Lawyers, Guns and Money
You couldn't sleep on a flying hippogryph. Gian had tried many times, without success. Either the constant rushing winds or the never-quite-mastered fear of falling, safety straps or no safety straps, kept her awake. This trip from Darnassus to Auberdine was no exception. Gian unbuckled the straps as soon as the beast touched down at the eyrie, and was halfway dismounted before the gryphon handler reached her. Ainethil, her alchemy instructor, didn't believe in stopping for little things like food and rest when she was on a roll; this latest session had started late yesterday evening and only ended just before lunch. Ordinarily Gian would have stayed in Darnassus, but there was some big arts festival going on, and all the inns were full. Auberdine was her best bet for a place to sleep this side of Theramore. Gian grabbed her backpack and started unsteadily across the smooth wooden boards. The inn was at the juncture of the boat docks and the hippogryph platform, thank Light. A bed and sweet, wonderful unconsciousness were only yards away.
Something knocked her flat on her face, something heavy and warm that pinned her by the waist. Gian lay there stunned, the breath knocked out of her. She'd been attacked. She squirmed, trying to reach her dagger
Her attacker yawned and folded his legs over hers.
Not attacked. She'd been… sat on?
"Hey," she croaked. "Hey!"
A second yawn cut short. Her attacker's tailbone ground into her spine as he shifted, probably in confusion as to why the platform was talking to him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity the pressure and weight disappeared. Gian sucked in air, content to lie still and enjoy breathing again.
Hands picked her up under her arms and set her on her feet. Gian blinked up at a male night elf. He was obviously coming back from one of the parties in Darnassus, as he was decked out in fancy purple and gold leathers, with matching glitter shot through his white hair. The distinct scent of moonberry liquor clung to his clothes. "I am so sorry," he said in a heavy accent. "I did not see you there. Forgive me."
Yes. Because she was a gnome, and Light forbid anyone taller than her have to watch where they were going. "It's all right," Gian muttered. She rubbed the small of her back. Good odds she'd have a bruise the shape of this idiot's backside. There wasn't a point in making a big scene, though. At least he hadn't patted her on the head.
Then he said, in his own tongue, "You really are just the right height."
Few people learned Darnassian. Gian wasn't fluent, but thanks to Circle-of-life's coaching, she did know a handful of phrases. The night elf's last utterance had been the first she learned, after Circle-of-life had taken Gian aside and asked what her fellow kaldorei meant by it. Luckily Gian's "something very rude" answer satisfied her. Trying to explain the real meaning to the naïve druid would have been an exercise in comedic embarrassment.
"Yes, I am," Gian replied with a smile, and head-butted him.
In the crotch.
He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, clutching himself and whimpering like an off-tea key kettle, his eyes huge gold coins in his face. There was chuckling from her left. An audience. Gian bowed. "They don't make party clothes like they used to," she murmured, and bent to pick up her backpack. It jingled suspiciously. Wonderful. She just bought those vials. She should demand compensation but she was so damn tired.
"Sentinels!" The night elf's voice was still somewhat high-pitched. "Arrest that gnome!"
Gian snorted. As if. No-holds-barred duels sprang up like weeds in Auberdine, and the guards didn't bat an eye except when the hippogryph master complained about the blood upsetting the mounts. She headed for the ramp leading down to the inn.
The sentinels posted at the ramp blocked her path.
"Excuse me, please." Gian looked from one to the other. "I've had a very long day, and there's clean sheets and a fluffy pillow calling my name."
"We ask that you come with us willingly," the guard on her left said, "or you will be forced to comply."
"Forced to – over a knock to the family jewels, when people gut each other on a daily basis?" Gian planted her hands on her hips. "You have got to be kidding me."
"I suggest you listen to them, gnome." Her assailant-turned-victim limped up to her, an unpleasant smile on his face. "You obviously don't know who you're dealing with."
Gian managed not to laugh. Had he cribbed that line from the latest play on the Craftsman's Terrace? "No, I obviously don't," she said politely. "Would you care to enlighten me?"
He drew himself up to his full height. "I am Thilsmarin Windweaver, the great-grandson of Thundris Windweaver."
