Author's Notes:

You all know who Warcraft and all the applicable trademarks belong to. In case you missed the summary though, yes - it's slash/yaoi/male-on-male. Sorry, no actual sex in chapter 1.

Characters are original.

R&R at your own risk.

I am not responsible for resulting dementia.

Act I

Dramatis Personnae

Ambryn blushed bright red, color flooding into his cheeks. The human mage took a careful step back, jade eyes wary.

"I'm not interested," he said quietly, arms tightening around the grocery bag he held.

The troll snorted, clawed hands resting on his belt buckle, wild bright red hair spiked back from his head. His red eyes glided over the curling amber hair, the slender nose, the full lips, the shapely jaw.

K'dzok shook his head. "Sweetness, the sway of your hips says it all. You're looking to get laid, and I'm just the troll for the job."

Ambryn chose his next words very carefully, wary of provoking the much larger, probably faster, and almost certainly stronger troll into something more than a crudely worded proposition. "I'm just going to take this moment to point out that you're propagating a very negative Trollish stereotype, and that you're really not doing the general reputation of your race a favor by engaging in this sort of questionable behavior."

The troll's eyebrows rose slightly. "Which stereotype? That trolls like to fuck, and we like fucking sweet-ass little humans? It's true. I can already imagine those pretty lips wrapped around my cock." His body was already reacting to the direction of his thoughts. "Speaking of pretty, I'd really like to hear you let out a long, loud moan while I'm buried to the hilt in your ass." K'dzok grinned. "You've obviously never had troll cock before, or you'd be all over me with my pants down right here in the street."

"Actually, I was referring to the remarked-upon propensity for Trolls to behave in a sexually aggressive manner when the object of their attention has already displayed a negative reaction." Ambryn took another step backward.

It was driving K'dzok crazy, the way the smooth-skinned pretty-faced little human was playing games with him. He'd seen this game before, the retreat, the blushing denials - but this one wanted it, just like the others. He just didn't know it yet.

The troll moved with a speed his enemies respected on the battlefield, and suddenly he was close enough to smell the human perspiring, only instead of honest sweat, he smelled like those ointments they used to cover up their bodily smells, a teasing hint of cool mint. He looked and smelled clean and sweet, and those jade eyes were so bright, so wide. K'dzok had his fingers on the human's bicep, the flesh soft beneath his touch, careful to let his prey feel his claws without actually breaking the skin. That part of the fun would come later.

Nathiel felt his temper boil over as the troll grabbed the human. It was the human's pleasing baritone that had caught his ear, and only as the conversation on this quiet little side street progressed had he noticed the steadily deepening fear in it as well. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a human and a troll pairing, though they were admittedly uncommon. In fact, seeing them with orcs and trolls and on occasion even tauren or draenei had soured him a bit on the race.

His fury at the other's presumption boiled out of his chest in a deep, threatening bass growl that made the troll's head whip around, long pointy ears alert, red eyes darting to the cross-alley.

K'dzok hesitated for a moment as the night elf stepped out of the alleyway. His instincts were already sizing up his opponent, noting that he was probably an inch or two taller, powerfully built but still lean and lithe, his eyes wells of silver. The dark blue hair was cut short, marking him as a bit of a maverick among his typically long-haired kin, the purple skin unmarred by scars, suggesting that either he hadn't seen that many fights, or he was very, very good. The way he moved suggested the latter.

On top of that, he was obviously furious.

K'dzok's battle-sense was telling him that he'd probably be in for the fight of his life. His loins were telling him that the human was his rightful prey and that this other male was poaching, looking to mate with the human instead. K'dzok's lips curled in a faint sneer. The street wouldn't be the best place for a fight, too much chance that the guard-

"Take your hand off him, or I'll rip off your whole god-damned arm," the night elf snarled in that same deep growl.

K'dzok had been quietly about to withdraw when the words hit him like a whip of fire and his pride got engaged. There was no way he was backing down now. This bastard was going down.

