Chapter 6

Crys's day began much the same way the last did, only he had no report to give to Tervosh and, reigning in his lust for mana, did not visit the moon well. Its power still coursed through him a day later, albeit with a lessened vibrancy. Sparing but a few minutes to dress and eat the elven wizard slipped away from the noisy common room of the inn and soared over miles in a matter of seconds to where a very different camp was rising with the sun. Today Crys would begin to uncover exacting details about the four pretender khans, as well as uncover which of them was the true leader of the Maraudine.

It was a frustrating task, because while Crys could see he could not hear, and from hearing gain insight into inflection and tone of the words spoken between the savage horse-men, even if he could understand their tongue. It was not a matter of catching one pretender letting slip his façade, but rather following and remembering the interactions of all four, and then piecing together who among them commanded with the most ease, the most authority. Then, around noon during his second scrying attempt, just as his powers were beginning to wane he happened upon an exchange between two of the posers. Pouring his willpower into maintaining the increasingly feeble connection to that far-away place Crys watched impatiently as they exchanged words, their retinues glancing about with a bored wariness. The edges of the elf's vision began to darken and fade, closing in like fire consuming the edges of a piece of paper. Teeth gritted and eyes clenched tightly closed the elf held on long enough to get a blurry glimpse of one of the pretend khans bow his head lightly to the other before going their separate ways, as clear an indicator as Crys could hope for of who was the superior in the relationship.

The warmage gasped for sudden breath like a diver coming to the surface after a long plunge into the ocean depths, an apt metaphor as Crys also felt as if he had been submerged in water such did the sweat cling to his skin. Blinking his eyes rapidly and keeping them focused on the floor to avoid the harsh glare of the desert sun he tried to calm his breathing, taking in a deep lungful through his nose and then releasing it from his parched mouth. With each beat of his heart a headache grew along his brow like an iron band slowly, tortuously being wound tighter, drawing a pained whine from the elf who set his palms against his temples and wondered as to the source of his current malady. It took the span of two more breaths for him to realize that it was dehydration. While scrying looked like the elf merely sitting stock still in his chair, eyes closed, it was actually a fairly demanding task. Combine that with not having drunk anything for the past two hours under a steadily increasing temperature and it was small wonder his body felt so drained. Even the soothing calm of the moon well's energy had drained away, leaving him with but a lingering flavor of it, the cold pulsing of the addiction in his gut matching cadence with his pounding headache.

Pushing aside his pain for but a moment the quel'dorei summoned water into his mug and hastily chugged it down, not caring about the rivulets that coursed down his chin and neck from his guzzling. Another mug came and went almost as fast, only towards the end, gasping like a landed fish did Crys pause, feeling the cool water slide all the way down to his stomach. It was fortunate that he had such easy access to water in this land, or he would have been in serious trouble in the coming hours. As it was he could only hope that large quantities of water and rest would stave off heat stroke. A humorless chuckle escaped his wet lips. To battle as hard as he had to get to this point, only to fall victim to the mundane elements. It was the end to as many lives as at the point of a sword, Crys was certain.

Not wanting to tax his body any more than he already had for the moment the high elf left the inn and wandered along the cliff that it occupied, looking down upon the drilling soldiers on the dusty plain below. What he saw came as a shock to his hand-shaded eyes. No longer did Horde and Alliance train and operate separately, but stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they maneuvered. Crys watched as a large contingent several hundred strong advanced rapidly, human footmen forming a defensive barrier around the orcs within. When a whistle blew the footmen stood to the side as the core of orcish warriors suddenly spilled forth from the middle like an uncorked bottle of green-skinned wrath. Crys could see the battle plan being formulated here. Let the more heavily-armored footmen absorbed the brunt of the enemy's ranged attacks and then deliver the brutal Horde warriors to the front lines untouched and at full fighting strength. Shore up the weakness of one with the strength of the other, and vice versa. The wizard hoped for all their sakes it would be enough.

