What wonders upon wonders do the times-not-yet hold?

Is the future, then, the province of a red-haired boy, descendant of a Connor who can have no bloodline descendants, taught by a Ramirez millennia dead, and opposed by that Kortan, greatest of arch-fiends, whose name is known to no one at all?

Is the future, then, the province of four star-sailors, one bold, one cautious, one emissary and one survivor?

Is the future, then, the province of steadfast and eager travelers-through-time, erasing the value of history scrolls with their every movement?

The future is no one's province, this is known, and this is certain. Good will like as not out, for evil overreaches and topples itself, but who can say? No one that may be readily spoken with, and this is known, and this is certain.

But where plans are made, and where counsel is kept, and where the infinite paths lead is of less import than we meager ones might think. For the future becomes the past, and omega becomes alpha with a dizzied swiftness. What of it that we may not know the future as it is made before it is made? If we are wise, we are so privileged to watch the future as it happens.

And now we shall be so wise.

Witness now the city-port called Seacouver, and wonder not at what state, or what province. They are of less import than four who dwell and have come there. Their paths cross, in this telling, and the lightning that roars is the Quickening from Gaia herself.

Now, an Immortal's life is not all swords, and heads, and runnings. Make room for much merriment, every Immortal knows.

One of the very youngest knew this well. So could it be less well known with the very Oldest?

"Bah, and I say Bah! These games of chance test not knowledge, but merely trivial matters. I can scarce credit that you had brought us to such a remove."

The one who spoke this was a vexer, by many shadings of the word. He did not of will seek the Game. He trusted too well, and too readily, and had seen much of the world and learned little. Yet so many plotters and planners and schemers found his sword buried in their necks, and they did not feel this for very long. He was Duncan Of The Clan Macleod, Mastered First By Connor, His Blood Where Blood Could Not Be.

"Are your clan colors on those tartans and kilts all turned green, like sons of Eire? I think that my youngish friend is jealous of my knowledge, taken here, there, and everywhere. I say that this small game is but my contribution to the betterment of all accuracy, and history needs such so very badly."

The one who said this was a man known well and not known at all. He knew aught before his first head, and aye, little directly after. He had walked as a nigh penultimate sinner and as earthly father to a man said by some to have died for sinners. He was Methos, and if his friend was four hundred years, then he himself was four hundred score.

"I think that those folk well loved me, and wished my speedy return to these halls, you Highlander."

"The Oldest fails to see what I do. Were The Kraken to smile while baring its many teeth to them, they would love it just as well. Add to all that, your fabled accuracy is a measured thing."

"No, and no. My care is not the composers of song or dance. I know of fiendish Nero's diameter. I know that Helen was not so fair. These things, it is known, are important. And so little is."

They both knew well what they took in next, and that was the presence of another. Reunion, Revenge or both were well at hand.

"Shall there be company, then, when we take supper?"

"I have not invited such, but who knows? Oldest, I will see what meal they seek, and God wills it, walk again with you anon."

"I know only of fate, not gods. But I have business at the houses of learning. Do what you will, Highlander."

They walked away, expecting much, and correctly predicting nothing. That Highlander rounded his corner, and saw a chilling sight, and he was not quickly given to chills.

"Can it be that one, that fiend, that Koren? Rare is it that any foeman has so shrouded my heart in fear. Yet so it is with that Koren."

In a quick instant, that Highlander placed himself to a Texas of legend, and to a battle with an outlaw bandit so fearsome, that legendary hero, that masked rider of silvery horse, would not face him down
except to shoo his movements.

For such a one was that Koren, yet that Highlander knew him not at all. His knowledge would know increase, in this. Then he would wish it never had.

------------------------------------

SOUTH TEXAS, 1867

They were stout men, those Rangers of The Plains and Prairies. They were to inspire fear of law in those who knew no such, and this they did well. Men might say that the gunshot that removes a gun without also destroying the hand that holds a gun is all a mob's fiction. But for those Rangers, it was all true.

Those Rangers yet knew fear and trepidation that fateful day. It was well that they did so, for on this day they hunted The Cat, Murderous Mel Koren. Their stern leader, a friend to the lost and legendary Reid Brothers, turned to his men and stoked both their fires and their fears, for he well knew that they would need both in goodly measure.

"The Lone Star shines down upon Justice, this is known. Whether the colors of the flag we have fought against ere Lincoln fell, or of the flag that fleeing lawyers left in Richmond, or of the flag of Crockett, Bowie, and Houston, with that Lone Star I have invoked, these colors all bear one true mark. They Do Not Run. Nor Shall We."

Many men queried their bold leader. They did this as they espied the wagons that were more destroyed than robbed. Children, some still new and fresh, were shot like dogs as they ran to a false and taunting safety. They had viewed bloody things, and been bloody things, and made bloody things out of the carcasses of other men.

But what those brazen Comancheros had done seemed more a fate to befall Egypt, and Babylon, and Troy, and were mostly not seen but spoken of in churches and schools. These wagoneers had been boiled in a jar of the past, or of the end-days. What had such rot to do with the present, when a new country under Heaven followed its manifest destiny?

"You say that we do not run. Yet still I have heard it said by mouths I know speak only truth that Mel Koren may not die."

One by one, their words were said and known.

"I'll vouchsafe what he has said and go to my own clan, whom no one may gainsay and yet keep his life's blood. My brother who is a merchant in Oklahoma saw that Koren was stabbed a triple score of times, and oft as not laughed hearty as he was let blood."

"I will take their two tales as the stakes in a game of chance. Seeing them as such, I raise upon their wagers. For I rode with John Reid, the day that Ranger was cut down by Cavendish, Koren's wild card, now tossed away. My leg grew lame from old plagues, and so I was a distant lookout. John Reid and his Brother Daniel each were marksman as fine as the bold masked rider who avenged them of late. They each placed, in my sighting, and my sighting is better than fair, twenty bullets in parts of Mad Mel Koren. But he laughed, as has been told, and told that fiend Cavendish to have merry with the fallen Rangers. Koren's last act was to shoot down John Reid's Red Brother, but that Injun is smart, and feigned death to keep it feigned only. The tales are all true--true, I tell you."

The Leader ended this talk, for he was both weary and wary of it.

"Oh, to hear those tales of Koren, who has shaken off the hangman's noose, and was once run through his trunk as he was lynched. I credit none of this. Not a word, not a thought. Yet perhaps our gifted tracker can tell us if we stalk man or fallen archangel. Tell us, Scotsman. What do we hunt?"

That Highlander was quick to second that bold leader, for this was why he was told to speak.

