Hey guys.
For those of you who read chapter one when it was only 6.5k words or so, I've re-uploaded it with the full chapter. You should probably go back and read the second half before reading on :).
NT
Chapter Two
A Poisoned Offer
Nex sat close to the bonfire the ragged remnants of the Sons of Lothar had lit. In spite of all the wounded and dead the mood in the camp was almost celebratory, the soldiers veterans one and all, grateful for another day alive, another victory won. To add to the festive mood a creature the others called an elekk had wandered near their camp from the east, wounded and emaciated but with enough meat on its flanks to serve. It was currently roasting whole above the flames, turned on a giant spit.
At the moment he was extricating the dimensional pocket portal cloth from his ruined cloak. He'd been afraid it would be ruined as well, but the cloth had been enspelled with surprising resilience; aside from a few small stains, swiftly fading, it was whole. He'd already tested it and assured that it remained functional, and now it went back into its box until he could get a new cloak, hopefully a sturdier one, and try the same trick again.
Ilinar Montfere slept beside the nether drake near the steep side of the mountain at the back of the camp. He was relieved the youth had obeyed his orders to keep the drake aloft, circling out of danger and constantly alert to any flying menaces he'd have to flee from. As one of those broken by the dragonslaver's whip, a mindless husk that needed to be guided in everything, even eating and drinking, the drake had proved a tremendous hassle to care for. He was glad that Montfere had seemed pleased to take on those tasks, guiding the young dragon in its hunting and ensuring it ate and drank.
Nex had been given water to wash with, and what seemed to be a squire's tunic to replace his tattered rags. Most of the clothes these men wore were in scarce better condition than his own, but the clothes he'd been given looked near new, aside from a few moth holes and some fading. Soft wool dyed gray and white, with the bold silver lion of Anduin Lothar, Lion of Azeroth, blazoned across the chest. Likely the clothes were in good condition because they were far too small for any of the big men here to wear. In truth nearly too small for Nex himself, although he wasn't complaining. Montfere had also been offered a tunic, but in typical youth fashion had seemed content with his old, torn clothes.
Men included him in their celebrations, and since it suited his purpose to be included he did his best to participate. Some of the happiness around him was certainly due to his own words, his teasing hint of the possibility that they could return home. No one had yet tried to sneak more out of him about that particular subject, and he wasn't sure whether to be surprised or relieved. The fifty or so men who remained in this ragged company were exhausted, and Nex himself scarcely less so; now was not the time to broach the subject of returning these men to Azeroth, or the conditions he'd have to set on that return.
Many had gone to their tents and collapsed even before the meat was cooked, more hungry for sleep than food. Many were nodding off as they waited for the elekk to cook, and even the most celebratory were subdued by sheer exhaustion. He heard a few men grumbling of their wish for ale, and wished he'd thought to bring liquor with him; anything to win the hearts of these men to his cause.
Nex ate along with the rest, more for appearances than out of actual hunger. He hurt all over from his foray inside the fel reaver, the mild burns all across his skin combining to put him in constant pain, and his chest and lungs hurt as well. The meat was tough and he wasn't used to chewing, which made it even less pleasant.
But finally the ordeal was over, and more and more men began retreating to their beds. Eventually Marbrand stood. "Dory, Jon, Caval. You have the watch. Two hours, then you can wake others to spell you."
"Your men are tired," Nex said, standing. "I can cover the watch. No demon will get within a thousand yards of this camp without me knowing."
The scarred captain of this band looked pointedly at Nex's blindfold, the unspoken question clear. Marbrand had been silent for most of the night since the battle. Weary, certainly, and he seemed a bit guilty and even angry as well. But he was also suspicious, gratitude notwithstanding. Nex didn't begrudge him the emotion. "As you wish," the man finally said. "You'll take the watch with Dory and Jon."
Nex considered protesting once more that he was more than adequate to take the watch alone, but decided it wouldn't help his cause. "Certainly. I'll take southeast." The other directions were northeast and northwest, with southwest being covered by the mountain range at their backs.
Within a surprisingly short time the camp was still, exhausted men trying to find what rest they could after so long under constant attack. Nex sat silent, senses extended for any movement out in the trees, as he thought of the demons who'd harassed this group of men.