Crys'annadath waited for the crowding of the mid-day meal to pass in a shady spot before heading back into the inn, the noise of hundreds of men-at-arms talking amongst themselves likely too much for his throbbing head. He ate without appetite and shuffled up to his bed, feeling bone-weary despite having risen from it only hours before. Collapsing gracelessly onto the mattress the warmage felt a wave of guilt wash over him, like he should push himself harder, that something of critical importance could be happening right now that he would miss. No, that was that sort of thinking that almost got him killed fighting the Scourge in Lordaeron. He would get tired and sloppy if he pushed himself now, exacerbating his heat exhaustion and possibly even making it impossible to scry any more in the near future.

As much as he had lived with his gift his whole life there were situations he had never encountered before that might irreparably damage his innate ability, and pushing while his body was already stressed was one of those things. Only during the war against the Scourage had he ever used it so often in a sort span of time, and he remembered how it had affected his sleeping and eating habits, the worry that something important was going on right that second and he had to be alert for what it might be. It was pointless to consider it any longer, at any rate. Crys took one last look at the wooden beams above him and forced his eyes to close, wishing that banishing his concerns could be just as easily done.

When Crys rose, the sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, a great orb of brilliant red veiled by the rising curtain of heat left in its wake. It was hot still, and would be for some time yet, but the elf felt much better than he had previously, enough to continue his critical work. The thought of going down to the moon well crossed his mind several times, but he managed to convince himself his time would be better served scrying without its aid. He would not always have the reserve to fall back on, and indeed his thoughts began to turn bitter and selfish as he thought of one day soon having to leave that precious wellspring of mana behind, likely forever. There would be few, if any night elves in Azeroth, far too few to be worth constructing a moon well over there.

Tromping down the wooden ramp that lead up to the sleeping area Crys'annadath could smell supper cooking and watch as the kaldorei cooks and servants went about their frenzied task of feeding so many soldiers but he hungered only for the knowledge that he sought. His other appetites would wait until then. Seating himself comfortably at his usual table he closed his eyes and left the inn far behind once again, flying swifter than hippogryph wings to the west to hunt for the one centaur against whom he would deliver the collective wrath of the Horde and the Alliance.

Crys's eyes opened suddenly, wincing slightly even in the dim light cast by the scattering of wisp lamps. A tired yet satisfied smile pulled at the corners of the elf's lips and he released a great exhalation of air, slouching in his chair and rubbing his eyes to try and banish the spots that danced before him. Picking up one of his sketches he held it up, letting the wane light illuminate the roughly sketched centaur on its surface. " I have you, " Crys said to the drawing. Today had been the day for breakthroughs, and it couldn't have come any sooner.

The next few hours were spent drawing on the finer vellum he had brought with him from Theramore, taking what he had committed to both memory and the papers beside him and rendering Khan Hratha in vivid detail, sating hunger and thirst while he worked with conjured bread and water. It was like the times he sat in his tower, trying to revive both body and skill, sketching into the wee hours of the night to regain what he had lost, except this was no fanciful project; this had purpose, this was a page in the book that was his life about to turn, leading to one fresh, clean and full of promise. All that was needed to was to kill the beast whose image his soot-stained fingers had crafted.

" Here he is, " Crys announced the next morning, pinning his finished sketch to a display board set up for just such a purpose and then stepping aside. A dozen pairs of eyes of various hues and sizes immediately flicked to gaze upon his completed sketch, beards stroked and heads tilted as the details were taken in. The elven wizard noted the slightest of nods from Tervosh as a compliment for the detail of the drawing, the archmage's eyes then scanning the assembled military leaders for their reactions.

" And you will of course please tell us how you determined this centaur in particular was Khan Hratha, " Strongshield interjected during the ensuing silence, his expression wavering between a challenge and amusement, no doubt happy to repay the elf in kind for the impromptu question the paladin had been forced to field days before in front of the assembled troops of both Horde and Alliance. Crys'annadath hid well the brief flicker of irritation that passed through his mind, having expected such a question, and indeed he was eager to explain his process.

