Author's Note:
Once again, thank you kindly for your reviews and feedback! This chapter is where the real action kicks off. (Rewritten as of 3/16)
1.
"One must admit, these mountains are beautiful... In a dangerous, savage sort of way, of course, but-"
"Perhaps one would be better off keeping alert since one knows full well how treacherous these mountain paths can be, hm?"
Freywinn and Sarannis glared at each other in a stand-off that neither were willing to break quite yet.
"You Bloodwarders have no eye for beauty," the botanist grumbled finally, choosing to be the wiser one this one time.
Sarannis pretended to ignore him. Freywinn did tend to complain a lot, but on the rare occasions that he wasn't, his insights were usually worth taking notice of, and this one time was no exception. The jagged peaks of the Blade's Edge Mountains were, indeed, breathtaking - and, if she were to be completely honest with herself, Sarannis had to admit that she was more than glad to see the clear red skies of Draenor instead of the unpredictable tempests of the Netherstorm. There were no pent-up magical energies here, no arcane vortexes that could spiral out of control and tear the world asunder and, better yet, no sudden discharges that could reduce an unsuspecting bystander to a pile of ashes in the blink of an eye, as had happened when-
Sarannis shook her head forcefully and the memory went away. To distract herself further, she looked back over her shoulder to the refugees that trudged on behind them. The path was narrow here, providing barely enough space for two hawkstriders to walk abreast, and spikes of rock lined it on either side. Their passing raised small clouds of reddish dust from the parched earth, which made the air thicker and harder to breathe at times. That aside, however, Sarannis suddenly realized that the canyon they were crossing was the perfect place for an ambush... and, if that happened, they would have no place to run and no room to properly fight.
"I don't like this," Sarannis said loudly. Then, she turned in the saddle and gave the signal to stop.
"Of course you wouldn't, that's what I just said," Freywinn muttered with unmasked satisfaction.
Sarannis rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything in response to the obvious taunt. "We will rest here for a while," she announced when she was certain she had the attention of all of her followers.
Some of the blood elves closest to the two leaders immediately collapsed where they stood, their expressions a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion, and more followed their example as the order was passed on to those at the back. Sarannis let them rest for several minutes as she gathered her thoughts. They were already half a day's journey into the mountains, too far gone to turn around and look for a safer path through. Aside from the fact that their provisions were hardly enough to last the journey as they were, there was no telling whether or not they would find such a path or be forced to come this way again. The quicker they left the mountains behind, the better. In order to do that, however, they would have to be prepared for whatever dangers lay ahead, which meant that some volunteers would be needed to scout ahead. It pained her to demand such a thing when resting time was already scarce at best... but the comfort of those few would be sacrificed for the survival of all.
Several hands were raised before Sarannis even had time to finish her request. That three of the volunteers were former Bloodwarder guards, as she noted with a touch of pride. Two others were engineers if their clothes were any indication, and the last one had served as Freywinn's personal assistant back on the Botanica. All were on their way before long, with clear orders to separate as soon as the path allowed it and cover as much terrain as they could.
"Was that really necessary?" Freywinn inquired in that obnoxious way of his when Sarannis finally returned to the front of the column and sat down with a heavy sigh.
Sarannis arched an eyebrow. "What?"
"There are no dangers here that I know of," Freywinn explained with a lazy shrug. "I know because I used to send my scientists out here to collect samples all the time, and if those airheads made it through and back, then we will certainly-
"And how long ago was that, Freywinn?" Sarannis cut in, annoyed. "A year? A month? Things can change much quicker than that! Just look..." She noticed that others were beginning to look their way and lowered her voice to a furious whisper, "...look where we are now. And all it took was for some wretched engineer to mistake a handful of Scryers for some of our men and lower the defenses of Tempest Keep - the one safe haven we had left! Go on, to look me in the eye and tell me that we're safe here. I dare you!"
Freywinn looked down in mute embarrassment. For once, he had nothing to say. This was the problem with scientists, Sarannis thought wryly as she watched him stand up and pointedly walk away. They spent so much time engrossed in whatever it was they did that they ended up falling out of touch with how things worked in the real world. And right now, regardless of what Freywinn did or didn't know, chances were that several unnamed but very real dangers lurked on the path ahead.
"Our botanist is rather carefree, isn't he?"
Sarannis started a little before she recognized the voice. "He could do with a little perspective, yes," she said, turning to face her new companion.
