Chapter Twenty-Two

Duncan MacLeod was not accustomed to being flat on his back, groping for a sword. His gasps sounded loud in his ears as he strained to reach the hilt of the sword, tantalizingly just out of reach under the bottom riser of the catwalk stairs. With a cry of triumph, he pulled the sword free barely in time to avoid the falling axe above him.

Rolling desperately, Duncan crashed headlong into the low wall that ran parallel to the catwalk. Looking toward the stairs, he noted that Silas seemed to be having a problem removing the head of his axe from the floor. Duncan grinned a little, then wondered just how hard he had hit his head on the wall.

Reaching up to rub the lump that had formed at the base of his skull, Duncan jumped when music poured out of the wall to his immediate left. While not a connoisseur of heavy metal music, Duncan had lived with Richie long enough to recognize some bands; but this one was unfamiliar. Duncan leaned back against the wall just as more words blared out of the speaker.

"Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love. Pour some sugar on me, c'mon fire me up."

Still absently rubbing his sore head, Duncan assumed he had discovered the name of the song and turned his attention back to Silas. Seeing that the Horseman had finally succeeded in freeing his axe, Duncan struggled to his feet, shrugging off questions about the music and focusing once again on his challenger.

************

The edge of the wall ground into the small of Cassandra's back as Caspian pushed the sword against her throat. With his free hand, he groped her crudely, painfully, grinning with soulless eyes. She bit her lip and willed the tears that formed involuntarily not to fall, while slowly working her right hand along the wall and behind her back.

"It appears I won't have the time I'd planned to take with you, slave," he hissed, spraying saliva on her face, "but I promise to make up for it in enthusiasm." The skin over his shattered cheekbone had healed, but she noted with satisfaction that the bone beneath was still grotesquely misshapen. As he leaned in to nuzzle and lick her as he'd done earlier – or maybe to bite her, she wasn't sure – she felt the pressure of the sword relax a little, and she let fly the hand holding the dagger.

He felt her movement and saw the dagger just in time to duck. She missed him, but took advantage of his slight distance and imbalance to bring her left knee up to her chest and kick him in the abdomen. He staggered away a couple of steps, enough for her to transfer the dagger to her left hand and lean into and over the wall, backward. She landed with a graceful roll, as though she practiced it all the time. Rising quickly with the throwing knife now in her right hand, she launched it with cold precision as he prepared to follow her, and buried it deeply in his right shoulder.

His scream brought a feral smile to her lips. Putting the dagger back into her waistband, she dashed nimbly to retrieve her bastard sword, six feet away. "Come on, you pig! What are you waiting for?" she taunted loudly, gesturing for him to come to her. Rage darkened his face as he pulled the knife free and started toward the wall, never losing eye contact with his quarry.

**************

Caspian's scream drew Kronos' eye to the combatants. Doubt flickered briefly across his face as he began to realize how he had underestimated Cassandra. Switching his attention back to Methos, he was just able to deflect the killing stroke aimed at his heart.

"I thought you didn't want to hurt me, brother." He taunted Methos as he scrambled back over the discarded laser tag vests of MacLeod and Cassandra.

"And I thought you might have outgrown your need to dominate and enslave," Methos answered. "Guess we were both wrong."

Sword swinging, Methos fully engaged Kronos for the first time. Feeling anticipation rise in his chest, Kronos defended himself and looked for hints that Death was near the surface. Although Cassandra's presence had been a surprise, and her fighting ability an even greater one, Kronos was sure that he had misjudged nothing else. Loss and fear and pain would cause his brother to return to the fold; nothing would stop his plan.

**********

A small objective part of Cassandra marveled at how much she was enjoying this confrontation. Her heart was pumping hard and strong and steadily, she felt as though she could almost defy gravity, and she actually caught herself pulsing – almost dancing – briefly to the beat of the music.

Caspian took his time joining her on the other side of the wall, partly, she knew, to give her time to think about what would happen when he got there, and partly to allow his shoulder time to heal. He needn't have bothered. She was already giving plenty of thought to what would happen, and she was pretty sure that his shoulder couldn't heal fast enough to prevent it.

Caspian climbed the wall slowly, his grin back in place, but with a hint of a question mark behind it. Perhaps this was the first time he had encountered a victim who goaded him to come for her. Certainly, it was the first time he'd ever seen Cassandra behave in such a way. Perhaps, too, he was taken by the shock of recognition; Cassandra had the feeling that her face was reflecting a joyous glee at the thought of causing harm and pain that was similar to the expression he routinely wore during "play."

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Duncan gave a final shake of his head as Silas approached, axe carving lazy circles in the air. A slight grin graced his face as the larger man approached slowly.

"I think you'll find me hard to kill," Duncan yelled over the sound of the music. "Remember, the bigger they come, the harder they fall."

"You should have run away when you had your chance," Silas bellowed. "I like a good chase sometimes."

"Nowhere to run," Duncan called back.

"Fine. You can stand and die!" Silas finished crossing the distance to Duncan's position and began to wield the axe with purpose. Duncan, having finally learned from his earlier folly, dodged and waited for his opening.

*************

"I like a prey with spirit," Caspian said as he closed the distance between himself and Cassandra. "Breaking it makes the victory more enjoyable."

"I know what you mean," she replied, matching his grin. "That's why I didn't take your head when I had the chance. Watching you bleed a little at a time will make your Quickening that much sweeter."

Caspian's ever-present grin degraded into a mere baring of teeth at that, and he launched an enraged diagonal cutting stroke at her right shoulder, which she dodged. His injured shoulder was forcing him to use his left arm more than he liked, and his skill was markedly reduced. More cuts and thrusts followed, each of which she managed to evade without even using her own sword to block.

It struck her suddenly that she had learned that from Methos, watching him spar with the other Horsemen or occasionally fight for sport with a captive in the camp. The key to his approach seemed to be to avoid, as much as possible, contact of any kind with the enemy's weapon, until he could see the opportunity to move in and strike. Without realizing it, she had internalized this practice, and her own fighting technique consisted more of avoidance tactics and exploiting her opponent's mistakes rather than of the clanging of steel and complex offensive maneuvers.

Cassandra could see her enemy's growing frustration, and she prepared for the moment when he'd leave himself open. As he lunged toward her, she sidestepped and prepared to stab him in the side, but he surprised her by ducking down and sweeping her feet from under her with his blade. Glee flooding his eyes once more, Caspian threw himself upon her... and landed on the dagger she'd again taken from its hiding place.

Another roar of pain escaped him, and Cassandra squirmed out from under him, giving the dagger a quarter-turn. He rolled onto his side with a screech, and she propped one foot against his ribcage for leverage and yanked the dagger from his midsection. He screamed again, and she laughed, a full-throated, guttural sound. With the grace of a dancer, she regained her feet and began to circle him, vulture-like.