Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the caldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog.

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

— Actual recipe from The Witches Book of Potions 101.

* * *

"...To a Beautiful Game." Barnibus said to The Forerunner, and, reaching deep into his robe, so deep that his elbow crossed the line of his lapel, pulled out....

"Chess! Game of strategists and knights and glory to be won an' lost!" Exclaimed the Forerunner exultantly, and she flipped to her feet.

It was an impressive flip.

The Forerunner arched her back and sprang from her crosslegged position into a tight roll in mid air to her feet so smoothly that it looked like it had been done in slow motion and left Barnibus staring, slack jawed, board and beard hanging limply from either hand.

The Forerunner giggled gleefully into the night. "An age an' more hast passed an' ne'er a mortal dared challenge the ... to..." and her mirthful grin curled down into a — "What. Is. That?!" She spat.

"Th-this?" Barnibus stuttered, feeling completely off his footing, and very very glad he'd pulled out one board and not the other. "Why, I — as I said. This is a Beautiful Game. And — ah —"

— Stir this cauldron —

Barnibus shuffled foot to foot, and then something like Daring surged in him and he babbled out "From where doth thee hail from Forerunner?" And cringed but tried not to look like he was cringing. He waited for the blow to fall.... And it didn't.

The Forerunner froze, looking puzzled.

That did not warm the glacial quality of her hiss, though. Far from it. "Thricely asked an' twicely answered. How brazen thee to ask again. What right have thee, yee of mortal ken?"

Part of The Forerunner expression looked disappointed for some reason. The rest of it twisted into something so ugly it looked disfigured. "To ask of me for such an answer," she spat. "To —"

"— question!"

The Forerunner froze again. Somehow even more still than before. Like a statue. "...What?" She asked finally.

Barnibus was breathing so shallowly his heart was palpitating. "Played us a game of questions and answers! Spake I just a question plain. A-a-and I ask as thee has done the same! Thee halest from elsewhere just as I, wherefore art thee from? Forerunner One?"

The Forerunner — twitched. And then an expression of utmost surprise blazed across her face.

"That game ceased!"

"S-s-spake thee not. An-and ne'er did I." Said Barnibus, and clenching his hand tightly around his beard, said "and by m-mine own count thine has defaulted thrice! I — ah — My dignity back, I think shall suffice!"

And so saying — and far before anything like thought, or good sense, or anything like a survival instinct could get in the way — Barnibus leapt over the fire with a wild yell.

It wasn't quite Jumping in Fright. To truly Jump in Fright you needed to jump with the Fear, far and away from the source of mortal terror.

This was more Jumping Despite the Fear, far more commonly known as courage. Only, people did not really Jump in Courage, so much as Charge With Courage.

So the leap that should have taken the Wizard high and above the flames, instead burst him straight through it. And a lot of things happened very suddenly.

Leinan cried out and ducked and rolled away from the fire as it plumed outward.

Keimen and Aemon scattered.

And Barnibus's hastily tied robe flared out, catching the air as he leapt, holding far more than any robe had a right to and brought it with him.

The fire plumed as he landed and caught one, frozen, wide-eyed Forerunner in a sudden, hot smokey flash.

The glade went silent. Even the crickets seemed to hold their breaths.

And in the silent stillness that followed, Barnibus peered around the aghast faces and in particular, at one very rigid, stock-still, sooty and slightly singed Forerunner, with her mouth partially agape and absolutely Frozen in Surprise.

Barnibus let go of his beard, tucked the game board temporarily underneath one armpit, and humming because humming was good naturedly and could not at all be construed as nefarious, licked one of his fingers and went to work on a soot smudge on The Forerunners nose.

The forest had not been silent before. Barnibus could tell because now it was silent and the glade they were holed up in was making graves seem as loud concert halls.

Nothing moved as Barnibus worked. Not even The Forerunner. Not the trees. Not the leaves. Not even that ever present winter breeze.

No crackling, no rustling, no chirping of insects. Nothing made a sound as The Forerunner slowly blinked her lonely-winter-glade eyes owlishly in Completely Absent But Dawning Comprehension.

She worked her jaw silently as Barnibus hrrmmed to himself, finishing up, and Nodded in Satisfaction as he felt his lost dignity slot itself back solidly into place.

