Protege II: Dungeons and Dragon(Ladies)

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DISCLAIMER: The concept and characters of Highlander belong to PanzerDavis Productions. I'm only borrowing Amanda and the others; I promise they will be unharmed and they can leave any time they desire. The other characters, especially Megan Carson, are my own creation. Please include this disclaimer should you post this story elsewhere. As always, feedback is welcome, so Email me!

CONTENT WARNING: This story is rated R for violence and torture. There are some parts that are not for the squeamish! If you don't want to read about people being severely damaged by a truly sick puppy, then back on out of here now. If you read this and still get offended, then you have no one to blame but yourself. But feel free to blast me at the above address; I have a thick skin and if venting helps you, my pleasure.

This story comes after "The Protege"

The Protégé Part II: Dungeons and Dragon(Ladies)
By TheGreyOwl

Duncan's Cabin, December 31st

Megan stood looking out the window of the snow-bound cabin. It had been three long days since the blizzard had swept in, and it was still snowing. The blowing snow had kept them from going outside except to bring in more wood for the fireplace and stove. Unless the weather broke soon, they would start to run out of supplies. The weekly supply run should have been two days ago, and they were already out of some of the perishables. The howl of the wind emphasized just how bitterly cold it was now that night had fallen.

As Megan stared out into the night, she thought back over the events of the last six months. She'd been kidnapped, raped, and beaten to death by one of her town's leading citizens. After he'd left her battered body in a deserted mountain clearing, she'd revived. She'd stumbled through the freezing rain and eventually found Amanda. Amanda explained to her that she was now an Immortal. They'd returned to Megan's home and Amanda had begun training Megan. A hit-and-run accident sent Amanda's rental car into a ravine and she was presumed dead. The killer eventually broke into Megan's home, and killed Megan's boyfriend David. Megan killed the intruder with Amanda's sword. After the funeral, they'd left her town and come to this island in the middle of nowhere to train Megan to survive as an Immortal.

Oh, training here had been fine, at first. It was like a summer camp. Wood fires, nature all around. She'd had many "National Geographic" moments...the fleeting glimpses of wild animals, like the family of deer that came down to the water to drink. The training had been rigorous. Amanda didn't skimp. Besides physical conditioning, like running and weight training, she had Tai Chi exercises and the sword training. Since there was very little else to do on the island, they spent hours working out. Megan was probably in the best shape she'd ever been in. There wasn't an ounce of flab anywhere on her lean frame.

Nights had been spent reading or just talking. Amanda was fascinating to talk with. The woman had been alive for over a thousand years and had taken part in most key events in modern history. Sometimes Megan thought Amanda might be stretching the truth a bit with some of her stories, but who was there to challenge her? She had learned about Rebecca and how she'd trained Amanda. She'd learned about Kenny, Amanda's lost foundling who had turned into a bad seed. Amanda told her of the Watchers, a secret society of people who chronicled the lives of the immortals. Most of all, she heard about Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

"You coming to bed?" Amanda's voice drew Megan's attention back into the here and now. She looked around and Amanda was getting undressed. Megan quickly nodded, grabbed her flannel gown, and headed for the bathroom. Once behind that door, she quickly stripped off her layers of clothes and donned the soft flannel gown. She bundled her dirty clothes into the basket and then came back into the bedroom. Amanda was already in the bed under the heavy down comforter, so Megan extinguished the oil lamp and made her way back to the bed. She climbed in and snuggled under the covers. Bundling sure made sense when it was so bloody cold!

The morning found little change in the weather. The swirling winds blew the snow into towering drifts in some spots while scouring others to the frozen earth. The wind made it difficult to tell whether it was still snowing. Fortunately, the woodpile was sheltered from both the wind and the snow, so Megan only had to deal with the mind-numbing cold. Wearing the heavy gloves and parka she'd found on a peg by the door, she could only carry a few logs. Oh, well. The extra trips will help keep me warm. Muffled against the cold and wind, Megan was ill prepared for the dart which struck her thigh. As her awareness began to close down, Megan could see white-garbed figures rise up from the snow and move toward the house. But this is Holy Ground was her last thought.

The attackers stole quietly into the house, fanning out to cover all the rooms. Silent hand signals caused the group to converge on the door to one bedroom. The point man very slowly turned the knob, released the door catch, and eased the door open. Their complete caution was wasted, however, because the bed was empty. Amanda stood against the back wall, sword poised above her head to strike whoever came near her. The point man stepped aside and admitted another figure, who calmly drew his dart pistol and shot Amanda. The drug was fast and powerful, and Amanda collapsed to the floor.

