This story is part of a series. Read them in this order: Wail, Baby, Wail – Shades of Grey – Remembering Grey – The Art of Communication – Where Loyalties Lie – Family – Color Coding. This story being the climax of the series, it will not make sense without knowledge of the background.
Author's note: Well, I know most people who follow my work are waiting for Diplomacy, and it's underway. However, this particular story has haunted me since I wrote Where Loyalties Lie, and I need to get it out of my system.
Crossroads to Ravines
Chapter one, Verdict
It being high noon in Orgrimmar, the weather was, unsurprisingly, hot as hell. Even though Sarah wasn't particularly bothered by it per se, as she couldn't actually sense it, she had an annoying feeling that she was literally baking. Mostly because the orcs, trolls, tauren and blood elves on the street if possible moved away from her and any other Forsaken strolling about. The smell was apparently more interesting than usual.
If a blood elf happened to throw her a displeased glance, she responded with throwing them a kiss back. It was amusing, but not her main objective.
She weaved in and out of the streets of the drag, cheerfully humming – or rather croaking something that vaguely sounded like a melody – to herself as she sought the shops she needed to visit.
It was a victory, of sorts, having made it this far away from Dor'ash, and for over an hour. She insisted to everyone, including herself, that she was just fine since the events in Alterac a couple of months ago. Still, it was the first time since then that she actually took off on her own.
On some level it annoyed her. Therefore she refused to think about it, and focused on just getting all the various items on her list checked off. It would be a while until she and Dor'ash visited a big city again, as the current plan was to head for Feralas as per a request from one of the big lug's druid friends.
That was comfortably southwards, in her view.
She entered an alchemy shop, nodding absently to the Forsaken clerk standing by the wall and arranging empty vials on shelves. He nodded back and then ignored her, seeing that she strode towards another shelf of vials with an air of a customer knowing exactly what she wanted.
There was nobody else in the small shop, and she took her time looking at the vials. She had a specific taste in the size and shape she preferred for most of her brewing projects, and weighed each brand in her hand before making a mental note about them and moving on to others.
While in the middle of inspecting a teardrop shaped container she heard the sound of dry, slightly clattering footsteps from the door, but didn't think much of it. Not until she was addressed.
"Miss Nebula?" a hoarse voice said behind her.
It didn't really sound like a question though.
"Hmm?" Sarah said, glancing around. "Yes?"
The Forsaken man whose milky yellow eyes met hers didn't appear to be a soldier, though he wore a set of worn leather armor. The dust covering his clothing, and the simple daggers at his belt suggested a careless traveler. Sarah didn't recognize him.
"I was asked to deliver a letter to you," the man said, glancing towards a corner of the store. The clerk caught on immediately and shuffled away on clicking, skeletal feet.
Sarah mentally groaned. Messages delivered with any kind of demand for privacy, to her, meant that it was from the Royal Apothecary Society. Orders to run fetch some obscure thing or take care of an errand. She'd gotten considerably fewer of them since she had managed to off her brother. He had loved to send her running across nowhere to serve his fancy, and those experiences didn't make her any more keen on doing her duty to the Society.
But she didn't show her annoyance, and merely followed the messenger to the corner, moving up against the wall so that he could speak to her or show her a written message with his own back to the rest of the world.
His face was unreadable as he reached for a breast pocket and took out a small seal. He held it between his thumb and pointing finger so that she could see it.
If there had still been hair growing at the back of Sarah's neck, it would have been standing on end.
It was not the seal of the Royal Apothecary Society, but that of the Deathstalkers.
With all her might, Sarah suppressed the wish to teleport out of there and run to Dor'ash, dragging him off to… no safety there could ever be.
Her face forcefully blank, she stiffly nodded acknowledgment. The agent before her put the seal back in his pocket and reached for another, this time withdrawing a letter.
"Special orders," he said in a voice which was barely a whisper, and yet scratched at Sarah's ears.
She allowed herself to raise her eyebrows, but that was all she dared as she took the paper and pulled her arm back. Her hand wasn't shaking, not when she glanced at it. It just felt that way.
The crimson wax seal stuck tightly to the letter, but didn't offer up nearly enough resistance as she scratched it off and unfolded the paper. There was only one word written there, in an elegant yet sharp hand.
Enough.
Sarah looked at it for a moment.