Andurien laughed a little, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sat down next to Sarannis without waiting for an invitation, not seeming care whether he was intruding or not. "The goblins volunteered some... interesting information about these parts," he said after. "The ogre tribes are at war with each other, but they are hardly known to wander this close to the edge of the continent. On the other hand, this path will take us to the vicinity of a rather sizable Burning Legion outpost, which-"
"We still have a pact with the Legion," Sarannis said defiantly even as she fought to hide a sudden wave of anxiety. "They wouldn't attack their allies... would they?" She all but whispered the last two words, reluctant to let even the smallest hint of uncertainty show.
Andurien held her gaze calmly. "With Kael'thas gone, I doubt that pact still stands."
There was a brief moment of silence, then, "I see."
"Other than that," Andurien went on, "we have only to keep away from any other settlements we might find along the way."
"Don't play games with me, priest. I take it you know exactly where those are located, and that you'll keep us on a path that will put none at the risk of a pointless confrontation."
Andurien didn't look at all fazed with the dripping sarcasm. "Generally speaking... yes."
"And the goblins told you all this, didn't they? Either they owed you one damn big favor, or you spent a small fortune getting all this information. Or-" Sarannis held up a finger "- you spoke with someone else there. If memory serves, some of the Scryers were frequent patrons of the goblin inn at Area 52. Did you see any, by chance?"
"I did."
They studied each other in silence, each pondering their next move. For her part, Sarannis realized that, even if her suspicions were true, acting against the priest in any way would only serve to cause discord among the refugees. Some already owed him their lives, and there were even a few who openly worshipped him. If a fight did break out-
No. There wouldn't be any fighting if Sarannis could help it. "Tell me your intentions, and be honest with me. I need to know that much, at least."
"I want to see us all safely to Shattrath," Andurien answered levelly. "What happens beyond that is none of my concern."
"The Scryers will not suffer any of us there for very long," Sarannis said heatedly. "You may be safe from their wrath, but for the Sunfury there can be no reconciliation, not after everything they've done! They were so eager to prove themselves to their damn Naaru that they didn't think twice about slaughtering their own kind! They may claim to offer us amnesty now, but I, for one, will have none of it!"
Andurien shook his head sadly. "It pains me... to see our race thus further divided. High elf and blood elf, Scryer and Sunfury... it seems as though we never learn." He stood up with a sigh. "You have a right to make your own decisions, commander. But when the time comes, each will be free to choose for themselves, and you might not like their choice."
"I couldn't care less!" Sarannis shouted after him as he walked off, but he didn't so much as turn around. Alone once more, the commander kicked at a nearby rock in frustration. The Scryers were the enemy. The war-
-was over for the Sunfury, though, wasn't it? Tempest Keep was gone. Kael'thas was no more. Even the Black Temple, Illidan's seat of power, was an uncertainty at best and nowhere near the paradise that the blood elves had once been promised. How many times had their race endured a harsh pilgrimage driven by false hope? How many more times would they be doomed to walk the same path before they would finally learn?
Then again, what else was there to do...?
'Action,' Sarannis reminded herself firmly. It kept everyone focused, if only on putting one foot before the other until they couldn't walk anymore and they were too tired to think about anything but food and sleep. The refugees had rested long enough. The scouts were already far enough to give timely warnings if there was any danger waiting ahead.
It was time to move on.
2.
The courtyard of the Black Temple served mainly as a training ground for the fel orc clans that served the Illidari. Vaala had learned to tell them apart by what they did and found, to her mild amusement, that their respective clan names were strangely appropriate oftentimes. The Dragonmaw elite were nigh inseparable from their nether drakes, and attaining such a mount was a sign of great prestige among them. The orcs of the Bleeding Hollow and the Laughing Skull clans were formidable fighters in their own rights, but the former preferred a head-on approach to battle while the others were fond of the more subtle tactics of ambushing and assassination. On the other hand, the warlocks of the Shadowmoon clan - after whom the valley was named - were far more elusive, practicing their spells within the temple's inner sanctum and rarely showing their faces elsewhere. Finally, the Bonechewer orcs... didn't distinguish themselves through much, apart from a ravenous appetite that truly befitted their name.
Presently, Vaala stood in the courtyard, feeling very pointedly out of place. The Dragonmaw were leery of any outsiders wandering into their territory, and the fact that she was here with a request of her own did little to help matters. She needed a netherdrake, and she wouldn't go anywhere until she acquired one. The drake riders were, of course, hardly willing to part with any of their prized mounts. The two that Vaala had asked so far had laughed in her face, then made it very clear that any insisting on her part would be met with a considerable amount of violence.
"What's little elf doing here?"
Vaala spun around, coming face to face with a rather imposing fel orc woman clad in a leather harness that marked her as a rider. One of her hands was already on the hilt of a massive two-bladed axe that rested at her belt. She had the look of one who was used to giving orders rather than following them.
