Disclaimer: Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar.

This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie.

Sword and Sorcery

1. Different Kinds

New York, Autumn, 1984

Early afternoon sunlight gilded the row of three story buildings along Hudson street, most of them shops catering to tourists and residents of the nearby Greenwich Village. Balthazar Blake paused, wary and brooding, outside on building to study the lettering on the window that read 'Nash antiques'.

When he entered, a woman roughly in her forties with wavy blonde hair and a neat suit glanced up from the front desk. She rose and approached him with a polite smile, but her eyes were wary. "Can I help you, sir?"

Balthazar had no illusions about how out of place he looked here, with his long wavy hair, battered leather coat and slouch hat. On his hands a collection of rings glittered, the light catching on a large yellow stone set in one, but despite the ornate jewelry, his appearance was otherwise scruffy. He took off his hat and regarded her with deep blue eyes, and smiled politely, but there was no real joy in it. "I'm looking for a specific piece. I heard you acquired it from an estate sale a couple of months ago…"

The woman's eyes were a paler grey-blue, and intelligent, even subtly knowing. One eyebrow rose. "Can you describe it?"

He tilted his head slightly, wondering over the knowing part of her expression. "A ring. Very heavy, very ornate. Set with a white stone, off-center, sort of a zoomorphic motif?"

She looked thoughtful, drifting over to a large jewelry case nearby, but it contained nothing even close to matching his description. "I'll have to consult Mr. Nash…"

"I'd appreciate that," He nodded. "I'll wait."

"Thank you, may I say who is interested in the piece?"

"Blake. Balthazar Blake." He gave her a slightly archaic bow.

"Yes sir, I'll just call up…" She retreated to an office with a window, where she could watch him while she used the phone, or possibly an intercom. While he waited, he glanced around, but showed little interest in anything else there in the store. Balthazar could not hear whatever was said, through the glass, but after a moment the woman returned with that same polite smile. "Mr. Nash will be down momentarily."

"Thank you."

"We have several other items from the same estate sale…" She tried to draw him gently over to another jewelry case, almost transparently to keep him busy. Blake inspected the jewelry in a detached manner, being not much of an expert in anything non-magical, but finding it all pretty. A pair of earrings seemed to catch his eye, but he did not bother asking to see them.

A few moments later the elevator door beside the office slid open quietly, and a man in a suit stepped out warily. The suit was expensive, but he looked out of place in it, scruffy and in need of a shave, moving into the room with the dangerous grace of an animal. The gaze that took in the tableau was intense and almost predatory.

Blake turned when Nash emerged, and his gaze narrowed, sizing the man up. After a moment, he gave a slow, sober nod, unsmiling but also non-threatening.

The nod was returned, but Nash stopped a good six feet away. "Is there some reason you're interested in this particular item?" In a single sentence the man's accent ranged across half a dozen countries, most of them European. His voice held a slightly raspy quality.

The woman turned to glance at her employer, expression questioning, and Mr. Nash's gaze shifted to hers briefly, then he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Balthazar folded his arms and leaned against the nearest counter lightly. "I'm a collector." With a gesture of his hand he flashed his own rings. "Have you had many inquiries about it?"

"No…" He tilted his head, studying Balthazar. "Should I have? There were more valuable pieces…"

"I'm just wondering why you don't have it on display."

Nash gave a mild smirk. "All antique dealers are collectors. I thought I might keep it for myself… at least for a while."

Balthazar chuckled softly and rubbed his chin. "So you're not selling?" This would be tricky, then.

"I wasn't planning to, but I'm curious how you heard of the ring. Did anyone send you?" He continued to study Balthazar with stormy eyes.

"I was… an acquaintance of the previous owner. For about a decade. He was quite a scholar. Shame about the accident."

One eyebrow rose. "While we're talking about it, we'd better make sure it's the same ring you're thinking of." Nash kept his eyes on Balthazar, barely turning his head. "Rachel, can you go fetch it from upstairs?"