Wonderful. She'd never met this Thundris Windweaver, but she had heard of him. He was a Person of Importance in Auberdine. "I apologize profusely for any … inconvenience… my murderous rampage may have caused," Gian said. There were more chuckles; apparently the audience liked the show. "I'll go back to Darnassus." Or Astranaar, or Theramore or even the Light-damned Valley of Trials if she could just get some sleep.
Thilsmarin's smile turned uglier. "You're not going anywhere but to a holding cell, gnome. I'll not allow you to sully our capital's celebration with your sick perversions -- "
"My perversions?" Gian screeched. Her exhaustion burned away in a haze of righteous fury. "My perversions? You and every other male that keeps his brains in his pants make that same damned joke everywhere I go, and you're calling me perverse?" She jabbed a finger at Thilsmarin. "Better find a mirror, pal, because there's only one pervert here, and it's not me!"
The chuckles turned into full-blown belly-laughs. Gian spared her audience a glance, curiosity piercing her fit of temper. Three draenei in odd, battered armor lounged against the railing. One raised his hand in salute.
Under different circumstances, Gian would have gone over and talked to them; there were draenei in her guild, though she had yet to meet any personally. Instead, she pivoted on her heel and stomped away. Thilsmarin might be his Great-peepaw's favorite, but if she got to the hippogryph stalls before the guards did, she suspected the beasts' caretaker wouldn't stop her.
Thilsmarin apparently had the same idea. He lunged for her, grabbing her cloak collar. Gian twisted the clasp, slithered free and spun around to face him. "Hands off." Oh, if she had Kal'thyk here or any of her other demons, for that matter, he wouldn't have started this. She didn't walk around night elf cities with her minions, though. It was rude.
"I said you're going to jail!" Thilsmarin threw the cloak down and grabbed at her again.
Gian ducked away. Thilsmarin pinwheeled his arms to keep from falling. One of the draenei said something in his own tongue, and his fellows once more burst out in laughter. The guards started toward Gian. "Stay back," Thilsmarin snapped, glaring at the women. "I'll catch this bitch myself." He swung back to Gian, swearing, and charged.
Gian dodged. And again, and again, as Thilsmarin chased her around the hippogryph platform. She ducked around the hippogryph master, and the Auberdine sentinels, for whatever reason, didn't interfere.
The draenei, however, did. "To your left, little wizard!" Gian gasped out thanks and veered left. She was a warlock, not a wizard, but now wasn't the time to correct the misconception. The energy from her earlier fury was fading. Somehow word of this little game of tag had spread, and there was a growing crowd of spectators. They made nice obstacles for Thilsmarin, but they also slowed her down. Not all of them were as friendly as the draenei warriors, either. She couldn't count the number of "helpful" shoves or legs thrust out in her path. It was only a matter of time before Thilsmarin caught her, unless she thought of something.
Fast.
A push on her waist sent her staggering toward the draenei, just ahead of Thilsmarin. Gian glanced up at the large alien warriors and an old gnomish saying sprang to mind: Let's you and him fight.
Gian grabbed the nearest draenei's tail and yanked.
Three things happened then in rapid succession: Thilsmarin grabbed for her and wound up with a handful of draenei; the draenei in question turned and punched him in the jaw; and for the second time that night, Thilsmarin dropped to the platform like a sack of bricks.
For a moment, no one moved. Then four of Thilsmarin's supporters rushed the draenei.
Gian sidled along the railing, watching the fight. Four against three wasn't fair, but the draenei were holding more than holding their own. That fact, however, was causing more of the bystanders to stop being bystanders and join in. Bad news for her – she could get hit by a wayward punch – but also a good distraction. If she could just reach the ramp...or better yet, a hippogryph...
"Not so fast, little troublemaker."
Someone picked her up by her jacket's collar. One of the draenei. He wasn't smiling.
She steeled herself for the forthcoming impact with the platform, and pulled his face tentacles. Hard.
The draenei looked at her.
He smiled, then, slowly. It was not a pretty sight. "You're too predictable, little troublemaker."
Light, why does this always happened to me?
XXX xxxxx XXX
Maylar hefted the stone in his hand, judging its weight, then sent it skipping out over the ocean. Five skips this time. Not bad.
He sank back onto the sand cross-legged. The forests were his true home, but the sea had its own beauty and evoked its own sense of peace. Every so often he found himself drawn to the shore, to watch the waves and the ebb and flow of the tides. It was soothing.
