The Edge of a Blade
Chapter 6
By Draco664
Bruce let out an explosion of breath and sat back comfortably as he completed his sixth set of fifty reps. Perspiration glistened on his bare torso, rising gently as steam in the cool air of the Batcave. The hundred and twenty pound barbell clicked and held in the holding position high above his head. He stood and stretched, feeling his hard muscles lengthen and relax.
"Boss?"
Bruce looked up at Oracle's features on the massive screen. "Yes, Oracle?"
"I hate the way you're always right."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "What was I right about this time?"
Oracle pursed her lips together. "I had my friend in Manhattan check out the Death Certificate archive, just like you suggested. She found one for Russell Nash, dated the same day he was born. That's the reason all his papers were not forged, he got them all in a legal name."
Bruce nodded. "So this Nash died at birth, but appears in an address book decades later."
"He arrived in Gotham today."
Bruce lowered himself to the floor and began doing one-armed press-ups. "I know. I've got Tim watching him."
A beeping off screen caught Oracle's attention. Her eyes widened suddenly, as she tapped on her keyboard. "I've located your man."
"Nash?"
"No, the suspect."
Bruce immediately stood, snatched a towel and quickly rubbed himself down. "How?"
"I had Steph set up remote surveillance on Elle McGinty's wake and at the cathedral, to see if the perp attended. He didn't, but I haven't had time to organise her to take the cameras down. I got an alarm to say that our man entered the cathedral not more than two minutes ago.
Bruce threw on his clothes, quickly donning the mantle of the bat. "Do you have a visual inside?"
"Naturally. I'll patch it to the car now."
"Excellent," Bruce said, before slipping his cowl over his face.
"I'll be there in five minutes," said Batman.
Damien sat in one of the pews towards the rear of the nave otherwise empty cathedral. The enormous church had been rebuilt only in the last year after being totally destroyed by the recent earthquake, using many of the original building materials. The same marble sheathed the altar at the far end of the church, and the majority of the stone pillars supporting the high ceiling had been recovered, repaired and reused.
The building had nothing special in terms of originality of design. No travel guide or art book suggested anything of interest could be found within. The artwork that went into many of the stain-glass windows was similar to other Christian temples around the world. If any building could be considered 'average' amongst its peers, this was one.
Except in one instance. Damien closed his eyes and allowed his Quickening to infuse his awareness. The building had not been rebuilt exactly on the original site; not an uncommon occurrence after a devastating earthquake. A small portion of it was not on the original allocated land. That small part wasn't on holy ground. A slow smile spread over the Immortal's face. The local Cardinal had not yet done the rededication of the cathedral. Until then, a thin strip of the Northern Transept was fair game for him to take a head.
Damien opened his eyes and glanced down at his watch. It had only been six or seven minutes since he arrived, and now he simply waited. The remaining seven Immortals living in Gotham had not left their usual abodes, since the news that the two murders had been decapitations had not yet been disseminated. They were, however, inconveniently surrounded. They all lived in built up areas, making isolating them to battle a logistical nightmare.
However, many Immortals regularly spent time on holy ground. They came to pray for the souls of long dead friends and family, to escape the game, or even to meet with other Immortals in a setting where both were guaranteed to walk away.
Without warning, the familiar sensation of another Immortal nearby washed over him. Damien's smile grew evil. Would it be the Batman? Or would it be one of the other Immortals who walked the streets of Gotham? He closed his eyes and concentrated. The Immortal approaching was powerful, very powerful; his Quickening was bright indeed.
Damien stood and turned to face the large double doors at the front of the cathedral. One of the massive handles turned, and the door slowly creaked open.
Damien's attention was caught by something else. The low light entering the cathedral through the circular stain glass window above the doors darkened suddenly, foreshadowing an enormous shatter as the window burst apart. Damien jumped slightly, something he hadn't done in almost five hundred years.
