Hey guys,
Well I've been thinking of other writing projects I'd like to get done. My problem is I tend to tackle stories one at a time. I don't do too well jumping between various stories since my motivation always seems to flag, and it's hard to live in multiple worlds at once. So putting up a chapter a week I'm looking at several months where I just can't get into any other writing.
I suppose I could take regular breaks, like I've done a few times, but nobody likes that. I prefer speeding up to slowing down. So I've decided to do a surge and try to get Northrend done as quickly as I can, within the next few weeks if possible, submitting chapters as I finish them.
Wish me luck, and I hope I can count on you guys cheering me on as I push to finally complete the series :).
NT
Chapter Seven
Hillsbrad
A day or so west of where the road branched off north to the ruins of Alterac City they reached the fork that led south, into Hillsbrad. It was a desolate stretch between Strahnbrad and Tarren Mill, passing through the thinly inhabited Nazes. The Nazes stretched out like knuckles looming over Hillsbrad, foothills to the Alterac mountains. Between each one was a gradual slope leading up, from what he'd heard.
On his way south the only naze he'd passed was Sofera's Naze, overlooking Tarren Mill. From what he'd heard it was a popular haunt for bandits looking to hit convoys headed through Alterac. Any attempts to dig them out proved fruitless, since they'd only flee farther into the Nazes or into the mountains themselves; in that warren only someone who knew the area had any hope of tracking enemies.
Nex might have welcomed a bandit attack on his way down, another opportunity to recruit possible mercenaries. Volunteers lured by a grand cause were far more trustworthy, but one thing you could say for bandits-turned-mercenary was at least they knew which end of a sword to hold. There was no telling how long they'd have to train raw recruits before it came time to toss them into battle against a foe that didn't relent and felt no fear.
But they'd seen no one, bandit or farmer or honest traveler. A possible reason for that presented itself when they reached Tarren Mill.
Montfere stared down at the small town in the hollow of two hills with undisguised loathing. At the moment Nex's back was actually turned to the cluster of buildings encircling the mill hunched over the river like a jealous predator guarding its kill. He was looking over the town with his second sight, but there wasn't much to see.
A few dozen buildings, in all. The population could never have been more than a few hundred people. But now the town was deserted of the living, the houses in reasonably good repair aside from several which looked to have burned down. Explosively in some cases, bits of wood and tin roofing scattered about forlornly; possibly the flour ground at the mill was being stored in those buildings, and the flames had set them off. He recalled hearing once that a mill was a dangerous place for fire, with the air so packed with sawdust or flour.
Which might explain why the mill itself was a charred ruin, the water turning to black sludge as it flowed past the desolate bulk. The town hall, too, was broken, the roof collapsed and stone walls licked with soot.
All in all a suitable home for the Scourge that now populated the town. It looked like the undead had turned their efforts to destruction after chasing away or slaughtering the townspeople. In some cases that was to provide material for the fortifications they were setting up around the ruins, but for the most part it seemed they tore at the wood and stone simply for the sake of destroying what others had built.
"I thought undead didn't eat," Montfere said, interrupting his musing.
Nex turned his head to face the boy. "Of course they don't."
The half-elf pointed. "Then why's there a great black kettle boiling in the town square?"
"That's a foolish question, boy. I thought you knew something of the Scourge. You should have learned when your home was being destroyed."
Montfere glared at him. "I wasn't exactly on the front lines, was I? And nobody was inviting me to the big strategy councils."
Nex relaxed again, letting his second sight wander. "The plague cauldron is the heart of any Scourge encampment, wherever the undead haven't managed to construct a ziggurat. It produces the Blight that kills the land around it, spreading as far as it is able. It is also where the Cult of the Damned acolytes come to collect the plague samples they use to taint food and water, spreading undeath."
The boy shuddered. "It's not so big, to cause that many problems."
"They could cook you whole inside it." Nex gestured over his shoulder. "Notice the chains holding it down? That's not a stable concoction they have in there."
Montfere was silent for a time after that. Nex returned to his contemplation, fighting a surge of frustration. He was looking for tracks leading from the town, the survivors fleeing this attack. It was there he'd have to go in search of recruits, hoping their anger at seeing their homes destroyed outweighed their hopelessness at becoming refugees.
This recruiting business was proving incredibly frustrating. These land had bee wracked by war for so long that most potential soldiers had already been snapped up by one army or another, leaving those that remained to survive as best they could. All well and good if a solid perimeter was maintained to curtail the Scourge's movements, but unfortunately some asshole had decided to leave Chillwind Point completely unguarded. One of the major passes into the south, and closer to the Scourge seats of power than most, and its garrison had decided to wander off.
It was just a miracle Strahnbrad hadn't been hit yet. Likely these Scourge had just taken the straightest and swiftest path south, following the river, and Tarren Mill had suffered for it.
"We didn't see any sign of Scourge on our way south," Montfere eventually said.
"No. The commander of this force likely led his undead swiftly and silently to take Tarren Mill unawares." Nex stood.
Montfere was immediately at his side. "Are you going to destroy the undead?"
Nex hesitated. "I'd like nothing more. But they appear to be digging in to make this a permanent fortification rather than continuing onward. The tracks of the fled townspeople lead south, towards Southshore. The warning has likely been sent and soldiers are mobilizing to deal with the threat."
"But we're here right now."
"Yes, and our task is to gather soldiers for a real campaign. The Alliance army can deal with this threat. It's their own fault it's here to begin with." It would probably be kind to at least destroy the plague cauldron, but Nex was leery of directly challenging a Scourge encampment; it wasn't the rank and file who created the cauldrons, and any Cultists powerful enough to do so would slow him down more than he cared to be slowed. "Come," he said, turning away. After a disappointed pause the boy fell into step behind him.
Which was why both their backs were turned when the explosion hit.
Nex whirled, focusing on the source of the blast in time to see the plague cauldron go whirling away with two chains snapped. It made an eerie gloing sound as the other two chains drew taut, yanking the heavy iron monstrosity the opposite direction. The viscous concoction sprayed over two nearby ghouls, eating the flesh from their bones and leaving the creatures to run amok as skeletons.
Another explosion hit, blasting into the middle of a knot of undead tearing the roof off a house and sending tin sheeting and stones flying in all directions along with shattered body parts, many still flailing.
It wasn't hard to track the trajectories of those explosions to the hills a bit north and east of their position. Nex turned his attention that way and saw a score or more of dwarves manning two mortars, lobbing their explosive payloads at the town below. It didn't take much longer for the undead to discover the position of their attackers, and within moments half a dozen ghouls and twice as many skeletons were clambering up the slope.
