The Warrior, the Bard, the Thief, and the Immie

© HonorH

Fighting was not one of Gabrielle’s favorite occupations. Fighting while seriously outnumbered was even lower on the list. Right now, things were going badly.

She ducked yet another blow, whipping her staff to take out one man’s legs while trying to keep tabs on the two dancing around behind her. Another three were looking for an opportunity to take her down. Suddenly, one darted in and smashed her in the ribs with a length of wood. The Amazon felt her staff being wrenched away, but she’d long since realized that these men were slavers. They weren’t taking her.

Gabrielle continued to struggle, landing more blows with her hands and feet as the men tried to subdue her. One foot came up and connected with a sensitive spot on the worst of them. He cursed, doubling over, and her feet were knocked out from under her. She landed hard on her back. The one she’d just kicked leaned over her, grabbing her chin.

"You’d better be worth all this trouble," he snarled. The bard spat in his face. Enraged, he raised his hand to strike her.

The blow never came. Instead, the man reared back, as if in extreme pain.

"I really wouldn’t do that," said a calm voice Gabrielle instantly recognized. Straining, she saw Methos the Immortal standing behind the slaver with one hand locked on the back of the man’s neck. From the look on the slaver’s face, he was in agony. One of the others made a move toward Methos—only to find a knife sticking out of his chest. The ancient had barely seemed to move.

"You know who I am?" asked the Immortal. The slaver managed to nod. "Good. This young woman is under my protection. Send your dogs away, or you die." The death-grip on the slaver’s neck tightened, wringing a moan of pain from him.

The others, seeing the score, let Gabrielle go. She grabbed her staff and urged them on their way. After they had scattered, she turned back to face her rescuer. The slaver was on his knees now.

"Apologize," Methos ordered in an implacable voice.

"I-I’m sorry," gasped the slaver. His neck was released, and he fell face forward onto the dusty dock.

The bard looked at him quizzically. "Is he dead?"

"No, but he’ll have an incredible headache when he wakes up," answered the Immortal. "Are you all right, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle suddenly realized that she was not, in fact, quite all right. She sat down heavily on some convenient sacks of grain, feeling her side. A moment later, Methos was sitting with her, gently probing the area with expert fingers.

"Is there any sharp pain?" he inquired.

"No," she gasped, "but a lot of dull ache." She felt shaky, so she leaned against the Immortal.

It took him a little by surprise. The little bard seemed so comfortable with physical contact even though she knew what he was capable of. He felt a sudden surge of tenderness for her and lifted one hand to touch her face, where he found another bruise.

"You do manage to find trouble, don’t you?" he murmured.

That got a laugh. "I guess I am good at that, aren’t I?"

The Immortal pulled her to her feet. "Come on. I’ll take you to my house."

"Sounds good." The two started walking away from the docks. "Hey, what happened? Last time Xena and I saw you, you were headed east."

An amused smile touched the ancient’s face. "I got waylaid. I’ll tell you the whole story, if you’d like—look who I’m talking to. Of course you’d like." Gabrielle chuckled. "Where’s Xena, by the way?"

"She should be in town today," Gabrielle told him. "She was visiting a friend who just had a baby, and I decided to come to town early and get some shopping done. I didn’t expect the place would be lousy with slavers."

"Relatively recent phenomenon, those slavers." His eyes darkened briefly, then cleared. "I’ll send someone from my household to find Xena."

The Warrior Princess in question had, in fact, just arrived in town. Gabrielle had told her to meet her at the inn, but the bard wasn’t there. Xena did a quick search of the marketplace. When Gabrielle didn’t turn up, the warrior started to worry.

A young boy suddenly appeared beside her. "Are you Xena, the Warrior Princess?" he asked.

Xena had an immediate flashback to four years previous, when another young boy had delivered the message that Gabrielle had been kidnapped. Now this boy was handing her a parchment letter. At one glance, though, Xena realized she had nothing to worry about.

"Xena,

"You seem to have lost your sidekick again.

"Methos"

"My lord asked me to deliver the letter to you, and to guide you to his home," the boy was saying.

Xena smiled. "Lead on."

The house she was led to wasn’t at all what she would have expected. It was huge, for one thing. It was also new, built in Roman fashion. The warrior decided there must be a very interesting explanation for all this. At the moment, a rather plump, pleasant-faced woman was bustling up to her.

"Xena, the Warrior Princess!" she exclaimed. "I’m Lavinia, the housekeeper here, and what an honor it is to meet you! We’ve heard all about your adventures, yes, even out here, and it’s just so marvelous to finally see you face to face, and oh, my, but you’re a tall one, dear, and the stories really don’t do you justice. Oh! Just look at those blue eyes. Absolutely amazing! Your friend Gabrielle was right. She’s in eating lunch with Milord, and isn’t she just the sweetest little thing—it’s so terrible, what happened to her. I’m almost ashamed to say I live here."

Lavinia paused for breath, and Xena jumped in. "What do you mean, ‘what happened to her’?"

The woman looked like she was about to faint. "Slavers, dearie. They attacked her at the docks. So horrible! It was fortunate Milord was there, or it’s unthinkable what might have happened to the poor girl."

All the time the housekeeper had been talking, she’d been leading Xena through the house. Now they entered a beautiful atrium. Sitting at a table laid with a generous meal were Gabrielle and Methos. Xena went immediately to her friend’s side.

"Are you all right?" she asked, touching a bruise on Gabrielle’s face.

"I’m fine, thanks to Methos," the bard replied. "They caught me by surprise."

The warrior turned to the Immortal. "Thank you again, Methos. It’s good to see you."

"Likewise." He waited while a servant refilled his ale mug, then set another in front of Xena. "You two have a way of turning up to make my life interesting, don’t you?"

"You were about to tell me about this house, Methos," Gabrielle reminded him.

"Ah, yes." The Immortal seemed to settle in to tell the story. "As I told you the last time we met, I was going to go east. When I stopped here, I thought only to stay a few days—there was a bad storm, you see, and it looked like it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. However, while I was at the inn, I happened quite accidentally upon a plot to assassinate the king. I had a rare fit of conscience and reported what I knew.

"Now, the king wanted to immediately arrest all involved, but I convinced him it would be better to set a trap and catch the conspirators in the act. It worked well—so well, in fact, that we caught the king’s chief advisor in the net. The king had his advisor executed, then gave me the position, as well as his house and all his possessions." He indicated their surroundings. "Not bad, is it?"

"Nice," Xena agreed briefly, then got to the point. "What about these slavers? Who are they?"

"Had a feeling you’d want to know that," the ancient muttered. "They seem to stop by every few months. The ship docks, ostensibly to restock. Then people start disappearing—usually merchants’ daughters, or other women who aren’t permanent residents. After a few days, the ship pulls out."

"Hmm," mused the Warrior Princess. "Sounds like they’ve got someone here who gives them information, possibly highly placed in the city government."

"Most likely," agreed Methos.

Xena’s blue eyes turned to stone. "So how do we get rid of them?"

The Immortal choked on his ale. "Excuse me?" he spluttered.

"How do we bring them down?"

Methos laughed briefly. "You’re not getting me involved in some crazy plan to rid the area of slavers. Besides, the ship’s captain is an Immortal, and he and I have a little deal: I don’t come after his head, and he doesn’t come after mine."

"Come on, Methos," Gabrielle pressed. "We could use your help. Besides, if you feel that way, why did you rescue me?"

"Because in spite of my better judgment, I’ve become rather fond of the two of you," he shot back. "Friendship does have its limits, though. That’s Methos Rule of Survival number 36."

The warrior and the bard exchanged a look, then both stood.

"Whatever," shrugged Xena. "Thanks for the ale. We’ll see you later."

"You don’t have to leave," protested Methos.

"Of course we do," argued Gabrielle. "After all, we wouldn’t want to get you involved in our troubles."

"Or endanger your nice house or job," Xena chimed in. Both started to walk out.

Methos gave a disgusted snort. "Are you two trying to play mind games with me? Because it won’t work, you know."

Xena turned and walked back to the table. "Come on, Methos. With you on board, I’m sure we could come up with a scheme that would be minimal risk to all of us."

"Flattery, now?" He looked at her lazily. "I suppose you’ll try to bribe me next."

"No," the warrior replied. "Next, I’ll have Gabrielle start working on you. Want to bet whether you’ll beat my record for holding out on her when she really wants something?"

The Immortal looked at Gabrielle. Gabrielle smiled modestly.

A sigh of resignation. "I suppose now that I’ve broken Methos Rule of Survival number 1, breaking number 36 isn’t such a big deal."

The bard cocked her head curiously. "What’s number 1?"

"Never owe anyone anything." Methos gestured at the table. "Sit down! There’s still plenty of food, and I hate scheming on an empty stomach."

It was agreed upon that Gabrielle needed at least a day to rest, so Methos would do some checking on his government contacts to see if he could find out who was leaking information to the slavers. Late in the afternoon, he returned with a list of three possible suspects.

"Dionus, Kalan, and Maros," he read. "Dionus is a gambler with a number of debts, so he would be susceptible to bribery. The only problem is that I doubt he really has the brains to be of any use. Kalan is smart enough and has fewer ethics than I do, which is saying a lot. No real need for money, but he might just be greedy enough. Maros is the least likely of the three to be working on his own, but it’s possible he’s being used as a go-between. He’s not high enough in government to have access to the king’s ear, but he’s greedy and unscrupulous."

"Can you keep your eyes on them?" asked Xena.

The Immortal gave a mysterious smile. "I do have my sources. I can be sneaky with the best of ‘em."

"Good," smiled Xena. "Sometimes it takes a thief to catch one."

"How much longer is the ship bound to be in dock?" asked Gabrielle.

Methos shrugged. "A few days. They haven’t been here long, and I think you might have been the first girl they went after. Of course . . ." he trailed off, thinking.

Xena’s eyes were shrewd as she realized what he was thinking. "If they had a few things to repair, they might stay longer."

"Would give us more time to roust out the conspirators," said the Immortal.

Gabrielle considered this. "But how would we damage the ship?"

"We wouldn’t have to," explained Methos. "I know the dockmaster pretty well. I could . . . suggest to him that there’s something wrong with the ship, and it really isn’t seaworthy at the moment. He can shovel the cow manure as well as anyone."

"Of course, that takes the fun out of doing the damaging," Xena remarked, a feral gleam in her eyes. "You’re right, though. This is less risky. Didn’t I say you’d come up with something?"

The Immortal inclined his head. "I always do."

