Igor had never been a fan of adventuring. The food was stale, the company became strained, and the sleeping conditions were abysmal. He wasn't terribly concerned with material wealth. His faith in the Light was all he needed, even if it was a strain for him to reach for it. It wasn't that the Light would not let him – he simply had further to reach.

Above all, he hated riding. They always left these unpleasant things out of the tales they told over hearth. It often seemed the case to Igor that they spent far more time traveling than actual adventuring. Perhaps Anne wouldn't appreciate this being called an adventure, though. It was a mission to her, one of great importance. Maybe in the years to come, if they succeeded, she would laugh about it, call it an adventure.

She was very curious about all of them, and Igor had revealed very little at first. He was still somewhat embarrassed for airing his own dirty laundry in front of everyone the day before. What business did he have to reveal the others?

Anne, he realized, wasn't a gossip by any means. She simply liked to know. It was a trait he more commonly associated with his twin, and really, it was for the same reason. Control. The more she knew, the more in control she was. Anne, at least, wouldn't use her knowledge to manipulate and twist others.

So, he had slowly opened up. Just little anecdotes at first, most of them about his twins foolishness or about Makenzie's knack for bungling spells. Not so much because Ivan was a poor teacher – he was a distracted one, certainly, since his student was also his lover – but because Makenzie had the attention span of a gnat.

"A gnat?" Anne said.

"Perhaps a little longer than a gnat," Igor smirked, "A fish, maybe."

"She was like that even when you were her tutor?" she clarified.

"Oh, yes," he said, "She has considerable talent but has little interest in harnessing it. Well. Sometimes she does, if it suits her fancy."

"Sounds spoiled."

"You have no idea," Igor said. He shook his head, "She's unlike any Forsaken I've ever met. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes she died."

"Did it bother you? When she became Ivan's student?" Anne asked. She'd asked a few similar questions before, obviously attempting to settle something in her mind.

"I never had any affection for Makenzie outside of her being my pupil," Igor said, raising his eyebrows at Anne's back, "I was disappointed, of course, but even I can't argue that her affinity for the shadow is strong. Stronger than her affinity for the Light, anyway."

"So Ivan had Makenzie. Who did you have?" Anne said. Igor could almost imagine a list in her head, ticked off with neat little checks every time she received an adequate answer.

"Ivan and Makenzie," Igor said after thinking about it a moment. He knew what sort of answer she was really looking for, and despite the fact that he'd been telling her a great deal, there were still some things he'd prefer to keep to himself.

"So why live alone in Brill?"

"I can still visit the Undercity from Brill," he defended, shifting his position on the saddle. It didn't help, "And they visit me sometimes."

"But you used to live together."

"When we got back from Outland, I moved out," Igor said.

"Why?"

Igor vented a terse sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose a moment. He wasn't like Ivan in that he could rebuff questions of any magnitude with a snide remark, revealing nothing about what he was feeling inside. His heart tended to live on his sleeve.

"What happened in Skettis changed things," he said, "Maybe not for us directly, but we all still felt that things were different. I just... needed time to study. Especially when I was unable to help Shalar'zahn..."

"The way you told it, that curse had been meant to kill her," Anne said, turning her head slightly to gage his expression. He looked down, not wanting her to see his emotions play on his face.

"Makenzie broke it fairly early. I just... if I had been more prepared, perhaps I could of undone the curse entirely."

"You blame yourself," the soldier mused quietly.

"In part," Igor shrugged uncomfortably, pulling his coat around him a bit tighter, "It tore her and Murdok apart. I never thought anything would have separated them, but after what he said... if I were Shalar'zahn, I don't think I would have forgiven him either."

He blamed himself for a great deal, lately. By taking his brother's (admittedly flawed) protective instinct as something selfish instead of selfless, he'd likely contributed to Ivan's foul behavior and low opinion of himself. He'd moved out, as well, and perhaps if he had just stayed with Ivan and Makenzie and worked things out, she wouldn't be kidnapped by demons. And maybe, if he'd insisted on even another month of study before gallivanting off to Outland, he would have been able to fully reverse the curse that had devastated Shalar'zahn.

If anything happened to his twin while he was off helping Anne find her husband, he could add that to the list as well.

Anne seemed satisfied for the moment and he hunkered down in the saddle, wondering when he'd reach a point where the bitter wind and the uncomfortable saddle would cease to bother him.

At first, he'd tried his best to follow Anne's questions with questions about her, but she wasn't half as mysterious as he apparently was. Eventually, he'd realized it was because her life had begun not when she'd been born, but rather when she'd risen from the dead. While Makenzie was the same, he'd always been able to attribute that to her empty headedness. With Anne, everything seemed so clear cut, so certain. He envied that, in a way. Though part of him often wished he didn't remember his time before, he knew it wasn't serious. Igor wouldn't have the first clue what it would be like, to not remember growing up or getting into all kinds of trouble with his brother.

Igor looked out at the Howling Fjord, the horizon dominated by the massive keep. It seemed to be glaring at them, as though it were personally offended by their presence on the fjord. The snow wasn't piled so high here yet, only patches here and there, but the cold was more intense than it had been on the coast. It made Winterspring seem cozy and inviting.

There were a great many more birds here than in Tirisfal, at least this far South on the continent. Was it irony, that the land the Lich King called home had more life than the Forsaken territory? He imagined things changed the further North one traveled, but just now it was hard to imagine that this was the seat of the Scourge.