The dwarves adjusted the angle of the mortars to lob a few explosions into their charging enemies, leaving only a handful left. But those were too close to allow another reload. Instead several dwarves unslung heavy muskets strapped to their backs and fired them off, sending heavy lead balls whizzing downslope. Where the shot hit bones broke and skulls shattered, until only one undead remained survivor to the brutal volley, dragging itself in awkward looping circles on one leg that brought it gradually closer to the dwarves.
Down below the Scourge forces were marshaling for a more concerted attack, over a hundred undead swarming to the north side of the town. With cool precision the dwarves packed up their mortars and fled upslope, short legs pumping powerfully.
Their flight seemed intended to take them into the Nazes, and they were going to pass not far from where Nex and Montfere stood watching. But several geists, lighter and swifter than the other undead for all their spider-like crawling, were leaping ahead, quickly closing on the fleeing dwarves. The dwarves were organized in their retreat, smoothly firing their muskets to cover each other and reloading on the run, but it was obvious it would come to close quarters combat, and Nex wasn't sure any of the dwarves were capable melee fighters.
"Remember, outskirts of the battle," he warned Montfere. Then he was sprinting forward, already drawing two torpedoes enchanted for undead slaying and preparing a fire spell. The withered, gangrel geists would burn nicely, he thought.
The dwarves were immediately aware of his approach, and for an uncertain moment Nex feared they would open fire on him as well. But someone in that group had a cool head, and when Nex waved to them a few of those in the lead, lugging the mortars, waved back.
Then he was past the cluster of short, doughty creatures, leaping into the air to meet the leap of the nearest geist. They collided in midair and Nex took the thing's head off with his first blow. That didn't stop it from trying to wrap its arms and legs around him, so he brought his knee up and pushed away. Light as he was the geist was lighter, and it went flying away, in time for another one to slam against Nex and send them both tumbling to the ground.
By the time they hit the ground Nex had shattered both arms off the creature, and landed atop the thing, feeling it break beneath him, and recovered his balance in time to hurl a torpedo at the chest of another geist leaping for him. The force of the projectile halted the creature's leap in midair, and it fell straight to the ground with shattered ribs tinkling around it.
Then Nex began unleashing his fire. Two more geists fell in withering flames not five feet from him, and the third and last burned from behind as it tried to leap past him at one of the dwarves. The only remaining undead were those coming from behind, slow enough that they could now make good their escape. Nex turned and fell into a trot, coming up alongside the rearmost dwarves and running beside them.
"We coulda taken 'em," a dwarf called, puffing and blowing from the run.
"I'm a bit selfish when it comes to the Scourge. I always have to join in."
The dwarves who heard that roared with laughter. Idle chitchat wasn't the way of these sturdy, industrious folk, however, and no more was said as they continued their run, ostensibly towards the dwarven camp. If the creatures were mad enough to kick the hornet's nest that was Tarren Mill they had to be constantly moving to prevent the undead from catching them; the Scourge brought new meaning to the phrase "tireless pursuit".
Soon Montfere was lagging behind, and Nex fell back to lift the boy up onto his shoulders. Montfere wasn't very happy about it, but he'd grown used to being carried in the past few weeks. Nex was often too impatient to allow him rest.
About a half hour later they reached the dwarf camp at the top of Sofera's Naze. At least, they met up with ten or so more dwarves who'd already packed up everything and had a meal waiting. The returning raiders began bolting down food as Nex set Montfere on the ground and straightened.
One of the dwarf raiders, a big sturdy fellow with a massive mane of black hair and a wiry forked beard down to his waist, with two star maces hanging from his belt and a musket on his back, ambled over. "Falstan Wildhammer," he said curtly. "Well met."
Nex prodded Montfere awake and had the boy unfurl the Lion banner while he introduced himself. He finished off with, "I'm interested to know how a team of dwarf artillerymen ended up shelling an undead-infested Tarren Mill."
The dwarf spat off to the side. "We sorta felt like we needed tae."
"Because you abandoned your posts at Chillwind Point?"
The dwarves around him stopped eating, and Falstan's face grew even more ruddy. "They abandoned us, more like."
Nex quirked his lips into a half-smile. "Your posts abandoned you?"
The Wildhammer dwarf glared at him. "Word came round two weeks back, calling them Azeroth soldiers back to the main army. Although not really back, since they'd been holding Chillwind ever since arriving in the north."
"You didn't accompany them?"
The dwarf scowled, brow beetling over tiny eyes. "We wasn't included in them orders. And we ain't fools neither. Word o' how Garithos treated the elves has spread, and we weren't eager to tag along with the humans and find some o' that ourselves. So we stayed behind. After that a concerted Scourge attack drove us back, and fer a week there we played cat and mouse in the mountains until we could blow the buggers tae hell. When we came back we did our best tae follow the main force, but by the time we caught up tae them here it was too late fer Tarren Mill. So all that's left is tae blow up a couple hunnerd undead 'n go home."
Nex nodded. "Yes, you could do that. Or you could stop wasting your time here and do something useful."
Falstan scowled. "Ye watch yer tone, laddie."
"I mean no offense, Master Wildhammer. Garithos is a bastard, doing his best to either kill off nonhumans or drive them from the war. If you want to aid the cause it's going to get harder and harder. So you could stay here lobbing artillery at the undead sitting around in Tarren Mill for a while, then wander back to Aerie Peak and find something else to do. But as I understand it dwarves are more interested in digging to the cause of things, not just grappling with effects. I can offer you that."
Falstan dug a finger in his ear, wiggling it around. "Not quite sure I follow ye, laddie."
"It's why your Mountain King recently declared a switch in priority from mining to archaeology, isn't it? Your people had come to the limits of what they could learn about themselves through introspection, so now it was time to explore your past and see why you were the way you were. While I don't agree with that philosophy I wish you all the best in it."
The dwarves grumbled among themselves, wondering if they were being insulted. "Aye, and what's that tae do with undead?" a buxom female near the back demanded.
"The cause of the Scourge. These undead wandering around invading towns are merely the effect. You want to get to the heart of their existence, and that's up north. They exist, they do what they do, because of the Frozen Throne which controls them. I'm going north to destroy that artifact and end the Scourge for good and all. You're welcome to join me, if you wouldn't rather nibble at undead until their numbers overwhelm you."
Falstan was staring at him with clear disbelief. "And we're tae believe this fairy tale o' yours?"
"I'm deadly serious, Master Wildhammer. And you can be relieved that it's not humans leading this campaign, but a coalition of thousands of blood elves and naga. You won't have to deal with any Garithoses."