An enormous black figure appeared, arms outstretched, framing the shattered window for an instant, long enough for primitive terror to flood Damien's body. The frightening visage fell with the broken glass, landing in a graceful crouch, about five metres in front of him. Slowly, exuding menace, the Batman rose, six-and-a-half feet of pure intimidation, his cape flared, the silhouette sending primal fear coursing along Damien's nerves.
Damien forced himself to focus, and he banished his terror. No stranger to evoking fear and panic in others, the old Immortal understood and silently acknowledged that he was a mere apprentice of the art, and that he was in the presence of a master. His heart still beating over one hundred beats a minute, Damien stepped out into the aisle of the cathedral.
The hulking Batman stook silently for a long moment, before striding forward with obvious intent. Damien had seen it before. While sparing was allowed, no Immortal would fight on holy ground, but intimidation was fair game. On younger Immortals, it was an easy way to break them, to make it easier to take their heads at a later date.
The Batman's fist smashed into Damien's face like a battering ram, sending the smaller man tumbling over a pair of wooden pews, his broken-nosed expression one of complete surprise.
Connor Macleod slowly walked towards the massive cathedral. Wearing his trademark sneakers, his feet made no noise at all on the sidewalk. The Highlander was slightly uneasy. He had sensed that he was being watch, had sensed it since he arrived at Gotham Central. No matter how he searched the surrounding crowds, he could not identify the unknown watcher.
He sighed. The Lady Chantelle's wake had been held the previous day, and he was sorry to have missed it. Chantelle had been a terrified girl the first time he found her, just days after Thomas Cavanaugh had gone to the guillotine in the Highlander's place. Connor sighed; it had been many years since he had thought of the sacrifice Thomas had made for him. The Highlander had been aggrieved at the time, struggling with an almost debilitating case of survivor's guilt; alive while his friend, who had become tired of his immortal life, was dead. Chantelle's education had allowed him to forget about the pain for a while.
She had risen from the dead the day after her family had been slaughtered, a rusty knife still plunged deep in her heart. He had found her like that, panicking, staring down at the hilt of the knife which had begun to quiver with each beat of her heart.
Like most of the Immortals Connor had trained, she denied her powers for a long time. Even after accepting the reality of her new station, she remained a pacifist at heart, and refused to learn how to fight, even for defence. It had been with a heavy heart, several months later, that Connor had let her go her own way, armed only with knowledge of the game and its rules.
She had entered his life only twice since then. The first time was sixty years later, just after she had taken her first head. The young Immortal who challenged her was overcome by her beauty, and had been easily tricked by her offer to share her bed. As he dozed in the afterglow, she took his own sword and severed his slumbering head. Guilt at her actions had sent her back to Connor for support.
The last time they had met was merely coincidence. Both of them had been in France at the time, only twenty-odd years ago. Chantelle and Rachel had developed an almost instant mutual dislike for each other, and it was more for Connor's ears than any real desire to part company so soon after meeting that they again travelled in different directions.
Connor smiled ruefully to himself. Rachel's reaction at the news of Chantelle's death had been a sort of huffy, 'good-she-deserved-it' kind of thing. But he had spied his adopted daughter in the back room, dabbing at her eyes less than fifteen minutes after that declaration.
Connor almost gasped in surprise, and shook his head to bring him out of his reverie. He felt it. The Quickening pulsing through another nearby Immortal. The harsh edge to it shouted louder than words that that nearby Immortal had an evil heart.
Those who played the game quickly learned to control any outward sign of their discomfort. Immortals like Connor who, even before he took his first head, had a far greater share of Quickening than many others, could cause intense pain in other, less powerful Immortals. Evil beings intensified the pain somewhat, making it sharper, but Connor had found that peaceful thoughts and emotions on his behalf eased that pain in others.
He glanced around, quickly discerning that the Immortal was inside the cathedral. As was his habit, Connor gently ran his hand over the outside of his overcoat, tracing the outline of the hilt of his katana. If a challenge were issued tonight, he would be prepared.
Connor quietly climbed the few steps leading up to the mighty doors, and gently turned the handle of one. The enormous wooden doors swung inward, just as a blur of motion above him finished with an explosion of coloured glass.