He watched a peculiar bird come closer, startled by its vibrant coloring, squinting at it. It must've been quite big, as it was hard for him to tell just how far away it was.

"What sort of bird do you suppose that is?" Igor asked, pointing it out for Anne. She turned her head and looked, searching the sky a moment before she fixed her eyes on the bird as well.

"Shit," Anne.

"A shit bird?" Igor said glibly, startled by her sudden vulgarity. She leaned forward in the saddle and yanked on her chargers' reins. It obeyed, turning sharply and away.

"Keep an eye on it!" Anne barked over her shoulder, practically standing up in the saddle as she drew her sword. She reached down to a saddlebag, making Igor's heart catch in his chest, certain she would fall off in the process. Anne unbuckled her shield, not even holding the reins as the horse's hooves tore up the ground in its wake.

Igor turned around and blinked rapidly. The bird was much bigger now. And it wasn't a bird at all. Some kind of mockery of a dragon, in fact. A moment later he noted it had a harness, and that something was riding it. Was it Scourge? By the Light, if the Scourge was building dragons, what hope did they have!?

"How long ago did you notice it?" Anne demanded of him, twisting around in the saddle so she was facing him while Igor held on for dear life.

"Not... not long ago! I thought it was a bird! What is it?"

"Protodragon," she said, strapping her shield to her arm. Her casual precision was staggering, "The vrykul ride them."

"So that's-"

"Head down!" Anne said urgently. She reached out suddenly and wrapped her sword arm around him, forcing him down and closer to her. Absently, before he felt the intense heat of what could only be dragon breath, he noticed that Anne wasn't wearing a breastplate. Just a chain shirt.

The fact that he wasn't incinerated overrode that fact a moment later and he fought to sit up, hitting his head and yelping as the super heated metal of her shield burned him.

"Stay down!" she barked at him, "He's coming around for another pass!"

"Why is he trying to kill us!?" Igor wondered, voice muffled as he ducked down again. He felt a bit embarrassed about where his face kept ending up, but Anne wasn't giving it a second thought. She was too busy keeping them from getting cooked.

"Because we're here," Anne said. How she could hold the searing hot shield aloft without her arm shaking was quite impressive. Part of him had wondered just how much of a soldier she was. Climbing ranks wasn't just being a good soldier, after all. There were politics involved.

If Anne was as good a politician as she was a soldier, he could see why she'd achieved Captain. Maybe rescuing her husband from Northrend more or less singlehandedly would earn her General.

"He's not coming around," she said, not sounding terribly pleased with that fact.

"What's that mean? Is he leaving?" Igor asked, relieved when she moved her shield and tapped his shoulder. He sat up and turned around, taking note of the retreating vrykul.

"Not for long," Anne scowled, sheathing her sword a moment so she could turn around in the saddle, "He's probably going to get back up."

"Back up!? That's a bit of overkill, isn't it?"

"Maybe this isn't the first time this week they've chased some Forsaken on horseback," she said ominously. Igor didn't know what to make of that, and supposed she made a good point, even if it was a bit of a grab. It wasn't necessarily plural. The sin'dorei, crazy as he was, seemed quite convinced that Edgar had been more of a snack for Yvette than a sidekick.

"Keep an eye behind us," Anne ordered sharply. He found himself obeying before he'd even really registered what she'd asked. She had quite a talent for taking charge. Normally he found high ranking authority figures rather poor at relationships, unable to separate their need to control from their personal lives. Was it the same with Anne and Edgar? Did she have some sort of guilt she wasn't talking about?

"Do you have a plan?" Igor wondered.

"Find someplace they have to dismount to come after us," Anne said, "Hopefully they'll give up before then, though. I've been purposefully avoiding their bigger territories, so something has them riled up."

"Maybe the Scourge?" he offered.

"The vrykul are aligned with the Scourge, Igor," she said. She didn't snap or sound exasperated, but he felt incredibly stupid for having let that fact slip his mind.

"There aren't a lot of places to hide out here," Igor offered lamely. Despite her competence, she wasn't terribly reassuring. This was the first time, he realized suddenly, he'd been in danger and Ivan hadn't been with him. Igor swallowed hard, and tried to use it to his advantage. How would Ivan have handled this? Probably started lobbing shadow bolts at the vrykul and end up on fire. Throw himself completely into the fray and just let Igor fix him up afterwards.

But Ivan wasn't here. Just Anne. Anne had a different sort of solution, one that involved logic. Rather wildly, he wondered if logic was the worst possible way to approach a dangerous situation.

The red gash in the sky that was the protodrake disappeared from view, and Igor calmed some.

"He's out of sight," he said, "Maybe if we just keep going North they won't be able to find us again. They can't know where we're headed."

"Don't be so sure," Anne said, though she did veer away from the East, guiding her mount Northwards again. He doubted very much that a normal horse would be able to sustain this kind of punishment for even twenty minutes, let alone the hours they'd been thundering along. Was it so non-sentient that it didn't need rest or food? The Forsaken needed both, though not at all in the capacity they did in life.

Perhaps it simply didn't care, resolved to gallop its skeletal legs down to stubs if its mistress required it.