"Aye, and the blood elves're any better?" another dwarf grumbled.
Falstan raised his hand, expression thoughtful. "We're not fer liking this offer, Nex. The Bronzebeards teamed up with Arthas in Northrend and came to grief fer it. They lost their king. And now another human wants tae repeat the story?"
"Whatever may have befallen Muradin in the north, I'm not Arthas."
The dwarf spat. "Aye. Ye look less fair and feel more foul. That supposed tae convince me?"
"You wrong me with your hostility, Falstan. Are dwarvish memories as short as their lives are long?"
"What's tha' supposed tae mean?"
Nex reached behind him and grabbed the pole from Montfere, swinging it and stretching the Lion's banner into visibility. "I've come from the ruins of Draenor with the Sons of Lothar. Your own kin accompanied us on that expedition, led by the Chief Thane of the Wildhammer clan himself. There was great friendship between Kurdran and Sir Marbrand, who leads the Sons." Nex had no idea if that was true, but it hardly mattered. Dwarves put great stock in kinship, and in old loyalties and debts of friendship.
Falstan spat again. "Then mebbe ya should get Kurdran out here talking tae us."
"Alas, he remains on Outland with the remnants of the expedition, aiding our friends there in rebuilding the world."
"Bah!" the dwarf said. But he didn't seem quite so hostile. After a moment he kicked at a rock, swearing. "Kurdran's me distant cousin, true enough. I was too young tae join the expedition, but ye can bet I wanted tae. Swear me kin on Draenor's alive, laddie, 'n mebbe we've got something tae talk about."
Nex drew himself up. "I swear by my honor and the standard I hold, in the name of Lothar our beloved commander, that Kurdran and the remnants of the Wildhammer dwarves remain on Outland." An easy oath to twist, keeping enough ambiguity that he need not swear to whether they were dead or alive. Which was good, because he hadn't the slightest clue.
But Falstan was no fool. "Alive?"
Shit. Nex thought quickly. "I can't speak as to their fate since I returned to Azeroth, but at the time of my departure their condition was stable." Also true enough, whether that condition was alive or dead.
Gimlet eyes glared suspiciously at him from beneath bushy black brows. "I wanted tae hear a yes there, laddie. Say it plain. Me kin were alive when ye left."
"They were alive." Assuming there were any alive when I left, yes, they probably remained so.
The Wildhammer hesitated, glaring at him. Nex knew if Falstan was Kurdran's cousin then the dwarf was what passed for nobility among their kind, too important to be leading a small team of dwarves garrisoning Chillwind. Likely he'd been the liaison between the dwarves of Aerie Peak and the Alliance army until Garithos effectively dismissed him. That had to rankle.
"All right, laddie. We're tae be going west then south, looping around the naze and hitting Tarren Mill from the west afore moving again. If yer business is recruiting ye'll want to follow us that far, since Southshore is straight south from that point. You have that long to convince us."
"Fair enough." It didn't sound hopeful, but was fairly sure Falstan wanted to be convinced. If he'd missed the expedition to Draenor for being too young, and then the expedition to Northrend as well, while being shunted out of involvement in the Alliance's battles with the Scourge, he had to be rankling. Even dwarves wanted to find glory.
Around the packed up camp the dwarf raiders had finished eating and were shrugging on packs that looked as if they weighed as much as those who carried them. The mortar crews carried only their explosives and the canister that launched them, but that was a heavier load to deal with. Nex waved aside the dwarf that offered him food, but Montfere bolted it down gladly. Then they were off.
For the next few days they traveled along with the dwarves, who moved at a swift enough pace that Nex didn't itch to go faster. He spent that time telling Falstan of slaying Rachondimus the dreadlord in the Plaguelands, of his battle with the Scourge while aiding the elves and his fight with the banshee Imelda. Then of Outland, the pit lord Magtheridon and his portals to Burning Legion worlds, and what he'd heard from the elves about the great battles to close the portals and take the Black Temple.
At first Falstan was skeptical, but by the end he was hanging on to it all. Those was the sort of battles people wanted to hear about, with heroes marching in and destroying enemies and enjoying a clear victory. Not some hopeless campaign to halt the spread of the Scourge while their numbers grew less and less and the flow of undead never ceased. It made a major assault on the Frozen Throne and an end to the Scourge seem even more attractive.
He learned a little of the dwarves as well. Falstan should have been a gryphon rider, but he had a terrible head for heights and didn't seem to get on well with the gryphons. Since most dwarf warriors either rained death from above or from a distance, that left him the option of going into siegecraft. That and diplomacy.
The dwarves were damned good with their mortars. The maximum effective range of the weapons was almost four hundred yards, and while all the mortar team spotters could do the math to hit the target, most of the time they could eyeball it within seconds and hit nearly dead on. Their gunmen called themselves riflemen, but apparently they still used the older, muzzle-loaded muskets, which were far less accurate.
Dwarves were stubborn like that, opting not to fix what wasn't broken, and the muskets had served them well for a long time. Leave it to the gnomes to leap upon rifling, and repeater rifles, and cartridges and eventually fully automatic weaponry that spit dozens of rounds in a matter of seconds. Dwarves had nothing but affection for their small inventive cousins, but it was the gnomes who needed to replace lack of stature with superior weaponry. The dwarven riflemen could reload and fire their muskets in a matter of seconds, and those heavy balls were devastating.
He also got Falstan to talk a little more about Muradin. There was tension between the three main families of the dwarves, the Bronzebeards, Wildhammers, and Dark Irons. But even so the Wildhammers and the Bronzebeards were fairly friendly at the moment. They'd been drawn together by the wars, engaged in a common cause that kept them from too many squabbles. Muradin had been well loved by both families, and in truth there had been talk of him wedding into the Wildhammer family and further strengthening those bonds. Nex had a feeling such inter-family marriages didn't happen often. So when he fell the Wildhammers had grieved right along with the Bronzebeards, and had further thrown in their support in efforts to combat the Scourge.
"I would like tae learn if there are any clues ta precisely what befell Muradin in the cold north," Falstan admitted.
"And beyond that, when Arthas learns of the threat to his master he'll come running. There'll be a chance to bring vengeance upon him for Muradin's death." Dwarves were keen on vengeance; their feuds could last hundreds of years.
Falstan never actually spoke a decision one way or another, but when they reached the bottom of the southern tip of the naze the dwarves turned south without a word. That evening Falstan took the Lion banner and affixed it to their own standard pole, flapping above the Wildhammer clan's banner, a golden hammer overlaid on two outward-facing gryphons on a green background. The amazing thing was that by putting the banner of the Sons of Lothar over their own, they were putting themselves subordinate.