Ambryn let out a startled yelp as the hand around his arm tightened, claws digging into his flesh, and he was yanked in front of the troll, losing his grip on his grocery bag, fruits, vegetables, eggs, bread, all of it scattering over the street. This was getting dangerous. He could see the night elf clearly now, silver eyes blazing, body girded in night-blue armor, square jaw tight, handsome face set like granite, fists clenched.

He didn't have a weapon.

The nicked and scratched blade of an axe was hefted awfully close to Ambryn's face. He could see his own wide-eyed reflection in it.

"Come on and take him from me," the troll hissed.

"Let him go, and we'll settle this," the night elf said in his deep voice, silver eyes also going to that axe blade.

Kd'zok grinned, let the edge rasp softly against the human's cheek, watched as the anger in the night elf's face turned to boiling rage. He was going to hurt both of them before this was all over. The human might survive it, but the night elf? Oh hell no. He was going to be a mutilated, desecrated corpse, utterly unrecognizable by the time K'dzok finished with him, and that would be hours. He'd make the human watch, K'dzok decided. By the time he was done, the human would be putty in his hands, eager to please.

Nathiel knew the troll was deliberately baiting him, trying to get his rage to overcome his reason. The problem was, it was working, because the more fear he saw in the human's face, the more Nathiel wanted troll blood to stain the streets. He recognized as well that only part of what he was feeling was righteous indignation. There was also desire. He needed to finish this quickly.

K'dzok saw the night elf tense, set his feet and pulled the human back against him, enjoying the thrill as his erection throbbed against his prisoner's soft backside. The elf would come at him from his right side, the side with his axe arm, afraid of injuring the hostage. K'dzok wouldn't kill him immediately, just slice open his belly, hogtie him, and then give him enough of a healing potion to keep him alive for a few hours of entertainment.

The night elf moved, shape blurring. K'dzok had been expecting the shadow-meld. He wasn't worried. He swung, and his arm vibrated with the contact of his axe meeting resistance.

The axe flew from his broken fingers and K'dzok was still trying to process the excruciating agony of the night elf's booted heel crushing his hand when two strong, callused hands caught hold of his arm and twisted it behind his back. He arched his spine and let out a wail as ligaments tore, other arm flailing, human forgotten.

A booted foot swept his feet out from under him and the ground rose up to meet him with painful suddenness, stunning him for a moment. There was a heavy foot on his back. He let out another shriek as his arm was twisted further, bone grating, tendons popping.

"A few more turns, and I'll have it all the way off," the night elf said in a chillingly calm tone that made K'dzok whimper even harder. "Just lay there while I finish up."

"No pl-auugh!"

Ambryn trembled as the troll's scream of agony scraped at his ears, unable to look away as the night elf gave the arm he held another sickening twist. He stood frozen a few steps away. His rescuer's gaze held pure murder.

His voice, when it came out, was surprisingly calm. "Please don't. I wouldn't have his death on your hands for my sake."

Silver eyes snapped up, and Ambryn almost turned and ran as he met them. He trembled.

Nathiel's head came up at the sound of the human's voice, instinctively checking for injuries, but the silver-blue robes were unmarred, no blood immediately visible anywhere on his person. It took him a moment to process the words. He could feel the veins throbbing in his neck, pounding in his temples with his rage. He twisted the troll's arm just a little further, watched the jade eyes widen. "I very much doubt you're the first of your kind that he's raped. Even with a broken arm, he'll likely try it again." He couldn't help his tone, but it stung more than he cared to admit when the human's eyes widened further, fear returning in full force.

"I'll never do it again," the troll sobbed. "Please don't take my arm off! I swear I'll never do it again, never ever look at a human or elf again! I swear!"

"You're a fucking liar," Nathiel snarled quietly down at him.

"Please." Ambryn took one of the most terrifying steps forward in his life. Not even the troll had scared him as badly as this night elf did, and yet at the same moment, he was strangely drawn to the powerful creature who had just saved him. "We'll leave him for the watch. I'm sure you're right. He's probably done this before, and he should face justice."

