Some Months Later
Her head pounded, her right arm was numb for some reason and that shoulder ached fiercely. A taste of dirt was in her mouth and she realized her mask was loose. Her hood obscured much of her vision, but by the little she could see, she could tell it was after sundown. For some reason, that wasn’t right. But why not escaped her. She tried to think through the raging headache… Orcs! Right. She’d been following orcs… No, one orc in particular. That orc, the one she’d last seen months ago, one of the ones who had killed her grandfather. Now she remembered…
Heat, and the sweat running into her eyes. How she hated the Barrens! She’d stumbled across the small group of orcs shortly after sunrise, had recognized the one. So she’d trailed them, hoping for a chance at him. But he never strayed far enough away from the others. And all together, the small band was certainly more than she could take herself. But she refused to call in any help; this task was hers alone, and she would find a way to see it done. Somehow. Idly she had wondered what they were doing, apparently randomly – and slowly – wandering the Barrens. But she really hadn’t cared much.
It had been near sundown, and the orcs had begun setting up camp near a small oasis remarkably free from centaurs. Her target had pulled out a fishing pole and – finally – moved away from the others. She had slipped deeper into the shadows and crept after him, daggers ready…
But then… Hellfire, there must have been a rogue!
She growled to herself at her blindness, then and now, and tried to move her hood aside to see better, only then realizing that her arms were secured behind her. A pair of heavy leather boots came into her limited field of vision. One prodded her in the gut, not the first time judging by the ache in that spot.
“Wha…?”
The boots moved out of sight and someone nearby said something in the harsh-sounding orcish language. Rough hands lifted her from the hard, dry ground and propped her up in a seated position. She realized then that her legs were also restrained. She winced as the feeling began painfully to return to her right arm and hand. Her hood was shoved back; her mask already hung loose. She spat some dirt out of her mouth and looked around. The orcs’ camp. As she might have guessed. The one who had propped her up backed away as the one she was after came over and crouched down in front of her. The orc said something. She shrugged, her attention more on her bindings. They’d used a heavy rope, unfortunately, rather than something with a lock she could pick. She started the laborious task of trying to work her hands free.
The orc repeated himself and she realized that he was actually speaking common – very heavily accented, but she could make out the words if she concentrated.
“Why am I here? To kill you.”
The orc smiled and said something to his companions. They laughed.
“Who sent you?” the orc asked.
She glanced around, noting the others seemingly occupied with various tasks, but still also paying attention to their conversation. From this close proximity, she confirmed her earlier impressions of them; the one in front of her – her target – a warrior, the two women off to the side near a small tent – a shaman and another warrior, the hunter she didn’t see just at the moment – probably off hunting with his wolf companion, and – she twisted around just enough to glimpse the one standing close behind her – yup, rogue. She hadn’t seen him earlier in the day.
The warrior patiently repeated his question. She shrugged. For some reason, she found herself telling him the simple truth. “No one ‘sent’ me.”
Again the warrior spoke to his cohorts. From behind her, the rogue responded angrily, then gave her a rough kick in the ribs. He also tugged at the one wrapping of rope on her wrists that she had managed to loosen, making it tighter than before. She suddenly spun herself around, sweeping her bound legs out as hard as she could at the rogue’s knees. She caught him off-guard and he fell heavily. Before she could squirm away from him, he was up and on her, a wicked dagger at her throat.
The warrior barked something in orcish. The rogue responded furiously. The warrior seemed to repeat himself. In all the unknown words, she caught the sound of something that seemed to be the rogue’s name. Hurg. She’d remember that. The rogue glared into her eyes, his nose nearly touching hers. The warrior yet again spoke to him and this time she was certain of the name. She gave the rogue a toothy grin. “Hurg. I’ll remember you…”
The rogue grinned wickedly back at her and clambered to his feet. The warrior made a waving motion with one hand. The rogue gave him a glare and then nodded. He brandished his knife at her and then turned and walked away.
The warrior shook his head slowly as he watched her push herself back into a seated position. “Daring, but perhaps not the wisest move,” he murmured. He added in a louder voice, “My companions think you scout for an attack on Crossroads.”
She laughed. “Oh, sure. You’ve found me out,” she said sarcastically. She tilted her head toward the emptiness surrounding them. “See my army?”
She was surprised by the warrior’s chuckle. He didn’t say anything to the others this time. “Then maybe you were sent by your Alliance’s leaders to assassinate some of ours.”
She shook her head and looked around again. The orc waited patiently. Finally she looked back into his fierce eyes and studied his face for a moment. He seemed to be studying hers in turn.
“So you are here to kill us. All of us?” The orc imitated her, also looking around. “By yourself?”
She shook her head. “Just you.”
He sat back in apparent surprise. “Why just me? I’m sure there are better, more strategic targets within our forces.”
“It’s not about the Alliance-Horde conflicts.” Her eyes strayed toward the north. “I remember you from Ashenvale…”
He seemed puzzled, then suddenly stared at her. Abruptly, he stood and hurried over to the fire one of his companions had started. He grabbed a burning branch and returned to her, holding it near her face. “That old elf…” he murmured. “I see a resemblance…”
“My grandfather.”
He set the makeshift torch aside in the dirt and again crouched down before her. “He fought well,” he said solemnly. “And he died honorably. He killed several of our band before he ran. But then he faced us again…” He gave her a speculative look. “He did it to save one of his family. You were the shadow that ran while he held our attention. A very honorable enemy. And now you hunt his killers.”