"What do we hunt? There are men, difficult to kill. They have powers of endurance that dredge up old myths, and campfire's words, meant to draw a honey closer in your arms, the better to seek liberties. Yet I say unto you now that this Koren is just a man, however long his death takes to arrive at his door. This Cat has not nine lives, but merely one. Like all of us that breathe air, and seek strong mead, and long for friendly twisters that eat petticoats while we watch, he has but one life to live. It is my declaration and my every intention that he should find himself without that life. What say you, Bold Rangers?"

The leader nodded at the wall of steel that now formed behind him.

"I say that Macleod has spoken well and truly. Go forth, you Rangers. And as you go, know that Mercy is no part of this place."

That Koren knew he was pursued, and how could he not? Away from his desperate ranks, he spoke with no other about.

"Oh, the scum I ride with in these latter days. Once, I was a god, and I rode with gods. But if I now ride with scum, I like not the math it all implies. Where, then, is even a worthy foe? Where is my fate's other friend, the one Fate knows I would not see it dwell with?"

That Koren and That Highlander knew one another's place, as The Rangers lay in to do gruesome battle with those Comancheros.

Yet ere that battle was joined, The Highlander grew wary. More senses than one told him all was not apparent, and all was not known by sight.

"Ho, You Rangers. And Stay Back I Say. These Comancheros are more in number than they should seem."

Every Ranger knew their steadfast tracker to speak only when it was wise to, and they had known the Red Tribe he had called his family. Both had their respect. For among these Texans dwelled not a single fellow of hateful Kern.

"Macleod has said that we should keep back, you Rangers. Look for the one that isn't there. Jump at shadows, and let no man gainsay your courage for this. For he will be dead, and you alive."

As desperate men of all stripe readied now their long rifles, and readied their full barrels to be empty ones, out came a man of no known stripe, and he was a man as no other. He was that Koren, that fiend of fiends, and knower of no depths of depravity.

That Leader Of Rangers saw this brazen walk, and proclaimed loudly his every intent.

"Oh, You Koren! You are surely that ravager of all decency, and a laugher at justice. They say that you may not die, but I care not, and what is more, I care nothing. For if your life has no let, then cheerily shall I compel you to spend it away and away, your overlong life used to pay for the lives you have stolen. I am the Law's Man, in this place. Your crime is death, and I bid you surrender or I shall sorely test your belief that you are proof against bullets, knives, and pointed sticks. What say you, Outlaw Koren?"

That Koren was as a man who does not care for anything, and this was the truth, since Herod gave grim orders.

"And why should we leave such a place? Here there are places a man may fight hearty, strong mead to drain hearty, and comely shapely things to ride hearty. I think that this place is our place, and we will not leave it. Again, why should we do so?"

That Highlander thought he knew that Koren's full measure. But in truth were they as unlike as like.

"You Koren! You may choose to travel in your well-worn boots or in a sturdy pine and cedar box. It matters nothing to one such as I, and more, I would welcome the chance to end your travels here."

That Koren saw his men cut down by men who said they were the better of the dead ones, and he regretted naught save that he had not chosen his scum less rapidly.

"You are one of two called Highlander, though I wager not the sworn foe of ScarNeck RaspVoice, that giant of the steppes. It is said that you have traveled as widely as I, a learner in Asia, a defender in France, a gadfly in Congo. Now you have found South Texas. But I may not compliment you, smallish child. For all that travel means merely a wider path to your last good sleep."

Their swords locked, as swords do, and both knew the blessed fright of battle. That Highlander felt overwhelmed, that all his prowess was spent merely keeping his own head on his own neck. Yet it was that Mel Koren was surely impressed by the youngster, lasting as he did when so few ever had.

"I away to the barn, you Highlander. Will You Follow Me?"

"Aye, I Will Follow You, you Koren. There Is Not Ocean So Deep, Or Mountain So High That Can Keep Me From My Destiny, which is your neck."

That Koren had a toy, and he would play with it a time, ere breaking it for newer things. The angry boy sought out the calm man, or that is how Koren saw it, and was he incorrect? In a swift move made from hay and dust, that Koren rendered that Highlander without sword, aye, and then himself as well.

"I think that you are chaff that has diluted my wheat, Highlander. But with this loving scythe I reap you away, and everything old is yet new again."

But that blow never came, for those victorious Rangers landed bullets in that Koren his laughter could not undo. He fell, as men do, but was that Koren a man? For men, it is known, have bones and meat in their miserable graves. That Highlander found nothing at all in that Koren's.

"Praise to you Macleod. That beast, that Koren, is no more. For you have destroyed his escape. It is done, it is done, it is done."

That Highlander raised up a beer as flat as his own spirits.

"I toast then, those things that are well and truly done."

-----------------------------

THE PRESENT

Koren would be truly destroyed this time, this that bold and brave Highlander swore.

Yet as he came at the fiend with raised sword, another blocked and caught his, and yet this was no ally to that Koren.

"Be wary, you fool! Are you a helper to that Koren?"

This notion mightily enraged Macleod, who gained venom of his own at the intrusion.

"No, I am not his helper, woman! And why would you ask me if I was? Why, you are Cassandra, whom I have known! What business has one so gentle with one so frightful?"

"Move away, Macleod, you Highlander! I would have his head, and you may not stop me from seeking it."

That Koren laughed now as he had not in untold ages.

"Oh, the muddle heroes find among each other. This is why I win, why I always win. Your ways are murky. Mine are marked in reddest blood. Farewell, Quarrelsome Girl. Fare Poorly, You Highlander. For neither your vision nor your wits are quick enough to watch me go. As I go now."

When he was done and done, that Highlander turned to his known but unknown friend, seeking relief from burdensome questions.

"Again I ask, what has Koren to do with Cassandra?"

Her eyes grew distant, and pained as well.

"When you speak of that one, speak not of Koren, for it was not his name very long. When you speak of our foe, speak then only of Kronos, and know that we speak of the leader of those as were called The Four Horsemen."

"But surely such men as those are dust, aye, and less than dust."

"No, Highlander. The dust pile is as        one-quarter unmade. As is my soul, til Kronos is done with. Sit, you Highlander. Learn of why I may have no peace while Kronos yet lives. It is a sorry tale."

---------------------

Ascending to that Highlander's lofty place, the woman Cassandra knew great rage and this put that Duncan well off his mark.

"We two nearly gained heads this day, and this was untoward, for those heads were our own. I do not like to offer my friends such ill treatment."

The woman who had been his first glimpse of women made to silence his chatter.

"You Highlander, once a boy in my arms, gazing as a boy would upon my charms. Know that my sword very nearly found that fiend's thick neck, and yet like the Old Serpent he serves, he slithered away. And this shall be the last time he does this, mark me well."