Nathiel wavered. The words were soft, the tone tremulous, the bright jade eyes full of silent appeal. He looked down at the troll, felt his anger begin to subside. He spat on the pale green neck.

"You live today, but if I ever see you again, I'm going to kill you."

The troll just whimpered.

"Got any ro-"

Nathiel glanced up to see the human kneel next to his prisoner, suppressed a noise of disgust as gentle hands reached toward pale green flesh. And then suddenly ice was spreading across the troll's shoulders, binding him to the street, chill so intense that Nathiel could feel it. The troll immediately started to shiver. Nathiel backed off, and ice climbed the twisted arm, freezing it into place.

"Th-th-th-thank y-"

The troll's head rocked back as the human kicked him right in the teeth, and Nathiel felt his disgust replaced by something approaching admiration.

"I didn't do it for you," the human said quietly. "I did it for him, because he shouldn't have had to stop you in the first place."

K'dzok lay shivering the street, mangled shoulder already numb, and didn't say another word as hands searched his pockets and took his money, adding insult to very real injury.

"This should pay for your groceries." The night elf's tone was calm now.

"Thanks, but I'm not in the mood to cook any more."

"In that case, can I buy you dinner?"

Ambryn blinked, looked up into the handsome face, marveling at how those features had gone from being terrifying to being charming and distinctly attractive. He smiled brightly. "I'd be delighted."

Nathiel smiled back, troll almost forgotten until he noticed the growing red stains on the human's sleeve. "Actually, let's take you to a healer first," he murmured.

The weltering bruises in the shape of wiry, clawed fingers and the slender red cuts on the human's soft, pale skin were almost enough to make Nathiel go back and finish what he'd started right then and there. Then smaller, soft fingers were clasping his own, the pale, lovely face fixed in an expression of discomfort as the wounds were cleaned and a compress was applied over them and taped in place, and Nathiel was much more occupied with closing his own larger hand gently around them and rubbing reassuringly.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Ambryn Dellani." Ambryn looked up into those silver eyes, felt something unfurling in him as a big, callused, gentle hand rubbed gently against his palm. "What's yours?"

"Nathiel Highfury." Nathiel felt desire spike in him as he looked into Ambryn's jewel-like eyes. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Just put a little bit of salt and vinegar into the water when you bathe." The healer woman was either oblivious to the way they were regarding each other, or very discreet, because she paid them barely any mind. "Chamomile tea and a little willow extract will help with the pain as well," she added.

Nathiel paid her pittance of a fee out of the troll's coins, which was only fitting, and kept his grip on Ambryn's hand, pulling him gently to his feet, getting a smile of thanks in return.

He went for a little bit more of an upscale restaurant than he might have otherwise since it wouldn't really be his coin feeling the bite, one where they actually had menus instead of whatever the cook was serving for the day, and upscale wines.

The roast pheasant was excellent, the wine smooth, and the conversation pleasant. Nathiel learned that Ambryn was a mage in the seventh circle at Periont's Tower, working on mostly civic enchantments and a few of the city's shieldings, and told him a little about some of his jobs as a bodyguard for the guild Vir Aegeae.

It was easy to see the pleasure that danced in Ambryn's eyes, smile and laughter genuine, and yet, he seemed the slightest bit nervous, and Nathiel couldn't figure out for the life of him why.

Ambryn was falling fast. He could sense it. Nathiel was charming, handsome, intelligent, courteous, an absolute gentleman (when he wasn't ripping trolls' arms off), and Ambryn could feel desire growing in him.

There was just one problem. Ambryn had never actually been with anyone before. He knew how it worked, theoretically anyway, but he had no experience. He was desperately afraid that he was going to disappoint the night elf, not sure how far exactly this was going to go tonight, or even how far he wanted it to go.

Nathiel ordered a carriage to take them to Ambryn's home, sitting next to him on the seat, arm wrapped gently around him. He lowered his head, breathing in the scent of the human's hair, catching just a faint hint of soap and mint.