" A very fair question, Sir Strongshield. Candor and all that, " the warmage began, making sure the paladin knew he had caught the hidden message. " First off, I have served in the armies of Quel'thalas, Dalaran and Theramore using my scrying gift as a tool for their benefit, and have amassed an impressive number of hours spent using it to find and identify military targets. Second, the doubles were meant to confuse more conventional scouts who would only be privy to one area of the valley at a time and at a fair distance, while I was able be as close to them as I am to you and study them at great length without fear of discovery. "

" As for the khan himself, he has a number of distinguishing behaviors and marks that define him as distinct and different from the mere poseurs. His armor is a mixture of plate armor and horse barding, no doubt spoils stripped from the body of a knight and his steed and all are of fine quality. The sword he wields, likely obtained from the same source, is an unusual weapon for a centaur to carry, leading me to believe it is powerful enough not to be trusted in the hands of any one less than their supreme leader. All the fake khans carry bows and spears that, while of superior manufacture from their peers, are typical armaments for their race. Also, on several occasions I had observed an interaction between two of these khans and during every one of them the other centaur bowed their heads after speaking with the one I have depicted here, showing them to be inferior in rank. Does that assuage any of the concerns you have? " Crys asked finally, posing the question to Edward but looking over all those assembled, trying to keep his lip from curling in disgust as his eyes passed over the two trolls present.

The expressions ranged from thoughtful to suspicious, and there was little Crys thought he could do to placate them any more than he had. He understood, from an outsider's standpoint, how it would be hard to take a stranger from a different faction's word on information when your life was on the line. But that's what they all will be doing.

" Much rides on this information you provide, sorcerer. Your leaders place great responsibility on your shoulders and faith in your abilities. I can only hope that it is your skill that does not come up lacking as there is more than just our own lives at stake here, " the Horde warleader Krosh stated after conferring briefly with Calga and Mune, the former two's faces set and hard.

Crys wasn't given a chance to respond, Tervosh instead taking that responsibility as he moved to the fore to stand on the opposite of the board from the quel'dorei spellcaster.

" Magus Skychaser was hand-picked from among numerous qualified personnel and his record speaks for itself. If he believes that this is our target, I put the full support of the Alliance forces behind it, " the archmage declared, hands clasped behind his back and head tilted back slightly, as if daring any to refute his position. Krosh, for one, did not, though there were a few head shakes and crossed arms among those of the Horde delegation.

" It is settled then, " the large orc rumbled, " and not a day too soon. We leave tomorrow and still have much to prepare and plan for. "

The focus off of Crys'annadath felt some of the tension leave his shoulders and jaw, feeling as if he had just passed an exam of some sort. Perhaps he had. About to exit to allow the assembled leaders to their discussion Tervosh stopped him with a touch on his shoulder.

" Stay, I want you to be a part of this. You will play a significant part in our attack as well, I think. Just…mind your questions, " the archmage added with a twitch of a smile. The elf acquiesced with a nod, taking a seat near the gathering and preparing for a long debate.

Crys stifled a yawn behind his hand and once again felt the urge to rise from his seat and stretch his back. It was evening, the sun prematurely darkened by the arrival of storm clouds coming in off the sea, turning the waters below the same churning, murky grey that they were. Thunder echoed off the mountains, seeming to roll across the distance like a physical thing, an invisible titan dragging its knuckles across the land as it passed. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, the storm seemed to hearten the Horde delegates.

" Rain will dampen the soil and conceal the dust our column will raise when we march tomorrow. The spirits give us aid in our eradication of this menace, " Calga said with a solemn nod, eliciting like gestures from those around her. Crys felt like pointing out that the rain had been on its way to the coast for days and had nothing to do with the will of spirits, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. A tiny, helpless shrug was all Tervosh offered in agreeing to the warmage's skepticism. It had taken all day, but they had finally agreed upon a strategy, Crys'annadath finding himself surprised and more than a little worried upon finding out what his role would be. It would test him in every way possible and the risk would be as great as the reward, but he had accepted it the moment it was offered to him with a steeled will and clenched teeth. He would prove his worth to them all.