Gabrielle yawned, wincing a little as her ribs pained her. "Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had a long day, and I’m ready for it to be over." She stood. "Coming, Xena?"

"In a bit." The warrior squeezed her friend’s wrist gently, and Gabrielle walked from the atrium.

Methos refilled Xena’s ale mug, then leaned forward, fixing her with his intense, golden eyes.

"So," he said.

She tilted her head. "So."

A comfortable silence stretched out. Xena broke it after a few moments.

"You’re looking better than the last time we saw you," she observed.

He acknowledged this with a nod. "Feeling better, too."

"Really?" she pressed.

A light laugh. "I’ve been over this with Gabrielle, would you believe?"

Xena’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. "I would." Her voice was warm with affection.

The Immortal’s beautiful eyes flashed away briefly. "After a few centuries, you get grieving down to an art form. You realize that there are three rules of Immortality. Rule One: Mortals die. Rule Two: Immortals die. Rule Three: You can’t change Rules One and Two."

The warrior smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, I guess. Of course, accepting that is another thing altogether."

"True," Methos agreed. They were interrupted by the arrival of a young woman of striking beauty. She stepped in, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea on it. Setting one in front of Methos and one in front of Xena, she quickly withdrew. Not so quickly, though, that Xena missed the look on her face.

The warrior tilted her head questioningly at the retreating figure. "What’s her story?"

Methos looked vaguely dissatisfied. "Prisca came with the house," he explained. "When the old advisor was canned, I got his house and all his possessions, including his slaves. Prisca was his . . . personal slave. Not altogether fond of her job either, I might add. When I took over the house, I offered all the slaves their freedom. Prisca was the first to pack. She had a family, and had been betrothed at the time she was kidnapped. Now—guess what happened when she was reunited with her family and fiancé . . . carrying another man’s child."

Xena’s lips twisted in disgust. "They didn’t exactly welcome her back with open arms."

"Bright girl. Prisca was thrown out. Not knowing what else to do, she came back to me, hoping I’d be kinder to her than her last master." The Immortal shrugged. "I handed her over to Lavinia. Prisca is now one of my cooks. Her son is growing up healthy, and she has security here, but the knowledge that a woman is often blamed for things that are not at all her fault has hit her hard. She’ll get over it someday." He took a sip of the tea.

"What about the others?" asked the warrior.

"Most of them had no place to go. Fully three-quarters of the slaves here come from areas that have been taken over by Rome. Their homes are no more. At least here they have enough food and a roof over their heads. They’re also paid for their work and they know they can leave anytime they choose. It’s not an ideal solution, I’ll grant you, but since when has the world been kind to idealists?" He seemed to consider the woman in front of him. "May I ask you a question that’s been plaguing me for some time, Xena?"

Xena stretched out, carefully mimicking his casual posture before answering. "Sure."

"Why did you give up your army?"

Xena drilled him with her gaze. "Why did you give up being Death on a Horse?"

Both of them sat with their thoughts for a long moment. Methos was hearing a woman’s voice screaming his name, begging for his help because she loved him, trusted him—and feeling himself do nothing to save her because his own cowardice held him captive. Xena was seeing a pair of wide brown eyes begging to know why a young girl’s family had to die.

Striking blue eyes rested on the Immortal’s face. "Regrets?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Thousands."

Xena awakened to an arm being thrown across her neck. Irritated, she shoved it away, glancing at her companion. It always amazed her how someone so small could take up so much of a bed. Gabrielle gave a soft snort, muttered something unintelligible, then buried her face in her pillow. The warrior’s mouth quirked into a grin. She closed her eyes and settled back into her own pillow.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped back open. Her sensitive ears picked up the sound of someone moving in the house. Whoever it was wasn’t a servant—they would move more openly. She slipped from the bed, picked up her chakram, and stalked barefooted from the room.

She realized she was hearing two whispers of movement. One came from the grand hall, and the other came from the area near the master suite. Xena decided the one in the grand hall could wait and moved surreptitiously toward the master suite.

It was Methos. Light from the full moon flooded through the window, illuminating his pale figure. He wore only what looked like a very short pair of trousers. They emphasized his long, lean form, the muscles of his thighs and taut stomach . . .

Gods, he’s beautiful, thought the warrior. She shook herself, noting the sword he held like an extension of his arm. He spotted her. She jerked her head lightly toward the grand hall, and he nodded once. They moved toward it together.

Peering into the hall, Xena saw someone hanging upside-down from the ceiling, apparently trying to relieve Methos of a good-sized amber statue. Inwardly, she groaned. Only one person she knew of would pull a stunt like this.

"I don’t believe it," Methos breathed. Neither did Xena. She brought her chakram to bear.

A second later, the intruder was on the floor. Xena ran into the hall, flipping over him so she and Methos had him flanked. Methos’s sword found the King of Thieves’ throat.

"Hi, Xena," greeted Autolycus weakly.

"Hi, Autolycus. Nice of you to drop in." The Warrior Princess grinned wryly.

"Just what in Tartarus did you think you were doing?" demanded Methos.

The thief looked up at the ancient Immortal, a hint of his usual suave manner reasserting itself after the indignity of his landing. "You, sir, just missed out on being burgled by the King of Thieves." He flicked his mustache.

"Ah, the King of Thieves," Methos repeated mockingly. "Are you always this careless?"

Autolycus seemed affronted. "I am never careless!" he insisted angrily. "What gave me away, anyway?"

Sudden understanding dawned on Methos’s face. "So you don’t know?"

"Know what?" asked both Xena and Autolycus.

There was a flicker of mischief across Methos’s face. Without warning, he removed his sword from the thief’s throat and plunged it into his chest. Xena shrieked. So did Gabrielle, standing in the doorway, previously unnoticed. The warrior tackled Methos even as Gabrielle ran to the fallen Autolycus.

"You k-k-killed him!" the bard stammered in horror.

"What did you do that for?" shouted Xena.

Methos seemed unfazed at having a furious Warrior Princess sitting on his chest. "Don’t get hysterical. It’s not like it’s permanent."

"What?!?" Xena was beyond shock by now.

A moment later, a loud wheeze announced Autolycus’s return to the world of the living. Xena and Gabrielle stared in wonder as he coughed and sputtered, then sat up.

"Ooh, that smarts," moaned the thief. He inspected his chest for holes. "Good to know that still works."

Xena looked down at the man she was straddling. "Let me get this straight—he’s one of you?"

Methos nodded.

"Zeus help us," muttered Gabrielle.

" . . . so after Herc and I got back to the castle, I fell down dead. When I woke up, everyone’s attention was elsewhere, so I made my escape. About a year later I had a mishap. Seems I misjudged the strength of the line I was using and took a tumble off the roof of a castle. When I woke up from that, I realized something amazing had happened. I started noticing that little wounds up and disappeared while I was watching. A few times when I got larger wounds, like when your old friend Velasca used me as a punching bag, those healed quickly, too."

They were sitting around Methos’s anteroom. Methos had sprawled on a couch while the others sat in chairs. Both women had a hard time keeping their eyes off the elder Immortal as they listened to the younger one.

"So you had no idea there were others like you?" Gabrielle wondered aloud.

"None," Autolycus shrugged. He turned to Methos. "How did you know?"

"Let me guess," drawled the elder lazily. "You felt a strange headache sometime after you entered the house. Something like a buzz in the head. Am I correct?"

Autolycus acknowledged this with a nod. Methos went on. "That buzz is how we recognize each other. You adjust to it quickly, but if you pay attention, you can still feel it." The thief seemed to concentrate. "It’s called the Quickening. It’s a power within us, latent until first death. Now that you’ve died once, you’ll heal quickly from any wounds, come back from death, never age another day . . ."

Autolycus was grinning wickedly now. "Oh, the possibilities," he sighed. "From now on, no job’s too dangerous. These fingers will never shake with age, these roguish good looks will never fade—I’ll be ripping people off for the next thousand years." He made to stand up.

"Not so fast." The command came from Xena. "You need to hear the rest, my friend. Trust me, it’s important."

Now the thief seemed uncomfortable. "Let me guess: there’s a catch."

"Big one," confirmed Gabrielle.

Methos chuckled from the couch, relaxing even further into his sprawl. "The catch is this: now that other Immortals can sense you, they’ll be coming for your head."

"What?" Autolycus’s voice went up an octave. "Granted, it’s beautiful, but why would anyone want to chop it off?"

"The power of the Quickening," explained the ancient. "When your head comes off your shoulders, all your power is absorbed by the nearest Immortal."

"It’s rather spectacular," added Gabrielle helpfully.

Methos glanced at her. "The more heads you take, the stronger you become. It’s called the Game. It is said that in the end, there can be only one. Can you use a sword at all?"

Autolycus shrugged. "A little, but I survive mainly by my wit. I don’t like getting in range of sharp objects."

"You’ll need a mentor, then." Methos looked pensive, his posture became slightly less relaxed. "I know of someone who might take you—let me send a message and see."

"Why can’t you?" asked the bard.

"Because I don’t have the time, I don’t live on holy ground, and things are going to be interesting enough around here for the next few days," Methos responded tartly. "The last thing I’m going to want to do is hand-hold a newbie."

"Hey!" protested Autolycus. "I don’t need this. If you’ll excuse me" and he shook one hand, revealing a grappling hook.

No one was prepared for the speed at which Methos moved. One moment he was sprawled on the couch like a cat, and the next he was on his feet with a sword at the younger Immortal’s neck. His eyes had gone opaque and a strange almost-smile haunted his mouth.

"Interesting sensation, isn’t it?" the ancient hissed after a moment. "I myself have never quite gotten used to it. You’re Immortal—nothing can permanently damage you except a sword at the throat. The one place you’re vulnerable. The only way you can die. Do you enjoy the feeling?"

During this little speech, Autolycus had attempted to back away only to find that the older Immortal matched him step for step, almost like a dance. Looking into the glittering eyes of his counterpart, he suddenly realized that this was quite possibly the most dangerous person he’d ever met.

"Okay, you’ve made your point," the thief said hastily.

"Have I?" The voice was cold as ice, solid as iron. "You may be smart. You may be sneaky. But one of these days, you’ll meet someone who’s just as smart, just as sneaky, but a lot older and a whole lot meaner, and then your head comes off. Yes? Yes!"

The sword pressed closer so that Autolycus could feel the cold, sharp edge of it. "Think well on this, thief. You cannot avoid the Game. You may be able to stay out of it for a time, but sooner or later, it will find you, and when it does, you’d better be prepared. And you aren’t now. Right now, your friendship with Xena is the only thing keeping your head attached. Think about that."

