Hokay! I am back. . . sort of. I really appreciated the tips on Notepad from the last
chapter! Although they were sort of repeated by about three readers. . . but I
don't care! It's nice to know people care enough to tell me. (Huggles reviewers. . .
for the umpteenth time. . .) Sadly, this chapter was done in Notepad again, because I
was at my uncle (a real uncle)'s house and forgot to bring my artbox, and this
computer either has Notepad or this weird program that won't let my type any
apostrophes.

Also, I was looking through Seventh Sage and Amethyst Bubble's profiles (again. . .)
and I got jealous of their adorable muses. So. . . I'm giving myself some muses!

Quill: Hey! Get me out of this thing!

Scarabsi: Nope! You're. Staying. In. Here.

Quill: But! But! I'm fine with being here, but why'd you have to bring PAGE, too?

Page: I resent that comment!

Quill: Why would you care? I say stuff like that all the time!

Page: No, you don't! Get back here so I can pick your pocket!

Quill: But. . . I already picked yours! (Holds up sack of gold)

Page: . . .!! How in the world did you get your sloth hands on that!

Quill: Well, you left it in your front pocket. . .

Scarabsi: . . . I have a serious sense of deja vu. . . that only RianneHime can
understand. . .

Page: What did you tell RianneHime? Huh?

Scarabsi: Well. . . I sent her the supports that she has with you.

Page: What?!? What did I say? What did SHE say? What? What?!?

Scarabsi: . . . What would be the fun in that?

Page: . . . You SADIST!!

Scarabsi: That makes three of us. . . (glares at Page)

Quill: Three? (counts) But. . . you and Page make two.

Cylt: (In some corner) Yes! Bleed! Bleed that beautiful crimson of yours!
Kukukukuku. . .

Scarabsi: And you call HIM? (points to Cylt)

Quill: What! You brought HIM, too? He'll kill us all!

Scarabsi: No, he won't!

Quill: And why ever not?

Scarabsi: Because he doesn't have time to! This thing is already too long!

I don't own Rekka no Ken. Unless I make a character called Ken or something. But, of
course, that doesn't count.

----------

Chapter Eight

----------

The field was vast and empty. Though he never actually knew what 'vast and empty'
meant, it seemed to fit in a field like this. It was huge and empty. . . just him and
the grass. . .

He shuddered. He was back home, just where he didn't want to be. Not before he had
reached his goal.

He took a few steps forward, and to his amazement, the grass melted, and dried leaves
and soil took its place. Trees sprouted everywhere, turning the field into a dense
forest.

He only had a second to admire this amazing phenomenon before daggers shot from the
trees. Panicked, he jumped several feet backward, and the scene melted again, this
time turning into a dirt road. Grass grew on the side of the road, and there was a
tent. A single, simple, innocent-looking tent.

He stared, astonished, as he received a serious sense of deja vu. He tried to
remember where he had seen this scene before, but, all of a sudden, a terrible pain
shot up from his stomach, traveling all over his body and sucking all the energy and
strength out of him. He thinned considerably, and, due to these sudden changes, fell
over, unable to support his own weight any longer.

By now, this definitely seemed familiar, but he didn't even bother to remember why.
He felt a horrible feeling that he had dreaded for a year- hunger. He was starving to
death.

The last thing he saw, or heard, was a man, kneeling over him. He could only make out
a twisted grin, as the man gently picked him up, and a voice.

"I think you might come in quite useful."

-----

Guy opened his eyes, slowly, and quickly closed them again. 'It was only a dream. . .' He noticed, grimly, that he had a bad stomachache, and groaned softly. 'Great,' he
thought. 'The last thing I need after a dream like THAT is a fluxing STOMACHACHE. . .'

Then, his sensitive sense of smell picked something up. He sat up quickly, causing
his head to spin, and he mentally cursed again. Then, he eagerly kneeled over to the
source of the wonderful fragrance of food. When he found it, he almost fainted again.
"Who. . . who brought this food?"

"You're awake!" came a voice he didn't recognize. He looked out of his cell. . . and
panicked. A cell? Why was he in a cell?

"Wh- who are you?!" Guy stuttered to the stranger. Someone to his right laughed
softly, and someone in front of him giggled softly. He looked to his right, then to
his left, confused. "Wh- what's so funny?"

"You are, Guy," said the person to his right. Guy relaxed. . . about three hairs.
That voice was familiar, at least. It was Wil. "You always have to overreact to
everything."