After eating his dinner Crys once again found himself standing atop the cliff overlooking the dusty plain the two armies had camped out on, watching the dark shapes of the troops go about their evening routines of eating, talking and gambling. Their words were little more than a rough murmur even to Crys's sharp hearing, occasionally punctuated with a sharp bark of a laugh or a shouted order. After days of laboring with a deadline over his head the elven wizard now found he had nothing but time on his hands. Tomorrow they would march, and a day after that they would attack. The ships bound for Azeroth would leave the morning afterwards. So many events that were so important to his future happening in such rapid succession. His eyes strayed over to the beautiful glow of the moonwell, its soft luminescence painting the nearby trees a frosty blue-white. The wondrous energy it offered would be the hardest thing to leave behind on this continent, as he would not encounter the like in the old world. Trying to put the seductive lure of the energy from his mind Crys'annadath forced his eyes upwards, to what stars could be seen against the thickening cloud cover. The constellations that he remembered during his nights stargazing as a youth wouldn't be there, even if he could have seen the sky clearly, reinforcing his sense that he didn't belong here, that he would ever be a stranger to this hot, hostile land. He was sick of kaldorei prejudice, the stench of Theramore harbor wafting up through his bedroom window, of palm trees and centaurs.

It was time to go home, to whatever was left of it.

Casting his eyes downward with a sigh Crys wheeled about and strolled slowly back to the inn. Perhaps some of Baritanas's tea would help calm his thoughts enough to turn in early. He would need all the strength and wits he could muster to survive the coming days.

Crys tugged the buckle closed on his sword belt, sighing at how comfortable he had become packing up and leaving places for the last time. Setting his cloak over his shoulders the elf paused as the roiling black clouds overhead rumbled once again, the deep growl that had been threatening rain all morning. The wizard wished for his elven marine cloak still sitting back at in his chambers in Theramore, but a more frivolous use of a teleport spell he could scarcely think of. He would survive a little rain, and with so many of the other races marching beside him he was determined not let them think of elves as the weakest link.

The kitchen and common room below was a flurry of activity, night elf servers hastily packing last minute rations as well as preparing the morning meal, soldiers of both factions weaving around people and furniture alike in an effort to perform their duties. It was the same with every war camp Crys had been a part of. No matter how much prior warning there was or well-disciplined the army was there would always be stragglers, just-remembered necessities and contradictory orders. The elven wizard avoided most of the tangle by sticking to the side and ducking out as soon as he was able. His efforts to avoid the crush of people sent him towards the wind rider's area, where Baritanas fastened a bridle around Blackcloud's head while talking with a pair of kaldorei who waited by the other two hippogryphs. The wind rider caught Crys's eye as he walked up, the gaze of the other two night elves was significantly less inviting.

" Remember to keep no higher than one hundred feet with this storm over our heads and if things become too hectic or dangerous get to somewhere safe as quickly as you are able. There will be enough death over the next few days that we don't need to add to it with a rider or hippogryph trying to be a hero. Remember your training, follow your instincts, trust your partner, " he instructed finally.

" Tor ilisar'thera'nal!" the kaldorei echoed as one, bowing their heads to Baritanas and taking up the reins of their respective hippogryphs. Mounting the elegant beasts it took nothing more than a flick of the reins and a cluck to urge the flying mounts forward, leaping off the cliff face and spreading their great dark wings. Baritanas watched them go, a ghost of a smile on his face.

" Remembering your first time? " Crys guessed. The other nodded slowly before speaking in a far-away voice.

" It all seems so exciting when you're their age. The power of the beast beneath you, the feeling of pride in doing something to help your people, the wind rushing past your ears…it's seductive to the young mind. I probably seem like a worrisome old man to them for reminding them to be careful so many times. "

Crys chuckled.