She nodded and brushed against him gently as she went past. Mr. Nash didn't seem to mind.

Balthazar watched Rachel go mildly, then looked back to Nash. "Been here long?" His tone could have meant the store itself, but deliberately hinted at more.

Nash smiled, dropped his gaze, and glanced around the shop. "This business? Nash Antiques has only been here about ten years…" His gaze swung back to Balthazar, subtly challenging, although he continued to smile. "I inherited the building from my grandfather."

Blake found himself mildly amused. "I have a place close by, but it's more of a storage room than a shop."

"You must collect more than jewelry…" The expression of curiosity made Nash look younger, although his eyes carried age.

"A little of this and that. Books, trinkets, pottery. Sometimes old toys." Dolls were used frequently in magic.

"Why do you collect what you do?" It was a pointed question.

"Some things need to be guarded. Others just need to be remembered." He looked back into the nearby jewelry case idly. "Those earrings, for example… new materials, old design. Very old." 'New' was a bit of a stretch, when they were roughly a century old.

Mr. Nash was quiet for a long moment, studying the earrings from a distance, then he spoke more slowly. "Antiques became antiques because people passed them down, as tangible memories… now they get sold because they're inconvenient to inherit, and bought because that's trendy."

"Mm." Blake rubbed the yellow stone on his magic ring thoughtfully. "Sometimes these things hold the ghosts of the people who owned them."

"…You think?" Nash frowned mildly, then turned as Rachel slid back the elevator grating. She hesitated just a moment, on the threshold, as if checking to make sure they weren't fighting before stepping fully into the room.

"The girl who owned those earrings-" Blake began, but trailed off as Rachel entered, looking politely expectant.

Nash's head turned slowly back to him, gaze questioning again. "…What about her?"

Rachel, halfway across the floor, paused at her employer's wary tone of voice. In her hands she held a small velvet jewelry box, and to Blake's magical senses the ring within pulsed with dormant power.

Distracted by the energy from the tiny box, he answered absently, "She played the piano at parties. Sang like a bird. And her name was Verity." Balthazar smiled wryly.

Nash was studying him anew, with a gaze that seemed like it ought to burn holes in him.

"…Who?" Rachel asked, a little confused, and she came to stop by Nash's elbow. The body language between them seemed to say much more than employee and boss. She, too, studied Balthazar, but her gaze was softer. "…Someone you knew?"

Balthazar looked them both over. "His older sister. The man who owned all this. She died of Scarlet fever when she was nineteen, but he kept them, obviously. Because they carried an echo of her." He shook his head thoughtfully, and politely held out a hand for the ring box. "Sweet, but this is volatile."

"Volatile how?" Nash held out his hand, too, and his assistant passed him the box instead. Then she moved away quietly to the front door, as if sensing that whatever was going on did not need interruptions.

Balthazar sighed. "The less you know, the better. The man this belonged to was murdered." The coroner's official report had claimed snake bite, but Balthazar knew details the police did not.

"That… sounds more plausible than what they told me." Nash opened the box to glance at the ring, then held it out facing Balthazar with the look of a man waiting for a trap to spring. "I own it now, so what happens to me?"

"Sell it to me, and walk away from it." Balthazar advised, eyeing the ring but making no move to take it. "There will be other interested parties, and they won't be as accommodating."

Nash's gaze flickered briefly to Rachel by the door. It was a telling look; it was her safety he was thinking of rather than his own. "You're buying it for these other parties, or keeping it for… your own collection?" There was a hint of resignation in his tone, now.

Balthazar frowned. "I work for myself, right now."

The other man gave a slow nod and stepped closer, putting the ring within Balthazar's easy reach. "I'd like to see your collection sometime."

He smiled faintly and produced a business card. "I'm open Monday through Thursday, ten to five." In truth he kept the store open only when he felt like it, but it was easier to catch him during those hours.