Stomrage had claimed that the large force of mo'arg and gan'arg were a remnant of Magtheridon's forces, a forge camp located in southern Terrokar near the ruins of Auchindoun that had been returning to the Black Temple to aid their master when an encampment of humans had distracted them. It could be true, possibly, but Nex wondered.
It all seemed too contrived. He'd saved the villagers of Corona's Blaze from undead, and earned all the trust they were willing to give a human by doing so. If a tactic worked, why not use it again? Stormrage was not above betraying the very allies he wished to recruit, as he'd done when he'd had Nex turn Garithos against the blood elves.
Still, if these were Stormrage's demons he couldn't understand why his master had wasted them on this ruse, rather than finding a way to secure the service of both forces. Particularly the fel reaver, which would've been a devastating addition to their forces. The night elf had said he needed every soldier he could find to assault the Frozen Throne, and these gan'arg and mo'arg were the siegesmiths and sappers of the Burning Legion, ideal for the war they were about to wage in Northrend.
Perhaps there was a grain of truth in Stormrage's claims. After Magtheridon's defeat Stormrage may have tried to enlist these demons, only to have his overtures spurned. Rather than waste his own soldiers destroying an enemy force he might have steered the demons into the path of these humans, thus paving the way for Nex to save them and gain himself a human army.
A horrible notion, but he wouldn't put it past his master.
Two hours into the watch the other men Marbrand had set roused two of their fellow soldiers and went to their blankets. One of the replacements approached him to ask if they should wake a third so he could sleep, and he waved the man away. Two hours after that the watch changed again, but this time no one approached him to repeat the offer.
Halfway through the night Marbrand awoke and left his tent, moving over to the cleared space near where Ilinar and the nether drake slept. The ground there was uneven and bumpy, and buried beneath it Nex counted one hundred and thirty-seven bodies, casualties of the humans' war with the mo'args. So many dead, almost triple the number of those still living. A waste. Marbrand knelt near one end of the haphazard graveyard, over a specific grave, and bowed his head. Nex couldn't tell if he was grieving or praying. Maybe both.
He rose from the squatting position he'd held, motionless, for almost three hours, ignoring the twinge in his left leg, and walked over to join the knight. He didn't disturb him, however, merely waited. After roughly ten minutes Marbrand spoke. "You've abandoned your post."
"I could watch it just as well from anywhere in camp. I told you, no enemies will escape my notice no matter which direction they approach from, or how stealthily they come."
"Yes. I noticed how you move with surety, in spite of the cloth that binds your eyes. You've been blessed with second sight."
Nex was surprised the burned man knew anything about that. "Yes. My family was gifted with it. Sporadic manifestations."
Marbrand nodded sagely. "Aye, there were some old families of Azeroth who had the sorcerer's eye. The Wrynns at times manifested it, and the Proudmoores. The Arans too, before their end." Nex couldn't help but notice how Marbrand's voice hardened when speaking that last name, and decided he'd avoid telling the man his own heritage. He despised admitting it even when it was of some benefit; as a detriment it was even less appealing. "I've heard as many who possessed the all-seeing eye call it a curse as a gift," Marbrand continued.
Nex inclined an eyebrow. "Oh? To see that which is hidden seems a gift to me."
The grizzled human laughed, the expression doing unfortunate things to the livid scars across the left side of his face. "Many would think so. But what is hidden? Goodly creatures, creatures of the Light, stand tall and proud in plain sight. It is the creatures of darkness and corruption that hide in the shadows. The all-seeing eye opens an unpleasant world to its bearer."
Surprised by this insight, Nex lifted a hand to lightly touch the cloth covering the ruin of his eyes. "Yes, I've had the same thoughts and come to the same realizations. You're right, it's shown me many grim things in my life."
After a moment the knight pushed to his feet and offered his hand. "I realize I was uncourteous, Nex. I spoke much of how I couldn't find a way to thank you for the help you gave, but I never actually spoke the words. So thank you. You did something I could not have found the courage to do." Nex hesitated a moment, then grasped his hand. Marbrand's grip was firm, crushing even, but Nex didn't rise to the challenge and kept his own grip average. The man hesitated, gazing at Nex's face thoughtfully. "You are of Azeroth, aren't you?"
Nex smiled grimly. "Of the world or of the kingdom?" But the question implied the answer. "Yes, I was born in the nation of Azeroth. I grew up on my family's lands, hiding while orcs ravaged the remains of our once-great kingdom."