The sword lowered away, much to the Autolycus’s relief.

"I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m tired," remarked Methos, intensity suddenly gone. He looked at Autolycus. "You may leave if you wish, but I strongly advise against it. There’s another Immortal in town, and if you run across him, you’d better be as good at escaping as you think you are. Otherwise, you’ll end up a little shorter. I’ll tell my housekeeper to make ready another room." With that, the ancient Immortal sauntered casually from the room.

Autolycus felt his neck where the sword had rested, then looked over at Xena, who had walked over to join him. "Please tell me he’s crazy."

Xena smiled a little regretfully. "Amazingly enough, he’s not. If I were you, Autolycus, I’d listen to what the man has to say. I’ve watched Immortal duels. It’s something you really can’t understand until you’ve seen one."

Autolycus looked dubious. "Okay, so I’m Immortal, but I can get killed. I won’t age, but in the end there’s only one. On top of that, I’m supposedly part of this ‘Game,’ whatever in Tartarus that is, which means I’ve got to go around whacking people for their power. Right?"

"Right," confirmed Xena.

"Well, I don’t like it. How do I get out?"

"You don’t. You don’t have a choice about this, Autolycus. All you can do is try and keep your head on your shoulders. Methos can help you do that."

Silence reigned for a moment. Then Autolycus said, "In my humble opinion, the whole thing smells bad."

Xena grinned. "What are you talking about? You’ve never had a humble opinion in your life."

Just then, Lavinia bustled in and started chattering. "Milord just told me we have another visitor, and oh, my, but you are a handsome one, aren’t you, dear? But you really should have sent a message ahead of you, and we’d have had a room set up for you already, but we’ll just have to make do for now. I do hope things don’t get too exciting around here. Why, did you hear we had a (gasp!) thief in here tonight?"

"Scandalous!" Autolycus declared, and tucked Lavinia’s arm through his. "Well, never fear, dear lady. You’re in safe hands with me." He turned and winked at Xena as the housekeeper led him away.

Xena watched him go, shaking her head. Then, suddenly, she froze, blue eyes narrowing. A slow grin crept across her face, and she nodded approvingly.

"I think," she mused aloud, "that that man will come in very handy. Don’t you think so Gabrielle? Gabrielle?"

A light snore answered her. Xena turned to find her companion slumped over in her chair, fast asleep.

Swords clashed, the ring echoing off the stone walls of Methos’s courtyard. Methos skipped back. Xena caught on to where he was trying to lead her and refused to follow. They circled each other, both breathing hard and grinning. Methos attacked. The Warrior Princess saw a sudden opening and lunged . . . only to find a dagger at her neck.

She looked into her opponent’s eyes, mouth quirking. "Point."

He backed away, still smiling. "You’re getting uncomfortably good, Xena."

Xena barked a laugh. "Says the man who just beat me four times in a row."

"Yes," he agreed, "but I had to use dirty tricks each time. You’re really far too noble."

"First time anyone’s ever accused me of that," Xena snorted. She grabbed her cup of lemonade from the table and gulped down half of it. "How you doing, Autolycus?"

The thief was sitting at the breakfast table looking like something had crawled into his face and died. Apparently, he hadn’t slept well. "Swell," he grunted sourly, and took a swig of ale.

Methos and Xena traded a wry grin and were just getting set for another spar when Gabrielle walked in, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "Breakfast?" she mumbled blearily. Xena grabbed her shoulders and steered her into a seat. The smaller woman blinked at the table. "Oh, breakfast."

The bard started eating. Xena moved back to where Methos was standing watching Gabrielle eat with a look of wonderment on his face. He glanced back to Xena, a question in his eyes.

"She has a little trouble getting started in the morning," Xena told him, and raised her sword.

This time she spotted the dirty trick as it was coming. Grabbing the hand that held the dagger he whipped from the back of his trousers, she twisted in enough to bring her sword to the Immortal’s throat.

"Gotcha!" she crowed in triumph. She stepped back, still holding the flat of her sword against his neck. "Never get used to the feeling, eh?"

His reaction threw her off balance completely. Instead of retreating, he raised his chin, exposing more of his throat to her blade. Then he leaned slightly into the sword, as if its touch was a lover’s caress.

"Never," he breathed.

Xena’s leathers were suddenly too tight. She sheathed her sword and gulped down the rest of her lemonade. Why did the man have to be so . . . sensual?

Methos watched her, amused. A sword to the throat was an expensive thrill for an Immortal. He didn’t have to let his (admittedly perverse) enjoyment show, but where was the fun in that? Especially with such a fascinating woman holding the hilt. He picked a chair at random and sprawled into it.

Gabrielle had regained her senses enough to note this little dance. As Xena took the seat next to her, she commented, "Warm this morning, isn’t it?" Xena gave her a dirty look.

"Autolycus, you’ll be glad to know I sent off a message to a potential mentor for you this morning," the elder Immortal told the younger.

"Wonderful," growled the thief. "Just what I always wanted."

Methos relaxed back with a satisfied grin. "You’re quite welcome. I knew you’d appreciate all my efforts. Don’t worry—it’s really no trouble at all."

"Then maybe you’d like to repair the tunic you slaughtered last night," Autolycus shot back. "It was my favorite one."

"Of course," Methos agreed warmly. "Least I can do for a junior Immortal. After all, I’d like to remain on good terms. I have so few Immortal friends. It’s a lonely existence, really." He gave a melodramatic sigh.

Autolycus gave his elder a look that would have wilted an oak tree. Methos appeared not to notice. Inwardly, he chuckled. The thief’s foul mood was proving fertile ground for Methos’s brand of humor.

Xena decided Methos had had enough fun. "Cheer up, Autolycus," she told him. "How would you like to do some sneaking and burgling?"

"Oh, no you don’t!" Autolycus spat. "I’m not getting involved in any more of your schemes. Thanks to you, I’ve nearly lost my life impersonating an assassin, had my own body stolen out from under me, gotten knocked around by a psychotic Amazon, mixed it up with not one but two members of Joxer’s family, gotten sunk in a ship with a homicidal maniac, been imprisoned by my worst enemy, impersonated a reformer . . ."

"Okay, I get the point," Xena interrupted. Autolycus wasn’t finished with his rant, though.

"And worst of all, I invariably end up working for free! I’m the King of Thieves! What kind of thief works for free?"

The Warrior Princess glanced at her best friend. Gabrielle tried a new tack.

"You know, Autolycus, we’re going after a slaver this time." The thief grunted. Gabrielle took that as encouragement to go on. "That means he’ll have plenty of gold just lying around, waiting for someone like you to pick it up . . ."

That got his attention. "Talk to me."

"A point." All eyes flashed over to Methos. "Autolycus is Immortal. The ship’s captain, Kalonis, is also Immortal. That means the two of them will sense each other."

"Exactly," Xena said, a wicked smile crossing her face.

The elder Immortal looked wary. "I get the feeling I’m not going to like this."

Xena raised an eyebrow. "I get the feeling you’re going to hate it."

Autolycus suddenly broke in. "Wait a minute—the ship’s captain is an Immortal? As in a wanting-to-chop-my-head Immortal?" Xena nodded. "Well, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we just stay away from him and everyone keeps their heads on their shoulders?"

Methos cocked his head toward the younger Immortal. "I may just start to like him."

"You boys have so little faith," scolded Gabrielle. "Look at me—I’ve spent nearly ten years with Xena and I haven’t died yet." She paused, thinking. "Well, maybe once or twice, but it never stuck. And you two are tougher to kill, anyway."

The bard felt Methos’s eyes on her face. She looked at him. His expression was inscrutable, but she got the feeling he was weighing something in his mind.

Finally, he spoke. "I suppose someone has to be the voice of reason in all this," he conceded. "At least with me on board, the plan won’t be too noble or self-sacrificing."

Lavinia came bustling back in, this time with a lad trapped somewhere between childhood and adulthood in tow.

"Milord, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but you did say that if Calum dropped by to bring him directly to you, and here he is. He just showed up on the doorstep asking to see you, so I thought . . ."

"It’s all right, Lavinia," Methos soothed. "You did the right thing. You may go." The housekeeper hurried off, apparently unable to forgive herself for disrupting her lord’s breakfast. "What news, Calum?"

The young man was gawking openly at Xena, apparently unaware that there were other people in the courtyard. A smile tried to break into Autolycus’s face at this. It failed.

"Calum?" Methos called in a worried tone. "Are you in there?"

"Huh?" The lad suddenly seemed to realize there were other people present. "Uh, Milord, sir, I have some news from Pisceus."

"Who?" Xena asked.

"An old fisherman who notices everything that goes on at the waterfront," Methos replied. "Go on, Calum."

Again, the lad had to break away from a gawk at the Warrior Princess. Xena, for her part, elected not to notice.

"Um, he said that Lord Maros was questioning the dockmaster about the repairs to Kalonis’s ship. He wanted to know how long it would be until it could depart, sir."

Methos and Xena looked at each other. "There’s one," noted Xena.

The ancient looked thoughtful. "I would lay money that he’s gathering information for Kalan. Those two have been remarkably chummy lately. Thank you, Calum. See Lavinia about your reward." The youngster broke away from one last gawk and withdrew hastily.

Gabrielle chewed on the news (and a piece of bread). "So whatever plan we come up with, we need to catch all the conspirators."

"Or the whole thing could start up all over again," finished Methos.

"Well, since you three seem to have it all figured out," and Autolycus stood up.

"Sit, youngster," Methos ordered. "I’m beginning to see where Xena has you fit into her plans."

"Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not the boss of me!"

"Sit!"

Autolycus sat. Methos glowered at him for a moment, then turned back to the Warrior Princess.

"Let me see if I’ve got your drift," he said, thinking out loud. "Milord Light Fingers here is who we’re going to use to find any and all evidence connecting Kalan and Kalonis, and to uncover any other conspirators, correct?" Xena nodded. "Then we need to make certain the conspirators get caught—by hook or by crook, as it were—and find some way of putting Kalonis and his slave ship out of commission for good. Which, incidentally, will probably mean separating the man’s head from his shoulders. Have I got all this straight?"

"Sounds like," affirmed Gabrielle.

The elder Immortal chuckled. "Piece of baklava, eh?"

"So I’m going to be your spy?" Autolycus asked, still surly. "Forget it. I’ll . . ."

Methos cut him off. "Your attitude is no longer amusing, thief. Quit whining. If I’m going to do this, so are you."

