” I said.

Nimue fell to her knees. “But I age!”

I almost laughed. “As did I before I learned. You must perish the first time before the Gift is bestowed.”

Now I saw the fear she must have felt towards Mordred. “I have to die?”

I decided to be strong. I stood up, towering over her. I flushed all emotion from my thoughts and fixed her with my best level stare.

I said, “If you wish to cast this magic I have taught you, then first you must die to become truly Immortal. I do not tell you this lightly, nor do I expect you to make any decision now. However, this is the truth of the matter.”

She gathered herself quickly and strode to our table where implements of magic use were kept. Nimue picked up a ceremonial dagger and brought it to me.

“I cannot know if you lie to me; or for what purpose if you do. I asked you to teach and you have. I asked you to love and you have. I have asked so much of you and you have given it. Now I am asked to trust you with my life and my death. Trust in you I shall. Bring this immortal gift unto me my love, for then we can spend eternity together”

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I have killed many in my lifetime, mortals included and more than my fair share of Immortals. However, killing someone to bestow immortality upon them I had never done. She was my lover and friend.

Nimue gently arranged the dagger in my hands and wrapped her own hands around mine. “Please my love. Free me to be with you forever.”

I realized then I couldn’t do it. Love for her purity stayed me. “I cannot.”

“What of Mordred? How can I protect myself from him?”

I answered, “I will protect you from him.”

She leaned in to kiss me and whispered, “This is no longer your choice.”

She pulled herself forward, taking the dagger in her breast to the hilt. Her eyes looked into mine and I saw the love and trust in me before they faded to lifelessness. I felt as though she had killed me too. Something innocent had been taken for the promise of power. I had never made such an enormous error. I felt filthy.

Her body crashed to the floor of the cave and I stood over her, willing myself not to sob. I picked her up gently and laid her in a makeshift bed within the cave we had made a week before. Then I busied myself with mindless tasks.

* * *

The ballroom was silent as a tomb. Merlin looked at his water bottle, slowly turning it in his hand. His eyes were clear and Duncan was sure those eyes were hard enough to crack steel.

“I too know the sting you speak of. I was young and in love, killing my wife on our wedding day to bestow the Gift. What followed was lifetimes of hatred ended in senseless death.”
“Wife?!” asked Methos.

Duncan shushed the elder immortal with a curt hand. “Another day.”

Merlin managed a small smile. “Trust me my new friend, it gets much worse. Never in my life had I regretted the pursuit of magical power until Nimue.”

The persistent scratching interrupted them to find Methos busy scribbling notes. The mood was shattered and Merlin laughed. Even Duncan found himself smiling. However, in Methos’ eyes, Duncan saw something that the elder Immortal knew exactly what he was doing.

Merlin clapped Methos on the shoulder and bade Duncan to sit in the makeshift judge’s chair. The magician led Methos to the floor and challenged him to a practice round. Methos grinned and accepted, but still Duncan caught every glance thrown his way by the other Immortal. Duncan grimaced inwardly. He hated it when Methos tried to make his points.

“Begin!” He cried.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 12)

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 Twelve

The sunlight warming Southern England did nothing for Duncan MacLeod as he waited for the others. A late breakfast would help sustain his physical energy, but spiritually and emotionally, Duncan was exhausted. And beginning to believe that Morgan had cast a spell on him was more than he could stomach. With the small crowd on the patio, he knew he was safe from challenges too, almost as good as Holy Ground.

He ignored the presence of another, to hear, “Good morning MacLeod.”

Methos actually looked chipper, which would have amazed Duncan had the Highlander’s mood been any better. The elder Immortal dropped into a seat opposite Duncan and was about to say something when Merlin swept in, just behind the tide of his presence. He sat down easily and nodded to Duncan and Methos.

A waiter appeared as if by magic and Duncan grimaced. They ordered quickly, though MacLeod wouldn’t confess to being very hungry. Silence reigned, past their tea arriving, and then past their breakfast arriving.

Merlin broke the silence. “Everything is where it was left and all is prepared. However, I feel something is not right.”

Methos leaned forward. “Why so glum MacLeod?”

Duncan sipped his tea. “Morgan knows why we’re here.”

Merlin grinned. “True, as you told her yesterday. I have decided that was an excellent tactic. I believe you’d be a good chess player.”

Duncan managed a small smile. “Not a master, that’s for certain. No, Morgan came to my room last night.”

Impossibly, Methos perked up even more. “Oh, did she? And your famous stoicism yielded her, what?”

