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Methos awoke suddenly, immediately sensing that another Immortal was nearby. He got up, opened the window, and looked out to find a cloaked man walking across the street and dragging a long, pointed object behind him. He then looked very intentionally at Methos' apartment room, and dropped the object on the ground in front of Methos' building with a small white note attached to it. Methos became certain that he was being summoned, and what's more, this call wasn't one which he could just ignore.

Methos rushed out the door, closing it quickly, but still quietly. As he went down the stairs Methos began to wonder what was happening. He had been under the impression that everything was done as far as Duncan was concerned. Maybe it was another matter. Maybe this was an apology, Methos thought. Yeah, and maybe the heavens will open up and give me a really nice fish sandwich, was Methos' reaction to that hope.

Methos mumbled an apology to an elderly man and his youthful female companion, whom he ran into as he rushed out the door. Knowing this neighborhood, it wasn't his wife, but Methos hadn't selected this apartment for the company. It just happened to be just the right size so that any Immortal he sensed would have to be right out in front of the building, but the stairs were so shabby that not only would it take them some time to get up, but they would make more noise than a full fledged marching band. This fact had allowed him to avoid anyone trying to track him down, as well as allowing him to win a few fights with people who he knew were better than himself.

As soon as he got outside he recognized the object on the ground as a sword with a note attached to it. Upon closer examination, he noticed that there was some sort of writing on the sword. This very easily confirmed the source of the note, which Methos suddenly remembered was in his other hand. As he looked at the note, Methos was relieved. Upon it was written two ancient symbols. These were symbols which very few people would even know existed. They meant "stop" and "fight," which was the equivalent of "peace" in this language. He was certain Duncan was safe, at least from this Immortal.

Methos wandered back up the stairs, unlocked the door, and walked into his apartment. As he was doing so he noticed something odd about the note. He turned on the light, and looked more carefully at the letters. He found that when he held the note to the light he could faintly make out some other words written below the two symbols.

They said simply, "Need to discuss the present. Come to the lamp-post behind the bar if you want to have a voice in things. Don't worry about the bartender, he won't bother you about the wallet," and was signed "Chubby." Methos stopped and smiled. He had always found that nickname amusing. Little Lynceus had grown up, and when he discovered he was an Immortal, he had worked hard, and had slimmed down quite a bit, but he would always be "Chubby" to Methos.

Methos looked down the note and found it also read: "P.S. Don't worry, she'll just think she wandered into the wrong house, and I really think you two could get along well, if you get to know her." That was when Methos remembered that he hadn't locked the door when he rushed out the house. He glanced over to the bed, and found that there was someone lying there, with their face off to the side.

As he looked closer, Methos found that she had the exact face of a serving girl he had known in Egypt. Chubby was probably aware that Methos had had a brief affair with her. He had always been good at finding duplicates of people long dead. Methos was slightly alarmed to find that she was taking up the whole bed, and when he nudged her, there was no response. He could see she wasn't dead, so he figured she must be drugged. This was in keeping with the way Chubby worked. Methos doubted he could get his much needed sleep with her there, so unless he slept on the floor and waited for the drugs to wear off, Methos had nothing better to do than meet with Chubby. Since Methos had no intention of sleeping on the floor, and it looked like it could be a while before she woke up, Methos decided it was time to return to the bar he had all but sworn never to return to. Before he left Methos checked the rest of the letter for faint writing. There he found: "P.P.S. She makes a really good fish sandwich. I seem to remember you were fond of fish and bread." Methos chuckled. Maybe this would be an apology. After all, it was Chubby who had managed to complicate Methos' life quite a bit with all of his plotting and planning.

Richie Ryan wrenched his sword out from under his opponent's foot, and as he stumbled, Richie swung downwards towards his head. The other man dropped his right knee, and stuck the point of his blade lightly into the ground just past his left foot, hilt slanting along with the rest of his body. As Richie's energy was skillfully pushed far off to the side he stepped back with his lead foot, allowing his spin to carry him briefly out of the other man's reach. Then he stepped back in, and cut low, clanging upon the other side of the sword, and snapped his opponents blade in half. He halted his swing and cut down towards the now exposed leg, but the man rolled out of the way, and came up with the bottom of his sword in his right hand, and the top half clutched lightly in his left. Even the slight pressure caused by the roll had cut a light slash in his left palm.

Richie attacked again, this time with a stab towards his opponent's left side, but he shifted his footing, caught the sword with the bottom half, and stabbed the other half into Richie's arm with a grunt as the tendons in his hand were shredded into a useless mass of twitching meat. The man scuttled back and closely examined his wound. Richie took this time to pull the sword tip out of his right arm, and throw it towards the man. Although it was a bad throw, the sword caught the man in the left shin. His natural reaction to brace his fall with his left hand brought forth another grunt, and he fell to his side, the impact forcing the blade farther into his leg. Richie rushed forward, switching his blade to his left arm, and planted his right foot on the man's sword arm. His blade swung down, and the man's whole body twitched as the sword came to a stop at his throat.