She said nothing, just took the opportunity to study him, his armor and weapons. Yes, this one was going to be a difficult target, at best. She sighed inwardly as she realized that she had made her move prematurely. She wasn’t ready to take him on. Not quite yet.
After some time, the warrior sat back again. “I think you will also be an honored enemy…” he said quietly.
The warrior stood again and barked what sounded like orders at the others. They seemed to protest, but he overrode them. She watched in astonishment as they quickly packed up their camp, leaving only one small tent standing. She worked furiously at the ropes binding her, but hadn’t loosened them enough to free herself before the warrior turned back to her. He gave her a grin as he tightened the ropes again. Then he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her into the tent. Leaving her lying against the back of the tent, he pulled her daggers from his belt and stabbed them into the dirt at the tent’s entrance.
“I am Garog. Seek me out again when you are more seasoned in your craft. I look forward to it, honored enemy.” Then he stepped out into the night.
She immediately set to work freeing herself, but by the time she crawled from the tent, daggers in hand, the orcs were long gone. In the bright moonlight, she couldn’t even find their tracks. No doubt the hunter’s work.
She muttered a string of curses in her frustration, then plopped down on the ground by the dying fire.
Sighing, she looked north, toward what used to be her home. I’m beginning to doubt that I’ll ever be good enough, grandfather.
Weeks Later
“Lok’tar ogar!” The red-skinned orc yelled and swung his axe at her.
“Yeah, sure.” She had become used to the sounds of the orc language, could even pick out separate words now, but had no idea of the meanings. She evaded the blow and vanished into the shadows, ambushing him a moment later. Several quick thrusts of her daggers and the orc dropped at her feet. She smiled behind her mask. She’d been told to lay waste to all Dragonmaw orcs that she found, to cause chaos and confusion in this Dragonmaw Fortress. It was going well. But who would have ever thought she’d be working for a dragon?
She slipped into the shadows and looked for a good spot to hole up for a minute and bind her wounds. Most of her injuries were very minor, but the slice on the outside of her right thigh where an axe had caught her needed attention. She grimaced at the feel of blood running down her leg beneath her armor. She found a good spot behind one of the rock walls of which this fortress seemed to have an abundance and tucked herself into a small space between a couple of handy dagger-shaped boulders. She frowned at the grey-black grit on the bandage she pulled from her pack. The distinctive gritty dust was getting everywhere. She smiled ironically at herself as she bandaged her wounds. She should probably be grateful the stuff got everywhere; the generous coating on the outside of her armor probably helped her blend into the background.
While she tended her injuries, her eyes never stayed still, always looking around the parts of the fortress she could see from her hiding spot, watching the very few orcs that were visible, assessing threats and targets. She sipped a bit of water to wet her dry mouth. Shadowmoon Valley. She still liked the name, even though the reality of the place was far from what she had pictured. Another dry, barren place. Seemed there were too many of those around. Or she just kept getting herself stuck in them! She grinned to herself.
Feeling somewhat refreshed, she slipped back out into the main compound of the fortress, near the stable, and studied her handywork. So far, so good. A few more orcs taken down, just for good measure, and she could return to the dragon, confident she’d fulfilled her assignment to his satisfaction. She headed for her next target, then pulled up short at the sound of a gun firing. The orc jerked away from the rock splinters that exploded from the wall next to him, then ran around the end of the wall out of sight. She growled to herself – she’d almost had that one! She looked in the direction from where the distinct sounds of battle could now clearly be heard, but naturally couldn’t see anything around the wall. Could the dragon have called in others to also foment chaos? Did he think she couldn’t handle the task? She worried that the dragon was displeased with her – and having a dragon displeased with you could not be a good thing.
She stalked around the rock wall, wrapped in the shadows, to see just who had stolen her target…
She snarled when she found her answer. That orc, that Garog!
She paused to apply a liberal dose of poison to her blades and watch him for a moment. Garog faced two of the red orcs, skillfully wielding his two large axes, fighting both opponents at once and apparently easily holding his own. As she finished with the poison, he finished off one of his opponents. The other dropped just as she stepped through the shadows behind Garog and the pommel of her dagger found a soft spot on the green-skinned orc’s head. But instead of leaving him stunned, her attack only staggered him momentarily, then he seemed to shrug it off in some kind of battle rage. He spun to face this new threat, axes a deadly silver blur in the air. She barely evaded his blows.
“Ah, lok’tar, honored enemy!” A wide grin split his ugly face.
“Uh, yeah,” she muttered, her attention on the whirling axes that came closer with each swing. She twisted, dodging and parrying his blows, her every attack meeting only the deadly edges of his blades or at best leaving scratches on his heavy armor. He protected the weak spots in that armor too well. Then a hissing bolt of shadow magic slammed into her back just as one of Garog’s blades drew a shallow slice down her left arm. She vanished into the shadows and jumped away. Garog’s eyes followed her, but he lept at the Dragonmaw orc who had cast the shadow bolt. A howl from further back in the fortress heralded more of the red orcs streaming down the hill to face the intruders. Garog made quick work of the Dragonmaw caster, then seemed to momentarily study the approaching host. With a slight shake of his head, he turned toward her. He gave her a grin and a quick bow, then whistled shrilly. She shrank back further into the enveloping shadows as a swift-flying wyvern in yellow armor swooped down. Garog vaulted onto its back and the wyvern soared back into the air just ahead of the spells and blades of the enraged Dragonmaws.