Marbrand nodded and released his hand, stepping back towards the watchman's fire. "You held lands. I suppose I should address you as "my Lord", then."
"If you wish." It couldn't hurt Nex's influence to have the leader of these men address him so.
The burned man hesitated again. It was obvious he was trying to work the conversation towards something without actually coming right out with it. "And when you return to your lands, what will you do then?"
Nex fought a smile. A good enough opening. "You've been avoiding asking, but I can see you want to so badly it dominates your thoughts."
Marbrand went still, cautious. "Asking what?"
"Everyone heard me say my master was returning to Azeroth. But you've all been equal parts hopeful and suspicious. None of you has asked me to elaborate."
"So elaborate," the scarred knight said, not quite commanding.
Instead Nex turned away. "When your people are rested gather them together. I will tell you what has happened on Azeroth since you came through the Dark Portal. Then I will tell you of my master's offer. Yes, I can take you home. But it may not be the temptation you think."
Marbrand's face went dark with anger. "Do not toy with us in this, boy. It has been our deepest desire for over a decade to return home to our lives, our families, our own air and our own bland sky. You would be surprised what we would do to have it."
Nex nodded. "I have no desire to mock you, or tease you with false hope. My offer is genuine, but it comes with a great price. You can say you'd do anything, but you don't know what I ask."
"But I soon will." Marbrand put his back to the buried dead. "I'll wake the men now. Weary as they are, they won't sleep when thoughts of home fill their minds."
And he did. Not ten minutes later the Sons of Lothar were gathered around the campfire, which had been stacked with shattered wood and kindling until it was a roaring bonfire once more. Nex stood with his back to it. Expectant faces watched him. None were young, all at least in their late twenties or early thirties, and most bore scars and were gaunt and world-weary. Nex did not relish the task ahead. When these men had left Azeroth it had been in triumph, the Horde defeated and the Dark Portal strongly guarded, their home a safe haven ready to be rebuilt. They knew nothing of the poverty and famine that had struck the southlands as men fought orcs, monsters, and their own devastated lands to eke out a living. They knew nothing of the many failed attempts to rebuild Stormwind over the years, or the crippling taxes the Alliance had levied to fund the internment camps where the orcs remained imprisoned for over a decade.
They knew nothing of the plague, the birth of the Scourge, the summoning of Archimonde and the demonic destruction of Dalaran. They didn't know that the northlands were a plagued wasteland and that, as the nation of Azeroth had fled north seeking peace and safety from the orcs years ago during the Second War, now the people of Lordaeron and the other northern kingdoms were coming south for the same purpose.
All was conflict, and chaos, and death. These grizzled veterans weren't returning home to peace, but to war.
But he told them it all. Stood there with the fire roaring at his back and spoke so all could here, recounting the events these men had missed with the accuracy of a historian. Watched the disbelief and horror on the faces of these brave soldiers who thought they'd won the war for their world. Watched as hope became dismay, as joy became grief.
Last of all he offered a glimmer of hope, the bright gleaming beacon that was Stormwind City and the efforts to restore the nation of Azeroth to its former glory.
And then, with cruel necessity, he snuffed that hope out with the image of the Scourge, an enemy that fed on war, turning fallen allies into enemies, growing ever stronger as it crept southward against all efforts to curtail it.
By the time he'd told it all the sun was peeking over the tops of the trees, shining upon faces that looked a decade older than when he'd begun. And looking at them he knew it was time to make his offer.
"My master is the enemy of the Scourge. He seeks to destroy the Frozen Throne and cast the Lich King into ruin. And even though the Scourge was made to destroy humanity, and humanity has suffered greatest at its hands, it is not humans my master leads on this perilous venture. He has gathered an army of elves and naga who go to the north, into the heart of Scourge power, to try to end the threat once and for all."
He paused, looking around and letting his attention fall last upon Marbrand, standing near the back. Behind him the heat of the fire had fallen to almost nothing, the great logs and bits of wood burned down to humps and ashes. The scarred old knight looked at him with knowing eyes, sensing what was coming. Nex pulled his second sight away from the man, unwilling to see that accusation.