Oh, my aching head! What the hell... were Megan's first thoughts before memory of the recent events crashed into her awareness. The silent white figures, the anesthetic dart. Amanda! However, Megan's concern for her mentor was quickly overshadowed by the realization that she could not move nor hear nor see. It felt like she was shackled at her wrists, upper arms, ankles, knees, and thighs. She also felt heavy straps which passed across her hips, waist, and just under her breasts. She was fastened to some rigid surface. A blindfold of some heavy cloth covered her eyes. Sonic suppression muffs so effective that she thought she might actually have been deaf covered her ears. The combined affect of the immobility, blindfold, and muffs was almost complete sensory deprivation. Fear began to well up inside her, but she fought it back. Relax. You are an Immortal. They haven't killed you yet!

Almost the same exact process had gone through Amanda's mind, except in place of fear was implacable rage. She didn't know who or why, but somebody was going to pay for this outrage. Her only concern was for Megan. She had no idea of what had happened to her protégé. She was so absorbed and the sensory cutoff was so complete, she was unaware anyone was with her until she felt the needle slip home in her thigh, and the darkness closed about her once more.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Well, I'm not deaf after all. Megan thought. And I'm not tied down any more, either. The sound of chains rattling accompanied the movement of her arms as she reached for the blindfold. She blinked a few times in the dim, gray light. How positively medieval! I'm chained to a wall in a dungeon - complete with moss growing on the stone wall! A low moan attracted her attention to a dark corner to her right.

"Amanda, is that you?" Megan croaked out the words against the dryness of her throat.

There was a long pause. Megan was about to call again when Amanda spoke. "Oh, shit. This looks familiar. Are you okay, Megs?"

The two compared their limited recollections. Neither knew anything of substance. They only knew the men who had taken them were mortal since neither had felt the telltale 'buzz' from another Immortal.

The one's awareness of passage of time is subjective. When one is very busy or enjoying themselves, time seems to fly; minutes seem to drag slowly by when the opposite is true. Chained to a wall in a dark dungeon created a new nadir for the passage of time. To Megan it felt as if time had stopped. Eventually, however, she became aware the dim light was fading until finally it was gone, leaving them immured in pitch black. The darkness seemed to amplify sounds. The constant drip of the unseen water became sonic torture rather than lulling background noise. With the coming of full darkness there also came a new sound - the scrabble of little claws on stone.

"What's that sound?" Megan asked fearfully.

"Ah, now the ambience is complete. What's a good dungeon without rats?"

"RATS! I'm afraid of rats."

"Don't sweat it, kiddo. I bet there aren't any rats or even water dripping. I think they are just chep theatrical sound effects. They're fake, just like this so-called dungeon."

"What makes you think that?"

"Don't forget I've sat through this movie before. Real dungeons are cold, damp, dank places. There is a pervasive smell of misery and pain combined with the noxious smells of feces and urine. There are thousands of bugs and other vermin, such as the rats. Real rats don't hide at all. They're brazen creatures who know they truly rule the dungeon cells. This place is clean and warm. I haven't seen a single bug. No, Megs, we're not in a real dungeon. Someone's just gone to a lot of trouble to set a stage for unknown reasons."

"Well, that makes me feel much better! Since we seem to have some time to kill, why don't you tell me when you were in a real dungeon."

"I was sneaking around in a castle in France back in, oh, around 1418 or so. I was after some jewels, but the French thought I was a spy for Henry V, who was getting ready to invade France. The French are a chivalrous bunch, so they just threw me into the castle dungeon while they awaited instructions from the Dauphin. Those were the worst two weeks - chivalry or not, the cell crawled with lice!"

Laughing at Amanda's outraged tone, Megan prodded her to continue the story. "So, how did you escape the dungeon?"

"Escape? I didn't. Henry V captured that part of France, so they let me go in a gesture of good will to their new conqueror. It took me two weeks of constant bathing and perfume to get rid of the lice and the reek of that dungeon from my skin and hair. Ugh!"

The two continued to chat until exhaustion claimed them and they fell asleep.

The clang of the "dungeon" door's bolts woke them. There was nothing medieval about the man who rounded the corner. He was clad entirely in black - turtleneck, kangaroo-pocketed pants, and jump boots. Even his cordura shoulder holster was black, as was the Glock 9mm automatic pistol it contained. His dark hair fell across his forward, drawing the eyes to the jagged purple scar that crossed his brow, ran over the bridge of his nose, and down across his cheek, finally disappearing under his sweater. Without the scar, he'd look like Pierce Brosnan Megan thought as he stepped in front of her.