But against that Duncan shrill Cassandra found no exit, only arms that offered comfort that could never be comfort.

"Gamble and lose, my lady. You are sore tired, and that Koren shall take your head, have no doubt at all. He is not so much dangerous, as he is a form of danger itself."

"Oh, young one, that knows him only as Koren, when I the beast's true name, and that name was Kronos. He was one of The Four Horsemen, and he rode with The Four Horsemen, and he led those Four Horsemen."

To disbelieve that creature one holds dear is a grave discomfort, yet Macleod was bid to speak thus once again.

"These Horsemen are creatures of the End Days, yet you would place them near the start."

"I know not of the end of this world, Macleod. I know well and horridly well of the end of mine, and it was swift, and it was harsh, and no paradise awaited my soul, though I was just. Like gods they rode, and merrily did they bring low all that was light and joy as they went their way."

-------------------------------

THE BRONZE AGE

A small man knew he was a small man, and he gathered small things to him, and in this he was happy. But the truth of his birth and living was all undone and this small man was no more. Hooves of thunder alone pushed him to the hands of death.

But this small man was known in his small place, and the people who dwelt there were happy. They had a healer, and not merely a healer, but a healer in waiting.

Be not too happy, men say, else earn the wrath of gods, such as came around then.

Yet it is the lot of men, to be so happy, when not shown a reason to be sad. Yet such cause would they learn, and wish well that they had not.

"Cassandra, who is my learner. This arm I set will one day be your charge. The toes I prune back will be your toes. The babies born will see your face, and not mine, ere they first feed. Then, they shall surely say that Cassandra has always been our healer, and who was this Hijad?"

But love makes liars of us all, it is known, and once-foundling Cassandra proved this so.

"I think that you are a constant, like the stars above us, Hijad. I shall not ever be called healer, and you shall always be known thus."

"Then my learner has not learned a great truth at my feet. A Healer Am I, Not A God!"

As they bantered, that learner and that learned, that small man was cut down and made no man at all. Masked they were, and wild as the west wind of sands, when the storms of the late year come early. So it was that all bantering stopped, and that learned began to shout.

"No--and again I tell you no! Get gone from this small place, and know well that there is nothing here for such as you!"

Wearing a mask so fierce in aspect that no drawing or words could make anything of it but a parody, a sword that was a treasure in a world without treasures was drawn out.

"You Mounted Gods! Strike the mortal goats below us through from beard to tail! Now Charge You, I Say."

That learner, who was barren but would be her own posterity, looked on quite helpless, and this for her would know no surcrease.

"Who are these fiends, you teacher? What manner of beast rides on other beasts, and treats men as though they were mere beasts?"

"O, You Learner. These things are Horsemen, and we are all done, away and away. Pray you go from this place, knowing well that you are made of better stuff than those you have known."

As was said, the mask was all darkness and no light, and yet this was merely the absence of light. True, soul-suckling darkness lay in the face underneath the mask, and the face was the face not of a man, but of Pestilence, Once Champion Of That Horrid Scourge Of Babylon, whose names are Legion. Yet in this eon's ride, though men said it was a demon's ride, Pestilence held no other god before Pestilence.

"You old man. Do you know the hooves that tread your dirt? Do you know the lungs that breathe your putrid air? Do you know who it is that places you early in that place where all of your kind go lastly?"

Hajid was as a man emboldened. For he saw the figure in white approach, as his learner could not. He knew full well that figure in white, as must we all.

"Go from here, I say again. Go from here, for our stores are meager, our people thin, and our things fewer than few."

That Pestilence was greatly and mightily mispleased by this answer, and this he showed.

"You say that you have nothing for us? I say that you are a liar. My brother War finds precious skulls twixt his beefy fingers. My brother Famine finds your whelps, all tender and makes of them his morsels. My brother Death has found his unfathomable treasures, for surely he is a cipher, even to me. And what has Pestilence found? Why, I have found your breath, which I take now from you!"

That learner moved to save the learned from the sting of the blade, and in fact she died for him that day. But as she left life for the first time, the cold figure in white knew his victory. For he was Death, the eldest sibling. Hijad, the learned, was no more, and the small village now truly had nothing at all, even for the buzzards. But he spoke truly, for his learner would endure.
 

Present Day

She walked, in sunshine and in shadow, and That Highlander wished well to walk with her in both those places.

"Those Horsemen took from us our very last measure. What else there was turned to dust. My teacher, my place, my people and my world were ground to pepper for their broth. Mightily have I striven to put paid to that ledger. Til I but merely sighted that Kronos, I was a thing content. Now, I know well that this cancer grows inside me still. The pain does not ever vanish."

"You Cassandra. I say loudly yet with a whisper that you are greatly wrong. Let my touch turn back that cancer. Let my lips kiss away your pained and mournful sleep. Let me know you once more, and once more we shall go to that small place shared only by two, and that place is called by some to be heaven itself."

Yet his touch made the pain go only just to hide, for old pain and old evil are known to be that way. But still their love was sweet.

So it came that, when this love was done, The Highlander and The Lady Of The Voice sought out the one who kept his office true and just by keeping his oath not at all. For the keeper of Dawson's Tavern was a Watcher over those that did not die and yet died constantly. Yet would that Watcher yield up that Koren, that Kronos? Would he yet e'en believe there was such a one?

"Surely, The Highlander takes me for a great and forgiving fool. Are these Horsemen you invoke those four who ride in the words of parsons, priests, and proselytizers?"

"I speak no jest, you Watcher. These are neither creatures of The Last nor mere riders of steeds. They are Immortals, such as you have leave to know of."

Yet still that Watcher was incredulous, and thought sure a prank was afoot.

"I still say that they are creatures of the racing track. Why, I think that I shall make book on their prowess, adding well to my purse with theirs, as they earn it. But where, then, to lay my wager down? Shall I breathe in, and take odds on catching Pestilence? Shall I be a hungry bettor, and buy my meals won on Famine? Shall I boldly strike at the spread, and declare myself for War?"

Cassandra, it was known, cared nothing for such sport, and so called it done with.

"Perhaps, you should make book on the one that always comes at last, yet always does win. That one is Death, and after his race is through, your winnings are all his, I think."

That Watcher, so acid of tongue, found instead the sobriety of his visitors, though had he his druthers, this whole matter would have been kept only a jest.

"Then no jest is meant by your awful words. I ask again, if you speak of that you know, and not that you only think upon."

"Hear me well, Joseph. The threat posed by that Koren, who is truly called Kronos, is as deadly as our earnest, and greatly harsh."