His stomach rumbled. Maylar reached for the lidded pot of chowder next to him. . And the food's not bad, either, he thought wryly, filling his bowl. Silvermane bumped his arm.
"Hey, I gave you first dibs earlier, greedyguts," Maylar said with a laugh. "Oh, fine. Here." Maylar unwrapped the cheddar biscuits and flipped two in the wolf's direction. Silvermane caught them in mid-air. Maylar laughed again. Wolves weren't supposed to like anything but meat, but recently Silvermane had grown fond of baked goods. The hunter suspected someone – Nyannyan, most likely – of slipping a cookie or three to Silvermane when his back was turned.
At first, while he ate, Maylar didn't pay much attention to the noise coming from Auberdine's hippogryph platform. The Festival of the Winds was being held in Darnassus, and Auberdine was getting a larger-than-normal share of visitors: the crowds had encouraged him to take his lunch on the shore in the first place. With that many people around, arguments were to be expected. He couldn't hear what they were saying, anyway.
The shouting made his ears twitch. Some people didn't know how to control themselves.
He stood, stretched...
" -- put me DOWN, you overgrown goat!"
froze.
"Gian?" Couldn't be. What was she doing in Auberdine? Maylar stared at the hippogryph platform, trying to see what was happening. The hippogryphs vaulted up into the air, riderless and shrieking, circling out over the ocean in pairs. He swore under his breath. The beasts were flying in their exercise patterns, something they wouldn't be ordered to do by the gryphon master unless there was trouble.
"Pick on someone your own siiiiEEEEE! Dammit, that hu--"
He swore again. That was GianHe ran full-tilt for up the shore for the docks, Silvermane at his heels
The ramp from the inn to the hippogryph was packed with gawkers and sentinels trying to make their through. Maylar paused at its base; from what he could see and hear, there was a fight going on. He barked an order for Silvermane to stay put, then jumped up and pulled himself over the railing.
He landed in a scene reminiscent of his last visit to the cheapest bar in Ironforge: people intent on inflicting bodily harm on one another simply because they were there. No one appeared to have drawn weapons – yet – but each step was a battle in itself. Maylar dodged past a pair of well-dressed night elves trying to strangle each other. A human collided with him and swung at his face. Maylar returned the favor with a right upper-cut and kept going, trying to find any sign of pink hair and top knots. Sentinels swarmed through the throng, trying to instill order and subdue those too caught up in the frenzy to surrender.
A gleam in the corner of his eye. Maylar turned toward it instinctively. A draenei in crystalline armor stood apart from the chaos, a golden aura shimmering around him like hazy sunlight. Paladin. Maylar didn't know many, but he'd been around enough to recognize their spiritual protections when he saw them. The paladin gestured with his free hand, and the silver tingle of healing magic flowed. Then Maylar realized why the draenei had only one free hand.
Tucked under his left arm, her own arms neatly pinned and her mouth covered by his massive hand, was Gian.
"Gian!" Maylar rounded on her captor. "You're a paladin – let her go."
The draenei shook his head slightly. "Your little troublemaker requires a refresher in manners, kaldorei. The local peacekeepers can do that. Arkhaali!"
Another draenei in similar armor bowed out of a remnant of the brawl a short distance away. "Captain, sir!"
"Catch."
Before Maylar could react, the paladin lobbed Gian to his fellow in an underhand pitch. Arkhaali caught her by the waist, his laughter mingling with her startled shrieks, just as a night elf in gold and purple emerged from the shadows and grabbed hold of Gian's wrist.
"Relax, night elf," Arkhaali said. Maylar wasn't sure whether he was being addressed, or the newcomer. "We have the tiny one under control for your guards."
"I don't want her 'under control for the guards'," the other night elf snarled. "I want her hurt." He twisted her wrist viciously. Gian made an odd mewing sound, her face the color of milk. Her arm hung at an unnatural angle.
"That was uncalled for." Arkhaali's tone was no longer joking or friendly. "You." He looked at Maylar. "Get your friend to the captain. This one needs to learn to pick on people his own s…"
Arkhaali blinked. He gazed down in confusion at his chest – or rather, the hilt of the dark iron blade protruding from his chestplate. Blood trickled from his mouth. He stumbled to his knees, tumbling Gian from his grasp. She landed on her dislocated shoulder, vomited, and passed out.
