Dark Hearts
Descent
© HonorH
This takes place approximately three years after the events of "Dark Hearts.
Three funeral pyres were laid out in a triangle in the middle of a slaughtered town. A single man moved between them. On one, he laid the body of a young boy. His hand rested briefly against the lad’s chest before he moved to lift a girl’s body. She was only slightly older than the boy. The man’s hand caressed her face as he laid her on the second pyre. On the third pyre he laid the body of a woman. He lifted her hand to his lips, then turned away.
The pyres surrounded a small fire with a pot of thick, dark blue woad bubbling over it. The man lifted the pot off the fire and set it aside to cool. Then he took a flaming brand from the fire and lit the pyres: first the boy’s, then the girl’s, then the woman’s. Oil on the wood caught fire quickly, and the blazes illuminated the ruins of the town around them. Within the circle of flame, the man sat down.
He dabbed a finger into the blue woad and began applying it to his face. One single streak of blue on the right side of his face, from his hairline to his jaw. He needed no mirror to check its placement. Then he took a dagger and began to trim his dark brown hair, which flowed to his shoulders. He didn’t cut it all short—just enough to make it into a rough, wild mane around his face.
Quickly, with the grace of a cat, he rose and began stripping off his clothes. A merchant’s shirt, tunic, and trousers went into the flames. Another bundle of clothing lay near the fire. The man drew on a pair of loose white trousers and an equally white tunic. He bound a dark leather sword belt around his waist, then put on a scale-armored breastplate. Dark leather boots and studded metal gauntlets were next. Finally, he pulled on a long, white, hooded cloak.
From the ground he picked up a bronze mask, a half-skull. He slipped it easily into place and pulled the hood over his head. Nearby waited a horse, almost white, with only a touch of pale gray dappling its sides. The man in white walked over to it, then seemed distracted by a large white stone just beyond the horse. In happier times, village children had climbed all over it. Now the man picked up his pot of woad and, using its contents, wrote some words on the stone. Seeming satisfied, he mounted the horse and surveyed the ruined village he had once called home. He drew his sword, then spoke, his voice colder than a midwinter’s night.
"No one will mourn you," he said, "but you will be avenged."
"Stop babying me."
Gabrielle’s voice sounded irritated, but no less tired for it. She rode astride Argo, her normally proud posture slumped.
Her companion spoke up. "Look, Gabrielle, you’ve been running a fever, you can hardly keep food down, and you fainted this morning." Xena was leading the horse toward the nearest town.
"Did not," argued Gabrielle. "I just . . . stumbled."
"On perfectly flat ground? You’re not Joxer, Gabrielle." Xena shook her head, rolling her eyes. "We’re stopping in Karphis and staying there until you get better. Then we’ll meet up with Hercules—not before." Her tone was adamant.
"Okay," agreed Gabrielle weakly. "It might be nice to have a real bed."
They continued on in silence for the next half-hour or so until they came to the fortified wall of the town of Karphis. Xena knew the town fairly well. It was the capital city a rather officious king wannabe named Matthias. His father had been a good man by all accounts, and his lands had been run well until his death. Xena already saw the signs of decay under Matthias’s reign.
As they approached the wall, Xena felt a prickling at the back of her neck. Something wasn’t right here. A guard approached them, sizing them up rather blatantly.
"Name and home city?" he demanded.
"Xena of Amphipolis." Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when she found herself and Gabrielle surrounded by swords and spears.
"Let’s kill her!" shouted one of the guards, making a lunge. Xena grabbed her chakram, but the young guard was stopped by the man who had approached Xena.
"No. Go find the captain," he ordered. Reluctantly, the young guard left, throwing a threatening gesture at Xena.
"Something I said?" inquired the Warrior Princess mildly. If she’d been alone, or if Gabrielle had been well enough to fight, she would have made a break for it.
The guard regarded her cautiously. "We can’t be sure you’re the one, Xena, but if you are, you have a lot of nerve coming here."
"The one what?" The weak query came from Gabrielle.
Her voice seemed to startle the guard. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "The captain will interview you, and if you’re not who we’re looking for, you’ll be let go."
Xena was gearing up for a full-scale intimidation when they were interrupted by the arrival of the captain of the guard, a tall, fair-haired young man. The warrior started when she saw him.
"Troyius," she said.
"Xena." The captain didn’t seem too pleased to see her. But he didn’t seem as wary of her as the others, either.
"You know him?" asked Gabrielle from her perch atop Argo.
"Yeah," confirmed Xena. "The captain here used to be with my army. I don’t understand, though—I thought you were dead, Troyius."
Troyius’s mouth quirked. "Long story. The short version is, I survived." He turned to address the guard who’d stopped Xena. "I don’t think this is who we’re looking for, Gavin. Let her go. She might even prove helpful, if all I’ve heard is correct. If you’ll come with me, Xena?"
Xena followed, curious. As they entered the town, Xena felt the tension in the air. It was almost a palpable thing. The townspeople looked at her with some wariness, but seemed soothed by the presence of Troyius. He nodded to them, and paused to tousle a young boy’s hair.
"Who is he?" whispered Gabrielle.
"Troyius joined my army. Actually, he was among a group of captives from one town, and I liked the way he looked, so I kind of—drafted him." A rueful look crossed Xena’s face. "Anyway, he fought alongside us for almost two years before he fell in battle. I thought he was dead, but we never did retrieve his body. I guess he lived. He was a good fighter, though, and loyal almost to a fault."
Over Gabrielle’s protests, Xena insisted on putting her to bed in an inn before accompanying Troyius to Matthias’s palace.
Matthias was all that she expected. A portly, balding, overdressed man with constantly shifting black eyes, he was difficult to convince that Xena wasn’t "the enemy," whatever that was. In the end, Troyius prevailed.
"We’ve had a rash of killings lately, Xena," explained the captain. "At first, it was a few soldiers on the border of Lord Matthias’s lands. Then a small army garrison was slaughtered. We thought it was poachers at first, but after the garrison, we know that couldn’t be the case. Strange thing is, though, that according to General Donas, who leads the army, it looks like it’s only a single assailant."
"Interesting," Xena mused. "I take it word of the killings had leaked back to town?"
"Of course. These are people’s brothers, sons, loves. Everyone’s wondering what’s next."
"What’s next," Matthias pronounced in his annoying voice, "is you and Donas and all the soldiers I pay so well are going to get rid of this pest."
Troyius scarcely bit back an impatient sound. "Yes, my lord."
The door suddenly flew open and a dark, grim-looking man strode in and bowed. "My lord," he intoned.
"General Donas. I hope you have good news?" Matthias’s expression wavered between hope and fear.
The general fixed his gaze on Xena, who decided she didn’t like him. "Are we bringing outsiders in now?"
"Xena, Warrior Princess. Glad to meet you, too." Her tone was just this side of snide. She and the dark man locked eyes briefly, a challenge passing between them. Troyius’s voice broke the tension.
"She’s here to help, Donas. Believe me, if anyone can, it’s her. Is there news?"