That Watcher began his search, but sought to put the Lady off, by means genteel and reasoned.

"Cassandra, these men you have me look upon. They were not unique things, not uncommon at all. Such as they rode the world in times that e'en Immortals scarce recall.
I fear greatly that you have made these fiends larger still in your memories. All but the fiercest advocates of belief most strongly concur that the Gospel Of John speaks of doom as it seems, not doom that will be known, as thought in those Dark Ages after Arthur yet before Charl Le Magne."

"Your words are measured, you Watcher. But they yet fail to know what I do. For it was no mere seeming that drove swords through my small place, in that Age Of Bronze."

That Watcher was as a man vexed.

"You say that you were in that place, and knew such fiends, and I have not cause or want to gainsay you. Yet, what would you have me do? If such men existed, and lived as you Immortals live, surely they have fallen away or been remade so greatly, that it is all the same."

Lady Cassandra offered up her want, and made it quite plain, to Watcher as to Highlander.

"You need only find Pestilence, whose true name is Kronos Of Ur. Look for destroying that has no cause, and by this you shall surely know him."

"And Watcher? His name of late has been Melvin Koren, who is known to they who watched over me, a century agone."

Watcher Dawson took on a pained knowledge, and a look that bespoke pained knowledge.

"I shall endeavor, and I shall strive. But know you well that this is a thirteenth labor fit for Heracles. For of all of you, only that Koren has no Watcher who can bear gazing into his endless abyss."

--------------------------------------
 
 

Now, the ways of The Oldest are nigh unfathomable, and his thoughts wholly unknowable by such as we. Yet it could be said, and it shall, that he was at once a man without worries, and that this condition would endure not long at all.

As home he made toward, the aspect of another creased his brains. The Oldest knew it well, and he knew it better than any alive. But yet he could not know the name and the face, til they were seen, and it is known that then it is too late for hasty flight.

"Is it you, Macleod? Hail And Well Met, Highlander!"

But no son of tartan, kilt and caber came at him with hand extended. No, this hand bore frenzied dagger, and this dagger's wielder knew not of friendship, as his bodkin found deep purchase within the chest of he who was The Oldest.

"Hail And Well Met, Brother!"

The Oldest knew that smile, and the eye that continued. He knew that the thing which he had feared most had at last come to pass. For Pestilence had found Death once more.

"Oh, is it Kronos, my brother, who greets me so very poorly?"

"It is I. Oh, Methos, for surely an emty place in me is now filled. Though, I fear, it is filled up with your own life's blood. Ah, it is well and meet that we two pass again, for sorely have I missed you."

And the dead thing that was The Oldest was carried all away, and soon, the dead thing became The Oldest once again. In a place where energy was made, The Oldest saw truest wanton power once again made flesh before his waking eyes.

"Good morrow. Is The Oldest a fit thing, hale and hearty? Pray tell me."

The Oldest yet felt blood taken as meal and air.

"I think that my poor heart travels not with me, but in the land of cable cars, landquakes, and Wharfs."

The art of phrasing is ever a chore. But Pestilence was always and truly infectious.

"I knew not you had such a core, poor or strong, hot or cold. Know you pain of it?"

"Need you ask, when it has met a dagger?"

The Oldest found that gaining purchase for his feet upon the ground was no small chore, for that Kronos had good use for him when he was not able to move any at all.

"I find that I must needs ask. You, who once took sweet pain as another brother, have forgotten that as well. Cold hard Death is now a downy thing, his marrow all replaced by cotton candy."

The Oldest was having none of this talk, and his refutation at least was made quite plain.

"When I was a boy, I did as a boy. Now, I am a man, a grown man, and I think now that I am the only one present."

The Master Of The Night paced about, in need of saying far more than hearing. A hand he extended, and The Oldest was raised up beside him.

"When I looked about, I saw you not at all, and vouched safe that there was no Methos to look about to. So I looked no longer. Then, as two fellows drank well of ale in a tavern, who should they speak upon but the Oldest Of Us All? You left no footsteps, as you walked with Manger and Child. Your bargain with The One made you forget that you may be seen, aye, and known to others."

"I am made well, you Kronos. But I am not made of purest mastery. That is not known."

"Ahh, but purest mastery has been yours, and this shames me to have ever thought you undone. You endure, and you abide, and it is what you do, and it is what you know, and it is who you once were. What you are no more."

"My living head, then? Is it forefeit?"

That Kronos was given to a gleeful nod.

"Could I do otherwise, and yet be Kronos? But you may turn back my sword, and easily at that. Would you know more?"

"I would. I would know all, were it given me."

"Good then, you Oldest. For the only path to turn back my strong sword from its certain way to your neck is to place your own sword along with it."

The Oldest did that which the Oldest does.

"With such a bargain, I can merely say, Hail And Well Met--Brother."

Yet truly, what had that Kronos won? Had he cornered the best survivor, only to see him survive yet again? In The Highlander's place, he came, that Oldest, and what was he seeking? Escape or victory, and what then did either word mean, to a man who has outlived languages?

"You Highlander, for I am glad that you are well and whole. Grave, dire business is afoot, and it is about, and it must be known presently."

"I know of such concerns, you Oldest. Mine concerns a fiend unparalleled, and he is called for Kronos."

"Kronos? Kronos, you say? For who is this Kronos? Nay, let me be the sayer, rather than the speaker of mere queries."

Yet life is defined by its odd points, and as The Lady Cassandra came to sup with her champion, all calm was lost, and lost quickly.

"Away, Highlander. You stand with the greatest of all dark fiends."

"Milady, know you The Oldest, who stands here with me?"

Her pretty eyes all on fire, she cried out her challenge.

"Draw your sword, that I may provide the just battle you never could, coward!"

The Oldest grew pale, and stiff, yet feigned the very greatest fluidity.

"Oh, you Highlander. Is it so that The Lady Raven should be green with envy? Come, let me know of your companion, who I have not ever seen at all."

"I, Cassandra, know you well, you ancient destroyer of life and love. Again I say to you, unsheathe and know battle!"

"But Milady, I am The Oldest. I have not ever known you, til our eyes locked in this place. Perhaps you have seen another's face where mine is. For it is said that my face is well that sort."

The Highlander called a breakfront to the gathering chaos, yet he was as nothing before it.

"You who are my friends! Get back from each other, I say! Away with your swords, when I bid you speak."

"But Highlander, as surely as I am The Oldest Of All, my oath that this woman and I are all separate, as it has ever been."

The Lady thundered at this art, as well she might.

