Robin continued to work his way steadily through the thickset trees. By chance, he had caught a glimpse of smaller flames moving just beyond the ruined structure as though the fire had given birth and its offspring were wandering far from home, and he had taken to the relative shelter of the lush foliage to pursue their erratic course. He couldn't be certain they had anything to do with Dick. In fact, he couldn't even prove Dick was anywhere near.
Still, it was the only game in town.
Reaching for another sturdy limb, he somersaulted out into the night, hot on their trail.
He hadn't realized he had passed out. Now, as he came to, Nightwing's awakening senses told him he was in real trouble. This time he had been bound by an expert, and though his feet were free, it take a little more than sleight of hand to escape the leather thongs that were cutting into his upper arms and circulation. Even so, he strained against them as before his clouded eyes, spectral figures spun in and out of the firelight, their painted bodies blurring in a kaleidoscope of movement.
Abruptly one of the figures separated from the concourse of brightly-hued savages that danced demonically before him. Cloaked and hooded, it appeared as a dark stain upon the vivid canvas of color and light, and in its hand it bore a glistening blade. Blinking back tears, he thought he recognized the form of the one who had accosted him outside of his cell. Still dazed and unable to move, he could only watch helplessly as it drew near, resonating primacy and power.
"The time has come," its voice boomed above the rising wind and the rhythmic chanting, "light the wheel!"
Nightwing turned his head and instantly regretted it. Images coalesced, running together like a tilted water-color, but he fought it, refusing to give in. And this time he won. Soon he was able to distinguish movement, and then more slowly, specific objects. Across the darkly glistening stream, a man carrying a torch drew near a great dun-colored structure that was roughly circular. He watched as the brand was thrust into its center and flames leapt into the night sky. Seconds later, either the energy generated by the fire or some unseen device set it spinning like a whirling dervish.
"Come, Lord Belinus, come!" the one known as the shaman called out as he raised the dagger high, his rich voice caressing his intended victim. "Accept this sacrifice offered in your name that our homeland might be preserved from the wiles of the enemy!"
Nightwing attempted to rise, but found that he couldn't. His senses dulled by the continued administration of drugs, he had failed to note the cord thin as fish-line that lay loosely about his shoulders. Now, as it was drawn tight, he realized they meant to strangle him. Involuntary panic gripped him, but then, just when it seemed he couldn't draw another breath and stars began to explode within his mind's eyes, he felt the cord slacken. The hands that held the rope were trembling. Making an intuitive leap, he managed to rasp, "Robert? Robert, is that you?"
There was no answer, but the thong was no longer cutting into his skin. He could breathe again. Obviously the recalcitrant heir to the Wellesley fortune had been given a chance to redeem himself. The crimefighter whispered desperately, "Cut me loose, Robert. Give me a chance. You don't agree with these men. You don't." He gasped as the garrote tightened once more.
"Shut up! Shut up, Dick! I can't help you. If I do Belinus will know. I'll be-" He hesitated, looking first at his hands which had become instruments of death, and then at the insanity that filled the grotto. Tears fell from his eyes, striking Nightwing's fevered skin.
"Dear LordI'm already damned."
Robin embraced the dark sanctuary of the leaves and stopped just short of entering the clearing. Before him a giant wheel rotated slowly, throwing flames of fire into the ebon sky, it eerie light reflected and magnified by the rain-swollen waters that churned about its base. Wild men cavorted in a fevered frenzy before the wicker structure, and nearby their chosen victim, bound and garroted, awaited the knife. He recognized it as a scene straight out of Julius Caesar's journals.
Or straight out of Hell.
Holding back for fear of making matters worse, he gasped as the man who seemed to be the ringleader shifted so that the flickering light fell across their captive's upturned face and glinted off of a familiar suit of midnight blue and gold. He had been wrong. It wasn't Dick who had been bound and carried, but-
"Nightwing!"
The Batman's former partner was relieved to feel the cord grow slack upon his throat once again and a cold piece of steel press against his bonds. Behind the painted mask sweat ran, but a voice firm and resolute whispered, "When I give the word, you must run for the woods. You'll have to disappear. If you try to fight, they'll overwhelm you. He's shot you with a ritual drug and you can't afford to trust your senses. You have to-"
"Wellesley!" a stentorian voice thundered as an ominous shadow fell across the pair, "Prepare the sacrifice!" The shaman pointed a reddened finger at the quaking aristocrat. "Remember your eternal soul hangs in the balance."