"You son-of-a bitch," Maylar breathed, gripping his axe's hilt. He stepped over Gian, never taking his eyes off the night elf. His expression was a grinning mask of triumph and sick satisfaction – a mask that slipped when the captain and a third draenei stormed over.
"An answer, kaldorei," the captain growled, while the other draenei knelt over Arkhaali and began praying. "Now."
"You'll get your answers, Captain Bacaun." A sentinel maneuvered between the draenei and the other night elf; Maylar recognized her as Elissa Starbreeze, one of the ranking officers. "At the guard house. You're all under arrest."
XXX xxx XXX
"I'm sorry, Corporal. The Council's decision is final."
Maylar knuckled his forehead in frustration. Once at the guard house, Maylar wound up in the main holding cell while Gian, the dead draenei and his companions were ushered to the infirmary. Six hours and most of his cash later, Maylar was free. Gian wasn't. And no one would give him a straight answer. Playing on his military rank hadn't helped. He made a last shot at logic.
"But she didn't do anything." Truth to tell, he wasn't sure Gian hadn't played some part in what was being called the Auberdine Festival Riot. Rumors had her in every role from innocent bystander to vicious assailant of unsuspecting elves. He didn't believe that last for an instant – not after seeing what that fancied-up slime in action. But something in between those two extremes, yes. Gian was a very nice person, but she did have a temper. "Nothing that serious, at least."
"The Council does not agree. Upon reviewing the matter with several witnesses, upstanding citizens of Auberdine all, it has been determined the gnome Gian Gemteaser caused the death of a visiting member of the Eye of the Storm, Arkhaali."
"She didn't stab him!"
"No," the sentinel went on. "But she did instigate the riot that led to his death." She paused. "There's also the matter of the weapon: a feliron dagger from the Outlands, potently enchanted and poisoned."
Maylar leaned on the desk. "That wasn't her dagger. It belonged to –"
"Gian Gemteaser is a warlock and willingly associates with demons," the sentinel went on, her voice neutral. "The Council has determined she has the best opportunity to obtain and the natural inclination to use such foul creations. She obviously conspired to put it in the possession of Thundris Windweaver's great-grandchild at some earlier point, possibly with a charm to make him forget. "
Maylar shook his head, disgusted. Now he remembered why he preferred the forests to people. " Sweet Elune, I can't believe I'm hearing this!"
The sentinel looked at him
He folded his arms, heaving a sigh. "So how long is she imprisoned for?"
"Until someone posts her bail. She will, of course, no longer be welcome in Auberdine."
"Of course," Maylar repeated sarcastically. "So how much is her bail?"
The sentinel told him.
Maylar felt his jaw drop, and quickly closed his mouth. "I…see." He didn't have that much money. He didn't think he had ever had that much money. But he knew someone who might. It all depended on how fast said person checked his mail, and if Nyannyan was up for a few spur-of-the-moment teleportation spells.
XXX xxx XXX
"Excuse me. I'm here for Gian."
The sentinel behind the desk looked confused. Knute wasn't sure why. Common knowledge claimed night elves' had better hearing than humans because of their ears, but this one seemed to be the exception to the rule.
"Gian Gemteaser? The warlock?"
He had never heard Gian's surname before; she had never mentioned it, as far as he could remember. "Yes."
"You are a paladin." It wasn't quite a question, but he took it that way.
"Last time I checked. Do you need proof? Letter from my order, magic protection tossed on your cat, somebody raised from the dead?"
The sentinel's lips thinned. All right, that had been too much, maybe. Though after receiving Maylar's rather cryptic letter late the night before and a day spent trying to meet up with Nyannyan so the mage could teleport him halfway across Azeroth in stages, Knute thought he could be excused a little flippancy. He was a paladin, not a statue.
"If you wish to post for the warlock, you will need to wait for the magistar. Only she may authorize removal of the prisoner's bonds."
"That's fine," Knute said. "Can I see Gian at least?"
After a moment, the sentinel dipped her head. "That is permissible."
Some minutes later Knute stood in front of the door of Gian's cell. The sentinel made an intricate gesture with her hand and a section of the stone turned transparent. Gian sat on a small bench built into the wall, her hands shackled in her lap, and a glowing cloth-of-truesilver gag in her mouth. She didn't react to his presence; he doubted she could see him. Knute faced the sentinel. "You've kept her like this the whole time?"