Batman leaned out from the top of the building opposite the cathedral. The small park between the two buildings made leaping to the cathedral difficult, but not impossible.
He timed his grappling line perfectly, allowing his body to swing out and snap at the end of the arc. The acrobatic action sent him through a beautiful parabolic curve, ending at the stained glass window above the main entrance.
This particular window had been donated by a subsidiary of the Wayne Foundation when the Cathedral was undergoing its reconstruction. The glass used was under tension. If broken, the panes would shatter like a car's windscreen, forming harmless little pellets rather than lethal shards. One other property of the window however, was that if the centre pane was broken out in its entirety, certain other panes would burst as well, leaving the outline of the bat symbol.
One way of leaving a lasting impression with those who saw it later.
Batman hit the window hard, breaking through it easily. He immediately threw his arms wide, allowing his cape and air resistance to slow him enough that he wouldn't be injured on landing.
Glass pellets fell and danced around him like excited puppies as he landed in a crouch in front of the red haired man, whose expression of terror indicated Batman's method of arrival had its desired effect. Slowly, Batman rose from a crouch, drawing himself up to his full height, towering almost a foot over his target.
The man's expression lost its terror, as he overcame the primal images Batman sought to induce. He stepped out into the aisle, a small smirk on his features.
Having lost the advantage of fear over his opponent, Batman strode forward to instil a far more memorable fear. The man simply stood there, as though daring the Dark Knight to attack. Like an invisible gauntlet, challenging the courage of the Dark Knight.
Batman never allowed such a challenge to go unanswered.
Damien felt his nose break. The world stopped tilting as he landed on top of the wooden pews, but a flash of intense pain from his thigh quickly focused his attention. His sword, hidden under his jacket, has slashed a deep wound in his leg.
With agility beyond what most would consider possible, the evil Immortal grabbed the hilt of his sword and rolled across the back of the pews. He fell down in the gap between two of the rows of seats, quickly gaining his footing while being protected from the Batman.
Putting his entire weight on one leg, he stood slowly, an expression of indignation on his features. "What are you doing? We are on holy ground!" he spat.
The Batman remained silent, he tilted his head to one side, and kicked out hard. His foot connected with the pew nearest him, which, like a series of holy dominoes, rammed the nearest pew into Damien's legs. With a howl, the Immortal grabbed the back of the pew behind him and vaulted over it, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Three heavy blunt objects slammed into him, one on the side of his head, two thumping into his ribs. Damien gasped at the new assaults, but managed to leap and roll into the aisle, finally free of the constricting pews. From the corner of his eye, he noted that the objects were weighted throwing stars, shaped into the same Bat-symbol as was displayed on his attacker's broad chest.
Try as though his opponents might, the Batman rarely gave up an advantage once he had a stranglehold over an opponent. The Dark Knight closed on Damien, landing blow after blow. Damien's defences managed to keep about two out of three strikes at bay, and he rolled with the rest, but disoriented and injured as he was, he simply could not find his centre.
Throughout the beating, he managed to maintain a hold on his sword. Damien accepted two heavy blows, both of which broke a pair of ribs, to give him the opportunity to raise it into a defensive position. The Batman tried to disarm him, but letting go of a sword is the second-last thing any Immortal would do.
With the blade in position, Damien managed to keep the heavier strikes at bay, allowing his Quickening to begin its work. Damien slowly conceded ground, moving towards the Northern Transept of the building.
While the Batman may be able to shrug off the detrimental effects of attacking on holy ground, Damien had no ability to follow suit. The thought that he may be able to absorb this unique ability sent his heart racing even faster with anticipation.
Connor watched with fascination as the hulking figure of the mythical Batman tore into Damien with a vengeance. The evil Immortal tried everything he could think of to dispel his disadvantages, but Gotham's Dark Knight was as good a warrior as Connor had ever seen. He refused to let up and allow his opponent to develop a comprehensive defence.
The fact that Damien had shouted aloud the fact that they were on holy ground told the Highlander that he believed that the Batman was an Immortal. A wry grin spread over the old Highlander's face. His own presence was confusing the evil Immortal quite extensively.