And then The Forerunner SHRIEKED.

* * *

The wind felt... hungry, Flynn thought, as he huddled against the tree, wrapping his worn cloak tightly about himself. Theilan huddled next to him, and, Flynn could see, fingering his belt knife again.

Flynn didn't blame him, and actually dearly wished he had a belt knife to finger too. Or better yet, a bow and quiver. All he had snatched was a worn sling and a small pouch of pig iron marbles before leaving his cabin.

That was usually all you needed in the Werewood, or, at least, the outskirts of the Werewood. A good shot to the ribs from a sling was plenty enough to send even a hearty wolf yelping, and those were the main danger this close to the village.

This... close. Flynn's eyes shifted.

'What could possibly have happened to Leinan this close to the village?'

He had thought that as they'd left. Leinan practically lived here. She knew these woods better than anyone but the most avid hunters. He hadn't really believed Theilan's fears. Not then.

Now he was looking at fingers of ice splashed up against the bark of the trees across from him. As if a giant, frigid hand had reached out, gripped the trunks and squeezed, and then let go. The bark was frayed and torn up and the ice — the impossible ice — was still there!

"Mage craft," he muttered dully, staring. It had to be. It wasn't cold enough yet for... and the suddenness. Mage craft.

What was a mage doing in the Werewood?

Mages were... They were lords and ladies as far as Flynn was concerned, and if they weren't, Flynn thought, a cat could starve on that difference.

The stories, the ones Master Bordenshire would tell, were chock full of them. Stories of Mages leading armies. Mages with their retainers standing against the blight and Fell. Calling ball lightning from the heavens and slinging fireballs from their hands.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

They had retainers. They had servants. They had errand boys dashing around at their whim. They had kings and lords lending them their ears. They didn't come to the Werewood. They didn't even come to Landsend.

Landsend was away from all of that.

Landsend was a minor village that was technically at the far far edge of Lakeside's barony.

Flynn didn't even know if Landsend counted. Lakeside didn't seem to know. Or, at least, certainly didn't care. Landsend was just lucky that merchants remembered they existed, and that concern tended to crop up quite often at Village Council gatherings from what Flynn gathered.

Mages didn't come here.

Except once, Flynn remembered in that same dull fashion. Some years ago.

Everyone had mistook him for a wealthy merchant at first, with fine coat and boots and fitted breaches.

The other merchants had been scared spit-less of him, though, so quite quickly he'd been upgraded to a runaway lord of some holding, and everyone had made sure to treat him with the utmost respect and mostly stayed away.

It had been a cold winter that year. Colder than usual, Flynn remembered with a shiver, like this year, and when the Fell Beasts came down from the Dragons Pass that year, they had come in droves.

The men had all lined up with their pole-arms and bows and for the first time Flynn had been with them too, with his bow, barely more than a child's bow at the time.

It had been dark and cold with snow on the ground, but it hadn't stayed that way.

Flynn remembered the fighting like it was a fevered dream.

Hot and hazy. He remembered torches going out and disappearing. He remembered screams on the wind and he remembered firing and reloading and firing his bow, even though he most likely wasn't hitting anything and —

Then the Mage had stepped out. And it was like the stories.

Flynn shivered again. The Mage had been... terrifying. Like a Fell Beast himself in his own way. Or, maybe a great water fall. Or an earthquake. Something more than natural.

Gouts of flame and lighting and death.

If Leinan was in trouble with a mage....

"Theilan," Flynn said faintly. "Your sister might actually be in trouble."

Theilan didn't respond.

Flynn looked around. Then he looked farther around and then darted to his feet, his heart thudding in his chest.

The other boy was gone.

"Theil!" Flynn hissed, then choked as his voice came out louder than expected. He fumbled a marble into his sling. "Theil!"

He heard a rustling and Flynn spun, his sling spinning in his hand and — Theilan stood there, breathing hard.

"Shadows Theil!" Flynn cursed angrily. "Where did —"

"The Danger Marker's gone."

... "What?"

"The Danger Marker. It's gone. The ribbon? I thought it must have ripped off, in the" — Theilan waved his hand about and continued — "but," Theilan shook his head and Flynn peered about himself. "Its gone." He said again.