"Who are you? Why have we been brought here?" He ignored Megan's questions. He opened a Velcro pocket on his pants and withdrew a padded case, revealing a syringe when he opened the case. He took the hypodermic and approached Megan. Ignoring her efforts to evade him, he roughly pinned her thigh and injected the cloudy fluid, then stepped back. Megan continued to thrash about and called him vile names, but he just stood there is stolid silence. Soon Megan's movements became feeble and her head fell forward onto her chest. The man stepped forward and pried open Megan's eyes. The fully dilated pupils told him she was completely under. He reached up and unlocked her shackles. He cuffed her hands together behind her back, then hoisted her limp body over his shoulder in one fluid movement.

As he turned to leave, Amanda shouted after him. Her unanswered question echoed off the stone wall. "Who are you?"

Amanda was alone for several hours before the clang of the door bolt announced the arrival of her "keeper". As with Megan, he ignored her completely as he drugged her. Now what? was her fading thought.

Amanda found herself chained to what appeared to be an ancient device known as a rack. A hot charcoal brazier nearby held tongs, pincers, and other metal implements in the coals. All in all, a fair re-creation of a torture chamber The sound of footsteps brought her head around to the right. The keeper, again.

"Can you hear me, Miss Darieux?" the voice echoed off the stone walls like that of Jehovah denouncing sin from on high.

"Of course I can hear you, you dolt! What is all this claptrap?"

"I want to know everything you know about other Immortals. You will tell me. We both know that pain will loosen the most stubborn tongue eventually. You may die in the process, over and over again, but you'll keep coming back. Of course, you may be moved by other means first. Perhaps watching your young friend's suffering will be quicker, so we'll start with that. Please, direct your attention to the video monitor."

"Well, so you admit the twentieth century exists after all. What's with all this theatricality?"

"Ah, my dear, one does like to be comfortable when one works. My happiest hours were spent in rooms like this, able to vent to my delight in causing pain." The voice took on a momentary reminiscing tone. "Did you ever meet my star student, Torquemada?" The voice changed again as he said, "The monitor, if you please." The large screen monitor showed Megan's battered body stretched on another rack.

"Talk to me, Amanda. Start with the Highlander, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"Oh, kiss off. I'm not going to tell you anything, you sadistic pig!"

"I thought that would be your answer. Watch what you made happen."

Megan's scream drew Amanda's attention to the screen. The camera showed every detail of the cruelty done to the young Immortal. Her fingernails were torn off, one by one. Her fingers were crushed, her arms broken. Hot metal skewers were pushed through her breasts. Glowing metal tongs were clamped to her nipples. Megan's screams suddenly cut off as she collapsed from the pain and shock. The monitor went to black.

"Why are you doing this? You know we'll just heal again."

"True, but then we will just start all over again. How many times can young Megan endure before her lovely mind is destroyed and she is left an Immortal vegetable? How long will you last, Amanda?"

At some unseen command, the keeper moved up to the head of the rack and began turning the windlass. Each turn tightened the ropes attached to her wrists. Sweat popped from Amanda's face as her arms were stretched inexorably over her head. She felt the ligaments and muscles begin to tear as her arms were slowly pulled out of joint. Both arms popped audibly and the windlass stopped. Amanda felt fear as the keeper placed an iron boot on her right foot. She began screaming as he tightened the cogs and crushed all the bones in her foot. The pain overwhelmed her and she sank into blessed darkness.

Cool water was dripped on her face, rousing her. Megan slowly opened her eyes. The pain! Oh, God, it hurt so much!

"Don't try to move, Megs. You are not through healing yet."

Megan was horrified by Amanda's appearance. Her shoulders and upper chest were black with livid bruising and both shoulders were extremely swollen. "What did they do to you?" she croaked from her scream-ravaged throat.

"Oh, just tried to tear my arms off. Don't fret, child. I'll be fine in another hour. Now, lie still and bite on this wet cloth. You need the water and you're not fit enough to sit up just yet." Amanda placed the sopping rag against Megan's mouth. She could see the questions in her young protégé's eyes. "Okay, here's what I know. We've been taken by someone truly evil who claims to be an Immortal. I've only heard his voice and listened to his ranting. Remember that guy that came to our cell? He's the only one I have actually seen. I have not sensed another Immortal since we've been here. Now the why is simple. He wants to know everything I know about other Immortals. He will torture us both to death, over and over again, until he gets what he wants. Then he take our heads."

"What can we do, Mandy? I can't take this over and over again. I'd go insane!"

"You and me both, Megs. I don't know what we'll do...yet."

Joe's Blues Bar, Seacover.