They rode in absolute silence, for how long, Igor didn't know. He had never been quite good at keeping time – neither twin had. It was so easy to get lost in the moment. Igor was sure if he asked Anne, she would somehow know the precise time, but he wasn't keen to bother her just now.

His eyes had started to drift around the countryside, neck starting to feel the strain of constantly peering over his shoulder, when he saw the red gashes again. Igor couldn't believe it, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. They could glide over the landscape easily. Even flat out, Anne's mount still had to bypass obstacles, to go up hills and be cautious of what was hidden under swaths of snow.

"They're back," Igor said, clutching Anne's shoulders unconsciously.

"How many?" she asked.

He counted them quickly, recounted, mouthing the numbers silently, "Three, I think. No, four."

"Hang on," Anne said.

"I am," he assured her with a touch of grim humor.

"Tighter, to my waist," she suggested. Igor awkwardly did so, and when he dared to look forward, he inhaled sharply. There was a sudden drop off ahead of them. It was steep enough that going around would have been the wiser choice, but it stretched quite far in either direction.

Anne wasn't going to waste any time.

"Anne, are you sure going around wouldn't be a bit safer?" Igor couldn't help but ask, conscious of how tightly he was squeezing Anne.

"It would be safer, but we don't have time," she said, confirming his suspicion that she was a lot crazier than she looked.

"Won't it break its legs?" he asked her. Skeletal warhorses were sturdy things, sturdier than the average horse, but it was still only a horse. It was weighted down by plate barding and two Forsaken as well, and it had been running flat out for a long time.

"We'll see," was Anne's grim reply, "Watch them, Igor!"

Igor turned around quickly. He didn't have to squint to make them out anymore, and if he used his imagination, he could see the vrykul shaking their weapons in the air aggressively.

"They're a lot closer," he said.

"How close?"

"Close, I don't have to squint to see them," Igor assured her. He didn't dare attempt to put a measurement on it – his skills in that department were lackluster at their best.

Anne let out an angry sigh and pushed on.

"Aren't you going to slow down?" he asked her.

"No," she said, "I'm not."

Igor looked forward, peering at the back of her head, and she shot him in irritable look. Then she craned her neck, flicking her eyes over their pursuers.

"I thought you said four?" she said in alarm.

"Are there more?" Igor gulped, looking over his shoulder again. But instead of having more pursuers, they had less, "Maybe I counted wrong."

Anne swore and began to look around furiously, all the while keeping her mount on course. They were drawing much closer to the cliff now. It was too high. He'd learned awhile ago how to slow an otherwise disastrous decent, but would he be able to do it for himself, Anne, and the horse? Previously, he'd only ever done it for himself. Being Ivan's brother meant minimizing personal injury on any and all fronts.

Maybe he was over thinking it. Just the horse would do, right? It made sense. They were both on the horse, so if it was falling slowly, so would they. Should he mention it? He didn't want to say he could do it and then wind up failing miserably. Anne was cross enough with him.

Suddenly, Anne let out an especially loud curse and she pulled back hard on the reins. The deathcharger scrambled to obey and Igor looked forward, eyes wide.

Hovering just at the edge of the cliff, now, was the fourth rider. There was absolutely no way they were going to stop before they barreled into it. They were so close now that he could hear the protodrake suck in air, hear the shouts of the vrykul as he barked orders at the beast.

Under her breath, he heard Anne hiss 'Fuck it!' and she relented on the reins, urging it forward again. It pumped its legs furiously, trying to make up lost ground, and the vrykul's eyes widened as she jumped the deathcharger off the cliff and straight at the protodragon.

"Jump, Igor!" she suggested, launching herself off of the mount. It looked as though she'd managed to defy gravity to Igor, the way she leaped from the back of her mount to the drake, mashing her shield in the vrykul's face as he scrambled for his axe.

Then the warhorse hit the protodrake, and gravity got very angry with all of them. The drake went careening, the burst of fire spewing out in wild directions, miraculously missing Igor as he fell like a stone with the horse.

His mind locked up for a few terrible moments, refusing to remember the right spell, but not for long. When he opened his eyes again he was gliding peacefully downwards, robes rippling around him.

Igor winced as the mount hit the ground with an audible crunch, gear and barding flying everywhere. Shockingly, it still tried to get to its feet, apparently relentless in its task. There was no chance it would ever go anywhere again, though, not without some serious repairs.

"Arrgh!" Anne grunted above him. The drake had stabilized from the impact with the horse, though he could see some of its harness had bee torn in some rather precarious spots. Anne, meanwhile, was wrestling with the vrykul, though he couldn't see much from his vantage.

"Anne!!" he called out in a panic, "The harness! It's going to snap!"

Anne couldn't die. She couldn't. Who would protect him if she was dead!? He wouldn't have the first clue how to get back to Vengeance Landing from here, either, assuming the swiftly closing vrykul didn't destroy him.

The other vrykul-!

Snap.

With a cry of alarm the vrykul was spilled from his saddle, grasping desperately for the tatters of the harness as he did so. Anne wasn't so lucky, falling past him, her thin fingers finding purchase on nothing as she plummeted towards the earth.

Somewhat miraculously, Igor grabbed for her, and she grabbed back. Her sudden weight wrenched his shoulders and he cried out, gritting his teeth against the sudden pain. Igor was certain he'd just dislocated at least one shoulder, but that didn't matter now.

