Chapter 3: Bordeaux

Nothing. There was nothing. Caspian had gone through
every news report he could. There was no mention of
Kronos’ plans at all. That could only mean one thing.
They had failed and were most likely dead. Only death
could stop Kronos when he arrived at a scheme. The
thought was appalling. Kronos was gone.

It had been several months since he had last walked
the Earth, almost a year. He had immediately gone
searching for information, since the world had seemed
unchanged and unconcerned. He wondered what had
happened.

There was only one thing to do. He would have to
travel to Bordeaux himself. It was possible that his
other two brothers still lived. Silas had been content
for so long in his forest and Methos loved his
creature comforts. They were unlikely to have gone
through with the plan had Kronos been killed.

He wished suddenly that he still had one of those
stalkers trying to follow him so he could acquire the
information from him, but he was dead and knew he had
no quickening. That made it much more difficult to
find one of them, since he couldn’t sense the
Immortals they were following. After his long time in
prison, there was no way he was going to be able to
use any of the identities he had prepared for his
escape from the country before his capture and most of
the people he relied on were gone.

Besides, he needed some way to access them *now*.
Well, identities could be bought. What he really
needed was money to get the identity and fly to
France. Everything else would have to wait.

He struggled with the possibility that Kronos had been
one of the escapees, but it was too late now. Most
likely, he would find Kronos when and if he found
Methos. He also longed to go to find the Highlander,
but if he was responsible for Kronos’ death, his
brother would want to share. The real question was
whether or not the other Horsemen had survived so that
he would know where to begin looking.

***

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you." Caspian smiled his charming best,
rewarded with an answering curve of lips, and the
stewardess moved on to the next seat.

He turned to look out the window, watching the clouds
fly by below them, luxuriating in the comfort after so
long an absence of touch. Even the suit he was
wearing, so different from the clothes of his former
identity, was wonderful. It was so nice of that man to
help him get enough money to fly first class, though
slightly disappointing that it had taken so little
encouragement.  But this was business, not pleasure
and there would be time for a hunt when this was over.
A few hours more and he would be setting his feet down
on European soil.

Those who knew him as Evan Caspari would have been
shocked. Instead of a slightly ragged bad boy in
leather, Caspian had opted for a business man, the
tattoo on his head the sign of a rather wild youth.
There was no help for it. He was dead so he couldn’t
grow his hair out over it. Other than that, he looked
perfectly respectable, any other neat and polished
suit and tie.

He smiled. "David" had had no trouble getting out of
the country. They had done quite a good job on him.
There was no one looking for Caspari because his body
had been found beheaded on a Bordeaux bridge. Caspian
had no intention of going into the city itself because
it was possible that there had been an accompanying
picture in a local newspaper under a heading such as
"Dangerous escaped serial killed found beheaded". It
was better not to be recognized. Not that anyone would
believe he still existed anyway.

He continued to stare out the window, playing and
replaying what he might find at the submarine base,
both good and bad. And after that, just what he would
do to MacLeod.

***

It was a blackened ruin. Someone had gutted the
inside, destroying all evidence of Kronos’ virus, fire
annihilating all of his plans. The rooms were dark, no
antiquated torches burned and Caspian was glad he had
brought lights. Room after room he search for some
clue as to what happened. There were no bodies, no
remains of beheaded corpses or evidence of suggest
they ever existed.

Nothing. It was as empty as the newspapers. Someone
had obviously discovered and destroyed it. The
Highlander would not have gone to such lengths to wipe
it clean of all evidence, removing the bodies he had
killed.

Suddenly, Caspian stopped. This room was not empty.
The vaulting ceiling rose up into emptiness
reminiscent of the void and at first glance seemed no
different from all the others. In the center stood a
table. The shock glued him to his feet. There were
three weapons, arranged as they had been what seemed
like so long ago, longer than his furthest memories.
An axe and two swords. The third sword was missing.
They had been place there afterwards, clean of ash and
any trace of whatever had been used to eliminate any
vestige. He stood in front of where the missing blade
should have been. Methos lived, though whether he had
sided with MacLeod Caspian did not know.

He would have had to have been blind not to notice
Kronos’ jealousy. He wondered if that was what had
pushed his brother to such an elaborate plan. Not so
much the world, as to keep Methos at his side.

He picked up his blade, an old, familiar friend.
Though he no longer needed it, he could not leave it
behind. He had a feeling that Kronos would want his
sword also. Finally, he looked at the table with the
lonely abandoned axe. These things could not be left
here. Caspian had a feeling that at least one of the
owners was once again walking the Earth. There was one
who would know for certain, one who had choreographed
the escape. Now all he had to do was find her.

***
Months Later
***

The drink moved rhythmically in its glass to the
pounding beat. So far, no one had caught his eye. The
glass itself was for appearance only. As an Immortal,
alcohol had barely affected him, now that he was dead,
there was no effect at all. Gazing around searchingly,
his eyes took in the writhing bodies of the nameless
club, just like several others he had visited since he
had come to L. A.

The past few months had been a waste. He had found no
sign of Methos or Kronos. The Highlander was still on
his own and alive, though if this continued for much
longer, he would take matters into his own hands.
There had been no sign of his mysterious benefactor,
who he now believed to be Ashur, nor had he found any
of the other escapees. It was not like he had had a
chance to give any of them a really good look in his
haste to avoid capture. Caspian wished that he had
even
considered that his some of his brothers were dead and
had taken the opportunity to search for them, but it
was too late now.

Caspian felt the eyes before he saw them. Some blue-
eyed blonde pretty-boy was making his way to the seat
beside him, probably attracted to the bad boy persona
he was affecting. Generally, he was the one who did
the approaching, but with the slim pickings he’d had
lately, he didn’t mind at all. Sometimes it was more
interesting to let the prey come to him.

