Stumbling, Grael and Brandt entered the hut adjunct to Kyril's Forge.  
Grael, the more burdened not simply because of his physical strength, 
carried the limp girl over one shoulder, supporting the drained 
prince with his other arm, while Brandt shambled inside, the 
unconscious form of his son in his arms and a dead light banked in 
his eyes.

Upon seeing them, Nakita sprang to her feet and rushed to close the 
door behind them.  "The girl and boy are in the other room, by the 
fire." She hesitated, glancing at the limp form in his father's arms.  
"Is...is he all right?"

As if he had not heard her, and perhaps he had not, Brandt slowly 
carried his son over to a bench and laid him down gently, then 
knelt beside him, resting his face in his palms in silent anguish.

Nakita stared at him, dismayed.  "Oh, no..."

Grael cleared his throat.  "Is the boy all right?  Did she get him 
back in time?"

"Yes...well, yes," the instructor stammered, tearing her eyes 
away from the mournful tableau.  "He was a little shocky, but 
he recovered quickly.  It was all I could do to keep them from 
coming after you, but the boy had barely woken up when he 
started demanding to leave, and Brandt's new apprentice was 
no better."  She eyed the pair of newcomers the sergeant had 
carried in.  "And these two?  Are they-"

"The prince and his girl, yes," Grael cleared his throat.  "It 
might not be wise for you to let that become known, though."

Nakita grunted sourly, miffed at the implication that she was 
anything less than discreet.  "Bring them in there with the others."

Grael nodded and went into the other room as Nakita knelt down 
beside Brandt, swiftly speaking to him in words softly inaudible.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The North 
A Tale of High Adventure 
And Low Temperatures 

Part 6: Winter's Tears

Created by Schneeble (Brian Stubbs) 
Written by "Lafing Cat" (Honest!)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Vadesh sat back, bruised but otherwise unharmed, and surveyed 
the pile of possessions he had managed to salvage.  Ordinarily, 
the runesmith did not take defeat easily, especially not on so 
many levels--his last monster gone after undergoing some 
extreme irregularities, the hostages gone, even Christov.

In this case, however, he could not help but let out a slow, evil 
cackle.  "Brandt...Brandt, of all people!  Himself, and so soon!  
How utterly perfect..."  

He turned to the pile of what he had managed to salvage, and 
drew out a thin, dried strip of skin and a sharp pen.  Pricking 
himself with practiced ease, he scribbled out a few characters 
in blood onto the skin, chuckling to himself every now and then
as he did so.

"Blood calls to blood, skin to skin.  The ties of the body last 
so long as the soul; the ashes were once trees, the clay 
remembers."  An old Yeznati saw about the eternal cycle of 
things, he dimly recalled.  No matter the source, however, 
nor the intent.  It fit, and that was all that mattered.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Katria sprang to her feet the moment Grael entered, her face 
growing pale and tensing even more at the sight of the people 
he carried.  Wordlessly, her eyes fixed upon the face of the 
prince, she pointed at the two small cots on one side of the 
small room, on one side of the flickering fire.  Arlen also 
watched silently, exhaustion stamped on his frame though 
his pose was alert.

The sergeant of Sala laid the unconscious girl on one pallet 
and Dmitri, barely awake himself, on the other, and then sat in 
front of the fire, warming himself.

The silence stretched on, each person lost in their own 
personal reflections.

"Would you like some tea?"

Grael started, looking up at the black-haired girl.  "What?"

"I said, would you like some tea?  It's still hot," Katria responded, 
her tone polite but her attention focused on the corner of the room.  
Although her gaze had been on him from the moment Grael had 
entered, he had yet to focus on her.  At the sergeant's affirmative 
answer, she somewhat mechanically poured the steaming drink 
into a large mug and handed it to him.

As if her action had spurred his own, Arlen poured himself out of 
his chair and crouched by the girl's side, checking her battered 
body for the extent of her injuries.

Arlen and Grael may have mistaken her intense attention upon 
Dmitri for love, but right now Katria felt nothing more than a sort 
of focused curiosity.  Ever since she had left with the runesmith, 
swearing to rescue the prince, she had looked forward to this 
moment.  Now that he was here, however, she wasn't quite sure what 
to do.  After the harsh journey she had undertaken, everything seemed 
to fade away, leaving a dull shell of aching muscles and deep-set cold, 
so long a part of her that she hardly felt it anymore.  The petty anger 
she had felt when she had learned of Dmitri's other girl-

Reminded, she shifted her focus to the girl Arlen was attending to.  
Brown hair that still held the vestiges of an elaborate style tumbled 
around her shoulders, and even bruised and beaten her body still had 
a sort of curvaceous grace.  It was plain to see what had attracted 
Dmitri to her, Katria thought, and gave a bitter mental sigh.