"Think your stain so easily taken from me, O Methos? For your aspect was branded into me, from chin to behind. I know it well, and better than well."

---------------------------

THE BRONZE AGE

She saw, that Lady Of The Voice, as clear as she saw the day just prior, as the fierce Mounted Rider, all in white, absent all light, put her bodily to the dirt, and showed her that though she had been Cassandra, now she was nothing at all, and e'en less than that.

"Look not so thrown off, nor should you allow wild frenzy to crease your forehead. For your breed are as stubborn weeds, with roots deep and untouchable, endlessly sustained by the merest drop of water."

And in his deep eyes, there was only void. His hair was long, but not so dark as his soul. Half his face was blue, and this blue was the blue not of sky, but of despair. His voice, which drew away life with its breath, carried nothing of the heart of the man who was the first killer, the son of the first people, and the first Champion against the Wicked He, whose names are ever Legion. For this Methos remembered no more of that
life than a swaddling babe remembers of the womb. Though he went to raise that woman up by hand, it was by hand that she was struck and batted away, as his own dagger nearly found purchase within his cold breast.

"You woman! For am I Death itself, and if you are nearly proof against most deaths, then I am proof against all deaths, aye, and all proofs as well. You may not slay a god, and you may not wound a god, and you may not even scratch at a god, unless you are prepared for an eternal battle that you must always lose."

"You fiend! You savager! My Teacher, and the people who were our sacred charges. Where are they kept by you, and how may I regain them?"

Now, all pleasant airs, that Death had merely to point his fingers, as though a fellow traveler had but asked to know of ready water in the desert.

"Do you espy those skulls? You slept not long at all, yet brother Famine knows his craft well. Why, we slew your villagers, and we slew their healer, and we slew their healer's learner, who lies before me now."

Great was her horror, and greater was her terror, and so great were both, she knew not fear as we might, for all seemed dust, and who is frighted then?

"Those are not my people, and you are a liar, for their healer's learner is still among the quick, though she is not as quick as your lying tongue, I think."

"Gods may lie, as they wish it. But look well upon the wound you took? You should be no more, and yet it is both wound and scar that are done with."

And when she well saw that this was so, he kept on, as much at her as to her. Rough hewn hands then took what he was sure his property, and yet what she who had been Cassandra still would try to keep her own, despite every last depredation. Yet her hand could not pull his away, not any at all.

"Heard you not my words, which are all your law? Your death is turned back, only by me, and your life is done but for my great pleasure. A blow struck, or a defiance shown when it should not ever be, gives me no pleasure, and decreases your life, which goes on and on to serve only me, and you shall have no other, before or after. Know that I am also called Methos, and that this is always the name of your only master."

Yet it is known that earth-bound gods, false or true, are ever petty, thieving things, and for War and Famine, such fallings out would give bright laughter to Mars and Vulcan, those feuding Olympian sons. For never were two brothers more hateful to one another. Death knew this well, and quickly threw off his new toy.

"Oh, it is a cloak, this day! If given bird droppings, why then I think that they would fight over that."

"You Famine! Give Me My Cloak, which is mine alone!"

"You War! I think that I shall better to put my steel through your thick neck, and end your tongue's misery, to be attached to so dull a wit, aye, and so half a wit!"

"You Famine, for I am Death, and tell you to stand away, and down from tasking War."

"You Death? Why would I stand any place but where I stand now, set to bone and skewer this walking pig that you say is my brother!"

Death's answer was Death's answer, well known to many dead and few living, and Famine might soon not be among those.

"Why, because I have said that this should be so, and will end Famine's hunger for all time, if I am mispleased. For in my counting, three need not be four, and you need not be that fourth."

Such a conflict of mounted gods was not unseeable by bold Pestilence, who queried Death of it, and not joyously at all did he do this.

"You Death? Is there strife known here?"

 "Pestilence has no worries, and we know no such strife as that which you speak upon."

But Pestilence knew better, and ripped wide the worrisome cloak, until then it was two cloaks.

"The Mounted Gods hold sway over the whole world, and we hold it all as one would. All that is one's is also held by the others. In this, there is no let, and I am quite unrelenting."

Mortals, it is known, hope to escape the gaze of the gods, and whatever that woman was, she sought this also. But she gained not the pale steed that was Death's, nor did she regain herself. All she truly gained was another passage into Oblivion's waiting maw.

"You woman! My dagger I draw again, and with it deflate your pretty chest! Did you like your death so well? Did you love its pain and loss, as you became no more? Why, then, I shall give it yet again and again,
and so it shall go on, straight through, until you break, and mark me, break you shall."

She did not doubt Death's own truth, nor would he give her cause to do so.

PRESENT DAY

That fiend who was and was not sought the shelter of both fiercest friend and fibbish folly.

"You Highlander! Your woman speaks surely and purely from the mouth of madness. Keep her back from me, for about her, I fear I am not safe."

But that lady knew well her violator and enslaver, and her sword she drew, anxious for it to taste of neck and spine, blood and brains, nerves and sinew.

"Run not behind his kilt, you Death! This matter is all ours, and it is no concern to any other, nor should you seek that it should be thus."

The Highlander chose as he chose, and did what it was he always did, and letting any death prevail when aught was clear was not his wont. Was it wrong of him to do so? Could he do else, and yet be Duncan Macleod?

"Stand down, you Cassandra. Get gone, you Methos. Away--away with you, I say. And now he is gone, Lady, and you will make known to me all that I do not know, and this is a great deal indeed."

"Oh, you boy! Do you stare as dumbly at his evil as you once did my charms? For you were a boy, then, and that is what boys do. But a man does not know evil? But a man interferes in proclaimed battle, among the rules known to us all? For such is not what men do, unless it is that they are yet boys!"

"That one is my friend. That one knew you not at all, and loudly proclaimed such, and great was his puzzling at your shouted words. And I may vouch safe to one and all, that he is called my ally, and he is called my friend."

Her fury was plain, and her fury she made even better known, as though it were not plain at all.

"Your friend is a liar, and he is the lie himself, and if I seek to cut out this living lie, do not block my blade, lest it be with your own neck. Him who you call your friend rode, it is known to me, with that Koren, who I called prior for Kronos. As one they rode, and as one they took more than lives, and cut beyond maidenheads, and took what they would take, when they would take it. They did as they would, and they did not stoop to conquer, but to every vileness. For him you call ally was Death. For him you call friend was one of those Horsemen, whom I knew well."

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Now, a Watcher can know what we do not. Yet can he know what no one does, and what he will not take as credible? Of course he may not, for such is given to no one.