"My master has made me his emissary to humanity. He's sent me to raise the call to arms, to gather the human armies together to join him in the assault on the Frozen Throne. Right now the Alliance army is drawn inward, fractured and suspicious. I have little hope they'll answer the call to arms on behalf of nonhumans, though we fight for humanity itself. My master is not selfish, and he is not cruel, but as much as he would like to bring you home he needs soldiers, not the warm glow of charitable acts. He bids me to tell you that he will bring you home, but first you must swear to join the campaign in Northrend. Only when the Frozen Throne is destroyed will your oaths be held kept, and you will be free to find the peaceful retirement your lifetime of service to Azeroth has earned you."
Nex looked at those faces, haggard and full of despair, and surprised himself by finishing with a whispered, "I'm sorry."
A long, agonizing silence fell. No one seemed to have a voice, or even the strength to move. Finally Marbrand stepped forward. He hadn't donned his armor, but even wearing little more than rags his shoulders stooped as if he carried a great weight upon them. "If we refuse?" he said, voice rusty.
"Then remain here in what peace you can find. Perhaps even Outland is a better place to live than Azeroth has become, and you can find more happiness in these trees, under the protection of the naaru."
He noted how the men flinched at mention of the naaru, and the faces of a few twisted into expressions of bitterness. There was a past there, some reason beyond nobly battling demons that kept them outside the safety of Sha'tar'ath's walls.
"Retirement, you call it," Marbrand said with relentless weariness. "To return to homes wracked by war and devastation. We've not been paid in almost thirteen years, and few of us have more than the rags on our backs. Even if we were to fight in the cold north, even if we do fight to save humanity as you claim, what would we earn with victory?"
Nex hesitated, then sighed. "A moment." He turned, surprised to find Montfere not three feet behind him. His attention had been on the humans surrounding him, while meanwhile his squire had sat almost at his feet, listening. The boy's expression was filled with a variety of emotions, few of them happy or content, and Nex wondered how the half-elf youth had taken his words of humanity suffering most from the Scourge. Quel'thalas had burned by Arthas's hand, this boy's own home likely destroyed. The elven race had nearly perished, exiled and weakened, while humanity rebuilt itself on the wings of the human spirit.
He wondered if he should apologize to Montfere as well.
But it was a fleeting thought; his audience was waiting. He drew out the box with the dimensional pocket portal and opened it, then reached inside. A few of the men murmured in surprise at seeing his arm and shoulder, then his head and other shoulder, disappear. With growing annoyance he scrabbled around behind the stacks of torpedoes, digging through a few that had rolled off and fallen atop the sacks of gold. Finally, in annoyance, he levitated one of the sacks into his waiting hand and withdrew it, closing the portal and tucking it away once more. Then he hefted the sack thoughtfully.
Roughly the weight of three hundred gold Anduins, if he was any judge. He could have counted them fairly easily with his second sight if he'd wished, but instead he turned and tossed the sack, hard enough that it split when it struck the ground, not three feet from the nearest of the sitting humans. Gold coins spilled out, minted with some foreign night elf images pressed upon front and back, and the Sons of Lothar began murmuring in some interest. Nex found that amusing; after a decade living as little more than animals, if their current state was any indication, just told their home was a barren wasteland, and gold still interested them.
Or most of them. "We're not mercenaries," Marbrand said coldly, staring down at the ruptured sack and the coins gleaming redly in the sunlight. "Do you seek to mock us, saying humanity calls for aid and then trying to buy us with gold?I fought beneath Llane himself as an armsman." He pushed aside the shaggy hair hanging over his face so it was revealed fully, though Nex had already seen it all with his second sight. The smooth skin where burns had healed, the weals and ridges where the flesh had melted and ran, then healed poorly. The milky white discoloring part of his left eye. "Do you wonder how I got my knighthood, the surname of Marbrand to match my scars?"
Nex met that fierce gaze calmly. Likely there were few so willing to stare openly at that hideous, ruined visage. "If you served beneath Llane Wrynn in the First War my guess would be during the sacking of Stormwind."
Marbrand's mouth twisted. "You would guess wrong. I was a member of the party that assaulted Karazhan under the command of Khadgar and put the knife to Medivh and all his cronies. I burned in the traitor's own flames as he and Khadgar dueled. I might have even been spared the worst of these burns but I wouldn't look away. I wanted to see Medivh fall."
