Chapter Two

Snow drifted down from the sky in slow steady waves before dissipating on the ground. Devlin held his gloved hands open, his arms outstretched as if to pull the entirety of the coming gale into his grasp. He stuck out his tongue to taste the white flakes on his tongue. Devlin had discovered snow.

He knew it existed of course. He had heard the tales of frost storms that rose from the mountains to smother the lonely port of South Shore. The gales from the Stormwind Mountains often created white flurries and winds that could create icicles, but to see the fields of white snow. To hear the ice crinkle and crack as his horse trotted up the mountain path was something else all together.

The brown dumner that he had chosen for his steed shook his mane fiercely attempting to free himself of the melted snow that had clung to his mane, spraying drops of water everywhere. Devlin withdrew his arms from the sky in an attempt to cover his eyes.

After a moment he let down his hands. He was just about to open his mouth and scold the horse when he realized something. He hadn't named him yet.

The horse looked back at him. "What are you staring at?" asked its stern brown eyes.

Devlin glared at the horse in turn and eventually it turned its head back toward the path. Devlin shook his head and smiled in rueful amusement. He was in the process of embarking on the most dangerous quest of his life and here he was smiling doe eyed at snow and having staring contests with a stable horse.

He ran his hands through his ragged hair. His mind slowly recounted the last minute information given by the spymaster, Osborne. Most was inconsequential as of now but one fact had continued to wear away at his mind. Ravendholt already has a man on the inside.

--

The question had blurted out of Devlin's mouth before he could tie it down.

"Then why doesn't he do the mission?"

Devlin's cheeks reddened slightly and he jerked on his right hands thumb in irritation.

"I'm not sure why," admitted the spy master with a sigh, "I can only assume he's incapable of doing so himself, likely due to the limits of the persona he has occupied. I can be sure that Ravendohlt wouldn't have involved us if he could have avoided it."

"Who is he?" asked Devlin, "The Ravendholt undercover agent I mean."

"I don't know. Ravendohlt sent the message of your coming to him as soon as he picked you. He should know who you are."

Devlin frowned. Ravendohlt hadn't even waited to see if he would accept the assignment? Then again he hadn't had much of a choice. He was doing this because he had to.

"Truth be told," mused Osborne to himself, "I don't think they even know much about him. He's in deep that's for sure. I doubt they even know the full extent of his situation."

"So he will know who I am, but I will not know him?" interrupted Devlin irritably.

Osborne frowned then as well and replied, "Ravendohlt seemed to be of the opinion that if you couldn't figure out who he was, than it would be impossible to complete your assignment anyways."

--

Devlin had balked at the time but as he rode through the damp grass foothills towards the mountains, he had more time to think and he realized that withholding the information did make sense in a twisted way. If Ravendholt truly was of the opinion that one without the skill to uncover his agent was in turn unable to complete his mission, and failure meaning capture or death, then he would most likely not risk his agent by giving his identity to Devlin. If Devlin was captured he could then be forced to give up his compatriot's identity. Obviously Ravendohlt was not willing to risk his man.

Good for the undercover agent. Bad for Devlin.

A sudden gust of wind broke his reverie. Devlin, who had been staring down at the front of his saddle as he fidgeted with his reigns, felt his eyes drawn upward and forward. There was smoke on the wind. He looked around him. This serene winter swept mountains ensured no fire could be allowed to stir on accident. That meant there were people close by.

Devlin checked the make sure his daggers were still resting in their sheaths. He was long past the point where he could expect the likes of a wandering tinker or tradesmen. Though surely not in the heart of Alterac he was now well within the borders that marked the frosty realm. As of yet he had not encountered any Syndicate, but he assumed that was more by design then random chance.

The Syndicate on the border had likely recognized him as Jarach Horner, known throughout the lands as the Predator, the shadowy murderer of Old Town. Tales were spun often in taverns about how he had been caught by SI:7 and placed in the stockades to await execution but had escaped in the midst of a bloody stockade riot.

In reality the corpse of the "Predator" was lying in some ditch in the slums of Stormwind an SI:7 knife in his back. It might have truly been possible for Predator to have had escaped during the stockade riots two years ago, and SI:7 had been firm that while the law may dictate the man deserved a fair trial, common sense dictated the man be removed. And so they had faked his imprisonment, just as they had faked Devlin's execution, and a new day had come and SI:7 sat pretty on a new identity. An identity Devlin now assumed.

Baron Vardus was in good standing with Aliden Perenolde and it was more than likely that the Baron had made it clear he wished Jarach to pass unmolested. Still the infighting among the Syndicate nobles and bandits lords was the stuff of legends and he could not discount the idea that one nobleman would risk the wrath of Perenolde in order to remove a man who was to become a new asset to the baron.