"Feh, I say, and Bah besides! Our Methos does not hunt, and is apt as not to let all grudges pass into dust. Wronged Cassandra is quite the madskull, or perhaps she schemes as does a lady we hold dear, but with less honesty. I think that you know her not so well."

"And the Oldest? Do I then, know him so well, when he is so very ancient? Do I know your life in Asian wars? Were you put out from your village?"

"The Highlander is my charge, and greatly has this pleased me. I say that her tale, that our Methos stood laughing over fallen innocents, is without credit. Or would you then lend it such credit?"

The Highlander was sorely vexed, for no answer was to be found, in that place he so often sought them.

"You know that I would not. He is not such a man as she has said. But in times past, before either of us knew breath, and even Ramirez was a pup, what do we know? I fear we know little."

"Then I can provide neither scrolls nor succor, for The Highlander ignores his heart in this. The Watchers, it is known, know of The Oldest almost not at all. The one who knows him best sits before me, doubting him."

"I thank you well, Watcher. For I must needs pose all questions and puzzles and idle talk only to Methos The Oldest, and pray he answers me as well and truly."

--------------------------

Whate'er his intent, that Oldest sought that Pestilence, as he had been bid. The place was all a ruin, and it was known that such was the preference of Kronos.

"Well met again, Brother. I knew that you would surely return, for you are greatly fond of your pulse, and of your head, and know well that these would be mine, near and not far."

Keeping himself well, The Oldest smiled at the one he had sworn he knew not at all, and this smile seemed well enough, for seeming was all the art of Methos, even then to Kronos.

"For you have called me wise, and you have called me sage, and you have named me your brother, and you are wise also, so this is a good thing. Think you that flight was about me? For it was not, but I find it quite fit and meet that you require my constant company."

That Pestilence took to turn away from the lost one who was now found, and was this a foolish thing, or did Pestilence know Death too well? Yet did any truly know Death?

"Think you that I would wish to embrace the protector of Yeshua, who undid my world, and you who proclaimed our brotherhood done with, though I searched well the entire world over two score? Speak not of my desires, so much as my wants. I want the world I knew. I say that you may aid me in restoring it. I have ridden to such a goal with dregs and worms, and ants and rats. Now, again I choose to ride with the gods, and together we shall do what Morningstar could not, shattering firmament and stars both."

Behind him, the Oldest knew his sword, and he knew his grip well, and talked honey to perchance know victory.

"Pestilence has ever shown boldness. You Kronos! You showed grave boldness this day, for you did not make certain my return. Perhaps your boldness is too far great?"

A swing does not cut, in and of itself, and a blow that does not connect is not a blow, and a sword that is knocked away has not so much value as a good dagger at the throat. Kronos saw this well, and Methos was quick to see this as well, though it was to his chagrin.

"The Oldest speaks of risks that should not be taken, and boldness that ought not be. Yet through such boldness I have come to learn that your true measure is as I knew it, in times now dust. I like well what I have found, for yet still you are Death."

"No, I am not Death, nor you Pestilence! That world and that life are gone, and that one you knew is gone with it. I love blind slaughter not well at all, nor do I seek it any at all."

If The Oldest was the sharpest at words, that Kronos was not dull, and still came at his goal as he ever had.

"I think that I might know The Oldest so well, I can scarce credit such talk from him. Oh, there was slaughter, as there will yet be again, mark me well. But it was means, and not mere meanness. I speak not of the kills that any fool may make, if his meal is cold, or his conveyance is scratched, or his gods offended. When you hear my words, hear me talk of freedom. Hear me talk of power. The power that said to all the tiny things that surely their petty gods are slain, and that we four were all the forces of creation, and that they were found wanting in our sights. My words are truth, and you may not gainsay them. This life you have now is an airless void. Join me again, and breathe air, and feel air, cold and crisp, hot and burning, as you knew it when we were gods!"

That Kronos saw the war-tides build within the blood of The Oldest, and joyed greatly at this. Yet was his vision still clouded by wishes, making his demon's ride a beggars' one instead?

"That quarrelsome girl, whose head you left attached without good or just cause, is about. I would destroy her. I would do this solely to guard my brother's neck."

That Oldest nodded, and why would he not, when that Kronos had spoken of his head and his neck, both precious to him.

"My brother is so very generous to me, when in truth I deserve it not at all. I would avoid the onus of my debt to you, should you snip away Cassandra, that oh-so quarrelsome girl."

"Oh, but The Oldest, who is perhaps once again Death, need owe no debt to poor humble Pestilence. A like act clears all ledgers, and says that no debt is owed, that no purse is owned, that no one is burdened. For as I complete your undone task, so you for me. You must best, and more, you must undo The Highlander, and by that I mean the one that you have known."

That Methos, who was also once Death, and had long been the Oldest, looked out in wonder at this talk, and that Kronos had known that this would be so. But what was art, and what was true? The Oldest knew sure, and Kronos knew sure that he must needs keep watch over the Oldest.

"What has The Highlander, who is my boon companion and ally, to do with Bold Pestilence? Let him be, for he is often his own worst foe, and nothing to such as us."

Then, that Kronos rose up in a great and mighty rage, and this was largely his true face.

"That such as he is any manner of companion or ally to such as you drives me mad to find whether you are proof against his weak, foolish bleatings, such as I have heard. More, let me speak of an entombing, and for that you shall never know a surcrease of debt to me! I will gain your oath, and that oath shall see that after it is all done, that there is only one called Macleod, to be dealt with at our leisure."

That Kronos opened his palm by blade, and bid The Oldest follow him in this, and that he did. Two hands became one, and blood knew blood again.

"Then I shall slay The Highlander, and men and all his women will come to say that there never was a Duncan Macleod, and this I swear with no let and no art. Know you that he shall die, and it is that he shall die all by my hand, and by my sword."

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When the past returns, it does not come in drops, in drips, or drabs, or even in bursts. No, the past comes as a cascading deluge, and all the world is washed away as it does. But it is not washed clean, this we know. Could The Oldest know less, as he gathered up all his things, and was seen by that Highlander, whom he had sworn to slay?

"Hail and Well Met, Oldest. Is it a journey you undertake? And does this journey seek to move you away from questions asked, and questions answered? Come then, and make me know of Cassandra's words, and whether they are fair or foul."

"Get gone from me, you Highlander. Speak not to me of words or questions. Get you gone from me, as I now from you."

"No, I say, and no again. I am a stop to all your egress, til you tell me true, and I seek to know if you are the one that Cassandra vouched safe was once a beast. Were you then that one, that slaughterer?"

The Oldest turned away from The Highlander, who would not be put off by simple words, no matter their art.