At Nex's questioning glance the dwarf snorted. "Bah, just ye make sure this Sir Marbrand of yers kin tell me something o' me kin in Outland."
And it was settled; thirty-one dwarves had joined the cause, including two mortar teams and fifteen riflemen.
. . . . .
"It would probably be best if only you and a couple others accompanied me," Nex told Falstan a half hour or so north of Southshore. "We don't know how much of Garithos's poison has spread to the rest of the Alliance, and there's no telling how the arrival of thirty dwarves would be greeted."
"Fair enough. Me'n me cousins'll come with ye tae speak fer the Sons o' Lothar." But in spite of that Falstan did have a couple extra dwarves tag along; their task was to find a nice barrel of ale that wasn't too poor, dwarvish preferably, and take it back to camp. Oh, and also some gunpowder, although that wasn't quite as important.
They came on a checkpoint well before they reached Southshore, manned by a single man in full plate armor. He moved to the center of the road and held out his hands as if expecting them to try to sneak past him. Nex stopped, amused.
"Name and business in Southshore," the guard said, sounding bored.
"Nex, recruiting on behalf of the Sons of Lothar."
Surprise flickered across the guard's face, then outrage. Then, as if making a conscious decision not to respond with anger, he opted for amusement instead. "I see. Forming a new group with a stolen name?"
"No. I represent the original Sons of Lothar," Nex motioned to the banner Falstan's cousin held.
Amusement was starting to crack. "And I suppose you're claiming to be Turalyon hisself?"
"No, Lord Turalyon disappeared years ago. I've come on behalf of the survivors who've managed to make their way back to Azeroth."
Outrage won through again, and the guard put a hand on his weapon. "Enough of this. Southshore is a military staging area, we have no use for your circus here."
Nex didn't have time to waste arguing with petty soldiers, and he had a feeling this was an argument he was going to hear a lot. People venerated the old heroes, and some would respond to his claims with outrage. So he leaned on the guard's mind. "I can offer proof."
The guard blinked at him, then slowly looked over at the five dwarves, then at the flag. "Huh? Move along, then. You're blocking traffic."
Nex didn't even have to check his second sight to know they were the only people on the road for hundreds of yards. He nodded and brushed past him without another word. As Falstan passed he clapped the guard on the arm and said, "Keep yer feet on the ground."
As they continued down the road the dwarf moved up to stump along beside him, the maces at his belt swaying with every rolling step. "Heh. Sing a dirge 'n fight the Scourge."
Nex glanced down. "What?"
"Grab a sword and fight the Horde," laddie. The old Alliance recruiting slogan. I figgered we kin use one a those our ownselves."
"You call that a slogan? You might as well be saying "Sons of Lothar . . . march up into the cold north and die."
Falstan snorted. "Nah! Ya want it short, with a nice rhythm to it."
"Slogans are trite."
"Exactly! Ye want something to shout at the end of yer spiel, don't ye?"
"Stick with "for honor and glory!"
The gryphon rider laughed. "Ah, laddie, men'll flock to yer banner. The very soul of leadership."
Nex turned his attention to second checkpoint coming up ahead, this one with half a dozen soldiers and an officer, a graying woman who looked as if she ate hammers and pounded nails into boards with her face. "I'm aware of my limitations. Why do you think you're here, Master Wildhammer?"
The officer held out her hand as they approached. "Name and business."
"Nex, recruiting on behalf of the Sons of Lothar."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that a joke?"
Nex fought the urge to slap his forehead. He was going to have to deal with this every time!
He was about to press into the officer's mind when he sensed the presence of spellcasters within the town. Mages, for sure, but also priests, or possibly paladins. Even if he managed to elude the notice of the mages, priests were more experienced with mental attacks and there was a good chance his efforts would be sensed.
Damnit, that only left the hard way. "I assure you veterans from the Sons of Lothar have returned to Azeroth and are operating in Lordaeron, under the command of Sir Marbrand."
The woman's eyes narrowed, deepening her wrinkles. "What, Daran Marbrand? Captain of Archwizard Khadgar's bodyguards?"
That surprised him; Marbrand had never mentioned that. "The same."
"Where is he, then?" she demanded. "Why isn't he here?"
"He's recruiting through Lordaeron and the main bulk of the Alliance army."
"Bullshit." She glared at him. "This isn't a good game for you to play, boy."
Nex sighed. "Sir Marbrand is about a foot and some inches taller than me. His face and left side are scarred from terrible burns, the skin smooth and red. From his own lips I learned that he received that burn, as well as his knighthood and surname, while storming the fortress Karazhan to execute the traitor Medivh. He could have lessened his injuries by turning away but he wanted to watch the death of the man who brought the orcs to Azeroth."
The woman was staring at him shrewdly. Nex had never found the old to be any wiser than the young, but they often possessed far more knowledge, and placed a lot more value on details. "Who is his closest companion?"
Nex could only shrug. "I don't know who it was a decade ago, but these days his second is a big man, strong, with a frostbitten little finger on his shield hand."
Her eyes widened. "Lewis?"
He shrugged again. "He goes by Blackfinger."
Another intense scrutiny. "Well, I wouldn't expect even scholars to know that kind of thing. Unless your father was in the Alliance army and told you tales you may just be telling the truth."
"I have no father," Nex replied flatly.
The officer's eyes danced with the amusement of the old for the follies of youth. "That's a biological impossibility." Nex made no reply but to stand impassive, and finally her smile faded. After a moment she turned, gesturing curtly. "I can't make this sort of decision myself, but I'll take you to the inn and see you have rooms, at least, until we can decide what to do with you."
Nex followed along behind her, angry in spite of his best efforts. Montfere walked just behind him, with Falstan and his cousins a few steps farther back.
There was silence as the officer led them into the town, past military camps, most empty, and a low stone wall that was nevertheless well guarded. The town itself was far larger than Tarren Mill, with a few inns three or four storeys high and large boxy warehouses down by the harbor. The harbor itself had a few tall ships crowding the piers, surrounded by fisherboats returning with the day's catch. The ships flew the flag of Azeroth, and from the broadest one horses and crates of equipment were being unloaded down a wide gangplank.
They were almost to the first of the inns when a sudden thought occurred to him, and Nex slowed for a few steps before Montfere bumped into his back.