It had been so long, she'd almost managed to start hoping. Surely there were greater things to worry about than one orc having seen something he shouldn't have in Azshara. Surely after all this time and no whispers about the strange events inside that closed off, small ruin, it should be apparent that he wasn't one to spread dangerous rumors. Surely, there was no need for such measures.
But it didn't take that long to write a simple order. And Lady Sylvanas was not one to forget.
"Very well," Sarah said, her voice as even as she could make it. "I'm honored."
She folded the letter and cradled it in her hands. A brief second of focus and a murmured spell was all it took – the paper and the message upon it was engulfed in a small, intense flame that even consumed the wax seal. Supposedly, the air briefly filled with the scent of melted, burned wax, but none of the three people inside the shop had working senses like that.
"Are you here to help me?" Sarah asked, absently brushing her hands against her robe. Ashes clung to her skeletal fingers.
The agent shook his head.
"I was only instructed to deliver that message," he said. "Do you request help?"
"No." It came out firmer than she had planned, but then it was too late to take it back. Sarah met the searching gaze roaming her face. "This is a private matter, I prefer to do it alone. I will report back within a week."
"That will be expected, then."
With that, he turned and walked out.
The clerk pointedly ignored Sarah as she returned to the shelf she had been perusing before the interruption. She picked out a few of the vials – most of them not the ones she had decided on before – then paid and left the store.
Most of all, she wanted to rush to find Dor'ash, but she knew he wouldn't be where they had agreed to meet, not yet. She couldn't run around Orgrimmar hoping to find him, it would be like searching for a green needle in a haystack. And if anybody was watching her to make sure she didn't need help to complete her task, she couldn't act frantic.
The heat hadn't bothered her before, but suddenly it felt as if it stifled her brain, making it even more difficult to think and focus.
There shouldn't be a need to think. It was long since she had settled on her plan of action when this day came. She shouldn't even be surprised.
She tried to force herself to be calm and looked over her list and the few items that remained, but of course her thoughts couldn't stay on such useless things anymore. What had been basic supplies for another long journey now seemed like fanciful little knickknacks.
Still, she went on to get all of them, feeling paranoid that somebody was making sure she did. Maybe it wasn't unreasonable paranoia though. The messenger could have lied about delivering the message being his only objective. And even if he hadn't, there might very well be somebody else watching.
She wasn't used to assassinations. It was difficult to tell how important this was regarded to be, if she was truly trusted to take care of her assignment alone.
If she failed, and lived to be captured for it, whatever punishment her own people could extract on her would surely make her wish the Lich King had successfully crushed her in Alterac.
And if she failed, and somebody else was waiting to make sure Dor'ash died anyway, it would have all been for naught. He deserved so much better than a Deathstalker's blade in his back.
It was with heavy steps that she headed towards the bank of Orgrimmar, when enough time had passed.
Dor'ash waited for Sarah in the shadows of a building beside the bank. He caught himself straightening up and study any Forsaken female he saw pass by in the crowd of people moving about, hoping that it would be her. It was nonsense, of course, he told himself. There was no reason to be worried about her in Orgrimmar. She'd threaten to set his hair on fire at the mere notion. He had to shake off the last unease that Alterac had left him with, it wasn't good for either of them.
When he finally saw her thin form weaving between the other moving bodies he released a small breath. However, a frown appeared on his forehead as she drew closer and he saw the forced, blank expression on her face, as if she was deep in thought. It wouldn't have made him scowl if it hadn't been for the uneasy murmur of the spirits, brushing past just in the moment when he saw the look of her.
As soon as she straightened up and spotted him, though, her face relaxed and she hurried forwards, even ducking under a tauren's arm to get between two of the hulking oxen.
"Hey handsome," she chirped and craned her neck to look him in the eye. "Why so grim?"
"Hmm? Nothing," Dor'ash replied, smiling as his frown dissipated.
"Missed me that much, eh?"
He just snorted at that.
She turned to walk beside him as he moved forwards, set on having a drink somewhere before they did anything else. The day was way too hot to start a journey without a drink, even if they would start off with a portal to Thunderbluff.
The bars were full of people, but not cramped and not very loud either. The heat was enough to make anybody feel like taking it easy. After getting their drinks, they were lucky enough to get a table in the shade by the cliff wall surrounding most of the city.
"Did you find everything you were looking for?" Dor'ash said as he settled back in his chair.
