Story Update: Forging the Blade, Kithe and Kin, Chapter 6, 3/3
kageorge@EROLS.COM
Thu, 11 Jul 2002 00:12:23 -0700
Forging the Blade, Part II - Kithe and Kin
by MacGeorge
Rating, PG-13
~~~~~
See disclaimers and acknowledgments in previously posted
Part 0.
Chapter 6
~~~~~~
Connor concentrated on Duncan’s efforts on sword drills and
spars, and the winter sped by with few incidents that caused
real concern. In the early spring, Duncan caught the eye of
a local noblemen's wife, and her not-particularly subtle
invitation to Connor "and house guest" to a lavish dinner
and ball were an impetus for Duncan to finally wear the
clothes Giuseppe had ordered for him. But even the prospect
of an evening of women fawning over him was not sufficient
to overcome his disgust at the vivid blue silk jacket and
pantaloons, with slashes opened to show gold satin
underneath, matching the intricate braiding on the high
collar and sleeves.
"Och, I canna' walk in these things," Duncan complained,
stepping bowlegged around the room while Giuseppe giggled in
delight.
"You'll get used to it," Connor assured him, as Giuseppe
stopped staring at Duncan long enough to help him into his
own, far more conservative burgundy and black damask
jacket. "At least you won't have to wear a wig."
"A wig! You canna' be serious!"
But the valet had pulled a long, chestnut-colored wig out to
fit tightly on Connor's head. It weighed a ton, and before
the evening was out, Connor was certain he would sweat clear
through the damn thing.
"Well," Duncan gave him a long, appraising look. "Don't you
look the right gentleman?"
Connor turned in a circle, knowing he cut a pretty
impressive figure as Giuseppe busily brushed imperceptible
dust and lint from his clothes.
But Duncan, standing there with a hand on one hip, his
luxuriously, naturally curled hair tumbling down the front
of the brilliant blue coat, looked every inch a prince, and
was amusingly oblivious to it. The impression held - until
Duncan walked across the room.
"No, no, just walk naturally, Duncan. You look like a
sailor without his land legs!"
"But these damned pantaloons feel funny," Duncan complained,
bending down to awkwardly pluck at the excess material
between his thighs.
"No, no, signore Duncan," Giuseppe insisted. "Like so!"
With one hand in the air, and one on his hip, he pranced
gracefully across the room.
"Not bloody likely!" Duncan growled. He grabbed his sword
in disgust and slid it into his scabbard, preparing to
leave.
"No, wait, Duncan," Connor advised, going to his dresser and
opening the door. He pulled out a rapier with an
intricately worked quillion guard. With it was a lovely
engraved scabbard, held by a black velvet sash, edged with
gold braid that just happened to match the braid on Duncan's
new suit of clothes. He turned and handed it to his
student. "This is far more suited to a social affair, and
that giant claymore of yours will just scare the guests."
Duncan's eyes grew wide as he pulled the blade free, turning
it and watching it gleam in the bright sunlight from the
tall windows. "Oh, Connor, it...it's beautiful, but I can't
accept this."
"Yes, you can. It is time you learned to use a variety of
blades, anyway. That heavy claymore is not the best for
close quarters fighting."
Duncan cut the rapier through the air with a smile. "It
feels like almost nothing in my hand, though. My claymore
would slice right through it."
"You'd be surprised, Duncan, what any good blade can do in
the hands of one who knows how to wield it."
"Mmm," Duncan said dubiously. "Well, 'tis a pretty thing,
regardless."
Connor laughed, then took the scabbard, settling the velvet
sash over Duncan's shoulder while Giuseppe applauded in
delight. "It's a gentleman's weapon, Duncan. And tonight,
at least, you are to look every inch the gentleman."
Duncan frowned and "harrumphed", but nonetheless, suddenly
his walk lost its bowlegged straddle, and he had a prideful
tilt to his head that would have done any princeling proud.
~~~~~~~
Their cloaks were taken by liveried servants, and Duncan
stayed one pace behind as Connor stepped into the glittering
ballroom and the smell of bodies and perfume and food
assaulted them. And at a distance, something else.
It shouldn't have been a surprise. Immortals of any serious
age tended to easily tread the halls of money and power, but
Connor's hand automatically found its way to the hilt of his
sword, resting there as though the gesture was perfectly
natural.
"Connor, do you...?" Duncan stopped his question at Connor's
raised hand.
"Whoever it is, they are not likely to make a challenge in
this crowd. Just don't wander off," Connor instructed.
Then when Duncan turned, studying the glitteringly attired
crowd, his hand on his blade, Connor took a firm grip on his
student's arm. "I mean it, Duncan. You go out to take a
piss, you tell me about it," Connor demanded.