Having finished his initial survey of her wounds, Arlen sat back, 
rocking on his heels.  He didn't know whether it had been the prince 
or the man who had kidnapped them, but whichever one had mistreated 
the girl would pay dearly.  Although violence was not unheard of in 
his mother's business, Zivanra had always been sure to place strict 
restrictions on her customers to prevent abuse of her girls.  After 
all, no-one liked damaged goods.  It offended Arlen on a moral level as 
well; the whores he had grown up with he had called "sister"; 
when he had learned the truth he had continued treating them so, even 
the ones that came later.  Layshan had been rather quiet, almost 
sad most of the time, and he didn't doubt that this ordeal would make 
it even worse.  He tapped her shoulder gently, trying to wake her up.  

"Layshan?  Layshan, can you hear me?  Are you-" he choked back "all 
right," as it seemed a stupid thing to ask, and substituted it instead 
with "-awake?  Layshan?"

Dmitri stirred, the warmth from the fire sparking his mind to a more 
alert state.  "Shalnay."

"What?"   

"Her name," Dmitri stated, coughing.  "Shalnay."  He blinked a few times, 
then looked around the small room, its contents finally registering to him.  
"Where a--Katria?"  Eyes widened, the prince stared at the slender girl, 
who looked, thin-lipped, back at him.  "Katria, I-"

"I'm going to check on Brandt," the runesmith apprentice bit out tersely, 
sweeping out of the room without a backward glance.

Dmitri reached out toward her, trying to sit up but thinking better of it.  
He lay back on the cot instead, staring after the girl with worried eyes.

Arlen watched her go as well.  He too was worried, but he was aware how 
little he knew her, and realized that the best course for him at this 
point would be to just let her make her own decision as to what to do next.

As the door closed behind Katria, Arlen turned back to the prince.  "Look, 
I don't know what she told you her name is, but--"

"No, you don't understand.  I *know* what her name is."  Dmitri coughed 
again, groaning.  "She's my sister."

Arlen blinked.  "What?"

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"Captain!  Captain Toravel!"

"What is it?" the captain snapped.  He was not in the best of humors; 
as ungainly as the decrepit mockery of a bird looked, its flight was 
swift and sure, and his troops had only been able to follow it by 
relentless riding.  The horses, deprived of rest, were already 
beginning to foam with exhaustion, and the men were not much better.  
If they did not find this "Runemaster" soon, he would have no choice 
but to call a halt, and even a few minutes' pause would have the 
skeletal courier much too far ahead for them to follow.  

"Captain, the scouts have returned," Mishakov told him, panting for 
breath.  "The Idle Forest is up ahead, and the bird looks to be headed 
straight for it."

Toravel cursed under his breath.  The Idle Forest...it was not even a 
forest really; more like a sheaf of trees, huddled together 
against the weather.  It wasn't even very deep.  It was, however, 
incredibly thick, with the trees so close to each other that a pack of 
riders couldn't even pass through one by one.  It seemed that he lacked 
any other alternative than to split the group into two, and have each 
go around one side. 

So deciding, he told Mishakov his plan, divvying up the men as he 
saw fit.  Hopefully, the bird would continue flying in a straight 
line, and the two groups would be able to reform and go after 
the runesmith, who probably wasn't that much further away.

And maybe after that he could catch tickets for the annual Flying 
Pig Festival, Toravel thought, rolling his eyes.  

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Arlen was still skeptical.  "Don't you think that it's just a little 
coincidental for you and your foster-sister to, after years, suddenly 
meet again?  Much less in a brothel, with you as her client?"

"Are you sure you weren't a lawyer before you became a brothel 
guard?" Dmitri grumbled.  Arlen merely crossed his arms and gave 
the prince a steady look.

"Look, real coincidences do happen, all right?  Otherwise where did 
the concept come from?  Believe me, it was as surprising for me to 
live it as it is for you to hear it."

"You'd think a prince would be able to pay the full cost of his 
foster sister," the guard muttered.

