Chapter Four
Duncan stopped pulling Cassandra when he realized she was moving away from Methos of her own accord, nearly collapsing onto the sofa. Methos remained wedged into the corner, breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed but still on her. Duncan stood halfway between them, frowning, knowing that something more than the attack had passed between the two but unable to say what.
Duncan's uncertain hovering was amusing to Methos, perhaps because he himself was fighting a bit of shock and hysteria, and he chuckled softly as MacLeod struggled to define his role in this moment. The emotional link continued to throb between Methos and Cassandra, as palpable in the room as a massive electric current, and Duncan was obviously uncomfortable about not fully understanding its content.
"Relax, MacLeod," Methos said mildly, almost genially. "We'll be good." He made a show of removing his rumpled trench coat – which they all knew contained his sword – and tossing it onto a nearby table. Straightening his sweater, he moved with deliberation to sit down again, this time in a cushioned chair adjacent to the sofa, but at the far end from Cassandra.
He was not surprised by his own composure. He had a façade to resurrect, and fast.
Cassandra's eyes still burned into his. He faced her calmly and said, "I hope you see now that I mean you no harm." She narrowed her eyes and sneered her answer to that, which he ignored; he'd said that merely to remind MacLeod that his actions during the clash just now had been purely defensive and, ultimately – never mind the reasons – self-sacrificing.
Duncan moved to sit beside Cassandra, giving Methos an excuse to check his face and see that the younger immortal had indeed gotten the point. The hum of anxiety in Methos' head began to diminish minutely.
"Why don't you tell me exactly what you want from me, Methos?" Hallelujah, the Highlander had decided at last to cut to the chase, if only to hasten his departure and hopefully forestall another conflict. Methos leaned toward him slightly, monitoring his own intensity carefully.
"I got Kronos to agree to a wager tonight," he said. "If I win, he makes tracks for parts unknown and I never hear from him again."
Duncan and Cassandra stared at him as though waiting for a punch line. More explanation was clearly called for.
"You see, back when we were all together," he was trying to avoid the "H" word and setting off Cassandra all over again, "there were often disagreements, primarily between Caspian and Silas. Those two were always fighting over some piece of plunder, food...it was always something." Women were also a frequent bone of contention, but that was a subject to be skirted around just now.
"For a long time, we lived with the constant fear that one of them would get the drop on the other and take his head before Kronos or I could intervene. Kronos had long before decreed that everything we had was to be shared, but disagreements still erupted.
"So, Kronos declared a new rule of the brotherhood: 'We never take a blade to each other in anger.'" Methos noted Cassandra's darkening expression of recognition. "And that worked, to a point. At least, they could be persuaded to drop their weapons at the mere mention of that rule. But we still lacked a mechanism for resolving disputes."
Cassandra gave an impression of bored hostility, but MacLeod was clearly engaged. It gave the old man renewed energy as he resumed the tale.
"So I came up with the idea of the contests. Simply put, they were non-lethal competitions, and usually non-combative. The idea was to take the focus away from the antagonism during the contest, so that by the time a winner was declared, the loser could accept defeat without requiring revenge."
"How civilized," Cassandra observed dryly.
"What kinds of competitions?" Duncan wanted to know.
Methos sat back, not quite sprawling, appearing to relax and giving the impression of having to think about it a little. "Well, let's see...Once, we had them climb to the topmost branches of a tall tree, and hang from them for as long as they could. The one to stay up longest without losing his grip or having the branch break was the winner. Silas' weight got the better of him in that one.
"Another time, we had them bury themselves in sand up to the neck and piled feathers in a circle drawn a few inches in front of each man's face. The first man to blow all the feathers out of his circle was the victor. Silas walked away with that one. What a set of lungs, even compressed by sand." A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he remembered Silas' childlike glee at winning that particular competition. He'd gotten to keep a goat as a pet rather than have it become a meal.
"So, you convinced Kronos to do something like that?"
"He agreed to settle our dispute with a contest, right."
"The dispute being whether or not you rejoin him as his partner in evil."
"More or less." Methos met Duncan's gaze levelly, suppressing a shrug that he felt would not enhance his appearance of sincerity. Cassandra gave a snort as she turned her head away. Duncan's expression was not that of a man convinced he's hearing the truth.