" Try setting a straw target on fire by willing it and then having a two millennium old archmage admonish you for not keeping the blast radius tight enough. The young always see the potential for success, the old the potential for failure it seems. "

" Then let us hope we are not both so old that we cannot see a positive ending to this, " the wind rider responded.

" A tale we'll be telling our grandchildren, about a time when a civil farewell between a Quel'dorei and a night elf was a rare thing. Good luck and farewell, Master Skyriver, if we don't meet again after this, " Crys'annadath said, offering his hand to the kaldorei. Baritanas returned the handshake firmly, meeting his gaze with a look of genuine warmth upon his face.

" And to you, Magus Skychaser. If we meet again may be as friends visiting and not soldiers mustering. "

Moments later Baritanas was airborne, Crys watching him go for a few moments before striding away to the plain where the war host was gathered, each hoping that the impossible combination of Horde and Alliance, night elf and high elf working together was a sign of a brighter future for them all.

Several hours of trudging through the wastes, the grey dust caking Crys's boots and the back of his throat the rain finally came, seeming to be ripped from the bosom by a particularly loud peal of thunder. The columns of men barely paused before resuming their march, large, warm drops of water pinging off metal, thudding off of flesh and earth. Gusts of wind allowed the water to slap into Crys's face occasionally, the cowl of his cloak no defense, as if mocking his attempts to remain dry. In half an hour it was moot what pains any of them took to remain dry, each soaked to the bone, the ash-like soil turned into a gluey mud that sucked and slopped with each pace, which, combined over some five hundred troops, sounded like the feeding frenzy of some disgusting, toothless creatures. There was little talk, and what there was consisted mostly about the pounds of muck now clinging to all their feet and how choice members of both factions could have stood to been under some warm water weeks ago.

The elven warmage glanced around from time to time, half out of boredom, the other half out of genuine wariness. It would be hard to sneak up on this many eyes, but another pair never hurt. The local wildlife had sought shelter where it could, basilisks slithering under rocky overhangs to watch the world around them with their strange blue eyes; vultures gathering in flocks on what few wind-ravaged trees had grown, flapping ragged, ebon wings and ruffling feathers in a futile effort to remain dry. At one point the quel'dorei noted a pack of hyenas, standing some five feet at the shoulder walk along a nearby ridge, eyeing the column of warriors for signs of weakness or slowing like they would a herd of any animal wandering the plains. Crys had no illusions that if he traveled alone or with only few companions the hyenas, eight strong, would be circling to attack. Not liking their odds the large canines just sniffed the ground disinterestedly and wandered off to the north, looking for easier prey.

The land as cracked and dry as it was meant that it was like the rain was hitting stone, flowing down through dry channels and beds left from the last great deluge. Most of them could be hopped over, or even waded through, but one such water flow slowed the column to a crawl as soldiers leapt from one side to the other, the rain collecting together to form a creek of some force and speed. Tossing his hood back to clear his field of vision when his turn came up Crys set his jaw and ran as fast as the mucky ground would allow him too. The mud stole some momentum from his jump, but he cleared the water easily…only to have the far bank, already weakened by dozens of impacts and the rush of water to give way from under his feet. Clods of earth and dark water rushed over his head, his panicked gasp for breath before going under barely able to see him through the initial few seconds. Clamping his eyes shut the world around him was swallowed up by the roar and gurgle of flowing water, his hands instinctively seeking something to grab a hold of but finding no purchase, that was, until he happened across something thick as a young tree and covered in hair.

As chaotic as the world around his was right now Crys still had the presence of mind to realize that while he was under water he was not tumbling along with the flow. A second later he felt his head lifted clear of the current, followed by the rest of him with a sudden burst of strength, leaving him in a sodden pile in the mud, coughing so hard his lungs hurt. Blinking against the wet soil on his face and the rain still pouring down around him the dark shapes resolved themselves into the concerned faces of Alliance footmen, parting when the face of the paladin Strongshield arrived.