Ambryn's head turned. Nathiel pressed his mouth gently to the human's soft, full lips, and felt them tremble beneath his kiss. He pulled back after a moment, a little confused. Surely this wasn't his first . . . was it?

He saw the misgiving in the human's eyes. "I'm sorry," Ambryn said softly. "I don't know if I'm doing this right."

Nathiel felt tenderness and desire both grow in equal measure as he looked into those jade eyes, saw the trepidation there, and smiled. "You're doing just fine."

He'd half-thought he might not be sleeping alone tonight, but Ambryn's unspoken admission confirmed his suspicions. Nathiel almost sighed, because it had been a while for him, but he didn't want to rush Ambryn, and if there was a chance this could last . . . he twined a curling lock around his finger, admired the way the dark amber gold shone in the torchlight as the carriage rolled through the streets.

When the carriage stopped in front of the deep, open porch of the apartment building where Ambryn lived, Nathiel handed him out of the carriage, escorted him to the door, and kissed him again, gently. He almost abandoned his resolve when Ambryn's arms came up to curl around his shoulders, kiss deepening, but the human pulled away, color high, eyes bright.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I had a wonderful time."

"I want to see you again," Nathiel said, not loosing his gentle but firm grip on Ambryn's hips.

The answering smile was radiant. Nathiel felt his heart beat a little bit faster.

"I'm with the circle the next three nights – it's easier to work when the city's asleep, but after that-"

"I'll come for you," Nathiel vowed.

Ambryn tilted his head back again, and this time it was Nathiel who broke the kiss. A heartbeat more and he would have gathered the human mage into his arms and then there'd be nothing but a bedding for sure, come rapture or ruin.

For a moment, Ambryn looked up at him, dazed, and then he smiled. "Thank you," he said quietly again.

Nathiel held open the door, and surreptitiously adjusted the large, all-too-blatant evidence of his arousal after Ambryn's back was turned, heading back to the carriage. He leaned back as it rolled once more into motion, legs crossed up on the opposite seat, arms folded behind his head, a broad smile on his face.

Part of him was thinking he should beat up more trolls, and the Sentinels might have the right idea. After all, tonight had been surprisingly lucrative, and he still had most of the troll's coins left. He must have just gotten paid. The other part was thinking about the taste of Ambryn's mouth, still flavored with sweet white wine and cherries from dessert.

All in all, it had been a great night, one of the best of his life.

Ж

K'dzok couldn't remember having a more miserable night in his life.

He'd been unconscious when the watch found him, waking quickly enough though when they cut a little into his shoulder in their attempts to get the magical ice off him, and several of them had jumped at the sound of his screaming as the arm was shifted.

None of his teeth were broken thankfully. The human's kick had damaged his pride more than anything else. With his pay gone, most of it still unspent, he hadn't been able to post bail, not that he probably would have been able to afford it anyway after his face was discovered to match that on a wanted poster for serial rape.

He sat in a cold, windowless stone cell barely large enough for him to sit down in, knee brushing the chamberpot, half out of his mind with pain. He glanced up woozily as the cell door opened, illumination from the mage-light outside outlining the hulking shape that filled the doorway, in particular the broad horns that stretched to either side of the great, shadowed head.

"K'dzok." The tauren reached up and lowered his hood, revealing ochre swirls in the chocolate-brown fur, shamanistic symbols of power tracing graceful geometric patterns around the dark animal eyes and down to the thick, mobile-lipped muzzle, disappearing beneath the folds of his mantle.

It took a moment for realization to sink in. "Mraugon." K'dzok didn't even try to sit up straighter. "The guild come to get me out?"

The hoof that came down on his injured shoulder turned his whole world into a white-hot blaze of agony, unearthly shrieks echoing in his ears. It was only when he came back to himself, his throat raw, that he realized the shrieks were his. Mraugon was squatting in front of him now. If K'dzok had had the strength, he would have gutted the bull-man with his clawed fingers.