Nex looked at the injuries in a new light. This man was likely at least partially responsible for slaying many of his kin and reducing Lynda the Demonologist to the wretch she'd become. He may even be directly responsible for the miserable life Nex had led.
Or maybe he'd merely been a soldier hacking down traitors at the orders of his superiors. Nex's suffering had been at the hands of demons, not humans. At least not to begin with.
"A noble history, and a heroic one." Nex's voice hardened. "So if I may ask, with your past honors and victories why are you here?" He swept his hand over the ramshackle camp, made no more fine or grand surrounded by heaps of demon corpses. "Sha'tar'ath is only a few days travel from here. Surely the draenei must welcome men who fought so honorably against their orcish enemies."
"You blind little shit," Marbrand growled, face darkening with terrible rage. But before he could do anything rash the big veteran with the stiff frostbitten little finger who'd tried to chop Nex in two the night before rested a hand on his shoulder. For a moment it seemed Marbrand would shake the hand off, perhaps even strike his companion, but then his shoulders slumped. He looked less proud, then.
"We've been on this miserable cluster of rocks far too long to remember past glories, old friend," Blackfinger said quietly. "We've lived as beggars and outcasts, longing for home, far too long. We all fought for Azeroth, not a one of us would say otherwise, but we also fought for this." And kneeling, the big man began scooping up the gold coins. When he had two handfuls he stood and raised them high, letting them trickle through his fingers. "This man saved our lives from that mo'arg machine last night. Now he offers us home, a chance to fight honorably rather than live as wretches and outcasts in this blighted forest, and even the payment we never thought we'd see. I for one think that's damn generous of him."
Nex wanted to curse the man for his support. "I won't lie to you, Sons of Lothar. My master is powerful, but even so I fear we might march to our deaths in Northrend. The enemy we face is relentless and terrible."
The big veteran turned and gave him a cold smile. "We haven't been Sons of Lothar for almost nine years, and not of our own choosing. I say better to die as heroes than live as wretches. Whatever the others decide I'm with you, reaver slayer."
Nex could see the anger, the frustration, on Marbrand's face. It was obvious the veteran realized just how poisoned this gift Nex offered was, and wanted nothing to do with it. Nex wasn't sure he could convince the man otherwise. He wasn't sure he wanted to. There were likely tens of thousands of humans back on Azeroth who loathed the Scourge and had lost everything to undead attacks. They would probably leap at the chance to lift a sword against the Frozen Throne itself. These fifty or so downtrodden soldiers had never known the Scourge existed until a few hours ago, had no reason to hate them. Had less than no reason to take up arms in a doomed cause against them.
He bowed, to Blackfinger and then to Marbrand. "I'll leave you discuss it amongst yourselves. You are free to choose however you desire, and I'll not try to sway you to one course or another. Come, Montfere."
The boy hopped to his feet, stumbling slightly since one leg appeared to be asleep, and followed Nex over to where the nether drake waited with all the dull stupidity of a cow, gnawing on the remnants of the elekk they'd roasted last night.
"That was pretty good," Montfere said, darting forward to walk beside him. "I think you'll get them."
You and I have far different definitions for the word "good", boy. But he made no reply other than to draw a torpedo from his belt and offer it to the young half-elf. "It's about time you learned how to throw one of these. It's a good weapon, and I have plenty; you might as well make use of them."
. . . . .
Ten minutes later Montfere dropped to the ground cross-legged with his arms folded, refusing to go after the torpedo that had clanged off into the bushes. "What am I doing wrong?" he demanded.
"Among other things, you lack the physical strength to throw the weapon with any sort of force. You should be approaching the age where bulking up to adult musculature is possible, so you have no excuse."
The boy glared at him. "Among other things?"
"You continually mismanage the spin, so the weapon strikes flat along the center rather than point-first. By the randomness of your angles I'd say you have no idea how to achieve that spin. I wouldn't be too worried about that, though, since as long as you have good force it doesn't matter whether the torpedo hits point or flat, it'll still be devastating." Nex paused significantly, and Montfere scowled at him. "Go get the torpedo."
Montfere jutted out his lower lip stubbornly.
"I said go get the torpedo, boy, or you can content yourself fighting hand to hand from here on out, because you'll never get another weapon from me."