Perfect.
"I need a drake," Vaala said calmly, keeping her hands to her sides and doing her best to look equal parts harmless and defying.
The woman tossed back her head with a hearty laugh. "Elf doesn't need drake!" she roared. "My drake eats elf in battle! If I give you my drake, my drake eats you!"
The orcs that were close enough to hear laughed at this too. Vaala smirked a little, then took a deep breath. "Right," she said. Orcs valued displays of brute strength usually, but speed and subtlety weren't lost on their race, either. Before any of them had time to grasp what was happening, one of Vaala's swords was already resting against the other woman's throat, pressing with just enough force to make it clear that any other hostile act would be a free ticket to suicide. "Now then," she said pleasantly. "About that drake."
"You fight with no honor," the woman said, and spat.
"I like things the easy way," Vaala answered with a shrug.
The other orcs were no longer laughing. Several inched closer and motioned to unsheathe their own weapons, which meant that Vaala had no way of letting go now without putting herself at the risk of being gutted by several orcish blades at once, because even this degenerate breed of orcs still held on to a twisted sort of honor which-
'Oh,' Vaala thought suddenly, realizing that she could still turn the situation in her favor if she played her cards right. "On the other hand," she continued, "if an honorable fight is what you're after, then I'm willing to do that, too." Speaking, she stepped back, releasing the other. "I challenge you. The winner takes the drake."
"I'll crush you!"
With that, they clashed. The woman handled her axe with impressive strength, but that was all the leverage she had. Her stance was awkward and her swings were wide and easy enough to avoid. Still, somehow, each time Vaala struck back, the axe of her opponent was there to deflect her blows. Other orcs had gathered around in a wide circle, cheering and jeering as the scales of victory swayed one way or the other. This was quickly turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.
Soon, Vaala began to realize that she had no hopes of besting this foe by fighting 'honorably' after all. She couldn't back out of the fight now, and so she decided to end it quickly and hope that a decisive victory would shield her from the collective bloodlust of the other orcs. She crouched low, dodging another clumsy attack, then swept the other's legs from under her. As the woman struggled to get up, Vaala pinned one of her wrists down with her foot and once again rested the tip of her blade against her throat.
"I am... bested," the defeated orc panted as the other orcs began to mutter and growl. "Finish it."
Vaala pretended to consider this for a few moments. "No need to," she said finally. "Lord Illidan would disapprove of me killing a worthy warrior such as yourself, I'm sure."
I wouldn't mind, actually, came Illidan's voice, almost as if on cue. Your performance was fairly entertaining, but I must ask... what would a spy like you require a nether drake for? Surely, you aren't thinking of running away?
"Of course not," Vaala hissed under her breath, glaring around to make sure no-one else heard the words. "I know it's a stretch, but I'll need you to trust me on this one." As an afterthought, she added, "Please?"
There was no answer, which meant that Illidan had probably decided to leave her to her own affairs, at least for now. Inwardly, Vaala breathed a sigh of relief. The other orcs were beginning to scatter, likely to avoid the embarrassment of seeing one of their commanders beaten by one who wasn't even of their own race.
"Well fought," the orc woman said grudgingly. "Come."
Vaala nodded and followed, wondering if that would be the end of it after all. That question was answered a few minutes later, when she found herself gaping at a rather impressive netherdrake. The beast was probably a light shade of blue, although its coloration kept changing ever so slightly as it clawed at the ground and flapped its wings idly. Vaala arched an eyebrow as she noted that the wings themselves were almost translucent, offering a foggy view of the ramparts behind it. How did these things manage to keep afloat, anyway?
"Her name is Skybane," the orc woman said proudly. "She carried me in many battles."
So, the drake was a 'she'. For a moment, Vaala wondered how one could tell the difference when there were no outward changes in shape or size between the males and females of their species. "And... she won't eat me, then?" she ventured. It never hurt to make sure of such things.
This earned her a devious grin. "Maybe. Or maybe not."
'Great,' Vaala thought as she mounted. For a moment, she almost regretted not having purchased a dragonhawk from the tamers in Shattrath before setting on the journey to Shadowmoon. She had only flown on a netherdrake once before*, and that one had been intelligent enough to communicate and - even more importantly - to do its best so that the rider wouldn't fall out of the saddle or Sun knew what else. This one didn't seem too keen on doing anything but turning its head and blinking at her with a sort of lazy incomprehension.
