by Carole
A Highlander/Wars of Light and Shadow Crossover
See part 1 for disclaimer.

Part 2/2

Dakar wiped the sleep out of his eyes to find Allivar
watching him, and the rest of the woods disserted.
He'd slept poorly, trying to associate the killer and
healer of Arin's story with the man who was now
watching him. He gave up. *Doesn't matter anyway.
We'll be parting company soon. What I'd love to know
was how he got out of those chains in the first place,
that could definitely be useful.*

"Awake are we?" The minstrel was much too cheerful.

"Go away," he muttered. "It can't be morning yet."

"Well, you got that half right. You've just mixed up
the early part. Morning has come and gone."


Allivar rose to his feet and stretched. "I'd guess
it's about one or so."

Dakar's eyebrows raised. "What?!? Why didn't you get
me up?" Those Sunwheelers could have caught up to them
with all the time they'd spent here.

"I tried. Gave up eventually. It isn't my fault you're
such a sound sleeper. Don't worry. Everything's
packed. I just wanted to wait until you ate before I
saddled the horses." Dakar glared and the man
continued, "I figured we were safer here anyway.
Hopefully they'll have passed us by by now."

Muttering unsavoury things about the minstrel,
mornings and the world in general, Dakar dragged
himself to his feet and sniffed suspiciously at the
rations Allivar placed before him.

"Did you say something?" That voice again. Now that he
was more awake, he could recognize the inflection. The
man was laughing at him.

"No," he growled back. The man was starting to remind
him suspiciously of Arithon.

He winced, remembering how the man had fooled him for
months with those illusions of his. Looking at this
man, he knew that this wasn't the case this time.
Something itched at him, though, something was wrong.
*Scars… he has no scars.* If the tale Arin told was
true, that shouldn't be the case, and this man, unlike
Arithon, did not purposely wear clothing to disguise
such things. *Maybe I'm wrong. I probably just have to
get closer to see them. they fade with time, after


They had been travelling for several hours now, and
Dakar paid more attention to his surroundings this
time. He wouldn't be caught off guard again. All the
attention he could spare, however, was on Allivar. It
did nothing to relieve his suspicions from that
morning, though there was nothing to arouse them

There was no doubt in his mind that the minstrel knew
how to use the blade he was carrying. A real horseman
too, but that was expected from all the travelling he
did. Allivar himself, however, seemed different than
he had the day before. The way he held himself, the
set of his jaw was harder, not as joking. *Masks,* he
realized. *This man views the word behind masks, a
different one for each occasion.*

Whether it was a true revelation or just paranoia, he
couldn't tell, but the thought was unsettling. Dakar
knew himself to be a bad judge of character, so hoped
for the best. Such revelations and snap judgements
were not to be trusted.

He finally gave up trying to read the man. It was
merely driving him crazy and paid more attention to
where his horse was placing its feet. Allivar's sudden
halt caused his horse to shy back. He looked at the
tall man suspiciously and found a rock hard mask in
place, eyes glittering like dark jewels.


*Blood.* Methos tested the air around him. *I smell
blood.* That would explain his horse's nervousness.
*This is no rabbit, not even a stag. Its strong enough
that I can notice it, there's too much.* A horrible
premonition surfaced and he shivered, narrowing his

He dismounted, handing his reigns to the confused Mad
Prophet. Feet making no sound on the trail, he drifted
like a ghost forward into the woods, turning once to
ask Dakar to wait, before making his way into the
undergrowth. A sense of self preservation told him
that forewarned was forearmed, but that feeling was
back behind his eyes, and his heart clinched. The
immortal searched for the best path over the rocky,
overgrown hill ahead, and scrambled up. He knew that
whatever he wanted to know lay on the other side.

There was no sound but the shifting of wind among the
branches. Digging his hands into stone, he propelled
himself forward, branches scratching at his face and
tearing his hair. Pulling himself behind a boulder, to
not be seen by those on the other side, he did his
best to blend in with his surroundings and looked

Methos, who had seen and caused more bloodshed than
any other man he knew, retched. Inside, something
snapped as Arin's lifeless eyes stared up at him
across the distance, tongue lolling out of his mouth
from his severed head.

Taria was face down, almost peaceful, but the blood
around her destroyed the illusion. Others lay
scattered about, some Sunwheelers, some clan]bred, but
there was no doubt. The small troop had fought hard,
and died for it, overwhelmed by the larger force of
Sunwheelers -- Sunwheelers who had probably been
searching for him.