Muttering to himself, the half-elf stalked into the bushes and began rooting around. The torpedo must have landed well-concealed to normal eyes, because although he knew its precise location Montfere just stumbled about, randomly whacking at frond-like leaves as he searched. Minutes passed with only curses coming out of the foliage. After a short time of this Nex became aware of Marbrand's approach, not only through his second sight but the crack and rustle of men moving through the undergrowth. "Have you made a decision?" he said, still with his back to them.
The humans seemed surprised. "You knew we were here," Marbrand said.
Attributing it to his mystical second sight? Nex smiled thinly. "I'm blind, not deaf."
Montfere gave a shout and emerged, holding the weapon in his hand. He looked furious, and spidery traces of frost were making their way up the fel iron as he unconsciously drew on his power. Thankfully none of the Sons of Lothar seemed to notice.
"We've given it some thought, aye," Marbrand growled.
Nex waited, but no more was forthcoming. "And?"
"You don't understand us, boy. We stood with the Dark Portal at our backs, holding at bay the remnants of the Horde as Khadgar destroyed our only escape off this world. We knew Draenor was dying when we made that stand, knew that when the Dark Portal was gone we'd likely die too. But we did it anyway."
The old knight's voice hardened. "Well, now you come to us and toss gold at our feet and say we can go home, but only if we make another stand. We're older than we were, more jaded, less filled with the zeal of youth. Some veterans say what we went through, there's only one time in a man's life he can stand tall and face it."
Nex felt a curious mixture of disappointment and relief. His task would've been easier with these men. "So you refuse. I cannot blame you for that."
"No," Marbrand growled, and it was obvious he wanted to say "yes". "The men have spoken. They want to go home, by whatever road you take us by."
"They?"
The humans shifted reluctantly, looking at their leader. Marbrand's eyes narrowed to slits. "I didn't agree with them, no," he finally said, "but I've led these men for thirteen years. I've fought beside them through the death of a world. So I'll lead them one last time, if it's their will. But my heart misgives me."
Nex finally turned to face the group of humans. "Mine as well. But I swear to you by all the powers that bind me, I will see you all home if I can."
A few of the officers relaxed visibly at that, but not Marbrand. "I once heard a noble man say that boys and women can make promises, but only men keep them."
"I've never broken a promise," Nex said coolly. "I am physically unable to."
Marbrand's expression sharpened. "And what binds you to such promises?"
It was obvious the man suspected just what demonic influences held Nex to his word, but whether he approved was unknown. "My power," he said simply. "If I break oath I become nothing."
For a moment longer the burned knight glared at him, and then he turned away. "The men will rest no longer, weary as they are. At least not until they've made a symbolic step towards home. We march as soon as we can strike camp."
Nex nodded, and with Ilinar went to prepare the nether drake.
The sun was halfway to noon by the time the men had donned armor and packs and prepared to move out. The camp was scarcely less ramshackle when they left it; quite a few of the men had taken weapons and even armor from the demons they'd slain. A foolish thing to do, but at least they had the sense to avoid the obviously cursed gear.
Nex was seated on the drake, dragonslaver's whip in hand, when Marbrand finished forming the column and moved to stand at its head. "We're ready, my Lord," the knight said.
Nex nodded. "Head north and east, to the thorny ramp that leads up to Hellfire."
Marbrand's eyes were narrowed. "You sound as if you're not coming with us."
Nex smiled, revealing his canines. "You'd be right in guessing so. By your own report nearly half a hundred demons survived to flee the battle. I mean to remedy that."
"Judging from your tone, I'd almost think you relish the notion of hunting down an army of demons."
"More than you know." Nex caught Montfere by the shoulder and lifted him up from his position seated behind him. The boy gave a surprised squawk as he was dropped to the ground. "I should catch up with you within a few days, but if you encounter any blood elf, fel orc, or Broken patrols under the banner of two livid green hooks they are allies. Take care of my squire while I am gone." Skillfully wielding the whip he turned the drake away and prepared it to take flight.
It was a useful tool, turning his back while making such surprising statements. With his back turned people let their guard down, and their expressions revealed quite a bit. For instance Marbrand's eyes hardened at the mention of fel orcs, while he looked almost nervous at the mention of Broken. He'd shown a similar reaction to Nex's comment about draenei earlier, as well as when they'd spoken of Sha'tar'ath. There was a reason these humans were out here and not basking in this so-called City of Light. He probably didn't need to know that reason, aside from treachery that he needed to be wary of if such was involved, but he was curious all the same.
