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Searching his mind, he struggled to identify how death had come this time. It was so difficult to be certain which memory was the last death, among so many.

There was a soft rattle of chains in the background and suddenly the memory flooded back. His heart clenched and for a moment he thought that another knife had pierced his unprotected chest, but this pain rode on the smell of blood and smoke in the air.

 "It's been a long time." Kronos' voice rang out with artificial cheer. As he came closer, Methos realized that the other man was the source of the angry reek.

Methos was worried but he knew that showing fear to Kronos at this point would be instantly fatal. What was needed was a show of force. As soon as this hole in his heart was healed. Already the pain was relaxing its grip on him, the Power's work almost done.

"Does it hurt?" In the voice was the same note of morbid curiosity Methos had listened to for centuries. Methos had once mistaken this indifference to suffering as a sign of strength and of power. Later, much later, he learned the truth. Kronos loved pain. He lived for it, needed it like any addict needs their drug. And now Methos was helpless at his feet.

Forgetting for a moment the other man's uncertain temper, Methos allowed himself to respond with anger to one of Kronos' taunts. As always, a mistake. Bending over his victim, Kronos leaned an elbow against the still-painful chest wound. Gloating down at his captive, he drank in the agonized reaction for a few seconds. Methos' world went white with pain and Kronos' mocking voice disappeared into the vortex.

When the pain began to ebb, Methos rolled away from his captor. Already he had had enough. Kronos was right, he was getting soft and he no longer had the stomach for these games. It would be wise to treat the other man more carefully in the future. Methos didn't need to search far in his memories to know how to handle Kronos, he had learned those lessons well many centuries ago. Open rebellion wasn't the answer. Not if he wanted to keep his head.

Kronos wanted something. If Methos just gave it to him, perhaps this ugly memory of a past life would leave. All he had to do was figure out what it would take.

The death threat, when it came, didn't surprise him. It was possible that Kronos wanted nothing more than to kill him. On the other hand, if that were so, Methos should already be dead. Or wrapped in the chains threatening from the other man's hand. Methos eyed those chains nervously as Kronos moved to stand before him. He had some experience watching what Kronos could do with them and didn't look forward to a personal refresher course in the treatment.

Listening to the offer, Methos realized that the sentence was death, either way. For a few seconds, MacLeod's face passed before his eyes. Brushing aside regret he looked Kronos in the eye and accepted the proposal. Time enough to think of that later. To think of the betrayal of his best friend--the price demanded for his own life.

Kronos smiled and threw down the unneeded chains. Moving closer, he said insistently, "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? If you're with me, it's all the way. Like in the old days."

Methos closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I haven't forgotten. All the way." Opening his eyes, he saw his own tiny reflection staring back at him from inside the madness of the other man's gaze. "Just like before."

Much later he freed himself from his *Brother* with a promise to return. "There are some things I need to do. I'll be back later."

Kronos said that Methos could come and go as he pleased. "Just like the old days."

Methos could feel the hot eyes following him as he slid down the ladder and headed for the exit. The smart thing to do was to pack up the bare essentials and leave town without delay, and that's what he intended to do. Finding himself outside the dojo, he hesitated. He had intended to telephone MacLeod, but as long as he was here . . . .

 As soon as he heard Kronos' name fall from Duncan's lips he knew he was in trouble. When the woman arrived, he was certain of it. He remembered her from before, the only Immortal he had ever kept as a slave. Cassandra's presence in the elevator that led to MacLeod's apartment told him all he needed to know about their relationship.

As she spoke, he watched the Highlander's eyes. Doubt. Confusion. Suspicion. Disbelief. At the earliest opportunity, he took the chance to make a run for it. One possible avenue of escape had just closed.

Returning to the abandoned power station, Methos made one last bid to reclaim his current life. He was desperate to convince Kronos to leave him alone and terrified of losing his head. Methos wanted to argue, to explain that he had changed and could no longer be a part of Kronos' future plans.

The confrontation was as disastrous as his visit to the dojo had been. As they talked, the old memories and the old feelings rose up inside of him. In the dim light, Kronos smelled even more strongly of blood and smoke and fear. These were old friends, calling to him seductively through the screams of the past and shattering his hard-won peace. Somehow, in Kronos'  presence, it was all so much closer, so much more real than it had been for centuries. He remembered the freedom and the power of being a god. And he remembered the deaths.