He lowered his lids against the scene, turned away and
spit the fowl taste out of his mouth. The black fire
of anger welled up within, but it was a cold fire,
Arctic ice, As cold as a blade and twice as deadly.
Death walked away back to his horse. There were things
he needed to do.


"We go this way."

Dakar jumped at the voice as Allivar came out of the

"I think I found a way for the horses." His face was
cold and eyes stony. There was no inflection.

"What is it?" he asked nervously. There was no reply,
simply an empty glance that left Dakar shivering. This
was the capable killer that Arin had spoken of,
without the healer to temper it.

Knowing that opening his mouth was not the best idea,
he followed silently, his fear of what was to come
drowning out his usual protests and whining over the
annoyances of travelling.

Huffing to himself, he stumbled over roots and
silently prayed to Ath that the horse would twist its
leg. He didn't want to have to walk everywhere.

His eyes widened as they came across the last hill. It
had been a slaughter. Allivar ignored the bodies,
stepping over them and attempting to keep his mount
calm, even when he went past Arin's headless corpse.
He simply continued, walking towards the path the
Sunwheelers had taken.

This even Dakar would not stomach. "Are you crazy?
You're going to follow them?" he exclaimed, still
looking around at the carnage.

Apathy had never been so terrifying, but the new glint
in those eyes reminded him more of one of the
Fellowship than a simple mortal.

"Yes." Again, the voice was calm and monotone. "You
don't have to come if you don't want to, but I have
something to do."

*He's snapped. Probably planning to die in a suicidal

The man's prey would be easy to follow. they'd been so
confident that they hadn't bothered to hide their
trail. He couldn't just let the man kill himself, so
he followed, though he was quite prepared to run in
the other direction if something happened. There was
no way he was going to argue with that face of stone.

*Maybe he'll come out of it.* He snuck a glance over
at his companion. *Or perhaps not.*


Forced to stop, Dakar watched as Allivar cocked his
head, listening. The Mad Prophet heard nothing, but
almost reached out with his "other" sense to find what
was wrong. He never got the chance.

"Stay here." Allivar's voice was still cold and calm.
There was no thought to following the man, instead, he
again considered running in the other direction.

"What is it?"

The man's back was to him as he moved forward
carefully, leaving Dakar behind, and left the question

For what seemed eternity -- though was closer to a few
minutes -- Dakar waited. He closed his eyes, cursing
his lack of practice and patience and reached out yet

Yells of alarm and then screams jerked him back to the
physical. They were fairly close by, and he threw
himself forward, forgetting for an instant that he was
badly outnumbered and that, if he wanted to prevent
the minstrel's death, he should have knocked him over
the head earlier and restrained him until he came to
his senses.

Burning. Fire. Lightning. He fell to the ground,
clutching his head as a blast of pure power rippled
through the air. He couldn't breath.

*Sunwheelers wouldn't have a wizard this powerful.
Ath, what is that thing?* echoed through his shocked
mind, and he rose to his feet shakily. Whatever had
stirred, he didn't want to meet it, but he needed to
find out what it was to give warning.

Mounts forgotten, he moved forward, crawling to his
feet and ran. Trees rushed past, Dakar stumbled
several times, but scrambled to his feet and
continued. He almost lost his life again, forced to
jump out of the way to avoid spooked horses.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

How one man could do that much damage, he didn't know.
There were so many of them, they had to take him down,
but no blow seemed to touch him, moving through the
soldiers like Death himself. Others had been trampled
to death by their own frightened mounts.

He just stood, too stunned to move and ignored by
those fighting for their lives. One lucky man landed a
blow that should have gutted this demon, but he smiled
and ran him threw, the only sign of his injury was the
arm clutched to his stomach and the slight hunch in
his shoulders. He watched not the carnage around him,
but the minstrel. Forcing his mage-sight despite the
battle and aura of death, he looked. *Ath, no man can
have an aura like that.* It was like staring at the
sun and his eyes watered. The rage and hate blurred
the pure white with shades of red and black, like the
taint of the fight and deaths seeping into the earth.

"Dharkaron Avenger," he whispered. Allivar was no mere
man, but something other. There was no chariot, no
black steeds, but this was him, there was no doubt.