"Don't let go, Igor!" Anne exclaimed, eyes wide. There was a distant clatter as her sword and shield joined her ruined mount, "Shit!"

Igor looked up in time to see the protodrake pluck its master from the tattered harness. With its teeth. The blood rained down on them, and even Anne grimaced. That hadn't been what she was cursing about, however. It was the three other riders circling overhead.

"Anne, this isn't looking real good," he said, only partially ashamed by the terror in his voice, "What should we do?"

"There's a cave," she said, a glimmer of hope in her voice, "They won't be able to follow us. We should be able to drop safely from here, Igor. Cancel the spell."

Igor cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Igor, cancel the spell," Anne demanded, "They're right on top of us!"

"I don't... I never really learned how to do that," he said lamely.

"Dark Lady help me Igor, if you don't cancel the spell right now you're going to be protodrake food!" she snarled harshly. Igor winced, not appreciating her tone at all. He noted her urgency, as well, and squeezed his eyes shut. What was the reverse of casting...!?

"Igor!" Anne shrieked. She let go of his hands suddenly and he snapped his eyes open, watching her hit the ground and roll deftly, looking up, her eyes wide with fear.

Something hard and scaly wrapped around his middle, plucking him out of the air easily, and he howled as talons dug into his flesh.

"Igor!!" he heard Anne cry out, "Down here, you bastards! Down here!"

Igor tried struggling but the protodrake only squeezed him harder, talons carving into him mercilessly. Nobody was going to save him, now. Anne couldn't reach him. Ivan was all the way back at Vengeance Landing.

You know what you have to do, he thought grimly. He'd sworn to himself when they'd risen again in undeath to never follow in his brother's footsteps again. Igor had taken up studying the Light while Ivan continued his dark path. Been gentle when his brother had been cruel. Chosen solitude while his twin made certain his bed was always warmed by another.

He coughed, the action wracking him with pain, blood drooling out of his mouth, and he laid shaking hands on the protodrake. It was so easy to draw from the dark font after so long, but wasn't that always the case? Giving in to dark impulses was so much easier than resisting them.

"Pain," Igor gurgled.

At his word, the protodrake let out a terrible scream and its back arched violently as pain arced through its body. It's talons spasmed, grasping him harder a moment before finally releasing him. Suddenly free, Igor blearily drew on the Light, finding it hard to do so immediately after drawing from the shadow. It was not impossible, though, and he at least managed to repair his savaged lungs. Drowning in his own blood wasn't very fun.

He was, however, still falling.

Not for long.

He hit something on his way down, and heard another solid thud in the aftermath. Anne grunted, having tried to catch him, and they'd both fallen down.

"Am I alive?" Igor wondered, staring up at the writhing protodrake and two remaining, circling vrykul.

"Looks like," she said, shoving him up off of her, "Can you walk?"

"I think my shoulders are dislocated," he said, trying to get up anyway. His brains felt too rattled to do anything more than he already had, and Anne grabbed him under his arms and started to drag him into the cave. She had, he noted, retrieved her shield and sword at least.

Off to the side, the vrykul hadn't been so lucky, landing directly on his head. Igor looked away quickly, sickened.

Anne dragged him into the mouth of the cave and stepped over him, standing between him and the opening.

"Heal yourself," she suggested, looking over her shoulder at him warily. She was worried. Even if they'd thinned the odds, what were the chances more weren't on the way?

Igor propped himself up as best he could and grit his teeth, using the cave wall to pop his shoulders back in. Even healing them immediately afterwards was agony, and by the time he got his arms working, the two remaining vrykul had landed. Their mounts snapped and snarled at each other but didn't fly away, the unruly things apparently only disobedient when their masters were prone.

The vrykul were terrifying, Igor decided. They were massive, built, and sported murderous expressions to match their wicked looking axes. He and Anne were supposed to fight them? How!?

"Anne," Igor said, shuffling up behind her.

"Whatever you did to that drake to get away," she said thinly, "I hope you can do it again."

"I can try."

"You'll have to do a little better than that," Anne said, stepping forward out of the cave by a few paces. Though her head wasn't moving, he could tell her eyes were darting between the two vrykul who were fanning out, intending to flank them and make the fight one on one.

Igor couldn't fight, though. He wouldn't even know what to do with a sword. The best he'd ever been able to pull off was whacking people from behind with a stick, and he'd felt bad about that.

That didn't mean he was useless, though. Quite the contrary. He laid a hand on her back, willing the Light to protect her. A faint golden aura flickered around her and she offered Igor a grateful nod. It wouldn't protect her forever, but hopefully enough to give her an edge over the two vicious creatures.

They weren't stupid. Two of their own were dead, so it was clear they weren't easy prey. Even so, Igor imagined they looked rather pathetic huddled just in front of the mouth of the cave, spattered in blood and on the defensive.

Exchanging words in their rough tongue, one of them eventually nodded. Then, they both charged. One lifting his axe up over his head, the other angling it sideways. The two pronged assault was very straightforward – it didn't need to be fancy. They were much bigger, their weapons had longer reach, and as far as Ivan could tell, had every advantage.

"When I say 'now'," Anne whispered to him, "Hit the dirt."

"Okay," Igor said after a moment of hesitation. He wanted to ask her why, and what her plan was, but this was hardly the time.