"All right, all right," Duncan frowned, pulling his arm
away, but then smiled as the Contessa di Montecini sailed up
to them in a brilliant red gown trimmed in black at a tight
'vee' waistline, with stiffened gilt lace forming a high
collar that framed a bold display of décolletage. Her
glossy black hair was piled high in tight curls, with a few
stray strands left to drift tantalizingly at her temples and
long, white neck.
"Ah, Signore MacLeod," she said to Connor. "What a pleasure
it is to have you here," she said in Italian, offering her
hand for him to bow over. "And you brought your charming
cousin," she added conspiratorially. "All the ladies have
been asking about the handsome new cavalieri."
As the Contessa's gaze traveled over him, Duncan clearly
understood enough of her words and her body language to get
the general trend of the conversation, and he smoothly
stepped forward and bowed over her hand with an openly
flirtatious smile.
"È un onore incontrare tale bella signora," he said softly.
The Contessa, who had to have been used to such flattery,
still blushed and fluttered her fan under the force of
Duncan's charm.
"I didn't realize you spoke our language, Signore," she
replied in Italian.
Duncan cocked his head and smiled quizzically at Connor,
which made him laugh.
"Ah, but he has only learned a little Italian yet," Connor
explained.
"Well," the Contessa sighed with a glittering smile, firmly
taking Duncan's arm, "He certainly seems to have learned the
most important phrases."
Connor wasn't entirely sure whether Duncan was at greater
risk in the Contessa's clutches, or from an encounter with
an unknown Immortal, but he decided he had best find out who
else was there among their Race. Hopefully, it was no one
interested in a confrontation, but you could never be
certain. He left Duncan in the firm grip of the Contessa,
and wandered around the perimeter of the large ballroom,
smiling and nodding at faces that had become familiar during
the decade he had lived in the city. He kept getting
annoying brushes of Presence, but couldn't be sure whether
it was Duncan or someone else, or even more than one other.
He paused at a cluster of local landowners, discussed the
weather, the last grape crop, the ever-bubbling local
gossip, and ended up dancing with the daughter of a
prosperous local vintner. The floor was crowded with
couples as the large string ensemble played a lively tune
underneath the warm, sparkling light of enormous crystal
chandeliers lit with hundreds of candles. The stately moves
of the dance allowed for many flirtatious looks and
conversations, and Connor spotted Duncan on the dance floor
with the Contessa as he made a mistake in the pattern. From
the rapt, amused look on his partner’s face, Duncan's
ignorance was considered charming.
Connor remembered his own clumsy first efforts at court
dancing, when he managed to trample his partner's dainty
silk shoes. He had ultimately hired an instructor so as not
to publicly embarrass himself again. How his student
managed to turn a liability into a flirtatious asset was a
mystery and an irritation.
The evening had blended into night before Connor finally
found the mysterious immortal in the large crowd and the
sizeable estate, and only after he spotted Duncan standing
on one of many outdoor balconies with Wilhelm Munter and
another man. He could see the tension in Duncan's shoulders
from across the room, and as soon as he could, he excused
himself from his latest dance partner.
As he approached, Duncan stepped close to the stranger next
to Munter, deliberately invading his space, and Munter
placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder.
"Something wrong, Duncan?" Connor asked, masking his concern
with a friendly smile.
"This Sassenach said he heard that Juan Sanchez Villalobos
Ramirez was a fool and a sodomite," Duncan growled.
Ah, so that was the source of all the dissonance rattling
around in Connor's brain. Four immortals in the same room.
Connor couldn't ever remember seeing so many in the same
place. No wonder the tension in the air was palpable.
“Really?” Connor stepped forward, crowding Duncan away from
the stranger, while surreptitiously clamping his hand on
Duncan’s, where it had closed over the hilt of his new
rapier. “You knew Ramirez, then? And you are…?”
The man was almost Connor’s height, pale skinned, with
striking dark blue eyes. He wore a wig of powdered white,
so Connor couldn’t tell much more about him, other than he
had expensive tastes in clothes. His coat was of
beautifully embroidered silk from Cathay, displaying
intricately interweaving vines and colorful flowers that
would have taken months of work to complete.
“Edmund Henry Dunningham, at your service, sir,” the man
replied in a carefully cultivated upper-class British
accent. “And I only repeat what I was told by no less than
Grayson himself.”