Marbrand, Captain of Khadgar's bodyguard. The burned knight had told him Khadgar was in Sha'tar'ath, hanging around at the figurative feet of the naaru there. But if Marbrand had held such a venerated position, how had he ended up tramping around Terrokar with a bunch of ragged outcasts instead of at his master's side?
Was it possible the man wasn't as honorable as Nex had thought, and had been exiled in disgrace? In which case Nex had left him and his men behind to do what they please while he wandered off with Montfere. There was a chance they wouldn't be there waiting for him when he reached northern Tirisfal, and not because of Scourge attack.
Nex shook his head, banishing the thought. He didn't consider himself much of a judge of character, but he didn't see such treachery in Marbrand. Perhaps he was a fool and he'd reach Northrend without any army at all for his naivete, but as it stood he couldn't do anything but hope there was some other explanation why Khadgar's trusted servant had been willing to sell himself as a mercenary.
The woman officer, whose name turned out to be Jereth, didn't actually nursemaid them into the inn. She might have wanted to, but before they reached the closest one a runner in a page's uniform trotted up and told her she needed to speak to Commander Daris immediately. So she curtly told them to find rooms and stay out of trouble.
Nex obligingly strode into the first inn, the Alliance Pride, and stepped up onto the railing that surrounded the recessed floor of the common room. Men immediately turned to face him, a few hooting and calling out dances for him to try, but not enough were paying attention. He glanced down at Montfere. "You know how to whistle?" The boy nodded and began whistling a cheerful tune. Nex hissed in irritation. "I mean that really loud whistle that gets peoples attention."
"I got ye, laddie," Falstan said. He put two fat fingers between bearded lips and practically deafened everyone close by. The room went dead silent.
Nex motioned back to the Lion banner. "The Scourge is the greatest threat humanity has ever faced. The Alliance army, brave as it is, is hard-pressed simply to hold the undead back. A more permanent solution is needed, and I offer it. The Sons of Lothar are preparing an expedition to Northrend to strike at the heart of Scourge power and eliminate the threat once and for all. We have already gathered nearly four thousand troops, but are seeking more. Come with us and be the hero humanity needs in these dark times." He fell silent but no one spoke, so he decided more was needed. "Pay is one gold Anduin a year, extra offered if you bring your own equipment. Upon victory there will be no need to speak of rewards, for all the world will hail you heroes."
Still no response. Nex hopped down from the railing and sat at the nearest table, drawing out a full sheet of parchment and a quill and inkwell. "Line up in an orderly fashion," he said mildly.
About that time men started laughing. Drunken guffaws, disbelieving sniggers, scandalized chortles. But there was one drunken sailor who didn't seem amused. He jumped up onto his table to say his own piece.
"Any uns who puts their name to that paper's a dead man, sure as I live."
"And yer a soldier?" Falstan challenged. The dwarves had moved up behind Nex's table, or at least three of them; the porters had already disappeared in their hunt for ale and gunpowder. Montfere was leaning against the railing, staring around the room while he tossed a torpedo spinning through the air and caught it.
The sailor scowled. "Don't need to be a soldier to die in the north. Plenny of sailors met their end their too."
"All the more reason to destroy the threat before it grows any bigger."
One of the other men at the table, a dockworker by the looks of him, tugged at his companion's leg. "Get down, Havid. Don't encourage those fools."
"They're fools, right enough!" the sailor insisted stubbornly. "And I'm telling you fools that if you go north you're going to die, clear and simple. Ain't no one gone to Northrend come back alive."
"Go or don't go, that's your decision," Nex said coolly. "But if you start speaking against the Sons of Lothar and our quest you and I are going to have a problem."
The filthy sailor spat. "There's for you and that rag you carry. I don't know where you found or made it, but there ain't no Sons of Lothar. They all gone to Draenor and never come back. You're an imposter at best, one of them freaks from the Cult of the Damned at worst, come to lead men to their deaths."
Falstan spat into his hands and rubbed them together gleefully. "Right, ye scrawny sea rat," he said. "Ye'n me, we've ourselves a problem."
Nex fought the urge to groan. They needed to recruit, not start bar brawls or make themselves out to be a circus sideshow. This wasn't going well.
In truth he should've realized it wouldn't. To really do something seriously you needed the support of people in power. He was going to have to hunt down some highly ranked Alliance officers or Southshore officials and bribe them into supporting his recruiting effort.
"Sit down, Falstan," he said firmly.
The dwarf looked at him in disbelief. "But that bastard just-"
"I'll make a wager with you," Nex said, kicking the chair opposite him out so Falstan could sit. "You go around to the inns with the banner and do your best to recruit. I'll do my own thing. The one who brings the most recruits in by the time we're done gets a barrel of ale."
One of Falstan's cousins snorted, and Falstan grinned. "Hell, laddie, if this's the best spiel ye've got I'll be drunker'n an elder at Winter Veil."
Nex smiled and handed him the parchment and sundry, as well as a handful of Anduins for display, then stood and walked out of the inn. Behind him he heard the dwarf bellowing.
Montfere hurried to fall into step beside him. "What are you planning?"
"Recruiting in to inn is approaching the problem from the bottom up. I want to do it from the top down."
"What does that mean?"
"Talking to officers." It only took a few minutes of asking around to find out that the big inn just off the docks, one of the finer places by the name of Jinda's Rest, was where the Alliance army had its headquarters. The inn stables was full, and off to one side of the stable yard two gryphons were tethered, their wings firmly tied and their beaks even more tightly muzzled.
"Wow!" Montfere said, staring at the huge birds.
"Why the fuss? You've seen dragonhawks before."
"Yeah but not this close." The boy ran over and began stroking one of the gryphon's feathers. The majestic creature, already upset at being tethered, looked as if it would've torn Montfere limb from limb if it wasn't restrained.
But it was. "Stay here," Nex said. The boy didn't seem to hear, so he left him to it and made his way inside.
It took him less than half an hour to learn that even the minor officers wouldn't be bribed, and getting official support, or even permission, for his recruiting efforts was hopeless. Southshore had been an Alliance staging area for so long that everyone was either already part of the army or were working for them in vital positions. Sure there were a few drifters and camp followers drawn by the army's presence, but pickings were going to be slim.
And sure enough when he found Falstan at one of the inn's halfway through the main concourse the dwarves were sitting glumly at a table, nursing large tankards of ale. The parchment was spread out in front of them, four names scrawled on it. Or more accurately four marks; none of the recruits could even write their own name.
"Sent 'em tae the camp," the dwarf said. "Laddie, I hope ye've had more success'n me. I'd give ye a barrel of ale fer every man ye brunged in, and a smack on the lips besides."