All the chairs were made to fit both orcs and tauren if needed. Sarah looked ridiculous sitting on one of them, holding a mug of ale between her thin hands.
"Yep. But, well…"
She grunted and made a rolling motion with her head. Her version of an eyeroll.
"Could your pals in Feralas wait three or four days longer, ya think?" she asked. "I've got a job."
Dor'ash paused for a moment, but shrugged while taking another drink. Getting to Feralas wasn't a pressing matter.
"Where to?" he asked after swallowing.
"Swamp of Sorrows."
At that, Dor'ash gave her a long, not very enthusiastic look.
"What?" Sarah said. "It's almost like Feralas anyway. Wet and full of trees and bushes and things that want to eat you. Just different kinds of it all."
"But it smells horrible."
"You sissy."
Dor'ash sighed. He wasn't too keen on visiting that swamp, not only for the reason he had given. The spirits there were in constant unease from the evil energies still seeping from the Temple of Atal'Hakkar even though it had been cleaned out by adventurers. The spirits fared even worse close to the Blasted Lands. But, if Sarah had a job then he expected it to be important to her, and he certainly wasn't going to leave her.
"Alright," he said, only grumbling a little bit. "I don't think I'll need to get any new supplies for that, at least. Do you?"
"Nope, I'm good."
"Good, we'll just refill what we need when we get to Thunderbluff afterwards, then."
Sarah nodded. As she stood up after both of them had finished their drinks, she absently brushed her hands on her robe.
After getting Dor'ash's wolf Grey, and Sarah's skeleton horse from the stable it was as easy as repacking the saddle bags with the new supplies. Sarah then took out a rune from a pocket and held it in front of herself while waving the other hand above it, muttering in a low voice.
The rune shimmered and crumbled to dust, falling between her bone fingers. At the same time, a glowing hole opened in the air before her, showing several huts clumped together on muddy ground and beneath a heavy, grey sky. Sarah walked forwards, holding her horse's reins and it clopped after her mechanically. Taking in one last breath of fresh air, Dor'ash followed with Grey close behind. His senses spun for a moment as he stepped right through space to another part of the world, but he was fairly used to it by now.
The overbearing heat of Orgrimmar was in a flash replaced with a thick humidity smelling of rotting wood and muck. Behind Dor'ash, Grey snorted disapproval. A few guards looked on with little interest as the Forsaken and the shaman climbed onto their mounts, obviously not intent on lingering in Stonard.
The small stronghold was still a lot more lively than Dor'ash remembered, with men and women of all Horde races moving about. He saw small groups riding off towards the western road, doubtlessly to continue towards the Blasted lands and the Dark Portal. Even as he and Sarah moved away, a new portal opened in the same spot as Sarah's dissipating one. A group of blood elves hurried out, their hawkstriders following closely.
Dor'ash rolled his shoulders, trying to relax a bit more as he urged Grey to start forwards. He found it harder to breathe, from the stench and humid air. The murmur of the spirits in the back of his mind was more of a never ending groan here.
Sarah's horse moved up beside him, then stepped a little further ahead to lead the way while not too far ahead so that she would have to crane her neck around to speak.
"I hope you have a good reason for this," Dor'ash grunted. He didn't really mean to sound as defensive as he did, but he felt ill at ease.
"I do, I do!" Sarah reassured him, smirking faintly.
He responded with a hum and left it at that, letting her lead on towards the small northern road. Very soon, Sarah further pushed his mood downwards when steering off the road and onto even smaller ones, steadily leading them deeper into the swamp. Carefully, they followed the paths as well as possible. Scouts had long since marked up the area by placing sticks in relatively stable ground or by carving Orcish runes on dying trees, but sticks could be fall on their own or be pushed over, and runes could be sabotaged.
More and more, the swamp turned into an uneven carpet of small islands cut apart by shallow or deep streams of brackish water, forcing them to dismount and lead the horse and wolf across. Crocolisks were a constant worry, but they were lucky enough to not run into any.
Now and then Sarah bent down or crawled under a rising root to pick some herb or mushroom. She certainly did seem to be busy, and seeing how much she gathered Dor'ash eventually managed to dissolve his dislike for her dragging him out here. There was apparently a lot she needed for whatever task she had been given.
He didn't think too much about the fact that after a while, she began to lead them towards the south west.