"Orders," the tauren said casually, no hint of apology in his tone. "You fucked up big, pike-ears."

"That night-elf-" K'dzok snarled through fresh agony.

"Is the only reason you're still alive instead of having your guts pulled out on red-hot hooks right now," Mraugon cut him off. "The human you were about to bugger was the son of Ambassador Tybalt Dellani, a muckety-muck so high in Dalaran's hierarchy you wouldn't be allowed to lick his boots. The others, well, the guild could have made them go away at small expense, but you had to go and pick yourself an apple from way too high up in the tree. The fall isn't over yet either."

Fear, real and potent, started to seep in through K'dzok's rage. "What's Undoon going to do to me?"

"For now, cut you to recruit pay and ship you out of the city. You're a good fighter, and you've pissed off just enough of the right people that you might still be useful to the guild. You live through this - you might be allowed to work your way up the ranks again. Maybe."

Mraugon stood.

"Wait, aren't you going to heal me?" K'dzok knew he was whimpering again, and didn't care.

The tauren shaman shrugged. "Orders."

The cell door slammed shut once more.

K'dzok drifted in and out of consciousness that night, and by morning he was delirious with the pain. He let out a squeal as rough hands dragged him out into the cell corridor, unmindful of his injured arm, his bare feet scrabbling on the cold stone floor.

Sunlight blinded him, and when he stumbled and fell, steel-toed boots kicked him. He was yanked upright, someone pulling on one of his long ears, bone grating in his shoulder, and he let out another shrill scream. They wrestled him into the back of a wagon, and the last thing he heard before passing out from the pain was the sound of a goblin talking.

"Ve vill have to set ze bone first, zen ve can proceed viz realigning ze ligaments and ze application of ze frame."

Ж

Annatta Skysong looked deep into the mirror before her. Her eyes were yet blue, not blazing green with stolen eldritch magics. Her face, already slender before, was on the thin side now, her pale blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Her shape too, was slimmer than was truly attractive. In the years since the destruction of the Sunwell, she had only been able to partially stem the effects of its loss.

"I am Quel'dorei," she said to her reflection. "I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider." The mantra had become her constant companion. She'd been saying it since the day she'd fled Quel'thalas with her parents five years ago, since the day the Sunwell, the source of the High Elves' power, died. "I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted."

The words sounded empty to her ears, lacking conviction. Indeed, they felt empty. Her lips tightened. She repeated the mantra again. "I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted." There, that didn't sound quite so hollow. By the sixth repetition she was calm, cool, confident. Her ambitions were not impossible, only difficult. The walls were not closing in around her. She was here in Dalaran studying magic because it was the path to her victory and salvation for her few remaining people, not yet succumbed to the lure that had gripped those who now called themselves sin'dorei, Blood Elves.

It was not a prison.

She was not helpless.

Annatta took a deep breath, and turned away from the mirror, toward the jeweled box that sat next to her bed, unlocking it and taking out a phial of water that sparkled brilliantly as she held it up. She felt the pangs subside a little, hunger for magic and mana lessening, retreating. It was one of only three phials of water from the Sunwell her family had brought to Dalaran.

She was determined not just that there would be more, but that there would be a new Sunwell, a new source of strength for the Quel'dorei people. She would not succumb, would not become base and impure, would not sully herself with aught else. She held the phial close to her heart until she felt its warmth begin to wane, and quickly replaced it in its shelter, only the occasional glimmer to be seen in its waters now. It would rejuvenate itself in another two days. She could wait until then.

She locked the jeweled box, and walked briskly to the door, dressed in the flowing silver-blue robes of a mage of the seventh circle of Periont's Tower. Her circle was one of only nine such in an entire city of mages entrusted with the workings of the shieldings and the various life-sustaining magics that supported Dalaran and made it prosperous. Shieldings were one of the magics she needed to be the strongest at.