The vrykul were both nearly upon them when Anne shouted ("Now!") and he fell backwards, putting his hands up defensively out of instinct. Anne flattened herself as well and then rolled, the left vrykul slicing nothing but air while the right one's axe bounced off the stony ground. Both were caught off balance, and Anne slammed her shield into the one on the left, making him roar indignantly

Igor pleaded with the other vrykyl (Righty and Lefty, he thought whimsically) to go after Anne, and while it considered it, Righty narrowed his eyes at the prone Igor instead. He readjusted his grip on his axe and stalked forward. Scrambling backwards and trying to stand up at once wasn't terribly fruitful, but he managed it eventually, able to count the hairs in the vrykul's plaited beard as he bore down on the Forsaken.

He could hear Anne fighting with the other vrykul, but he couldn't see it, his vision filled with angry, axe-wielding murderer. This time, though, he didn't wait for Anne to leap to his rescue. He could make his peace later – right now, he needed to survive.

Drawing from the shadows (they were already seeping easily into his mind, nudging aside all his delicately orchestrated disciplines), he focused on the vrykul's mind intently.

He saw stars the next moment as the towering man kicked him, sending him sprawling. The corners of his vision were black and what he could see was swimming. Something metal gleamed, menacing, and he fought to stand again.

The vrykul wound back with his axe, bearing his jagged, yellowed teeth as Igor reached in deep for the spell again, shadow dancing between his fingertips.

He released it just as the vrykul began to swing, and the axe fell nervelessly from his grip as he clutched his head in agony. Igor stumbled to his feet and tried to pick the axe up – it was far too heavy – grunting as he tried to just shove it away. When that didn't work he stared dumbly at the slowly recovering vrykul. Blood was leaking from his nose and his ears, and he cracked one eye open, locking on to Igor.

He'd have to do better than that. And he really didn't have anything he could do to top that. His reserves were already running low, switching between shadow and Light draining him more than usual. With the Light, it was easy to keep sustained, but shadow... especially since it had been so long since he'd practiced it...

The vrykul took a clumsy swing at him and he staggered back out of the way. Avoiding Ivan when he was drunk had given him quite a lot of practice for that. He'd also left the vrykul free to reclaim his axe which had barely budged.

He could do the attack again.

It will kill him, he protested to himself, brow furrowing even as the spell leapt almost instantly into his mind, I'm not a killer.

With a savage jerk, the vrykul snapped the haft of the axe into Igor's face and knocked him prone again, dragging the axe back up over his head.

He is going to kill me if I don't kill him, was his next thought.

Though it was a terribly inappropriate time to think of it, how many times had he seen Ivan finish something off without blinking? True, his twin was somewhat lacking in the conscience department, but he'd always been there to make sure Igor never got his hands dirty. How fitting, that by finally separating from him, he was immediately put into a situation to make up for that.

He released the spell again, grimacing at how it dropped the vrykul, lurching forward, face going slack as its brain was turned to mush.

Look out you idiot, he thought far too late. Though there was no more muscle behind it, the aim off, the vrykul had been mid swing again, only this he hadn't dropped his axe.

The blade bit into his shoulder, and he felt like he was outside his body in that moment, admiring how easily the honed metal sheared through his collar bone like it was butter. Then everything caught up, the heavy man collapsing on top of him, body twitching and jerking madly.

His head started to swim, unable to process any more pain for the moment. He'd lost a lot of blood when the protodragon had snatched him, and he couldn't even lift the axe, let alone the crushing dead weight of the vrykul on top of him.

"Sissy!" the bully jeered, shoving Igor down. He was a portly boy, a spoiled son of some merchant, and the terror of the village. At least, to other children. Igor went down easily – he was scrawny, not much of a fighter, and already he was starting to cry. He couldn't help it – he hadn't meant to bump into the bully. He'd been wrapped up in his own daydreams, enjoying the sunny day, and heading to meet his twin at the creek. Ivan said he had something 'really cool' to show him. Ivan always found cool things.

"Aren't yah gonna get up? Huh?" the bully asked, shoving Igor down again when he was halfway to his feet.

"Leave me alone!" Igor protested, scrambling to his feet again and giving the bully a push. The bully's eyes widened, and then he slugged Igor in the stomach, making him double over.

The blows seemed to come from everywhere, and Igor was powerless to resist. They were a short ways out of town, and there was no one around to stop it. Suddenly, though, it stopped, and Igor curled into a ball, whimpering. Had he finally grown tired?

He could hear more fighting, but he was too afraid to uncurl, too afraid the beating would start again.

"Uncle! Uncle!" the bully shrieked, and Igor dared to peep out from between his arms. His twin – who had a bloody nose and a ferocious snarl on his face – had the bully's arms in a most uncomfortable position. Ivan was scrawny, too, but he wasn't weak.

"Promise you'll leave my brother alone!" Ivan demanded.

"I promise, I promise!" he wept. The bully howled as Ivan shoved him away, kicking him in the ass as he ran off, likely to go bawl to his father. It wouldn't matter. Their mother would be too drunk to care much. Maybe she'd beat Ivan. He wouldn't fight back.

"Igor," Ivan said, touching his brother gently on the shoulder, "You dummy. Are you okay?"

"Sorry," Igor mumbled, "Sorry, Ivan. I'm not as strong as you."

Ivan exhaled a weary sigh and sat down next to his brother, waiting for him to recover, "That's okay."