Dmitri's eyes narrowed.  "What are you accusing me of?  You 
greedy, blood-sucking, money-grubbing bastards!  Isn't it enough 
that you enslaved her?  Made her work as a common prostitute?
And then you accuse me of cheating you?  You should be grateful 
that I even paid the amount your lich of a whoremistress demanded, 
you insolent whelp!"  He sank back, holding a hand to his forehead.
Unlike Tiroth, his younger half-brother, he was not accustomed to 
fierce tirades, and, tired as he was, the outburst drained him even 
further.

"I wasn't aware that the amount my *mother* asked was composed of 
three gold crowns and a handful of buttons," Arlen snarled back.  
"And I'll thank you not to speak that way of her.  We never enslaved 
Layshan, or Shalnay, or whatever she calls herself.  She came to us 
from a merchant that's done trade for us.  We paid a hefty price, too, 
with good money.  Can Mother help it if she thinks that a solid down 
payment and a three-year's contract is worth an honest return?"

The prince of Sala gaped at him, half-pityingly.  "Do you truly think 
of people like that?  In terms of gold and silver?  What kind of a man 
are you?"

"Look, when your adopted mother runs a brothel where you've lived 
all your life, and you're the only man working there who isn't a
eunuch, you tend to pick up certain habits, all right?  And it's not 
that I don't *care* about people, it's just...well, how else would 
you set someone's worth?  I've certainly never heard anyone offer 
three half-pounds of Charm and ten pieces of Distinct and Winning
Personality for any of our girls."

"I think you're missing the point, boy, which is that people don't 
*own* other people."

"You're royalty, aren't you?" Arlen asked sarcastically, gesturing 
to the simple silver coronet that Dmitri wore.  "I thought royalty 
was the best example of people owning people.  Anyways, I think 
we're getting off the subject, which is your refusal to pay for 
covering your sister's contract.  In something other than buttons."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the prince sniffed.  "Why 
would *I* need to give your mother counterfeit?  I paid her exorbitant 
fee with my own money.  In fact, I remember exactly where it came 
from, too.  I was looking for a runesmith, so I went to the stall of a 
Yeznati soothsayer.  I've heard that the Yeznati are involved in the 
magic business, so I thought that she'd know--"

He stopped, because at this point Arlen had stopped listening and 
was now groaning and shaking his head.  "Let me guess--Tirasa 
Ilnoshi, right?  Curly red hair that she tries to dye grey?  
About five layers of scarves?  So many poorly-sewn robes that 
she looks like a fat pear?"

"Well...yes.  Do you know her?"

"Anyone who's lived more than a week in Kaddegh knows her.  Tirasa 
is the ultimate fraud.  I don't know how much you've heard of them, 
but most Yeznati are.  True, once in a while there's one or two with 
actual magic, but for the most part they're charlatans.  Tirasa's
mother had the power, but all that Tirasa seems to have picked up 
from her is an illusionary trick that lets her change ordinary objects 
into coins--for a while, of course."  Arlen shook his head.  "If you 
had just mentioned that in the first place, you could have saved us a 
lot of hassle--and me a long, painful trip into the middle of nowhere."

"Wait, so that means...she gave me the money as change for the finder's 
fee I..."

"Yes, yes, she ripped you off," Arlen rolled his eyes.  "Come now, 
surely money isn't an issue for a great prince of Sala?"

"It's the principle of the thing," Dmitri glared.

"Well, one of the principles my mother taught me was, just because 
you've been ripped off is no reason to rip us off."  He held out a hand 
expectantly.  "So...I'm sure your sister's worth more than a few 
buttons, eh?"

Dmitri's eyes narrowed, but he carefully--very carefully, as if 
he expected the coins to shift before his very eyes--counted out 
the requested amount into his hands, checked it once more, and 
grudgingly dumped it into Arlen's waiting palm.  

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"But...what *are* these?" Katria asked, drawing a finger over the 
strange tracings that lined the boy's chest.

"I'm...not entirely sure," Brandt admitted, his tone still subdued.  
Ever since he had returned, he seemed less and less the powerful, 
energetic figure that had led them through the storms and more and 
more...well, mortal.  Old; whereas before Katria could have sworn 
that he was barely older than thirty, now wrinkles of worry 
puckered his face, marking his age perhaps twenty years further on.
"It looks like...I don't know...Vadmir must have..." His voice faltered, 
and he sighed, burying his face in his hands again.

Not used to his despondency, Katria cast about for a way to change the 
subject.  "Vadmir...is that 'Serpent'?  His real name, I mean."  Brandt's 
anguished cry of "Vad-" during his fever-induced dreams came to her.