Vaala tugged at the reins inexpertly and nudged the drake with her knees. Apparently, one gesture or the other meant something, because Skybane shook herself once, broke into a trot, then suddenly crouched, jumped and spread her wings. A moment later, both rider and mount soared over the outer wall and into the valley beyond, going at a speed that made Vaala grip the reins tightly and narrow her eyes against the rush of wind. Steering was hardly an issue, as she found when she pulled on the left rein more than the right by accident and Skybane banked obediently in that direction. All in all, aside from the inherent dangers of being a very visible target and vulnerable to anything coming from directly below, flying didn't seem all that bad.
Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me as to what your intentions are?
Illidan's voice was back, and insofar as Vaala could tell, it 'sounded' rather impatient this time. Nevertheless, she was marginally thankful for the distraction it provided. The thought of being this high up in the air, with nothing but a possibly capricious beast between her and a deadly drop, was suddenly very uncomfortable. "Your Council aren't as useless as they seem," she replied. "One of them – the nethermancer, I believe – is already plotting on cutting off the head of the beast, so to speak."
The Aldor leadership?
"Exactly. I figured I might as well do my best to be of assistance with that... in-between gathering fresh information for you, of course."
And you intend to take them out single-handedly? The words were dripping with sarcasm.
"Not... yet. This time, I intend to fly overhead and scout their defenses and pinpoint who gives the orders and who follows them. Then, I can stealth back and put some of the former out of commission. If all goes well, the Aldor will be left leaderless and ready to be crushed by Gathios and his men."
This plan is far more daring than I would expect of one such as you... The words came with a subtle wave of suspicion. Are you so eager to prove yourself now that you are willing to risk your life in my service?
"Your victory is my gain," Vaala answered with as much pathos as she could muster. There was another facet to her plan, one that she prayed fervently that Illidan wouldn't divine. As long as she kept his focus on the Aldor, the Scryers would be left alone, which meant that Reevan, too, would be safe. "Besides... I was bored," she added in a small voice, and that, too, was true. There was only so much snooping around she could do before others grew suspicious and it was far too soon to risk any inquiries.
Very well... I will allow this little incursion of yours. Do keep yourself from being captured, though. I might not find it in me to intervene.
The presence retreated abruptly and Vaala sighed with unbridled relief. Letting herself fall into the hands of the Aldor was the last thing she planned. After all, their animosity towards the Scryers was notorious, and the fact that she wore the tabard of the Illidari hardly offered a viable alternative. The fact that she could now leave the Black Temple freely was a small victory, at least.
A little while later, something unusual caught Vaala's eye on the path below. She pulled on the reins abruptly, making the drake jerk to a stop in mid-air and flap its wings furiously to keep afloat. Even though the height made her stomach turn, she leaned over and chanced a second look towards the ground. Her lips form a silent 'Oh'. There was no mistaking what she had seen.
"Take us down," Vaala whispered to her mount, nudging it lightly with her knees to emphasize the command. "And keep us out of sight."
_ _ _
* This happened in a one-shot story, 'Trust', which can be read on my profile.
3.
Sarannis had a keen eyesight even in the hazy glow of the twilight. She spotted the runner long before anyone else and identified her as one of the scouts - not a Bloodwarder, but Freywinn's former assistant. She was waving her hands and shouting long before she was within earshot, clearly distressed about something. Sarannis gave the signal to stop and prodded her hawkstrider forward. The runner was already slowing, clearly exhausted. Suddenly she stumbled, then fell to her knees. Something was very, very wrong.
By the time Sarannis reached her, the scout had recovered enough to stand, although she was shaking so badly it was a wonder that she didn't collapse again. "The... the mountain," she gasped without waiting to be questioned. "It came alive!" She buried her face in her hands, and her next words were muffled and barely intelligible. "It... it took Nola... it's after me... me, now!" Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by a long, heart-wrenching sob.
Sarannis frowned. "What do you mean, the mountain – by the Sun, keep your wits about you!" She shook the girl's shoulder forcefully. "Where are the others? What happened to them?"
"Too far ahead... couldn't help... didn't... see..."
"What happened?" came another voice.
Sarannis looked over her shoulder and saw that Freywinn had made his way to them unnoticed and was now glancing down from the saddle of his own hawkstrider, appearing none too moved by the scout's distress. "I didn't really get that," she answered with a half-shrug. "Something about the mountain coming to life and someone missing-"
"Oh, no."
Somehow, those two words were more unnerving than the notion of being ambushed by living rock. Freywinn had never looked so panicked before, not even after being told that his experiments had either gone missing or been destroyed. The thought to remind him that not a day before he'd claimed the pass was absolutely safe came and went. Now was hardly the time to bicker. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to make a scene like this girl here, or are you going to tell me what in the hell it is that you just realized?"