She watched the host of Dragonmaws howl their outrage at the flying orc, then begin to look around, possibly for other trespassers in their fortress. One paused and knelt, touching his finger to something in the dirt. He rose, his eyes slowly scanning the dirt in a path that led… Toward her! She cursed soundlessly and looked down. Sure enough, her arm was bleeding just enough to drip a little. The orc turned and called out something to the others. Cursing profusely under her breath, she slammed her daggers into their sheaths and sprinted away in the shadows, holding her arm tightly to keep from leaving any more of a trail. As she ran, she called her own flying mount, a handsome golden gryphon. The great beast dove from the sky and easily paced her, its claws barely clearing the rough ground. She threw herself onto its back, grabbing tightly onto its sturdy feathers as it shot back up into the air.
As they flew away from the raging orcs, she grinned to herself at the furor she left behind. That ought to be a satisfactory amount of chaos! She tried to spot Garog and his wyvern in the air, but they were long gone.
She wrapped a bandage around her arm and vowed that the next time she saw that orc (she spat the word in her thoughts), the result of their meeting would be quite different.
Some Weeks Later
The orc knelt in the grass and dirt. The elf rogue crept toward him, blades ready. This time she’d complete the job.
“Here to kill me?” He didn’t looked up, didn’t reach for his axes.
This would be easy – too easy. The flat tone of his voice stopped her. She studied him, his slumped posture, shoulders rounded and head down. Could this be a trap of some kind? She shifted uneasily and looked around, then looked past Garog’s dispirited form and realized then that he knelt next to a new grave. She frowned behind her mask and watched him reverently place a shield and battle-axe against the tall rock standing at one end of the mound of dark dirt. She could smell the freshly turned earth, even over the strong woodsy smell of this part of Ashenvale. Her frown deepened. Killing him right now just felt…wrong. Silently, she sheathed her daggers and let the shadows slip away.
“She was a good comrade, a good warrior. We fought side by side many times. She…” Garog’s voice trailed off and he bowed his head further.
She listened silently, shifting her feet nervously. Maybe she should just leave. Find him again another time. She wished she hadn’t caught up to him now.
“We had talked about someday…maybe she and I…”
She didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t want to know more about this orc she intended to die by her hand. But for some reason, she didn’t leave. Instead, she circled around him and crouched on the grass some distance in front of him. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said finally.
The orc’s lips curved slightly in a sad smile. “That’s kind of you to say.” He shook his head. “These wars are costing too much, too many…” He lifted his eyes and met hers. “Other than me, she was the last one left of the band that killed your grandfather.”
She looked away, discomfited. “Oh.”
“Now, there’s only me…” He rose slowly, now reaching for his axes. “Might as well-”
“No,” she interrupted. “Not today.”
Still she didn’t look at him, so she didn’t see the faint smile that curved his lips at her words, then as quickly vanished again. He took a couple of steps to his left and placed a hand atop a small grey stone marking a different grave. “Your grandfather lies here.”
She looked up startled. “What?”
“An honored enemy deserves an honorable burial.”
She looked at the grave he indicated, the expression in her eyes softening. “Thank you,” she said in a hushed voice. “I had tried to find him…too much later…” She looked back at the newest burial. “What happened to her?”
“Scourge,” he replied flatly. She could hear a barely concealed note of revulsion in his voice. “At least she escaped their clutches. Escaped becoming one of them. I can’t imagine a worse fate than if that happened…”
She nodded, uncertain what to say. Not sure she needed to say anything.
“She had grown to like this forest, so different from Durotar…” he continued. “I thought it right to bring her here.”
She nodded again, then stood up in one fluid movement. “I shouldn’t disturb you any further-”
“No,” he interrupted. “It is right to share such a thing between honored enemies. When comrades are gone, they are the ones who are left.”
She shrugged, absently twisting her fingers together. She probably should have just left.
“I gave you my name, back in the Barrens many weeks ago. You never told me yours…”
She looked back at him, completely still for a moment except for one hand playing with the hilt of her dagger, idly tracing the design on the pommel. “Why?”
He gave her a slight grin. “It would be good to know the name of my honored enemy who’s going to kill me.”
She stared at him for a long moment. What possible need was there for him to know her name? She couldn’t see any harm in him knowing who she was – she was going to kill him after all – but she also saw no point to it. But maybe it was part of this ‘honored enemy’ thing he kept talking about – to know your enemy’s name. She shrugged with one shoulder, and told him her name.
He bowed then, and took his leave. “Until next time, my enemy.”
She watched him walk away, his shoulders still somewhat bowed and his steps slow. When he had disappeared into the trees, she looked around and spotted some flowers. She quickly picked several, keeping her eyes on her surroundings. After all, this place was very close to that Horde settlement, called Splintertree, if she remembered right. She carried the flowers to her grandfather’s grave and set them at the base of the stone. As she turned to leave, the new grave caught her eye again. She looked around furtively, then took one of the flowers and placed it at the base of the shield. She looked at the two graves, one new and one older, then lifted her head and gazed off after Garog.
“Honored enemy,” she murmured, and bowed, whether to the dead or the living she was unsure herself. Then she slipped back into the comfortable shadows.