"Thank you, Ivan," Igor whimpered. Ivan shrugged and looked away, absently swiping away blood with a hand. His eyes were already hard despite his young age, but he never complained.

"Igor?"

"Yes?"

"Wake up, Igor," he said.

"I am awake," Igor muttered. Something struck him across the face and his eyes flew open, body lurching as it was forced back into consciousness. Igor let out a cry of shock as his pain caught up with him, reminding him that there was an axe buried in his chest.

Anne was crouched in front of him, her face smeared with blood, expression fraught with concern.

"Stay with me, Ivan," she said, cupping his face in her hands.

"It hurts!" he gasped, "So much!"

"I know it does, and we're going to get it out, all right?" Anne said. Though her voice was calm, there was tight undercurrent of panic. It was bad, then. Very bad. He started to panic again but Anne forced him to stay calm, locking his eyes with hers.

"All right," he managed, nodding once and regretting it immediately.

"On three," she said, grabbing the long handle and bracing her shoulders. She didn't do so without a great deal of effort, he noted.

"Three," he repeated, fighting the desire to black out again.

"One... two..."

She yanked the axe out before three and Igor howled, clutching at the gaping, gushing wound with one hand. His arm had nearly been cut off!

Anne threw the axe away and pounced forward, pressing his limp arm back into place, shouting at him, "Heal! Heal it, Igor!"

Normally he beseeched the Light for its aide, begged it. Asked politely. Not now, though. His life was leaking out of him steadily and he didn't have time for anything but demands. He was shocked when his request was fulfilled, the deep gash mending together rapidly.

It wasn't without its price though – the healing wasn't gentle tingling, it was agony, and it wasn't long before things went black again.

Anne had never fought a vrykul before, and she hoped to avoid doing so ever again. Her shield was shattered, her sword notched and warped, her armor in tatters... it had been a vicious fight. And it had been over so quickly. She could scarcely believe she'd won.

It had been on a technicality, surely. He'd slipped in the gore of his fallen comrade and she'd pressed the advantage, driving the ruins of her sword into his eye with a primal howl.

For a few brief moments, she had wildly considered eating him to stabilize her wounds. She didn't often indulge in the act of eating sentient creatures, but such a defeat seemed to warrant it.

Then she'd remembered Igor.

She sighed and put the back of her hand near his nose, feeling for the slight hint of breath. Still there. He'd healed his more grievous wounds, true, but he was still very weak. So was she. They had lost time, and as the sun fell away from the sky a chill settled in with the darkness, daring her to go outside and get her flint and tinder from the saddlebags of her ruined mount. It had only stopped twitching an hour ago, and she privately mourned her faithful steed. Getting another one as complacent as that was likely not going to happen.

One of the protodrakes had stuck around, feasting happily on a vrykul corpse to pass the time. It had left awhile, perhaps to sun itself in the waning light, and had curled up at the mouth of the cave when the sun set.

If they wanted to leave the cave, they'd have to get past it. It was obviously staying where the food was – vrykul had a lot of meat on them.

She'd give Igor until sunup. Partly because she was in no condition to go anywhere just yet, and partly because she was hoping the protodrake would move in the morning, if only to sun itself.

Igor stirred and she immediately shushed him when his eyes blinked open. Though dim, both their eyes gave their position an eerie glow.

"We're still in the cave," she whispered, "Can you move?"

The priest shifted and she could hear his clothes rustling as he checked himself.

"I don't think I can walk yet," he whispered back, "Why are we whispering?"

"One of the protodrakes is at the cave entrance. I – shh!"

She hunched down when she heard a clatter of hooves on stone. It was difficult to make out what was going on in the low light, but Anne could see wings, and then heard a yelp as the winged figure threw something away from it.

"Well?" the voice coming from the winged figure was deep and cultured, but extremely disdainful. If it was a demon, though, why was it speaking common?

"The vrykul were certain our quarry was here!" a voice squeaked. Also in common, "I paid them handsomely, just like you said! I didn't skim any, I swear to you!"

"How could they have possibly gotten this far ahead? You cretin, I knew I shouldn't have put any faith in you."

"Please, my lord, please," the voice blubbered. Anne could vaguely make him out crawling towards his winged master.

"Does this look like the work of a Death Knight?"

"...yes?"

The blubberer was kicked away and he cried out. The winged thing wasn't happy.

"We've over shot," it determined, crouching down where Anne supposed one of the bodies were, "Something did happen to these vrykul, but it wasn't who we're after. They're only mutilated because their dragons ate them."

"Please, master," the other man groveled, "I only heard that they were after two Forsaken, and-"

"And did they mention the troll?"

"Well, no, but-"

"I think you would do well to shut up, now."

The groveler was silent at that and the master stretched his wings. They were massive, blotting out what little light there was until they settled onto its back. The nonchalance of it chilled Anne to the bone – she'd seen that kind of behavior before, up close.

Varimathras did it frequently when he was annoyed.

"I'll notify the troops, then, and we'll double back," the dreadlord snarled, "As for you..."

"Yes, my lord?"

There was a tearing sound, then wet gurgling, and then something heavy slumped to the ground.

The dreadlord said something unpleasant in eredun, the foul language making her feel like she'd just been covered in slime, and it took off.

Anne didn't dare even move for a very long time, Igor following her lead.

"They're close," Igor whispered.

"Very," she said.