Behind his closed eyes, Methos saw a tiny village, no place important. With his Brothers around him he spurred his horse to a gallop and watched the insignificant mortals fall like grain screaming at the harvester's scythe under their swords. It was a good raid, well planned, and none of the villagers survived.

They had all the slaves they needed, this had been just a diversion. A way to pass the time. It had been one of a hundred or more similar raids and today Methos couldn't be sure it had actually happened. There may never have been a village exactly like the one he was remembering. Maybe it was bits and pieces of a dozen other memories, all half-forgotten details he hadn't cared about back then.

Today those details disturbed him. Facing Kronos, he knew how close he was to being drawn back to that life. He wondered how long it would take before the man he was today died in the face of that world, leaving only the blood-thirsty barbarian he had been to take up his sword and kill in his name.

There had to be another way. He would not fight Duncan MacLeod at Kronos' or anyone else's bidding. Methos barely heard the rest of the conversation. The memories of fear and death were so thick in the air that they choked him. Finally he was allowed to escape, one last time.

Methos' original plan was still his best hope. Packing quickly, he began loading his belongings into his car. Now he was running from both Kronos and MacLeod. He was certain that Kronos would come with him, and he knew that MacLeod would follow, almost immediately. Methos could handle Kronos alone, for a while, but it would take more than him to stop the man.

He should have known that MacLeod would come looking for him. And he should have knows that he would want answers. Not explanations. Not reasons. Just answers. Yes or no. The Highlander's world was very black-and-white.

Watching the hurt and shock in MacLeod's eyes, Methos gave into the rage inside of him. Suddenly he couldn't stop pushing the other man, forcing him to hear more of the brutal truth than he had ever dreamed could exist. All of the fear and the anger inside of him spilled over and landed like acid on the heart of the man in front of him. Still, Methos couldn't seem to stop saying these things. All of the words he had never said, all of the ugly things he had been at that time -- he forced the Highlander to listen to all of it.

A few minutes later, he was alone again. As he had known he would be.

His first instinct was still to run. To find a place to hide until Kronos gave up searching for him or lost his head.

Only the memory of Duncan's shattered face held him in this city now. As sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, Methos knew that the Highlander would go after Kronos. In his current state of shock, MacLeod was no match for an Immortal who had lived with the lust of killing for thousands of years. Death was all that Kronos understood, and it was the only force on earth that could stop him.

Returning to the power station, Methos felt the buzz that signalled another Immortal's presence. There was someone with Kronos. MacLeod couldn't have found him so quickly, which left the woman. Blending into the shadows at the foot of the ladder, Methos considered what to do next. He would save her if he could, for Duncan, but his primary target was Kronos. Cassandra played into his hands by crawling down the ladder and running toward him, searching for an exit. She hadn't lasted two minutes against Kronos. She didn't have the strength she thought she possessed. She had confused rage and hurt with real strength. Fool. It was a wonder she had lasted this long. With a quick blow, he knocked her out and carried her limp body away from the coming conflict. Dropping her off of the bridge, he dismissed her from his mind and turned his attention back to the building in front of him.

He was certain that MacLeod had arrived by now and he had to act. MacLeod would be angry at the interference but at least he would survive. This time. Kronos would be angry also, but Methos knew he had something to offer that Kronos wouldn't be able to resist.

Watching the two men fight by the light of the flames, Methos wondered if he should let them finish. MacLeod was more focused than he had anticipated, he might even be able to take Kronos today. No, he couldn't take the chance. The fire splashed from his hands and drove the struggling Immortals apart.

Later that evening, on the docks, he bartered with Kronos for his life. As he had suspected, his Brother knew that Methos had interfered to save the Highlander's life. Acting an unconcern he had difficulty feeling with the cold blade pressed against his throat, Methos played his high card. And Kronos fell for it, as Methos knew he would. The Four Horsemen. Kronos had dreamed about this reunion for years, and Methos was the one who could make it happen.

Gazing around him at the night sky, Methos hoped that he had judged the Highlander correctly. If MacLeod didn't follow them, the world might soon be a very different place.

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Not the End