" You gave us a hell of a scare, Magus Skychaser. That current would have carried you a mile away in as long as it took to say it, and probably drowned you or broken your bones along the way for good measure. Are you hurt? "

Crys took several moments to find the wherewithal to speak, wiping vigorously at the mud on his face with his sleeve.

" No, I-I'm fine. Nothing broken but I'll be tasting dirt for the rest of the day I'm sure. "

" Get him to his feet, " Edward ordered, hands reaching down and hauling the sodden wizard to his feet and holding him there while he regained his balance. All around troops looked on with varying degrees of concern while those who had yet to cross scouted along the far bank for a less hazardous place to cross.

" The mage, he is alright? " a voice as deep as thunder asked from Crys's left, prompting him to turn his head around to gaze at the tauren Mune Greysky, in the process of cleaning smears of mud from the equally grey fur along his forearm.

" Yes, Shaman Greysky, thanks to your quick intervention, " Edward affirmed with a nod, looking between the elf and the tauren. Crys'annadath too, looked to the bull-man, bowing his head in thanks.

" You are welcome, Skychaser of the Alliance. You have yet a role to play and a task to perform, one that the spirits who guided my hand know well. Honor their mercy by executing it successfully when the time comes, " the shaman returned, dark eyes meeting his own. Again, Crys could only nod, still grappling with shock and too grateful to point out that it was spirits who had supposedly sent the rain which endangered his life in the first place; or that the tauren could have just as easily missed and grabbed nothing but water.

The next four hours passed unremarkably, the rain washing away most of the mud from Crys's clothing and hair but leaving him feeling uncomfortable and irritable, his feet squelching inside his boots with each step and hair slicked to his scalp like a clammy hand gripping him lightly. They took two rest breaks during their march, though with nothing to sit on and little to do but complain about the weather and eat their cold rations standing up they were more of a frustration than a relief to many. Baritanas and his aerial scouts had departed sometime around the second rest period swooping down out of the grey heavens, looking as wet and miserable as the rest of them as they landed a delivered their report before winging their way ahead to Ghost Walker Post. Nothing was out on the plains but kodo lumbering their way determinedly through the rain storm. The war host was safe from discovery at least for the time being.

After nearly nine hours of marching the faint lights of Ghost Walker Post came into view, wane beacons of warm yellow amongst the miserable charcoal of the night-darkened clouds. The promise of a warm meal and to get out of the rain for at least a couple of hours hastened the pace for many. Ghost Walker was little more than several raised mesas connected by suspension bridges, steep slopes acted like walls to keep out hostile wildlife with only a few earthen ramps giving access to the small collection of buildings on top. Sentries guarding said ramp, looking as sodden and unhappy as the new arrivals, ushered them all up while sending a runner to notify the outpost leaders. Once Axehand and Strongshield had exchanged brief pleasantries with an orc Crys's sharp elven ears overheard was named Felgur Twocuts the weather-beaten and road-weary soldiers trudged up the ramp towards the meeting lodge.

Inside a large fire burned in the center of the floor, the smoke permitted to escape though a hole in the roof. Barely able to hold a third their number the soldiers were instead allowed in a certain number at a time while the rest set up camp on whatever ground was available and try and dry off. Crys ate perched on a footstool with his meal of fish stew in a salty broth and a slice of grainy Mulgore spice bread on his lap, torso curled over it like a miser hiding his wealth from prying eyes. The elf earned a few nods of thanks from those seated around him as he conjured up a few loaves of rye and doled them out to supplement their meal. Crys'annadath had barely supped the last of the broth from the wooden bowl before the next line of soldiers was forming and would need to sit. Frowning at having to return to the storm outside when he was just beginning to dry off he stood with a sigh of resignation and handed his empty bowl and wooden spoon back to a female orc kitchen worker who was gathering them up. A loud clearing of a throat caught the elf's attention before he could go much farther, however, and he pivoted his head around to spy Tervosh seated at a table crowded with some of the other officers. Walking over Tervosh slid over as much as the short bench allowed and the elven warmage perched himself on the edge.