"Why are you doing this, anyway?" demanded the thief. "How’d they hoodwink you into working with them?"

The hazel eyes went opaque and the air suddenly felt chillier. "Let’s just say I have no special fondness for slavers."

Something in his voice revealed more than the words did. Xena wondered again what secrets his past held. Everyone felt the sudden charge in the air, and it seemed to shake Autolycus out of his bad humor a bit. The thief shifted in his chair.

"If you know where this Kalan’s house is, I’d like to start casing the place," he said finally. "I don’t want to be running into this Kalonis fellow, though."

"You won’t," Methos told him. "I’ve got an idea that should guarantee you won’t run across him while you’re working."

"What’s that?" asked Xena.

In answer, Methos stood, walked over to Gabrielle’s chair, and pulled her gallantly to her feet. "Meet my lovely wife," he introduced. "Feel like taking a stroll, darling?"

An hour later, Gabrielle and Methos were walking along the docks. She was close to his side, tucked neatly under one of his arms. After breakfast, Xena had helped transform her into a highborn lady, complete with clothes, jewelry, and just the right hairstyle. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror.

Methos had changed, too. Not so much his clothing, although he had changed into something a little less casual than what he habitually wore, but his attitude. Now he was on one hand a doting husband, and on the other hand, a highborn lord. People had skittered out of the way as the pair had made their way through the streets.

Methos had explained that Kalonis generally spent his mornings in bed after nights of carousing. As midday approached, the slaver would probably be scouting about for potential merchandise, which could make things dicey for Autolycus. Therefore, Methos decided, a distraction was in order.

As they neared the ship, Gabrielle felt the instinctual stiffening of her "husband’s" body. "He’s here," murmured the Immortal.

A big, dark-haired man appeared on deck. His face was tattooed, his hair braided, his arms bare and muscular, and he wore a wickedly curved sword at his side.

"Methos," he growled in a gutter-deep voice. "You killed one of my boys yesterday."

Out of the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw a flash of light. That would be Xena’s all-clear signal to Autolycus, she realized.

"Your boys were doing harm to my lady," Methos was saying. "You know the deal we have: the women of my household are off-limits."

"I didn’t hear anything about you getting married," Kalonis protested. He leered at Gabrielle. "Nice little morsel."

"Keep your eyes and your filthy intentions off her," snapped the ancient Immortal. "We were only married this morning."

Kalonis laughed unpleasantly. "I’d have thought you’d invite the whole town to your nuptials so they could see your pretty clothes and nice, clean Roman house. You’re rich enough to throw one of those three-day bashes and keep everyone drunk the whole time."

"I detest ceremony." Methos’s voice had only grown colder during the conversation. "You instruct your boys to keep away from my bride. Of course," he smiled mockingly, "after the bruising she gave them, they might already have figured out she’s not the safest merchandise to bring on board. Next time I won’t stop her from really hurting them."

The slaver looked confused. Methos suddenly laughed. He turned to Gabrielle. "You know, my love, they probably told him they’d gotten attacked by me and my personal guard, not by one small woman. Quite a blow to your pride, isn’t it, Kalonis? Your boys can’t even handle a tiny thing like her."

The big man growled, drawing his sword. "You want to lose your head, old man?"

"Not going to make a scene, are you?" Methos asked icily. "It’s been pleasant as always, Kalonis. Good day." He and Gabrielle started walking away, then, suddenly, the Immortal turned back. "By the way, word has it that Xena, the Warrior Princess was spotted in town yesterday. I’d keep a low profile if I were you. That woman’s scary—even to an Immortal."

He put his arm back around his "bride" and they continued their leisurely stroll. Kalonis’s voice interrupted them.

"Have a nice wedding night," he sneered. Methos and Gabrielle refused to give any sign they’d heard him as they walked on.

A few blocks from the waterfront, in a small alleyway, a warrior dropped in on them. Literally.

"Well?" Xena asked.

"He’s every bit as charming as Methos made him out to be," Gabrielle commented.

"I think we may have bought Autolycus some time," Methos told the warrior. "Kalonis will spend a few hours tossing his boys around for lying to him about how they got hurt. Did you see the look on his face when I told him you’d done the beating up, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle looked questioningly at him. "Why did you tell him Xena’s in town?"

The Immortal met Xena’s sudden glare levelly. "Because he would have found out eventually anyway. I don’t want him knowing that we’re connected, though."

The warrior nodded, seeing his reasoning. "Okay. I’ll make sure nobody knows where I’m staying. Do you want me to make Kalonis nervous?"

Methos looked thoughtful. "Maybe. He’ll be a little on edge already. Let’s see how things are with Kalan and go from there."

"Are you going to give it out that you’ve gotten married?" queried Gabrielle.

"It’s a good way of hiding you in plain sight," he replied. "People won’t automatically connect you with Xena, especially if you’re wearing a different name. How about Helen?"

"As in ‘of Troy?’"

The Immortal nodded, and they resumed their walk to his home. "You know, she really didn’t have that great a face . . ."

About an hour after the warrior, bard, and Immortal regrouped at Methos’s house, the ancient stiffened and picked up his sword.

"Autolycus?" asked Xena.

"That or Kalonis has dropped by for a chat," said Methos, fixing his eyes on the entryway.

A few seconds later, Autolycus swaggered in, shaking his head a little as if to ward off the buzz of Immortal presence.

"I’ll never get used to that," he complained.

"How did it go?" asked Gabrielle, removing yet another hairpin.

The thief picked a chair and attempted one of Methos’s sprawls into it. "I could rip that guy off blindfolded and with one hand tied behind my back. His guards are fat, lazy, and complacent, his housekeeper is susceptible to bribery, and there’s barely a lock on anything anywhere. It’s barely worth my time."

"Kalan feels perfectly secure where he is," Methos told them. "Why shouldn’t he? He’s a high-ranking official of the city government, he has the local constabulary in his pocket, he’s got ties to all the halfway organized crime in town, and his network of informants rivals my own. Complacency breeds decay, especially in matters of security. Did you by any chance get a look at his study?"

Autolycus made a negligent gesture. "Easy. It seems that he likes giving full tours of his house to wealthy foreign noblemen." The thief salaamed gracefully.

Xena grinned at Methos. "I told you we could count on him."

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked Gabrielle, looking up from her lunch.

"Something to connect Kalan and Kalonis," explained Xena. "Preferably something which names all the conspirators."

Gabrielle started to ask another question, but suddenly stopped, looking at Methos. The elder Immortal was staring off into the middle of nowhere, seemingly dead to the world. The others grew silent, watching him . . . do what?

"Methos?" Xena asked, concerned. No reply. "Methos?"

A slow grin spread over the Immortal’s face. His eyes cleared, then focused on the warrior.

"Allow me to name our difficulties," he began. "We have a slave ring. The slaver has contacts in the government—no one knows how many, or how deeply entrenched he is. The king himself seems reluctant to do anything about him, probably because there’s enough bribe money going around to the constabulary to get him assassinated if he got serious about running the slavers out of town. Presuming we do catch the perpetrators, they’ll probably get light sentences, if any at all, and one of them is Immortal. If he faked his own death, he could get out of any prison. Do I have the facts right?"

"Love how you put things," Xena growled. She hated how he put things.

Methos leaned forward. "I would say that thinking in terms of trying to bring them to justice is just kidding ourselves. Perhaps what is needed is a way to make the ring collapse on itself."

The warrior’s eyes gleamed. "I take it you’ve got something in mind?"

There was an answering gleam in Methos’s eyes. "Care to hear my scheme?"

"I hate to admit it," said Autolycus, "but I think he’s got something.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," snorted Methos.

The four of them were sitting around the dinner table. For the better part of the afternoon, they’d wrestled with their scheme. It ended up being largely based on Methos’s original idea, with equal parts Xena, Gabrielle, and Autolycus mixed in. The elder Immortal had to admit that the thief could scheme with the best of them. "The best of them" were currently sitting around his table, he realized.

"So what’s our opening gambit?" asked the Warrior Princess.

Methos looked at her shrewdly. "Feel like worrying a slaver?"

The feral gleam was back in Xena’s eyes. "Love to. How about a nice, early wake-up call for our friend tomorrow morning?"

"He’ll love that. Just try not to get yourself killed. Gabrielle would get all maudlin on me, and I just hate that—ow!" The bard had just kicked him under the table.

Xena stretched her remarkable body just long enough to make the men stare. "If I’m going to be up and creating havoc that early, I’d best get to bed."

"I’ll join you," leered Autolycus. Methos thought he was either braver or stupider than he looked, to proposition the Warrior Princess. Said Warrior Princess only responded with a knowing grin. It’s a game between them, the ancient realized.

Warrior, bard, and thief slowly wandered from the darkening atrium. A moment later, though, Gabrielle returned. She sat down in front of the Immortal, green eyes intent on his face.

Methos regarded her. Something within him responded to her presence. He wasn’t sure what, but it was something he couldn’t help but think of as . . . good. "What is it, Gabrielle?" he asked softly.

"You said something earlier today—that you had no ‘special fondness’ for slavers." She paused briefly. "Methos, were you a slave once?"

He focused on his ale. "No, Gabrielle, I wasn’t a slave once. I’ve been a slave several times. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad, like when I was in the . . . personal service of a beautiful Sumerian queen. Other times . . ." he trailed off. Even in the dim light, Gabrielle could see the pain shadowing his eyes.

The Immortal shook off whatever memory had taken him. In a second, he went from vulnerable to guarded. "And I’ve also owned slaves. In some cases, I’ve treated them very badly. Does that answer your question, Gabrielle?"

Gentle green eyes continued to search his face. He forced himself to meet them. "You became a Horseman because you were a slave," she deduced.

"Don’t soften it," he snapped, unreasonably angry all of a sudden. "Ultimately, I chose to become evil. It was already within me to become what I did, and I chose to give in to that side of myself. There’s no excuse for that, so don’t try and come up with one for me. Once you’ve met pure evil, Gabrielle, you’ll understand what I was. Until then, don’t even try." It came out harsher than he’d intended.

"I have met pure evil." Gabrielle’s voice was suddenly very quiet, and when Methos looked at her, he saw the bleakness in her eyes. "I have." The bard looked down. Even now, the pain of being betrayed by her own daughter was like a knife in the heart.

Methos was instantly sorry for the way he’d spoken. "I’m sorry, Gabrielle. I didn’t mean to hurt you." He reached out, covering her small hands with one of his.

She shook her head. "You didn’t hurt me, Methos." The bard stood and walked quickly from the atrium.