"That could serve as a problem," came the unfamiliar voice, worriedly. "Does he have
sensitive emotions?"

"Not that sensitive," came another familiar voice. Lucius! He was here too! "He's
just a tad too nervous sometimes."

"I dearly hope you don't have any mounted units, Scourge!" said a female voice, in a
familiar volume. "Poor Guy would be scared to death!" Serra. Great, who else was in
this insane place? And, a name. Scourge? What an odd name. . .

"Who- who else is here?" Guy asked, still a tad nervous. He suddenly realized he had
a hand on his head. He removed the hand, and his head felt like it split open. He
cried out in pain and put his hand back, feeling a thick liquid flow on his fingers.
"Wha- what happened?!"

"Oh, no no no no no!" said so-called Scourge. "Don't do anything to your head!"

Guy nodded. "I sort of figured that out myself. . ."

Scourge sweated nervously. "Your head. . . is it still bleeding?"

"Bleeding?!" Guy absentmindedly took his hand off his head again, and the pain
restarted. "GAK! Yes it is!" he hurriedly shouted, when the smell of blood filled his
nostrils. "Oooooouch!"

Scourge quickly clapped his hands together and spread them apart, and in between his
palms, a staff with a huge blue aura appeared. He handed the staff to Priscilla. "
Quick! Use this on him!"

Priscilla looked at the staff questioningly. "What is this?"

"It's a Psychic staff Mint gave me just in case this happened! Now use it!"
Priscilla nodded and chanted the spell for Psychic, thanking Pent for teaching it to
her the other day. The staff glowed blue, and several spheres floated out of the orb
of the staff and over to the cell across from her.

Guy's yelps of pain stopped, leaving him breathing heavily. Scourge walked over to
his cell, and pushed the stolen food over to him. "Here, eat. It will make you feel
better."

"And don't worry," came a calm, smooth voice. "Even Heath the paranoid ate it, so
it's not poisoned or anything."

"EVEN Heath?" a new voice replied, unmistakably Heath's. "EVEN Heath? What IS that
supposed to mean?"

"Exactly like it sounds, my darling Heath," said the calm voice.

Guy nodded, trusting Heath's paranoia, and shoveled the food down his throat with the
inhuman speed of a swordmaster, sprouting six arms.

"Well," Scourge smiled, "At least he seems to be fine now." He got up from Guy's cell
and walked over to Heath and Legault's cell. "As for the married couple, I'll have to
tie you two back up."

"What?" Heath asked, even though he had heard clearly. "Why can't we just keep him
chained to the bars?"

"Because being chained to you is more comfortable, my darling Heath," Legault
replied, rolling his eyes. "Being chained to Karel's Wo Dao is more comfortable than
these bars."

Scourge shook his head, laughing at the two who always seemed to be bickering, and
retied Heath and Legault. Though, this time, Legault insisted on having his hands
tied to the front, and Heath, not trusting his back to be facing Legault's front,
wanted the same, so Scourge had to tie them face-to-face.

Scourge looked at the window high up on the wall, and his eyes widened. It seemed the
window served some purpose after all. "I have to go now," he explained, quickly
locking Heath and Legault's cell and walking to the main door. "At this time, I'm
supposed to be in the East Wing, discussing battle tactics. Stay healthy, and don't
kill each other," he instructed, looking worriedly to Heath and Legault's cell as he
said this. Then, wishing luck on the victims, closed the door and hurried to the East
Wing.

-----

A mercenary smiled as a great black bird flew toward him. He held out his arm, and
the bird landed on it. He stroked its beak and it closed its eyes in happiness. "I
knew you'd be able to find him, Peti. Now, if the pacifist moron will show up. . ."
The mercenary leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms, looking over to
the stairway. "Scourge is late to every meeting. . ."

"Oh, stop plummeting him, Varin," Cylt scolded, raising an eyebrow. "It is likely he
has a reason to be late."

"Yes, but late EVERY time?" Varin's eyes rolled over to the ceiling, studying the
elaborate details of a painting that decorated it. "Seriously, one would think that-"

"Sorry! I'm here! I'm here!" The entire group looked over at the staircase as Scourge
climbed it, skipping two steps at a time. "I didn't mean to be late!"

"Sure you didn't," Varin said doubtfully, earning a light punch from Cylt. "That's
what you say every time you're late, which is, let me count. . . oh, every time we
have a meeting?" Another punch, this time harder.