"You're getting much better, I think with a couple different moves you could have gotten me that time. You need to move your sword quicker though. It's a good thing this one isn't -- wasn't that expensive, or I might get into some trouble with Mac," Richie said as he helped the man to his feet.

"Yeah, well if it was a little more expensive maybe it wouldn't have broken so easily!" John Donely retorted.

Richie chuckled. "Well, I'm sorry about the leg. I guess I got a little carried away. I might be able to find some pliers, or something to get a grip on that thing, otherwise I don't --"

Richie stopped at the loud clang behind him. As he spun around he saw the blade sputter out of John's leg. He had obviously slapped the tip with the hilt, and forced it out in that manner.

"Argh!" groaned John as he clutched his leg in pain, dropping the hilt end to the ground.

"Well, I guess that's one way to do it," Richie said quietly.

This wasn't the first time that John had done something which solved the problem quickly, but left possible consequences later on. Fortunately, any damage he did to his leg would heal quickly. In fact, the wound on Richie's arm was now little more than a memory.

As John shifted his weight back and forth, Richie asked, "Is it all right?"

Almost as if it were a response, John's leg gave out, and he fell again to his side. Richie moved to help him, but stopped suddenly when he felt the presence of another Immortal nearby. John, too, sensed it, and as the cloaked figure turned the corner he was the first to see her. He made an effort, and soon was on his feet, lifting the dropped half of the blade by the hilt as he got up. Richie, sensing the movement at his side, glanced quickly behind him and spun around to face the new danger.

"I'm here for him," a woman's voice said, pointing at John with a thin sword. "You may leave," she said, pointing at Richie.

"No way. You'll have to go through me first," Richie said, pointing his blade at her in a threatening manner.

"Very well," she said, and lunged forward, slapping the blade to the side with her sword, and stabbing Richie in the chest with the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. As he fell, Richie clutched the weapon in a futile attempt to pull it out from the bone into which it was lodged.

"No!" John cried as she lifted her sword. "Your fight is with me," he said lifting the half-sword to point at her, a mockery of the pose Richie had taken seconds earlier.

She stopped, and ran forward, beating his sword out of his hand, and swung hers towards his head. John ducked down, stabbing his assailant in the stomach with the other half of his sword that had been hidden beneath his shirt.

"I'm a quick learner," John said to the falling figure.

Richie, watching on, tried to scream "No" to John's obvious mistake as he bent over her to retrieve her sword. Unfortunately, all he could get out with a sword through his lung was "Grghrng!"

Her knee went straight into John's crotch, and he stumbled backwards with a very startled look on his face. John turned to retrieve the hilt of his sword, but as he did she got up and stumbled down the street. John attempted to follow, but found that he could barely walk without pain, let alone run. Instead he hobbled over to where Richie was bleeding to death, and pulled the dagger from his chest. As he lay there, Richie gasped, "You're gonna have to tell me what you did to get so many Immortals pissed off at you," and died. John waited for Richie to come back to life, and pondered the answer he would give when Richie eventually did revive. He looked at his watch. 6 a.m., and he still hadn't had his morning coffee. He couldn't wait for this training to end.

Roland Karlos sat down on the hotel bed, confused. He'd been watching Richie train John for about a week, and he had no idea who this third person was. He was about to rush in to the fight to help her out, since it seemed she was on the same side as he was, when John suddenly stabbed her. This was almost as much a surprise to Roland as when the woman walked around the corner and killed Richie. Even from his viewpoint, he hadn't caught the movement in which John hid the sword tip in his shirt. Looking back, it was probably when he got up and wiped his hand off, but even so, it was a surprising amount of foresight for such a young Immortal. What's more, it seemed that John was positioned a little too well to see where the woman was coming from. Looking back, Roland was beginning to wonder if John had known she was coming. Either he was lying about being a new Immortal, or he was a very talented and lucky person. Either way, Roland Karlos was slightly worried about the final confrontation he would have with the boy.

Roland stood up and went to a phone, and began dialing the number his boss had given him in case something came up. He got no answer on the line, so Roland decided to get back to watching the training. He was actually quite happy about the location that had been chosen, it was right next to a hotel, and it was remarkably easy to see them, so all Roland had to do to keep an eye on them was buy a room in the hotel. He had been sure to buy on one of the higher floors, since he knew that both Richie, and John had first floor rooms.

Later that night, Roland awoke to the unpleasant buzz of another Immortal nearby. He was fairly certain that it was his boss, but since he wasn't certain he grabbed Niflheim from under the bed. It was the only sword like it in the world. Originally one of four similar swords, the others had all been lost or destroyed. It had been forged specifically for him, by an Immortal blacksmith, with centuries of experience at the art. It was light as a feather, yet as durable as even the thick, almost hammer-like swords the Germans once used. Upon it was written symbols which best represented his job back when it had been forged, along with his original name.

He waited for a minute at the door before he noticed the draft behind him and spun around to find a man in a cloak. He recognized the small clasp at the neck, so he lowered his sword. "I suppose you know about what happened today?" Roland asked his employer.

"Of course I do. One of my former associates got a bit...impatient with the process, and decided to kill John Donely early," a raspy voice said.