The ancient flopped back in his chair. "Smooth, old man," he muttered into his ale. "Very smooth."

Kalonis was awakened by the sound of shouts and splintering wood. A moment later, one of his men came crashing through the door of his cabin and landed on the foot of his bed.

Immortals don’t deal with hangovers much better than the general population. "What in Tartarus is going on?" he roared, then clamped his hands over his ears in an effort to keep his head from exploding.

"Just putting the boys through their morning calisthenics," said a smooth alto voice. Xena’s tall frame filled Kalonis’s doorway. "Morning, Kalonis. Can I get you anything? A little hemlock tea, perhaps?"

"Xena," snarled the slaver.

"You’re almost as smart as you look." Xena looked him up and down. "Make that smarter."

"What do you want?" Kalonis’s recuperative powers were starting to take hold. Not that that improved his mood any.

"Something smells rotten in this town, Kalonis," the warrior growled, "and it’s coming from this boat. I’m going to put you out of business for good."

The Immortal laughed unpleasantly. "You have no idea what you’re getting into, Xena. If you think you can take me down, you’re dead wrong."

"You’d be surprised." The quiet, menacing way she said this undercut Kalonis’s normal confidence when dealing with mortals. At that moment, more crewmen came running up the passage. Xena wheeled and kicked the first one, knocking him into the next two and clogging the passage long enough for her to make her escape. "See you soon, slaver!" she yelled as she disappeared.

Kalonis made a mental note to discuss her with Kalan at the next opportunity. The lord knew a few good assassins; it was time to call in some favors.

Methos had been a little worried about seeing Gabrielle in the morning. It was times like this when he cursed the hard edges that hadn’t quite worn off since his Horseman days. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid—just the few stories he’d heard about the bard and the warrior should have told him the seeming innocent had confronted more than one evil. For Gaia’s sake, she’d faced Methos down in his own den while he was at his worst.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Gabrielle had suffered far worse than hurt feelings in her life and was quick to rebound. He apologized again, and all was forgiven.

Xena entered the atrium looking a little flushed and wearing a wolfish grin. "Kalonis in the morning is not a pretty sight," she commented as she settled into a chair. "On the other hand, his boys were a lot of fun."

"You’re bleeding," Gabrielle said. Indeed, a cut on Xena’s upper arm was bleeding freely. The bard immediately set about cleaning and bandaging the wound.

"It’s nothing to be worried about," Xena insisted.

"Hush," ordered her friend. She finished her ministrations while Methos watched with an amused grin tugging at his mouth.

"Where’s Autolycus?" asked Xena.

"Your guess is as good as mine," shrugged the Immortal. "I felt him go out of my range shortly after you left this morning."

"Mmmm." Xena stretched. Abruptly, she stood, shedding her armor. Tossing around Kalonis’s boys had gotten her juices flowing. "Come on, Methos. What say we do some unarmed combat?"

"Forget it," snorted the Immortal.

The warrior raised an eyebrow. "I’d think you’d know something about unarmed combat after three thousand years."

"You’d be surprised at the things I know," Methos murmured, suddenly all innuendo. Xena didn’t appear to take the bait.

"Whatsa matter, old man?" she taunted. "You afraid I’ll damage ya?"

Methos barked a laugh. "Listen, girlie, I didn’t get to be this old by taking up challenges I know I’ll lose. You’d tie me into sailor knots."

It didn’t look like Xena was going to back down. He looked over at Gabrielle for help.

The bard wafted her palms. "Look at it this way, Methos: getting some instruction in a different kind of combat can only increase your life expectancy. And Xena really is the best."

Thus it was that Methos found himself squaring off against the Warrior Princess, unarmed. His brain was amusing itself by coming up with new and increasingly imaginative terms for his stupidity in getting into this situation. He had to congratulate himself on how long he managed to stay up, though; it was nearly twenty seconds before he found himself face down in the grass with his arm twisted behind him in a position he would’ve sworn was impossible.

And so it went. Between bruisings (and sometimes during them), Xena would give him helpful tips while Gabrielle ate an apple and shouted encouragement from the sidelines. When Methos finally did find himself getting the upper hand, he was suddenly distracted by the buzz of an approaching Immortal. In a flash, Xena had him on his back, straddling him with his arms pinned to his sides.

Autolycus swaggered in. His eyebrows jumped into the middle of his forehead at the scene in front of him.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Am I (wink!) interrupting anything?"

Methos’s sense of humor escaped from its cage. "Help me, Autolycus!" he pleaded. "She’s trying to ravish me, and Gabrielle won’t stop her."

Gabrielle shrugged a little helplessly. "What can I say? What Xena wants, Xena gets. I just try and stay out of her way when she gets like this."

"Well, hey, as long as Xena’s happy . . ." The thief sat down at the table, pouring himself some tea.

Xena fought off the urge to put the pinch on the lot of them. She clambered off of Methos’s supine form, "accidentally" planting a knee in his belly as she did so.

"Any permanent damage?" she asked sarcastically.

"I can take it much rougher," breathed the ancient, then quickly got to his feet before the warrior had a chance to do anything he might regret. He sat down and eyed a bruise as it disappeared. "So where were you, Junior?"

Autolycus looked at Gabrielle. "Was he talking to me? I never can tell."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Pardon me. Where did you go, O Greatest of Thieves?"

"That’s the way to address me," said Autolycus approvingly. "I dropped by our friend Kalan’s place. Whilst there, I happened across a few documents." He produced several pieces of parchment from his tunic with great flourish.

The documents were quickly spread out over the table as two Immortals, a warrior, and a bard examined them. "This one mentions Maros." "Hm. Sounds like money changing hands." "This one’s definitely from Kalonis—see the symbols at the top of the page? Haven’t been used in Greece for centuries."

Gabrielle pointed out another name. "Who’s this Gaius Marcus? Sounds like Kalan’s none to fond of him."

Methos sat back proudly. "That would be me."

Xena’s head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. "Gaius Marcus is a Roman name."

"So it is." The Immortal refused to flinch away from the warrior’s gaze. "I’m using a Roman name now. The world’s going Roman, Xena. Maybe not in your lifetime, but most assuredly in mine. And before you lecture me on loyalty, Greece isn’t my homeland. My own people and country were dead long before Greece gained power."

Methos got the feeling that that particular conversation was far from over, but Xena had more important places to put her concentration at the moment. "Okay. There are two other names here—Thysius and Grantas. Any ideas, Methos?"

The Immortal nodded. "Thysius is the head of the local constabulary. Fat, self-centered pig he is, too. Grantas, I believe, runs a local petty crime ring. It’s not surprising they’re receiving kickbacks from all this."

Gabrielle suddenly stood and left the room. The others looked puzzled for a moment until she returned, bearing a piece of parchment and her quill. She ignored the others’ curious looks and began writing, carefully forming each letter. Finally, she sat back and let the others inspect her work.

Gabrielle’s parchment was now a perfect replica of one of Kalonis’s letters, right down to the symbols across the top. Xena stared at her.

"Just when were you going to let me in on this little hobby of yours?" she demanded.

The bard smiled mysteriously. "You’re not the only one with many skills."

Methos gave her an admiring glance. "This makes things easier. Much easier, in fact." He studied the symbols at the top of the page briefly. "Something’s interesting about this letter."

"It doesn’t say much of anything," Gabrielle pointed out.

"Not the Greek, no. But the runes at the top are directions. Roughly translated, they say ‘North shore, sundown.’"

"A rendezvous point?" Xena guessed.

Methos nodded. "That’s my guess, too. Does that tell you anything?"

"Let’s see," murmured the warrior. "Number one: Kalan knows this language, or Kalonis has taught him enough that they can communicate in it. Number two: Kalonis is a pretty paranoid customer that he would go to all that trouble to not risk discovery."

"Both of which can be used against them," finished Autolycus.

The warrior raised one eyebrow. "You’re right, this does make things much easier."

"Am I missing anything?" Gabrielle wondered aloud.

Xena couldn’t hold back a smug grin. "The quill is mightier than the sword, Gabrielle."

Methos raised his eyebrows. "Hey, that’s catchy. By the way, Xena, you’ll be happy to know we now have a sponsor for all this madness."

The warrior’s brow crinkled. "How do you mean?"

"Yesterday while at the palace, I happened to have a chance to speak to the queen," the Immortal explained. "Her name is Theodesia, and she’s the real power behind the throne—or at least the brains. Her husband’s not so smart, but she’s very loyal to him. I took the liberty of telling her about your plans" he grinned at Xena’s sharp look "and she said that if we can break up the ring, she will see to it that the conspirators—make that the surviving conspirators—face justice. That’s the best offer we’re likely to get."

"It’s enough," Xena said flatly. "Gabrielle, you think you can write a letter using Kalan’s handwriting?"

The bard shrugged. "Sure. What do you want it to say?"

Lord Maros cursed a blue streak under his breath. Why did he always get stuck with the menial jobs? As far as the others were concerned, he was just a courier boy. Why couldn’t Kalan get off his fancy bum to deliver his own messages? Or invest in a slave to do these sorts of things?

His mood was made all the more rotten by an old man blundering into him. "Watch where you’re going, you stupid dotard!" Maros snarled.

"S-sorry, my lord," stammered the old man, whose face was obscured by the hood of his cloak. Maros shoved him aside and continued walking.

Autolycus watched him go. He looked down at his right hand, which was holding a letter. Opening it, he felt a slow smile stretching across his face. The King of Thieves nodded after Maros’s retreating figure—now shadowed by the Warrior Princess—and flicked his mustache.

Gabrielle stared into the statue Autolycus had been trying to steal the night he broke in. It was easily the biggest piece of amber she’d ever seen, and the inside glittered like it was full of gold dust. She wondered where it came from.

"Abyssinia," a voice said right behind her. She jumped. The only person who could move that quietly was Xena, or so she had thought. Methos moved to her side now. "Nearly five hundred years old. It’s almost my favorite piece. Not quite, though." He crossed the room to pick up a piece of stone and brought it back for Gabrielle’s examination.

The stone was a square a little wider than both Gabrielle’s hands, and was only about half a hand’s-breadth high. Carved deeply into its weathered surface was an intricate pattern. Gabrielle remembered seeing something like it in Britannia.

"The Celts of Albion called it the Endless Knot," explained Methos. "This was given to me by a wife I took there . . . over two thousand years ago. She wanted me to remember that as long as her memory stayed with me, we would be part of each other." He smiled, caressing the deep grooves. "Aelwyn was a remarkable woman."

"She knew?" It wasn’t really a question.