The Batman tossed heavy, bat-shaped objects at Damien, each on finding its mark. Throughout the beating, Damien managed to keep a grip on his odd sword. He twisted and swayed, desperately evading Batman's attacks, with little success. All he managed was to deflect potentially crippling strikes, rolling with them to turn them into merely exceedingly painful blows.
Somehow, Damien managed to bring his sword up between himself and the Batman. Once there, he was able to keep the Batman at bay long enough to maintain some sort of balance between them.
Not that being unarmed seemed to bother the Dark Knight. It was obvious from someone of Connor's ability that the Batman was a Master of dozens of styles of fighting, and an expert in dozens more. Karate knife hand blows followed savate kicks, ju-jitsu strikes and judo throws. Injured and disoriented as he was, Damien was on the verge of defeat. By a mortal, no less.
But fate often plays an odd hand.
Batman grabbed the red haired murderer and threw him over his shoulder. With his almost inhuman desire to maintain his hold on the sword, his options to recover from such a throw were limited, should he wish to keep from cutting off a limb off himself.
The slender man chose an oddly effective variation of a roll Batman was familiar with, safely putting almost two metres between the combatants. Batman easily covered the ground in time to strike before the man was ready, but an unwelcome visitor intruded.
The Cardinal of Gotham rose from the entrance to the newly dug crypts below the building, his frail legs carrying him more quickly than they had in fifty years. "Stop! Stop this at once!" he commanded, putting himself between the pair. "Batman, I shall not allow you to desecrate this holy place with your violence. Leave this man be."
Batman growled deep in his throat as his opponent grounded himself and prepared for battle. Without the element of surprise or fear, he was sure they were quite evenly matched. "Step aside, Your Eminence. This does not concern you." He tried to move around the churchman.
The stick thin octogenarian refused to back down, insisting on positioning himself between the combatants. Not budging an inch under the intimidating stare, the Cardinal held up a finger under Batman's nose, the digit quivering with righteous rage. "Your methods are not only unlawful, but also immoral. Unless you have come here to confess your sins and repent, you are not welcome. Begone!"
The red haired man took a deep breath, and smirked at Batman. The Dark Knight watched with impotent interest as the flattened nose straightened and healed. "Your Eminence, this man is a murderer. Step aside."
That announcement made little impact. "All who come to repent are welcome, no matter what their sins. While in this building, they are under my protection. You shall not harm this man."
Batman refused to look down at the holy man. All his attention was on his suspect, whose body was healing itself at an incredible rate. With a snide expression, the red haired man glanced around the church. The superior expression slid from his face in a most satisfying manner when he laid eyes on the other occupant.
"Macleod?" he exclaimed, blinking in shock. He glanced from Batman to the man at the back of the Cathedral, an expression of unwelcome realisation appearing on his face.
Batman reacted a tenth of a second too late. The unique sword arced around and rested against the Cardinal's neck, causing the furious churchman to cease his pious lecturing and freeze. In a low, sibilant voice, the murderer said, "He's right, your Eminence. This does not concern you. However, since you have unwittingly chosen to involve yourself in our little dispute, I'm afraid you'll have to assist me."
Batman stood straight and still, allowing his cloak to cover the preparations his hands were making. "Let him go."
"I think not." Again his eyes tracked over to the other person in the building. "Now that it has become apparent that you are not one of us, it is time for me to take my leave."
Batman watched as the murderer's cold green eyes half closed, and his breathing rate increased. Almost as if he were willing his heart rate to build, the man began panting, his shoulders rolling.
With a shout, he drew back the sword, and drove it into the cardinal's lower back, before pushing the mortally wounded man towards Batman. With a burst of movement, the man ran towards the door, faster than any Olympic sprinter. The newcomer drew a sword as the murderer approached, but only a single clash of blades was exchanged before the murderer escaped out of the building.
Batman glanced up, and noted with relief Robin's silhouette in the devastated window above the doors. "Robin! Get down here, give the Cardinal first aid and get help. I'm going after him."