So much for those cultists. Nearly a dozen Death’s Hand acolytes, and their leader all taken out. That ought to hinder their activities, at least for a while. Activation Rune retrieved, and powered…or activated…or something -she really didn’t understand this magic stuff- by the being called The Etymidian. Check. Vala made several small tick marks in her diary and closed the book on the apparently blank page. She slipped the book back into her pack and wiped the sweat out of her eyes. Even here on the Shaper’s Terrace, high above the floor of the Un’Goro crater, the heat and humidity were fierce. She glanced up at the lowering clouds. Maybe it would rain. Not that rain would really help. Then she’d be just as wet outside her armor as inside. She was done here, anyway. Now back through the Waygate to Sholazar, another muggy region. She shrugged philosophically and started down the steps, then paused as she heard the gate activate. A lone orc stepped out of the gate’s glow. Looked like a warrior…could it be?
Vala quickly slipped into the shadows before the orc could spot her, then stole down the stairs as he slowly approached. Good…no one else came through the gate with him. Now was her chance. He had killed Grandfather, now Garog would finally pay!
A quick check of the poisons on her blades to make sure they were fresh and she stepped through the shadows behind the orc. She took a cheap shot at him, then immediately launched a carefully prepared series of attacks. Always moving, trying to keep him off balance, cutting with every attack. Speed was her ally, time her enemy in this fight. She frowned as he shrugged off several attacks that should have left him stunned, even if only for a short time. Still, she had expected this and planned for it as much as possible. She evaded his axes, her daggers piercing through vulnerable points in his armor as often as she could manage. Within moments he bled from a dozen cuts and her poisons were working on him. Still, he showed no signs of slowing down. Yet.
She evaded a flurry of blows and managed to land an attack that momentarily stunned him. She slipped into the shadows to bandage one particularly nasty slice he’d given her when she hadn’t moved quite fast enough, then returned to her attacks. Time seemed to stand still as they traded blows in this deadly dance. Vala grinned as more of her attacks slipped through his defenses and she drew more blood. She took some blows herself, but still managed to evade most of his attacks. Not much longer now…
She frowned. Something had changed. He wasn’t bleeding as much…and he hadn’t done anything that she had seen. Suddenly bright flames engulfed her momentarily, then as quickly disappeared, leaving her still burning from their assault. She realized then that she had heard the gate activate. Twice.
She risked a glance that direction and cursed as she spotted a sindorei and a troll with a large tiger. The sindorei seemed to be casting something, while the troll pointed directly at Vala, saying something to the large tiger accompanying her.
Well, this was not good…
Vala barely avoided Garog’s attack, distracted as she was. She cursed at some length, in a couple of different languages. Time to go. The orc would again have to wait for another time. She used a few tricks she’d been holding in reserve and managed to break away from Garog. The orc yelled something at the newcomers and seemed to be waving them off, but she didn’t wait to see if it worked. This whole thing was a shambles now, anyway.
Hoping to distract them, she threw some daggers at the troll and a piece of meat from her pack at the tiger, then sprinted for the gate. She wrapped shadows around herself like a cloak to quench the spell fire that still burned her, then delivered a swift kick in passing to the sindorei to give him something to think about other than casting spells.
Vala dove through the gate, tumbling back to her feet on the other side. She ran for the dubious cover of a nearby clump of trees and bushes, still cursing under her breath. No time to waste, they could be after her any second. She shot a glare back at the gateway, envisioning the orc beyond it. Next time…next time, no intruding hunters or casters…next time would end differently! As she ran, she whistled for her mount, hoping that the hippogryph she’d recently acquired from the Cenarion Expedition would arrive before her adversaries did.
It did.
The vrykul seemed to have some plan. Part of it Vala was quite willing to go along with; the part that involved her moving almost constantly to avoid letting them surround her. Unfortunately, that part was probably only a side-effect of what seemed to be their main goal…steadily inching her toward the steep cliff that dropped off into the sea. That part had her a little worried.
At least the vrykul were getting in one another’s way trying to get at her. That might be the only reason she still stood and was in as good a shape as she was. Relatively speaking. She bled from a half dozen or more wounds that stung in the frigid air, but one vrykul had already fallen to her blades. The other three, however, stubbornly refused to give in to her attacks. And she was running out of tricks…and room.
With a low growl, a sentry worg charged into the fray. She evaded its attack desperately, only to take a spear from the spear-sister who had been patrolling with the beast. The shock of it, the impact, drove her back another couple of steps. Vala broke off the shaft of the spear, not truly feeling the pain from it yet, leaving the head in her thigh for the moment and attempted to ward off the worg’s attacks. No doubt it was going for a tendon. She risked a glance backward. She had now run out of room. And time.
She should have just told those Ebon Blade knights that she’d finish their tasks in Njorndar Village after she’d had some rest. She shouldn’t have let their urgency infect her and goad her into this reckless mission while she was still weary from the previous ones. But the chance to deny the Lich King some resources and followers…
She spared an anxious glance around. No friendly faces in sight. She couldn’t count on any help. And had this small battle caught the attention of yet more vrykul? Looked like they could be heading her way.
Throwing caution to the wind, Vala attacked all out, using every last trick she could, trying desperately for an opening to let her jump into the soothing shadows and get away. Completing the Ebon Blade’s tasks here would just have to wait. Another vrykul went down and the worg yipped in pain and slunk away to the side. Vrykul blood dripped freely from her blades. Her own blood dripped freely as well. At least none of those Mjordin Water Magi had joined the fight.