Munter ostentatiously cleared his throat and Connor saw
Dunningham send the German an irritated glance before he
backed off slightly from a near-physical confrontation with
the two MacLeods. Connor looked over to Munter, with an
expectant, curious stare. “Please excuse Edmund’s
rudeness. He has strong opinions on many subjects,” Munter
said by way of explanation. “As a student, it…complicated
the teaching process,” he added with a wry twist of his
mouth.
Connor was beginning to believe that Duncan’s instincts
about Munter might have been correct. “Aye, I can well
understand the problem,” he agreed.
“But eventually, the student is no longer a student, eh,
Wilhelm?” Dunningham asked with a tight, cold smile. “At
least for some of us,” he added, glancing disdainfully at
Duncan. Connor could feel Duncan lean forward, and willed
the man to stillness with a hard look.
“Only a fool decides he has nothing left to learn,” Wilhelm
replied with an equally frosty tone even before Connor could
form his own response.
“Old styles and methods must give way to new ideas,”
Dunningham snapped back. “This Game of ours,” he waved a
hand languidly, “all those rules we’re supposed to follow,
what use are they in an era when a flintlock can cut a man
down at 20 paces before he comes within a swordarm’s
length?”
“If we abandon honor, we are nothing more than murderers,”
Duncan snapped. “And there is no true value to anything
gained in such a manner.”
“Oh, ho!” Dunningham laughed, placing his hand on his
chest. “Touché!” Then, in an aside to Munter intended to be
heard by both MacLeods, “Imagine a Scotsman extolling the
virtues of gentlemanly combat.”
“Be careful, boy,” Connor said softly, moving close enough
to almost whisper in the Englishman’s ear. “I have no
desire to taste the sour Quickening of such a wee Sassenach
as yourself, but I’ll be happy to put a few slices in that
lovely jacket of yours, just to teach you some manners.” He
caught Dunningham’s eyes for a moment and saw them flicker
from arrogance to fear before they shifted away entirely.
“And Grayson would no more confide in you than he would to a
mongrel dog,” he added softly.
Connor felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over to see
Munter giving him a hard-eyed stare. “Take care, Connor
MacLeod,” Munter said softly. “He may be an arrogant fool,
but he was my student, and I’ll not have you taking his head
while I’m around to defend it.”
“I don’t need you to protect me!” Dunningham snapped at his
former teacher, then glared at Duncan and Connor before he
turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
“Connor,” Duncan began, but they were interrupted by the
Contessa, come to claim Duncan to teach him more of the
finer art of courtly dancing. All three men immediately
dropped their overt hostility.
“And you’ve met the charming Baron Wilhelm!” the Contessa
observed. “How delightful. I’m sure you have much to
discuss. Signore MacLeod has been a most knowledgeable and
successful trader of some of the finest goods from all over
the world, and I understand you, my dear Baron, have some
stunning horses that I absolutely must see.”
“Indeed, Madame La Contessa,” he smiled graciously and gave
a courtly bow. “I have a beautiful mare who would make an
excellent mount for a fine horsewoman such as yourself.”
“Ah, you flatter me, Baron, but perhaps we can ride together
sometime, yes?” she fluttered her eyelashes at the German
before pulling Duncan back onto the dance floor.
“I take it manners was not among the subjects you sought to
teach young Mr. Dunningham,” Connor said evenly once the
Contessa was out of earshot.
Munter sighed, rubbing a temple with one hand. “The
obligation to teach new Immortals when we stumble across
them can truly test a man’s patience. I’ve had precious few
students like your Duncan, someone who is intelligent,
curious and eager for knowledge, but who is also someone of
honor. Most have been more like Dunningham – obsessed with
this new gift they’ve been given and eager mostly to exploit
it at the expense of anyone who crosses their path.”
Munter’s words struck Connor as odd. “You just…stumble
across your students?” he asked.
“Well, of course,” he answered, his brow furrowing
curiously. “How else? I certainly wouldn’t go looking for
one. I found Dunningham when he got his skull crushed in a
bar brawl in London, and they dumped his body out into the
alley. If I hadn’t been crossing the street when he first
woke up, I would never have known he was there, and there
are days when I wish I had just kept walking.” The two men
moved further out onto the balcony where the air was
cooler. “I’ve had three other students, one of whom was a
young servant to a woman I was keeping as a mistress. I
knew she was going to be an Immortal, of course, so when I
heard from Caroline, my lady friend, that Abigail had taken
a terrible fall, but hadn’t seemed harmed at all, I knew
what had happened. I tried to tell her what she was, showed
her that we could get cut and heal, but she just kept
screaming that I was the devil.” Munter shook his head
sadly. “It was such a complete balls up. Caroline was
jealous that I was suddenly paying attention to her maid,
and Abigail was scared out of her mind. I finally stuck her
in a convent in France and have no idea what has happened to
her since. That was almost 200 years ago.”