Robin nodded quickly. "That's-," he started, pointing towards the other occupant, who was also leaving the building to chase after the escapee.
"Nash! I know!" snapped Batman in an irritated tone as he sprinted towards the door, the soles of his boots crunching on the glass beads. Robin was here and the newcomer had a sword; it didn't take a great deal of deductive reasoning to know who the other man was.
Connor sprinted after Damien, watching as he vanished quickly into the twisted group of alleyways to the west of the Cathedral. As soon as he entered the heavily shadowed back streets, Connor drew his katana out of his jacket again.
His Immortal senses told him that Damien was nearby. Connor brought his sword up to eye level, held horizontally, a defence that allowed him to fend off nearly every surprise attack to his neck, and allow him to use the polished blade as a mirror to see behind him.
It was at that point that Connor noticed the centimetre-deep gouge in the blade. He focused on the edge of his katana, wondering just what sort of weapon Damien had managed to procure. A flicker in the image on the blade alerted Connor to the imminent danger, and the Highlander spun and almost gently caught the descending blade on his own.
"Nice to see you again, Macleod."
"Nice to see you too," replied Connor, before he pushed Damien's sword around in a wide circle and flicked it away.
Damien easily prevented the disarm attempt. "You try that move every time we meet. Haven't you learned anything in the last hundred and fifty years?"
Connor ducked the next strike and moved towards the centre of the alley. His eyes widened as he noticed that Damien had sliced through the corner of a dumpster. Thinking quickly, Connor changed his tactics, and his stance.
Damien's next attacks were parried easily, Connor using his katana like a rapier. Instead of his usual hard blocking, he gently turned the attacks aside, the edges of both swords sparking as they danced and slid along each other. The Highlander smiled tightly, his time in the late seventeen hundreds spent with a rapier instead of his katana was turning out to be worthwhile, in spite of Kastagir's predictions. Without the edges crashing together, he prevented his sword from being cut in two.
With the footwork associated with this style of fencing coming back to him, Connor began pressing his own attacks, searching for weaknesses in Damien's defences.
"Interesting, Macleod. It would appear that you have learned a thing or two."
"I learned what you did to Chantelle."
Damien snorted, and launched a series of strikes at Connor's head. "She deserved everything. She deserved the pain. She was weak; she lived off the toil of others."
Connor snarled. "She lived on her own toil for two hundred years."
Damien snarled back. "Her sins cannot be washed away." He waved his sword back and forth in front of Connor's face. "It's time for you and I to find out who is stronger."
Connor took the initiative in the fight, flicking the point of his katana at Damien's wrists and elbows, trying to disable the man. Damien easily defended against the attacks, slicing through Connor's own coat sleave in return.
"You have been a persistent enemy in the past Macleod. Time for that to end."
Again, Damien sent a series of high attacks at Connor's head and neck. The Highlander brought his katana up, and parried each stroke as it descended.
But Damien had been pushing him towards the slick puddle in the middle of the alley. As soon as Connor's rear foot landed on the slippery surface, Damien arced his blade around at the Highlander's side, forcing him to use his back leg for support in defence.
Connor's rubber soled sneakers failed to keep its grip, and he fell to the ground. Damien swatted the ancient katana from his grasp, knocking it out of his hand and sending it clattering down the alleyway.
Damien stopped his attack, and simply held the point of his sword under Connor's chin. "So it ends as it should. Goodbye, Macleod. There can be-"
Damien's body was flung to the right, flying briefly through the air before landing solidly on the alleyway floor. The Batman rose from a crouch, having planted both feet in Damien's back. "Forget about me?" the Dark Knight asked.
Damien rolled to his feet quickly, in time to meet the Batman's attacks. This time, the pair met on equal ground, both expecting and anticipating the attacks of the other.
Once more, the Batman tried disarming the evil Immortal, but failing. Where Damien tried to stab or slice at the Batman, the masked man's agility and warrior's sense allowed him to easily evade.