"That I was Immortal? Yes." The ancient looked at Gabrielle. "It’s hard to hide it from someone you live with. Besides, her adopted sister was also Immortal."

Gabrielle nodded. "And you were her teacher, right?"

"No. Oh, no," he countered. "When Ganewyn met First Death, I sent her away to a man who lived on Holy Ground. He was her teacher."

The bard added this up. "So you sent her away to live on Holy Ground so she’d be safe during her training."

"No." The flat denial caught Gabrielle by surprise. "No, I sent Ganewyn away because I loved her too much, and she loved me. For her to be my student would have been too hard."

"Because you were married to Aelwyn?" Gabrielle was suddenly having a hard time keeping up.

"I wasn’t married to Aelwyn at the time. Before she left to go train, Ganewyn told me to marry her sister. Said she’d make a good wife for me." Again, he turned his gaze to the Endless Knot.

Now Gabrielle was really confused. "But if you loved Ganewyn so much, why didn’t you marry her?"

Methos looked at her, unwonted fondness showing in his eyes. "Two reasons. One, the thought of marrying an Immortal scared me half to death—still does, as a matter of fact. Two, we’d have made a lousy married couple in any case. Both of us knew that. Much as we loved each other, we could never have been lovers. Besides, she was right about Aelwyn. We had thirty years together, each better than the last. That’s why I treasure this stone. It reminds me of a time when my life was . . ." he trailed off, sighing. "Innocent. That statue, on the other hand . . ."

Gabrielle did the math. He would still have been a Horseman when he acquired it. "Why do you keep it, then?" Her voice was gentle.

The Immortal’s golden hazel eyes were inscrutable. "I honestly couldn’t tell you."

He suddenly went rigid as the Immortal buzz hit him. Autolycus walked in, almost strutting, and brandished the letter he’d lifted from Maros. Methos took it from him. After a quick scan of its contents, he bestowed an approving look on the young Immortal.

"I take it you successfully planted our letter?" Methos asked.

"Please." Autolycus adopted a mildly injured look. "You are dealing with . . ."

" . . . the King of Thieves, I know," Methos finished for him. Without warning, he grabbed the front of Autolycus’ tunic and started fishing around inside.

"Hey! No need to get so friendly," the thief protested. However, he had the grace to look abashed when Methos produced a gold torc from inside Autolycus’s clothing.

"I’m going to rename you Kleptos," Methos declared disgustedly. "Quit trying to rip me off."

Xena picked that moment to return. Methos fitted the torc around Gabrielle’s neck, where he hoped it would remain undisturbed by thieves.

"Well?" the elder Immortal asked.

Xena’s look of triumph and wicked amusement said it all. "It worked. Maros delivered the letter to some guy who was going to great lengths not to be noticed. I got close enough to hear their entire conversation, if you can call it that. All Maros said was, ‘It has to be done soon.’ The guy asked, ‘How soon?’ Maros’s answer was, ‘Within a day.’"

The gleam in Methos’s eyes answered hers. "So we’ll see some action probably tomorrow. This is good."

Kalonis hated being awakened in the middle of the night under the best of circumstances. However, there were two things he could think of which made it worse: being awakened by the Immortal buzz, or by an assassin attempting to ply his trade on one’s person. In this case, it was the latter.

Even with a knife in his chest the Immortal stayed conscious long enough to crack his would-be killer’s neck. He yanked out the knife and proceeded to die. Upon reviving, he made a careful search of the assassin’s body. The letter he discovered there made him curse fluently in several languages.

He roared for his second-in-command, who made it down the passage in record time. Kalonis tossed the letter at the man.

"So Kalan’s wanting to cut his losses, is he?" growled the Immortal. "We’ll see who ends up getting cut."

Xena and Gabrielle were in mid-bath when Methos sauntered in. At first, neither seemed to notice him. In fact, Xena’s wet hair was brushed all the way forward, over her face.

"Honestly, Xena," Gabrielle chided, scrubbing her friend’s neck, "I don’t see how you manage to get so dirty back here. I’d think your hair would keep most of the dust off."

"I have many skills," deadpanned the warrior from behind her hair. "What’s up, Methos?"

The Immortal walked further in and leaned against the tub. "My man watching the docks informed me that Kalonis had a visitor last night who didn’t exactly use the front door. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t leave the ship so much as had his corpse thrown overboard."

Xena brushed her wet hair back. "So now we just have to wait for Kalonis to make a move on Kalan."

Methos nodded. "I doubt we’ll have to wait very long. Kalonis isn’t known for his good humor."

"I agree." Xena suddenly stood up in the tub. "Hand me my towel, would you?"

The Immortal casually complied as the warrior stepped out of the tub. "Nice scar," he commented, indicating her left hip.

She shrugged. "That old thing."

Gabrielle crossed her arms on the rim of the tub. "Methos, how long do you think we’ll have to wait to free the women he’s taken? I hate the thought of them being in his clutches a moment longer than is necessary."

"I’d say you and Xena can get to liberating them before sundown today," replied the Immortal. "Autolycus proposed that he and I play a game of ‘good centurion, bad centurion’ with Maros. I think he’s got something there. If we can intimidate Maros into working with us, all we have to do is wait for Kalonis to take out Kalan and for me to take out Kalonis. The rest of the conspirators can then be brought to justice. Towel?"

Gabrielle accepted her towel without getting out of the tub. As soon as Methos left the room, she turned a reproachful gaze on her partner.

"Xena," she scolded.

"What?" The oh-so-innocent look on the warrior’s face didn’t convince Gabrielle.

"You’re trying to get a reaction out of him, aren’t you?"

"Am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I’m not."

"Give it up, Xena," Gabrielle said. "Your little exhibition was for the sole purpose of seeing whether or not you could ruffle him."

Xena finished wrapping the towel around herself. "Okay, maybe. The man’s maddeningly calm. It’s like he controls how much of his personality you see. Even last year, when he was at his weakest, he still had control."

Gabrielle looked knowingly at her friend. "And you take that as a personal challenge."

Xena’s lips twisted in wry humor. "Bit childish, I know." Her grin widened. "I’m young yet."

From then on, it was a waiting game. Methos guessed that Kalonis would go after Kalan first. After Kalan was out of the picture, the two Immortals would play their intimidation game with Maros (who was likely to be running scared in the first place), Xena and Gabrielle would free the slaves, and somehow, somewhere, Kalonis would lose his head. "Like you said, Methos—piece of baklava," commented the Warrior Princess.

Timing was crucial. Methos had a tail on Kalan with strict instructions that the moment Kalonis made his move, Methos would be informed. All four were poised and ready when young Calum ran in, yelling that Lord Kalan had been shot down in the street.

"Not much for subtlety," observed Gabrielle. She and Xena made for the docks as the Immortals headed toward Maros’s house.

As Methos had predicted, Maros was in the midst of packing when the ancient and Autolycus walked in. "Going somewhere, Milord?" inquired Methos icily.

"L-lord Gaius," stammered the pathetic man. "I-I-I was just . . ."

"Just running out because your little financial opportunity went sour." Methos drew on the bit of Horseman still within him as he backed Maros into a wall. "Have I mentioned that it was that slaver’s thugs who hurt my lady when she came into town? I don’t deal very well with people I love being hurt, Maros. It makes me angry." All the time he was talking, his voice was perfectly calm, as if he was announcing the time of day.

Maros went white. His mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out.

Autolycus took his cue and grabbed Methos’s shoulder. "Now, Gaius, didn’t we agree he was worth more alive?"

"Alive—not intact." Still that same, icy calm tone.

Even though the thief knew it was just an act, he found himself worrying. "Why don’t you just cool off a bit while I reason with our friend?" he suggested warily. Methos moved to the side but didn’t take his eyes off the cowering, simpering lord.

Autolycus tried to look reassuring. "You’ll have to forgive Gaius. He’s—excitable, what with his recent wedding and all. You okay?" Maros whimpered. "I’ll level with you: Kalan’s dead. He and your slaver friend had a business dispute, and well—but the less said about that, the better."

"Point is," put in Methos suddenly, "your little moneymaking machine is falling down around your ears, and your slaver friend is cleaning up his loose ends. And he won’t be as nice as I will."

Maros practically wailed in despair. Autolycus gripped the man’s shoulder.

"Hey, don’t be scared. The queen’s said that if you turn witness against the other conspirators, you not only get to keep your head but you’ll be taken into protective custody. No more worries."

"I-I-I c-can’t," protested Maros. "I-I don’t know a-anyth-th-thing."

"Forget this," Methos spat. He drew a wickedly curved dagger out of his sword belt and started forward.

Suddenly, Maros found that he did, in fact, know plenty.

Xena’s plan for freeing the slaves was fairly straightforward. She and Gabrielle made a formidable fighting team, and they had the element of surprise on their side. Not to mention the fact that Kalonis’s men were unprepared for the fact that they could be beaten by women.

Warrior and bard charged up the gangplank and Xena let fly with her chakram. It took out about a half-dozen in its first pass, and then they were among Kalonis’s sailors. The woman-warriors fought back to back in perfect unison and the men fell before them.

"I’ll handle the rest. Get below to the hold!" Xena yelled to her friend. Gabrielle knocked one last slaver away and made her way to the hold where the young women were being kept. The few guards down there were easily dispatched. Grabbing a key, the Amazon set about freeing the women.

All seemed to be going according to plan. The one thing no one had counted on, though, was Kalonis returning to his ship.

Methos and Autolycus walked away from the city jail where they’d just deposited the sobbing, babbling Maros. "You did a nice job back there, Junior," Methos commented approvingly. "You may just have potential."

"Oh, thanks," the thief shot back sarcastically. "While you’re dispensing wisdom, do you have any clue where our good friend Kalonis is?"

For once, the ancient looked troubled. "I really expected to see or sense him before now. Wonder what’s keeping him."

"You don’t suppose . . ." Autolycus trailed off.

"What?"

"Maybe he went back to his ship."

Methos snorted. "That’s absurd. Why would he do that?"

Autolycus was annoyed. "Oh, and your mighty plan just couldn’t go wrong, could it, Mr. I’m-Older-Than-Zeus? Since you say he couldn’t have gone back to his ship, that’s just impossible, isn’t it?"

Methos wasn’t going to take this. "Autolycus, are your head and shoulders very close friends?"

"Sure."

"Would you like them to stay that way?"

The thief decided a little more respect was in order. "Listen, all I’m suggesting is that we go back to the ship. If he’s there, Xena and Gabrielle could be in trouble."