She blindly grabbed a vial from a pouch at her waist, pulled out the stopper with her teeth and downed the contents in one gulp, giving an involuntary shiver at the sharp taste of the icethorn and goldclover mix. But at least that slowed the bleeding, almost instantly. She ducked away from a chopping blow from a warrior’s ax and sank a dagger hilt-deep into his side. Another one down. Maybe she’d actually get out of this.
A sharp crack and ice suddenly encased her feet. She swore profusely. So much for avoiding the notice of any magi. In glimpses between the attackers in her face, she saw the mage move further away and then summon a water terror, which immediately charged toward her.
Another loud crack tore through the sounds of battle. Time stopped then as she watched a widening fissure in the ground beneath her feet. A fissure between her and the vrykul.
The tiny section of snow and ice on which she stood broke away from the cliff, falling toward the sea far below. She grabbed desperately for the still-solid edge at her attackers’ feet.
She missed.
The small ledge that broke her fall also broke other things. Darkness engulfed her.
– – –
Shadowy forms moved against the brightness of the sunlit ice and snow. Was she dreaming? Probably not. She was too cold, in too much pain, for this to be a dream. She squinted, trying to make out any features of the figures. Human sized, so not vrykul…wearing red…proudly displaying a bold red symbol on white tabards…
She tried desperately to make her limbs move…to escape into the shadows. Instead, agony flooded her. She had only one thought as she fell back into pain-filled darkness. She had to get away…
Scarlets!
Vala wove the thin copper wires together, carefully following the design her cousin had sketched out so long ago. She finally slipped the last wire into place and set the ring aside with a small sigh. That one looked much better. It might even be worth selling. She looked over her efforts of the last few days, pleased at the obvious improvement in the more recent pieces. This was a nice change, creating something beautiful instead of always dealing death and destruction. She could finally understand the joy that Jani had experienced making beautiful things. Time for another one.
She reached for some more copper wire, then paused, instead pulling out one of the rolls of paper containing Jani’s last designs. She unrolled it and flipped through the papers, looking for something that she would know when she saw it…there! One of the last pages in the roll had the design she wanted. Without looking, she grabbed a quill and ink from the edge of the table and began filling in the lines of the design with those remembered from that book, the book that had ultimately led to Jani’s death.
The image of the mystic design was as clear in her mind as if she was still looking at the page; drawing it was easy…
She paused, oblivious to the drop of ink that splashed down onto the drawing.
This was wrong…
She would never draw out any of those magic symbols…had never drawn one…
She would never risk revealing that she could easily call to mind each that she had seen…in exact detail…
Sudden, searing pain ripped through her, shredding the memory and plunging her into darkness.
Agony…everything hurt. Well, alright, maybe not the bottom of her left foot, but everything else hurt. She wished that persistent half-recognized low voice would stop. She couldn’t make out the words, wasn’t even sure of the language. Perhaps if she could identify the language, she could understand. But her head felt too foggy, hurt too much, to think. And random memories kept popping up: the tart taste of her favorite berry pie as a child; the pleasurable sensation of the sun on her face after a long, cold winter; the special mix of excitement and apprehension of her first crush on a boy in town; the horror of helplessness… Something felt wrong, but what was it? Where was she and what had happened? And why couldn’t she pull up that memory?
Vala tried to roll over and wrenched her shoulders as her body moved, but her arms -stretched over her head and secured somehow- did not move with her. She automatically stifled the cry of pain, not even thinking why she should want to. The voice still spoke to her, from somewhere close, sounding more urgent. She knew that voice, but yet it sounded somehow wrong, more reverberant somehow. She tried to peer through swollen eyes, but saw only blackness. She wasn’t even sure that she had actually gotten her eyes open. And why was the floor rocking slightly?
Dragonmaw Orcish…that’s what the language was. And just that easily, she realized what the voice was saying.<“Wake up! Now’s your chance.“>
Something told her this was important, vital even. She tried again to open her eyes and this time managed narrow slits. So she really hadn’t been able to open them a moment ago. Bleary-eyed, she peered around as well as she could. Hard, damp wood underneath her, rough curved wood walls, crates and barrels stacked around, nets hanging from hooks. Looked like the belly of a ship. Now that she was a bit more aware, she realized her wrists were secured to something behind her, or above her head rather, with the way she was lying. She painfully twisted around to examine her bindings. Metal manacles circled her wrists. Short, thick chains were attached to her manacles, the other ends locked to a thick metal ring set in a support pole. She had very little leeway to move. Two dirty lanterns hanging from the ceiling nearby gave feeble light.
<“That’s it,“> the voice encouraged. <“I knew they wouldn’t be the end of you.“>
She slowly turned her head, trying not to jolt any of the myriad pains in her body into sharp agony again. Yes, it was Garog, nearby and also chained to a wooden support. But something about him was wrong. She couldn’t quite figure it out in the dim light.
<“Can you pick the lock?“>
Vala took a quick assessment of herself. Pain and cold were the overriding sensations. Tortured, no doubt, but she couldn’t recall the details. That might be bad. And her head still felt hazy; she was finding it difficult to think clearly. They, whoever they were, had naturally taken her weapons and armor, even down to her mask and boots. She now wore a thin linen shift. It was too short – barely falling below her knees, bloodstained, and did absolutely nothing to help keep her warm. She began to shiver in the cold and couldn’t seem to stop. She needed to get out of here. She turned her head further and felt that the band that held her ponytail was still in her hair, although it felt loose. Chances were they hadn’t searched her hair…
She carefully scooted upward so that she could reach her hair with her hands. The angle was bad and she pulled something else in one shoulder, but she finally found what she was after, the lockpicks she kept secreted beneath the hair band.