Donas unlocked his gaze from Xena’s. "Another garrison was slaughtered last night. This time, though, there was a survivor. I think you should hear his story." He made a gesture, and three soldiers entered, two of them bearing a third with an obvious leg wound between them. The man with the leg wound wore the same expression Xena had seen on the Athenian soldiers who had confronted the Horde. He was lowered onto a chair, and the other two left.
"This is Linus," said Donas. "Tell us what you saw, Linus."
The young soldier licked his lips, trembling, then began to speak in a shaky voice. "It was early in the evening, and the guard had just changed. The rest of us were just going in for dinner. The ones going out on duty had just eaten. Suddenly, they all started choking and falling. My lieutenant said it was poison, and for no one to touch the food.
"Then the bodies started falling. They had arrows in them, or throwing knives. The lieutenant was yelling for us to take up our positions when the stable started burning."
The man’s mind flashed back to the scene. The horses were screaming from inside the stable, and the remaining guards seemed to be growing fewer second by second. Smoke billowed from the burning stable and from the strange, acrid-smelling bundles that kept falling to the ground, making it difficult to see. That was when Linus saw him.
At first he thought it was a ghost or a spirit. The figure was in white, with a mask over his face, and a cloak flying about him. Soon, though, he realized it was lethally real. The figure moved about the remaining guardsmen with bloody grace, calmly killing one after another. No sword seemed to even get through to him
Linus yelled, drawing his own sword, and began running toward the figure. With negligent ease, the figure drew a knife and threw it, hitting Linus in the leg. The young soldier fell. He watched in horror as the few remaining guards tried—and failed—to take down the white figure. Even the lieutenant, the best fighter the young man had seen, stood no chance against the intruder.
Finally, only Linus himself was left. The mysterious figure surveyed the area briefly, almost casually, then focused on the young man cowering against the wall. Slowly, the figure walked over to him, and when he spoke, his voice froze the blood in the soldier’s veins.
"Congratulations," the voice from behind the mask said. "You live today. I need you to deliver a message to your superiors and to Lord Matthias." One hand rose and lifted away the bronze mask, revealing a face set in stone, with a blue streak obscuring the features. The man moved closer, stooping down and fixing Linus with an opaque gaze.
"Tell your lord," he continued, "that I am coming for him. But not all at once. Those protecting him will die first. Those remaining will flee. He will be left alone with only his terror as company, and then I will be there."
"Wh-who are you?" whispered the soldier.
The man reached down and yanked the knife from Linus’s leg. "Who am I?" The apparition drew the knife across his own palm. "Wound me, and I keep coming. Kill me, and I revive. I am Immortal, unstoppable." He reached out and drew his bloody hand across Linus’s face, then displayed that hand, fully healed, to the petrified young soldier. "Do you know who I am now, boy?"
The figure leaned closer, and in a voice that seemed to come from Hades itself, he whispered, "I am Death."
"That’s what he said?" asked Xena sharply. " ‘I am Death’?"
Linus was still shaking at the memory. "Yes." He gulped. "I saw him cut his hand open, I saw the blood. His wound healed in a matter of seconds. He must be a spirit, or a god."
"No. No, he’s not," declared Xena.
"Do you know who this is?" demanded Matthias.
Xena gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, yes, I do. Or at least I’ve got a good guess. And you know what, Matthias? You really do have a problem."
"Methos?"
Gabrielle’s voice was incredulous. "Xena, are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be without actually seeing him. Here, drink this." The warrior handed her friend a mug of tea. "When Methos and I were traveling to find you after Korynas kidnapped you, he told me a little about his days with the Four Horsemen. He said that he wore white with a half-skull mask, and that they all used paint on their faces. He also said that he was called Death."
"But why? Methos wanted to live in peace when we last saw him."
Xena’s eyes darkened. "I don’t know. All I know is that the Four Horsemen made my army look like the Sisters of Gaia, and if Methos has decided to take up their ways again, any number of people may die."
Gabrielle took a long sip of tea, never taking her eyes off her friend. "What are you going to do?" she finally asked.
"I don’t know," Xena sighed. She rubbed her temples. "I’ve been turning it over in my mind. If it comes to a swordfight, he’s better. I can try to out-think him, but he’s smart. I think the best bet is for me to find him, find out why he’s doing this, and try to make peace."
Gabrielle smiled tiredly. "Wisdom before weapons. That’s what you told me."
Xena’s mouth drew into a reluctant grin. "I did, didn’t I?"
"Just be careful, okay?" Gabrielle reached out to touch her best friend’s shoulder.
"I will. I promise."
Xena spent the afternoon going over maps with Troyius. After charting the attacks, she had a pretty good idea of what Methos was doing.
"First, he attacks border guards," she explained. "Next, he takes out a garrison inside the border. The next garrison was even further inside. I think that tonight, he’ll go for a group of soldiers between that one and the city wall. It’s a noose tightening, don’t you see? He’s coming for Matthias, but not until he drives him mad with terror and drives away all those close to him. This is a man who understands the use of fear."
"Isn’t it risky, though?"
"Yeah, but he’s got time. I think he’ll disappear if we get too close to him, then reappear later." Suddenly, there was a dagger in Xena’s hand, and she raked it across Troyius’s forearm.
"Ahh!" Troyius jumped back. "Why did you do that?"
"Don’t play that game." Xena grabbed his arm and pulled it straight. The wound she’d made was healing rapidly. Within seconds, it was gone.
Troyius sighed in resignation. "How did you know?"
"Three years ago, Gabrielle was kidnapped by one of your kind. He wanted Methos in exchange for her. I saw Methos come back to life after I killed him, I saw a swordfight, and I saw the Quickening. I also remember seeing you fall dead with a slashed face and a sword through your back, and lo and behold, no scar. That and it’s been nearly ten years and you don’t look a day older." She grinned wryly.
"So my little secret’s out." Troyius grinned back. "Yeah, I did die in that battle. When I awoke, I wondered how I’d survived. I wandered a bit, thinking to find either your army or anyone I knew. Then one day, I was walking through a town when I felt the strangest headache, and I saw a man staring at me like I was a threat. I guess I must have looked pretty confused, because he took me to a tavern and told me what I was over a few drinks. After that" he shrugged "Arawn—the man, a Briton—taught me about Immortal swordplay, and once I took my first head, I struck out on my own. By the way, the training I received in your army has served me well. I suppose I should thank you for that." A shadow crossed his face, born of old, bitter wounds.
Xena felt an old, familiar pain inside her. "I’m sorry about what I did to you, Troyius. All of it."
The captain gave a light, forced shrug. "Arawn taught me that the past is the past, and we, of all people, can’t live in it." He focused on Xena’s amazing blue eyes. "And I know you’ve changed. I scarcely believed it until now."
The warrior was curious about something. "Troyius, you strike me as an honorable man. Why are you working for Matthias?"
Now Troyius looked troubled. "I started out working for Matthias the elder, who was a good man. The lands were run well, taxes were light, and the people were happy. Then he died. Unfortunately, Matthias the younger wasn’t half the man his father was, but I had already given my oath to him. I don’t like him, his policies, or the way he and Donas dispatch his army. The fortunate thing is that the city guard is relatively independent of the army."