Each and every day she studied relentlessly, unwavering. The new Sunwell would need such shieldings, spells to keep its power contained, hidden from all who might attempt to despoil it. Another vital task the circle was entrusted with was the maintenance of the flow of the city's magical reservoirs, to keep it afloat in the sky over Crystalsong forest. She'd studied hard to reach this circle in particular, because that ability to draw and purify magic would also be essential.

Let others study the battle magic of Urdrahn Tower or Beldinfast. Let the short-sighted fools wave their flashy fire spells around, and see how much good it would do them. Anatta didn't begrudge them those foolish studies. She'd need such fools when she was finally ready to begin her quest to the Well of Eternity. No mere vial would she steal, no - she intended to have buckets of its substance.

She blinked as she entered the Tower, distracted from her thoughts as she caught sight of a familiar human spinning in a slow circle before he chuckled and glided the rest of the way across the intersecting hallway. The curly honey-amber curls were unmistakable, but the mannerism was completely and utterly unlike the quiet young man she'd come to know and even respect a little over the last year and a half. Her first thought was that he was drunk, or on drugs, but that too, was utterly unlike him.

She'd thought at first that his appointment to this particular circle, the circle she'd worked so hard to gain access to, was a result of his father's political patronage, but after a few nights working with him, there was no denying the young man's magical talent. Ambryn Dellani was skilled and powerful, and she suspected if he ever got around to truly applying himself he'd rise far higher than this circle.

Unless he was drunk. Or on drugs.

Annatta hiked up the hems of her robes slightly and hurried after him, not sure what she was going to do if he was intoxicated but certainly hoping it wasn't the case. The circle could still function without him but it would definitely be seriously impaired.

She rounded the corner as the sound of his humming reached her ears, what sounded like a waltz, and though he wasn't dancing any more, his usual sedate glide had gained a little bit of a sway.

"Ambryn," she whispered. "Ambryn!" The second time it was a hiss and the human turned, mouth falling slightly open as he caught sight of Annatta, cheeks turning bright red, smile vanishing behind an unmistakable wave of embarrassment.

She glanced around. There was no one else in sight. She hurriedly dragged him into a cross-corridor.

"Annatta." Ambryn's jade eyes were apprehensive. "Is everything all right?"

Annatta blinked, because he'd stolen the words right out of her mouth. She snorted. "That's what I want to know. You're acting in the most bizarre fashion I've ever seen. Are you drunk?"

She sniffed, but there wasn't even a hint of alcohol about him, just the faint smell of mint that seemed to pervade the air in his presence, crisp and clean.

"I . . . I'm fine." Then he smiled, a brilliant smile she'd never seen before, so radiant she found herself smiling back without knowing why. "Oh Annatta, I think I'm in love!"

The whispered announcement hit Annatta like a gnomish steam-engine. She just stared at him for a moment, smile still on her features. "Oh." She paused, trying to kick her brain back into gear. "Congratulations, that's wonderful!"

Ambryn abruptly took hold of her hands, jade eyes bright. "Oh Annatta, he's wonderful. Tall and heroic and handsome and gentlemanly. I mean, I've seen night elves before, but-"

The words he and then night elf hit her like the first gnomish steam engine's speeding compatriots, the three of them engaged in a race with no thought for the casualties they were leaving in their wake. She couldn't help it. What came out then was a less enthusiastic "Oh."

She'd had vaguely amorous plans for the young Dellani involving making equally vague use of his family's political power to get access to a gate circle after she'd finished with this one. It was fortunate that she'd found out now before she started wasting her time. Another woman she could compete with, but if she was on the entirely wrong side of the gender line then there was simply no help for that.

But a night elf on top of it. The kal'dorei were fiercely outspoken in their criticism of their pale-skinned cousins. Annatta couldn't help but wonder if Ambryn's lover might turn his head enough that he joined in the suspicions and prejudices of the rest of the Alliance.