Nex slid into the one remaining seat. "Unless we can recruit Alliance soldiers directly we're in for a rough time."
"Don't get yer hopes up." Falstan jerked his head over to where a handful of officers sat. "They've been follering me all this time, making it even harder. Ye damned humans hafta make everything as difficult as ye can, don't ye?"
Nex didn't answer, and they settled into glum silence. He got some food for the boy, made a few arrangements for provisions, then settled back. Falstan began talking about other towns and villages in Hillsbrad where they might have other luck. By the dwarf's reckoning they'd do best to leave Southshore immediately and search for greener pastures. Nex half listened, taking in the susurration of the common room as well.
". . . think we should make for the Lordamere internment camps. They no longer house orcs, but you still get criminals locked up there, and way more guards than they need. We could probably peel off a score or more, maybe enlist the prisoners to military ser-"
Nex abruptly held up his hand, silencing the dwarf, and turned to face the small table near the northern hearth where that handful of interfering Alliance officers were talking. Then, with Falstan still looking at him in confusion, he stood and walked over to them. They fell silent at his approach.
"I apologize for interrupting," he began.
"No, charlatan, we're not going to help you find recruits. You're lucky we're not running you out of town on a rail for profaning the name of the Sons of Lothar."
"Fair enough. You were speaking of an engagement in the north?"
The one who'd spoken, a lieutenant and by far the highest rank there, scowled. "You listening to us from across the common room, rascal?"
"I have good ears. I overheard the name of the traitor Menethil."
"That's classified military information," a corporal growled. "We could toss you in the clink just for overhearing it. Anything that comes to us by gryphon is-"
"That's enough, Gaf," the lieutenant snapped.
Nex focused on each face in turn, then casually turned his attention to the inn in general, seeing if there were any mages or other casters present. If there were he wasn't sensing them, so he began working the complex and concentration-intensive process of mental manipulation and began leaning on the lieutenant's thoughts, while simultaneously soothing the suspicions of the others. As he did he spoke calmly, in the hypnotic cadence he'd found worked best for such things.
"We're all on the same side here, gentlemen. Information concerning the war is hardly kept secret in a military base. I heard you mention something of Scourge forces withdrawing."
The lieutenant nodded slowly, turning it into a slight head shake at the end, as if he were trying to dislodge a nagging thought. "I-I just overheard the Captain talking to the dwarf passing through to Aerie Peak. There was a major engagement, the Scourge systematically surrounding then slaughtering several settlements as noncombatants tried to flee. The General's forces clashed with them for a few days, and then out of the blue the Traitor pulls back completely, not even trying to stop cavalry attempts to harry and skirmish their lines. Last we heard he's drawn all his forces back to the ruins of Lordaeron City and is gathering his army."
Nex released his spells, so abruptly that every single officer glared at him with renewed suspicion. It didn't matter. "Thank you for your time," he said politely.
He was surprised to find his heart was pounding. Interesting, since he hadn't engaged in any physical activity and even in battle he was generally calm. This was something more than that. He wanted to run, not away from danger but towards it. To break north through the Nazes, levitate across Lordamere lake and seek out the Scourge.
But that was absurd. The dwarves couldn't match the pace he wanted to set, and Montfere would certainly fall behind. And he'd have to abandon his current objective. Not to mention the fact that his master's plan involved specifically doing their best to not engage the main Scourge force.
But there it was. Stormrage had been right to warn him, and damn . . . he was hundreds of leagues from where he needed to be!
In spite of his impulses his steps were calm as he turned and walked back over to his table. "Send one of your men to fetch Montfere. We're leaving."
Falstan followed him outside, short legs pumping to keep up with Nex's hurried stride. Nex spoke before the dwarf could. "We won't go to the internment camps, unless I run alone while you continue on to Hillsbrad without me."
"What're ye talking about, laddie? 'n what d'ye mean, leaving? We've nae visited half the inns here, and I'm fer thinking we kin get a few recruits yet."
"Then do your best, but don't take your time about it. We need to be away by nightfall. No, we need step up our recruiting pace altogether." Nex turned his attention to the ships unloading at the docks, especially the wide-bellied transport that was offloading horses and crates of supplies.
"What did ye hear from them soldiers made ye decide that? If anything, hearing Arthas and his undead're turtling up in Lordaeron should be a chance fer us to relax our pace. We've been pushin' hard these last few days."
"We're going to have to push harder still. Do you know how to ride?"
"Ride?" Falstan turned and glanced the way Nex's head was pointed, taking in the horses being led one by one down the gangplank. "Oh no. Not on yer life, laddie. Even if we could ride, the army'd never give up them horses. Not if ye could pull a thousand bags of gold out o' your little hole in the air."
"Then we'll steal them."
"What? Have ye gone mad, boy?"
"Marbrand is going to be ahead of us, and hopefully he'll be hurrying as well at this news. You don't understand, Falstan."
The dwarf threw up his hands. "Of course I dinnae understand! Yer not telling me anythin'!"
Nex finally turned to face the dwarf. "Menethil isn't turtling up in Lordaeron. He's finally become aware of the threat my master poses to his master, and he's marshaling his forces to take them to Northrend."
Falstan visibly paled, making his ruddy features appear even more craggy. "Ye don't mean all the Scourge forces in Lordaeron. By the Makers, laddie, that's a tide no wall of iron can hold back."
"Exactly." Montfere came stumbling down the street with Falstan's cousins pushing along behind him, and Nex turned to address them all. "Falstan, take your cousins and go around to all the inns drumming up any recruits you can within the next hour. Montfere, get out to the dwarf camp and tell them to march down to the coast west of Southshore and follow it at the best pace they can manage until we catch up to them. By nightfall we need to be well away from here."
"Why?" Montfere asked.
Nex turned to face north. "Our time has run out. We're going to be racing the Scourge to Northrend, and they're much closer than we are and they don't get tired."
. . . . .
Southshore was never truly dark. Not with dozens of lamps lighting the streets and light from houses and inns streaming out of windows. But closer to the docks it got darker. There wasn't much business to be done in that area in the night, and everyone had gone home for the day. In fact this would be easier than he'd hoped, because the horses that had been offloaded from the transport weren't being stored in a warehouse, but in a hastily-constructed corral on the west side of the docks, near the edge of town.
Of course the corral itself was well-lit and guarded. There were more than sixty horses in there, and even though nobody would be stupid enough to rob the Alliance army in the middle of an occupied city that didn't mean they were about to tempt fate.
That was all to the good; Nex knew nothing of horses, nor did Montfere or the dwarves, and he doubted they could have led all these beasts away alone.