The baron's knowledge of him was no mystery. Just as Ravendohlt had sent word to his agent so had he sent word to the baron, masquerading as Jarach, and told him of his wish to join the Grays. The reason behind it made perfect sense. Jarach was on the run from Stormwind authorities and SI:7 and he would need sanctuary.

As Devlin mulled over these thoughts in his mind , his horse had cantered forward. By now Devlin could see the pillar of smoke rising through the air. Moving as he was up the steep mountain trail that capped at a ridge not more than twenty feet away, Devlin could not see the cause of the smoke though he knew that ignorance would abate itself soon.

It was at that moment that the pungent stench of burning flesh arrived and dominated his senses. He capped the hill and his eyes grew large as saucers. Down below sat a string of three carriages, all of them burning, their contents spilled out into the snow. Among the flickering flames he saw six bodies, their crisp flesh the source of the odor he had smelled but seconds before. Nearby lay two more bodies, not burning, but clearly dead. One was a figured smothered in thick strips of cloth and rags but the second, so close it had taken Devlin a moment to even realize it was a second form, lay the small broken body of what could have only been a child.

What happened here, asked Devlin to himself, but even as he thought the question he knew the answer. This was the fate of all who entered the territory of the Syndicate unbidden.

It was at that moment that the corpse of the cloaked figure began to move. Devlin reaction was not one based on reason. It was one of humanity. That person was still alive!

With a quiet oath he clicked his heels fiercely driving his horse forward. With a neigh the horse burst into action, pelting down the hill. Though his journey up the cliff side had taken nearly an hour's time, his journey down took less than a third of that. In moments of landing upon the frosty ground, Devlin leaped from his horse and to the side of the fidgeting body of rags.

It was a woman who lay there. Her face was pale and drawn and her blue lips quivered as she squirmed. Threads of gray hair curved around her worn face, and blurry blue eyes stared up at him. Red stains covered the rags where her stomach would have been.

"Son," she moaned, "My son…"

"Do not speak," murmured Devlin withdrawing a cantina of water from his waist, lifting her up so that he could pour the liquid down her throat.

"My son…" she moaned once more, "My son…"

Devlin glanced at the tiny corpse next to him. Her son? He kneeled in close and spied the ashen face of a young girl. Not the son. Her daughter?

"I must free my son," she cried.

Devlin ignored her ranting and focused on the wound. The rags were clearly tied tight and though they may have been meant for warmth they worked well as bandages. The amount of blood that stained the make-shift bandages spoke to the degree of her wound. Anger threatened to consume Devlin. He was a spy not a healer. This woman needed a priest of the Light!

"Listen to me!" demanded the woman, her voice cracking harshly.

Devlin returned his attention to the woman's face, though her eyes had wandered aimlessly before they were now fully trained on Devlin.

"You must give this to my son's keeper," she commanded in a hoarse whisper. Her hand clawed desperately at her side and Devlin spied a brown papered parcel. Picking it up Devlin moved it in front of her face. The woman's eyes widened in recognition and she nodded slightly.

"This is the price for your son's freedom?" asked Devlin.

The woman nodded again and attempted to voice something. Devlin leaned in closer attempting to hear.

"My family name is Cadderly. My son. You must free my son." The light in the woman's eyes had begun to fade and her voice was but the faintest echo of a whisper. Devlin shook her lightly in an attempt to rouse her.

"What is his name? What is his first name!?"

But the light had faded fully faded from her eyes. The woman was dead.

Devlin gave a silent prayer and slowly closed her eyes.

He stared at the parcel. The woman's cold hands rested over it in his hands. Cadderly? There must be dozens of Cadderly's spread out across the Alliance. He could never hope to find her son. Never mind his current mission! The woman's dying wish rang in his ears. To deny such a wish would be considered a cardinal sin in the Psalms of the Light. Devlin's thought began to spin as he considered what to do. He would bury them, he decided finally. These people, whoever they were, deserved that much from at least.

It was then at that moment, that the snowy clumps Devlin had taken for iced rocks revealed themselves and fur clad man covered in snow popped up all around him. Knives and swords hung in each of their callused hands.

"Well, well boys," cackled one of the men as his compatriots shook themselves free of the snow, "What do we have here?"

A/N: What can I say? This should have been posted here months ago. I have no defense save that life tends to spin out of control when you least expect it and this story was lost under the pressing issues of other things. Honestly Zetsuke I'm suprised even one person reviewed and I really apreciate you taking the time to do so. Constructive critism is more then welcome and if this update manages to stir a little interest I promise I'll continue to update it regularly.