Robert met the hellish eyes that sought to rule him and slowly but deliberately removed his mask. "I've only just realized that," he replied calmly, and then with one last quick movement, he severed Nightwing's bonds. "Now, Dicknow!"
Nightwing braced for it and then sprang, striking the leader in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Robert stepped forward, raising a quivering hand as though in a final blessing. "Run, you fool! Run!"
From his safe haven in the branches above and across from the battlefield, Robin prepared to leap to his friend's aid, certain he could handle the seven or eight frightened adherents who clustered together, baffled by this unexpected change in plans. Before he could though, a single shot rang out, startling him. He checked his downward flight, dark green gloves grasping at leaves before he found a sturdy branch. As he held his breath, he once again turned his attention to the scene below. The man who had held the cord at Nightwing's throat lay motionless, his naked chest stained a brilliant red. Between him and the panting crimefighter the leader paused, his hood and mask pulled aside to reveal an unruly mass of copper-red hair. In his white-knuckled fist he held a smoking museum-piece from the early twentieth century that seemed curiously out of place in the primeval glade.
It was pointed at Nightwing's heart.
"Your end won't be so swift, American. You must be sacrificed so we can live, and must die by the ancient customs to satisfy our god. You already die once tonight," he added enigmatically, "don't rush the second, or the third and final time."
Nightwing closed his eyes and fought for breath. Before looking up at his assailant he had to collect himself. If he was going to survive, he would have to pretend to be disoriented and confused until he was certain he had the upper hand. Dear God, he thought, if only it were a pretense.
As he raised his eyes, a frown creased his dirt-stained forehead. Even in the fading light cast by the scorched remains of the fiery ring, he recognized the man who towered over him.
"Inspector James," he said slowly. It all made sense now: the disregard for his theories, the casual dismissal. "It's been you all along. You brought me hereplanned this. What madness is this?"
The law officer laughed. "I'd love to tell you, American, but Belinus wouldn't allow it. Pick him up," he ordered brusquely, waiting as two of the quaking men moved to do his bidding. They avoided looking at the body of their fallen comrade as they gripped Nightwing's arms and forced him to his feet. "Now, take him to the stream."
Robin stiffened, paralyzed by indecision. He looked at the gun. It was still trained on the crimefighter's heart, and who knew whether the bullet's were Teflon-coated or not. Then he examined his friend's body-language. Something was wrong. If Nightwing had been himself, he would have escaped before this. These guys were obviously amateurs. He had to help, and yet, the Batman would kill him if he- He stopped, choosing his words with better care. No, not kill him, but he would skin him alive. If he survived. Still, what else could he do? NightwingDick would surely die if he didn't move.
He had no choice.
As he prepared to jump, a new source of light suddenly burst upon the scene momentarily causing the neo-pagans to freeze in their tracks like frightened deer. It was accompanied by a steady roar, one which he quickly recognized as the rev of a motorcycle's engine. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, he took flight, aiming for the center of the big man's back. He only prayed Nightwing would guess what he was up to and act accordingly.
The object of his concern was making his own use of the unexpected distraction to break away from his captors, and looked up at the last moment only to find a grim and determined red and green figure flashing out of the shelter of the tenebrous trees. It took him a moment to recognize his sometimes partner, but then, faster than lightning he dropped to the wet ground as the youth's feet struck the shaman and the gun went off. Robin rolled with the impact and regained his footing just in time to see Alfred emerge from the woods astride a dark motorcycle. He marveled momentarily at the man-servant's resourcefulness, but was distracted as the fallen leader grasped at his black boot. One swift kick followed by a powerful punch neutralized that threat. Satisfied with the outcome, he turned to look for Nightwing and was surprised to find that, other than the two fallen disciples, they were alone in the glade. Apparently the others had no stomach for a fight they couldn't win.
He noticed Nightwing was standing under his own power. The crimefighter was moving haltingly toward the man who had been shot, and as he did so, Robin turned to acknowledge Alfred's presence as he entered the glade. He hadn't moved six feet forward when the older man's expression turned from one of elation to pure terror. He gestured frantically and sputtered, "Master Dick!" Robin whirled just in time to see the leader of the cult, bloodied but not beaten, rise to drive a dagger into Nightwing's flesh.
"No!" he screamed, already on the run. But the warning came to late. Powerless to stop the events that were unfolding, he watched as Nightwing jerked spasmodically back from his assailant only to tumble with a faint cry into the swiftly flowing water. Tears welling in his eyes, Robin watched him disappear as an indescribable rage boiled up within him. He moved swiftly to take out the self-proclaimed shaman, bloody dagger and all. James pivoted suddenly, his twisted visage triumphant.
