Chapter 10: Defiant

Rogash diverted his attention to Darkeye standing with a blonde-haired human woman. Darkeye had called her "Marisa" with a hint of a little affection. Some of the crew speculated and whispered in their tents and around fires. All Rogash knew was that she was their Defias contact. Whoever she was to the captain didn't matter as long as she could guarantee their passage through Alliance lands secretly.

Many of the Alliance mercs were indignant but knew the cooperation was necessary. And after the worgen attack on their camp a week ago, everyone was willing to take measures in preventing another from happening. Going along to get along; that's what they were doing.

"Is this all we're doing, staring at Darkeye?" A petulant voice said.

"Silence and continue your work. And that's CAPTAIN Darkeye to you Sharaa," Rogash chastised her.

She pouted and glared at the rock carving she was imbuing. "How can I do this properly without a channel, or without full access to the voices of the elements?"

There it was again. The collar. It wasn't really impeding her in any way, but she obviously hated it. Heck he hated the collar too when Darkeye freed him from prison. He wasn't to become a slave but being a shaman the guards needed something to corral his powers. "I managed the entire twleve months with it on, and so can you."

"A year?"

"Yes. Meaning your six months is a sad trifle next to what mine was."

"What about a weapon then, or even some armor?"

"As I said before, you will be focusing on healing totems until we are able to assign funds to purchase your own battledress and casting implements. Who knows, we just might find you something among the Naga and their loot?" Rogash pulled on his forked beard. The girl had at first been afraid of him. No surprise, with what the old Horde had done on Draenor.

"Hmph… I told you I'm more used to combat spells…" Sharaa scowled.

He waved a hand in indifference. "You already told me. You'll be assigned that after we get you some new stuff. For now, concentrate on that totem you're crafting." Rogash pointed at the floating rock marked with the draenei runes glowing with power.

Sharaa turned away and did as was told.

In the meantime the human woman had entered Darkeye's tent with the captain in tow. There was a faint magelight glow from inside, silhouetting two seated figures.

Rogash sided with the humans on this matter. He didn't like the criminals of Defias any more than they did, but conceded the point. He did however lifted the clasp on the cold saronite of his Keening Banshee Blade. He had a feeling he would be needing it again sooner than he expected.

The draenei girl looked at the orc again. "What is he anyway? He denied being a Blood Elf when he 'acquired' me, and he also denied being a High Elf while we were in his tent – giving me my duties."

Rogash snorted. "Everyone here has probably asked that once or twice; that, and why there are no other elves of any nature in our group. In fact, a few did apply but he asked me to rebuff them.

"Truth is though; no one knows what Captain Darkeye is except that he's an elf, or at least LOOKS like one" Rogash told her, wagging a stubby, clawed finger at her. "But know this: we trust him."

Ril'zin scouted around the area. He and Kulldor had cut an unseen swath through the attackers and freed up a group of orcish company members for a counter attack. Just enough to open a way for a wedge of veterans, led by the captain himself atop his netherdrake, to push through with a mounted charge through the encircling ambushers.

The troll could swear that the tauren hunter could talk telepathically with the captain. Ril'zin had seen it happen several times before; Darkeye responding to a movement that he hadn't planned and seemed totally impromptu, usually done by Rogash Wraithstorm or Kulldor Runetotem. Ril'zin mentally shrugged. Maybe Darkeye was just a good enough commander. After all, he'd been the captain when Ril'zin himself had come and signed up. The gold from the mercenary work was good, if not entirely honest.

The blood elf amazed him, he had to admit. Usually the fel magic that they used to sate themselves from their magic addiction served as a repellent to tauren and night elves. And yet, here was Kulldor and another couple of tauren druids; and Ril'zin distinctly remembered Darkeye having taken them through the night elven borders by way of a druid and ranger escort. Though the guards were there for the dual purpose of making sure that such a group not cause trouble, it was amazing to be let free through Alliance lands without undue hostility.

The troll touched his tusks and flicked away a piece of dirt from the tip.

They were ordered to guard from anything hostile coming from the inside of the camp while the hunters were situated in the outer ring. Everyone else was on guard, especially the third of the company composed of humans, draenei, and the single dwarf. It was well-known that the Defias Brotherhood wanted to destroy the Human Kingdom of Stormwind.

Ril'zin continued on his encircling patrol route around the camp, mindful of the other rogues and hunters who were doing the same.

The girl trembled. Her fear, musty and pungent rose from her body in puffs in time with her breaths. And yet, under all of that musk, another scent lingered. It was the same scent as ten years ago. The very same, only buried under all the adult brusqueness and all of the other wilderness smells. After all, Duskwood was far from healthy and hale as woods went. The trees rotted from within, affected – scarred - by the passage of the Scourge, and the magics that caused the worgen to arrive in Azeroth.

Darkeye felt her hand reach out, tentatively. Darkeye took it into his. It was calloused and rough, the hand of a life lived in the wilderness. He felt a faint scar, ridge up from the center of her palm to the outer edge of her hand. A tough life as an outlaw probably, but he knew her, before she even knew what a sword or dagger was.

"Crest…"

"That's not my name anymore child. My men call me Darkeye."

"I'm not one of your men Old One… My father called you his friend… And I once called you 'Crest'."

Darkeye smiled. The girl he once bounced on his knee, ten odd years ago, shifted her weight to one leg. She smelled of sweat, arcane magic, old booze, old jizz, and dried blood. All of the aromas were faint.

"And that time is past… We've grown older little one, grown greyer and more distrustful."

"You don't trust me?" Marisa asked.

"If I didn't do you think I'd have sent you my missive?"

Marisa laughed an honest but hysterical sounding laugh. "In your missive, you signed it as 'Crest'. And now you deny the name you once gave for my family to address you by."

Darkeye smiled. It somehow seemed laughable that a grown human girl would want to call him a name he'd long discarded. The name existed simply because her father, a lumberjack who had lived near old Stratholme used it to introduce Darkeye to his daughter; because it the name that the elf who was Xephyrien, Malicebound, and Darkeye had given him to use.

It made Darkeye feel all the more his age. Death Knights were messengers, deliverers of Death, and so were untouched by it. Oh they could die by the blade, but natural death was beyond any of them. Sickness, age, the harsh winters of the frozen north; doubtless it would slow them somewhat, but in the end it meant little. It also made Darkeye feel haunted by the lack of sentience and sapience in his existence.

"That is neither here nor there, because I am now Darkeye, the mercenary captain. As you are now one of the leading figures of the Defias Brotherhood."

She bowed her blonde head. She was young; only in her late twenties or so, and already on the hierarchy of this outlaw band. He smelled a mediocre amount of arcane magic in her, probably been trying to practice being a mage. But life in the wilderness usually gives you only what you need and her repertoire probably consisted of simple spells.

"So, now what do you need from me?" Marisa asked.

"I was hoping to call in an old favor…"