"A gronn..." Freywinn answered, his voice almost a whisper. "I heard talks about them, but I never thought they would wander this far away from their lair. They're supposed to be very territorial, almost like-"
"Stop. First of all, what is a 'gronn'? And how do you-"
"A stone giant, and I know things like that because I've been studying the creatures native to this world since we arrived, as you well know." The reproach in the last few words was almost tangible. "The gronn are even larger than their lesser elemental counterparts and very, very resilient. I'd say one would be difficult to take down even with our numbers. I'd suggest we rest here for the night and deal with it in the morning. If it comes down to battle, we're going to need all the rest we can get."
"You're probably right-" Sarannis began.
And then, they all heard it. It was a low, ear-splitting noise, like the sound made by two slabs of rock grinding against each other. It went on for a while, then stopped just as abruptly as it had begun.
The scout looked up, her features a mask of pure terror. "It's coming..." she whimpered, her voice so small that Sarannis wasn't even sure she'd heard the words.
The dusk grew silent.
Sarannis straightened up, deliberately turning her thoughts away from fear and other such nonsense. "How do we kill it?" she asked, lowering her voice so that only Freywinn could hear.
Freywinn grimaced in a way that made it obvious he wasn't at all convinced that they could pull such a feat. "Swords and arrows won't work, even I can tell that much. We need magic, and powerful magic at that."
Sarannis surveyed the throng of refugees thoughtfully. "Our magisters are exhausted, just like everyone else," she whispered. "Suppose we-"
The noise came again, from somewhere closer this time.
"Before you say anything else, there's one more thing about the gronn that you should know about..." Freywinn said darkly.
The ground shook once with a menacing thump.
"...They like to play with their food."
4.
As they came closer to the ground, Vaala realized that there was no need for caution after all. Skybane landed in a graceful crouch, but that did little to soften the impact and the rider was more than grateful to jump down and feel solid rock under her feet once more. "Stay here," she whispered to the drake, even though it probably wasn't bright enough to tell the difference between 'stay' and 'fly'.
They were on the path that connected the north and south ends of the valley now, far enough from the temple that the ramparts were partly obscured by the mists of the valley, but still close enough for the sounds of what went on within to drift on the wind every now and then. These days, the only living souls that walked this road were the occasional patrols sent to make sure that no enemies of the Illidari would survive long enough to return with whatever intelligence they may have gathered. Adventurers hardly ever had the heart to come this close to the edge of the world, and for good reasons, too. There were dangers here far worse than even the Sunfury - mutated creatures with hides as tough as fel steel that could breathe fire and noxious clouds, disembodied spirits whose wails could make anyone go mad, even feral orcs whose primal bloodlust had driven them to the point of no return.
Judging by the corpses strewn on the path, it seemed that some of the Aldor had been foolish enough to ignore all the warnings and venture out here anyway.
'Strange', Vaala thought as she prodded one of the corpses with the tip of her boot. Draenei were hardly known for recklessness, of all things, even though they had a tendency towards underestimating danger and relying on their vaunted Light to protect them in the face of insurmountable odds. This party, however, had been ambushed and killed with the sort of ruthless efficiency that likely hadn't left them any chance to react. Most had fallen to crude arrows, fired with enough force to pierce through leather armor and even embed themselves in solid plate. The Dragonmaw probably had a hand in this... although some of the bodies bore sword wounds, too clean and too precise to have been made by the jagged weapons that the orcs were known to wield. They were the work of one assassin at least, and a skilled one at that.
There was one more thing that didn't quite look as it belonged. Unlike most races on Azeroth, draenei blood was a light shade of blue. The corpses were drenched in it and there were splatters of it on the ground, most of them made by blood gushing out of wounds, but some too large in shape to look like anything but-
Vaala tilted her head to one side. Now this was interesting. Anyone else might have missed the tracks that headed off the path and into a maze of rocky outcrops and jagged spikes that built up towards the west. The road was covered with gravel too rough for even plate boots to leave anything but the most shallow of impressions, and the tracks were seemingly erratic, as though who ever made them had doubled back several times in an attempt to confuse any pursuit. Vaala put two and two together quickly, and came to the conclusion that one of the Aldor had survived the ambush, because their footprints were too large to have been made by anything else. She drew her swords, glanced back to find that Skybane hadn't moved at all from her spot and finally started off in the same direction as the tracks did.
Soon, the trail became considerably easier to follow as the one survivor - likely a man, since draenei women had much smaller hooves - had abandoned caution in favor of putting as much distance between himself as the path as possible. He was likely wounded, but Vaala remained cautious. In spite of their peaceful ways, draenei were fierce fighters once cornered, wounded or not, and had the Light at their beck and call.
