BLOODLINES
By Jonathan Urban
3/5/00
(All Characters Are Property of Panzer/Davis)
PARIS, 1770
"Duncan, wake up will you?"
"I am awake, with your snoring and all!" Duncan McCleod said angrily.
"It's now or never, let's go!"
"Lead the way Connor, and do watch your head!" Duncan grinned.
Two clansmen, with rather long bloodlines, enter side by side into a room where they expected to see the man responsible for the death of Connor's woman. They were surprised to find an Immortal instead.
"Ah the clan McCleod represented by two. You know the rules, one on one."
"He's mine Duncan." Connor took out his sword. "So nice to see you again Kraven--what has it been, hundred years or so?"
"About that Connor, and I see the years haven't been too kind," Kraven unloosed his sword and walked in a wide arc. "Perhaps I can help," He swung towards Connor's face.
"You're one to talk," Connor was looking at the patch over one of Kraven's eyes. Connor moved in with a thrust of the sword, and Kraven countered.
The battle ensued, both warriors fighting like this was their life they were fighting for--and in a sense it was. The words, "There Can Be Only One", echoed in both their minds. For as an Immortal, those were the only words to live and die by. And Connor was going to live by them, that was for sure.
Kraven overextended his swing, leaving his head vulnerable. As if second nature, Connor saw the target, and with exquisite swordmanship, took Kraven's head. Connor fell to his knees, the Quickening was almost upon him. The energy and power of Kraven shot through Connor. He extended his arms taking on all the power that was Kraven. Duncan watched with very little amusement as sparks and energy shot into Connor and the surroundings.
"Well done Brother, now let's get the hell out of here!" Duncan helped Connor up and the two immortals left.
SCOTLAND, 2000
The mountains in the background were awe inspiring, as was the lake behind Duncan's home. Connor took in the wonderful fresh air and sighed. He remembered fighting battles on this very ground hundreds of years earlier and for what? All the deaths, and nothing to show for them. Now it was a new Millennium, and very few Immortals left. Connor and Duncan were two of the last. Would it come down to two clansmen? Was the Prize that important to have to kill your only friend and relative?
Connor wondered if Duncan ever considered this. He was sure he did. It was the unspoken albatross that hung at both of their necks. Connor new that new Immortals could be born at anytime by chance, by fate...but the odds were like that of winning the lottery. There were only a handful he knew of that still were alive, spread around the world--still so few that Connor and Duncan would inevitably have to raise swords sometime.
"Connor, come have breakfast," Duncan called out to him on the porch.
"Be right there..." the thoughts continued, but for now he would put them to the side.
Perhaps one of them would be killed and they would not have to fight one another. For all the pain and loss they had both experienced over the centuries, the Prize was not worth it. Not worth the price of living with the guilt on his conscious. Connor would not fight any longer, he considered it early retirement...he grinned to himself and sat down to eat with his clansmen. He was Mortal once--no twice--and third time is the charm he thought.