" You've had a rough enough day as it stands already. We need you in top form tomorrow, " the archmage explained, taking a pull from the clay mug before him.

" I'll take what I can get, " Crys grunted in response, settling himself as best he could.

The rest of the evening was short and uneventful, the officers both factions talking amongst themselves, choosing to speak in their native tongues when they didn't want anyone listening in. Crys and Tervosh were content to listen quietly to Thunderbore, smoking a pipe and sending clouds of blue smoke into the air and Harlowe speak of the various commanders they had served under in their years in the military and particularly entertaining new recruits that had crossed their paths. Crys could tell they would have been trading war stories with any other company present, but considering it was the very orcs seated at the table they had fought against it would have been in poor taste at best. Tervosh was the first to leave, rising and reminding those present that they would have an early morning tomorrow and all should get what sleep they could. The plan had originally been to attack when the sun had begun its ascent into the sky so that its light would be in the eyes of the centaur archers, but considering the weather this was unlikely.

" We shall work with what the spirits deem fit to give us, " Mune rumbled as he rose, fists upon the table top, drawing a nod of agreement from them all.

Crys was never fond of hammocks, they moved too much with each shift of his body, there was an ever-present fear of falling out, and it curled his spine uncomfortably. Still, the exercise and stress of the previous day made short work of these discomforts and the lights and sounds of the great hall were soon muted and then taken away altogether by sleep's blanketing hand.

They were awoken in the early hours of the morning, a cup of hot yet weak tea thrust into Crys's hands as the commanders roused themselves and clad themselves in armor. Outside, the rain had faded to a drenching mist, earth and sky both looking as grey, cold and inhospitable as the other. The elf tugged on his mud-caked boots, wondering not for the first time why they were fighting for this land. The tea barely downed with a few chunks of conjured rye bread Crys and the war host was on the move again, his dry cloak quickly succumbing to the rain and a string of silent curses aimed at the spirits who had so thoughtfully provided the rain for them.

Not far past the buttes that made up Ghost Walker Post, however, the columns came to a halt on the edge of a broad canyon. Within, stark white and ghostly against the early morning sky and dark mud they rested in were the bones of hundreds of great beasts. Every bone Crys could think of and more besides jutted out of the earth at all angles, the massive, broad-topped skulls with their blunt horns and flat teeth quickly told the elf these were kodo bones.

At the lead the warmage observed both Mune and Calga move to the very front of the troops. The tauren first stooped to plant a small wooden totem into the soft ground and then the two of them began to chant, arms moving in the same rhythmic patterns, the deep bass and higher-pitched growl of the two weaving together to form one complete song. The soldiers shifted uncomfortably from foot-to-foot, quietly muttering theories and complaints amongst themselves while the strange ceremony continued. At last the totem at Mune's feet flared a bright blue, a rumbling bellow like that made by a beast accompanying the flash. Seeming to be satisfied Mune retrieved the totem and tucked it under his belt once more, turning to face the assembled troops.

" We have asked the guardian spirits of this graveyard to grant us passage though, and they have agreed. Disturb the bones of those that rest here and incur their wrath. This will be your only warning, " the tauren cautioned.

" And in case any of you think this is a joke at your expense, then let me say if I catch any not heeding the warning they will answer to my axes instead. This route cuts half-a-day's travel off of our march and shields us from centaur patrols and I will not repay this boon with desecration, is this understood?! " Krosh roared, looking hard at both Horde and Alliance soldier alike. With a nod Blood Guard Redpaw and his wolf riders wheeled about and headed northward. They would be forced to go the long way around, their dire wolves far too large and unwieldy to maneuver through the densely packed field. Their speed, however, would allow them to reach the other side roughly the same time as the rest of the column.

With the slow, measured pace of a funeral procession the war host filtered down into the maze of bones, the sarcastic chatter markedly absent with the dual threats hovering over the soldier's heads. With nothing but the rattle and clink of metal armor and weapons, the squelching of muddy boots and water drops falling into pools of water the bone yard seemed even more menacing, like they had become field mice creeping through the lair of some great predator's feeding pit. Crys ducked and wove his way along as the jutting bones dictated, not certain in exactly what form the guardian spirits would wreak their vengeance but in no particular hurry to find out.