"Sorry, Methos, but I find it hard to believe that Kronos would be willing to bet something he wants that badly on the outcome of some silly contest."
There it is, Methos thought. He'd hoped MacLeod would accept the wager at face value. It would have been simpler that way. No matter; he had it covered.
"I said he'd agreed, not that I expected him to honor the agreement." He noted with satisfaction Cassandra's head snapping back toward him and MacLeod's raised eyebrows.
"You think he'll renege if he loses?"
"I'm sure of it. He'll likely cheat as well, if he can figure a way."
"So what's the point of the contest if—"
"The point is that it's a throwback to the old days, which Kronos is desperate to recreate. He may not intend to cooperate if he loses the challenge, but he'll bloody well participate."
"Yeah, but if you win—"
"If we win." Methos waited for the expected look of surprise and was not disappointed.
"We? You mean, you and me?"
"And a third, if we can find one."
"I thought this contest was for you and Kronos alone."
"He wanted it that way, but I insisted on teammates. It makes it harder for him to force the outcome his way, evens the odds a bit. More variables, less control."
"So who is Kronos bringing in?"
"Don't know; that's his problem. The identities of my teammates are irrelevant to him, too. What matters to him is that I've resurrected a ritual from the days when we rode together." Methos stole a fleeting glance at Cassandra. Her continued silence was a worry.
"But if the outcome doesn't really matter—"
Methos allowed himself a burst of impatience. "Of course it matters! You want to know why I don't just fight him and get it over with, don't you? Well, the answer is – because I'd lose! We're not equals anymore, not even close. I've grown and evolved while he's remained as brutal and savage as he was two thousand years ago. The man I am now doesn't stand a ghost of a chance fighting a man who's dreamed of nothing but power and death for thousands of years."
Cassandra broke her silence to snort her derision. "Coward! No stomach for killing anymore, and no guts to face your own death."
"If cowardice is the desire to remain alive, fine, I'm a coward. I know a fight will be necessary by the time this is done. But I want it to be on my terms, in my own time." Methos sat back, projecting calm once more. "Before I can challenge Kronos, I need to even the playing field, put us on the same level—but outside of a context of violence. The contest will serve the purpose it was designed for: to distract from the original conflict. Within the structure of the contest, we will become equals again, and that is the mindset I need both of us to be in before I face him with a sword."
He could see Duncan was becoming convinced. The deed was nearly done.
"But for the contest to work, I need a team. I need someone I know I can trust, MacLeod, to help me do what must be done—not just for me, but for the good of all the people Kronos will hurt if he isn't dealt with."
Duncan rose from the sofa, walked a few steps, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he turned, arms folded. "Okay, I'm in. But we still need a third."
Methos' sigh of relief was barely visible. "Yes. I was thinking Richie, or perhaps Aman—"
"I'm doing it," Cassandra said brusquely.
"What?" Duncan looked incredulous.
"Absolutely not!" thundered the world's oldest immortal, all calculated thought momentarily forgotten.
"You need a third, and you don't have much time. Kronos will lose patience soon enough. You've managed to convince Duncan to throw in with you, and I'm coming in to look out for him."
"Cassandra, I don't need a protector. I know what I'm getting into."
"Not a protector, just another set of eyes and ears. And as for what you're getting into…well, only one of us here really knows the truth of that." She glared at Methos, daring him to protest.
He only sat staring at her, calculations flying once again. Having her in the contest was the last thing he wanted. Just being near her excited too many emotions, stirred up uncomfortable memories. She was a distraction, and an avowed enemy, and the sum of everything he had ever hated or loved.
But she would be something else again for Kronos. Having her in the mix could prove useful in disturbing the emotional state of the man who wished to lay claim to Methos' freedom.
It was the best of ideas; it was the worst of ideas.
"All right," he said. "You're in."
"On one condition," she said, sliding along the sofa toward his chair. She leaned in close and he could feel the desert heat radiating from her body. "If anything happens to Duncan, and you still live, you will face me. No running, no maneuvering. Just a fair fight."
She had placed her hand on the arm of his chair, as close as she could be without actually touching him anywhere. Her hair exuded scents too modern to be remembered from their time together, but which somehow seemed familiar. With a start, he realized he was breathing hard, erratically.
"It's a deal," he managed. She leaned back, satisfied, and the temperature of the room returned to normal.