Xena nodded, then turned back to the map. She noted the positions of army encampments inside the region, then pointed out three. "I think one of these three will get hit tonight or tomorrow night. I’ll ride between the three and see if I can catch Methos."
Troyius nodded. "I’ll come with you."
"No." Xena was adamant. "He’ll be able to sense you. I don’t want to risk more than I have to."
"Xena, he’s Immortal. You can’t . . ."
Xena cut him off. "I know him, Troyius. I’ll talk to him if I can, but I don’t want to have to kill him. Please trust me." Troyius didn’t look happy. "Besides, I owe him. He risked his life for Gabrielle and me."
"Okay, Xena. I’ll trust you. I just hope you know what you’re doing."
"Yeah. So do I."
Xena rode through the forest almost soundlessly. After all these years, she and Argo were like one creature, and wouldn’t be detected unless they wanted to be. It was hours into the night, and she’d already ridden her circuit three times with no luck. The warrior was starting to think that Methos wouldn’t show at all that night.
Her sensitive ears picked up a new sound from somewhere in front of her. She slipped from Argo’s back, clutching her chakram, and crept forward. She knew that there was an encampment of soldiers ahead, but as she approached, she couldn’t hear any of their usual banter around the fire. Then she spotted him.
He was in black now, and his hair was far longer than it had been three years ago, but there was no mistaking his face, even with the blue paint. Around him were the bodies of soldiers, and he was just drawing his sword free of the last one when Xena’s chakram thudded into the tree next to him and stuck.
"If it isn’t the Warrior Princess." His voice was exactly as she remembered it. "I was just thinking about you a few days ago."
Xena stepped into the clearing. "If I wanted you dead, Methos, you’d be dead already. I just want to talk."
"Won’t work." He turned to face her, and she saw the flinty hardness in his gold-green eyes. "You want to live, leave here and stay out of this."
"I just want to know why, Methos." Her voice encouraged him to talk. "The man I met three years ago wanted to live in peace."
"The man you met three years ago, Xena, died along with his wife and children," the Immortal told her.
"Tell me." It seemed she was always saying that to him, she thought.
"Are you working for Matthias, Xena?" he asked. "Because you ought to know what kind of man he is. He’s the sort of man who sends his army to villages past his borders and slaughters them when they won’t pay tribute to him."
"What?" There was more than a little anger in Xena’s voice.
Methos looked away briefly, then returned his intense gaze to the Warrior Princess. "Two years ago, I was traveling when I chanced upon a small village. I went to the inn, hoping to find a warm bed and good ale. What I found was a young widow named Calla and her two children. I’ve been around long enough to know a good woman when I meet one, and Calla had been without a man for far too long. We were married. I lived as a merchant and a scribe with her and her children and all was well. Until, that is, Matthias decided to expand his borders."
The ancient Immortal stepped closer to Xena. "His army, with General Donas at its head, rode into this peaceful little village and killed everyone, including me. When I revived, I found my new family—the latest in a long line—dead. Now I’m going to kill Matthias little by little. And you’re not going to stop me."
Xena didn’t flinch from Methos’s gaze, even though she was boiling inside. "Methos, you want to kill just Matthias, I might not stop you. But you’re going to end up killing a lot of innocent people as well, and I can’t let that happen."
"No one’s innocent," Methos sneered. "Least of all these." He gestured at the bodies littering the ground around him.
Xena tried a different tack. "You think I don’t know what it’s like, Methos? Pain or fear gets to you, so you fall back on what’s comfortable. You look for a time that you seemed in control of the world, and you descend to that level again. It doesn’t work, Methos. Believe me, I know."
"Do you?" His voice was sharp. "Do you know what it’s like, losing over and over and over again? I tried to start over, Xena. Twice. Mortals die. They die whether or not I care about them. It doesn’t matter whether I’m a merchant or a Horseman. They still die. So why should I care?"
"My son died," Xena shot back. "He died and I descended to the level of an animal. My thirst for revenge nearly cost Gabrielle her life. If that’s the alternative to caring, and the pain that goes with it, I don’t want it!"
"Maybe I do." Methos’s voice was quiet, deadly. "Stay out of my way, Xena."
"I can’t. You know that."
"In that case, you’ll make a very interesting opponent." Methos suddenly moved away, back to the tree Xena’s chakram was stuck in. He pulled it free. "Nice," he observed. "Did I mention I’ve worked with these before?"
He threw it, and it banked around the trees in the clearing. Xena whipped around, noting its flight pattern, then caught it in midair. She turned back to the spot Methos had been standing in just a second before—
--and found herself alone. She stood rigid, senses straining for any sign of him. Nothing. The warrior cursed under her breath, then whistled for Argo. As the horse moved into the clearing, though, a familiar presence tickled the back of Xena’s mind.
"All right. Show yourself." The words, softly spoken, sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the clearing.
There was a sizzling sound, and Xena turned to find six feet plus of black leather clad God of War glancing appreciatively around the clearing.
"Gotta love his style," Ares observed.
Xena’s glare was a tangible thing. "What are you doing here, Ares?"
"Same thing I’m always doing. Looking for a warrior to lead my armies in battle." Ares’s dark gaze rested on his former favorite’s face. "You didn’t seem to want the job, so I had to . . . look elsewhere."
"Methos," Xena realized. Ares nodded in confirmation.
"The work he and the Horsemen did was really quite impressive. They were hard to control, though. It was their leader, Kronos. Delusions of grandeur—not necessarily a bad thing, but unworkable in a god’s tool. The other two . . ." he shook his head. "Silas was slow-witted, and Caspian . . . and you thought Callisto was crazy. But Methos—there we had intelligence, impressive battle skills, ruthlessness, Immortality—all he needed was drive."
Xena saw where this was headed. "So you put a bug in Matthias’s ear to expand his borders, and Methos’s family got slaughtered." She shook her head in disgust. "You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Ares."
The God of War bowed lightly. "Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot, Xena. I’m doing him a favor, really. He was in danger of becoming a mere peasant. Can you imagine, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as a merchant and a scribe? What’s next, a scholar? Boring!"
The Warrior Princess stepped forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with the god. "It’s not gonna work, Ares. I’ve always been able to beat you before. I’ll beat you now."
A hungry look came into Ares’s inhumanly gorgeous face. "Oh, this will be worth seeing," he sighed. "Methos is a better foe for you than anyone else I’ve come across, excepting only Callisto. Watching you two go head to head should be" he drew in a breath "invigorating. It would make the blood pump in my veins—if I had blood. Which I don’t."
"Let the games begin." Xena gave the God of War a feral grin, then vaulted into Argo’s saddle.
By the time Xena got back to Matthias’s palace, her blood was at full boil. She stormed into the throne room, where the lord was talking with General Donas. Donas, seeing the danger gathered around the fuming warrior, came forward to stop her and found himself on the business end of the Warrior Princess’ fist. In another second, he was flat on his back with Xena’s heel poised to crush his windpipe. Xena fixed her fierce blue glare on the cowering Matthias.