Connor slowly stood, scrabbling around for his sword. The Batman had given him at least a few extra minutes of life. He needed to make the most of them. His gloved hands grasped the hilt of the ancient katana, and once more the powerful sword was joined with its powerful master.
Damien saw Connor stand, and ground his teeth together. Either of these opponents on their own, he was confident of dispatching. But together, he had no hope. This time, he could not use his Quickening to defeat his opponent, the Batman was proving far too informed to fall for his tricks.
But Damien never willingly fought in an area where he was not prepared. Before he entered the Cathedral, he had set up a few items in the alleyways surrounding the building to give him an advantage in any fight.
He allowed Batman to drive him back along the alley, to where he set up one of his traps. Once the pair were below a specific fire escape of the many in the alleyway, Damien swung his blade out wide and neatly cut through a dark thread.
A small glass globe fell from two stories above, no longer suspended. As it crashed onto the ground a couple of seconds later, the chemicals within combined. A blinding flash filled the dingy alley, blinding two of the three combatants.
Damien, who had been ready for the flash, took the initiative, slicing out at the Batman. Somehow, the powerful mortal evaded his strike, but lost three of the spikes on his left gauntlet. As he fell back, he grasped the edge of his cape, swinging it out and around between them in a figure-eight pattern.
Damien slashed his blade through the material, only to discover the there were metal threads through it, preventing a clean cut through. The lead-lined hem swung out and around the point where the sword struck, wrapping itself around the blade.
Not willing to allow the same trick to disarm him twice in one week, Damien planted one foot firmly on the ground, spun, and planted his other foot as hard as he could into Batman's chest. Powered by Damien's Quickening-enhanced muscles, the kick blew the Batman backwards. He landed awkwardly on his back on the lip of a dumpster, his body armour absorbing enough of the impact to prevent his spine from snapping.
Instinct took over, and Damien ducked and rolled to the side. A notched katana blade flashed through at what had been neck height, then drew back for another go.
With a growl, Damien rose to his feet again, facing the Highlander. The Batman had not been incapacitated, and Macleod was proficient enough to prove almost impossible to overcome quickly. Hissing with frustration, Damien again searched the surrounds with his Quickening for another creature to harness.
He mentally found a fox rummaging through garbage nearby. For the second time that night, Damien allowed himself to feel another animal's emotions, their heartbeat, their life force.
The fox bolted.
Damien bolted, his speed enhanced by the animal's spirit.
The whiskered man turned to leave, sliding his katana back under his long overcoat. Batman stood on wobbly legs, reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "You're not going anywhere."
The man slowly turned to face him, his eyes as intense as any Batman had ever seen. "Let go. Now."
"I just saved your life, and you saved mine. We are even, but I will not allow a murderer to roam free in my city. What do you know about him?"
He shrugged, sliding Batman's hand from his shoulder. "Nothing."
"Liar," Batman growled, and reached out again. The man swivelled, and grabbed Batman's wrist in a tight hold.
With a single twist, Batman escaped the hold and swung out his leg to trip the man. With reflexes Batman found himself envious of, the man casually leapt over the attack and assumed a fighting stance.
The pair faced each other for several minutes in unmoving silence. The other man broke the silence.
"So, are we going to stand here all night, or are you going to let me go?"
Batman didn't move. "He called you Macleod."
He shrugged. "He was wrong, my name is Nash."
Batman nodded. "Russell Nash, of 1182 Hudson Street, New York. You're an antiques dealer."
Not even a flicker of surprise registered on Nash's face, but from the tiny pulses Batman could see in the veins in Nash's neck, his heart rate had increased. "You know a lot about me."
Batman shook his head. "No, I know a lot about who you are trying to be. Nash died at birth, you just assumed his identity."
Nash slowly relaxed, standing up straight. Batman followed suit. "Are you a Watcher?"
Batman shook his head. "Watcher? Is that some sort of group?"
Nash frowned, obviously thinking deeply. "Just what do you know, Mr. Bat."