"Do those trees look... right to you?" There was a quaver in Thailan's voice that was matching the fluttering in Flynn's chest to an uncomfortable degree.

"T-trees?" Flynn looked despite himself. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see what Theilan was pointing out, but now that Theilan mentioned it, he couldn't not... the trees were different. The needles longer than they should have been. The bark, a little smoother.

He breathed harshly. "They're just trees, Theilan. Trees look strange all the time. You know those trees around Master Lou's farm? Just — just the other day I was thinking that they looked," he swallowed. "I was thinking they looked like they had eyes, see? Eyes! But it was just some knots in the wood is all. Just —"

"They look odd, Flynn."

"Shadows. Burning, Fell shadows." Flynn cursed. He looked around. The trees were strange. And covered in ice and frost besides. "He mumbled another curse under his breath. "And Alby's gone too." He said woodenly. "Took off when the" — now it was his turn to wave his hand vaguely. "Hope he makes it home," he muttered.

* * *

They stood there, the two boys. They didn't look at each other. The chill wind whirled about them making them shiver and one of them fingered a knife very very similar to one that his sister tried to kill A Forerunner with.

The other dearly wished he had something more substantial than a few marbles, cloth and cord.

They didn't look at each other. They just stared about. Not at anything in particular, but as if everything was particular.

And maybe it was. They weren't in the Werwood anymore. The Danger Markers were gone. The trees were different. And if they'd craned their necks up, up, up, they would have seen the moon, high overhead. Full and gleaming-white and cruel to behold. Bigger than before.

Tread lightly 'pon the stories, boys, for today might be tomorrow's an the days after.

* * *

"Wh-what do" — the boy wet his lips and started again — What do you think we should we do, Theil?"

"I don't know."

"You brought us here!"

"Your Fell cursed dog brought us here, and bungled that all up besides."

"You take that back!" Flynn tugged the other boy around and shoved his finger into Theilan's face. "He was tracking your sister and by the looks of" —

Theilan snatched the finger out of his face and shoved Flynn.

Flynn was taller than Theilan by a good few inches, but that didn't mean much when you took in Theilan's shoulders.

Flynn lurched back and hit a tree trunk.

He heard ice crack behind him and he stumbled away quickly, breathing hard.

Theilan was glaring hard at him. "And she's still out here." He grated out. "Which means I'm still going after her. What are you going to do? Go after your dog?"

"No." Flynn retorted, glaring with equal intensity. "I'm going with you! But, you take back all that about Alby. By the looks of things he did good, if whatever place this is anything to go by."

The anger... made it easier, some part of Flynn noted wryly. As if it shortcutted all of the way through the agonizing and made it all very clear. Leinan... was still out there. Probably here. Somewhere. Theilan was going after her, even so.

Theilan was stolid and forthright, Flynn thought. Theilan was brave and dependable. A good man to have around. Probably would have done well in those stories Master Bordenshire often would tell.

Flynn wasn't like that, Flynn thought.

He was a beanpole, and he wasn't really that good at much except keeping track of chickens, Flynn thought sourly. Maybe farming when he put his mind to it. He knew that most people saw him as a bit of a light cloth, though, kind of air headed and dreaming.

Not like Theilan.

Theilan nodded sharply and spun, peering hard at the ice and frost in front of them.

"Yea. Alby did good," Theilan said eventually. "I'm glad your coming with me, Flynn."

When they heard the SHRIEK cut through the night, neither boy was really surprised. It seemed a bit old hat compared to the sudden flash freeze that had just occurred and it also seemed like exactly the sort of thing that would happen in one of Master Bordenshire's tales.

They both crouched. Theilan pulled out his knife and Flynn carefully slotted an iron marble into his sling.

They looked at each other. Nodded. And then crept forward. Quietly. Like hunting rabbits.

* * *

The Forerunner Shrieked.

It was the sound of cold steel against chalk. The sound of ice crushing and rending. It was a sound that encapsulated all the cold, heartless fury of moonlit winter.

The Forerunner swiped at the wizard furiously as he stumbled back, claws growing from her hands, and spitting and frothing from her mouth. Her eyes glowed with incandescent, White Fury.