"It is completed now as was commanded! Death by firedeath by the swordand final death by drowning. I have done as you wished. Come now, Lord Belinus, come. Favor your servant with your presence. Come!"
Robin's fists balled in anger and he took a step toward the fanatic, but at that moment a forbidding figure arose from out of the ash and smoke near the great wheel, and a voice cold as the grave issued from a throat not quite human. "Sebastian James," it rasped, "I have come. Kneel before me." The voice was resonant though soft as the whisper of dry skin on stone. Even so it echoed across the ebon swells. "Kneel I say!" Paralyzed by the unexpected sight Robin stood riveted to the spot as the dark shape floated across the water, stopping when it reached the sandy shore. Its approach was swift and silent, like the Angel of Death passing among the firstborn of Egypt.
James prostrated himself before the dark form, enraptured. Moments later, when he dared raise his head, he asked, "Mighty One. Have you come to reward me?"
There was a pause, pregnant as a summer sky before a storm. "I have come to see you get what you deserve."
Robin's masked eyes widened as the familiar tone registered upon his stunned senses and a black-clad toe shot out of the darkness to clip the man roundly on the chin. James' head fell without a sound. The tall figure shoved again with the ball of its foot, and then satisfied he was unconscious, reached up to remove he hood it had 'borrowed' from a witless sentry who now lay firmly bound somewhere in the woods where the local police could find him the next day. Robin breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the familiar cape and cowl, though the minute he did, a tsunami-sized wave of grief and guilt washed over him. Suddenly his knees became like water and he began to tremble like the thirteen year old boy he was.
Batman signaled Alfred forward and across the waters and then turned to his young partner. Stiffly, he placed an arm about the youth's shoulders, steadying him.
"Tim-"
"B..Bruce," he confessed horrified, his face buried in his hands, "I failed you. Nightwing'sdead. I couldn't save himI tried, but."
The Batman winced, hearing an echo of his own pain. Only an echo, and yet still too much for a child to have to bear. "Tim," he said quietly, "Tim, look at me."
His young comrade raised his head to meet his mentor's eyes, tears clouding his own.
"Dick isn't dead."
Robin's gloved hand shot out, gripping the older man's. "What! But I saw him fall, saw him go under. What do you mean, not dead?" As the words formed, dark shapes shifted behind them, slipping free of the shadowed night. Tim looked to find the silvery moonlight first touch Alfred's sober face and then illuminate his companion. The younger man was pale as paste but obviously very much alive, and slowly but surely the pair were making their way across the stream utilizing the same shallow passage the Batman had moments before. The jubilant youth pulled free to run to his friend's side. As they embraced the Batman waited, his rugged face sober beneath the mask, and only when Alfred signaled that all was well, did he allow his tense muscles to register the same sense of relief the boy so openly and easily expressed. Perhaps the gods -or at least one God- had been in this dark grotto this night. There had been no time to spare. If Tim hadn't- He closed his eyes and allowed himself one second of sheer panic. Then he was in control again. Releasing a breath he hadn't known he held, he moved to join them.
"Thank God, you're all right!", Tim said as he drew back from his friend, "I thought I saw-" He stopped short, mortified as he suddenly became aware of the blood that clung to the red breast of his costume. He looked at Nightwing and saw dark liquid seeping through the costumed hero's fingers where he held them closely pressed against his side. He was breathing with some difficulty and obviously in pain. "Dick, you're hurt!"
Nightwing smiled weakly as he freed himself from the batrope that had snatched him from the riverbank. "Just a flesh wound. I'll be okay." He looked sheepish and then shifted his gaze to the figure that hovered silently behind his successor. "Batman, I-"
The Dark Knight held his hand up for silence. "No words are necessary. That's what partners are for. If I hadn't come, you would have found a way clear..." Stepping forward he lay a hand on his protégé's shoulder and then placed its' match on Robin's. "Apparently you cast a strong shadow of your own, Dick. Strong enough to make this young man disobey a direct order." He released Nightwing and turned to face his current partner, "Tim-"
The boy stiffened. Here it comes, he thought. "Batman, I'm sorry. I just couldn't-"
Alfred cleared his throat and spoke from where he stood cleansing the gash in Nightwing's side. "Sir, I am as much to blame as Master Timothy. I could have stopped him. It was just that he had such a strong feeling that Master Dick was in danger. Deadly danger." He paused and looked at his old friend, "Some assistance was required after all."