All such concerns fell aside, though, as he turned the drake southeast and broke it into a run. His burned skin pulled and chafed against the creature's back with every stride, yet still he found himself smiling as the powerful creature surged beneath him and lifted him into the air.
It was time to hunt. No army of angry elves to shepherd, no innocent enemy to assail, no mission from his master to carry out. Just him, free to find those he so hated and eliminate them.
He'd been waiting months for this, it seemed.
Behind him the ragged human force moved away in a more northward direction. Likely they would not get far before weariness halted them, but the fact that they were so eager to set out was a good sign, he judged.
. . . . .
About three days into the march they were intercepted by a pair of high elves riding a pair of strange orange-red creatures Marbrand had never seen before. He'd heard descriptions of dragonhawks, however, well enough to recognize the rare and precious birds.
But if he'd hoped for an amicable meeting he was disappointed. The elves landed a cautious distance away, and one called in halting Common for their affiliation and purpose. Marbrand had the boy Ilinar answer in their own language, describing Nex and the rudiments of their contract. The elves looked at them for a long while, speaking together with low voices while never looking away. Marbrand found their green-glowing eyes disconcerting, although there was a certain hypnotic beauty to them. A few of his men were murmuring over the female elf; they hadn't seen a woman in years.
Then the elves curtly ordered them to continue their route and be ready to accept new marching orders every evening, then flew off without another word.
Sure enough the next night the female landed again, only long enough to direct them farther north, and they were left alone. A few of the men made a couple of lewd suggestions, and Marbrand gave them all a stern talking-to before they found their blankets. It was one thing to be interested in a woman, but those sorts of animal urges and discipline didn't mix, and he wasn't about to let his men get out of hand.
If Ilinar was bothered by the things the men had been saying about his kin, or half-kin judging by his features, he gave no sign. Mostly the boy just looked disgusted by how desperate the men sounded to see a woman.
There wasn't much energy to be spared from the march, even after a few nights of good, uninterrupted sleep and good hunting in the form of basilisks and warp stalkers, but Marbrand wasn't blind to his duties. If the young half-elf was truly Lord Nex's squire, and there was no reason to doubt that, then while the boy was in his charge it was his responsibility to see him trained and educated as Nex himself would.
Ilinar resisted such things. Oh certainly, he was more than pleased to join in sparring, and though more than a little wild he wasn't completely hopeless with a blade. Unfortunately wild was a great way to describe the boy; he'd seen orphans growing up along the canals of Stormwind with fairer tongues and more noble bearings. It helped little that Ilinar was almost completely unlearned in Common, although Alvin was doing his best to teach him. As for Marbrand's efforts to instruct him on the duties of a sanctified knight, well, that was a failure he wouldn't soon forget.
Needless to say, the boy completely neglected his squire's tasks. Marbrand meant to have a strict word with Nex when-if-the man returned; exigent circumstances notwithstanding, the boy's neglectful upbringing was disgraceful.
His worry that Nex might not return proved unfounded, however, for before the evening of the fifth day and the second visit from a high elf messenger (Ilinar had told them they were calling themselves blood elves now, but he refused to address them as such unless specifically requested to), Nex melted out of the woods as they were beginning to set camp, on foot.
"Where's Dumby?" Ilinar immediately asked, slowing in his headlong rush to greet the young lord.
Nex's features twisted with irritation. "Brought down with one of the mo'arg's spinning razor disks in his throat. I was too accustomed to Brightpoint naturally dodging and didn't manage to maneuver him in time.
Tears sprang into the boy's eyes, though he fought them valiantly. It seemed that the contempt Nex had for their magnificent mount was not shared by the young half-elf. "Oh. Did you get them at least?"
If the boy's master found that "at least" offensive he gave no sign. "All of them. Save one that fled to Sha'tar'ath of all places. Whether the draenei gave it sanctuary or no, I didn't want to approach too close to that city."
Marbrand frowned. He had no special love for the draenei, but he wondered what the human had done to earn their enmity. Combined with the fact that Nex's "power" almost certainly came from demonic sources was troubling indeed. He'd fought his share of warlocks and necrolytes among the orc forces, and he had no desire to be led by one. Even one who so obviously wielded that power against the Burning Legion.