"You pathetic little scrap of a man," she seethed. "You and your trained bulldog have been slaughtering innocent people in the name of expansion."
Matthias fell back on bluster. "You can’t judge me, Warrior Princess. Once upon a time, you did the same thing."
"Yeah, and I paid for my crimes," she shot back. "And now, so are you. What, you didn’t expect anybody to fight back? Or take revenge? Let me tell you how it’ll happen. Guards along the city wall will fall next. Then guards within the city. Then palace guards. Then your chamberlains, if they decide to stick around. And then, one fine night, you’re going to awaken to find Death at your bedside, and what happens to you next won’t be quick or clean." She leveled a gaze of undisguised contempt at the lord. "At least I rode with my own army and faced my enemies. You send monkey-boy here" she gave Donas’s larynx a nudge "to do your dirty work. I oughta just let Methos gut ya." She removed her foot from the general’s throat. "Get up!"
Donas stood, feeling his throat. He was getting geared up to draw his sword, but thought better of it when he saw the look on Xena’s face.
"Then you’re leaving?" The question came from behind them. All three were startled to find Troyius in the room.
"I’m not leaving, Troyius," Xena said. "I’ll stick around to help. But not for His Lordship here." She tossed a glare at Matthias. "Innocent people who aren’t Ares’s pawns will die if I can’t stop Methos." She turned on her heel and left the throne room. Troyius caught up with her in the hall.
"Xena, let me face him."
Xena stopped cold. "No way."
Troyius pressed on. "This is Immortal business now, Xena. Swords will settle it."
His former commander shook her head. "Look, Troyius, Methos is somewhere around three thousand years old. You’re not even as old as I am. You’d have no chance."
"I wouldn’t have to win." He forced himself to confront her eyes. "He takes my head, the Quickening will leave him weakened for a few seconds. During that time, you could kill him."
"Out of the question." Her voice brooked no argument. "I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for that," and she threw a contemptuous gesture at the throne room’s door. She resumed her walk.
"Well, do you have a better idea?" he asked, struggling to keep up.
"Yes. Double up your guard along the wall. No post will be occupied by a single man. Equip them with whistles or bells or something they can use to signal distress. And fix polished metal bowls to the backs of the torches. I’ll show you how. That way, you can cast light into the woods at night."
"What if he tries coming into the city as a merchant or something?" Troyius was trying to make a mental list of what Xena was telling him.
"Easy. We post you at the gate and seal off all other entrances or exits. That way, you’ll be able to sense him if he tries to make it in. Of course, you’ll have to sleep there too. At least for awhile." They were almost to the palace entrance.
"Xena . . ." Troyius paused. "These are only temporary measures. We can’t maintain this level of readiness indefinitely."
"I know. But it’ll buy us some time to figure out what we will do, and it may stop the killing, if only for a little while." She looked into her former soldier’s face. "Troyius, promise me you won’t go hunting him on your own. You’ll accomplish nothing except getting yourself killed."
Troyius’s green eyes met Xena’s blue. "All right," he acquiesced. "For now, I’ll do as you say."
Xena smiled, looking surprisingly gentle to Troyius’s eyes. "Good." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I’m going to check on Gabrielle, and then I’ve gotta get some sleep." She left, and Troyius stared after her for a long time.
"So now we add Ares to the mix," Gabrielle mused.
"Yep. And Methos knows how to use a chakram." Xena laid a cold cloth on the bard’s forehead. She was worried that Gabrielle didn’t seem to be getting better.
The Amazon gave a short laugh. "I don’t suppose you can think of a way this could get worse?"
"Not off the top of my head, no. But let’s not tempt the Fates." Xena stripped down to her chemise and laid down beside her best friend.
"Xena?" Gabrielle’s voice was tentative. "What about Troyius?"
Xena sighed. As usual, Gabrielle had picked up on her emotions. Somewhat reluctantly, she began her story.
"My army sacked his town when he was a little older that you were the first time I met you. We’d had a fever in the camp lately, and our numbers were depleted, so I ordered my men to capture any strong, young, able-bodied men they could. Troyius was one of them. As you probably noticed, he’s quite good-looking. I certainly noticed.
"Anyway, I made a personal prize out of him. He never left my tent in those first months. At first, he hated me, but over time—I think he fell in love with me. Soon enough, he was fighting alongside me. Then, one day, when we were fighting a minor king’s militia, I saw him fall. I never found his body, though. Guess I know why now."
Gabrielle heard the heaviness in the warrior’s voice. "He seems all right now," she offered.
"Yeah, he seems all right now." Xena reached over and scrubbed her fingers against Gabrielle’s scalp. "I’m glad for him. He was always a good man. I’d just like to keep him in one piece, and if he goes up against Methos . . ." she trailed off.
"Then you’ll just have to keep that from happening." Gabrielle’s voice was confident.
Xena smiled. "Guess I will." Both settled down to get some sleep.
When Gabrielle awoke, Xena was gone. Looking outside, she saw that evening was just beginning to fall. Xena was probably at the wall, checking her reinforcements. The bard sighed, wishing she didn’t feel so horrible. She wanted to be with Xena, not laying useless in an inn.
Her scalp tingled. She sat up, feeling like she was being watched. "Who’s there?" she whispered.
A soft golden glow appeared near the bed, then brightened, coalescing into the figure of a woman taller that Xena. She was wearing a long white dress, the top of which was obscured by a golden breastplate. A sword was slung by her side and she carried a plumed helmet under one arm. Cool gray eyes set in a remarkably beautiful face regarded Gabrielle.
The bard knew instantly who it was. "Athena," she breathed.
The goddess smiled. "Very good. I knew you would recognize me, Gabrielle. We’ve known each other long, you and I." Her voice was low, and rang with power.
Gabrielle cocked her head. "Why are you here? Does it have to do with Ares?"
"Again, very good," Athena commended. "My brother knows that the gods have made a resolution not to meddle in Immortal affairs. Our realm is humans. These Immortals are separate. Unfortunately, while he does not speak directly to Methos, we cannot do anything . . . direct." The gray eyes looked meaningfully into Gabrielle’s.
"So why are you speaking to me?" Gabrielle was genuinely puzzled.
"Xena is doing all she can," said the goddess, "and it will not be enough to stop this. But you, Gabrielle . . . you can do better."
"How?" the bard wondered.
"I can take you to where Methos is."
"What good would that do?"
Athena smiled. "What do you have that Xena doesn’t, Gabrielle?"
The Amazon laid back. "A staff. Scrolls. A green top." She sighed heavily, feeling awful. "I have a fever," she moaned, closing her eyes.
Suddenly, so quickly her head spun, the bard sat up. "That’s it. I know!"
The goddess’s smile grew wider. Gabrielle grabbed a piece of parchment and hastily wrote something on it, then flung a fur cloak around her shoulders. "I’m ready," she told the goddess.
Athena waved her hand, and both disappeared.
Part II
Night had fallen. Xena patrolled the woods on Argo. She was satisfied with the reinforcements she’d made on the wall, and Troyius was making it a point to stick around the city gate. General Donas, meantime, was off checking his remaining garrisons. Xena was grateful for that. The man made her skin crawl worse than Ares did.
