It was yet another snowy day. White flakes poured from the endless gray expanse above outside the party's tent, threatening but not quite managing to put out the meager fire. In front of this fire sat Arlen, alone, thinking. The last two days had been very difficult to bear. The runesmith had, true to his words, fallen ill and developed a fever. As a result they'd been laid up the past two days. The delay made him impatient. He wanted to go on and face down the enemy. But no, the girl was attending to him, and would not come. Grael had decided that it would be better to stick with a wizard, as it was extremely foolish for someone without knowledge of runes to go against one who had it. Even if that wizard was ill and not much use right now. Finally, the boy rose, plodding into the tent. Brandt lay on his makeshift bed, twitching randomly as Karina attended to him. True to the runesmith's word, he had developed a high fever. Arlen sat on the floor of the tent idly. "It's been two days. Shouldn't the fever be at its height?" asked Grael, standing near the flap. He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair. Katria looked down, and pressed the backside of her palm against the runesmith's forehead. She frowned a bit. "Brandt /is/ warmer than he's been yet. But he warned me not to give him the broth too soon. I want to make sure it's at the right time." Arlen nodded. "You never know about these things. The fever could break in an hour, or it could break tomorrow. Or it could never break." Nodding grimly, Grael sat down next to the girl. "Well, let's take a vote. Who here thinks it's the right time to give Brandt the herb mixture?" The warrior raised his hand, and looked around. Uneasily, first Karina and then Arlen raised their hands. Grael nodded. "All right. It's decided then. I'll prepare the water." ----- The North A Tale Of High Adventure And Low Temperature Part Four: Fever Dreams Created by Brian "Schneeble" Stubbs Written by Nick Marquardt ----- Kyril's Forge sat in the middle of nowhere. It had once been a village... ages ago. The bare frames of a few cottages were all that still stood of that past life. But now, it simply lived up to its name-- a forge where the blacksmith, son of the Kyril it was named after, toiled creating simple steelworks... and occasionally things a lot less simple. Seeing it on the map had brought back a dark, distant memory. Yes, Kyril's Forge. Branding runes of the highest quality, made by seasoned artisans. But the memory was just that, as dark and distant as it could possibly be. While the forge had its renown as a place of magic, not many actually knew of it. Runesmiths are eccentric, private folk, and don't often congregate. He thought for a moment. What would he do? Well, he would first see if they'd cooperate. That would be easy enough. And if they didn't? Well, of course they would cooperate. If they didn't they would just need some... encouragement. And so he strode slickly through the clearing, towards the sprawling, ramshackle building in the midst of the ruins, followed by the lumbering beast that used to be a man. Vadesh grinned to himself as small children scattered in fear at the runebeast's approach. Yes, run, he thought. He always liked it when they tried to get away. Always fighting to the end. He hated the ones that just took their demise in defeat. At the cry of the children, four men, their shoulders and arms hardened by years of smithwork, burst from the door, swords drawn and ready. "Who are you?" shouted the eldest, appearing to be their leader. "What is your purpose here?" Vadesh the runesmith held his hand up. "Please, put your weapons down," he said, his lips curling into what was supposed to be grin. "I mean simply to conduct some business here. Now, who is it that runs this forge?" His deep, black eyes glanced from face to face, studying their features. And their fear. Yes, their fear. Fear of the lumbering monstrosity behind the wizard. "Oh, and you don't have to fear that," he said, motioning over his shoulder. "Well, not unless you don't give me what I want, that is." His eyes gleamed maliciously. The one who spoke stepped forward. "I am Cyril, son of Kyril, master of this forge." He lowered his sword, but the three others kept theirs at the ready. "What type of business are you seeking?" he inquired. With a smile, the kind a crocodile makes before swallowing his prey alive, the magician took a step forward. "I wish to have some branding runes constructed," he said, gazing straight in the smith's eyes. Cyril's eyes flashed with fear, and he bolted up, straightening his spine. "What?" he gasped in surprise. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have never made such a thing." At the last minute, the smith glanced off to the side, away from the face of the serpent. "You lie." With a flash, the master smith lay on the ground, immobilized, the wizard's quick movement having released a sealed rune. "Now, unless you, or your apprentices here," he glanced up, grinning like a cat at the three younger men, who were now trembling in their boots, "construct some branding runes, or I will be forced to take some... drastic measures." He pulled a medium-sized knife from inside his cloak. The blacksmith struggled against his magical bonds. "No!" he cried. "I don't know what you are talking about!" The struggling man's eyes grew wider as the runebeast, once a man but driven mad by its constant torment, lurched forward. "Please," he begged. "Spare us. This is but a simple blacksmith shop along the road. We don't do magical work here, never have." The serpent smirked. "Ahh, but you do," he said. Reaching down, he gripped the pommel of the master's sword, hefting it up to inspect it. "Anyone that can create craftsmanship as fine as this can create a branding rune. If only you'd stopped to ask me the question, to clarify what I wanted." He glanced up to the younger men standing about. "It doesn't even require a master. Merely someone who knows how to work with metal and replicate a design perfectly. You," he commanded, looking at a boy who appeared to be 13 or 14 years of age. "You know how to swing a hammer at hot metal, boy?" He stammered, "I uhh, well, yeah..." "Then you're with me. Come," he said, turning around. "And only you. If anyone else tries to follow..." The runebeast groaned for emphasis as it took another step towards the still-shaken line of men. "I think you get the picture." "But... but wait," said the master, standing up and rubbing his wrists as the binding rune wore off. "Will he be returned?" Vadesh smirked. Speaking over his shoulder, he replied, "Oh yes, he will be returned, most definitely. Whether or not he returns unharmed, now, that is all up to him." He turned back forward. "Now come, boy!" ----- Prince Dimitri huddled in the corner of the tent. He didn't huddle out of a wish to huddle, or because he was cold. It was actually quite warm in the tent. He huddled in the corner simply because his feet were tied together, and his hands were tied to his feet. In another corner of the tent, the woman also huddled. Unlike Dimitri, she was simply leashed, rather than tied up. Not that she would go anywhere... all she had done since that... that... sadist had untied her was rock in the corner, whimpering. At least she was conscious. That was a good sign. And for the first time in three days, the runesmith was nowhere near them. Dmitri wasn't sure where "Serpent" had run off to, or what was to become of them, but he heard that monstrosity thumping off behind him as he rode off on whatever journey it was he needed to make. I need to think up some way to get out of here, he thought. But how would he? There was no one around for miles, theoretically. No one would hear him screaming for help. Especially with such thick skins making up the walls of the tent. He couldn't scratch something into the snow. It wouldn't last long enough. Dmitri sighed in despair. There was nothing he could think of off the top of his head. The thump of heavy feet brought him out of his reverie. The runesmith had returned. But... what was this? Another voice? Dmitri listened intently. Yes, indeed. It was another voice. Sounded like a young man. Had Serpent brought someone with him back to camp? That, he realized, could be his means of getting word out. ----- Brandt tossed in his slumber. Katria looked down tensely at the empty note pad before her, tapping it with her fingers. She glanced at the runesmith, watching him go through what must be hell. After all, if those herbs were the type of herbs that she thought they were, the addition of the delirium caused by the fever would probably be a very disturbing experience for all but the most prepared person. She turned her head up, gazed around, and sighed to herself, leaning back, wondering what was going on inside that head of his. ----- A flash of color. Some sparkles. A rush of sound from far away, coming closer... a human heartbeat, racing... a woman cradling a child in her hands, screaming... A voice whispering incoherent, seemingly random words. "... must..." With a swirl, the scene changed. A young man stepped forward... he couldn't be any more than 12. Yes, he was 12. His hair was red. Flaming. He was being handed things. What things? No, he wasn't being handed them, he was handing them to someone. The scene began to move. "... go..." One by one, a line of potatoes was fed into the maw of the mechanical monstrosity, each becoming crushed to paste in its powerful jaws. A man sat boredly at the controls of the machine, watching the vegetables fed through. "... to..." The world exploded, purple clouds all around spewed