It required a bit of subtlety to work into the minds of the guards and stablemen. He didn't want to arouse the suspicion of the spellcasters in the city, and it helped that the inns they stayed in were far away, in the nicer part of Southshore well away from the stink of the docks. Still he pressed carefully. It was an impressive bit of magic, one that strained his concentration even as it sapped his reserves, but he thought he could pull it off. It didn't help that he was trying to influence so many people at once. Gold pressed into each palm and a forged document that looked official helped a bit.
"Saddle the horses up," he told the men gathered attentively in front of him.
One of the stablemen frowned. "What, all of 'em?"
"All of them."
A guard coughed. "Ah, m'lord, the tack is all still on the ship. Won't be unloaded til tomorrow."
"Felshit." The huge transport wasn't far away, and it was conveniently unlit and unguarded. Unfortunately, the reason it was unlit was because the gangplank was up. Nex glanced at the mooring lines, then back at where Montfere and the dwarves waited with the other humans. He gestured, and Falstan came over. "If these men stop tugging forelock for you I would recommend you run away."
"What's that supposed tae mean?"
"It means psychic intrusions don't lend themselves well to distraction, and distance is definitely a factor. I should be able to maintain it, but be prepared."
The dwarf glowered at him. "Ye mean yer charming these doorknobs?"
"No, they're willingly helping a couple of humans and some dwarves steal all their horses. Be back soon."
Nex turned and trotted down the pier, increasing speed as he approached the boat so that by the time he reached the nearest mooring line he was moving at a sprint. It was harder than he'd expected to run up it, given the way the loose rope bowed and swayed beneath his feet. Good thing he was light, but he still wished the rope was taut. Still, by the time he reached the top he was forced to drop and go hand over hand, pulling himself up over the side of the boat.
"Halt! Who goes-" The man's shout ended in a strangled grunt as Nex put him to sleep. He had spells for it, but in this case he did it by slamming his knuckles into the man's left temple, sending him crumpling to the deck.
More humans began stirring, sailors sleeping on the deck. Nex's concentration was strained to the limit keeping the guards and stablemen below in line, so he cast a general sleep spell to put them all under. It helped that most of them were groggy and not trying to fight it. The few that did he silenced as he had the first.
Then he as grunting as he heaved the heavy gangplank over the side, holding it as he pushed until its end rested on the dock. It usually took two men to do that, and its alignment was ragged, but Falstan was quick to straighten it before trotting up. Nex nodded to him. "Find the tack. I'll send up a few of the guards to help carry it down."
The dwarf nodded, and Nex left him and ran to the front of the ship, leaping off the prow towards the ground below. It wasn't a long fall, not even enough to warrant levitation, so instead as he landed he tucked into a roll.
Or tried to. When his left leg hit the planks it buckled, so instead of rolling he ended up falling flat on his side, grunting as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Cursing, he pushed back to his feet and strode over to the crude horse corral, letting magic do the job for his lungs until he could breathe normally again. "You okay?" one of Falstan's cousins asked.
"Fine. Take five of these men and help Falstan with the tack. And try to be quiet."
The dwarf trotted off with the men running behind him. Nex dropped to a crouch, concentrating on keeping his control of everyone as he set the stablemen to bringing the horses around and preparing them to receive the saddles being carried down.
It was only when he realized that Montfere hadn't moved for almost a minute that he noticed the boy was staring at him. He turned. "Yes?"
"What's wrong with your leg?"
Nex stared at the boy blankly. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Montfere snorted. "I'm not stupid. I've seen the way you favor it, the way it buckles every now and again, especially when you put a lot of weight on it. I've seen you heal from burns in days, but it stays a problem. What's wrong with your leg?"
Nex bit back a harsh reply and, thoughtfully, put weight on his left leg. Nothing. He lifted his right leg, balancing entirely on his left, then hopped a couple times. Still nothing. And there was nothing to find, either. His leg had buckled, yes, but he had probably just misjudged the jump. He was getting careless, relying too much on his second sight and not enough on his own reflexes. His body never failed him, nor could it; even if a bone was broken, magic and iron self control would still allow him to operate through the pain until it healed. "There's nothing wrong with it."
"If you say so," the boy said doubtfully, cautiously moving forward to let the closest horse nuzzle his hand. He looked as if he expected the large animal to surge forward and trample him at any time, but the gelding just snuffled at his shirt a bit, maybe searching for treats, then lifted its head, tossed its mane, and snorted. Montfere leapt backward with a casual oath.
Nex smiled, enjoying the spectacle more than he otherwise would have, given Montfere's irritating questions. "A horse is like any other tame animal. Let it know you trust it and you mean it no harm, give it food, and it'll follow you around with worship in its big, stupid eyes."
"His," Montfere corrected. "You don't talk about horses like they were things. Besides, what do you know about making anything love you? You have to use magic to keep them from bolting when you approach, don't you?"
Irritation replaced amusement. "Go help Falstan carry down gear," he snapped. "We're taking too long, and they're bound to notice what we're doing sooner or later."
But nobody seemed the least bit suspicious, and no one raised the cry as the stablemen began saddling horses and arranging them in lines, the leads of each tied behind the saddle of the one in front of it. Within a half hour sixty horses stood in six lines. Nex had the stablemen help lead the lines and keep them calm as he put Falstan, his cousins, Montfere, and himself on the horses at the head of each line. They'd have to lead the horses without the stablemen once they were out of Southshore, and he wanted to make sure the lead horses were accustomed to them, as well as the riders being accustomed to their horses; none of them were very comfortable in the saddle.
Since the corral was near the western outskirts of the city it was easy to make their way out along a small side street. Nex left the guards and stablemen who weren't helping them asleep back at the corral, and then slipped down from his horse and went ahead to make sure no one tried to hinder their escape.
The others led the procession through gates manned by sleeping sentries, down the street and along a coast road with the sea to the left and steep hills to the right. Nex ran along the top of those hills, searching for scouts and outlooks. He didn't find many; apparently most of the threat came from the north, not along this coastline.
Ten minutes later he left the stablemen sleeping in the sand, and doing their best to guide sixty horses skittish from a long ocean voyage they continued on to meet up with the dwarves.
. . . . .
The remainder of their journey was fairly uneventful after that.
They made good time with their ill-got mounts, although the dwarves never stopped grumbling and even with the stirrups shortened as much as possible they still had to stretch. They passed several refugee camps, and the villages and towns of Hillsbrad were still fairly peaceful places, innocent of the violence wracking the north just on the other side of lake and mountains.