It didn't take long for a pained, labored breath to reach Vaala's ears. She dropped into a crouch and listened. After a few moments, she grinned a little. The draenei certainly didn't sound like he was in any shape to fight back.
"Do you so... enjoy... skulking in the shadows... like a rat...?"
Vaala started a little when, despite her instinctive caution, the draenei called her out. The voice had come from somewhere nearby - and sure enough, as she rounded a particularly large bounder, Vaala came face to face with her intended quarry. The draenei was in far worse shape than she'd anticipated. He sat with his back against a small mound, clutching at his side with one arm while the other hung limply at his side. Several broken arrow shafts littered the ground. How he'd managed to crawl this far was nothing short of impressive. Then again, the draenei were nothing if not a race that was too stubborn to simply lie down and die.
"Get on with it," the draenei groaned, and closed his eyes.
Vaala paused. This one could be useful... maybe. If not, she could always oblige and put him out of his misery later on. For now, however, she wasn't about to waste this unexpected opportunity. "If you're so eager to die, do it yourself. Otherwise, I'm here to help."
The draenei opened his eyes to glare at her. "I thought your kind would never..." Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a weak cough.
'Your kind.' The two words stung more than Vaala cared to admit. Her 'kind' were a broken and divided people that weren't above killing those of the same blood for the delusions of one leader or another. "I'm one of a kind," she said, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Now stop talking and concentrate on keeping that wound from bleeding out."
"What... do you intend to do?" the draenei gasped, trying and failing to pull away as Vaala knelt down next to him.
"For starters, patch you up," Vaala answered distractedly as she surveyed his wounds. The only one of immediate concern was a long gash that the draenei clutched at with his one good arm. The few bandages and other medicinal supplies she kept in a pouch that she hardly ever parted with would definitely come in handy now, but the best she could do was to stop the bleeding and keep the draenei alive long enough to find out what had happened on the path.
"Why would-" the draenei winced in pain as Vaala pushed his hand away to take a better look at the wound "-why would you help me?"
Why, indeed? came Illidan's voice a moment later.
Vaala resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the untimely interruption. Touching her locket ever so faintly, she replied, "Doubt me all you want, but I believe we can help each other."
That wretch will never trust you. You might as well kill him now.
"You Aldor are many things, but you're not stupid," Vaala went on, choosing to ignore the intruding presence in her mind for now. "You didn't just up and decide to go for a stroll this close to the Black Temple on a whim. You were trying to reach the other side of the valley... and there isn't anything of interest there other than the Sanctum of the Stars. Nothing would warrant such a desperate move... unless the Scryers knew something that you didn't, such as when and where the Sunfury were planning to strike, and they were willing to join forces to fend off the attack. Are you with me so far?"
The draenei said nothing, but the brief look of panic that crossed his features was enough for Vaala to know that her speculations had been right. A truce between the Aldor and the Scryers wasn't so far-fetched as many appeared to believe, especially not with the threat of an impending disaster looming in the not-so-distant future. It was easy to put the puzzle together when nearly all the pieces were in her hands.
"It was a trap," the draenei whispered at length. "I suspected it even before the dragon riders attacked... and while we were... distracted trying to shield ourselves from their arrows... we were easy prey for the assassins..."
"Assassins, hey?" Vaala muttered with a frown. It seemed as though Veras Darkshadow and his agents weren't entirely useless after all. Then again, the fact that Veras already knew about Illidan's plan to attack the Aldor when there had been no 'official' mention of it to any but a few supposedly trusted commanders was slightly unnerving. Vaala couldn't help but wonder what other information he possessed and how he'd come across it. Illidan was likely taken aback by that thought as well. She could feel his puzzlement at the back of her mind.
Setting aside that thought for later, Vaala reached again for her pouch and felt around until her fingers closed around the familiar shape of a crystal vial. Inside was an anti-venom she'd brewed herself some months prior. There was a fair chance that Veras's assassins poisoned their blades, and she needed the draenei alive for a while still. "Drink this," she commanded.
The draenei gave her a look that made it clear he didn't trust her. "You drink first."
By the Sun, what an idiot, Vaala thought with an exasperated sigh. "Do you really think I'd waste any poison on you if I wanted you dead?" she said, making no effort to hide her annoyance. "Besides, I'd hate to waste even a drop of this. Some of these herbs were really hard to find out here."
The draenei tried to shrug and groaned when his broken arm didn't allow it. Still, he didn't protest any further when Vaala opened the vial and let a few drops fall on his charred lips. She leaned back and waited. The anti-venom was old, but potent enough to do away with whatever poisons Veras's henchmen might have employed.
"Your people have... strange ways," the draenei said after a while.