Nash nodded, and gave the card a glance before he put it away, then fell into the basic practicalities of the sale. He seemed willing to accept the first offer, although Balthazar was careful to make it reasonable. He was not overly wealthy, but this he could afford. In the background Rachel seemed to relax and returned to her desk, subtly watching the men. Balthazar was friendlier and polite, relieved not to have to fight or steal to get the ring. As he headed for the door he paused. "You have my card, call me if there's trouble."

Nash nodded soberly, while Rachel looked between them with concern. It seemed a safe bet that she'd be asking questions once he was gone.

It was nearly a week later that Mr. Nash showed up at his door, wearing a long tan trenchcoat over dress shirt and slacks. The man stood back and studied the building before coming to peer in the door, and trying the handle. Finding it unlocked, he entered and wandered through the dusty, eccentric collection of things crammed into the shop. After a moment a katana caught his eye and he drifted toward it, scowling, and lifted it gently off the display stand.

Hearing the entrance, Blake popped up from behind a mannequin where he'd been rearranging. "I thought I told you-" The words died in his throat as his visitor whirled with the sword in hand, sliding into a defensive kata pose as if by instinct. He managed to maintain a calm expression, but felt his eyebrows rise. "Oh. It's you. Careful, that's sharp. Here for something in particular?"

Mr. Nash actually looked sheepish, lowering the blade. "Very. Even now." He put it back on the stand with evident care and respect. "You invited me. I was curious." One finger lingered to stroke the design of the carved bone handle. Whether or not he recognized it as the work of the sorcerer Nakano was hard to say.

Balthazar studied him. "Characteristic of the artist's work. No rust, no dullness. Ever."

"A master of skills before his time…" There was a definite wistfulness to the tone.

"You knew him?' Balthazar gave up beating around the bush.

Nash turned back and studied him a moment, with that wary, animal gaze. "I saw his death…"

Nodding, he leaned on the counter. "Never met him, but he was pretty remarkable by all accounts."

"That's an understatement." His visitor gave a mild smirk, but his eyes were heavy with age and sorrow.

"In the end, we're all pretty fragile." Balthazar looked away, thinking of another great sorcerer besides Nakano. "Even the greatest of us."

Nash shrugged, tone shifting out of reverie abruptly. "You could have spoken freely in front of her. She knows."

"It's never a good idea to get people involved in my affairs." Balthazar sighed. "You or her."

"Maybe not. You're not my kind, so what are you?" There was something a little bit youthful about the intense curiosity. The man's age was very hard to guess.

"I'm cursed." Baltthazar let out irritably. Nash was a complication, but one he was finding it hard to dismiss. "…I'm going to get some coffee. Want some coffee?"

"Isn't everybody? All right…" The man's expression showed both mild amusement and frustration over the vague answer.

Balthazar gestured him into the back of the shop, mentally giving in. "What do you know about magic?"

One eyebrow rose, but he followed. "You mean the kind Nakano practiced?"

"Nakano's magic was… an interesting fusion of East and West. I suspect only he and some of his students practiced that particular kind."

"But you don't mean just immortality." Nash picked his way carefully around the crowding artifacts, adding, "He didn't teach me much of that. I wasn't his student for very long."

"How old are you?" Balthazar glanced back at him, thinking that he seemed to prefer the direct approach.

Nash looked uneasy, returning his gaze. "Less than five hundred. I was his last student…"

He nodded, "Over a thousand, but the rules aren't the same for me." Balthazar moved toward the coffee machine on a counter along the back wall. There was less clutter in this area, at least, as he used this space more. "I first met an immortal in… 1117, I think."

"No… Rachel was afraid you were a headhunter." His guest leaned against an open space along the wall, watching. "My name is Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."

"Definitely not interested." He smiled faintly and poured coffee into a couple of Styrofoam cups. "I gave you my real name before."

"I can't use one name too long… but you have a way of escaping notice, don't you. I must have walked past this shop a hundred times."

"It generally only attracts the attention of other practitioners of the art."

"I'm not a sorcerer." Connor's gaze drifted over the items in the back room.