Recruiting wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. By the time they crossed into Silverpine Forest they had nearly forty recruits, enough that they had to start taking turns on the horses. Nex had tried the Lordamere internment camps, leaving the others to continue on to Silverpine without him, but the guards there hadn't even been willing to give up the prisoners to become draftees, and even if they had none of them would've been willing to risk their lives, not even for the promise of freedom. He picked up a few more dregs and rejoined the others.
All in all the force he'd gathered disgusted him, aside from the dwarves. He could slaughter them in moments if he'd wanted, which didn't give him much confidence in their usefulness against the Scourge. He could only hope Marbrand was able to train them into true soldiers on the way to Northrend.
Still, he considered this entire trip a waste of time. As they entered Silverpine he began spending more and more effort teaching Montfere, the only one among the bunch he considered to have even basic potential. Falstan and the dwarves were trying to train the recruits with the guns and mortars, although Nex thought it wasn't worth the bother unless they could get more of that sort of equipment, which was doubtful.
Silverpine proved in its own way to be more and less accommodating than Hillsbrad. The people here hadn't suffered so much from the Scourge, or from interference from the Alliance army, which meant there were more potential recruits. Not only that but they were predominantly woodsmen, skilled hunters, trappers, and trackers. The downside was that, because they hadn't suffered so much from the Scourge, they weren't so eager to jump on board an all-or-nothing attack an entire continent away.
Still, youths were youths anywhere, and they all dreamed of adventure and glory. Montfere actually proved to be a boon here, being so young and bragging about all he'd already accomplished. Boys several years older looked at him with envy, and it helped that those who tried to laugh him down or bully him ended up getting trounced; Montfere was more scrappy than he looked.
So they were gathering good numbers as they passed through. Aside from that the only truly significant event was when they passed close to the Graymane Wall.
"We're tae be going north, nae south, laddie," Falstan said with a scowl when Nex told them he was going to leave them to continue on.
Nex gestured. "The human towns have been most . . . inhospitable. Still, all avenues must be explored. Including Gilneas."
"Bah!" the dwarf snorted. "Was afraid that's what ye were leading up tae. Ain't heared of nobody passing the Graymane Wall in o'er a decade. Gilneas ain't fer allowing trade or even diplomats since the wall came up. Never even heared of spies'r infiltrators gettin' through in all that time."
"I'll explore it all the same. Keep the column moving north, I'll go alone."
"Ye're the boss, laddie."
So the eighty or so recruits continued on while Montfere followed Nex heading south. Nex wasn't especially pleased the boy had tagged along, but unlike his jaunt up to the internment camps this trip was going to be much shorter. And Montfere's endurance had dramatically improved since the beginning of their trip; he couldn't run all day and night like Nex, but he kept up decently.
Oddly enough, in spite of the fact that refugees were flooding every town from Alterac to Stromguarde the Graymane Wall boasted no tents pitched beneath it. Either refugees had come and been rebuffed by its forbidding silence, or the Gilnean defenders had led a sortie and driven them off.
Either way, it was a fair bet the wall was guarded, even if no one was in sight.
"You atop the walls!" he called at the top of his voice. No response, naturally. "I'm here with peaceful intent, but I'm not leaving until I get some response. And since I'm in a hurry, I'll tear down your wall if I have to."
That was an obvious exaggeration; none of his spells were particularly suited to breaking stone and mortar, especially not the sturdy craftsmanship of this wall. Still, Nex suited his words by casting a spell he didn't often make use of.
It was a Legion spell, used most often by doomguards. Orcish warlocks had made relied on it heavily in their wars, as it was wonderful for slaughtering large numbers of people as well as damaging fortifications. The fel orc warlocks he'd encountered in Outland had attempted to merge their strength in a ritual to cast it as well, although Saire and the Spellbreakers had foiled their efforts handily.
Rain of Fire. Essentially one exploded the ground in front of himself, launching stones high into the air, which one then twisted into demonic incendiaries and sent shooting at a target, usually from above. It was probably good to begin practicing it, since it would be one of his more useful when it came time to fight the endless waves of undead he anticipated.
"Stand back," he told Montfere. Using his second sight it was much easier to do this effectively, and he found a few likely stones to infuse with power until they shattered. The ground erupted, dozens of small to moderate sized rocks shooting into the air. Under his control they burst into flame and shot towards the wall. The entire structure shuddered slightly as they impacted, and one crenelation lost a sizable corner.
A few moments after the last of the incendiaries impacted a man wearing a gilded helmet shaped like a snarling wolf's head peeked over the battlement. "Good morrow, traveler. I am Captain Rowlis of the Graymane Garrison. Please be advised that mages stand ready to counter your next attempt, and two dozen crossbowmen are ready to drop you and your companion where you stand."
"Well met, Captain," Nex called up. "I understand you do not encourage contact with the outside world, so I'm aware of the honor you grant me."
The man stared down at the dozen or so craters in the wall beneath him. "Is this a jest?"
"I'm very serious, sir. I represent the Sons of Lothar, who have joined a host of allies and plan to storm Icecrown and destroy the heart of the Scourge. Will Gilneas join in the attempt?"
"No."
Nex nodded and turned, breaking into a fast jog northward. Montfere stared after him in shock, surprise rooting him in place.
"Wait!" Rowlis called behind him. "That's it? After knocking on our front gate in such a violent manner you don't even want to hear our reasons?"
I never expected a yes. But Stormrage would've been displeased had I failed to try. He could guess the reasons the Gilneans would offer. They were the kingdom largely responsible for putting together the Gilnean Convention advocating honorable treatment of war prisoners and injured enemies on the battlefield. They liked to believe they were reconciliators and arbiters, but in truth they huddled in their little neutral kingdom, surrounded by mountains on all sides and practically unassailable, and dabbled in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms with no risk to themselves. Honor drew them out during the Second War and they were mauled heavily for it; after that it was doubtful he could ever have convinced them to join a seemingly hopeless war against the Scourge.
They hadn't paid a cent towards the upkeep of the internment camps, or aided in war reparations.
Still, petty as it seemed he couldn't help but wish a curse on Gilneas. Something vicious that would rot them from the inside until their sheltered kingdom became a prison rather than a haven.
Montfere caught up with him within thirty seconds, and together they ran north. "So that was just another complete waste of time?" the boy asked.
"As far as I'm concerned this entire thing is a waste of time." The boy looked at him, expression wounded. "Not long now. We'll join up with Marbrand and this irritating recruiting will be done with and we can be on our way to Northrend."
"Then comes the fun part," Montfere said. From his tone Nex wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.