"She's been allowed meals and to tend to bodily needs. Otherwise, yes, of course."
"Contact the magistar."
"Very well. Your... friend will be waiting for you on the dock to Menethil. You may pay the two hundred gold at the clerk's. I will take you there."
It was good thing the sentinel volunteered to be a guide. Knute doubted he would have been able to follow her instructions. Part of his mind was grappling with what offense merited that high a bail; the rest was trying to figure out what he could put for auction to make up for his losses.
He was still pondering that when he signed over all the coin in his possession. The ore rush had slowed down, but there was still plenty of call for mithril and iron. Thorium as well, but it was harder to find. There had to be a few more treasures hidden in the Scarlet Monastery. Booty Bay was always looking for help.
"The fishermen on the wharf claim she gutted me like a blackmouth, beheaded me and drank the blood spouting from my neck before dancing in my corpse," someone said at Knute's elbow. "I think I would have remembered something like that."
Knute turned. A draenei in simple, somewhat worn clothing leaned against the clerk's counter. He nodded at the paladin. "You are here to free the tiny troublemaker, yes?
"Got it in one." Knute recalled Maylar's haphazard explanation of a fight gone bad and some of the wilder murmurings overheard on his way to the guard house, and put the pieces together. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"The priests of the night elves were more than happy to help me return to fight the Burning Legion, when Damad himself could not. I wish I could remember that. Damad was beginning to think he was Light's gift to the Eye."
"What do you remember?" Knute asked.
"Too much for some people's liking. I have been told that a certain young one of the local kaldorei has been suddenly called away to a far-off city by his family." He smiled, and Knute felt sorry for whomever inspired that smile. "A pity. Should we meet again, I'll have another lesson to teach him." The draenei scratched his chest. "A good leave, even with the dying."
"If it was so good, why is Gian still imprisoned?"
The other turned somber. "The captain would not speak for her when he found she was not a mage like we thought. He would not allow me to, either. She is a warlock, he says, and your Alliance may trust its warlocks, but he does not. We do not dispute with the kaldorei's decision, he says, because of that. He says it would be better if all the cities in the Alliance kept their warlocks under tight watch."
"He says an awful lot, your captain."
"He's the captain. He gives orders. I follow." The draenei shrugged. "You know how it is."
"Yes," Knute said after a moment. "I suppose I do."
"I must go," the draenei said abruptly. "I have things to do before we depart. One is find another pair of pants. These are quite comfortable, but I swear they get thinner each day." He shoved his hands into his pockets. A tinkling sound, as if myriad pieces of metal were hitting the marble floor, filled the air. "I could lose half my leave pay, and never notice. Blessings of the Naaru on you both, paladin." He nodded again, and walked away.
Knute stared down at the pile of coins where the draenei had been standing for a moment before scooping them up into his own money pouch. Half the bail, if he guessed correctly. Something told him he did.
He went to the Menethil boat's dock. True to the sentinel's word, Gian was there; a detachment of sentinels formed a square around her. She looked pale and tired, but she whooped and ran to meet him.
"Knute!"
He crouched down so they were close to eye-level. "You owe me, pink-hair."
She grimaced. "I know – fine, I don't know, but I can guess. Want to set up a payment schedule?"
"Eh. We'll work something out. You can start by telling me the whole story in Stormwind. You had a little help from your supposed victim."
"Really?" She tilted her head, surprised. "I got the impression they didn't like me much. At least that the really big one didn't."
"Gian, you're a gnome. Everyone's really big to you."
"Don't start on the short jokes if you value your kneecaps, buster." She fidgeted her with backpack. "He's all right, then? The one who caught me?"
"Looked pretty lively for a dead guy. And I don't mean he's Forsaken."
Gian nodded thoughtfully, then swallowed. And swallowed again. "Got anything to drink? Those magical gags they use sting."
"Only water." The boat glided up to the dock. The conversation broke off as the crew tied up and passengers debarked, and the two of them boarded. "But there's going to be plenty of beer when we get to Stormwind," he continued when they were settled in.
"Oh?"
"Yup. Nyannyan dying to know what was so important to interrupt making large chunks of the Outland go boom. She wants, and I quote, 'all the gory details, wee one.'"
"Light and Lords," Gian muttered. She glanced sidelong at Knute. "Help me buy?"
"I'll put it on your tab."
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