<“Yes,“> she finally answered the orc’s question, only then realizing that her throat was raw, her voice scratchy. From screaming? She shied away from that thought for the moment. She was surprised at the difficulty she had getting even that single word out. <“Need a minute.“> She started to sit up, but quickly realized that was not really an option yet, so from where she lay she worked blindly at the lock holding her chains to the pole.
<“You might not have a minute. I think they’re preparing the boat to leave. They could come back any time.“>
<“Almost there.“> She continued talking, even though that hurt her throat, but it helped a little to distract herself from the rest of the pain she was causing herself while trying to pick the lock at such an odd angle. The shivering wasn’t helping either. <“So who are they? What do they want?“>
She could feel his eyes on her. <“You don’t remember…“>
She shook her head and instantly regretted the motion.
<“Maybe just as well,“> he muttered. <“Scarlets…“>
Images flashed into her mind: a human male’s cruel face above the hated red-flame tabard; instruments of torture precisely used to cause maximum pain; the odor, smell, and taste of blood. Then a different face, indistinct and unidentifiable, one with questions… She shuddered and pushed away the memories. How long had it been? Not now. But why couldn’t she remember who had asked the questions and what the questions were? She realized that Garog had continued talking.
<“…reversing the process in their monastery down south. Not sure I’d want that from their hands. And then there was that odd priestess…She seemed fixated on you, wanting to know where someone was…and something about drawings…“>
Vala froze, afraid to ask but needing her fears confirmed. <“Tell me more about the priestess…“>
<“Strangest scarlet priestess I’d ever seen. Her robes just barely looked like a scarlet’s robes, and they were so skimpy it was amazing she didn’t fall right out the top. She seemed to like it that way…Never seen the like before – in a scarlet priestess… And the others deferred to her like she was someone very important…“> The lock on Vala’s chains opened with a faint click, freeing her from the support pole. Getting the manacles off would take more than lockpicks and so could wait. Fighting the pain that shot through her body with every movement, trying to control the shivering enough to actually be able to move, she slowly crawled over to the supine orc and began to work on the lock on his chains.
<“Brown hair, red painted lips, and light blue eyes? Sounds pretty crazed…more so than usual for a scarlet?“>
Garog grinned. <“That’s the one.“>
Vala shuddered. Not that demon again. And she now knew why her head felt so strange, knew what the demon wanted. The diagrams from that book. Or even the book itself.
Garog added in a different tone. <“You should get yourself out of here while you can. Don’t try to free me, too, or you could lose your chance. You need to get away from her…“>
Yes, she did need to get away. However…
<“I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy to the scarlets,“> she growled, working furiously at the lock. <“I’m not about to leave my honored enemy to them.“>
She jumped when Garog’s hand closed over hers.
<“It’s open“>, he said. Preoccupied with thoughts of that demon, and the book, she’d been still working at the lock even after it had popped open. She gave him a half-hearted grin, then realized what was odd about his voice. And why he seemed completely oblivious to the frigid air. She found herself staring into his icy blue eyes, icy blue glowing eyes that were completely wrong for an orc. And she knew what the scarlets wanted to try to do with him. She knew of them doing such a thing once before.
<“Death knight,“> she whispered. <“They want you to experiment on, to try to change you back…“>
He nodded sadly at her first comment, but only shrugged at the second. He staggered to his feet, the chains on his manacles clanking softly as he moved. She noticed he also lacked any armor or weapon, naturally. He wore only ragged breeches, and she could see the marks of torture on his torso. And one other wound that looked more like a battle wound than torture. It was neatly stitched closed, but unhealing. She realized she must be seeing his death wound, the one that ultimately led to his new life – if you could call it life.
She fought down the panic that rose in her as images from her own torture suddenly flashed through her mind. <“We have to get out of here…and far away from them!“>
<“Easy. That’s what I’ve been saying.“> He helped her to her feet, and ended up supporting her when her own legs refused to. Together they staggered to the stairs, making far too much noise in her opinion. They stopped just short of the top step of the first flight of stairs, right at the edge of the shadow from the guard above.
Garog lowered her to the steps. <“I’ve got this,“> he whispered.
Vala shook her head and grabbed his ankle to stop him. <“I’m the sneaky one here,“> she whispered back.
<“You can’t even walk!“>
<“I can crawl.“> She briefly studied the chains hanging from her manacles. <“Get me one of those locks.“>
Garog quickly brought her the lock. She snapped it through the last link of each chain, hooking them together. Now her wrists were chained together, but she also had a length of chain that she could use. She slipped into the shadows and slowly, painfully crawled up the stairs, holding the lock in her teeth to keep the chains from banging on the steps.
The guard stood at the top of the second flight of steps leading up from the hold of the ship to the gun deck. Vala used the edge of the doorway behind the woman to pull herself to her feet. She took a slow, deep breath against the pain, then whipped the chain around the guard’s neck and pulled it tight, cutting off any sound. The guard flailed wildly, nearly throwing her off. Unable to stand on her own, she practically hung from the chain, using her dead weight to pull it tighter as she heard Garog hurry up behind her. He reached past her to grasp the guard’s head with both hands, then gave a sudden twist. The guard slumped immediately and Vala dropped to the floor with her, working to untangle the chain from the body. She quickly looked around for more guards but didn’t see any. Apparently they hadn’t been noisy enough to attract any additional attention. Yet.