Brandt shook his head slowly.  "I don't think so.  It was the name he gave 
himself when we first met.  'My name is Vad....mir,' I recall him saying.
I think he fancies his true name to be a Word of Power, of sorts."

"Is it?  And how did you meet him, anyway?"

"Any word has power, if you choose to give it true meaning," Brandt 
intoned, some of the pedant's tone seeping back into his voice.  "At any 
rate, he was always very careful to keep his name secret.   And to answer 
your second question, we were apprentices together, under the same 
master.  Many years ago, of course."

"Grael described him as being rather young."

"Grael can be a fool sometimes," Brandt snorted.  "You know heroes.  
Although Vadmir Svarog did enter his apprenticeship fairly young, 
that is true.  Something always struck me as rather wrong about 
that boy.  Rather nasty, or scaly or something.  Almost like--"

"A snake?"

"Exactly, like some sort of serpent."

Silence fell for a moment as Brandt lost himself in memories of a time long 
past.

Katria restlessly rose to stir the small fire in the center of the tent, before 
breaking the silence once more.  "You never did say what happened when you were 
rescuing your son.  How did you manage to defeat Vadmir's runebeasts?"

Brandt pursed his lips.  "Actually, I'm not sure that we did.  When we got 
there, it seemed that things were already pretty much over.  I get the 
feeling that something had gone...wrong...with one of the beasts he had 
raised."

"Berserk," Grael rumbled.

Both the runesmith and his apprentice whirled around; neither had seen 
nor heard the big man come in.  "What was that?" Brandt asked.

"Berserk.  The creature looked completely out of control."   Grael 
looked around nervously.  "And we don't know if he had the chance 
to raise any more of those...monstrosities.  I think we need to leave 
here, and quickly."

"Are you insane?" Katria cried.  "None of us are in shape to travel!
And you yourself claimed that he'd only had one left!"

"Still, I know how quickly he can raise them.  It's unnatural.  If we 
don't leave very soon, it's a certainty that he'll come after us."

"You don't know that..."

"Don't know what?" Arlen asked as he walked into the room, pocketing 
his significantly larger purse.

"This over-muscled fool is saying that we should leave straight away,"
Katria told him, pointing to Grael's hulking figure.

Arlen shrugged.  "Well, so what?  I certainly don't have a problem with 
it."

Katria peered at him.  "Just a few hours ago you collapsed from exposure!"

"I'm better," Arlen shrugged again.  Then, at their skeptical looks, "Look, 
I'm just not used to this weather, okay?  I'll wrap up better this time, 
honestly.  I can do it."

"What about Dmitri?  And his....girl?  He--they're hardly in shape to 
travel."

"Judging from the way he was spitting at me earlier, the prince should 
be just fine for traveling, given a little rest and some hot drinks," the 
guard noted.  "As for his sister, I'm sure that within a couple of hours, 
she'll be right.  Except for the bruises," and his face darkened at their 
mention "But there's really nothing we can do about that, is there?"

Katria blinked.  "His *sister*?"

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"No sign of the other group anywhere, Captain.   Or of the bird."  

Toravel let out a sibilant curse.  Had the bird continued to the north, 
then, with Mishakov's group following?  "Then we'll follow."

"But Captain, we'll never manage to catch them up, especially with 
the horses in this condition!  The best we can do is wait for news from 
Mishakov."

"So you say, but Mishakov's probably decided to take a breather himself, 
the fool," Toravel snorted.  "However...I suppose you're right about the 
horses.  What's the name of that town up ahead?  I can see smoke rising 
from the chimneys."

"It's called...Kyril's Forge, sir."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Lieutenant Mishakov was in good spirits.  The bird seemed to be coming 
near the end of its journey, and since Toravel had given him command of 
an entire unit--all to himself!--his would be the glory of returning with 
that insolent coward of a runesmith in hand.  Eagerly, he spurred his 
already tiring horse onward, towards the makeshift shelter that the 
bird was winding its way down to.

"Hold, foul knave!" he cried, entering the tumbledown tent sword-first.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Vadesh blinked owlishly, the unbird perched on his 
shoulder.  His pretense of innocence would have been comical in any 
case, but Mishakov was a determined man, not to be swayed by trifles.

"I have come to release the sparkling jewel of our country, Prince 
Dmitri, from your dark, fell clutches!"  Mishakov glanced around, 
for the first time taking in the details of the nearly-empty tent.  
"Ah...where is he?"