". . . promised he'd come for me again in three days, can you believe it?" Ambryn seemed to take notice of her glassy-eyed stare and fixed expression at last, suddenly looking pensive all over again. "I know that the high elves and the night elves aren't fond of each other, and frankly I don't understand why politics that old should really matter anyway, but he's really and truly a gentleman."

Annatta's brain had recovered, except she found herself facing in an altogether new mental direction, one that frightened her with its possibilities even as it thrilled her to the depths of her soul. She shook herself, met Ambryn's worried expression with a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry, I just . . . I was a little bit surprised." She was thinking quickly now, regaining her mental footing, realigning her priorities. "I mean, you know that night elves aren't fond of arcane magic – it's one of the reasons they're so critical of the rest of us. But he's open-minded enough to accept you as a mage. That's wonderful!"

Annatta tucked his arm into hers, watched that dazzling smile that involuntarily thrilled even her return, and walked beside him back down the hall. "I haven't yet fallen in love with someone myself," she added "although I've fancied a few men." She added a giggle and then whispered "and a woman or two as well." She patted his arm. "But tell me about him – you said he's a gentleman . . ."

Annatta stared once more into the mirror in her room. Ambryn had blazed like a star in the circle tonight, touch graceful and sure, more than making up for Grenedine, who was struggling with a cold. His joy seemed to infect the rest of the circle as it had infected her, a sort of breathless cheer that made the chants lighter, the spells stronger, giving the webs they spun out of magic a sparkling vivacity.

She stared into the mirror because her plans were barely formed, and they were already weighing her down with a mountain of guilt. She'd listened to Ambryn go on about Nathiel until she could almost see him herself, tall and powerful, graceful and lithe, skin purple, hair cut short, silver eyes flashing alternately with terrifying fury and sweet warmth.

Her goals weren't impossible, but she wasn't sure whether achieving them had just become less difficult, or even more so. She opened the jeweled box by her bedside, not to draw on its strength, but to remind herself of her purpose, and stopped, stunned.

The waters gleamed, shimmering with magical life. She could feel the power in them without even touching the phial. For a moment Annatta simply stared at it, and then she shut the box, gaze turning back to the mirror, renewed determination in the eyes of her reflection.

"I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of King Dath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun . . ."

Ж

K'dzok was in hell.

He lay in the back of the wagon as it traveled south through the Crystalsong forest, every bump in the road sending a new jolt of agony through his ruined shoulder. He couldn't bear to look at it, couldn't stand to see the skin flayed back, tendons and muscles held in place with pins, couldn't look at the strips of metal they'd bolted right to his bones.

The goblins had given him drugs - powerful drugs, and yet they weren't powerful enough to drag him from consciousness for very long, weren't strong enough to do more than blunt the deepest edge of the pain, leaving throbbing fire still to torment him, and in a way, that was worse.

He could hear the goblins talking between alternating bouts of unconsciousness and delirium, chittering really, using strange words like "anemial cable" and "compression tube" and "atrial cog". If it was magic, it didn't seem to be doing him much good.

There was never a moment of peace, never a moment when he didn't hear them muttering or gabbling, never a moment when he didn't feel little hammers and picks and needles and knives and awls, ruining his shoulder and upper arm past all recognition.

And then one night, cold came - frigid, bitter cold, snaking over him in his sleep and he dreamed. He dreamed of hair that glimmered in the sun, and wide jade eyes and blushing cheeks, dreamed of full lips, dreamed of ice that finally took his pain away, numbed it until he felt nothing.

He waited, once more, for that humiliating kick in the teeth, the scornful words, but it never came. There was only the cold, numbing and strangely comforting. He could feel it creeping across him, wiping out all his agony, and slowly, he slipped into true slumber.

Nabniath drew back, licked the blood that covered her lips. She hadn't been able to resist its scent, its warmth. It was the siren call of hot blood that had drawn her to this poorly guarded wagon in the first place.

The goblins lay broken around the wagon bed. Nabniath cared nothing for them, felt no desire to taste them. She'd drunken her fill of the human driver, but the blood elf had somehow escaped her binding spell while she feasted on his comrade.

