Part 7

See part one for disclaimer.

Richie saw the sword on its descent towards his unprotected neck and at
the same time, felt the presence of another immortal. The presence was
weak, but familiar. Just as the sword should've severed his head,
another sword caught Carlos's sword.

"You were promised, Carlos, that you would never win," said Timothy.

Carlos jumped back in fright. The immortal standing next to Richie had
been killed by Carlos millions of years before. Richie, who was used to
ghosts of dead immortals popping up here and there, just stood up and
grabbed his sword.

"I... I... kill... killed... you," Carlos stuttered. Never before had
Carlos ever seen something that frightened him. "I removed your head
with my own sword and then buried you."

"Carlos, sometimes good just has to win. Your life on earth is about to
end," Richie said, walking towards Carlos. "You were the youngest of us.
You were to be the last to join us. You were allowed to join our ranks.
You did not choose to become a Guardian, you were chosen by us to become
one. Remember that. I'm almost twelve thousand years older than you. I
was the first immortal born." Richie stopped. He was only a few feet
from Carlos, who hadn't move an inch as Richie approached him. "It's
time for you to die."

Richie swung his sword, only to have Carlos raise his in time to deflect
it. Carlos didn't understand what was going on. All his men had left and
he could do no more than defend himself. A thrust from Richie cut open
Carlos's side. A punch to the jaw sent Carlos off his feet.

Carlos's sword went skidding across the room, leaving him laying on the
floor waiting for the final blow. "Richard, please, I was wrong. You
always believed that an immortal can change. I can change. Don't kill me
and I will find someway to make things right." Carlos kept talking,
trying to keep Richie from removing his head. At the same time, though,
Carlos was removing a dagger from his sleeve. "I can change," Carlos
said and seconds later, Richie felt the pain from the dagger in his
chest. "See, I can change."

Richie knew he had to remove the head now or never. Using the last of
his strength, he got to his feet and swung his sword just as Carlos
turned around from picking up his sword. There had been no way Carlos
could've blocked the final swing. Carlos's body dropped to the floor,
his head rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. That was when the
quickening started.

The storm started out small and grew as it encircled Richie. Each
tentacle lashed out at him, causing pain like he had never felt. All he
could see was blinding white light, but he could hear the glass
shattering. All he could think was, he wanted this to end. He didn't
want Carlos's quickening and the memories that went with it. He didn't
want to remember Ribous and Timothy's last moments on the planet. He
didn't want to remember what Carlos had done to the capital city of
their provence either....


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

Starlight City before the first ice age

Carlos led his army of over a thousand mortals into the capital city. No
one even dared try and stop him, for he was a Guardian and a god. With
the Guardians dead, no one would be able to stop him. He walked right
into the palace and killed the king and the royal family. Then he sent
his men out. They killed everyone then burned the city down. The smell
of burning flesh and black smoke destroyed the valley forever.


*****************************************************************
Present

Richie wished this was like a normal quickening, where a memory might be
passed, but it would fade. Carlos was no ordinary immortal though. He
was an illusionist, born in a time of mysticism and magic. He was also a
guardian. Every minute of his life would be passed to Richie, but as
quick as the quickening had started, it ended, leaving Richie kneeling
on the floor.

Exhaustion took away all his strength and he collapsed against the
floor. He never saw the four other immortals enter the room or his
friends take the heads of the other immortals that worked for Carlos. He
never felt Duncan carry him to the car or the ride home. He never saw
Mac with a great big smile on his face as he laid Richie in bed and
covered him up. The exhausted immortal also didn't see Duncan fall
asleep in a chair that set next to the bed.


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Richie was dreaming that he was back in Starlight City; actually it was
more of a memory. He had been five at the time. Small for his age and
picked on a lot by the older boys. He was the king's son, but was
treated like one of the peasants. The older boys had blindfolded him and
taken him deep in the woods. They left him there. As night fell, Richard
had gotten lost and ran across Carson, a local hermit. Carson had taken
him into his cabin, fed him and kept him warm through the night. At
dawn, the king and some of his soldiers had showed up.

"I'm looking for a boy about five who got lost yesterday," the king
said.

"A boy. Is this him?" The hermit asked, showing the king the boy, who
was still sound asleep.

The king cried out his son's name before swooping down and picking him
up. He hugged the boy close, afraid that if he let go, the boy would be
gone. "Thank you for keeping my son safe," the king said. "Is there
anything I can do for you?"

"No. The boy has been blessed, you know. Raise him as a fighter and a
survivor, and that will be enough of a thanks," the hermit said.

They were riding off when the king suddenly turned around. All the king
and his men saw was an open field. The cabin and the hermit were gone.
The king never forgot what the hermit had said. He taught his son all he
knew.

Several years later, right after Richard's 19th birthday, an accident
happened. He was walking through town when something exploded. As the
king's son, there was no hesitation in Richard as he headed towards the
explosion. He surveyed the scene. One of the buildings was totally
destroyed and another was coming down. One of the boys who had left him
in the woods when he was five, stood there. He was paralyzed with
fright. Richard ran towards him, yelling at him to move. The building in
front of him was coming down, but he did not move. Richard pushed him
out of the way. The building collapsed onto Richard instead of the older
boy.