Methos really hated snotty junior Immortals. He hated them even more when they were right. "All right. Let’s go."

Kalonis arrived back at his ship just in time to see all the girls he’d taken captive being herded onto the docks. Gabrielle was among them, offering comfort and seeing if any were hurt. The Immortal slaver knew exactly whose work this was. Rather than risk being recognized, he jumped into the bay, using another ship for cover. He then swam around to the other side of his ship and climbed in a porthole window. There was a warrior around here to catch.

Xena had gone down to the hold to make certain all the slave women and sailors were out before she sank the ship. A sudden sound drew her attention.

Kalonis was there, blocking her way out of the hold. "Do you have any idea how much you’ve just cost me?" he snarled.

"Bet I could ballpark it." Her face betrayed no fear. She was willing to stake her life that this guy had a lot less finesse than Methos, and she had a trick or two in store for him.

Two swords flashed in the dim light of the hold. Almost immediately, they clashed. Xena drew on everything she’d learned from Methos as she faced the slaver, and Kalonis wasn’t really prepared for her level of skill. He’d imagined he could kill her easily.

One thing Xena of Amphipolis had never learned, though, was how to die easy.

Outside, Gabrielle was trying to get the girls organized when Methos and Autolycus showed up.

"Gabrielle, have you seen . . ." Methos’s question remained unfinished as an Immortal presence announced itself.

"What?" asked the bard. Her expression changed from wonder to horror as Methos drew his sword and charged up the gangplank. "Xena!" she cried, and began to follow the Immortal.

Methos caught her and pushed her back at Autolycus. "Keep her here or lose your head," he snapped, and ran onto the ship.

Down in the hold, Xena had been playing a defensive game, trying to feel out Kalonis’s weaknesses. Suddenly, the Immortal tensed, distracted, and she grabbed her opportunity. Her sword found the man’s gut.

The slaver’s eyes went wild. His hand flashed, pulling a dagger from the back of his trousers with lightning speed, meaning to ram it home into the warrior’s body.

Just as quickly, Xena pulled a knife from her own armor. Using the knife, she caught the slaver’s dagger before it reached her body. At the same moment, she pulled her sword free of his belly. A backhanded beheading stroke ended it.

Methos watched as the head and body hit the floor. As Methos saw the warrior standing, stunned from her victory, between the live Immortal and the dead one and felt the gathering power of Kalonis’s Quickening, he realized what the Quickening would do if it had to go through her to get to him.

Gaining Quickenings seems to do several things for an Immortal. Not all those things are known, but what is known is that they gain knowledge and skills from them. They also gain physical strength. Thus it was that Methos was able to literally pick up and toss aside a woman of nearly his own height and weight before the Quickening could rip through her flesh.

Gabrielle gave a horrified scream as bolts of lightning came blasting through the wood of the ship. "Xena!" she screamed. "Methos!" Autolycus grabbed her around the waist to keep her from running up the gangplank.

The water around the ship seemed to boil, and waterspouts blasted through the deck. Lightning ripped through wood and set it on fire. Nails popped out of the boards. A loud cracking noise announced the breaking of the mast. Sails burned.

"It’s the wrath of Zeus!" someone cried. And that was what it seemed to be. As the Quickening went on, Gabrielle and Autolycus clung to each other in wide-eyed shock. Gabrielle realized an Immortal had died. That fact didn’t register to the thief immediately, but his own Immortal Quickening seemed to buzz in his ears as he witnessed the power transfer.

Finally, it ended. Gabrielle sagged, and Autolycus helped her sit on the dock. The ship was breaking apart and sinking rapidly. "Xena," the bard whispered helplessly. If that had been Kalonis’s Quickening, it was possible her friend was still alive. If it was Methos’s . . .

Stop thinking like that, Gabrielle, she commanded herself. She tried to clear her mind of all thoughts as Autolycus sat, stunned, by her side. They waited in silence.

Suddenly, there was movement in the water. Gabrielle stared hard at where it had come from. In another moment, the Warrior Princess broke the surface, gasping for air.

"Xena!" cried the bard. She watched as her friend swam toward her, and both she and Autolycus helped the warrior onto the dock. Xena gave her friend a rather wet hug.

"But where’s Methos?" the bard inquired when she could think again.

The warrior waved toward the ship, which was nearly underwater by now. "There."

"You just left him there?" asked Autolycus incredulously.

Xena gave him a look. "As he put it," and here she affected a perfect replica of Methos’s dry, cultured accent, " ‘What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll drown?’"

"You just left him there?" The thief didn’t seem to be adjusting well.

"He was exhausted from the Quickening," Xena explained with considerable patience. "I was going to rescue him, but he pointed out that I needed to get out more than he did."

"You just left him there!"

Xena and Gabrielle shared a look. Warrior, bard, and thief sat at the docks, Xena muttering about "wet, salty leather," as the afternoon deepened. About a quarter-glass after the ship sank, Methos burst up to the surface, gasping and looking disoriented. All three called his name and helped him out of the water as he reached the dock.

"I hate drowning," he spluttered as they pulled him up. "Terrible way to die."

"I always heard it was peaceful," said Gabrielle.

Methos glared. "Who told you that? Some mortal? Take it from someone who knows: drowning is no fun. Burning is worse, but I wouldn’t recommend drowning to anyone."

"What was that, anyway?" demanded Autolycus.

"That, Junior," Methos told him, "was a Quickening. Released because Xena here relieved Kalonis’s body of his head. In retrospect, that might not have been such a great idea."

"I’ll keep that in mind." The warrior picked up one flap of her battle-dress and let it fall back against her thigh with a wet slap.

Autolycus looked at the few boards left floating. "That’s gotta hurt."

"Well, I don’t know about any of you, but I’m wet, hungry, and tired," Methos announced, getting up. "How about we go back to my place for a change of clothes and a good dinner?"

The warrior, the bard, the thief, and the Immortal left the docks together.

The mopping-up operation took less time than one might have thought. Grantas the crime lord rapidly decided to take his operations elsewhere when he heard that Maros had been taken into custody. Thysius, the chief constable, was arrested on Maros’s word, along with Kalonis’s sailors.

As for the women who had been taken, they were surprisingly unharmed. Kalonis liked his "merchandise" to be in good shape at the marketplace. One young woman with the sharpest tongue Xena had ever heard sported some nice bruises, but she seemed more annoyed than wounded by her ordeal. All were returned to their families within a day.

Xena, Gabrielle, Methos, and Autolycus finally ended up sitting around a table with Queen Theodesia. Her husband, as she explained with a wry grin, was in bed with a cold cloth over his eyes because of "all this excitement." Methos was explaining what had happened.

"When we realized how paranoid Kalonis was," he said, "it was easy to think of a way to use that against him. Kalonis wanted Kalan to engage an assassin to take out Xena, but Milord Light Fingers here switched the letters Maros was carrying."

Gabrielle picked the story up. "Instead of instructing the assassin to take out Xena, the letter we planted instructed him to go after Kalonis. When Kalonis caught him, he either assumed the worst or found the letter, just as we’d planned."

"So Kalonis took out Kalan and Xena took out Kalonis," Theodesia concluded. "And having Kalonis kill Kalan was necessary to ensure Maros’s cooperation in bringing down the rest of the ring."

"Precisely." Methos smiled approvingly. "Now, if you can just hire someone you actually trust to head the constabulary, you might not have so many problems."

"Think about abolishing slavery here, too," put in Xena.

Theodesia smiled warmly. "I shall advise my husband so. If you’ll put your word with mine, Gaius, I think we can accomplish this thing."

Methos shrugged. "Certainly."

"Now for more pleasant things." Theodesia rang a bell, and several servants walked in bearing a chest. "Our divers brought this up yesterday—although, as an aside, we had a hard time convincing them to go in the water after that display of the ‘wrath of Zeus’. Would you care to explain?" She was answered by four enigmatic smiles. Shaking her head in resignation, the queen continued. "Since you four have done this city an immeasurable favor in bringing down this slave ring, we thought it only right that Kalonis’s treasure belong to you. Let’s see—that would be dividing it up four ways."

Gold sparkled in Autolycus’s eyes. "Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!"

Xena and Gabrielle weren’t so sure. After consulting her friend with a look, Xena spoke up. "Your Majesty, while the offer is generous, Gabrielle and I travel light. That much gold . . ."

The queen looked thoughtful. "I see what you mean. Very well, then. We’ll do it this way: you now have a line of credit set up through the royal house. We’ll send word to all the larger cities and give you a letter. Whatever you need, we will pay for out of your share of the treasure. Does that sound right?"

It did indeed.

Xena watched Methos and Gabrielle from the doorway of his grand hall. Gabrielle was perched on a stool and the Immortal stood beside her as they pored over his personal journal, kept faithfully for over a thousand years.

They had come back to Methos’s house to discover a message from Methos’s friend whom he’d asked to mentor Autolycus. The answer had been affirmative. It was decided that the thief would be accompanied on the road by warrior and bard until he reached the safety of his new mentor’s house. "After all," Methos had said, "Xena has accomplished the difficult task of killing an Immortal." They would leave tomorrow. After that, Gabrielle wanted to continue on to the Amazon nation. She hadn’t been there for over a year and was beginning to feel guilty about neglecting her responsibilities.

Xena’s ears picked up the quiet conversation flowing between Methos and Gabrielle.

"What’s this language?" asked the bard, indicating the very beginning of the book.

"First form of writing I ever learned," answered the ancient. "There’s a form of it still being used in Egypt. Cumbersome, though, working with hieroglyphics. I was much happier when I switched to this" and here he lifted a heavy sheaf of pages to reveal a flowing, elegant language. "Recognize it?"

"Sanskrit. I saw it when Xena and I were in India. I don’t read it all that well, though."

Methos shook his head. "It’s changed from when I was using it. You’d probably have trouble reading it even if you were fluent in the current language."

Gabrielle toyed with a page. "This thing is interesting. Why didn’t you use scrolls?"

"It would’ve taken too many. I decided it was easier just to take the parchment pieces and bind them together with a heavy cover to protect them. That way, I could use the backs of the sheets as well." He grinned, almost seeming abashed. "I’m not saying this will catch on or anything . . ."

Gabrielle flipped further on into the journal. "I recognize the Greek, of course, but it looks like you’ve pretty much switched into Latin now. Do you really think the world’s going Roman?"