“Everything. I don’t understand. I couldn’t stop myself from telling her whatever she asked me.”

Merlin thoughtfully sipped some tea. “That doesn’t explain your demeanor Duncan. Most men and Immortals alike would be very proud to bed Morgan. I know I was.”

Duncan waved away the comment. “That’s not it. She’s attractive and carries a lot of presence, but I should be able to resist that easily. Especially knowing she’s linked with an enemy.”

The magician put his tea down. “Of course you should, but this time your mind was clouded and your senses were screaming at you, but you were almost forced into compliance. Am I correct?”

Duncan just looked at Merlin for a long time. “I’m afraid to ask how you know that.”

Merlin smiled, without a hint of sarcasm. “You were under her spell. Now before you object, let me ask you a question. Were you in total control of your actions?”

“Of course I was. I mean, I think so.”

Methos chimed in. “Or not.”

Duncan looked down. “Or not.”

The sick feeling he had experienced before just thinking of the possibility of falling prey to magic returned. It was a tough blow and he felt his stomach turn violently.

Merlin asked, “Do remember what I told you about the old magics in Paris?”

“Yes, the magic is in the belief.”

Merlin sipped more tea. “You believed she could get what she wanted from you, therefore, she could, and did.”

“She’s a beautiful woman. Hard not to believe a woman of that stature not getting what she wants from any man, or Immortal.”

Methos snorted. “Especially with you MacLeod. Your generosity to the opposite sex is nearly as legendary as your honor.”

Merlin allowed himself another smile. “She is beautiful, but keeping your mind clear and focused to oppose the belief that she could coerce you is paramount. Just as swordplay requires skill and focus, so does magic.”

The magician continued, “Belief is the most powerful force in nature next to love. The most heinous lie can be made true through belief alone. The old magic is basically the lies given existence.”

Duncan tasted a bit of his breakfast. “So refusing to believe in magic is not enough.”

“Oh MacLeod, you believe now. I’m as sure of that as I am that I am breathing.”

Methos looked to Merlin. “What now then?”

The magician shrugged. “I don’t think this incident changes anything. They don’t know where the sword is, and even if they did, they couldn’t retrieve it. Next step is theirs. As for us, we keep on schedule.”

Duncan asked, “What is that schedule?”

Merlin glanced at his watch. “I tell you about how Morgan tricked me.”

* * *

Travels of Merlin Book 8 Part 2
488 AD South of Edinburgh

Much as I tried, Morgan would not tell me more of Mordred or her plans for eliminating Arthur. I had begun to plan myself more aggressively. It was obvious to me that the army in place was still swelling with the years that had passed. And the huge group of soldiers was becoming restless, even though discipline was ruthlessly enforced. Something was going to happen, but I still did not know what or when.

Morgan and I continued our affair, my becoming recognized throughout the camp as her chosen lover and confidant. It was somewhat helpful knowing I could pass through the men at will and even question them if I wished. What made me nervous was that Morgan didn’t care if I did. It meant she must have felt the inevitability outweighed her security.

In late spring, after managing to determine that the army was still not yet ready to move, I decided to get the lay of the land for the thousandth time. If it was possible, perhaps Arthur could be brought here with his men and take Morgan’s army out from under her. If only it were possible.

Near the lake, I found a large outcropping of heather. I knew my stores of natural flora were low for my studies, so I decided to collect some. After transferring some promising ingredients to my belt pouch, I saw some reeds at the water’s edge that I needed as well.

I waded into the shallows, mentally dismissing those reeds that did not suit my needs. I moved further in to the growth and abruptly found myself in a small area of clear water. There was a girl swimming there too. I silently backed away again, into the cover of reeds as she had not seen me. Rather than leave, I looked at her again through the reeds.

She was young, maybe younger than twenty summers and beautiful. Her hair was a pale blonde falling long past her shoulders, framing eyes as blue as the winter sky. I had seen her before, had actually been watching her because she was Immortal, though she had not yet died her first death.

Her name was Nimue and she did quite a few chores in camp, though the men avoided anything approaching inappropriate. I believed Morgan knew she was a new Immortal and was taking a hand to keep her safe, though why she would was beyond me. Morgan was far more concerned with her plans of conquest.

My foot slipped in the mire and I shifted, causing a stir in the water. Nimue spun about.

“Who is there?”

“It is I, Merlin. I did not mean to disturb you.”

Nimue said, “Come forth that I may see you.”

I did, concentrating fiercely on not slipping again. It would be unseemly for a powerful magician to be less than sure on his feet. I was amazed that even as old as I was, I was still vain around the fairer sex.