Garog grabbed the guard’s sword and swung it a few times. <“It’ll do.“>
Vala quickly rifled through the woman’s pouches, coming up with a few coins and a red potion that was unmistakably some kind of healing potion. She glanced up at Garog.
<“You drink it,“> he urged.
She quickly gulped it down, and smiled slightly as her pain eased a little, even as the liquid seemed to freeze her tongue. She then set to work again picking the lock on her chains. No reason to keep them connected when the guard’s belt would work just as well for a garrote. And leave her hands free otherwise.
The distinctive twang of a crossbow heralded another guard’s arrival. Vala instinctively dove into the shadows at the sound, dragging the belt off the fallen guard in the process. Garog grunted as the bolt lodged in his shoulder; otherwise he seemed to take no notice of the injury. He thrust out one hand and a swirl of frozen air enveloped the guard. Vala wrapped her arms around herself in a mostly-futile attempt to retain whatever warmth she still had as the temperature dropped even more with the orc’s spell. The orc then attacked the guard with his stolen blade and made short work of him.
Vala started for the stairs leading up to the main deck, relieved to be able to move on her own, even if more slowly than normal. She still hurt, but could at least function. Sort of. She still couldn’t stop shivering though. She needed to get warm soon. But her more immediate need was to get away from the scarlets and their demon priestess. She barely glanced at the several cannons she passed; they probably wouldn’t be of any help in this.
Garog tossed her a dagger taken from the second guard as he followed after her, and kept the man’s sword for himself, now wielding both swords. He grinned ferociously. <“Time to go.“>
She nodded and slipped back into the shadows to climb the stairs. So far they’d been lucky: only two guards. But who knew what awaited them above. Garog hung back to give her room.
Vala slowly crept onto the main deck. Deserted so far. That seemed odd. If they were preparing to set sail, wouldn’t there be more activity?
“Simply tell me what I need to know and I’ll let you go free, my little mouse.”
The priestess! Vala’s shudder had nothing to do with the cold. She stopped short as the shadows were stripped away from her. What had she been doing? She should just tell the priestess what she needed to know, right? Maybe even draw the design for her from the book. That would be even better… and it would be so easy… No… But, why not? It was so hard to think. Her hands opened and the dagger and belt fell to the deck. Trapped deep within her mind, Vala beat helplessly against the wall of fog and screamed. Her feet took her toward the priestess, who awaited her at the top of the plank leading down to the dock.
Something grabbed her roughly around the waist and hoisted her into the air. <“Can’t leave you here. How would you kill me, then?“>
As the boat dropped away beneath her, her mind began to clear. She found herself slung across one of those bone gryphons, Garog’s apparently, head and feet hanging down to either side of the thing. Good thing there was nothing in her stomach. When had she last eaten anyway? She looked down -really the only direction she could look- and watched as Onslaught Harbor began to shrink with distance. She twisted around to catch a glimpse of Garog’s face. He looked grim, but managed a slight smile when he noticed her scrutiny.
<“Are you back with me?“>
<“Think so.“> With a sudden explosion of blinding pain, the fog vanished from her mind. The pain quickly dimmed, but still her head throbbed. She only vaguely noticed landing at Death’s Rise and Garog making arrangements with the gargoyle Dreadwind for a bone gryphon to fly her to Dalaran. With Garog’s help, she clambered onto the skeletal mount.
<“You alright for the flight to Dalaran? You can have the gryphon stop at The Shadow Vault, if you’d prefer. It’s closer.“>
<“I’ll be fine. Dalaran will be fine. Um…thanks.“>
He chuckled, a strangely ominous sound now. <“What are honored enemies for?“> He bowed. <“Next time we meet, I expect to cross blades with you again.“>
<“Count on it.“> With a lurch that roused all the pains in her body, the bone gryphon took off for Dalaran. She clung to the saddle, looking forward to visiting the healers in the city. Soon! Before the gryphon had even cleared the edge of Death’s Rise, she tore a strip from the bottom of her shift and fashioned a crude mask out of it. She planned to stay in the shadows in Dalaran until she reached a healer, but still felt better wearing some kind of mask as well. The demon wasn’t the only one who might be after her.
She couldn’t help glancing back toward the scarlet stronghold. Would that demon be coming after her? Now that she knew Vala had knowledge of the drawings in that blasted book? She sighed at her thoughts and wished her head would stop pounding. She glanced down at the Lich King’s lands below, at the masses of scourge there. Scourge, scarlets, demons…and orcs that were now death knights. It was always something.
Vala jerked awake, her heart pounding wildly, her sleeping robes soaked with sweat. What? What had disturbed her? She peered around, at first uncertain where she was. Oh, right, her small room in one of the inns in Dalaran. Nothing looked amiss. Still night, judging by the lack of light at the edges of the curtain covering her narrow window. She shuddered suddenly as the fog cleared from her head somewhat and the dull ache set in. The dream again. Or nightmare, rather.
Shivering from more than the chill in the air, she pulled off her soaked sleeping robes and grabbed her sheet and wool blanket from the floor where they had fallen. She sat back in the middle of her narrow bed, wrapped up in the sheet and blanket with her knees pulled up, her chin resting on one knee, and her arms wrapped tightly round her legs.