"I understand that," Roland said, "but what about John? Is he really a new Immortal, or does he work for you, too? I really was looking forward to killing him."

"Don't worry: you'll fight him, and when you do, John Donely will live no longer," the man responded.

"That doesn't really answer my question," Roland retorted.

"I suppose it doesn't answer the one you asked, but it answers what you really wanted to ask, doesn't it? Besides, I have many in my employ. The more uncertainty they have about who is in my employ, and who isn't, the easier it is to control them," the man said in a far too sure tone of voice.

Roland thought about it, and realized that he actually was satisfied with the answer he had been given. He still worried over John being employed by the man whom Roland was supposedly working for, but he had just been told that this fear and confusion was intentionally put there. This worried him more, while at the same time he was reassured about the competence of his employer. He looked up to find that he was once again alone in his room.

Duncan MacLeod watched John Donely carefully as they dueled each other. John had good natural talent, and he had clearly learned much from Richie. Unfortunately, he also clearly had little experience, and he still had a great deal of practice in store if he wanted to survive for any great length of time. Duncan had heard of Richie and John's experience with the cloaked figure, and he suspected that she was the same one who had run over John. He still wasn't certain why she was trying to kill John, but he had rushed back nonetheless.

Daphne hadn't been pleased that Duncan had been forced to go. She wanted him to rush off to some small country, where they would be able to live off the land, and generally lead dull, safe lives. Duncan was tempted by this idea, but he knew that he had to train John. He had waited until the last moment, though. He had started on the long drive back only hours after escorting Daphne to her plane. He really shouldn't have waited that long -- the attack on John could have been prevented if he had only come back a day earlier. He suddenly realized that his mind had drifted, and that John was actually getting the upper hand. With a few quick movements of his wrist, he pushed John's sword into the ground. He then noticed that it was not the sword that he had originally bought. It wasn't that important, since it was only a $50 sword, MacLeod assumed that it had been broken in the fight with the cloaked woman, but he would have to ask.

"You're good for how long you've been training, but your arm drifts a little too far to the left and right every time I move my sword," MacLeod said to the confused pupil. "You also push too hard when I make an attack. You need to redirect the energy better. Try and block my attack with as little effort as possible. Remember that in longer battles it's the person who uses his energy better who wins."

MacLeod gave John his sword back, and demonstrated what he had told John a couple times. Then Duncan tried to show John a new attack. He swung across towards John's knees, then, in response to John's block, he swung back towards the arm, to begin the complex set of motions intended to confuse and disorient an opponent. Unfortunately, John stepped backwards, and swung his sword around behind MacLeod's, forcing it out of his hand.

John smirked, and said "I guess if this were a real fight, you'd be dead right now." MacLeod chuckled, then rushed forward, inside of John's guard. He grabbed John by the sword hand, and the collar, and then tripped John, holding onto the collar, and the sword, to get a weapon, and keep John off-balance, holding him suspended in mid-air, with both his legs trapped on Duncan's thigh.

Duncan held the sword to John's throat, and said, "You're good, but don't underestimate an opponent. It is often most dangerous right after you've disarmed someone. If they're good, you're off-balance, and if you drop your guard then, it can be easy to defeat you."

John swallowed and nodded. MacLeod was very pleased, in that flow of events he had seen that John was very receptive of MacLeod's teaching. He'd also been able to teach him not to be overconfident in battle, which was a concept that even many century-old Immortals haven't yet learned. If he survived long enough, John could become an incredibly good fighter.

John Donely looked around the dimly lit street. He was sure that there was an Immortal around, he just wasn't sure where to find him, or her. He looked back behind him, and saw someone far away, who seemed to be just watching. He started in that direction, and the man ran off. He was just about to pursue, when he heard an unpleasant scraping noise, and a chuckle, from an alley he was near. He rounded the corner with his sword raised, and his heart was beating wildly. He'd finished training about a week ago, and already he'd won a couple fights, but they'd both been in the daytime, so he wasn't entirely sure of his ability in the dead of night.

Suddenly a sword came flying around the corner, and barely slipped past the guard that John had put up in case this happened. The blade sliced through his coat and cut a gash in his left arm. The fist that followed the sword hit him squarely in the chin and sent him sprawling backwards. A man walked around the corner, carrying an ancient sword. It had writing all over it and a design that could barely be made out in the thick of a battle, let alone at night. John couldn't quite see the face, but what he did see was somehow familiar. As the man approached, he swung downward at John's head. This time John was ready, so he managed to get a block up in time. However, the force of the attack sent John sprawling in the garbage lying in the side of the alley. John felt something squish, and didn't want to know exactly what he was sitting on. The man was startled when he saw the squishy something flying straight towards his face, but he stepped back, and it continued to smack against the wall with a sickening thud.

This gave John enough time to get up and ask, "Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?"

"I'm not really after you. Killing you is just an efficient way of getting to someone else," the man said.

As he said this a trickle of light played across his face, and as John Donely fully recognized the face at which he was looking, he became sure that this fight was probably his last. He was also sure that if it was his last fight, that Duncan MacLeod would probably be the next target. "Well, maybe I want to kill you just a little," the man said as he advanced upon him.

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