Still, for all her confidence in her strategy, she had a feeling she shouldn’t count out Methos. Not yet. Three thousand years was a lot of time to learn patience. She rode into a clearing.
He was there. Straight in front of her, mounted on a pale horse, silver in the moonlight. He urged his horse forward, and even from a distance she could see the gleam of challenge in his eyes. The Warrior Princess drew her sword, letting out a war whoop, and Argo charged.
The clash of blades sent shockwaves up her arm. She and Argo wheeled as one to face Methos, and the blades met again and again. Three years ago, he had beaten her easily in sparring matches. This, though, was no sparring match, and Xena had learned a few things since then. She’d always had a talent for picking up on other people’s fighting styles, and the time she’d spent with Methos had been more than enough to give her an idea of Immortal swordplay. The horses came apart, then turned and charged again.
Both warriors had their advantages. Methos had his years of experience. Xena had Argo. The war-horse moved as if she could hear her mistress’s thoughts. The sheer, deadly grace of the pair was a beautiful thing to witness. Methos missed none of it.
Again and again, horses and riders clashed. Xena was winded by now, but so, she realized, was her opponent. On the next pass, she feinted high, then without warning ducked low. Her blade sliced into the Immortal. Unbelieving, she looked into his face.
Methos only smiled. Then the hilt of his sword crashed into her face, and she was falling . . . .
Troyius ran into the clearing, feeling the telltale buzz of another Immortal. He stared in horror at the sight before him. Argo stood defiantly over her mistress’s body. Next to her was another horse with a dark-clad warrior holding a sword mounted on it. Three guardsmen charged up behind Troyius, and one raised a bow and arrow.
"No!" barked Troyius, then he turned to face the ancient Immortal, drawing his sword. "I am Troyius. There can be only one!"
Methos sized up the other Immortal, and the blatantly mortal guards around him. His brain rapidly calculated what this one had in mind. He laughed. "Not tonight, youngster," he called, and wheeled his horse away.
The guards took off in pursuit of Methos while Troyius ran to Xena. Argo stood to one side as the young Immortal examined the warrior. Her eyelids fluttered open.
Relief flooded the captain. "Xena, are you all right?"
"You know," she croaked weakly, "you Immortals are really starting to annoy me."
Gabrielle waited. Athena had taken her to Methos’s camp: a small cave, well camouflaged by shrubbery. A large rock stood near the mouth of the cave, and Gabrielle sat on it, hugging the fur around her, waiting for the night to end. Everything seemed unreal in a feverish sort of way.
"I must be nuts," she muttered.
Dawn was just breaking as Xena returned to the wall. An ugly purple bruise covered the right half of her forehead and most of her right eye as well. She was not happy.
Troyius met her. "I know what you’re going to say, Xena," he blurted, "and you’re right. But you shouldn’t have gone to face him alone either. You could’ve died."
Xena shook her head, dismounting. "No. If Methos had wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I’m not who he’s after."
"You’re right," Troyius agreed. Xena cocked an eyebrow. "He was after General Donas, and he got him."
"Donas is dead?"
The young captain nodded. "He was checking on the garrisons last night, and he was probably between stops when Methos caught him. You don’t want to see the body." Xena could believe that. "There’s more. The army lost more soldiers last night, but not through death."
"People are deserting," the warrior stated. It didn’t surprise her. A thought struck her, and she swung back into the saddle.
"Where are you going?" asked Troyius.
"I’m doing a little sightseeing. Listen, Troyius, would you have the town healer look in on Gabrielle while I’m gone? I may not be back for awhile."
"Okay. Be careful, Xena."
"You too."
The sun was just starting to come up when Gabrielle heard a light noise off somewhere to the right. A silvery horse entered the campsite, led by Methos. The bard stood. Methos stared.
"Gabrielle? What in Tartarus are you doing here?" he demanded. He strode forward and gripped one of her arms.
The Amazon didn’t flinch. "Visiting an old friend. Good to see you, too."
Methos pulled her near to his blue-painted face, snarling. "Do you have any idea how dangerous . . ? You’re burning up." He felt her face.
"I’ve got a fever," Gabrielle explained, then suddenly giggled.
"What’s funny about a fever?"
"I’ll explain that later." Her knees were giving way, and in another second, Methos had scooped her up in his arms.
"Does Xena know where you are?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, and she’ll probably be furious when she finds out, but that’s not important."
Methos ducked into the cave, which was larger than it looked from the outside. A bed of furs was laid out at one end, and Methos laid Gabrielle on it. "If Xena being angry isn’t important, what is?" He laid another fur on top of the shivering bard.
"You."
The one word caught the Immortal off guard. "What do you mean by that? Do you have any idea of the number of men I’ve killed in the past few days?" His normally silky voice was harsh.
"Something like fifty, unless there’s more from last night," Gabrielle stated matter-of-factly.
"So why are you here?" he snapped. His patience was running out.
"I thought I’d give you a choice," explained the Amazon. "Something tells me that you, like Xena, have many skills. She can kill or heal. I think you can, too. Am I right?" Methos didn’t answer, but she didn’t need him to. "I’m very sick, Methos. I need your help. You can go out there again to kill and leave me here to die, or you can stay. Kill or heal."
The Immortal just stared at her for a moment. "That fever’s baked your brains," he finally growled. "Do you think having one more death on my conscience will make any difference?"
Her fever-bright eyes were steady on his face. "Yeah, I do. You’ve been killing soldiers, not ordinary people. I don’t think you’ve descended that far."
"I have in the past."
"But not now."
Silence. Then, finally, Methos stood and grabbed a small pot.
"Where are you going?" queried Gabrielle.
"To get some water." He was almost to the mouth of the cave when he turned back. "You know, I really don’t see how Xena puts up with you."
Xena and Argo rode into a heartbreakingly familiar landscape. The warrior felt a painful lump rise in her throat as she looked around at the charred ruins of a once-busy town. Visions of Cirra taunted her, and she pushed them away.
She noticed at once that no bodies were visible. Looking into the doorway of a burnt-out building, she realized why: all the bodies had been carefully gathered into the buildings, which had then been torched. Methos must have done it before he left, she thought.
In the center of town, she came across three charred funeral pyres. The white rock near them with the blue writing on it attracted her attention. She came closer to read the writing, and realized it was a fraction of a verse she’d learned in India once upon a time:
"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."
Methos was worried. Gabrielle was burning up. She had fallen into an uneasy sleep, wracked by nightmares. If Xena hadn’t made it impossible, he would have taken her back to Karphis. Gently, he drew a cool cloth across her livid skin.
"Xena?" she murmured. "No . . . Xena!" Her eyes flew open as she screamed her best friend’s name.
"Easy, easy," the Immortal soothed, taking hold of her hands.
"There was . . . that log trap . . . hit her in the chest . . . so much blood . . . her eyes, she was looking at me, she looked through me . . . couldn’t get her to the mountain on time." The bard was gasping, sobbing, babbling.