"He is....Elsewhere, of course," Vadesh answered, smiling smugly.  
"Yes, I have laid an enchantment upon him.  He shall return--but 
only if I summon him, and I shall do that only if my demands are 
met."  

Mishakov peered at him suspiciously.  "Is that so?"

"It is.  Now, I want you to tell your king that-"

"Whatever you have to say to him, you shall tell him in person,"
the lieutenant declared.  "For I have orders to take you to face 
our most noble monarch himself!"

Vadesh narrowed his eyes.   Whoever had taken the prince was 
probably going to take him to Sala at any rate; he might be able to 
reclaim his prisoner more easily.  Besides, even if the prince 
did not come, what better way to glean concessions from the king than 
to snatch them from the source?  The runesmith grinned.  
"Very well."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Katria quietly stepped into the room, locking the door behind her.  Without 
sparing a glance for Dmitri, who struggled to a sitting position at her 
entrance, 
she crouched down by the fire and held her hands out to it, willing the 
billowing warmth to calm her soul.

After a few minutes of this, Dmitri ventured to speak.  "...Katria?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her eyes fixed upon the flickering flames.

He shook his head, not entirely believing what he had heard.  "What was 
that?"

"I'm sorry, all right?" she whirled on him, stalking over to his cot.  "I'm 
sorry for misjudging you, I'm sorry for being so angry, I'm sorry that I 
wasted all this damned time on this stupid quest, I--"

"Shh, Katria." He held out his hands to her, and she took them, almost as 
if compelled.  "I should apologize to you as well.  I had not considered how 
bringing Shalnay home would have hurt you.  For hurting you like that, I am 
more than sorry-I'm ashamed.  And even after that, you still came after me. 
You risked your life for me, and I'd be a fool were I not to appreciate that."
He freed one of his hands from her strong grip and touched her cheek gently. 
"So tell me...what brought you along on this, anyway?  I would have thought 
you would have enjoyed yourself better back at the castle."

She raised shocked eyes to his.  "And left you alone, with that man?  How 
could you think that I'd do that?  I came with Brandt.  I'm his new apprentice."

Dmitri frowned.  "I distinctly remember appointing someone else for 
that role..."

"Hah!  Austanis Perillion?  Yes, he came by.  The twerp.  How could you 
give a runesmith someone like that for an apprentice?"

"He has a very good breeding...he comes from one of the finest families."

"That may be well and good, if you're talking about horses," Katria 
snapped.  "But that boy's been a little bit *too* well-bred, if you ask 
me.  All he knows is the seventeen proper ways to fold a napkin, and 
how to sneeze appropriately.  He'll be an excellent court butterfly one 
of these days, but he's in no way a good candidate for a wizard.  Brandt 
himself said that he doubted the boy could think for himself unless 
someone gave him an instruction manual."

Dmitri laughed, the pleasant baritone of his voice echoing from the 
rafters.  "My dear Katria...always so bluntly spoken."

She blushed.  "Well, what other way is there, or should there be?"
By now, all traces of anger had disappeared.  They always seemed 
to, when he was around.  Katria supposed that not everything had 
faded away, as he bent down to press his lips to hers...

Unceremoniously, the door was kicked open, and a soldier dressed 
in Salian livery stomped through.  "A-ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly.
"The runesmith in one room and the prince in the other...how cunning!"
He leered at Katria and at Shalnay's unconscious form.  "And with two 
women, too!  Well, no-one can say they haven't been treating you 
right, eh?  Maybe I should try getting kidnapped by runesmiths, too!"

"That's enough, Lieutenant."  The mellow voice was calm, in a way 
that almost seemed threatening compared to the lieutenant's raucous 
speech.  Its owner shoved his way through, sword in hand, and bowed.

"Prince Dmitri, your father would like to see you," Toravel stated.  
"If you would be so kind as to wait until we have disposed of your captors, 
we can be on our way shortly."  He turned, shouting into the other room.
"Bring in the other prisoners!"

Sullenly, the other members of the group walked in, each surrounded 
by guards.  Arlen sported a bruise on his cheek and grumbled as he 
was brought in.  They had not dared to hit a woman; Nakita was untouched, 
although her hair was in wild disarray and she was spitting curses with 
every step.  Grael, red-faced and seeming more like an angry bear than 
a man, followed, his muscles bunching under his armor.  Finally, 
half-dragged, came Brandt, casting numerous looks over his shoulder at
his son's body.

"Well, your Highness?  How do you wish for them to be taken care of?"
Toravel asked solicitously.