Vaala made a noncommittal sound. "My people are stupid," she said flatly. "Most would have simply put you out of your misery. I'm not like that." 'Well... most of the time, anyway,' she thought.
The draenei didn't question that. "My name is Arakai and I serve as an anchorite at the Altar of Sha'tar," he offered. "And you?"
"Vaala... Vaala Dawnstrike. I suppose you can tell where my loyalties lie... right?" Such a phrase wasn't lying, but it wasn't truthful, either. Let the draenei think what he wanted, Vaala wasn't about to admit who she'd been forced to serve unless she had no choice.
"Dawnstrike...?" Arakai's face screwed up with the effort of remembering. "I know I've heard about you..." Suddenly, his expression changed to one of apprehension. "You're-"
"Yes." Vaala felt Illidan's presence circle her mind like a vulture waiting for its intended prey to die so it could swoop down and feast. It was best not to have this fool of an anchorite blurt out anything she'd have to explain later on, such as the fact that - no. She wouldn't think about her brother if she could help it. "Now that we're formally acquainted," she continued before Arakai could say anything more, "tell me what brought you and your party out here. And tell me everything."
5.
Several hours had gone past with no sign of the gronn other than the occasional roars and thumps, which seemed to be getting closer for a while, then farther, then closer again. The gronn was either searching for something or biding its time, delighting in driving its prey to their wits' end. The refugees had set up camp as far back on the path as they dared to go with hardly any light to guide their steps. Most of the wood, along with some supplies that had been deemed less important than the rest, had been used to several large bonfires, but the night was pitch-black where their light couldn't reach. Smaller fires littered the camp, with people huddled around each.
Those who had any weapons to wield had formed a half-circle in front of the camp. A few men and women in tattered magister's robes were whispering among themselves at the front of the formation, doing their best to ignore the sounds that came from further up the path.
"This is preposterous!" one of the magisters burst out suddenly, eyes flaring. "The only thing that works against something made of stone is raw arcane energy. Anything else wouldn't even make a dent!"
"Rock would be far more vulnerable to the elements, I'd say," another magister cut in petulantly. "Fire melts it. Ice – well, ice-"
"Chills it? I'm fairly certain rock wouldn't care about ice!"
The second magister glared. "Ice seeps into every little crack and crevice and breaks it apart from the inside was what I meant to say. Whereas anything else would probably bounce right off."
The other caster snorted. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were an authority on the subject of otherworldly giants that we haven't even seen so far."
The bickering ceased off abruptly when another roar pierced the night, coming from somewhere close this time. The magisters huddled together.
"Why is it doing that?" one of them whispered.
"Normally, it would do it to warn other gronn to stay clear of the area," said Freywinn, who had shadowed the group but kept silent so far. "Gronn are very touchy when it comes about protecting their territory... or frightening any other predators who could get to their quarry first. Even though I guess we could assume this one doesn't have much company up here. Or hope for it, anyway," he added quickly when the others began to fidget and mumble dejectedly under their breath.
"When you say 'quarry'-" one of the magisters began in a shaky voice.
"It ate one of the scouts," another cut in. "I think it's obvious what he meant."
"I still think that a large, concentrated burst of arcane energy should burn right through the damn thing," the first magister muttered after a while.
"I daresay you'll have the chance to put that to test real soon," Freywinn whispered, his features settling into a grim frown. "Listen..."
The sound came very faintly, low and rhythmic, like the beating of a heart, but it was steadily coming closer and there was no mistaking what it meant. The gronn had tired of the game and was moving in for the kill.
Freywinn left the magisters to their own affairs and rushed to where Sarannis was having a whispered conversation with some of her officers. For some reason, Andurien was there, too. Everyone seemed to trust the priest now, though Freywinn could hardly fathom why anyone would stand being around him.
"Are you certain you can do this?" Sarannis was asking with obvious disbelief at something that Andurien had just said.
Unnoticed by anyone, Freywinn rolled his eyes. The steps were louder now, making the ground shake ever so slightly. Just what in the hell was the priest offering now?
"It may be large, but I doubt it's very smart," Andurien answered. "It won't take much, and we need every advantage that-"
"Do it then."
Andurien nodded grimly and took a step forward. The defenders tightened their ranks behind him. Something large and black even against the starless sky was emerging from the other end of the path, moving with slow, deliberate striders. As it got closer, those in the first lines began to make out its jagged outlines and the strange, red crystals that protruded from its body at random places. The gronn rose a giant stone fist...