"It’s all right. Xena’s fine." Methos made his voice as soft and warm as he could. Finally, the fever-bright green eyes focused on him.
"Methos," she whispered. A hand came up to touch his face, and Methos realized he’d never washed off the blue woad he’d applied the night before. He pushed her hand away, then reached down for a cup.
"Try drinking this. It tastes bad, yes, but it should help reduce the fever." He pressed the cup to Gabrielle’s lips, and she drank. She made a face, but managed to get it all down.
The tiny woman rested back against the furs, wiping away the tears her nightmare had brought from her eyes. "Talk to me, Methos. Please. I don’t want to sleep again. I’ll just have nightmares."
"Most of the stories I know won’t be any better than your dreams, Gabrielle."
"Methos, you’ve been around for three thousand years. Surely you’ve heard some nice stories in that time." Gabrielle allowed a slight puppy-dog smile into her face.
Methos was being played like a lyre and he knew it. Somehow, though, the knowledge wasn’t enough to stop him from complying with her request. He found himself talking to her as he prepared herbs to lower her fever. Stories of ancient lands floated to the forefront of his mind: Egypt, Babylon, Ch’in, Albion. He told her of battles and peace-making, kings and warriors. Tales of his own past, things he hadn’t thought about for years, decades, centuries. Lovers, wives, enemies, good friends long gone.
They spent the day like that, with Methos talking and Gabrielle watching him with her intent green eyes. She was silent except when asking the occasional question in her soft, warm voice. Among the stories he told her were some he wished had never happened, but still she watched him, her eyes gentle and without judgment. Inside him, he felt a knot beginning to ease.
It was dusk when Xena got back to the city. She was tired and sweaty and her head was throbbing. As she approached the city gate, her eyes narrowed. Troyius was waiting with a look on his face that begged, "Please don’t kill the messenger."
The warrior slipped off of Argo. "What’s wrong?" she asked without preamble.
Troyius took a quick breath, then said, before he could stop himself, "Gabrielle’s gone."
"WHAT?!?" One hand shot out and grabbed the front of Troyius’s shirt. The captain started talking a mile a minute.
"I’m sorry, Xena, we looked all day. No one seems to know anything about where she went and all we found was a piece of parchment, but we can’t figure out what it means!"
"Give me!" Xena ordered, not bothering to make a full sentence. Hastily, someone passed her the parchment. It took Xena three tries before she calmed down enough to read the writing:
"Not in strength, but in weakness will the battle be won."
Xena’s eyes went wild. "I’m gonna kill her," she vowed. "I’m going to kill the little Bacchae myself!" She leapt into Argo’s saddle and was gone.
Methos quietly finished re-painting the blue streak on his face, then stood to strap on his sword-belt. He had plans for tonight.
A light sound from behind him caught his attention. He turned to look at Gabrielle. She moved in her sleep as if in pain. It occurred to him that she might not last the night. Without meaning to, he moved to her side and reached down to touch her face. Her hand came up and curled around his fingers, and the knot that had been untying within him loosened further.
With that loosening came pain, hot and raw. He yanked his hand away. Finding the bronze mask, he slammed it into place and turned to leave.
Xena rode through the woods, calling to mind all she knew about the region. She figured Methos’s hideout must be toward the mountains. It would also have to be somewhere he knew—probably someplace close to his old village. Still, that covered a lot of ground. How had Gabrielle managed to figure out where he was, let alone get there?
Godly intervention. It had to be. Xena brought Argo up short, mind racing with the possibilities. Was it Ares? That made no sense. Who, then?
"Athena!" The goddess’s name came out without Xena meaning to say it. A moment later, the Goddess of Wisdom stood in front of the warrior.
"Well met, Warrior Princess," she greeted.
"Where is she?" Xena was in no mood to play gods’ games.
"I was wondering when you’d ask," said the goddess patiently. "She’s safe enough, and doing quite remarkable work with Methos."
"Where_is_she?" Xena repeated.
The goddess gestured negligently toward the southeast. "There’s a creek coming down out of the mountains that way. Follow it upstream, and you’ll find Methos’s camp."
The warrior was already riding away, but Athena’s voice floated after her. "Do not think of my brother too much, Xena. I have cast a glamour over the three of you, but thoughts and words can leak through."
By the time Xena reached Methos’s campsite, it was dark. She dismounted from Argo. Drawing her sword, she made for the cave.
Only Gabrielle was inside, and she didn’t look good. Xena frantically felt the bard’s forehead and pulse. The fever had only managed to get higher, and her pulse felt irregular. The warrior muttered varied imprecations against Methos and his indeterminate parentage as she stalked back to Argo and retrieved her bags of healing supplies.
Some time later, as Xena ministered to her friend, she heard light sounds coming from outside. The warrior drew her sword and stood over Gabrielle. A moment later, Methos slipped into the cave.
Xena gave him a glare that would have blistered metal. The Immortal seemed guarded for a moment, then his posture shifted. He looked almost casual as he spoke.
"You know," he began slowly, "the strangest thing happened. I riding toward Karphis to create some more havoc when, all of a sudden, I caught a scent I hadn’t smelled in . . . oh, centuries. It took me a moment to realize what it was." At this point, he produced several fleshy, curiously dark green leaves. "I’m not sure what you’d call them, but I do know they’re very rare—and very effective for breaking fevers."
After the leaves had been steeped in boiling water, Xena helped Gabrielle swallow the sour-smelling brew. Then she removed her armor and slipped under the fur, pulling Gabrielle close.
"I’ll keep watch," Methos volunteered.
Xena glared at him briefly. "You and I will talk, Methos," she promised. Then she closed her eyes and fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.
Some hours later, something awakened her. The Warrior Princess wondered for a moment what it was. Her eyes found Methos in the growing light. He was sitting on the furs near their feet watching them, his eyes inscrutable. Then Xena felt the sensation of wetness on her shoulder. Gabrielle’s face and hair were soaked with sweat. Xena felt her forehead.
"Her fever’s broken," the warrior murmured. Relief surged through her.
Methos’s velvety voice startled her. "It wasn’t so long ago that my daughter had a fever. Calla and I worried over her for days. I remember lying down with her and holding her the way you’re holding Gabrielle." Xena watched him silently, listening to his voice. It was almost without inflection or emotion. Almost. He went on.
"Her fever did finally break, but she was weak for a few days. Then, one bright day, she felt well enough to play outside with the other children. They were climbing all over the big white rock in the middle of the town with a few of the mothers keeping watch when Donas’s army charged into town."
He leaned back against the cave wall and closed his eyes. "There was just no warning. I was one of only a few men in town who could use a sword, and I fought, but it only took one sword getting through to me. When I revived, everyone was dead. I found Calla nearby, but it took me a little longer to find the children. The white rock was splattered with their blood."
The hazel eyes opened, looked into Xena’s. "What’s the use, anymore?"
"Methos, you have to know something," Xena told him. "This was all instigated by Ares. I spoke to him, and he said that he’d caused Matthias to send his army to your village. Ares wants you to lead his armies."