Tim's eyes lit with what he thought was sudden understanding. "You mean you called Batman?" He turned to Bruce wide-eyed. "That's why you're here? But how did you-"
"No, Tim," the Batman held up a gloved hand for silence, "Alfred didn't call me. My presence here is simply." He glanced at the recumbent fanatic and took a deep breath. "Well, perhaps it was fate."
He had arrived shortly before Robin had made his desperate bid, and had run into Alfred struggling valiantly through the closely packed trees and pelting rain in pursuit of his headstrong charge. Already aware of Nightwing's plight but uncertain of the remedy until that very moment, he had handed his own method of transportation to the weary Englishman and then sent him ahead to create a diversion. If it hadn't been for the gun, everything would have gone smoothly. The gun had surprised him. It didn't fit in with James' obsession with all things ancient and Celtic. The man was even crazier than he had thought.
And so he had been forced to watch, powerless, as a gun was leveled at another he had dared to love. Dark images had clouded his mind's eye, and momentarily the scene shifted until once again his dead parents walked the leaf-covered pavement of Crime Alley. Only this time, when the shots sounded it was Dick's riddled corpse that lay cold and stiff beneath the street lamp as a small boy, spattered in his blood, knelt and screamed with the sick realization that nothing would ever be the same.
And then Robin had swung from the darkness like a winged avenger, his youthful recklessness galvanizing him into action.
He would not hold another boy's battered and bloody corpse in his arms.
Never again.
"Bruce?"
He started, aware that Dick was speaking to him. Dick, alive and whole and staring at him with concern in his dark blue eyes as Alfred worked to bandage the younger man's side. Immediately, he assumed the mask of the dispassionate Dark Knight once again, setting aside the pain and the endless possibilities as he had every day since he had buried Jason Todd.
His former partner sensed a familiar mood but pretended not to notice. Instead he asked, "So, what did bring you here, Bruce, if it wasn't me? A sudden interest in Celtic memorabilia?" Nightwing fingered the tip of the ancient weapon used to wound him. He was almost certain it was the one he had intended to purchase for Bruce's collection. Perhaps now it would end up in the Batman's trophy room instead. "You wouldn't believe-" He stopped short, growing pale and sucking in air. His eyes teared.
Alfred murmured a brief apology and promptly loosened the dressing.
"Thanks, Alfred."
"We should get you to a hotel and let you get some rest" the Batman began. But the Nightwing shook his dark head.
"Not until you tell me what brought you here." He grinned as Alfred frowned. "Then I promise I'll go quietly. I'll even let you drive me." He turned to the Batman and finished, "Tim told me you weren't with him. Why are you here?"
His mentor met his eyes. He seemed almost embarrassed. "It had nothing to do with rescuing you, and everything to do with your case."
Nightwing shifted uncomfortably. It was his turn to frown as Alfred opened his ever-present medical kit and injected a strong anti-biotic into his bloodstream. "My case?"
"There werespecificsabout the robbery in London that connected with something I've been exploring on my own for some time now."
"And that is?" Nightwing waited.
"Zealots. I'm afraid England has its' own brand of paramilitary organizations like the militias back in the States. They believe their country and their way of life is threatened and one the brink of destruction, and they concoct all kinds of wild conspiracy theories to support those beliefs. This particular group happens to blame us -America- for all England's woes. They disagree with our cooperation with their government and mean to end it anyway they can. This," he indicated the grotto, the smoldering wicker wheel and the prone madmen, "was their prayer before the Holy War." His voice was harsh, his visage stern. "I was hoping to take this group out before they got started." He caught Nightwing's eye and his smile was grim. "Guess I was a little late."
"But why here?" Nightwing knew the admission had come from the heart and he was touched, though he would never admit it. "Why in England? And how is it linked to my case- that was in Gotham." As he spoke, he moved to lean against one of the grotto's ancient trees as Alfred's medicine kicked in. Combined with the adherent's drugs, it was making his head swim. I was investigating the theft of artifacts, not misguided jingoism"
The Batman hesitated and then answered slowly. "Let's just say an old friend asked me to step in." An almost invisible shake of his head silenced Alfred where he stood silently at the younger man's side. "And the items stolen weren't only old and valuable, they were ritual pieces -I'm sure you were aware of that. They're of the kind used in Pagan ceremonies like this abortive one, to spill holy blood to ward off evil. I knew tonight was special and that they would gather somewhere near Wellesley's estate to perform their beastly ritual. When I first came to England I learned their intended victim was to be an American. One of some power and position. If I had had any idea who their sacrificial lamb was to be-" He moved to place a hand on his former partner's shoulder and sighed. "I would have been here sooner."