But she missed him. And when she swiped again, her claws were just too short to reach....

She cried out and her arms rose, fingers spread wide, and the wind followed her. It shrieked around the glen. Wailing, and thrashing the branches and leaves and white washing the tree trunks and shrubbery with ice and frost. Wolves howled in the night, but no eye's opened in the blackness around the glen as they had before. And the ice never crossed the aura of the firelight.

The Forerunner flailed, her hand ripping and tearing at the air. "I shalt k —" The Forerunner choked. "Wizard, I shalt" — again, she gagged, almost retching. "Thine life is —" and those words also didn't leave her mouth.

The Forerunner looked like she was struggling against invisible bonds, like a raccoon caught in weighted net. It looked like she was compressing into herself as she struggled, the bonds growing tighter.

Eventually, she stood rigid, her arms held tightly against her chest, her sharp teeth bared and redder than red lips stretched into a rictus grin. Her eyes glowed with cold wrath.

"Thine forfeit dignity was't not worth such as mine, fool Wizard Errant." She hissed. "Thee shalt live to regret this. Thine hat 'pon it." And that did pass her lips, though blood dripped from her mouth and down her chin for the speaking of it.

'Oh boy,' hissed Barnibus' Hat very very softly in his ear. 'Never knew you had that in you...'.

Neither did Barnibus. In fact Barnibus was fairly damned certain he still didn't have it in him and if a Library or even the shabbiest used book store appeared next to him right now, he'd crawl in and hide shaking in the darkest, deepest nook he could find in one of the shelves.

'Double down, boy,' Hat hissed. 'Shiver at the terrifying winter terror later.'

"M-m-m-my que-question, Forerunner O-one." Barnibus stammered haltingly out, and felt a couple grains of his hard won dignity trickle away.

The Forerunner glared at him with eyes full of Cold Malice. Her teeth grit around the answer as if trying to hold back bile bubbling up from her stomach, and her eyes swung left and right. "By words and oaths thee binds and holds," she gritted out. "But yee shalt not like what hence unfolds." Her mouth opened wide and she spoke again.

I come from beyond the moon and sun

but not so far as to be undone

By the price of time and space between

these mortal realms and lands unseen

From the fair lands of ice and snow,

where the fell winds doth come and go.

Where glaciers tower an' rivers freeze,

where auroras dance 'midst the trees.

I come from the Faery Lands of Eld,

of which this land once dared to tell.

I come with wroth and sundered tears,

an' I come afore with all thine fears.

I am The Forerunner of all the Fae,

An thee hast trespassed 'pon me, this day.

The invisible bonds seemed to melt, and she sagged, before rising back up to her full, though diminutive height.

"I. Am not entertained," She said flatly, though that petulant curl was creeping back on her lips again. "Bring forth thine game an' let us play as once was done in an elder day."

* * *

And the now fully clothed Wizard sat down next to the fire and The Forerunner sat down across from him.

Leinan hesitated, but then sat down gingerly too, closer to the wizard than to The Forerunner, and if she did not lock gazes with the winter monster she stared plenty challengingly at the burning coals in the center of the flames.

Aemon, wrapped his hand in his shirt, and because the wizard looked like he had quite forgotten about the tea, reached over and pulled the far-heavier-than-it-appeared kettle from above the fire.

The Wizard blinked in surprise when Aemon lugged it carefully over to him, but then quickly produced a delicate and intricately worked, plate out from his robes and a set of matching tea cups.

By now, nobody even blinked at either the sudden and impossible appearance of the kitchenware, or the obvious fortune the Wizard was passing about.

Tea was set to brewing and then cups were filled in silence.

An aroma that smelled just a bit like jasmine and oranges and Tranquility wafted from the cups and an almost tangible sense of calmness floated faintly in the air.

And as the Wizard handed the cups of otherworldly tea to the guests of his campsite, he spoke the words that he'd heard someone completely different speak long ago....

* * *

... This is a game of stacks and flats and stones and taks.

Of shattered walls and woeful falls.

Of hard-won feats,

and cunning deceits....

* * *

'... Good boy,' said his Hat.