"Where was Macleod when Babel's Tower was an idea, and not yet a story? Where was Macleod when kings drank from skulls, and membered themselves inside the children of their foemen, and they were greatly acclaimed for these acts? I say that Macleod was nowhere then, and cannot know what he cannot know, and I have said that he can not know these things! Now walk from here, and ask no more that I should unmake your ignorance."

Now, that Highlander was not quick to say that a man was his friend, even back to his own kinsman, both the one who was his teacher, and the one who he first slew, over a woman he could not have. But this he had done for The Oldest, and in him he had thought that The Priest, slain coldly by The Hunter, had found a new birth. That this might not be so threatened to stop a heart that knew no stoppage.

"Fair or foul, Methos! Speak well of that lady's words, and speak well where you stand. That shall call a finish to this. That, and that alone shall say it is done."

The Oldest grabbed bodily that one who had been his friend, and was now his sworn foe to hear it, and gave The Highlander what he did not want, despite his proclamation.

"I shall speak, then, but that will not say it is done, for I was that reaver, that slayer, and aye, far more than that. No mere barbarian of Howard's crafting was I, for in that time the world knew no jeweled kingdoms. No, think less of Howard, and more of Lovecraft, for that was my nature before all the peoples of the world. Invocations were spoken against me, and prayers spoken to me, and not a one meant aught to me, and your Lady and all her villagers meant less than that. Did I slay those fifty in the wanderers' village? Aye, I swear that I did. Did I slay those thousand as Cannanites sought the desert? Aye, I swear that I did. Did I slay then, ten thousand? I will not swear that I did, for I would not have taken note of numbers, when those lives were mine to take---and I took those joyfully, and gleefully, and never have I lived so well as when I lived, rode and was called for Mounted Death!"

That Highlander regained his own person, but not again his faith in one so hidden and unknown.

"You have told me to get from here, and this I do, and I joy to be away from you. Do not seek me, and do not count me when you count your allies, nor when you count your friends. I say, in this matter of you and I : It is done, It is done, It is done. Let hosannas be sung that I have seen the light, though it stings both my eyes, and its stench affronts my every other sense."

Yet no hosannas were heard, and neither one was gleeful at this happenstance. The Highlander knew, as did The Oldest, that such a sundering could not be mere, and must soon be followed by some manner of war, and in this belief they were not to be proven wrong, though this in fact might be the wish of some. And as they turned well away, more than walls rose up to mark this.

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Grief and comprehension are not always friends, and they were no allies of the Highlander and his Watcher, lost in what had been told of The Oldest. Were they themselves lost as well? Was all lost, ne'er to be redeemed?

"Speak not to me of apologies for The Oldest, you Watcher. I will not have it, and more say that no apology can be made for what we have come to know."

"The Highlander speaks of apologies. I do not speak of apologies, but only to know. For such is owed by us to any, and twice again to The Oldest, who has been our steadfast ally."

That Highlander could not ignore his heart's wounds, and he could not unmake his sense of whole-cloth betrayal.

"There is no great knowledge, here. Why, I say that there is no more to be learned from this than there was a village left, when The Horsemen were all done with it."

"I speak as The Oldest, you Highlander. We were not there, and we could not know, and our ways were not his. But a Watcher knows well of your blade, and when it was raised in anger, deep and red. Know now of mine, and of that war in Asia, of which so many have heard, but so few can taste as I do. For I was a killer, as were my brothers, as is my charge who sits and preens before me, as is his lady, and that boy, who I am mightily pleased is nowhere about us. If I could walk as you do, it would be said that I walk with killers, as a killer myself, and that the blood of innocents mixed in my time with the blood of the guilty. This then is truth beyond words."

"Know this, Watcher. My sins are my own, and I do not say they were not mine, or that they were not sins. Your sins are twixt you and The One. But when he spoke so lustily, the Oldest spoke of a fire that burned, and it took half the world. When he told so gleefully, the Oldest spoke of women that were used, and brutally were they used. When he confessed, with joy in his eyes, The Oldest spoke of so very many small children, slain for that most low of all causes, and that cause was no cause at all, save that he wielded such power. His pleasure at his craft marks him as always and forever among the greatest of all arch-fiends, and you may not say but that this is so."

But e'er The Watcher could offer up a way to gainsay The Highlander, a message came, and it was dire in its hearing, as it would be in its telling.

"Go now, you Highlander. At a ruin by the waters, that Koren, who is known as Kronos, dwells, plots, and ponders grim mischief. I would see him undone."

"The Watcher has my gratitude, and this is certain. But how may you know that Kronos, and where he dwells? For you have said that no Watcher will go where pass the feet of grim Kronos."

Dawson, that Watcher over Macleod The Highlander, looked as a man drained through to the last of all measures.

"I have said such, and know such to be true. But that Lady Of The Voice, The Accuser Of The Oldest, that Cassandra, is well watched, and she has gone to chop away that fiend."

"Then I will go from here, for whether fiend of yore or thug from here, that Kronos is too fierce a foe for one such as she, whom I also hold well and dear."

He went from that place, did The Highlander, fearing properly that butcher and butchered had then found each other yet again, and a pitched battle was called.

--------------------

Alone that Kronos was, in that wretched ruin of a place, when he saw fit to prove well his fallibility, as he gained the sense of another, and thought wrongly.

"Quicker still, Brother Methos. Brought you me his head? Gained for me is his hair's tail? Oh, tell your poor Kronos at least that you have gained his sword, for it is the sturdy weapon of a sturdy, though greatly unwise, foeman. That Highlander is gone, and we shall not know his like again. Should I then weep, and in what wise should my tears flow?"

But this was not his brother, if brother he had, and this was yet in doubt, even to bold Kronos.

"Why, then, let your tears flow for yourself, and for your Methos, for he shall not ever best that Macleod, I think. Let those tears be wept in great sorrow, as you are made to dwell with every weak sinner from Noah's neighbor to that fiend of iron cross, nearly so evil as yourself. Oh, from Fertile Crescent of Fruit and Honey to Desert of Petrol and War, you are as constant as the fungus neath' our nails, and you serve even less worthy goals."

Was his aspect pained annoyance? Was it a hunter's delight? It matters little what face bold Kronos wore, for as he put on that face, his sword knew not sheath.

"Who is it that tasks me so? Oh, is it our dear quarrelsome girl, who has learned to stand upright? And has she come all this way to demand a whore's just fee? For I have not coin, save four pennies, two for your eyes, and two for The Highlander's. Yes, for it is our slave Cassandra, the most delirious girl the world ever knew. She is not about her old duties, which I shall place her to now. Perhaps you have keened from your fellow paid ladies a better means of pleasuring me? Oh, pray show me your tricks!"