Balthazar nodded. "It's not as glamorous as it sounds."

Connor gave a raspy chuckle. "Neither is immortality."

He gave his guest a haggard smile and at on a stool by the counter, gesturing to another. "So what do you really want to know? It'll all sound a little bizarre, I warn you."

"I wanted to know what you are… and what the ring is." Connor undid his coat and extracted another katana in its scabbard, propping it against the stool before he sat. It was not Nakano's work, but clearly made by a master swordsmith all the same.

"I see you came prepared." Balthazar eyed the sword.

"I wasn't sure what I was walking into."

"I'm not much for swordfighting." He sipped his coffee. "It's beautiful, though."

"Maybe you should count yourself lucky. Yes, it is."

Balthazar smiled humorlessly. "…The ring is a focus and gathering point for magical energy. Most wizards have one. There are other methods, but… tradition." He shrugged. "The ring I bought from you belonged to a student of my student. It has some unique characteristics. He was a talented man."

"I didn't know him." Connor sighed. "Buying from Estate sales is just part of the business."

"I know. I'm not seriously into the business right now, but I've been there. Anyway, I have reason to believe his murderer will come after the ring."

"You already know what to expect from them?" Connor's face showed wary concern.

"I don't know them personally, but I know their kind. Don't bother to keep me a secret if someone comes asking about it."

Connor nodded. "I'll warn you if that happens."

"Thank you; worry more about taking care of your own."

"Do you think they'd put Rachel in any danger?" Connor's voice was calm, but he tensed as though ready to leap to his feet and run to her rescue.

Balthazar frowned and answered with slow care, "It's bad policy to openly kill civilians. Attracts attention. But there are ways to get around that…"

Connor rested his cup on one leg with a frown, still quietly alarmed. "Maybe I should be there…"

He hesitated, then asked with as much delicacy as he could manage, "Rachel. She's… a friend?" They didn't seem quite like lovers, but Balthazar knew he was no expert on personal relationships.

Connor smiled weakly. "She's my daughter. Adopted. I found her the only survivor in a town the Germans had taken…"

The comment triggered distant memories, and after a moment he had to pull himself to focus on the present, giving a nod. "You want wards for your place?"

Connor's expression registered mild surprise. "…I don't know how that works."

"It would take too long to explain, but I can make a couple different kinds. They're mostly a magical alarm system, but they'll negate certain kinds of spells within their boundaries."

"I'd appreciate that, for her sake, and I can pay."

"That's not necessary." Balthazar nodded soberly. "It's good you have something to lose."

Connor winced and took a gulp of coffee.

He knew it was a harsh thing to say, but he meant it. After a moment he set his cup aside and went toward the back wall, dusting cobwebs off the bricks with his hands. Behind him he could hear Connor shifting, restless. Under his touch the bricks rumbled and shifted, opening a space in the wall. Within sat books, several wooden boxes, and a staff of ash wood. He selected a book and pulled out the staff, then backed out and let the walls close again. When he turned around he found Connor leaning forward, watching with quiet fascination. The expression amused him, and he explained simply, "Better than a wall safe."

"And easier to get to than a safe deposit box." Connor returned his smile.

"That, too. I'll have to be in your building to set the wards. Did you want to go there now?" He twirled the staff.

"If that's okay with you." Connor was quick to set his coffee aside and retrieve his katana.

"Did you drive? I guess you're close enough to walk."

"It didn't seem worth getting the car out for." The immortal tucked the sword away and tied up his coat.

"No problem, I could use the exercise." Balthazar put on his hat, not caring how conspicuous he might look for the few blocks between their shops.

Connor looked him up and down once and smirked, but said nothing, leading the way out. They walked more than a block before he seemed unable to restrain his comment. "You don't move with the times much, do you?"

"What?" Balthazar blinked, uncertain what he meant, or if he should be offended.

"Nevermind." Connor lapsed back into silence, but smirked the whole way back to the antique store.