The look on the man’s face as he sat down was all
wrong. He kept staring up at the tattoo as if trying
to make sure that he really had seen it there.

"I know you." The voice barely carried over the music,
reaching the Horseman’s ears faintly, but distinctly.

To this, Caspian merely turned to him and raised an
eyebrow. It was entirely possible that he had been
seen before, if this was the type of place the man
frequented. Caspian, however, could not recall him. It
was his next words that caught his attention.

"I saw you the night of the escape."

He was one of the damned then. Another soul adrift in
the world. Caspian wondered why he had decided to talk
to him. Perhaps for similar reasons as to why he
himself was had been searching for others.

"It’s the tattoo. I’ve never seen another one like
it."

"You wouldn’t." Caspian took another sip of his drink
then tilted his head in question. *Why are you here?
Why are you talking to me?*

"Look, I can’t talk to you here." His hand gestured
around the room.

This could be interesting. He shrugged his shoulders
in assent and stood up. "After you, then."

***

"It was like this great big light suddenly opened up
and I thought, what the hell, I’m already there
anyway, so I jumped through."

He was one of those that had merely taken advantage of
it, then, not one of those who actually knew what was
going on. Caspian wondered what he could tell him that
he didn’t already know if that was the case.

"But that’s not what I’m here to tell you, man. Our
kind have to stick together."

The case he had put up so far was not nearly as
eloquent as Kronos’ had been all those years ago.
Still, he nodded for him to continue. He could always
have a bit of fun later.

"There’s this guy hunting us down. He’s already killed
a few of the really powerful ones, you know, the guys
that have been there for centuries. He almost killed
me, got a friend of mine. Pretending to be a cop or
something. Said that he was working for the big guy
downstairs."

So, they could die. Too bad he hadn’t said exactly
how.

Interrupting the continuous stream of jumbled words,
Caspian asked, "What’s his name?"

There was a momentary pause as his companion realigned
himself. "Stone. Zeke, Zack... Stone. Something like
that anyway."

You would think that the man would pay more attention
to such important details. Still, he was farther along
than Caspian was, if only through blind luck. A man
hunting them down, sent after them to find the
escapees.

He wondered if he had already killed Ashur. If not, it
was certain that their paths would cross. Someone
looking to destroy them would go after the ringleader,
the one responsible, early on. This could be very
useful, especially with the success rate this Stone
had. He could lead anyone following him straight
to any soul he was looking for... eventually.

"You see why people like us have got to stick
together, right?"

Blue eyes were scanning the room where Caspian had
brought them, saying that they could have the
conversation undisturbed. His eyes locked on the
‘worktable’ and he paled, but the Horseman brought him
back to himself.

"I understand what you’re trying to say." Caspian did
understand. It was the same reason that the Horsemen
had been brought together, mutual protection from
those who accused them of being demons and tried to
destroy them.

This man, however, would never be any companion of
his. There was no way Caspian would have followed
someone like himself home, except perhaps for the
challenge. Even now, the man didn’t even seem to
realize the danger he was in. No wonder his friend had
gotten killed. "You said that a few others had been
killed. Do you know what any of them looked like?"

"Nah. Didn’t see them myself."

"One last question. Have you ever seen a man, one of
us, scar across the one eye, straight up and down.
It’s fairly distinctive."

"Yeah. I saw him. Scary looking bastard, left just
before you did. Why? He owe you money or something?"

Caspian wondered why he hadn’t qualified for the scary
looking part. Who knew with some people?

"Something."

The man was looking around again, his eyes returning
of their own violation to the worktable with its hand
made selection of tools.

"What were you in for anyway? Me, I knifed a few
people. Needed the money. You know how it is; stuff’s
expensive. Funny, I’ve tried it now and it doesn’t do
a damned thing."

"Well, since you’ve been such a wonderful font of
information, I’ll do better than tell you."

Finally, synapses began to fire. Caspian could
practically see the full blown terror; better than
that, he could smell it. The man made a run for the
door, but Caspian had locked on the way in. There were
no windows. After all, he’d tried to make sure that
there would never be any noise escaping from here. It
was more fun to listen to them rather than be forced
to
gag them.

In a rush of adrenaline, his prey tried to fight back.
Caspian was stronger and faster, using his
preternatural strength that he had grown used to over
the course of several months, to overcome his fellow
dead man.

After all, he really did need to know what his
vulnerabilities were and there was no better way to
find out than experimentation.

***

The place was a dump, ranking even lower than his last
place of residence. It seemed that working for the
devil literally didn’t pay. No one would live their
by choice.  The building was filled with the types of
people that asked each other no questions and went
about their own sorry existences. Caspian had to admit
that he fit right in. It also had been quite a piece
of luck that the room next door to Ezekiel Stone, ex-
cop from the New York P.D., now deceased, had recently
lost its previous occupant...and he hadn’t needed to
get involved at all.

Now it was only a matter of time. As long as Zeke, as
the charming girl at the desk had called him, didn’t
realize what he was, he would eventually find either
Kronos or someone who knew what had happened to him.
Now, also, he knew what his vulnerabilities were. It
seemed that the damned could hurt each other, even if
the living had no effect.

Thinking back, it had perhaps been as mistake to cut
out the man’s eyes, but there had been no way of
knowing what would happen. Hindsight was ever perfect.
It could have gone on indefinitely. The light show
that happened next had been vaguely reminiscent of a
quickening, a storm of blue filled with faces and
energy, which raised all sorts of unanswerable
questions.

Settling himself on the bed, which surprisingly
remained stable, he began to wait. Sometimes that was
all one had to do.