“And the others?” Connor asked.
Munter shrugged. “Both ignorant young scamps that I
stumbled across. One had been stoned by his village as a
devil, the other was a thief who had been hung for his
crimes. I tried. I really tried to teach them that being
Immortal was about more than getting away with crimes for
which they might otherwise have been killed. Both learned
some rudimentary sword skills, then ran away when I tried to
instill some real discipline or education in them. Neither
of them survived a decade.” Munter looked over at Connor.
“You are really quite lucky, you know. Duncan is a fine
man. I suspect he will mature into a real contender for the
Prize, and someone who actually might be worthy of it.”
Connor chuckled, remembering Duncan’s vow to be the very
best, learn from the very best. “I think you may be right.”
“How did you find him?” Munter asked.
Connor cleared his throat, his hands clasped behind his back
as he looked up into the night sky, where the moon hung
heavy and fat, high above them. “You might not believe me,”
he said softly, wondering if he even believed it himself.
“Really? Try me.”
“I dreamt of him. Was driven all the way across the
Continent by nightmare after nightmare, pushing me to find
someone who desperately needed me. And I found a clansman
who had been exiled from his home and family, as I had
been. He had been living on the edge of starvation and
despair for three years, thought himself a demon, and was
prepared to die over and over again in defense of a cause he
believed just, just to prove otherwise.”
Munter was silent for a moment, gazing with Connor at the
stars. “You’ve given me chills, Connor MacLeod. A strong
portent, indeed. Does it mean the Gathering is near, at
last?”
“I don’t know what it means, except that I have found a
kinsman, a brother, when I had thought my family long dead,”
Connor replied in a near whisper, then he shook his head.
What was he thinking, confiding in a near stranger, much
less another Immortal, like this? He stiffened when Munter
put a hand on his arm.
“MacLeod,” Munter said, then stilled when he saw the cold
look in Connor’s eye. “I…I just wanted to ask you not to
take on Dunningham, if you can avoid it. He has a lot to
learn, and while he no longer considers himself my student,
he is far from ready to take on a seasoned Immortal. Give
him a chance to become a better man.”
“I do not hunt, Munter. But I do not run from a
challenge.” Connor held Munter’s pleading gaze for a
moment, then relented a little. “But if your Mr. Dunningham
is so bold as to challenge me, I’ll try to teach him that it
was a bad choice, without taking his head.”
Munter smiled gratefully. “Duncan is a lucky man, Connor
MacLeod,” he said, then bowed, clicking his heels together.
“Until we meet again, then.”
“Until we meet again,” Connor replied, and watched as Munter
slipped through the crowd, probably off to find his
ex-student to try to keep him out of trouble.
Speaking of which, Connor moved inside, scanning the room
for his own errant student, finding him at last in a circle
of women, blushing furiously as he struggled to answer
dozens of questions in his limited Italian. When Connor
approached, Duncan sent him a look of desperation, so Connor
waded in and was, himself, immediately the target of a
babble of female attention.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur of dancing and
laughter and Connor had the best time he could remember in
years. The women were abundant and attentive, the music was
lilting and lively, and he had Duncan to watch his back and
with whom to share the evening’s memories.
It was almost dawn by the time they stumbled into their
carriage, with both of them recipients of numerous notes and
whispered promises for future rendezvous. Duncan sighed and
leaned back, then chuckled, reaching across to slap Connor
on the leg. “And where did you and that young woman in the
blue ball gown disappear to for so long?” he insisted with a
grin.
“She just needed some air,” Connor replied, trying to keep a
straight face as the carriage lurched over the cobblestones.
“Oh, and you supplied it, no doubt!” Duncan laughed.
“Well,” Connor shrugged, his lips beginning to betray him
with an uncontrolled twitch of a smile. “I always try to
accommodate a lady. But at least I generally stuck to one
at a time. Lord, Duncan, the men were beginning to talk
about lynching you if you monopolized any more of them.”
“They all just wanted to help me learn to dance,” Duncan
smiled, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “And
sometimes, I can be a very slow learner,” he added with an
evil glint in his eye, “and hands-on teaching is required.”
“So I noticed,” Connor observed with a raised eyebrow. “As
a matter of fact, I’m sure I can think of some hands-on
training we can do. There is a little exercise Nagano
taught me called ‘slapping sand’. It is very useful in
hardening yourself against extreme pain and exhaustion.”
The grin on Duncan’s face quickly evolved to mild panic when
he saw the malicious look of anticipation on Connor’s face.
Sometimes it was good to be the teacher.
~~~~
to be continued...