An arrow came from his right, as one clever fellow
attempted to cut the monster down before it could
reach him for a distance. It was simply pulled out, as
if the man felt no pain and still did not slow. He had
done the impossible, now the few who remained tried to
run, not attack. How could one fight someone who did
not stop, no matter the injury?

Now there was only the soft sound of a young man,
almost a boy, weeping in terror among the dead. He
stared up at cold golden eyes. For a moment, Dakar
thought this one would be left to escape as Allivar
stared at him.

Before he gave him a quick end with a blow to the
heart. There was silence, and the spellbinder could
practically feel the dead shades around him despite
the overwhelming presence of their killer.

Then, it was over. Allivar glanced up at him, and the
ice shattered. He took a step, and fell to the ground.
The aura about him vanished, and Dakar concentrated on
restraining his own sensitivity. The ghosts here would
not look kindly on either of them.

Like the boy had earlier, the monster that had caused
this butchery wept among the dead. The wind brought
his words to Dakar.

"My friend, I told you to be careful."


A gasp echoed amid the silence, a sudden intake of
breath and one of the body's convulsed spasmodically.
Methos head jerked up, his eyes dry once more. That
face again greeted him. He knew that face.

//A cry of surprise. A young Sunwheeler cut down in
confusion. One amidst a sea of others in the struggle
to be free again.//

It was only two days ago he had found out about that
man's immortality. If he hadn't been shielding, as was
his usual habit, he would have finished it then.

He stood, wiping the blood and tears from his face as
the other man clawed his way to his feet, waiting.

"You..." It was a growl. "I know you. You killed me on
board the Maelier." The accusation ignored recent
events and Dakar's stare at the dead man who had risen
once again. "I challenge you."


He gaped. This was something he had not seen in all
his years as an apprentice to one of the Fellowship.
It was possible to stave off death, but not bring true
bodily resurrection this way.

"I challenge you."

Allivar did not seem surprised. In fact, he looked
like he had expected these words, whatever they meant.
The man simply drew his sword, exhausted as he was and
moved to meet his new opponent.

Dakar suspected that the fight would have been over
quickly. Fortunately for Allivar, the Sunwheeler was
not in the best shape himself. Both moved stiffly as
he watched with a horrible fascination, weaving
between the bodies at their feet.

That proved to be the end of the fight. The soldier,
he clothes torn and bloody, misjudged the position of
one of his former fellows torsos and fell. With one
blow, Allivar removed both his sword and his arm.

The man fell to the ground, but surprisingly
maintained consciousness and managed to speak. "Do it,
but first, tell me who you are."

"No," was the only reply, denying the man his last
request and, with a twist, Allivar brought his sword
around with all his remaining strength. Time seemed to
slow, the head tilting back, hitting the ground before
the force of the blow knocked what remained of the
kneeling man sideways to the reddened earth.

It was a low roar that rumbled almost below hearing
and mist gathered around the form of the fallen man,
enclosing everything in a vague layer of white and
blue. It rippled and moved as if drawn by some unseen
wind, twirling about the only one who remained
standing besides Dakar.

Fire lashed out, lightning, and the hawk-nosed man
jerked and screamed, falling to the ground. Like
vengeance, it was relentless, beating him down. A tree
crashed down and Dakar jerked back and small fires
appeared amidst the brush.

It stopped with a whimper from Allivar, who lay
moaning, no doubt from pain. Still, he managed to gain
the strength sit as another movement caught Dakar's
eye. It was the boy, the one who had been crying, who
was the last to die.

Laughter echoed at his confusion, a cold and bitter
laughter as the man who had uttered it had been
earlier. It contained no humour. Those bewildered eyes
made their way to the one who had extinguished them in
the first place. There was a twist of a smile to his
lips when he spoke.

"Surprise." The smile turned into a death's head grin.
"You're not dead."



Names have been taken from my attempt at a Paravian
dictionary. I hope I got these right.

alli = to preserve/save avar = memory

roots: arin = strong

roots : eishlier = sheltered place

roots : Ummm... I can't find them now. Urg.

roots : laere = grace

roots : san =black ianfiar = birch

roots : taria = knots

roots : talien = precious

roots : val = straight lith = to keep/nurture/preserve

The last line is deliberately the same as Methos told
Cassandra. It was one of the parts in CaH/Rev68 that
always struck me, so I decided to use it.