They made camp at a relatively dry spot by a couple of large boulders sticking out of the earth. The rocks provided some protection, in case something would try to attack them.
Setting up a camp fire would be more trouble than it was worth in this soaked land, and besides that it could attract the attention of both murlocs and broken from afar. Dor'ash let Grey hunt his own dinner on the small island, but kept a close eye on the wolf's pale shadow slinking behind the bushes and trees while he ate his own rations. A few swamp rats the size of small rabbits seemed to be the results. Not the best, but the wolf much preferred fresh meat to the dried scraps that Dor'ash kept in store for him.
Darkness fell quickly now. As Grey returned and laid down beside one of the boulders to sleep, Dor'ash likewise prepared to stretch out on his cold bedroll. Sighing, when he rolled out his blanket he concluded that it wasn't completely dry thanks to the humid air.
"You're not still grumpy, are you?" Sarah asked.
She wasn't preparing to sleep, instead settled down cross-legged, resting her staff across her lap just in case something would attack in the night. He could fall in a week-long coma and she would still be there when he woke up, keeping her tireless vigil. He knew that.
Dor'ash shook his head to her question.
"Good," she cheerfully said. "That'd be annoying."
"There's no use grumbling about something like this," Dor'ash said. "We've been through worse."
"There you go being the mature one."
He just snorted then and laid down, pulling the blanket over himself. Then came the not too surprising conclusion that it wasn't a very comfortable situation to sleep in. He turned a few times trying to find some repose that let him rest, but it proved difficult. Finally he laid on his back and stared up at the dark, cloudy sky, waiting for his simple bed to warm up properly and for sleep to come crawling.
After a while, Sarah shifted. A low, scraping sound rose up as she ran a hard fingertip over the length of her staff. The big crystal set at the tip, and the smaller ones dangling from small chains below it, softly glowed in response to her touch.
"What a depressing place I've dragged you to," she said.
He wasn't sure if she was just thinking aloud, but she was apparently fully aware that he was wide awake. Of course, she could probably see his open eyes perfectly well even in the darkness.
"You know, sometimes I think about, if I had lived…" she started, then paused and looked at him. A sneer tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I would never have come here, or anywhere else we've gone to. I'd never dared to face off with even a lonely gnoll. I would never have learnt magic, so I wouldn't have had a chance, anyway."
Dor'ash shifted to look at her, wondering at this sudden introspection of hers. From her tone, it sounded almost like a roundabout apology.
Before he could speak, Sarah lifted her hand from the staff and pointed at his face.
"I would have been frightened out of my skin if I ever met you," she said.
For a moment she seemed to hesitate, then the hand drifted closer and, much to his surprise, she clumsily stroke the back of her fingers against his cheek. Fond as the caress tried to be, there was nothing soft about the feel of her raw bones, lukewarm only because of the warmth of the thick air. One finger clacked against his left tusk, then she withdrew.
"Silly how that worked out, don't you think?"
Yeah, definitely a roundabout, Sarah-esque apology.
"That you're grateful for dying?" he muttered, and pushed himself up. Even when they were both sitting, he towered over her.
"It was unpleasant," she admitted. "Very, very unpleasant, and it still is sometimes. But I don't want to imagine never meeting Jonathan, or running away, screaming, when seeing you."
It was difficult to imagine, that. He only knew her as she was now, grinning, joking, and save for that time in Alterac, bold as a berserker because she felt she had nothing to fear. Dor'ash tried to picture her as a human woman, staring at him with eyes wide with terror. He had to suppress a cringe.
"One shouldn't be grateful for the death of a friend," he said, but he had to sneer at the irony.
"We wouldn't ever have been friends if I hadn't croaked from the plague," she replied, echoing his thoughts. She snorted softly. "I would've married Adam Hartwell and probably died in childbirth."
"You're so cynical." He failed to stifle a yawn and let out a loud sigh, blinking slowly. Despite the talk they had held his attention, he was starting to feel very sleepy.
"I call it being realistic." Sarah smiled slightly and waved her hand at him dismissively. "Alright, alright. It's way past your naptime. We'll be somber again tomorrow."
He grunted and laid back down, shifting to find a comfortable position. Closing his eyes, he still laid awake for a while, turning over what she had said in his mind. It was strange to have her show that low-key, sober side, though it wasn't the first time. On their way away from Alterac, after a whole day of silence, there had been an evening when she finally cracked to the need to talk about what she had experienced when she laid dying in the snow.