The Immortal barked a short, humorless laugh. "Ares believes I will call on him? Not likely."
Xena made an impatient sound. "With a god like Ares, it doesn’t matter whether or not you call his name as long as you do his work."
A long silence followed this pronouncement. When Methos spoke again, his voice was heavy with grief. "They were only children, Xena. Like so many others who have died because of me. They never had the chance to see anything. They never had the chance to do anything." Swiftly, he stood and walked from the cave. A few moments later, Xena heard the muffled yet heartbreaking sound of a man weeping.
She gently laid Gabrielle, who hadn’t stirred, back against the furs, then pulled away. There was something she had to do.
Ares literally stormed into Athena’s Olympian apartment. The lightning and thunder weren’t even enough to get his sister or her cat Sophie off the couch they were reclining on.
"What have you done?" he demanded
"Evened up the score a bit," the goddess replied daintily, not taking her eyes off the scroll she was studying. Sophie hissed at him.
Ares glowered. "When I left Methos last, he was on a perfectly beautiful murderous rampage. I went to check on the Peloponnesian Wars for a day. I get back to Methos, and the man’s crying. Crying! One of the Four Horsemen . . ."
" . . . of the Apocalypse," Athena finished. "Yes, yes, I know, it’s in dreadful taste." She popped a piece of ambrosia in her mouth.
"What. Have. You. Done," Ares repeated.
"Sent Gabrielle to him," declared the Goddess of Wisdom airily.
"The Irritating Blond?" sputtered the God of War.
Athena smiled at him patiently. "You never did grasp her significance, did you? Why do you think Artemis and I have spent so much time and effort on her? Because she’s cute?"
"That’s enough reason for that butch, Artemis," growled Ares. "You haven’t won yet, big sister."
"Oh, yes I have," contradicted Athena, "at least as far as Methos is concerned. What Gabrielle started, Xena will finish. And after that, I won’t let you anywhere near him again. He spent a century in one of my temples. Makes him easy enough to spot."
Ares snarled a few curses, then turned to leave. Athena’s voice followed him.
"Wisdom before weapons, little brother. Wisdom before weapons."
Methos sat on the rock outside the cave, feeling empty. It was perfectly amazing, he thought, his own capacity for hypocrisy. How many villages had he slaughtered? How many innocent men, women, and children had fallen to his sword? Yet when it happened to the people he loved, he claimed the right to revenge. Maybe there was something to Karma, or the Wheel of Fate. What he had inflicted on others, he now suffered himself.
"You’re pathetic, old man," he muttered to himself. Feeling suddenly itchy, he realized he’d never taken off the bloodstained shirt he’d fought Xena in. He stripped it off and examined the hole where Xena’s sword had pierced him. Funny how some wounds healed so quickly. He threw it away.
Behind him, he heard footsteps he knew were Xena’s. He just sat. The sounds of several things being set down on rocks behind him didn’t even stir his curiosity. Now Xena was so close he could feel the warmth from her body. She touched his forehead, tipping his head back, and then there was water being poured through his hair. It had a fresh scent to it.
The woman-warrior’s hands moved through his hair, making sure it was all moist, then squeezed out the excess water. Methos felt a pair of shears begin to cut it away. He didn’t resist as she continued to cut his hair until it was as short as it had been the first time they had met. Somehow, her touch was soothing. Finally, she stopped cutting and rubbed her hands through his hair, knocking away the loose pieces. Then her fingers briefly touched his back, moving along a barely-there white line.
The Immortal heard more water being poured, and then Xena was in front of him with a small bowl and a cloth. There was a faint sharp smell to the water.
"Sorry if this stings a little," she apologized. "I use this mixture to remove anything greasy I get into."
The first touch of the cloth did sting, but not badly. Methos felt her scrubbing away the blue streak on his face first. Unbidden, the image of Cassandra washing his face came to mind. He inhaled sharply at the sudden pain her memory brought. The hand washing his face paused, and as Methos looked into Xena’s eyes, he saw empathy in them.
He continued to watch her as she washed his face and neck. She was a puzzle, this woman. He knew how ruthless she’d been as a warlord, how ruthless she was still capable of being. Yet here she was, washing his face with the tenderness of a mother. How complex she was.
His gaze lingered on the planes and angles of her face. Her features were too strong to be considered conventionally beautiful, yet she was beautiful. It was the personality behind the features that animated them. The strength of will, and the gentleness.
Who are you, Xena?
The cloth lowered away from his face, and warrior and Immortal looked at each other for a long, silent moment.
"How do I look?" Methos finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Human." There was a trace of humor in the soft alto.
"Looks can be deceiving," he warned.
"Don’t I know it." Xena set down her supplies and then sat down beside Methos. He looked at their arms. Hers was bronze from the sun and crisscrossed with faint scars. His was an almost glowing white and his skin was perfect. For a long moment, they just sat there. Xena broke the silence.
"Methos, they loved and were loved. That matters more than length of life."
"You believe that’s such an important thing?"
The warrior looked at him gently. "Sometimes, I think it’s the only important thing."
"Maybe." The Immortal didn’t meet her gaze. "Maybe Fate has caught up with me at last, to punish me. Maybe I lose those I love because I don’t deserve them."
"That’s nonsense," Xena declared adamantly. "If that’s true, how did I ever deserve Gabrielle?"
Methos looked into the blue eyes, and his mouth pulled into a slow, reluctant smile. "You may have something there."
"Listen, Methos," she went on, "it took me a long time to get back into human contact again after my warlord days. Gabrielle was the only reason I did."
"Really?" Methos’s voice was faintly amused. "You don’t strike me as the kind to be out of human . . . contact for very long."
Xena gave him a shrewd grin. "Yeah, well, there’s a lot of difference between true intimacy and ‘You. Grab a friend and get to my tent.’ And I’m not talking about sex."
Methos’s smile grew wider. "Been there, done that, Warrior Princess?" He shrugged. "So have I. And you’re right."
"Of course I am." She nudged him lightly.
His smile faded. "I don’t want to go back, Xena," he said very softly. "I don’t want to be what I once was."
Her eyes grew warm with sympathy. "Neither do I, Methos." She leaned back slightly and touched his back again. "This looks like a scar," she commented. "I thought Immortals didn’t get scars."
"Immortals don’t form scars. But we carry those we receive as pre-Immortals. They . . . fade somewhat." There was a ghost of pain, lost to his conscious mind, in his voice.
Xena saw that there were many other, equally faded scars on his back. She knew what circumstances in her life had turned her into a monster. She wondered now about Methos’s life.
She shook away the sudden heaviness. "Speaking of pre-Immortals, whatever happened to David the Nervous Novice?"
Methos’s sudden laughter startled her. "Oh, David. He saw me take a Quickening and I don’t think his feet touched the ground until he reached the nearest temple." He shook his head, chuckling.
Xena laughed with him. "Doesn’t that feel better?"
"What?"
"Laughing."
Methos met her eyes. "It does." For a moment, he looked away, embarrassed. "Thank you, Xena. You and Gabrielle. She’s . . ." he couldn’t think of what to say.