Dmitri blinked.  "What?  I don't want them to be taken care of at all!"
Wait, that hadn't come out quite right... "I don't want them to be killed,"
he amended.  "They're not the ones who captured me!"

The captain eyed him.  "Our orders were to find a runesmith with you 
in his possession, dispatch of all that's under his power, and then bring 
the two of you back to Sala.  Here we find a runesmith performing some 
sort of odd ritual over a child, with you locked in a back room, and you 
say they're not your captors?"

"That was no 'odd ritual,' fool!" Brandt snapped, some of his old fire 
springing back in his eyes.  "I'm trying to figure out what that bastard 
did to my son!"  

"Practicing on your own son, eh?"  Toravel raised an eyebrow.  "Doesn't 
that seem rather...ah...dangerous?"

"That's not what I meant, you blasted, double-blasted, triple-blasted 
misbegotten son of a moor-wolf!  I would never-"

"Captain Toravel, I appreciate your devotion to your duty," Dmitri intoned 
solemnly.  "However, you seem to have misinterpreted your facts.  I am 
quite in good health, as you see, and my...companions and I will soon be 
returning to Iso."

Toravel shook his head.  "That's as it may be, your Highness, but whether 
they're your captors or no, I'm afraid you won't be returning to Iso.  Our 
orders were absolutely clear.  Out of respect for your claim, I suppose 
we can refrain from killing these people for now, but you must *all* 
come with us to Sala.  King Petroyv can pass the final judgment."  He 
shook his head, tossing the matter off of his shoulders.  "Get the horses 
ready; we leave now."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

As the troop of guards headed back towards Sala, Vadesh fingered the dry 
scrap of skin he had stashed in his pocket.  The characters he had scraped 
on were glowing now, a slight warmth on his hand giving testimony to 
their strength.  The spell was mature.  

Vadesh smiled and closed his eyes, casting his thought abroad like a net.

\Wake...\

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

On the pallet in Kyril's Forge, the red-haired head of a child raised, 
its jerky movement reminscent of a marionette's.  It blinked and looked 
around with eyes not its own.  

"Christov!"  Brandt broke loose from his guards and dashed over to his 
son, looking into his face.  "Christov, boy, are you all right?"

"F...father?"

"Easy now, wizard," Toravel told him, propelling him with muscles 
stronger than they looked back to his guards.  "You'll have plenty of 
time for your family reunion while we're taking you all back to Sala."

All of a sudden, the boy crumpled onto his pallet once more.

The captain sighed.  "Looks like this is another one for the coach, then.
Someone wrap him up in a blanket and put him in the wagon with the 
girl."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Vadesh shook himself out of his trance.  So, this too worked better than 
he expected.  With the connection he had forged, he could now see and 
hear through his new creation, with none the wiser, not even the boy's 
father.  

They were going to Sala as well, eh?  Vadesh shook his head, not believing 
his good luck.  Sometimes Fate gave him more breaks than he could 
have hoped for had he planned them out himself.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"How long does it take our fastest riders to chase down a decaying bird?"
Petroyv growled, pacing the floor.  

"I'm sure they'll be back soon, my lord," Tiroth replied.  He sounded 
somewhat bored, perhaps because this was about the twentieth time 
his father had asked that question, or a variation of it.  To tell the 
truth, he was at the moment more interested in thinking up possible 
names for his future firstborn than in the picked force that was 
trying to rescue his half-brother.

Petroyv stopped and favored him with a suspicious glare.  "You sound 
preoccupied, Tiroth.  I know that your brother is far from the most 
important thing on your mind, but can you not essay even the pretense 
of interest?"

"On the contrary, my lord," Tiroth answered smoothly.  "I was 
merely distracted by thoughts of how to relieve ourselves of the 
villain who captured him."

The king laughed, a short, sudden bark that startled the hunting 
dogs lounging nearby.  "Is that so?  Ever the vengeful, Tiroth, 
retribution always on your mind."

The Crown Prince flushed.  "It is only proper, Father.  After all, 
the cur is trying to steal the kingdom away from--you."  His 
slip would have been more noticeable to Petroyv had the king of 
Sala not been on his fifth cup of wine.   "If it please you, I believe 
I shall retire to my chambers now.  It would do you good to get 
some sleep as well, my lord.  You can always set the guards to 
alert you once Toravel's men return."

Petroyv waved his son away.  "I already have.  As for the other..." he 
shrugged.  "Well, it shall come to me as well here as any.  Sleep 
well, my son."