...and then, inexplicably, brought it down on its own head with a thundering sound, to the utter bafflement of the defenders – except for Sarannis, who smiled, and Andurien, who had gone strangely still, one hand outstretched and grasping
"Why is it doing that?" Freywinn hissed. "It's not... supposed... to..." Understanding dawned as the gronn repeated the strange motion. Priests were famed for their mental discipline, but some were rumored to take that one step further and achieve complete but brief dominance over other minds. Andurien was using the gronn's strength against itself! Grudgingly, Freywinn had to admit that it was a smart move, although he never would have thought he'd live to see such a display.
The gronn pummeled its own head a third time. Chips of stone broke and cascaded to the ground. Freywinn chanced a side glance at Andurien. His stance hadn't changed and he still wore a look of utter determination, but his hand shook ever so slightly and his breathing was erratic. The gronn raised its fist once more, but the blow never came.
"Hit... it... now..." Andurien managed. Then, very slowly, he sank to the ground.
There was a moment of confusion on both sides. Sarannis rallied first. "Give it everything you've got!" she yelled. "Do it, damn you, or I will have every one of your heads myself!"
One of the magisters was shaken out of his stupor by the cry and raised his hands, preparing a powerful cast. One by one, others joined in, chanting or drawing arcane runes that shimmered and dissipated in the air as their energies were added to the spells. The mind-controlling spell had worn off and the gronn lowered its fist, stared at it with its one eye that glimmered where it caught the campfire lights, then began to charge like an angry kodo bull. Freywinn swallowed thickly. If something that large caught a momentum, nothing, not even the combined magic of a thousand casters, could ever stand a chance to stop it.
Then, the casters unleashed their spells. The ground below the gronn erupted in a pillar of flames, while shards of ice pelted it from above and bursts of arcane energy erupted across its stone body. The creature staggered, pushed back by the tremendous force of all the spells combined. The charge of magic in the air was overwhelming. Surely, nothing, not even a stone giant, could take that kind of a beating. Surely...
It took a while before the magical onslaught began to die down as, one after another, the casters reached the end of their strength. By now, the farther end of the path was shrouded in smoke and a thick smell of brimstone permeated the air.
"Did we get it?" someone asked in a whisper.
There was no reply at first. Then, a timid cheer broke somewhere at the back of the camp. Other cheers started here and there, but many of the refugees simply stood there in bafflement. Was that it, then? Was it truly over?
Sarannis straightened up and dusted her armor off with an inscrutable expression. "That's the end of it," she said loudly. Then she motioned for Freywinn to follow her and lead them a small distance away. "Did I send any magisters to scout ahead?" she asked quietly.
Freywinn arched an eyebrow. "No, why?"
"I didn't think so..." Sarannis ran a hand through her hair. "Tell me... did you see anything unusual just now?"
"You mean, other than how our magisters managed to take down that thing? I wasn't expecting any of them to-"
Sarannis waved him into silence. "I wasn't talking about that. Strange... for a moment there... I thought..." She shook her head, "It's probably nothing."
Then again, Sarannis could have sworn she'd seen a fireball erupt behind the gronn... and that one flaming sphere had been more impressive than anything she ever remembered witnessing before. As far as she knew, none of the magisters could have possibly done that in their present state. And then, there was also the very brief impression of a silhouette outlined by the spell, perched high atop one of the jagged spikes overlooking the path. That one caster could have been an adventurer in passing, drawn to their plight by the sounds of battle and generous enough to fight on their behalf, but that in itself would be too much of a coincidence. And Sarannis did not believe in coincidences.
6.
Reevan settled the scrying orb on a nearby table and rubbed his temples. "I wasn't expecting you to step in and save the day though," he said to an unseen companion. The conversation had been going on for a while.
"Why not?" came a voice from the orb. "It's what I do. You know that."
Despite the tenseness of the last few days, Reevan smiled a little. "Don't go having too much fun though, Archmage. The Sunfury must not know they're being watched."
There was a pause, then, "Fair enough. I'll try to keep keeping out of sight then."
The smile came again. The Archmage – whose real name was a mystery to most, including Reevan himself – was well-known for his eccentricities, the least of which was that he tended to speak like those of the lesser races sometimes. Another quirk was his strange inclination for jokes that any self-respecting blood elf would have graciously pretended not to hear. He'd made a number of those already, but Reevan had found himself entertained rather than irked. There was no denying that the Archmage was powerful - so powerful, in fact, that such things were easily overlooked by the Scryers in favor of the other benefits that his allegiance brought.
"Spymaster...?"
Reevan cleared his throat. "Very well then," he said, keeping his voice level. "Return to your other duties, then, and keep me apprised of the situation."
Inside the orb, the Archmage's silhouette sketched a salute before dissolving into a cloud of mist.