Joe Dawson was just washing the last of the dirty glasses when there was a knocking on the bar's main door. "We're closed!" he yelled, but the pounding continued. Mumbling vile oaths, Joe made his way to the door. After seeing who was outside, he quickly unfastened the door and let the visitor inside.

"Thanks for letting me in, Joe." The sultry voice came from Vivian Sanders, Amanda's latest Watcher. "I know this is unusual, but I can't help it."

"Has something happened to Amanda and Megan?" Joe's concern for the two female Immortals echoed his friendship for the Highlander, a relationship the rest of the Watchers pretended did not exist.

"I know this is against the rules, but something has to be done." Vivian looked Joe in the eye as she continued. "Amanda and Megan have been taken during a highly organized raid on MacLeod's cabin by over a dozen mercenaries. I watched the women's unconscious bodies get loaded into airboats and taken away. I tracked the airboats and found someone who had witnessed the transfer to a set of vans. The women were loaded into one and then that one van went south. I traced that van to the airport. A charter plane took off about two. That plane did not go to the published destination. The flight plan was closed out and the plane disappeared."

"Well, I can see why you are concerned."

"I haven't come to the worst part, Joe. Look, can I have a drink?"

Joe poured her the shot of whiskey she wanted and watched as she knocked it back in a single swallow. Something has her really spooked.

"I traced the vans to a holding company in Phoenix. A friend of mine dug into the corporate records and found a name." Joe watched a shudder visibly wracked the woman. "Armed with the name, I dug into the archives. I traced the evil son-of-a-bitch back over 2,000 years. Joe, she's been taken by Velar."

Joe was stunned by this announcement. Perhaps the most evil Immortal to ever walk the planet, Velar was rumored to have been born in Rome. He'd served in the Legions, rising through the ranks until he took part in the desecration of the temple in Jerusalem. He'd disappeared for a long while, only to surface again as the one who trained Torquemada and started the Inquisition. He'd reappeared briefly in London and been known as the Ripper. He'd fomented revolution in Russia as Rasputin, the mad Monk. He'd been rumored here and there for years. Wherever there was terrible suffering, Velar was sure to be close. He'd never shown much interest in the Game or other Immortals, however.

"Do we know where they are?" Joe asked.

"Up in a fortress in the Ozarks. He's surrounded himself with an amoral pack of mercenaries. The locals are terrified."

"They should be. This is evil in its purest form."

"Joe, I know we aren't supposed to interfere, but we can't let this animal have Amanda and Megan. There must be something we can do."

Joe looked at the woman for a long moment, then held her close. "We will. And I know just the people to help us."

Amanda slowly regained consciousness. Stifling a groan and the pain in her midsection, she slowly raised herself up and looked around the cell. Empty. They must be still working on Megan. Why torture her? She's new to the Game and hasn't met many immortals. Amanda laid her head back down and willed herself to heal. We have to get out of here soon before these idiots do something permanent to us, like cut off an arm or a leg or a head!

The clang of the deadbolt warned her of the approach of the Keeper. He was carrying Megan over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He dropped her onto the stone floor without so much as a glance at Amanda. Megan hit the floor hard, her head bouncing off the hard flagstone. Amanda crawled over to her young friend. She wiped away the blood from the various wounds, watching the small flickers of electrical energy that danced at their edges as they healed. The worst of he injuries had closed and healed by the time Megan stirred. First one bloodshot eye opened and then the other. Amanda stroked the young woman's face as she waited for the light of sanity to return to Megan's eyes. It was a very long wait.

A motel room in rural Missouri

One of the key elements in a successful raid is intelligence...knowing all you can about where you are going and being ready for what will come. It had taken several days to gather the needed information about Velar's mountain retreat. Few people had been inside it, and those that had were terrified of the "Madman of the Mountain" who lived there. Still, there are always a few brave souls who can be found to answer questions, especially in exchange for money. Times were hard in the Ozarks and money is still money.

The group gathered around the table studying the floor plan of the Retreat. Joe Dawson had finished marking the patrol patterns used by the guards, along with annotations about the timetable used by the patrols in canvassing their assigned sectors. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I think I need another beer," came the laconic reply from the lean figure sprawled in the chair. "As far as the information goes, I think we're ready. We need to get inside very quietly and quickly. Surprise is the key to success here."

"Methos, you'd better lay off the suds if you want to be any good tonight." Duncan MacLeod shook his head as his friend opened yet another beer. "I don't know how you manage to drink as much beer as you do!"

"Practice. Lots of practice. I've been drinking beer for thousands of years and still managing to fight, MacLeod, so lighten up." Methos plopped back down in his chair, then turned to face the Watcher. "Joe, are we sure about the number of guards? I'd hate to find out there were a lot more than the six we know of."