Nightwing nodded, meeting his eyes. There was no need for further words.
After a moment Alfred sensed, as he always did, that intervention was called for. He did not need another soul to bandage tonight. "But Master Bruce," he protested as if on command, "how could you have known it would be Wellesley, and why choose Master Richard?"
Batman, sensing Alfred's purpose, drew his hand back and crossed it over the other gloved one. "The answer to both questions lies with Wellesley's connections with the conservative party and the Prime Minister. Robert's father is highly influential. Also Robert was closely associated with a certain Inspector James who is heavily involved in the Militia movement. My informant knows Wellesley's father. Also, the Hall provided them with just the sort of secluded spot necessary for their dirty work."
"But why me?" Nightwing asked softly, his voice growing fuzzy. "You still haven't said why. Robert did mention something about my being a 'warrior prince' or some other such nonsense."
"Tonight is Beltaine, May first. On this night of nights, in times of greatest need, a unique sacrifice is offered." He hesitated, his thin lips curling in an acid smile. "I suppose, you should feel honored."
Nightwing snorted. "Right."
"The irony was James had chosen you, Nightwing, as heir to the great Batman, a warrior beyond compare, while Wellesley had picked-" "Dick Grayson, as heir to the power and prestige of Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises World-wide." He whistled, "Talk about double jeopardy."
Silence fell between them as they contemplated a tragedy narrowly averted, and in the interim, the Batman's thoughts returned to his young partner who had fallen silent, and stood nearby with his dark head down, pale eyes focused on the trampled grass beneath his feet.
"And as for you, young man."
Tim gulped. He wasn't shaking anymore, but he doubted his color was any better than Nightwing's. "Batman, I know there's no excuse. I-"
A dark-gloved hand called him to silence, and he immediately obeyed. "You disregarded my orders and that's not good. But-", he added at the youth's crestfallen look, "you do it infrequently and then only after careful consideration and great thought. Nightwing would most likely be dead now if you hadn't been able to think for yourself, weigh the risks and then take action." He hesitated staring from one dark head to the other and then finished, "There seems to be a 'connection' between you two. One I can't begin to comprehend-"
"Like two halves of the same soul," Alfred added with the insight of a poet.
Tim stared at the Batman as he held out his hand. After a moment the youth grasped it firmly. "Well done, young man."
Robin smiled brilliantly.
"Just don't do it too often."
Before Tim could think of a reply, Nightwing sprang to his feet and shouted, "Batman! Tim! Behind you!"
The Dark Knight turned to see the Cult leader rising again as though even Morpheus could not hold him. James struggled to his feet and finding a short sword one of his adherents had abandoned in the headlong flight, launched himself with murderous intent toward Tim's slight form. Instantly, the Batman moved between them, but as he raised his arm to ward off the blow, a single shot rang out, echoing across the silent glen. Sebastian James fell before he had time to cry out, a bullet through the brain.
Near the bole of a great wizened tree, Robert Wellesley dropped to his knees and then with an agonized moan, pitched forward onto the ground. The gun fell from his limp fingers to settle like a snake in the wet grass. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Nightwing alone moved toward the still form. He knelt beside the bloody figure and then, as gently as possible, rolled the dying man over so he could see his face. Wellesley's hand moved and he clasped the bloody fingers and held them tight. Looking into a face once filled with torment, he knew the aristocrat had found peace at last.
"Robert."
The heir to Wellesley Hall drew a breath to assure him, "Your secret is safe, Dick. No one else knows. I'm-" He coughed and red liquid spilled down his pale chin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. When I chose you, I thought it was to be symbolicthe kidnapping of a wealthy man's heir. I never." He paused and then sighed again, the breath rattling in his chest, "No, that's a lie. I may have fooled myself, but I knewI knew. I guess I was just looking for something to give my life purpose. I thought it was Belinus." His voice trailed away and he grew very white and still. Then, suddenly his eyes blazed, bright and surprisingly clear. "I'm glad it was saving you."
A moment later he died.
Nightwing released the cold hand and crossed it along with its bone-white mate upon the man's bloody chest, then he rose and walked away. There was no denying the power that resonated in the air, filling the ancient grotto as it had eons before. It was satisfied. The blood of a prince had been spilt.
He shuddered, all too aware that it had almost been his.
The Batman approached him, his new partner at his side. Nightwing met his sober look and read his thoughts.
"I hear you, partner. Let's go home."
The Batman nodded and moments later the blood-soaked grotto resounded with its loss.
The End