He couldn't be anything but touched that after all this time, she actually opened up to him – even if she chose less than stellar moments to do so.
Slowly, he drifted off.
Minutes passed.
Sarah listened to Dor'ash's breathing. Sound asleep, but she waited another little while to be sure that he was really unaware. Once she felt safe enough, she took out a small bottle from one of her bags and soundlessly crept closer to Dor'ash. It wasn't far, and the small noises she made didn't cause either him or Grey to stir.
Carefully, she pulled out the stopper and reached forwards, holding the mouth of the bottle just an inch beneath Dor'ash's squat nose. One little breath filled his lungs with the scentless gas wafting out of the container. Sarah watched closely to make sure he only took one more breath, then pulled back and plugged the bottle shut.
Dor'ash grunted and rolled over on his back, never waking up.
Sarah's shoulders fell as she sat back.
She remained still where she was, watching and listening as Dor'ash's chest rose and fell.
In moments he truly slept like, hah, the dead.
She could have kissed his brow then, and he would never have known about it.
But she didn't. All she did was sit and watch.
His even breaths began to grow shallow.
Sarah looked away.
She absentmindedly brushed her hands against her robe, for the umpteenth time. There were no traces of ash left on her fingers, but she couldn't quite shake off the oily feeling. Odd, that. It seemed such a living thing to sense.
And inside, Sarah seethed.
Who are you to tell me enough? You don't know, you don't care.
She couldn't risk anybody watching from the shadows, to make sure she followed the order. And so, she dragged Dor'ash through a portal and then off into nowhere.
You don't know. It's not enough.
It was all she could do, in order to shake anyone following them. Magic was the start. Now, Dor'ash's slowing breath was the final test. She remained silent, watching the swamp with an air of carelessness while really, she was tense as a bowstring. If there were spying eyes, they ought to reveal themselves now, when it seemed so obvious that she had poisoned him.
She had, of course.
I can't. I won't.
However, it wouldn't kill him, either. He would simply sleep very deeply, seemingly dead, and then he'd be fine.
It's not enough. But…
It was her order. A direct order. All she was, the reason she could bring herself and Dor'ash to Stonard, the reason she could fight at all, and the reason she could calmly poison her companion, knowing that he'd survive… it was all thanks to the one giving her that command.
Enough.
No.
It was not enough, and not even Lady Sylvanas could tell her so and be right.
Sarah gazed at the thick vegetation around her, at the colors she half saw, half imagined. The swamp was a dreary place, but there were flowers amongst the muck, and shining, huge dragonflies zipping about. There was life here too. Though she could see even without eyes, it was as well as she could taste and smell things. And even when it was subdued pleasures, restrained by undeath, she had still wanted so much more.
But, Dor'ash had seen too much. To the Dark Lady, he was an annoyance.
Enough.
A big head bumped against her back, and she looked around sharply. Grey whined, his big golden eyes staring at her as his thick tail slowly swung back and forth.
Why the heck did he have to wake up?
For a little while, Sarah stared at him without a word. Finally, he brushed his huge, fuzzy forehead against her chest. He was used to nuzzling orcs; the push almost sent her tumbling to the ground.
"Arthas," she cursed and pushed at his neck. "Don't go sentimental on me. I don't need this clichéd bullcrap."
He backed off a little and she pointed a sharp finger at his nose.
"You should be biting my head off, doggy. Except you'd get sick."
Grey let hear another whine, and his tail slowly swung from side to side. Sighing, Sarah reached into a pocket and drew out a small cloth bag. She pulled it open and shook it, causing a small, dusty cloud to rise up from within and pour down her hand. Grey sniffed the air and curiously moved closer again. When he did, Sarah waved the bag closer to his nose, ensuring that he breathed in the powder.
"Good wolfie," Sarah said. "Now sleep."
The great wolf stepped back, swaying on his paws. With a dizzy yelp he fell over on the moist ground. He shook his head a few times, but soon it sunk down on his paws and his yellow eyes closed.
Sarah half-smirked and pocketed the little bag again.
Now then, both orc and his faithful mount down for the count. If a checking spy didn't show up now, they never would. Just to be on the safe side, she went about cleaning up the camp, as if preparing to leave.
As it turned out however, it was a very uneventful day and night.
That only made her feel a little bit better. The worst was yet to come.