Ordinarily she felt as little desire for the blood of trolls as she did for goblins, but this maimed, half-ruined troll . . . there was something in him that intrigued her, something mesmerizing in the way he muttered, his moanings and broken whispers gamboling in her ears as she stalked the wagon, a strange sort of music that whispered of madness and ruin and despair. It was a melody that resonated with the withered heart that hadn't beat in her breast since the day Arthas had returned to Lordaeron.

And so she'd knelt, laving her cold tongue over the troll's inflamed shoulder, tasting the bones, the tendons, the muscle, the ligaments, oddly and yet compellingly flavored with smoky iron and sharp brass and tangy copper, seasoned with narcotics and opiates.

He'd quieted beneath the touch of her lips, her mouth, and she wondered a little at how his expression eased now, brow relaxing, breathing quieting, for all the world as though he found her touch soothing. The thought was incredible to her, that in his moment of suffering, she, in her hunger, had brought him ease.

She would be gentle, she decided, compelled by an unfamiliar sense of tenderness. He would not suffer any further.

Had she a heartbeat to drown out the sounds around her, blood to pump in her veins, breath to sigh through her chest, she might never have heard the tiniest scuff that warned her, head stopping halfway to the troll's chest where his heart yet labored on.

She leapt backward, canvas tearing around her as a bolt of lightning crackled through the place where she'd just been a fraction of a second before, the force of her leap carrying her backward into the embrace of the cold tree boughs. She clung for a moment to a tree trunk, utterly still as only a dead thing could be, making no sound.

She heard the whispers on the breeze, sensed the magic as it coalesced, and her lips shaped a charm of her own a heartbeat before flame wreathed the crowns of the trees and swept down with magical hunger, crackling over her spell-shield.

She thought for a moment of pursuing the battle, but these flames were a mage's work, and if there was a mage and a shaman, there were surely soldiers, perhaps even an accursed priest. Likely that was exactly what they were waiting for, for her to emerge.

Nabniath hadn't lived this long in her violent second life by being a fool. Yet even as she mouthed the spell that would carry her away, symbols flashing with power in her mind, her glassy gaze went back to the wagon, piercing through the shroud of flames to the red-haired troll that now lay quiet within, her death-glazed eyes glowing with unearthly red light, still fixed, mesmerized even as they discorporated.

Mraugon ignored the warning creak of the wagon's floorboards beneath his weight, unmindful of the goblin skull that gave with a weak, wet crunch as his hoof crushed it, dark animal eyes going to where K'dzok lay, breathing slow, green skin pale nearly unto death.

And yet there was life in him still. Mraugon could smell it, not yet the cold, burning stench of undeath. Seeing the undead, he hadn't been sure whether or not it would be the case.

He studied the bone and muscle laid bare in the once-powerful shoulder and arm, licked clean even of blood, tissues gleaming, bone ivory-white. The goblins had been nearly done with their work.

Mraugon reached for a screwdriver, thick fingers handling the little tool with a deftness those who didn't know him would have found hard to believe, and started turning the last two screws on Gribninak's Frame.

He had his orders, after all.

K'dzok woke, and his breath froze in his chest, because the pain was utterly gone. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he'd last felt this way. It was as though it had all been a nightmare, a fever dream, the terrible agony dying at last, conquered by sweet, blessed ice.

He sat up gingerly, feeling light-headed and off-balance, one hand going to his temple. He glanced down at his bare shoulder. Slim, pale lines bisected a thick ridge of scar tissue all the way from his collarbone to the bottom of his right bicep, off-white against the rest of his pale green skin. He stood on shaky legs and staggered out of the tent.

The chill was like a slap in the face, and yet he found he welcomed it, welcomed the claws it dug into his body, making him feel gloriously alive. He drew himself up, gazing out over the tents and lodges, hides and fabrics rippling and swaying beneath the unceasing wind that rushed over the Borean Tundra, and smiled.