That demon could not be around. She was sure that she would know if it was, not to mention all the mages and warlocks in Dalaran, probably. Weeks had passed, and still the nightmare disrupted her sleep. Not as often, perhaps, as right after escaping from Onslaught Harbor. But still often enough. And awake, she never remembered details. Slowly, too slowly, the shivering and the pounding of her heart eased.
She had looked for the demon priestess, returning several times to the scarlets’ island off the shore of Icecrown. But found nothing other than the expected scarlets. Apparently the demon was off somewhere else. Maybe hunting someone or something else. Vala pulled the slipping blanket back up on her bare shoulders. At least she had no sudden urges to draw things from that blasted book. But she longed to be able to sleep comfortably again. Trying to function normally with so little rest was getter harder and harder. And her temper had gotten much sharper, she noticed.
She tilted her head to rest one cheek on her knees. She was so tired… But how to stave off the nightmare? Magic? That always made her skin twitch. She wondered…maybe…might a druid be able to help? They knew something of dreams and nightmares, right? Her thoughts began to drift. A druid…a pair of glorious amber eyes in a strong, attractive face…intense gaze…strong, warm hands… With thoughts of Gilgalen occupying her, she drifted softly, finally, into a nightmare-free sleep.
Some weeks later
Vala trudged wearily back through the Upper Spire of the Lich King’s citadel. The assault on his fortress had been progressing well, for the most part. But it was a lengthy campaign and setbacks were not uncommon. This latest push had gone well, however. Although they had been obliged to retreat yet again, as yet unable to free the captive dragon, they had learned more about scourge tricks and had successfully tested some tactics against them. Soon the dragon would be freed. Vala glanced only in passing at the bodies littering the floor; many the Lich King’s bound servants, but also a number of death knights who had broken free of his dominion to return to help the fight against him. Here they had fallen again.
Motion, where there should be none. She leapt back, drawing her blades as she did. Had one of the scourge revived? Undead unfortunately did that with annoying frequency. She peered through the icy gloom. Then she heard her name.
“Garog?” She inched forward, wary of a trap, until she could spot the orc death knight beneath and somewhat behind a number of scourge bodies.
“Honored…enemy.” The orc had difficulty saying even that much. His voice was weak enough that she had trouble hearing him.
Vala sheathed her blades and shoved some of the scourge aside. She knelt next to the critically injured orc, assessing his wounds. Very bad. If he’d been anything other than a death knight, he would have already succumbed. And, as it was… She pulled a bandage from her pack and began to unroll it, but his hand atop hers stopped her.
“My…thanks…honored enemy.” He shook his head, and then seemed to be trying to gather some strength to go on.
“If I can get you to a healer quickly…”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice slightly stronger. “I can…feel the Lich King…reaching out…calling me back. It is…time for an…end to this. Would have liked…cross blades again…”
“I’m sure they can heal you down below…”
“No…end this… Sorry…Lich King…stole your vengeance…”
This wasn’t how this was supposed to end, wasn’t how he was supposed to die. She studied his wounds again. They were numerous and deep, and the kind that would have him lingering, in extreme pain, for a long while yet. A bad way to die. And if she tried to move him, he would probably die. But then…
“The Spirit Healer…”
He shook his head, in obvious agony, his eyes pleading with her.
And she remembered what he had said so many months ago at his friend’s grave. ‘At least she escaped their clutches. Escaped becoming one of them. I can’t imagine a worse fate than if that happened…’
He struggled to speak further; she had to lean close to catch the words. “I was…Bladesmasher… Remember me… Bury me…Ashenvale…”
Then, as she still held the bandage ready, he grabbed the hilt of one of her daggers, partially drawing it. “Your grandfather…died…swiftly… I would die…swiftly…by blade…honored enemy…”
She nodded and dropped the bandage. In one smooth motion she unsheathed her daggers and quickly drew both across his throat.
She stood motionless a long time, looking down at his body, his blood dripping forgotten from the blades in her hands. Finally, an unwelcome sound caught her attention. A val’kyr had returned and was headed for the scourge bodies, no doubt to raise them again to the Lich King’s service. Vala quickly wiped her daggers clean on a nearby scourge’s cloak and then sheathed them. She grabbed Garog’s body and hoisted him onto her shoulders, staggering a little at his weight. A quick glance at the rapidly approaching val’kyr, now with another following, and she snatched up Garog’s weapons and ran for the transporter.
– – –
A slight breeze rustled the leaves in the treetops, but otherwise the forest was relatively quiet. A wolf howled in the distance, sounding somewhat mournful. Rather appropriate for this, Vala thought. She knelt to carefully position the two battle-axes against the tall rock standing at one end of the new grave. <“ ‘An honored enemy deserves an honorable burial.’ “> she said in Dragonmaw Orcish. <“Rest well, or whatever it is you want to do in the Spirit World, Garog Bladesmasher, honored enemy.“>
She stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. <“And don’t worry…the Lich King will die. Soon.“> A last look at Garog’s grave and that of his lady friend, and then her grandfather’s grave, and she disappeared into the shadows.
((Vala’s adventures continue in Hints of Cataclysm))
((Additional adventures are in That Druid and Diverse Adventures))
Good stuff. I laughed. I cried. It changed my life!
😀 Ha ha, Tygr! And thanks!