Minutes later, the king's personal guards came running. They stopped
dead in their tracks as they saw the sight in front of them. The king's
son was pinned beneath the stones of one of the buildings. He lay there
unmoving, blood covering his arms and head.

"Noooooo," came a cry from two people behind them. The king and queen
were running towards their son. A messenger had run up to the castle to
say the king's son had been hurt. With the help of his guards, the king
pulled his son from the rubble. He moved a few feet away before sitting
down with his dead son's body in his arms. The queen collapsed right
next to them. The king's only child, the only heir to the throne, was
dead.

"The prophecy has come true. A prince shall die protecting another and
then reawaken to live forever," the hermit said. The king looked up,
recognizing him as the person who had protected Richard as a boy when he
had gotten lost.

"He's dead, old man. He's not coming back," the queen cried. "Guards,
remove this fool."

"No. Let him speak," the king said, passing his son to the queen. "What
do you speak of, old man?"

"I speak of a prophecy as old as the stars themselves. It tells of a
king who is blessed. It tells of a heroic act that saved a life of
another. It tells about how the son will live again and become a
protector of the provence. It says that he will be immortal and shall
live forever," the hermit said.

"My king," someone said from the crowd. He was pointing towards the
queen.

The king turned around to find his son's eyes open, his chest rising and
falling, when seconds earlier it had been lifeless, the wounds on his
head healing right before their eyes. Slowly and unsteadily, the king's
son got to his feet, totally unhurt.

"Father?" Richard asked uncertainly.

"My son," he said, giving his only son a hug.

"Now, it is time for your son to leave. He will come with me to complete
his training and will return in five years time to take his place as
rightful protector of this valley," the hermit said.

"You think he is going with you?" the king said. With a wave of his
hand, his guards were between the king's son and the hermit.

"He will," the hermit said.

With a flash of light, both the hermit and the king's son were gone. The
valley was searched, but no one ever found them. Five years from that
day, a great knight rode into the capital city. He wore the crest of a
dragon. Many people gathered at the palace to see who the mysterious
person was. As the king and queen came out of their palace, the knight
dismounted his white horse.

"Who are you?" the king asked.

"Many know me as the White Knight," the stranger said. "But you know me
as Richard." The stranger removed his helmet to reveal his face. The
crowd gasped as they saw who it was. The king's son had returned after
five years, as was promised. The queen could not be stopped as she ran
down to her son.

"My son has returned," the king said.

"The sorcerer of the Black Hills promised that in five years my training
would be completed and I could return," Richard said.

"The sorcerer of the Black Hills," the queen gasped. "My son, he did not
hurt you, did he?"

"No, he did not, but he taught me what I needed to know," Richard said,
climbing the stairs to where his father stood.

The dream shifted, becoming more a nightmare than the pleasant dream it
had been. What he saw now was Starlight City the last time he had seen
it. It lay in ruins. The buildings destroyed and people dead. What had
once been a lush valley was now charred and smelled of burned flesh. He
had gone up to the Black Hills and had come back to this. Death and
destruction. Then, out of nowhere, came his father, his sword held high,
ready to remove Richie's head. The words that came from his father's
mouth blamed him for the destruction, even though his father had died
two thousand years earlier.

Richie awoke as his father's sword came down to sever his head. He tried
to fight the hands that were holding him down. In the back of his mind,
he heard the reassuring words, though. As they started moving up to the
front of his mind, he remembered where and when he was.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Mac, looking as worried as ever. The
nightmare was slowly fading to the back of his mind, removing the fear
from his conscious thought. Richie tried to run a hand through his hair
only to find it matted to his head with sweat.

"You all right? You were yelling 'father' and something else, but I
couldn't understand it," Mac said.

"It was just a nightmare that has always plagued me. It was of our home
city. The capital of our provence. The place where I grew up. I returned
from a trip to find it destroyed by Carlos. In my dreams, I see my
father blaming me for it, because I was their protector. I was the one
who was supposed to keep our people safe. That was my greatest failure."

"Your father. You mean the person who had taken you in as a son?" Duncan
asked.

"No. That was the difference between Guardians and other immortals. We
knew who our parents were. They were our true family," Richie said.

"It must be hard to live in a time that doesn't even remember who they
were. To live with the fact that they died and you lived."

"It's hard at times, but it's friends like you, Connor, Methos, and the
others that make it worth living," Richie said.

"Are you ready to explain who Carlos was?" Duncan asked. "None of us
really know who he was or who you were at that time."

"I guess its time for someone to know," Richie said, getting up from
bed. He splashed some water on his face before following Duncan into the
library.


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Joe's bar one hour after Carlos died

"I'm looking for Mike," a stranger said.

"I'm him, but the bar's closed," Mike said. "We open in a few hours. Why
don't you came back then?"

"I can't. Mike, you're dead," the stranger said.

Mike didn't see the sword until it was to late too block it or even
move. The stranger stood over the dead body, knowing someone would find
it before Dawson got back from Paris. "Name's Timothy. I don't care for
people that want my friend dead. I may be dead, but hey, I can do just
as much damage as if I was alive," Timothy said.

"Come on, Timothy, it's time to go home," Ribous said. They were both
former Guardians that had been killed by Carlos. As they walked out of
the bar, they just faded into nothing. Only a golden cross, left where
the police wouldn't find it, but Dawson would, gave any sign of who had
been there.

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