"It doesn't matter whether he's late or not," Mint said, casting a disapproving
glance at the mercenary and myrmidon. "What matters is that he is here. Now, what
were we called here for?"

"The mistress called us here. . ." Rade jumped from a blending place in the ceiling
and landed soundlessly next to everyone, startling all except Mint. ". . . Because
the target is approaching."

"Oh, please," Scourge said, laughing nervously. "Why must you refer to them as
'target's? Why not use their rightful names, Eliwood's Elite, Lyndis' Legions, or
Hector's Horde?"

"Must you always be so critical about how we treat our enemies?" Rade mumbled,
sighing. "Anything else you would like to complain about?"

Scourge shook his head, slamming his mouth shut, and Rade continued. "The mistress
has sent orders to separate into three groups- one to 'guard' the entrance, one to
'guard' the cells, and one to 'guard' herself." He looked over at the small group of
seven, eight including himself, and his eyes stopped at Mint. ". . . I would like to
keep you all alive, so please. . . take care of yourselves."

Everyone nodded, looking at each other, and Rade looked from one person to the next,
deciding who to send where. "Page, Quill."

"Yes?" Quill answered nervously. Page merely looked over at the mention of her name.
Rade pointed over to the general direction of the front door, the only entrance to
the Hidden Fort (excluding Page's hidden passageways), and looked back to them. "You
two will guard the front door, and ambush the targets when the arrive." Page nodded,
while Quill stood frozen for a while. Rade sighed. "Okay, forget that plan. Page, YOU
ambush the targets, and Quill, you will serve to distract them so that they won't
suspect an attack from another direction."

"Got that," Quill nodded.

Rade looked over at Point and Mint. "Mint, you stand by with a Heal staff in case
they get hurt. Point, you will guard Mint, in case he is found."

Immediately, Mint started to protest. Rade, as though he had expected this, spoke over
Mint's soft complaints. "Mint, I am sending a guard to you because I want you, most
of all, to stay alive." He stared into the bishop's eyes, and Mint's protests died
down to some incoherent words under his breath. Mentally, Rade smirked to himself,
but his expression remained ice as he looked to Point. "Point," he started, and the
sage looked up. "Don't fail."

Point nodded, and walked next to Mint to get ready. Rade looked at the remaining few
people. "Scourge, Cylt, you two are the most familiar with the cells- you two will
guard the cells."

The two nodded in understanding, Cylt's mouth forming a twisted smile, and Scourge's
eyes taking a worried feel again as he looked over at the myrmidon.

Rade walked over to Varin. "And, it seems like it's going to be us 'guarding' the
mistress," Rade said, and Varin smiled wickedly.

"Perfect," was the only word that came from the mercenary's lips.

-----

". . . What is going on?" Karel asked, as Matthew returned with Hector at his heels.
"Has something happened? Has someone found a clue?"

Matthew looked blankly at the Sword Demon. ". . . You have found our clue. . ."

". . .When?" Karel thought back, but couldn't remember anything that even resembled
finding a clue to the Hidden Fort.

Hector knelt down and examined the grass at Karel's feet. "Where is the blood trail?"

Karel blinked. "Down here. . ." he knelt with Hector and traced a finger over the
blood trail. "It runs from a window in the castle to the other side of the field, and
goes on."

Hector nodded, though he didn't look like he was paying much attention. "Okay, so
what are you waiting for? Follow it!"

Karel was, by far, even more astonished, if possible. Lord Hector was letting- okay,
forget letting, he was FORCING him to follow a trail of blood! Something happened.
Something really happened. But, then again, Karel did really like blood, so. . .

". . .Well. . .?" Matthew asked, sending Karel an icy glare. Karel narrowed his eyes
into slits in return, and started walking along the trail of blood, noting with
suspicion that Hector and Matthew were following. What was going on? In fact, that
sounded like a good question.

". . .What is going on?" Karel asked, stopping a little to look over at Hector.

Hector, who was not one for dramatic suspension, threw his arms up in the air. "What
do you think is going on? We're going to the Hidden Fort!"

"We are?" Karel looked around, just in time to see the rest of the army walking to
the area. ". . . Alright, then. How can we get-"

Hector pushed him down. "Just keep following the blood trail!"

"What? But you just said-"

". . . Our passage to the Hidden Fort lies in your bloodstained hands. . ." Matthew
told Karel, sounding depressed. ". . . We'll never get there. . ." he sighed to
himself, slapping a hand to his forehead.