While guarded by spirits the graveyard was not exempt from the usual processes that nature had at its disposal. The fresher corpses of great kodo lay where they had breathed their last, great black vultures alternatively tearing chunks of rotting meat off of the carcasses and ruffling their feathers against the rain, each eyeing the column of troops warily with beady, calculating eyes. Hyenas feasted on the mound of entrails ripped from the belly of one over-turned beast, gore-spattered teeth bared in a challenge. Crys was only too glad to leave the sounds of their growls and tearing flesh behind.

After what seemed like hours the other side of the canyon finally came into view between the bleached bones ahead, the war host breathing a collective sigh of relief that they would be leaving this pit of silent decay behind them. This sense of relief was shattered suddenly as a orc grunt, jostled by those behind him eager to be free of the bone yard slipped in the mud, his arms gyrating wildly as he tried to right himself. Instinct took hold, his hand reaching out for something to stop his fall and it came to rest on the crumbling rib of a long dead kodo. Bone crumbled under the orc's grip, hundreds of soldiers holding their breath, those nearest to him recoiling as if he were plagued. The unlucky grunt sat still as a statue, clinging to an absurd hope that remaining motionless would confuse the spirits of the graveyard. Tense moments passed, but nothing revealed itself from out of the jumbled bones.

Finally deciding he had been spared the orc picked himself up and wiped the mud from himself as best he could. Offering a relieved smile and a shrug to his comrades he took one pace forward when a great rumbling suddenly shook the area, something deep and old and angry. Again, all eyes turned to the grunt, frozen in mid-step. The rumbling continued, quickly shifting into an enraged bellow and the thundering footfalls of some elephantine beast. Eyes wide in fear the orc suddenly reached out his hands to his brothers-in-arms, but none reached back. In a blink the spirit was upon him, a translucent kodo glowing an eerie blue thundered out of nothingness, rage in its normally placid eyes. Ghostly jaws yawned wide and clamped around the torso of the grunt, who howled in as much terror as pain. Thrashing in the thing's jaws like a small fish in the beak of a gull the orc was pulled violently backwards, slipping in amongst the exposed bones and out of sight. There was a series of wet crunches in the gloom, the orc's screams becoming fainter and then suddenly stopped with a choking gurgle, another set of bones to be picked upon by the scavengers.

" Move, damn you! " Krosh hissed urgently to the rest of them, the next few minutes giving witness to the swiftest and quietest evacuation Crys had ever witnessed. Breathless and his heart pounding so hard in his chest it felt as if it resided in his throat the elf gave one last look back towards the graveyard before turning his gaze and feet westward.

The war host took one final break an hour later, hunkered down behind a shallow cliff, giving the troops a chance to shake off what they had witnessed in the graveyard and a chance for the recently arrived wolf riders to catch up and rest their mounts. The air was tense, each knowing that the enemy was not two miles from them at this point. The rain had finally petered off, the clouds breaking up enough to emit some of the morning light through. Crys began to understand why they were attacking in the morning, the enemy possessing many archers and they would have had the light in their eyes while the war host attacked, hindering their shots. A pity the weather had had other ideas.

After too short a time the orders to move out rippled along the ranks, Crys'annadath knowing that soon his part in the coming battle would be at hand. The column of soldiers marched out, no longer any caution or doubt in their stride, eager to be done with it. Baritanas and his wing riders, recovered from last night's storm, let out one screech of greeting as they flew past, scouting the terrain ahead. Spearhold looked far more intimidating from this distance, Crys remarked to himself, having only seen portions of it in the darkness. It loomed above them even at this distance, a deadly maze of wooden towers and switch-backing canyons filled with murderous horse-men. Crys gripped the handle of his sword and set his jaw. He would see this through to the end. He had to.