"Of course we're not sure. The locals can only tell us what they know, but based on the number they have seen and the amount of food they buy, this is a fairly close approximation. We don't have a clue whether there have been any electronic sensors added into the mix after the locals left. My bet is there are; mercenaries tend to think of those kinds of force multipliers."

"Duncan, are you agreed about the rules of engagement here? You agree with the need to strike hard at these guys and not be concerned about breakage?"

"Yes, Methos, I agree. Killing mortals is never done lightly but these Mercs will not hesitate to kill us so it can't be helped. And frankly, if they are willing to work for this monster, they deserve what's coming for them tonight."

"What do you mean, Mac?" Joe asked. "What's coming?"

"Death is coming. We will kill each and every one of them and I will pull that place apart stone by stone until I find Amanda and Megan.

Amanda heard the deadbolt and moved to protect Megan from the Keeper's advance. "Look, she's not recovered yet. Leave her alone!" Glancing at the still and silent figure, the Keeper could see what Amanda meant. The girl was catatonic; completely withdrawn from this world. He therefore turned his attentions on Amanda, grabbing her wrists in an effort to subdue her.

The pair struggled. Amanda broke free from his grasp at one point, but the Keeper lashed out with one hand clouting her on the side of her head with his meaty fist. The blow momentarily stunned her and she staggered back. The Keeper moved in quickly, recapturing Amanda's arms in his.

Megan suddenly exploded into action, driving her heels into the Keeper's groin. As he doubled over, letting Amanda go in the process, Megan vaulted to her feet with practiced ease. She clenched her hands together and brought them up under the guard's chin with all her might. The snap of his vertebra was clearly audible as he slammed back against the wall, slid to the floor, and died.

Amanda looked at her young friend with confusion. Megan laughed and took Amanda's hands in her own. "Hey, did I ever tell you I used to study drama? How hard do you think catatonic is to play? All you have to do is lie there! Come on, Mandy. Let's get out of here."

The pair eased open the cell door and moved quietly down the stone hallway. There only appeared to be one direction to go, and that was upwards. The steep narrow stone steps turned in a tight circle as they led up. At the top of the stairs was another heavy wooden door with a small grated window. A furtive glance through the window showed no one about, so they eased the door open.

A raucous klaxon began to sound. Bells were ringing in the distance. They could hear shouting and the sound of boots pounding down the stone hallways. "Did we set off an alarm or was our cell monitored in ways we didn't suspect?" Megan asked.

"I don't think all this is because of us." Amanda replied. "The noise is going away from us. Come on, let's keep moving. Maybe we can get out of here in the confusion."

As they moved further upward, they could now hear the sound of automatic weapons being fired. The noise grew louder as they neared another landing in the stairs. Amanda could see a guard with his back to the door, firing his machine pistol around a corner. Amanda eased up behind him and smashed both hands down on the junction of his neck and skull. She felt more than heard the crunch of the bones as he slid bonelessly to the floor. As she picked up his weapon, she felt the tingle. Another immortal was approaching. She readied the pistol just in case, but was not expecting Methos to pop around the corner.

"Ah, there you are. Imagine finding you here. I'd rather expected to find you trussed up in some damp cellar."

"Been there, done that." Amanda replied as she hugged the oldest immortal. "It's good to see you. I presume my favorite Boy Scout is around here as well."

"He wouldn't hear of letting me come by myself. He's tracking down all of Velar's henchmen. Seems they have angered the lad some and he's making sure none of them escape."

"Velar? Who's Velar?"

"He's the very evil character behind all this,"

"Oh, that's who's been asking all the questions? I haven't seen him or felt him. In fact, we'd actually only seen the Keeper down in the dungeon and this guard here. Megan took out the Keeper and I handled this fellow." As they talked they followed Methos as he retraced his steps through the Retreat. They reached the main gate without any further trouble, although the bodies along the way were mute testimony to Methos prowess with the sword.

"Amanda!" Duncan's joyful shout echoed in the courtyard as he swept her into his arms. "I was just on my way to find you!"

"We were already on our way out when you showed up, Mac. Megan here surprised the Keeper down below by playing possum, and we'd escaped our cell."

"Has anyone seen any sign of Velar?"

No one had. A thorough search of the compound only turned up the bodies of the mercenaries. It appeared he'd only been there electronically.

"Mac, he was really after information about you."

"Well, then perhaps we will meet one day. When we do, it will be his last," responded Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. "It will be his last."

Email: TheGreyOwl