"Full Circle" Chapter 10 *warning* graphic violence

"Up there ahead!" one of the pursuing horsemen said to the others and pointed out the rider ahead. He too gave full rein to his mount as did the others and soon the distance between both the pursued and persuers was beginnig to become marginal at best.

The terrain was rough with outcroppings of rock jutting from the earth, and as the sun basked its' last rays upon the earth for the day it captured a moment in time unlike no other one.

Wheeling his horse around, Methos lost all control as his temper flared and his blood boiled at the thought that they were not going to allow him a freedom that they could have, yet he could not. "Enough is enough!" he roared out at his persuers then withdrew his sword and charged at them, his hair and clothes flying in the wind.

The Goth leader pulled up short, looked at his men and laughed. "A brave one, eh?" He then rode and caught up to his men. As if as one, all withdrew thier weapons and swiveled their shields over their arms and let loose a blood-curdling appeal to their heaven as finally both sides clashed, the sounds of metal crashing against each other ringing shrilly in the evening air.

The bloodlust pounded in Methos' temples; he felt his old craving for a good killing bursting out from its' suppression. He slashed at his attackers who encircled him, stabbing one in his stomach and with a swift upwards cut disemboweled the soldier.

The soldier's intestines snaked down the horse as the blood sprayed everywhere; the horse reared as it smelled it and felt the unfamilar warmth from the blood upon it's body. He toppled from his horse screaming in agony; Methos leaned down to avoid a blow by another of the Goths and rammed his sword into the horse's belly then withdrew it and struck out once more.

One of the Goths bumped up side to side with Methos; he landed a direct blow upon Methos'leg slicing it deeply and nearly severing the femoral artery. Screaming at the intensity of the pain, Methos lowered his shield for half a second but it was enough for a second blow to hit him from behind as it severed flesh from where it had been previously on his body.

Methos swung about with his shield, knocking the man from behind off his horse and momentarily stunning him. He grabbed at his sword, tightening his grip, then arced it about his side in a short downwards motion towards the leader of the group's head and neck.

The sword connected neatly between the vertebrae, slicing it as if it were butter and the head toppled backwards off the rest of the body which remained upright for a few minutes more as blood pumped out in a fountain from the last few heartbeats left in him. Slowly, the body too fell dead to the ground and trampled under the hooves of the horses.

Methos' once had been white tunic was now crimson with his blood with only a few remaining patches of white sporadically located on it. He was beginning to feel faint from the major loss of blood that he was suffering from. His arms and legs were growing weaker by the minute; both shield and sword continued to weigh more and more with each passing moment.

Another of the remaining soldiers sliced at the mount that Methos was riding on and the horse's legs went out from under it throwing it's rider heavily to the ground where he was swiftly surrounded by the remaining three soldiers.

"Now what?" one said to the others as they walked their horses about Methos who was struggling to get to his hands and knees.

"Now we get him back to camp," another said as Methos blearily eyed him as he swayed on his elbows and knees, then lowered his head down to his arms.

"It won't be long now," Methos thought to himself. It had been a swift fight to be sure, one where the odds were against him but he hadn't cared that they had been. He forced himself to think ahead as to the future, mentally struggling to shove the feelings of might and power as well as the sheer pleasure in taking a life brought him back to the darker recesses of his heart.

Roughly he was pulled upright; he glared at those who surrounded him and spat into the mocking face of the man who held him. His strength was returning as his healing quicktimed itself. "One thing had to be said about old age," he said to himself, "was that it did have it's advantages--especially if you were immortal." He stood upright again throughly healed in a few more seconds and fought to free himself until his world went dark as a pommel of a sword came crashing into his temple.

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Darius sat impassively looking at the man who lay mptionless at his feet, then motioned for an amphorae to be brought to him.

A woman who was to be Darius' handmaiden for the night swiftly brought it to him, kneeling before him as she offered it up to him. "Here, lord."

Darius looked her over carefully and a slow, sensuous smile caressed his lips. Her eyes were the color of a doe's, her lips and face finely chiseled. She will do. For now, at least. He took it from her hands, covering hers with his and lingered upon them. "Go and get thee to bed, woman. Prepare yourself."

She glanced up at him and silently nodded, then got up in one fluid motion and headed for the door, a slow smile covering her lips once she had turned away from him. "Alaric will be pleased with these developements," she thought to herself. "Very pleased."

Darius poured water onto Methos' face and waited.

Methos came to spluttering, leaping up then pausing as he looked around in recognition. He locked eyes with Darius then glanced over to Grayson who lounged against a short table, an unforgetable smirk covering his face.

"Planning to take a little trip?" Grayson asked sardonicly. He pointed in an arc the soldiers who stood guard around the tent walls. "I don't think so."

"Be quiet Grayson." Darius looked at Methos. "You broke our agreement! I promised you your freedom when Rome fell and I reached the shores of the ocean to the west."

"Did I?" Methos asked in mock surprise.

Darius' face to to stone before replying, "Our kind can be hard to kill. But yet, you must learn obediance and accept that you will be with me the rest of our journey." Turning to Grayson he ordered, "Have him tied up outside and flayed until there is nothing left to flay." He glanced over at Methos' sudden lunge at him.

Two soldiers ran over and restrained him as another bound his wrists. They hauled him out the door as he cursed loudly at Darius. "I won't forget this for as long as I live, Darius!" he cried out. "And I plan on living a long time!"

Once it was quiet again, Darius stood and stretched, anxious to bed the handmaiden but his duties had to come first. "When he is healed, son, flay him again like before. "Then report back to me."

Grayson's face split into a bright smile at the thought. "Then you aren't going to watch?" When Darius shook his head "no", Grayson metally rubbed his hands together in anticipation and glee. "Very well, when it is over, I'll come back."

"Very well. I have pressing matters to take care of. Leave."

Grayson tilted his head in assent, then began to chuckle once he left his father's tent and headed over to where a large bonfire was lit. "An apt punishment, to be sure though taking his head was perhaps a more appropriate measure under the circumstances," he thought, then laughed chillingly. "But he is to be punished by my father's orders--and I will be the one who will be doing the "punishing" in truth. And I will enjoy every moment as my whip cracks across his skin..."