"What?" Rebecca asked, who had arrived at the scene and heard Matthew's quiet
comment. "We're relying on KAREL to get there?"

Nils appeared next to Rebecca, and agreed positively. "What are you?" he demanded.
"Nuts?"

"Though it would be rather rude to say so," Kent said, appearing next to Nils, "I am
sorry to say I agree with Nils on this."

Hector slapped a hand to his forehead, mimicking Matthew, as the entire army started
talking all at once. He glared at them all and let out a frustrated growl. "Will you
people just be QUIET?!" he boomed. The entire army suddenly became mute. Hector took
a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again.
"Okay," he said slowly, as if either talking to an infant or to someone not
particularly smart. "I am going to say this. . . slooowly." He pointed to Karel.
"Karel, the Sword Demon, as you know, will be leading us to the Hidden Fort by
following," he knelt down and drew an imaginary line across the grass, "A blood
trail, in the grass," he finished slowly. Then, as if he wasn't shrinking their
intelligence enough, he added, "A pretty blood trail that likes you. It wants to be
your friend."

"Hector," Eliwood said, arriving at the scene, "I don't think that last comment was
necessary."

"What?" Hector asked, shrugging. "They weren't comprehending anything we were trying
to explain!"

Almost on que, everyone started asking questions all over again at the same time.
"But what does a blood trail have to do with getting to wherever we were going
again?"

"I think this place has finally broke the last thread and gone insane. Really, why
are they relying on a blood-thirsty Sacaen to lead us there?"

"Oh, Elimine! Will this really work? Will it? Will it?"

"According to past incidences involving the loss of blood or the usage of bloodshed,
I conclude that using a trail of blood to lead us there will get us no farther than a
tree branch."

Hector whipped out his axe and slammed it into the ground to vent out his
frustration. He slammed his axe many, many times.

Matthew kneeled over to a now very confused and offended Karel and whispered in his
ear. "Karel, if we follow that blood trail, we can find a lot of noble, heroic,
legendary people for your sword to cleave in half. . ."

Karel's frown turned upside down, and widened. "I will go, then." And he took off
after the blood trail, a determined Matthew and a confused army trailing after him.

-----

Sorry about the messed-up formatting again. I put it in that retarded program to spell check it, and it got re-formatted, so. . . # I'm fairly sure the next chapter will be in Microsoft Word. And if you don't believe me. . . FINE!! sniffle

There's no doubt this time, this time Karel was the OOC character from HELL. Dammit, there is NO way he acts like that. Nope. Zilch. Nada. Why do people say that, anyway? And, to Karel fans, I'm extremely sorry, and I would get him in better character if I could, but I don't have him. I got Harken. (DIE HARKEN!!)

Thanks to R Amythest, because she's so funny and nice and fun to talk to, and thanks to Rianne, just 'cause, and thanks to Miserikordi for being such a great email buddy. And everybody keeps me writing. Even though it's in a messed up format these days. In which I will kill the Notepad from hell and try to bring Microsoft Word to my mother's laptop, so that I may write decently there. And pray to St. Elimine that I will be able to make decent-looking character portraits someday. (Miseri and Riaki will know what I mean.)

Thanks for reading (if you did. . . but if you didn't, you wouldn't be reading this line, would you? I have a bad habit of confusing myself. . .)

Quill: Hey! Why don't you all re- mmmph!

Scarabsi: (hand over Quill's mouth) What the hell are you doing?!

Quill: Telling the nice readers to review.

Scarabsi: No, you dolt! Remember rule #1 about being a muse? Huh?

Quill: (looks down and sighs) "Absolutely no muse is allowed to say the disclaimer or tell the readers to review under normal circumstances. Any muse caught doing so will be unemployed, and another muse will take his/her/its place."

Scarabsi: That's my boy.

Quill: So now what? What are we here for if we can't say the disclaimer or tell readers to review?

Scarabsi: Don't you know what a muse is? A muse is someone who inspires the writer/author/fanfictionist to write, not do their story chores for them!

Quill: But- but- all the other muses get to say the disclaimer or tell readers to review!

Scarabsi: Because those aren't real muses, those are slaves. Do you want to be a slave, Quill?

Quill: Yes!

Scarabsi: . . .

Uhm. . . yeah. I have an odd and stubborn muse there. So, if you didn't get the idea, please-

Quill: PLEASE REVI- (is dragged away by Page)

- review. (sweatdrop)