Xena made it easy for him. "I know."
Without warning, Methos stiffened, then stood quickly and grabbed his sword. A moment later, Xena heard the sound of someone coming through the woods. She grabbed her own sword.
Troyius, with his tunic ripped and bloodstained, came into the clearing. He glared daggers at Methos.
"If it isn’t Death on a Horse," he spat.
"Troyius, you look like Tartarus," Xena observed helpfully. "What happened?"
The young captain pointed his sword at Methos. "Your friend here got his wish. Matthias is dead."
Xena glanced at Methos, who showed absolutely no sign of surprise. "Done in by the people, or his own guard?" inquired the ancient coolly.
"You name it," growled Troyius. "The ordinary people of Karphis, the guard, a few army members—they killed him, his household, and his personal guard. Including me, I might add." He gestured angrily at his ruined clothing.
Xena was still looking at Methos. "You knew," she accused.
The ancient turned to look at her. "That I didn’t have to kill Matthias directly? Yes, I knew. Although I was still going to, just for fun. You and Gabrielle stopped me from doing any more damage myself, but things had already gone too far for Matthias to remain in power."
"Time to settle this," declared Troyius. In another second, he and Methos were engaged in an Immortal duel. Things hadn’t gotten very far before there was a whizzing noise and both swords were knocked from their hands. Both turned to stare at Xena as she caught her chakram.
"You have no right to interfere, Xena!" shouted Troyius.
"I’ll sent a message if I ever start caring," the Warrior Princess shot back. "There’s been enough bloodshed already."
"This isn’t about Matthias, this is about honor! I’ll—" he was cut off by a sudden movement from Methos. The older Immortal had recovered both swords and now held them, crossed, at Troyius’s throat. Methos’s eyes and voice were flinty as he spoke.
"Take some advice from an elder, Junior: fighting over honor makes you die young." He tossed Troyius’s sword to Xena. "Give it back to him when it won’t endanger his life."
"What’s all the noise?" The plaintive query came from the cave, and three heads turned to see Gabrielle standing in front of it with a fur draped around her shoulders.
Xena and Methos both began versions of "Gabrielle, you shouldn’t be up yet." Gabrielle rolled her eyes.
"Great," she grumbled. "Now I’ve got two ex-warlords babying me." Louder, she said, "Are you all going to fight, or can we get something to eat? I’m starving." She seated herself a little imperiously on the rock.
Methos exchanged a look with Xena, then ducked into the cave. A moment later he emerged with his bow, slipping a tunic over his bare upper half. Xena felt a brief stab of disappointment, then gave herself a mental slap. Now is not the time to be getting hormonal, Xena, she chided herself.
"This isn’t over yet, Methos," Troyius shouted hotly. "We have unfinished . . ." An arrow was suddenly sticking out of the ex-captain’s chest, and he fell. Xena and Gabrielle were shocked for a moment until they remembered Troyius’s Immortal status.
Methos lowered his bow. "I’ll go get some lunch. You two talk some sense into him." With that, he was gone.
Xena and Gabrielle shrugged at each other, and Xena reached down to pull the quill from Troyius’s chest. A few minutes later, the young Immortal revived. He wasn’t happy.
"Not a word, Troyius," Xena ordered, holding up a hand. "I know about your precious Rules, and I don’t care. If I hadn’t interfered, you’d be a Quickening by now."
"You don’t know that! I’ve taken a few heads in my time, Xena."
"I do know. I’ve seen him fight. And in case you haven’t been keeping up with current events, people who give Methos problems tend to end up with a real bad case of dead!" She sighed, shaking her head. "And I want you to live, Troyius."
Her former soldier and lover looked at her closely. "Why is that so important to you?" he wondered out loud.
Xena glanced back up at Gabrielle, as if for support. The bard nodded gently. Xena turned back to Troyius. "Because I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life, Troyius. Because not all of them turned out well—in fact, a lot of people I’ve touched in my life have turned out very badly. But you—you’re a good man, a man of honor. That’s worth keeping alive. I want you to live for a long, long time, Troyius."
The young Immortal just stared at his former commander for a long time. "You really have changed, haven’t you?" he said at length.
"I have." Her voice was soft. "Anyone can. Even a man who once called himself Death."
Troyius gave a stony look to the woods and Xena could see an unflattering comment forming. She cut it off before it could get out. "Look, Troyius, when you’re three thousand years old and haven’t done anything you regret, then you can judge Methos. Not before."
"Okay," he sighed. "I suppose you have a point." He struggled to his feet. "Looks like it’s time for me to start a new life somewhere. I wonder how Egypt is this time of year?"
A few minutes later, Methos arrived back with a trio of rabbits. He and Gabrielle set about skinning and preparing them for cooking. Xena, with the ancient’s permission, gave Troyius one of Methos’s shirts and sent him to clean up in the creek. The younger Immortal declined an invitation to eat lunch with the others and bade Xena farewell.
Gabrielle began preparing a rabbit stew. Meanwhile, Xena prevailed upon Methos for a little sparring. After a few rounds, he commented that he was glad she wasn’t an Immortal.
After the meal, the warrior helped Methos gather his possessions. All but a few.
The white clothes and cloak Methos had worn as a Horsemen went into the fire. He said he would sell the boots, gauntlets, and breastplate in the next town and use the money to perhaps go east. The mask he handed to Xena.
"Have it melted down," he told her. "The bronze is of good quality, and I don’t want to see it again."
"I will," she agreed, and gripped his arm as a fellow warrior. "Good luck, Methos."
"The same to you, Xena. Sorry about that bruise, by the way." He turned to face Gabrielle. Xena decided to fade into the background.
For a long moment, the ancient couldn’t speak as he gazed upon the tiny, deceptively strong woman in front of him. She’d pulled him back from a place he’d sworn never to go again, and he could never repay her. When he could finally speak, he said the only words, the only promise, he could think of:
"I will never forget you."
Gabrielle reached up to embrace him. His arms went around her, drawing her almost painfully close. He breathed in the scent of her, memorized the feel of her. How often did someone like Gabrielle come into his life?
Gradually, he loosened his embrace and looked again into her clear green eyes. Before he could talk himself out of it, he bent down and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips. Then he quickly turned and mounted his horse to ride away.
When he turned back before he reached the woods, he saw that warrior and bard were standing together, watching him. Gabrielle’s brightness was set against Xena’s darker, deeper color. They were beautiful, he thought. Then the Immortal turned and rode away.
Gabrielle turned her face up to her best friend. Xena smiled. "He’ll be all right," the warrior reassured her.
"I know. That’s what amazes me." Xena looked at her quizzically. Gabrielle explained. "Think of what he’s already been through, all the lives he’s lived, all the things he’s done. The people he’s lost. Isn’t it amazing he’s even still sane? Can you imagine how it would be?"
Xena shook her head. "No. I really can’t. He’s stronger than he lets on, I think." Both looked after him for a long moment.
Gabrielle finally broke the silence. "So, should we go on to meet Hercules? Or help clean up the mess in Karphis?"
They looked at each other for a moment. "Hercules."