Ryan shudders as the Quickening finally ends and he struggles to pull himself up. After four minutes, the Quickening brought him to his knees, reminding him again that he is not dead yet. The downpour has filled some small holes in the ground and he drags himself to one, scoops up the muddy rain, and drinks the cleanest water he's tasted in two days. There is no-one about, although that means nothing really. Even here in these mountains, a quickening cannot be hidden. He felt his last opponent half a mile away just an hour ago, and fought him for twenty minutes before he finally managed to force him to drop his sword. It took another three minutes to get him onto the ground, and another one to cut his hamstrings until he could finally tear off his neck collar and take his head. Ryan looks at the Germans body, knows the scars that mark the torso and knows they happened 600 years before, by a Frenchman in Paris who fell to the German's axe. He doesn't know the Frenchman's name, but knows his face. He might even recall the name if he saw the head again, though that would be impossible, it since rotting away in a shallow grave. But now is the Gathering, where there can be only one. Maybe it is time for the impossible to happen.
A mile down a path, tucked underneath an overhang is a cave that could shelter a man uncomfortably, and wouldn't be able to fit the German without giving him a permanent hunchback. Instead though, there will be some dried meat and tinned fruit that somehow survived a looting. Ryan knows this, because the German knew that. Ryan only just manages to lift the Germans great sword and shatters it over some rock. No point giving a possible opponent another weapon. A quick look around to see if anyone is in sight reveals no-one, at least not immortal anyway. The range that they can detect one another has drastically changed in the past few weeks since the Gathering appeared to officially start. Duncan had told him once how all the remaining immortals would feel compelled to travel to a distant land to confront one another. He never thought that it might be because there was no-where else to go. The bombs saw to that.
The food is still there, surprisingly still edible. Even though he has the Germans memories of holds and grips on the rock, he still takes his time. The German took his own route, and he was also 2 feet taller than Ryan, so any path that he takes to get to the cave has to be his own. After eating, he examines the supplies that were left. A sniper rifle lies in the back. Only a few bullets, he certainly couldn't take a head with the gun, but the scope is the more useful part of it anyway. If someone has a cult of followers with them, that would even the odds at least. A Geiger counter, probably useless here, although might be worth taking along. An immortal with a background in science might know if radiation would be a problem for them, though more likely if there were some survivors out of the mountains, he could trade it for something.
Would the Prize make that a moot point? Mortality was a possible reward, so most immortals seemed to think. But none of his kills seemed to have thought of any other possibility. Even the oldest, his memories part of the substance of a head-hunter who he had confronted when he first got to the mountains, did not have any other ideas over what the Prize would be. It's still his own kills that he has the better insight into. The further and further down the chain of who had killed who, the harder it is to see their past, their own memories, their skills and experience. A smattering of a long-forgotten language sometimes, a useful counter to an attack from a sword style disregarded in the past when in a fight for his life All useful in their time and place. With the space to move around in, Ryan would try some of the German's moves. See if any of his style could work with his own. Even with the difference in limb length and height, surely something would prove useful.
In the distance, a thunderstorm begins. The rifle is snatched and Ryan crawls to the front, peers through the scope. There's a man in rags in the maelstrom. Even with the quickening thundering around him he clutches to his stiletto and meat cleaver as he rises through the air. Around him dance four men and five women, all chanting and bowing at the man raised above them. One gets too close, rises slightly in the air, and is incinerated by the quickening. Ryan doesn't recognise him. Neither does the German, or any other kill that he has made in the past hundred years. There is a smattering of recognition from someone buried deep within his mind, but no more. Maybe with more practice and more heads behind him, he could read more of the others memories. Or maybe they would be overwhelmed by the stronger, fresher personalities.
It soon ends. The rag man stumbles to one of the women who leads him away. A male starts a fire with a bundle of twigs and paper that he seems to be responsible for carrying. The others take the corpse of the fallen immortal and start cutting it up. Ryan is grateful that the range of the rifle is just over a mile, the scope a little more. The small computer imbedded in the scope tries to be helpful, but there are only six bullets, and immortals usually don't practice with guns. He will have to wait. The rifle would hopefully do most of the work, and pick off some of the followers at least. The rag man he could probably down in a shot, but by the time he reached him with his sword, the bullet would have been forced out by the rag man's body healing itself. Even a head shot wouldn't stop him, which since he has lasted this long has to be a fair bet. One immortal he had come across, one who had been forced to cut his hand off after it was pinned in a rock slide, had started to regrow it. Not a pleasant prospect. Thankfully he stayed dead after his head was cut off. To make sure, he burned the body and buried the bones.
The woman who led the ragman away stumbles back into sight. Another woman swaps places with her. Maybe by the time he has used the third, the meat will be ready. Ryan looks for places for an ambush. This one will take some planning. And the planning goes through the night, and into the day.
It's not as if he needs to sleep any more.