She stood before me, arms across her breasts and studied me openly. There was no fear; and other than her arms, no false modesty either. After some time of silence, she suddenly smiled at me.

She said, “I have been meaning to approach you Merlin. I have a question to ask.”

I felt foolish, standing in the water gazing upon this beauty, yet trying to maintain some sort of composure when I would much rather have been either far away, or ravishing her. I managed to get myself under control, still surprised at my own thoughts and the passion within them.

“What question do you have? May it wait so that I may allow you a more modest time?”

She laughed and dropped her arms to her sides, allowing herself also to sink in the water to her chin. “Does my nakedness bother you magician?”

“No in the least.” I lied.

Nimue grew serious again. “Will you teach me magic?”

I involuntarily stepped back. “What?”

She laughed again. “Will you teach me magic?”

“I’m teaching Morgan.”

“Can you not teach more than one pupil? Are your powers so complex?”

I became a little annoyed at her tone. “My magic is indeed complex child. Why do you wish to learn?”

“My mother was a woman of power, though she taught me nothing. I feel that I must have talent. Not using it would be a waste. Besides, the only thing my mother ever told me is that I have a great destiny. To learn magic may give me the skills to do something great, as I have no other true skills.”

I neglected to tell her the skills on display of a woman’s power over man she did not need to learn more of, she was a master already. Then I remembered the reason I had come to the lake anyway and wondered if I even had time for a student. I needed to think about it.

I said, “I cannot say currently if I may teach you, but if you truly wish to learn then come see me tonight after evening meal and I shall have an answer for you. Truth to tell, if you take to magic as you do the water, you should do well.”

Nimue laughed again, it was a wonderful sound. “I don’t know how to swim. I just stay in the shallows mostly.”

I frowned, as I hate to be wrong. “I see. Be careful getting out, there are dangers everywhere.”

With that, I turned and left, wrenching my thoughts away from the near animal frenzy of lust that had gripped me. It was not magic. It was not love. It was a longing for something else that was not Morgan.

Later that evening I was dining with Morgan. She was distracted by something, I knew not what. She had actually been distracted a lot during that time and would not answer my questions as to why.

“Is it almost time to invade Morgan?” I asked.

Morgan smiled. “Ever blunt Merlin, I like that. Not yet, though I won’t tell you when. I know you work with Arthur, so I need you here to keep an eye on you.”

I had never even considered that. It was chilling that I had missed it. Perhaps the months I had spent with her had lowered my guard. I internally vowed to be much more careful.

I decided to change the subject. “There is another Immortal in the camp, a young one that has not received the gift yet.”

Morgan nodded. “Nimue. She’s a lovely young girl and as her protector I have made it so she is safe here.”

“She wants to learn magic.”

Morgan laughed. “Well magician, you won’t teach me anything more, you might as well teach her. I have noticed that she holds a seed of power within her.”

“Why protect her as you have?”

“Really Merlin, do you know how hard it is to be a woman? Do you know how dangerous it is to be a woman and beautiful? She deserves a life free of fear to become the best she can be. Mortal and Immortal alike, we all deserve that. I am in the position to see it happens.”

I said, “Very commendable Morgan, why not the other women of the camp?”

Morgan laughed again. “The women of the camp are older and more experienced. They choose to follow. Nimue did not make that choice. That she asked you for knowledge proves that she is capable of rising above her current station.”

“I shall teach her then.”

“Good, she will do well. I must travel for a while and I leave tonight. No, I will not tell you where. I will be gone a month at most. As always, you are free to move about my camp. Even though I know you work for my enemy, I somehow trust you.”

I smiled. “Thank you Morgan, that means a lot. I believe I shall start Nimue’s training immediately then.”

* * *

Nimue arrived that evening in a gown fit for royalty. It hugged her every curve and showed her body to its greatest potential. I was in awe and almost forgot why she was there. Morgan had left on her mysterious journey and even though it occupied my mind greatly, I was even more greatly distracted by my prospective student.

“Good evening Nimue.” I said.

She curtsied as if I were the King. “Good evening magician.”

I tried to dismiss the effect her attire was having on me. “Not exactly what I would expect a student of magic to wear.”

Her smile was seductive. “Would you prefer something simpler?”

“Anything you are comfortable in.”

Her dress fell to the floor. “There, that is more comfortable.”

She was nineteen summers, I was over sixty though Immortal. I never had a prayer. She was in my arms in less time than it takes to draw breath. Lust overwhelmed me and I fell to it. Somewhere that night though, something else grew. It was not quite love for me, but it was far more than just lustful abandon. It would save my life.