"Count on it," he stated flatly. "I’d give Greece another century or so before the Romans take over completely. I’ve seen it before. Greece has had its day. Rome will do its conquering act and set itself up as the great world power for a time. Sooner or later, it too will fade, and another power—say, the Goths—will move in. After the Goths have had their few centuries, a new power will rise and begin the cycle anew. It’s the way the world goes, Gabrielle. Hasn’t changed in three thousand years, won’t change in another three thousand."

"I guess." The bard still looked unhappy. Methos wondered briefly if he’d ever had as fierce a connection to a land as she and Xena had to Greece. Now Gabrielle fixed him with her intense green eyes. "How do you do it, Methos? What keeps you from despairing when you watch things you’ve come to know and love fade away?"

Methos smiled a strange, bittersweet smile. "Immortality is about changing, about accepting who you are and what you become. Sometimes you look back on what you’ve done with joy, other times with regret so intense it could kill you, if you let it. Personally, I like living. With life comes the chance that somewhere out there, there’s something worth seeing or doing." As he said this, one hand came up to gently brush the bard’s hair off of her face. "Stay," he suddenly whispered.

Gabrielle’s breath caught in her throat. How easy it would be to be tempted by this man! The sheer weight of years and knowledge fascinated her mind, the barely-suppressed sensuality spoke to the woman in her. But she knew there could only be one response.

"I can’t," she said softly. "Xena and I—we have a journey we’re on. It’s not finished yet."

"Knew you’d say that." His smile was more sweet than bitter now. "The love you two have is something very special, very strong and unique. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the like." That, if nothing else, surprised Gabrielle. "But I’d have hated myself literally forever if I didn’t at least ask. You have no idea how special you are, Gabrielle." He lifted her hand to kiss it. She smiled at him, and then they both turned back to the book.

Xena decided it was safe to come in now. "Hey, you two," she greeted. Both turned to greet her, but she focused on Methos. "Methos, would you talk to Autolycus? There’s something bothering him and I can’t get two words out of him."

"Sounds like a job for Gabrielle," he replied, bemused.

The warrior shook her head. "No, I think he should talk to another Immortal, unless I’m totally off base."

"Which you aren’t very often," the Immortal muttered. He couldn’t believe how easily these women talked him into doing things that weren’t really in his nature. "Wish me luck."

A little while later, Xena reclined on her bed. Gabrielle walked in fresh from washing her face and began to pull on a nightshirt. The warrior was glad the feelings between her friend and Methos were resolved, but not just because she didn’t like to see Gabrielle unhappy.

No, she was glad because it would be a perfect crime to waste the mood she was in."

So, Gabrielle," Xena began, keeping her voice carefully neutral, "have you decided to sleep here tonight?"

Gabrielle gave her friend a puzzled look. "Where else would I sleep?"

Xena worked hard to project perfect sincerity. "It just seemed to me that you have an open invitation to someone else’s bedchamber."

Gabrielle was floored. "What, you mean Methos?"

"Yeah." The warrior was straining to keep her expression innocent.

The bard shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "Just how much ale did you have with your dinner tonight, Xena?"

"Not a bit. You haven’t noticed the way he looks at you?"

"Xena!"

"And of course, I, for one, wouldn’t blame you a bit for taking him up on the offer."

"No offers were made," Gabrielle stated adamantly, flopping down on her side of the bed.

Xena allowed herself a wicked grin. "I mean, just think about it. He’s three thousand years old. Can you imagine the things he must have *learned* in that time?"

"Good night, Xena."

The warrior wasn’t finished yet. "And his body—he’s built for finesse, you know. Like a runner. Lots of . . . stamina."

Gabrielle sat up. "Xena, are you trying to get me into Methos’s bed?"

"Only if you promise to give me a full report afterward," Xena suggested wickedly.

That did it. Gabrielle whacked the warrior with her pillow, and the battle was joined. They ranged all over the elegant bedroom, beating away at each other until Gabrielle’s pillow fell apart. Giving a war whoop, she threw herself at her larger friend, tackling her onto the bed.

"Take it back, warrior-babe!"

"In your dreams, Blondie! Ow! Leggo my hair!"

Xena threw the smaller woman over and pinned her down in a position similar to the one she’d gotten Methos into while doing unarmed combat with him. She was gearing up to tickle the bard into submission when both of them realized they were being watched. Their heads snapped around to find two sets of Immortal eyes staring at them from the open doorway.

Methos recovered first. He turned to Autolycus. "You see, Junior, this is a perfect case in point of what I was trying to tell you. You live long enough, you find things that are worth seeing."

"I follow you there, Old Man," said Autolycus with relish. "Beautiful sight, isn’t it?"

"Indeed." Methos seemed to notice they were being noticed. "Please, ladies, don’t let us disturb you."

"Yes, please," agreed the thief, "continue with (wink! wink! wink!) whatever it is you were doing."

Both Immortals ducked as the remaining bed pillows came flying at them.

Next morning, Xena stood with Argo as Gabrielle finished packing the saddlebags. Methos came over to admire the palomino.

"She is gorgeous," he breathed. Xena beamed with no little pride.

"Methos, it’s been great to see you again," she told the ancient, giving him a warrior’s arm clasp. "If we can ever help you in any way, just send for us."

"I may just take you up on that offer." He grinned almost boyishly. "I think, though, that we’ve got things well in hand here, between myself and Theodesia."

Gabrielle finished the last of the packing and came over to hug the ancient. "Take care, Methos," she whispered.

He hugged her tight. "You take care of yourself. And Xena, too, if you can manage that." The bard giggled. "My home is always open to you two. I don’t make that offer much, so take advantage of me."

Autolycus strolled out, stretching. "Time to be on the road, is it?"

Methos eyed him. "Not until you give me back that ornamental dagger in your boot."

The thief looked pained, but handed it over.

"And that Egyptian onyx pendant," Methos continued.

Autolycus produced that from his other boot.

"And the jade figurine you have stuffed in your belt."

"And the gold-and-ruby bracelet you have up your sleeve."

"And the cat’s-eye topaz in your other sleeve."

"And the two rings in your belt pouch."

"And the scepter you have stuffed down your back."

The thief looked downright embarrassed by now. "Okay, that’s all. I swear it."

"Good." Methos turned and picked up a sword and scabbard leaning up against the arch they were standing under. "This you can keep. Learn to use it well." He shook his head. "What is Rebecca going to do with you?"

"Rebecca?" inquired Gabrielle.

Methos nodded. "I met her less than a year ago, but she’s one Immortal I actually feel good about trusting. She’ll make a good mentor for Kleptos here. One warning, though, Junior: she’s an amazingly beautiful woman, but don’t try to charm her. Won’t work. I should know; I’ve tried. And don’t steal from her. Unlike me, everything she’s got she worked hard for."

Autolycus leaned toward the older Immortal. "Just so you know, this is not the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Perversely, the ancient gave him another of his boyish grins. "Too bad. You’ve been very amusing." He gave Gabrielle one last squeeze and kissed her forehead. "I hope I see you two again."

"So do we," Xena said. Warrior, bard, and thief moved off, and Methos stood looking after them until he couldn’t see them anymore.

Two days later, following the directions Methos had given them, the trio approached what looked to be a small farm. Autolycus suddenly looked dizzy.

"That would be an Immortal," he told the other two.

The barn door opened and a tall, slim figure came out. As it came nearer, they saw that it was a woman wearing men’s clothing. Her bearing, though, was so elegant she might have been in a silken gown. As Methos had said, she was beautiful, with deep brown eyes, creamy skin, and flame-colored hair.

"I am Rebecca," she announced. Her voice was every bit as cultured as Methos’s.

The warrior decided to take the lead. "I’m Xena, and this is my friend Gabrielle, and this" she indicated the thief "is Autolycus, whom you agreed to mentor."

The woman’s stance relaxed. "Yes, I have. Please come forward. This is holy ground; there is nothing to fear."

In spite of Methos’s warning, Autolycus decided she was too beautiful to waste. He strode over to her and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "May I say what an honor it is to be your humble student, my lady?"

One swift movement and Rebecca’s sword was out of its sheath and two fingers short of the thief’s neck. Autolycus froze in mid-shmooze.

"Rule number one: you don’t try to charm me," she stated flatly. "Rule number two: you will make yourself useful. Go into the barn and ask my husband how you can help him."

"Your husband. Ah." Autolycus threw a helpless look to his two friends. Xena tried to look encouraging. Gabrielle tried to stifle a laugh. The suave thief looked anything but as he shuffled into the barn.

Rebecca gave Xena and Gabrielle a knowing smile. "Always important to let men know where they stand, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Couldn’t agree more." Xena liked this woman.

Gabrielle finally got ahold of herself long enough to ask, "This is holy ground?"

Rebecca waved over to what looked remarkably like a pile of stones.

Xena recognized it at once. "An Israelite altar," she told Gabrielle. "Are you . . ?"

"I was, and still am, the only survivor of a slaughtered tribe of my people," Rebecca explained. "This place is consecrated to the Lord. You have been among my people?"

Xena nodded. "Yes, they once saved my life."

The flame-haired woman nodded, deep respect—and sorrow—in her face. "Will you stay and break bread with us?"

Both women reluctantly shook their heads. "We’d love to," Gabrielle explained, "but we’ve got to get moving if we want to be in Amazon territory before nightfall."

"Very well, then." Rebecca flipped her sword back into its sheath. "You are both welcome to me. If you have need of my hospitality, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Rebecca." Xena clasped her arm briefly, and then warrior and bard moved away.

"The Lord bless you and keep you," Rebecca called over her own shoulder. Then she was gone.

"Fascinating woman," Xena commented as they headed back to the road.

Gabrielle had to agree. "Unless we don’t know about someone, she’s the first female Immortal we’ve met." A thought struck her. "Hey, do you think one of us . . ."Xena shook her head. "Nope. We both know who our parents—or at least our mothers—are, and as Methos puts it, ‘We’re all of us foundlings.’"

The bard glanced back at the farm. "I hope Autolycus does okay."

"I’m sure he will," Xena reassured her friend.

"Yeah, you’re probably right," Gabrielle conceded. They walked in silence for a few moments before Gabrielle spoke up again. "Did I tell you Methos wrote about us in his journal?"

"No."

"Well, he did. Just think about that. One or two thousand years from now, there will still be someone who remembers us. Isn’t that incredible?"

"Several someones," Xena corrected. "Remember? There’s Methos, Autolycus, Troyius, and now Rebecca. If they all survive, which I hope they will."

"I like that thought." Gabrielle paused briefly. "Methos said we were unique. That should last, shouldn’t it?"

Xena looked down at her companion, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Yeah, it should."

They walked on toward the Amazon nation, chatting and laughing.

The End

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