They're looking for two Forsaken, her heart sang, Edgar is alive!

Murdok had seen Shalar'zahn do some crazy things. He'd seen Ivan do ever crazier things. Combined, though, he was certain this was the craziest thing he'd witness yet.

He'd found them both huddled up over a musty tome, ignoring the immediate stab of jealousy he felt when anything remotely male was near Shalar'zahn, and they had informed them of their plan.

"Scrying," Igor had said proudly, "It's so simple, it's perfect."

Though the troll had nodded, his expression had clearly read 'And what is scrying, exactly?', because both Ivan and Shalar'zahn had laughed.

Shalar'zahn had explained it to him in simple terms, not because she thought he wouldn't understand, but because the ritual itself was very complicated even if the spells effect was not.

Using both the help of the spirits and Ivan's familiarity of the nether, they would be able to find where Makenzie was. Normally it only worked on the plane you inhabited, but apparently, with Ivan's help, they could stretch further. If she was within their reach, they would be able to find her.

And if he knew where she was, he could summon her. That easy. Except for the part that involved two complex rituals, of course, but Ivan and Shalar'zahn both seemed to think they could pull it off.

He'd helped them gather materials, though getting livestock from the stables hadn't been easy. They'd wanted to know what it was for, and he hadn't been able to give them an answer. With supplies being limited by the zeppelin, replacements were not easy to acquire.

Eventually, gold had loosened their grip, and he'd lead the bleating sheep back into the inn. The Innkeeper had raised both her eyebrows at him but didn't comment, and he certainly hoped whatever the sheep was for was worth it.

When he'd arrived with it, he'd discovered that his room (of course they'd use his room) had all the furniture shoved to the side, making a clear space on the floor.

They killed the sheep promptly, draining its blood into a bucket.

Murdok was propped in the corner now, watching Ivan paint intricate symbols around a circle while Shalar'zahn decorated it with bones and baubles and other things she used to focus her own power. They worked rather well together, he thought, considering the vast disparity between their magics.

Finally, Ivan poured the remainder of the blood into a bowl in the center, and Shalar'zahn lit some red candles around it.

"Ready?" Ivan said, cracking his knuckles.

"No' yet," Shalar'zahn said, stepping out of the circle a moment. She started to disrobe and Murdok scowled.

"Whatya doin' dat fo'? Don' look!" he snapped at Ivan, who quickly looked at the ceiling. His eyes slowly drifted back down though – he couldn't help himself.

"It be part o' de ritual," Shalar'zahn said, nodding at Ivan, "Ya too, Ivan. We be callin' on Dambala an' ya' don' wanna offend him, eh?"

"What?" Ivan said, brow creasing together, "I don't see why I have to get naked. I think I'd be more offensive to Dambala naked."

"Yah," Murdok agreed. He tensed as Shalar'zahn stepped out of her vestments and picked up some of her red paints, casually tracing snake-like sigils on her turquoise skin.

"Dat not be how it works," Shalar'zahn said. She wasn't the least bit ashamed to be naked in front of either of them. Most trolls were like that, but Murdok was more concerned about Ivan taking advantage of the free show than her lack of modesty.

He didn't want to see the Forsaken man naked, either. Not ever.

"Take 'em off!" she barked at Ivan when she noticed he was still clothed.

"No!" Ivan protested, "It will effect my concentration."

"You wanna save Makenzie or not?" she pressed. Ivan's jaw clenched, wrestling with his pride rather visibly. On one hand, he had been given an order, which meant he couldn't obey it on principle. On the other, Makenzie needed to be found.

With a put upon sigh, Ivan began to shrug off his robes and Murdok grimaced, looking away. It had always creeped Murdok out a bit, the way most Forsaken's spines seemed to push through their skin in places, like their skin just didn't quite fit.

The warlock cast his robe aside on a chair, still wearing breeches, and Shalar'zahn cleared her throat.

"I'm flattered and all-"

"Watch it, mon," Murdok growled.

"-but I really don't think-"

"Take it off or I take it off fo' yah!" the trolless said hotly.

"Promise?" Ivan grinned. Murdok cleared his throat and the grin faded. Ivan stepped out of his breeches and the troll rubbed his face. Just what he'd been itching to see – Ivan's bare ass. Did he had a tattoo...? Nope, he wasn't going to look that hard.

"Here," Shalar'zahn said, coming around the circle and starting to paint Ivan with sigils as well, "Gotta look nice for de' spirits."

Ivan muttered under his breath and eventually chased Shalar'zahn off, insisting he had enough 'stupid snake squiggles' on him to impress Dambala.

"Okay," Shalar'zahn said with a nod, "We ready den."

"Here goes nothing," Ivan said, exhaling heavily.

The two of them took opposite positions in the circle, kneeling down in the only two open spaces within it that weren't covered in either symbols or trinkets. They joined hands over the bowl of blood and closed their eyes.

Murdok would admit to being somewhat jealous that they had magic in common. Really, Shalar'zahn had more in common with the twins and Makenzie than him. Perhaps they shared a culture, but not much else.

Ivan began to chant a spell while Shalar'zahn began to beseech Dambala in Zandalari. The two languages seemed discordant at first, but the longer they were at it, the more they seemed to twine together. The air became charged with unspent power, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Shalar'zahn went silent a moment, arching her back and sighing as the Loa spirit reached out to her, hands sliding away from Ivan's. He continued to chant, but Murdok couldn't tell if it was a long spell, or if he was just repeating the same one over and over until it took hold.