Highlander: The King and I (Chapter 11)

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 Eleven

One thing about being over four hundred years old is having the resources available to do the things you want to do, such as purchasing a really nice hotel room. Duncan relaxed, laying on the bed with his arms behind his head and examining the ceiling absently. Methos and Duncan had spent the balance of the day together with no further sign of Merlin. The magician had an annoying habit of disappearing on a regular basis. From Methos’ retelling of history and Merlin’s as well, it was a habit he had developed hundreds of years before.

Duncan had decided to retire after dinner with Methos. His mind was becoming clouded with the wound that Merlin had inadvertently opened. Duncan fought the feeling, but knew he had to face things soon. Still, Richie’s death was recent and more painful than anything Duncan could remember in his long years. He almost wished he hadn’t attracted the young thief into his life. Richie owned a thirst for life, though his had ended. Duncan was thinking that was what he missed the most from his young student.

The feeling washed over him and Duncan sighed. He didn’t feel like talking to Methos, or Merlin even if the magician had returned. Still, it wouldn’t do for him to be impolite, honor demanded so much.

He opened the door to his room and found Morgan standing there about to knock. Duncan was a little confused, but hid it well. She was a phenomenal sight, in a dinner gown and just enough covered to be considered legal. He caught himself holding his breath in appreciation.

“Hello Highlander.”

No one he could remember ever made his nickname sound so seductively perfect. Her voice was breathy and low, coming from somewhere just below the already plunging neckline of her scintillating dress. Duncan pictured liquid silver momentarily, then realized he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Morgan? Ah, come in.”

Her smile was genuine but held an undercurrent of victory. Duncan suddenly felt like a bug being examined. His logical mind was straining to tell him something, but it was drowned out by the roaring in his mind from her nearness. His thoughts had been clouded before, but now it was like a London fog had descended on his mind.

Morgan glided into the room, such beauty and simplicity in her movement. No movement was wasted, nothing was forced. She was in perfect control and knew it. As she passed him, Duncan slightly shook his head, something was not right.

“Would you care for a drink?” he managed.

Morgan turned and smiled. “Please. A brandy would be nice about now.”

Duncan busied himself, more to not look at her and calm his suddenly racing thoughts. He was no stranger to women, even those that took his breath away with their beauty. Morgan was something different though. His pulse was pounding and he found his breath was short as well. He almost laughed at himself.

Duncan forced his emotions down. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He moved across the room and handed her a brandy snifter, eyeing her nearly revealed figure as she lounged on the sofa. She smiled again in thanks, again a very genuine and easy gesture. Duncan saw someone who lived the luxurious life all the time.

“I wanted to get you away from your dreadful companions. Why you spend any time with Arthur or Merlin is beyond me.”

Duncan paused to sip his own drink. “Or any of your business, if I may be blunt.”

Morgan set her snifter down, once again displaying unreal grace and no wasted movements. “Is this the same gentleman I met earlier today? It’s certainly hard to imagine someone so refined as yourself ever being rude to a lady.”

“Rudeness never crossed my mind. I just don’t like games. If you’re here to gather information from me, you might as well know you won’t be successful.”

Morgan’s laugh was clear crystal bells ringing across a morning meadow. Duncan’s spine shivered involuntarily in delight. Her amusement lasted only a few moments and faded into a bright smile all for him. The shiver in his spine worked its way lower.

“My dear Duncan. Don’t you think I know that already? Your countryman’s stern code of honor and rugged lifestyle does not lend to casual talk. Nor would you reveal anything anyway. No, I’m here to try to be a rational voice.”

It was Duncan’s turn to laugh, chasing away the electric shock coursing through his body. “I wasn’t aware my companions or I were irrational.”

“Arthur I can’t speak for other than Mordred’s sheer hatred of him. Merlin though, I find irrational to the extreme.”

Duncan sat next to her without thinking about it. He truly believed this woman could work magic against males. She was intoxicating.

“He would probably say the same of you.”

She laughed again, though not nearly as robust. “I truly loved that man, not only for what he could teach me. However, he’s too much a mystery to everyone. Everything is a crisis to him as well.”

Duncan felt a shock of jealousy run through him. Merlin had been with Morgan and she deserved better. His logical mind screamed again, and was heard, though muted. Duncan shook his head slightly.

Morgan continued, “But he is not the reason I came to see you.”

The current of jealousy eased and Duncan sat back, trying to calm his mind. “And why are you here then?”