"Good night, Father."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"For the last time, I will see to my son whether you wish it or not!"  The chill 
silence of early dusk was shattered by the fierce shouts of the Runemaster.

"And as I said before, we are to meet up with Mishakov and his men before 
nightfall, we have no time to waste right now looking after the boy."

In frustration Brandt turned to shout at Grael.  "It's your army, can't you say 
something to them!"

Grael shrugged.  "They don't know who I am, don't believe that I'm a soldier, 
and they outrank me anyway.  What am I supposed to do?"

"Look, I'll let you tend to him when we make camp, that's the best offer your 
going to get, and you are in no place to bargain.  Now cease bothering me, or I 
will slay you here and now and inform the King you were refusing to co-operate."  
Toravel turned to one of his men.  "If he strays out of line, use appropriate 
measures to return him there."

Brandt allowed himself to be led away from the Captain. "Mark my words, I'll 
remember this you worthless son of a she-goat."  If only he had his sealed 
runes, he'd show them all.  However Toravel had been canny enough to confiscate 
his supplies, even going so far as forcing him to strip out of his robes.  
As if there was anything magical about his clothes!  His thoughts were 
interrupted by the sound of a fast galloping horse.  It appeared the outrider 
had returned.

"Captain, Lt. Mishakov and his men have reached the rendezvous point.  If we 
hurry, we can make it there before the last light fails us."

"Alright men, quick time now!  And someone strap that boy to the saddle!"

As the small band of soldiers and "guests" rode off, the sounds of loud cursing 
could be heard.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"... and as I was saying, I just don't trust him.  I think he needs to be kept 
under heavier guard."

"Nonsense!  Toravel, you always worry too much, the scoundrel shall never manage 
to escape the swift justice of the king!  Without his tools of mystic evil, he 
is as helpless as a neutered pup!"

"Look, I've got my hands full with a total of three women, one prince, a 
fighting man that looks like he could wrestle a bear, a *very* uncooperative 
runesmith, and his dead weight son.  You have *one* captive, don't you think you 
could take a little better care of him, *Lieutenant*?  He's got what? One guard 
on him?  What are you going to do if he makes a break for it?"

"On foot?  HA! My trained horsemen would ride him down and drag him behind their 
hearty mounts back to camp like the piece of dung he is!"

"Fine, but if he gets away, I'm making sure King Petroyv knows *exactly* who was 
in charge of that particular captive."

"As you wish my noble compatriot, I'll be laughing at your misplaced concern 
when we return to our glorious sovereign with no problems whatsoever!"

Toravel strode away.  "I need to check on that bloody runesmith and his son," he 
muttered to himself.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

"So is he going to be alright?"  Katria asked worriedly, as a troubled Brandt 
continue to examine the limp form of Christov.

"I just don't KNOW.  I can't figure out what these blasted runes are supposed to 
do to him.  They look to be some form of animal rune, but those normally aren't 
carved on skin.  I don't recognize the specific form either.  And this, see this 
here?"  Not waiting for Katria to respond he continued on.  "It looks like a 
*weather* pattern of all things has been worked into it.  Now what the blazes 
could that do?  These runes by all rights shouldn't do anything normal.  Either 
Vadmir just made a mistake, or he's working on something very strange.  I swear, 
if Toravel and his men weren't keeping us apart I'd throttle Vadmir until he 
explained to me what he did.  Who would have thought he'd be captured as ...." 

Brandt's ranting was interrupted by a comment from Katria.  "Look, I'm sure you 
need some time to yourself. Why don't you stay here with him.  I'll stand out 
front and keep people away." With this, Katria got up and walked out of the 
tent, pausing only briefly before reentering the cold.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Katria paced around outside the tent.  It was colder than the frost off an Ur-
Wolves back out tonight.  Weather like this probably spelled a storm soon.  She 
hoped they would be back at Sala before it came up.  As little as she was 
looking forward to having to face her fate there, it seemed marginally less 
life-threatening than another blizzard over open terrain.  At the very least, 
kings were easier to argue with than the weather.  Katria's train of thought was 
interrupted by a cry from her side.

"What are you doing here at the boy's tent, I only gave permission for the 
runesmith!" Captain Toravel snapped.

"I'm Brandt's assistant, he needed aid in examining his son!  Or are you happy 
to have the poor boy die in your camp?  I'm sure it won't be the first time a 
soldier of Sala has spilled innocent blood!"

Toravel reddened at the jab.  "Look you impudent wench, back to your tent!  I 
intend to speak with the runesmith personally."