forth voices in a cacophony of madness, their images congealed together. Tiny imps, their pitchforks raised in salute, paraded about. They danced lewdly, shaking their hips back and forth. "... forge..." The day was clear and sunny. He knew this place. He knew exactly where he was. He opened his mouth, but the moment lost him. He didn't know. But it still seemed familiar. He turned around, and watched the grass... yes, the grass, it wasn't snow. There was so much snow in the North; it was good to see grass. A voice whispered to him, "there's no soul involved." "HIM! ..." A face. A child's face. Swinging out, a red-haired boy and another boy-- a slim boy, looking almost reptilian, his features weathered even as young as he was. They were laughing. Playing. Talking. But something wasn't right here... "... danger..." "But it's only been a short time! They couldn't be far!" "Don't underestimate a wizard. They will always destroy your expectations." "My boy... I hope nothing happens." "... another..." A marionette dancing in a show, strings attached. Only the marionette wasn't a puppet, it was a live man, and he was screaming in agony. The strings attached to his limbs jerked wildly, stretching his joints in ways they were not meant to go. Children laughed in the audience... "... taken..." It was the young boy again. Only he seemed older. Someone was ruffling his hair. A clear voice whispered, "like moving a marionette without using strings." "... fear..." The master at his bench. A runesmith master, making magic work. "See boy, the red and white flashes, see the magic working." A clay doll began to move. "... his name..." The world faded to black silence. A laughing voice. "No, you can't control the soul, only the body. Silly child," "... power..." Three girls sang a song about beer. What was oddest is that the song had various references to beer making them feel like men. "... runes..." It was a different sort of sensation than Brandt had experienced yet. First, he knew who he was. That was quite the change. But he was annoyed. The song. It was an odd tinkling melody. Like from a music box. He hated it and he didn't know why! Where was it coming from? Who was... it was him... he'd seen him before... but who was he.... it was..... it was..... him......! "VAD--" ----- Brandt sat bolt upright in bed, screaming. He looked about for a few moments, but collapsed back on the bed, gasping. He stared about the side fabric of the tent in delerium, and just as slowly as he'd sprung to life, his eyes closed and he seemed to be drifting back to Morpheus. Katria scribbled furiously, taking down the last of the words Brandt spat out. He'd been producing one incoherent word after another. Sometimes he'd spit out a whole phrase at once. But most of the time it was just babble. At least that's what it seemed to be. Maybe Brandt would be able to make some sense of this once he woke up. But as for now, the runesmith now seemed to be sleeping peacefully, albeit drenched in sweat. The girl mopped sweat off the prone wizard's forehead with a washcloth. She was frightened-- anyone would be frightened if they saw a man behaving in that fashion. But she was oddly relieved that the worst was over. "Well? How's he doing?" asked Grael, appearing once again at the door of the tent. Katria looked up. "He's finished," she replied. "I think the fever has broken." Glancing down at the runesmith, she sighed. "I don't know what he expects to get out of this... it's mostly just random words. Some that don't even make sense, like this one... the last word he said. What kind of a word is 'vad'?" The swordsman shrugged. "I don't know. Why did you even write it down?" "Brandt said to write down every sound he made, so I did..." she held up the pad. "See? Even the grunts and groans." Grael just shook his head. "Dinner's ready," he said, turning around to leave the tent. "Hope you like snow hare." ----- Vadesh stood up and looked around as he secured the flap on the boy's tent. It was getting on-- the work would start tomorrow. For now, there would be rest. He strode over to his own, spacious tent and secured everything, listening to make sure no one was around. Then, a quick prick of the thumb, and... "Vadesh," he whispered, and the chest opened. Reaching inside, he produced a small, dingy, shabby-looking box. It was a music box, albeit a primitive one. It wound with a key. The wizard's bony fingers wrapped around the key and turned it, and he closed his eyes as he heard the reassuring click-click-click of the winding mechanism engaging. The box opened with a creak, and the melody issued forth. It was a queer, curious melody, strangely beautiful and ugly at the same time. Vadesh smiled. ----- Author's Notes: Sorry for shortness, but I got writer's block. :P Thanks to Montae, Lirazel, and Anna for prereading!