Batman relaxed his guard. "Your name is Macleod, you were born in Scotland, but have spent the majority of your life abroad. You trained with someone experienced with using a katana, though you originally used a different weapon. You heal quickly from any injury, save decapitation. You, and others like you, live as long as you keep your head attached." Batman ran a hand over his chin.
Macleod tilted his head to one side. "You know a lot. How?"
"I'm called 'Detective' by certain people."
The Highlander's eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer."
"Your name was easy, and it helped identify where your odd accent comes from. You've changed the way you speak enough that I'd guess you've spent many decades at least outside of your native land. Your fighting style told me about your teacher and your weapon skills." Batman took a deep breath. "Your turn. What do you know about him?"
Macleod looked Batman up and down. "Do you drink?"
A long pause. "No."
"Pity. Do you mind watching me drink?"
The bar was a dive, still to be renovated after the earthquake, it was little more than a propped up roof over an old diner. The barman, who went by the name 'Grunter', and who had been on the receiving end of Batman's fists twice before, put down the glass he was polishing and grabbed the wooden baseball bat from under the bar as the Dark Knight entered. "Get out!" he said, the trembling in his voice betraying his fear.
"Put it down, or I'll shove it down your throat, Gunther," Batman promised absently, not pausing as he swept past. "Just make sure we aren't disturbed."
Grunter blinked at the use of his real name, trembling at the realisation that he had shouted at the Batman. The thick ring through his nose was quivering in time with Grunter's shaking, as he watched the hulking vigilante's retreating back. The Batman's companion glided to the bar. Looking into this man's eyes, Grunter decided that he'd prefer trying to stare down the Dark Knight. "Brandy. The oldest you've got." Several grubby bills landed on the counter.
With a cough, Grunter swept his arm over the bar and the cash disappeared. In their place, he deposited an unopened bottle. The man held Grunter's gaze for a few moments, then picked up the offering, wiped the dust from the label, and nodded. "This will do." He picked up the forgotten glass and followed the Batman to the back of the bar, where they sat in the rearmost shadowy booth. Grunter swallowed past the lump in his now dry throat, debating briefly with himself. Self-preservation won over greed, and moved over to the entrance to flip the sign on the door to closed. He sure as hell didn't want it getting out that the Batman drank here.
Connor poured himself a glass and savoured the bouquet. With a sigh, he sipped the liquid, grimacing at the taste. "You tend to get a taste for the better vintages when you live a long time."
Batman nodded slowly. "What vintage do you prefer?"
Conner gave an odd little laugh. "Seventeen Eighty-three."
"A good year?"
Connor nodded, his eyes closed in memory. "Seventeen Eighty-three was a very good year."
Batman leaned forward, seeming to fill the entire booth. "Who are you?"
Connor looked up, his eyes betraying no fear. "I am Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod. I was born in 1518 in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel. And I am Immortal."
Batman was silent for a few moments, but recognised that this man stressed the word immortal. He wasn't using it as an adjective, but as a noun. "What is an Immortal?"
Connor shrugged, a little amused. "One of us? We are, were, born human. We died before our time. Personally, I was killed in my first clan battle, Macleods verses the Frasers. A black knight sought me out on the field and drove his sword through my side. He then tried to take my head, but my kinsmen tackled him to the ground, saving me." Connor sighed. "All I remember after that was his saying, 'Another time, Macleod!'"
Connor's eyes were staring at the past. "When I rose from the dead the next day, they banished me from my village. Many wanted to burn me, including my woman, but a man named Angus convinced them to spare me. Another Immortal sought me out, years later, to teach me."
"Teach you what? How to be an Immortal?"
Connor poured himself another glass. "No, I am an Immortal. Nothing can change that. He taught me the rules of the Game, how to fight, and how to harness the Quickening."
Batman stayed silent, waiting for more details. Connor looked up from his glass into the masked man's eyes, impressed that he wasn't interrupting. He was leaving it up to Connor in which order to explain the unfamiliar terms.
