In an an original story based on Highlander, the series, Josepha Sherman gives readers a story that begins in bronze-age Egypt, under the Hyksos overlords and spans thirty centuries of obsession and madness. For three thousand years Prince Khyan has sought one very special sword, a sword which, he believes, holds the soul of his dead brother who was once a king in Egypt. His search brings him to present-day Manhattan, and back into conflict with Methos, the man he holds responsible for the death of his brother, and the loss of the throne.

For any writer tackling a novel based on a series like Highlander, one inescapable problem exists: How do you make your work interesting to fans of the show while making it accessible to readers who may have no prior knowledge of the universe in which your characters exist? Josepha Sherman balances these concerns nicely, integrating series back story in a fairly seamless manner. The plot itself is fairly straightforward though never simple-minded: Methos, drawn against his will into a struggle between two ways of life, comes to view that struggle as his own thanks, in great part, to the love he comes to feel for a much-abused young slave he meets at the Hyksos court. Because of her he makes some hard decisions, takes action and must face the consequences. It's a feature of this particular universe that the consequences can wait three millennia before coming home to roost, and that very personal sense of history is perhaps one of the most alluring things about Highlander. Sherman's historical detail is excellent, throwing some light on a previously rather shadowy episode in Egyptian history. Admittedly, she does some fudging of dates and events, but that's not really an issue when you're reading a story in which the plot advances so smoothly.

A caveat: This is a Methos story, and despite back and inside front cover blurbs which raise some expectation that MacLeod will be a central figure in the story, he remains very thinly drawn in the few present-day episodes that set up the final conflict between Methos and Khyan. As such, he rarely comes across as much more than a not-particularly-interesting secondary character. Nor does his relationship with Methos register as much more than, as Duncan himself says, "acquaintances." This may prove to be a little disappointing to those readers who enjoy the friendship between the characters as we see them in the series. Fortunately Duncan is the only character to suffer such a fate. Sherman captures much of the essence of Methos' charm in her narrative, from his instinct for survival, to his wry sense of humor. She never falters even as she takes him from his habitual position of enlightened self-interest to a passionate desire for justice and revenge. Her way with secondary characters is equally skilled, particularly with the women; Nebet, Tiaa and the Dowager Queen of Egypt are all well-drawn, interesting characters in their own right. Indeed, Sherman has a way of painting both the external and internal landscapes of a character with a few deft strokes - Tiaa's seductive walk, Nebet's unbound hair as a symbol of her growing trust in and love for Methos - which I find irresistible. The relationships between Methos and Nebet, and Methos and Tiaa serve as nice counterpoints of love and lust respectively, and the restrained love scenes, far from being intrusive, really do serve to advance the plot. Sherman also is deft at capturing the bittersweet quality of any love between Mortal and Immortal. Though his time with her was short even by Mortal standards, Methos' memory of Nebet is private, indelible and colored by regret.

Slightly less deft is Sherman's handling of the physical world. As a reader, I prefer more sensory input: What does this world smell like? Sound like? What are the textures one encounters? Sherman's descriptions rarely go beyond the purely visual, though she does an excellent job of conveying a world once bright, that has gone gray with subjugation and paranoia. Her action scenes, though, are excellent; she can render a battle or a one-on-one encounter so that it makes sense to her readers, and this is no mean feat. A good sense of action can enliven a book, and in the case of The Captive Soul, it becomes central to the narrative by allowing us to participate in a world far removed from our own. Sherman is, in fact, so good with such scenes that a few may be disturbing for sensitive readers; this is, after all, a world removed from our own by more than thirty centuries. While there is very little in the way of loving description of atrocities, much is implied. Sherman also does a nice job of moving back and forth between Egypt and contemporary Manhattan, with a balanced, flowing style, crisp dialogue and an equally crisp sense of humor. The narrative is well paced in the Egyptian sequences, though slightly less so in the contemporary chapters, and the ending is a bit abrupt though not ultimately unsatisfying. ( )