But his men had decided. The only decision he could make, now, was to do his best to keep them all alive.
Still distaste couldn't cause him to forget his duty. "Run along to Alvin, boy," he said curtly. Ilinar glared at him and glanced at Nex, as if hoping his master would countermand that, but the young lord merely stared at him until the boy relented and trotted off, kicking at random things in his path in usual sulky fashion. In spite of his irritation with the boy Marbrand almost smiled at seeing it; as with many things, he hadn't realized how much he missed the innocent selfishness of children until he saw it again.
"What is it?" Nex asked when they were alone.
Marbrand recounted the troubles he'd had with the boy during Nex's absence. The young lord listened to them almost impatiently, and when he was done answered "So?"
Again he fought irritation. "So the boy is your charge. It is your duty to see him properly educated, not only in warfare but in manners and book learning as well. Thus far he's woefully lacking in all of them."
It was disconcerting to see those bandaged features turned his way with the certainty that Nex was looking at him. "Ilinar Montfere is the product of human and elf breeding. I do not know the circumstances of his conception, but I do know that high elves dislike half-elves, and more so in recent times. He suffered in their care, and he's only been in mine for a few months."
"That's a few months longer than it would take to teach that boy some discipline. Squires aspire to become knights, and there's no greater honor in the kingdom. It's your duty to help him obtain that honor if he's worthy of it, and I believe in spite of his wildness the boy is."
Nex again appeared impatient. "I don't have time to raise a child that's not even mine. If you're so keen to see the boy a proper knight you take care of it." He started to turn away. "I'll be resting."
Marbrand lunged forward and caught the young lord's shoulder. "You bastard," he said. "Do you know nothing of honor? That boy looks to you to guide him in what he should be as a man. There's no more sacred calling. For you to cast him away will wound him grievously, perhaps even kill his spirit."
"It wouldn't be the first time it's been killed," the man said. He had gone rigid at Marbrand's touch. "Release me."
Marbrand did so, no longer fighting his anger. "Very well, I'll take the boy. A man like you isn't worthy to care for him anyway, however powerful you may be."
"Thank you." Nex started to walk away again, then paused. His voice didn't seem so cold and distant when next he spoke. "I would be grateful if you would care for him, as well as you are able."
Marbrand stared after the man. Had that been affection in his voice? Perhaps even guilt?
Before he could wonder long he saw a shadow slip from the trees not ten paces away, resolving into the slender shape of Ilinar moving to confront Nex. They weren't close enough for Marbrand to hear their words, but what he did know was that the boy had heard every word they'd said from his hiding place. And the boy obviously wasn't afraid to show his anger to his former master; he could catch at least that much of the tone of their conversation.
After several minutes the dull beating of wings drew their eyes to the dragonhawk descending with its elven messenger, and Nex broke away from his squire to greet the woman. Ilinar made his way over to where Marbrand stood, head hung dejectedly.
"The man is not rejecting you," Marbrand said, trying to sound comforting in spite of his anger, "he's rejecting himself."
The boy looked up, and his eyes seemed to glow a cold blue. "You think I don't know him?" he demanded. "I understand his weakness more than anyone. I didn't want much from him, but you've taken even that away."
Marbrand was surprised at the strength of the boy's emotion, but not that Ilinar blamed him and not the failures of his former master. "Then take it back. For now you'll be my squire, and I mean to see you serve in that capacity and do not shirk you responsibilities. But there's nothing to say you cannot be his friend."
Ilinar dashed at his eyes, and once more they sparkled only with tears reflected off the world-moon's light. "You don't understand," he muttered. "He brought me back to life."
For a moment he could only stare at the boy. What an odd choice of words. Did Ilinar mean Nex had saved his life? Or had taken him away from a horrible life and given him something better? "Perhaps in time he'll be able to give you what you need."
"No," Ilinar answered. "I don't think that's in him. But maybe he'll give me what I want."
That was an even odder answer. Marbrand lightly cuffed the boy. "Go on, now. I told you to find Alvin for your lessons."
As the boy sullenly ran off, hopefully to obey him, Marbrand stared after him and then glanced across to where Nex spoke with the dragonhawk rider. Nex had failed the boy, there was no way around it. And that concerned him more than he cared to admit.
If the young lord could fail his own squire, what did that mean for Marbrand and his men?