"The Quickening is what makes us an Immortal. We all have some of it, but it isn't shared equally. I was blessed, or cursed, depending on your point of view, with a larger share than most. When we take the head of another Immortal, we absorb their power, skills, and their Quickening. Some ancient Immortals have incredible power."
Batman held up a hand. "When you cut off a head? You've killed before?"
Connor chuckled, a breathy sort of laugh. "A few hundred times, I'd guess. What? You gonna arrest me? You might find it hard to make a four hundred year old murder charge stick."
Again, Batman was silent for a while. "How do you recognise one another?"
Connor shrugged. "We just know," he said, not willing to explain more than that.
"A sixth sense?"
"Something like that."
"You mentioned a game."
Connor nodded. "The Game. All the Immortals play the Game." He looked down at his glass, now half empty. He gave a little snort. "There can be only one."
Batman drew in a sharp breath after a second's thought. "You're fighting to the last? Until there is only one of you left?"
Connor smiled, and drained his glass. "You are quicker than most. I can see why some people call you Detective."
"A game generally has a prize for the winner. What is the prize for this one?"
"Power. Lots of power. Other than that, I don't know. None of us do. We battle, we take heads, we hide throughout history. There are some of us who seek out and teach the newly awakened Immortals. There are some of us who seek them out to kill them." Connor poured himself his third glass. "Damien is different. He seeks out all Immortals, no matter how young or old. And kills them."
"Damien being our man? He killed Elle McGinty and the other John Doe?"
Connor nodded. "Damien is old, almost twice my age. I don't know what name he goes by now. I've met, and fought, him three times before tonight. The first time, I only just escaped with my head. The second and third times, we were separated with no clear winner." Connor slowly withdrew his katana, and placed it on the table. He examined the sword in detail, and winced at the massive nick in the blade. "That's going to take some working to fix."
Batman glanced down at the blade, then up again. "How did you know Elle McGinty?"
"Her real name was Lady Chantelle de Bernard. She was the daughter of a nobleman who was executed during the French revolution. She and the rest of her family were murdered in the days that followed. I found her, and became her teacher." Connor chuckled darkly. "My daughter hated her with a passion."
Batman frowned. "Daughter? You have a daughter?"
Connor nodded. "Yes. Why?"
Batman leaned back in the seat. "I examined the body of Damien's first victim. He was infertile."
Conner leaned forward, seemingly interested. "Oh? You know this, how?"
"The very same power that keeps you young, this Quickening, heals your body. But I found it heals you down to the DNA level."
"So?"
"So, sperm is only half a DNA recipe. Your Quickening breaks it in a vain attempt to make it whole. I'd have thought infertility would be a universal trait amongst you Immortals."
Connor leaned back and poured himself another glass. "Well, well, well. You didn't know that, you Spanish peacock," he said in a low, amused voice.
"Who?"
Connor shook his head and looked up, a smile on his face. "You are right, my daughter is adopted, I found her orphaned in Holland during the War. And I always called my first Immortal teacher a Spanish peacock, even though he was Egyptian."
"So you are all unable to have children."
"Yes. Something that devastated my wife."
Batman nodded his condolences. "What is the significance of holy ground?"
Connor sighed and tossed back the latest glass of brandy. "We don't fight on holy ground. We are safe from one another only when on consecrated land. Damien obviously thought you were one of us. Well, before he spotted me at the back of the church."
Batman tilted his head to one side. "He 'sensed' you, but thought it was me?"
Connor shrugged. "Maybe."
Batman watched as Connor poured the last of the brandy. "When you kill another Immortal, what happens?"
Connor raised an eyebrow. "You mean, what happens when we absorb the Quickening of another Immortal? It's violent, and painful. Depending on the power of the Immortal, a large area can be devastated."
Batman nodded, and described the scenes of the two murders. Connor's eyes closed as he heard about the second scene.
"That sounds like a Quickening. Chantelle wasn't a powerful woman, but the first..."
"Do you know him?"
Connor shook his head. "No. I'm only here to find Chantelle's killer."
"What do you intend to do to him when you catch him?"
Connor raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Take his head, of course."