That Cassandra knew his taunt, but kept back his sting, determined that she would not again be a slave to either fear or fiend. But old though her wounds were, she dealt with evil far older, and she had only winced and blinked at its depths, never truly gazed in, and only there is danger, and only there is knowledge.

"Oh, I want no such glamour, to undo so weak a foe as Kronos. Why, I think that my old enslaver is greatly wearied, and would know a long sleep. That sword is a burden and a bother to you, and I think well that you should place it aside, for the harm it does your poor hands."

A mighter weapon than the Lady's voice had rare been seen, for it was the most common thing to hear one speak. But a voice must be heard, and it must be heard by one who would hear it. As for her cloak in a time now gone, so for Cassandra's own sword, and she was stunned to see this.

"I would know your pleasure, ere we are forever done. But that new trick mispleases me, for it may not allay my wild energies, but only touches my rage, for being so very feeble. You Cow! For I am proof against your petty works, and aye, your grander works, as well. Your life continued at the whim of The Oldest, and we may see that he is not here. I want only your pleasure, and your pretty pretty head, and I mean to have both in rapidity, and with no stop or let, save that I let your blood."

Though his face was taken with scalding, and though her feet were fleet and true, it seemed sure that predator and prey would soon be ill-met again. Yet when both took in the sense of another, the fleet grew fleeter, until that Cassandra was taken up by The Oldest, who had come again, and cast that Cassandra well away. He did not answer full her bloody oath, knowing it well enough
from a thousand times before, and from his dreams as well. Yet though she was well away, still did that old Pestilence hunt.

"Come out, you girl! Won't you come out and play here, in my ruined garden? I think it a fit and meet place for you to fall down. But if our quarrelsome girl does not like to play with me, let me help her, for great is my kindness. Our play's time will be short, it shall be all of one game, and it shall be done with, away and away. Will you not play this one short game?"

"That Lady is not here, you Kronos. But this Highlander likes well a fast game, for long I have wanted your play in such a game, and as my prize I will claim your living head!"

Though that Kronos was given to laughter, hard was he pressed to gain any advantage, and this was vexing to him, for that Macleod was a merest child in his eyes. But in harsh truth, neither gifted warrior could gain a great lot in this. Then even less could be gained, for a great ring of fire, and this rivalled the flames that raged in their grim hearts, rose up, and this flame was cast from the fingers of The Oldest.

"And when you two are pulled all away, only then will cooling mist move out, that to keep my ally from the ashpile."

Yet who was that ally? Enemies together looked over at The Oldest, and great cold chills belied the flames all around. Could blindly good Macleod ever know? Could blindly fierce Kronos know any better? Of course they could not, and neither foeman liked well of such uncertainty. Bold Kronos kept up his outward airs, for this was part of his bones, and made up half of all his heart and soul.

"You are a child, you Highlander, and your patience is naught, and makes you well discernible by such as I, who have slain children as the tread of my boots. My wisdom is old, and my patience says that I may walk from you, and find you again, and this shall be all at my leisure. Your fall is mine, when I so choose."

To The Highlander, the sight of The Oldest was as yet another break to a heart that needed no more. For it was not at the side of Macleod that Methos left. Yet joy was to be found. At his place, the heartsick one found well that Lady he thought no more.

"My sweet and beauteous Cassandra! I thought you undone surely, as I took the fight to vile Kronos, there to take his head."

"Oh tell me, you Champion! Does that wicked head still speak its wickedness, or does he now plead before the one who is more evil than e'en he may feign?"

"No, you pretty lady. He yet plots, and yet he ponders, the better to strike out at us and lash out at innocents, as he seeks us."

"Oh, I am undone! For while we yet live, and this is a great good thing, so do those two devils gain further ground, and seek to rush the spires of the highest heaven. And this will persist while they endure, and you may not succor or gainsay me in this truth."

His arms found her, and again, they were all a comfort to her, and she to him, for great was their affection, and this was grievously desired, in days so dark, and darker yet to come.

"Then away, and away, we two shall find those two, and persist til Pestilence meets Panacea, and Death, that false friend and last enemy, are all undone, and their works driven to legendry with no more base."

Yet was that Oldest false friend or false foe, and could this query be asked as well by bold Kronos? For this, it is known, is surely what he chose. But was it all his choice? For though soon set to chew steel, The Oldest was the eye of the storm that swirled all around him.

"My brother wrongs me, and sees without looking. The battle you undertook was rash, and had no surety for bold Kronos. Macleod may be destroyed, and destroyed he will surely be. But he is a fool, like as not to hand his head to you as take yours. Let The Highlander be The Highlander, and then surety is had. For he has ever been the best proof againt his own Immortal life."

"The Oldest understands his Kronos not at all, for I like and trust The Highlander well, and would call him ally and helpmeet. And why would I do this? Because in that wise, at the least, I could know sure he would betray and slay me, at first opening. And this is a surety I may not have with Methos. I fear I must pull from The Oldest the final true surety, and take his head."

Widely is it said, and wildly is it said, and beaten unto death is this sorely lacking phrase, yet still it must be said, in the talk of taking the head of The Oldest, the man who was Death, and might yet be again.

"Many have tried, you Kronos, and all have failed. For contained in me are many prizes, and a prize that is to each one above The Prize that only The Last will take. To you I offer such a grand, grand prize. I ask this of bold Kronos : What is two, if two more are added, or if they are restored? What would Pestilence do? Would he let Death keep on, if Death yielded up to him War, aye, and Famine as well as war?"

That Kronos pulled back his blade, but not his mind's edge, for he knew The Oldest well.

"Do you say that which is my most fervent hope, and my prayer, if I offered prayers? Or is your tongue's quickness all of a means to keep yourself quick and well?"

"I tell you now that those stalwarts and destroyers, Silas and Caspian, are yet about, and I may do well to bring you to them, if I but continue keeping my head."

Ne'er had such joy seen witness, and not ever did a fiend truly grin a beamish boy's grin, until that moment. For in the words of The Oldest, that Kronos felt a world be reborn, never to be moved from again.

"That dreadful day, come round at last. That day of dread, as in the past. The sun will not shine anymore, and the moon no longer rise in the sky, but that we say when, where, and how oft. Those Mounted Gods will ride again, and they are truly called for The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse.
These are the words of Bold Pestilence! These Are The Words Of Kronos, then as now, Master Of The Night!"

The Oldest was as a statue, and a statue shows no grief, nor joy, nor pleasure, nor loathing, and in this is a statue also like Death?

Would You Know More?

END BOOK ONE