"Oh no you don't.  He's spending time with his son, who he hasn't seen in 
months, and I'm not letting *anyone* interrupt them, no matter how big or 
vicious they are.  Unless you are prepared to run me through, I suggest you just 
wait until they are done.  The boy is stable at the moment, on the slim chance 
that thought crossed the cold shard you call a heart, and the best thing you can 
do for him is just leave him and his parents alone."  Katria delivered a fiery 
glare to the Captain, daring him to start anything.

"Grrrar, fine.  I don't care what they are up to anyway.  But *you* are going 
back to your tent, and I'm posting a guard outside.  One of Mishakov's men will 
do.  You, little miss, aren't going to be going anywhere."

"I said I was guarding the runesmiths tent, and that's just what I'm doing."

"Unless you want to be guarding an early grave, I suggest you move along.  I'll 
give orders for the runesmith not to be disturbed. *GOD* what I wouldn't do for 
another troop of men."

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

The one known variously as Vadmir, Svarog, or simply the Serpent, sat alone in 
his tent.  The foolish soldiers had taken his obvious runic devices, but the 
sign of a skilled runemaster was his ability to improvise.  A pieces of the 
pelts scattered around, some carefully chosen stones, and of course, the 
component that lifted him above the more squeamish of his peers, a small portion 
of blood and flesh.  While he preferred working on the bodies of others, he did 
what he had to in a pinch.  Drawing elaborate figures on the items, Vadesh 
crooned softly to himself as he worked.

"Twist and wake and take the path
Worm up from the frozen ground
Pain and hate form hell's own bath
Quick and sharp my foes confound"

Vadesh looked at the motley tangle he had created. While that wasn't his best 
work, it should last long enough.  If his memory served him right, tomorrow 
morning they would be passing by Idle Forest.  He would have a little surprise 
for them.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Morning dawned cold and cloudy, with a biting wind blowing from the north.  
Katria's hopes of avoiding the storm sank towards nothing.  This would come on 
them before mid-day.

Captain Toravel rode up before the assemblage of the soldiers and captives.  
"Listen up men, As you all can see there is a storm brewing.  We will be taking 
the south path around Idle Forest, and hugging its borders to take advantage of 
what shelter it can offer from the storm.  Move quickly but don't tire your 
mounts.  In interest of making time, the prisoners will be riding double with 
some of you men.  Orders have been assigned, and a rotation will be established, 
with different men riding double each hour.  Remember, keep a close eye on them, 
the mission depends on it.  Now lets move out!"

Vadesh smiled.  This couldn't have worked out better if he had planned it.

All he had to do was wait.

      ---     ---     ---     ---    ---     ---     ---

Hours later, Vadesh slipped off the horse and away from the arms of the weary 
soldier, running swiftly to the nearby woods, he heard a great cry rise up 
behind 
him.  He fingered the rune he had constructed in his tent last night, it would 
buy him at least a minute or so. He spat on it, and then pressed it into a tree 
trunk.

And the Idle Forest came alive.



****************

Author's Notes: Waaaah this was all so last minute, but I got something done!  
To give credit where credit is due, about 2/3 of this part was written by 
Sharyna, who unfortuneately just missed her deadline. Uber thanks to her, whom 
without I would have had a much more pathetic part.  I've included her author's 
note below for reference.  Also thanks to Schneeb both for pre-reading brain-
storming, and for the great starting chapter.

WAI! I made it (barely) through another impro part!

Lafing Cat : Ha ha, meow.



=====
Author's Note:

Woo-hoo, managed to get this out!  @_@  Yes, there's been 
the busy, as well as the sick.  But then, it's an impro part, 
which means that these conditions are nothing out of the 
ordinary, eh?  
Minor note: The Yeznati are pretty much the equivalent of 
gypsies.  As I said, not many of them have true magic, and 
they're rarely seen as far North as Sala or Iso because they 
see it as unprofitable; hence the reason that Dmitri didn't 
realize what charlatans most of them are.
So, yes.  Mostly characterization stuff in this part, pretty 
much because I can't write action worth crap.  ^^  
Sorry for the shortness and basic suckiness, but I did what 
I could, which is all any of us can ask for, I guess.
Thanks go to Calc for letting me have an extension and to 
Schneebs the balloon man for starting this up.  Hope to 
be able to turn out a better part sometime later on.
Thanks and more apologies to Lafing_Cat, Anna, and everyone 
else who offered to preread, since I never got a chance to 
send it out.  x_x

======
Sharyna