She slumped forward, and then arched her back again, hands weaving a hypnotic, sinuous, serpentine pattern.

Murdok glanced down and noticed that the blood in the bowl had begun to froth and boil and he leaned forward slightly. It made his chair creak and he froze, cringing, but his disturbance didn't disrupt the ritual.

Suddenly, Shalar'zahn's eyes snapped open and she looked down at the blood. Her eyes were unfocused, or at least, focused on something Murdok couldn't see. She reached down with one hand and made a swirling gesture just over the bowl, spiraling up, and it seemed to draw the blood up and out of the vessel. The crimson liquid flattened and spread between herself and Ivan, becoming a smooth, reflective red circle.

Ivan slowly opened his eyes and his voice became harsher, more intense. Abruptly, both of them slashed their palms with daggers he'd only vaguely remembered them laying out, and they squeezed a drop of their own blood onto the disc.

It rippled and slowly, the blood became cloudy and black. An awful cold seemed to fill the room. Not a natural cold that settled slowly into his bones, but something alien, scratching at his skin and demanding he take it off-

Murdok shook his head and swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to do so without saliva.

Shalar'zahn remained quiet as Ivan droned out the spell, and after a moment, he plucked up Makenzie's silken hem. He seemed to hesitate a moment before throwing it in.

Instead of falling through the other side of the bizarre disc, it sank into the black void and vanished from view.

Even though the blood was solid black, Murdok could still see it lurch somehow, and the surface rippled again.

It came back into focus, and the rogue gasped quietly. The edges were fuzzy and indistinct, only the center sharply clear, and he noted how Ivan and Shalar'zahn looked suddenly tense, their jaws working against some unknown strain.

They guided the window around, inspecting the room, finding a portal behind them made of the same terrible black they'd seen moments ago. There was a door as well, and they pushed through it, the vision floating almost lazily through the door and into a hall. It was all red flagstone and rusty colored iron. How architecture could look vicious, Murdok didn't know, but wherever this was, it pulled it off very well.

Murdok hadn't even realized there was sound until he heard the scream. The vision jerked a moment, becoming unclear, and Murdok realized it was because Ivan had lost his focus for a moment – he recognized the owner of the scream.

The vision rushed by in a blur, dashing around corners, through doors, until finally, it reached a heavy iron door. Pushing through, a massive laboratory was revealed. Murdok resisted the urge to look away from the grisly display. Mo'arg, and to a lesser extent, gan'arg, were working on... remains. Murdok couldn't even really tell what any of them used to be. Some of them were being stitched onto animals, or other demons, or just to other limbs. Others were having compounds tested on them, some of the limbs still twitching as though they were still alive, still able to feel pain.

More screaming. The vision surged forward.

There was a room attached to the main laboratory, much smaller, only one operating table in the center of the room. Trays upon trays of syringes and other wicked looking implements surrounded it, and there seemed to be a great deal of activity in the room. Only one mo'arg was present here, studying a chart while the gan'arg swarmed around, attending to whatever task he'd assigned to them.

Makenzie lay prone on the table, her wrists and arms strapped down, writhing in agony. Her normally wild puff of hair was matted to her skull, her expression twisted into a grimace of pain instead of her usual cheeky smile. There were multiple bags of some angry green liquid being fed into her veins via a tube, perhaps the underlying source of her agony.

The demons chittered to each other, and the mo'arg growled something, nodding at her.

One of the gan'arg chirruped in response and took a syringe off a tray, sliding it into an already bruised vein and drawing some blood. Makenzie screamed and thrashed, only making it worse for herself, but unable to just sit still and take the punishment.

The gan'arg snarled something at her and withdrew the syringe, admiring it in the hellish red light for a moment. Forsaken blood was dark green, normally, but hers had become the bright green like the bags hung next to her.

It let out a triumphant shriek and showed the mo'arg, who grunted and nodded, making some vague gestures.

Murdok had started to lean forward, enraptured by what he was seeing, when the vision abruptly stopped. The blood, no longer suspended by magic, spattered onto the floor, Ivan, and Shalar'zahn.

Shalar'zahn blinked rapidly, her eyes coming back into focused, and she looked at Murdok with an alarmed expression. He went to her side quickly, covering her with her discarded coat.

"Where be she? Canya summon 'er now?" Murdok asked, noting that Ivan had yet to speak. He eyeballed the Forsaken, wary of an outburst.

"We can't summon her from there," Ivan said, his voice eerily calm, "We'll have to go get her. Find the portal, and go get her."

"From where?" Shalar'zahn asked, "Where be dat awful place?"

Ivan finally looked at both of them, the lines of distress etched hard on his face.

"I think it's a forge world," he said grimly, "The portal will be easy to find, but going that deep into Legion territory-"

"Can't yah summon her?" Murdok pressed. He'd asked already, but he wanted an explanation.

"It's too deep in the nether for that," he said, "It might kill her."

"So, we goin' tah a Legion forge world, den," Shalar'zahn said, testing the words out loud. Murdok wondered if they tasted as insane as they sounded.

"Yep," Ivan said, standing up, "Let's go."

A/N: The thrilling conclusion rapidly approaches! Oh my! Stay tuned!