“I need your help.”

Duncan felt a surge of emotion again. Morgan needed protection, he knew it. The emotional surge was primal and powerful. He felt the need to shelter her from any harm. He hadn’t noticed her move, but she sat next to him, lightly entwining her arm through his.

Duncan was confused. “With what?”

Then he saw it. Her eye held a bruise, poorly concealed under artful makeup. Further inspection showed the sculpted cheek was damaged as well. The surge of protective emotion swelled again, threatening to overwhelm him, but a tiny voice kept him at bay. He couldn’t hear it anymore, but somehow he held himself in check.

“Mordred is maniacal Duncan. He’s lost all control. I think the stone has infected his mind. True, he wasn’t stable before, but now he’s worse than ever. When I saw him last, he beat me. Frankly, I’m frightened.”

The tiny voice lost the battle as Duncan reached to her and pulled her to him. He embraced her warmth and drank in her presence. “I will take his head Morgan. I will protect you.”

She melted into him. “Thank you Duncan, I knew I could come to you. He has the stone though. He can’t be hurt, much less killed.”

Duncan found his hands running down her back, aching to slip the dress off of her. “Once I have Excalibur, he cannot stand against me.”

She sighed with his touch and leaned in even closer, whispering his name. His actions were no longer his own. Her dress was off, revealing the perfect body to him. He easily lifted her from the couch, already lost in sharing searing kisses of building passion. Duncan crossed to the bed and laid her down. She beckoned to him with her hand, whispering again of her want for him. Duncan moved to the bed and lost himself in her.

* * *

Bright sunlight over his eyes woke Duncan. He groaned and rolled, reaching for Morgan, but his hand came down on empty sheets. A sense of loss passed through him, followed by a few other sensations. His mouth was dry and his head was pounding. Duncan groaned again, wondering how it was possible for an Immortal to have a headache.

Then another thought hit him. How was it possible for Morgan to have bruises? Had she used subtle makeup to trick him? Nothing made sense. He went through his memories of the night spent with Morgan. It had been amazing.

No, it was when she arrived that things got cloudy. Duncan could remember that moment with clarity. Then Merlin’s words from Paris rattled through his head. ‘True, but the magic is in the belief. Whether or not there was any intent to do anything, the magic is in the person believing something occurred.’

Duncan rolled out of bed, seriously upset at what he was thinking. That he would even consider that it was possible for Morgan to have cast a spell on him was ludicrous. Merlin and Methos had come within a sword’s length of him without him knowing it. And Mordred had actually attacked without Duncan being aware of his presence, except by a stroke of luck, or even divine intervention.

Slowly he dressed, noting that the headache was gone now. He felt normal again, as if he’d stepped out of a pool and the water was sluicing off of him. Then Duncan stopped. The cloudy memory of the previous night parted long enough for him to remember telling Morgan about Excalibur.

“Damn.”

* * *

Mordred’s face was contorted with rage, as it perpetually was. “Excalibur? Why would they need that?”

Morgan shrugged. “He said if he has Excalibur, you cannot stand against him.”

“That makes no sense.”

He began to pace, head lowered, but still wearing the mask of anger. Morgan watched for a bit then cleared her throat.

“What?” Mordred nearly screamed at her.

“If all we need to do is keep him away from the sword, what’s the problem? Do you know where it is?”

Mordred shook his head violently. “I have no clue. Besides, if the magician did what I think he did, it’s back in a stone somewhere and we won’t be able to remove it.”

“You always did think small Mordred. I can remove any enchantment Merlin put on the sword. We just need to find it.”

Mordred stepped close to her and delivered a stunning backhanded slap, snapping her head around. “I will not let you insult me Morgan. This time it’s you thinking small. We don’t need Excalibur, they do. So, we don’t take the sword away, we take the Highlander away.”

Morgan kept her mouth clamped shut, violently repressing her own rage.

Mordred continued, “You use your arts to confuse MacLeod. Then you take his head. With that, they are no longer a threat to me. Save Arthur for me though.”

“You want me to kill MacLeod?”

He laughed. “You yourself said he’s the key. When was the last time you garnered a Quickening anyway?”

Morgan was silently impressed. Mordred’s idea was simple and effective. She’d already proven that Duncan was susceptible to her charms, both magical and physical. Killing him would be child’s play.

“What do I get out of it?”

Mordred’s eyes were harder than hammered steel. “You get to live and you get his Quickening.”

She nodded slowly; it was about what she expected. “Okay then, I’ll kill Duncan MacLeod.”