Hey all.

Thanks to those of you who so quickly welcomed me back after I've been gone so long. As fond as I am of the story, and as much as I enjoy writing it, you're the reason I keep going.

NT

Chapter Nine

Reunion

Drazgh looked over the waiting fleet, impressed in spite of himself. "All right, Blitwhistle," he said slowly, circling the closest light fighter, which was waiting with its wings folded in and its propellers motionless. "How about you level with me. You're fond of saying there are three factors to a job."

The goblin overseer nodded impatiently. "Yeah yeah yeah, no need to teach me my own lessons. You can do the job fast, do it cheap, or do it well. Pick one. If you're really lucky you can get two of the three. Anyone offering you all three is swindling you."

"And yet here's this fleet. In spite of budget cutbacks you completed it on time. Fast and cheap. Does this mean the quality suffered heavily?"

The goblin grinned broadly, breaking from his usual serious exterior. "Nah, I found a brilliant workaround. Best deal ever."

Drazgh waited, eyes narrowed.

Blitwhistle looked around conspiratorially, then leaned in. "There's these fools in the Horde, right? They think they're heroes or something. They wander around looking for glory or honor or wealth or who the hell knows, but they do it in the stupidest way possible.

"So whenever one of these numskulls comes around looking to make a name or whatever I have one of my taskmasters talk 'em up. Lavish praise on them and call them the Horde's finest and say we'd be lost without them. Then I get them to do the type of tasks even peons would balk at and they go out and do them. And the craziest thing is some of these so-called heroes actually know how to stay alive, so they manage to complete the dangerous jobs without me having to fork out death benefits or hazard pay. They're a goldmine of cheap labor and the idiots never complain!"

Drazgh frowned. "Never? What do they get out of it?"

Blitwhistle shrugged. "Bit of silver, sometimes. Useless broken junk that nobody else would ever pay for," he abruptly cackled. "Oh yeah, there was this one time when I actually had some of these "heroes" out sifting through kodo shit looking for a key I supposedly dropped. It was the most hilarious thing ever. And the funniest thing was that even though they were getting pissed off they kept on doing it, cursing up a storm all the while. I finally had to take pity on them and hide a key. One of Sogsprickles, of course . . . I sure wasn't touching anything that'd been in kodo shit."

"And by utilizing the labor of these gullible fools you completed the tasks below budget?"

"Exactly that. I should start a business completely catered around exploiting their misguided enthusiasm. I'd hit the highest final tally any goblin's reached in a century."

"And were these heroes of yours qualified for the work you had them do?" Drazgh asked pointedly.

The goblin gave him a shifty look. Or at least shiftier. "Hey nah, nothing like that. They did the useless stuff that freed up goblin labor for tasks that required real skill and finesse. Our workmen still slaved like dogs getting everything done in time. Garrosh breathing down our necks for results and Kor'kron standing around with axes waiting to punish screwups is tremendously motivating. We did you a rare job with this fleet, did the impossible I tell you. Cheap, fast, and quality. All three factors, no sweat."

Drazgh did his best to hide is satisfaction. It was rare to talk one of these shifty little creatures into a corner. Something to be savored. "Then how come you sent a letter to Bilgewater Cartel asking for clarification on some of the finer points regarding claiming death benefits?"

The goblin managed to hide his panic. "Hey what're you suggesting? You know me, I like to cover every angle."

Yes, and you manage it by being crooked enough. Drazgh pinned the goblin with a stern look. "I've been looking over the contract again. There are some regrettable oversights in it, which isn't too surprising since it was you who drafted it and a peon-brained clerk of Thrall's who signed for us. My hands are tied when it comes to your results with this fleet, but I'll be bearing down on you every second of the negotiations for further business dealings."

Blitwhistle grinned and nodded happily. "Glad to hear it. Always know what you're getting into, General."

"All right then. Let's talk about your bonus for completing the contract on time."

The diminutive green creature suddenly became very interested. "Hey, glad to see our hard work is getting noticed. Yeah sure, let's talk about the bonus."

"Good." Drazgh abruptly stopped his circling inspection. Rivets missing, plates warped and showing gaps in some places. Quality certainly seemed to have suffered, and he hoped it was only cosmetic. He dropped into a squat to look at Blitwhistle as close to eye to eye as possible. "If this fleet makes it to Twilight Highlands intact, with no major screwups or mechanical failures, I will pay you an extra one daraik for each airship and one shivna for each escort plane. Pending the taking of spoils in the war effort there."

"All right, all right," the goblin said, rubbing his hands together. "Now that's the kind of bonus you could've told us about two weeks ago. We would've enjoyed killing ourselves reaching the deadline instead of suffering through it." At Drazgh's flat look he shifted sheepishly. "Not to say we didn't the best possible job either way, right?"

Drazgh continued resolutely. "If, however, there are any problems, your bonus will be ten pounds of steel."

The goblin rubbed one long ear thoughtfully, hiding his confusion. "All right. Not quite as generous a bonus, but steel is always useful, right? I can find good uses to put it to."

"You can." Drazgh patted the haft of Terror, rising over his shoulder. "You'll have to start by dislodging it from your skull."

Blitwhistle gave the weapon an uncomfortable look. "We've fulfilled our end of the contract to your specifications. Meaning that, ah, killing any goblin workmen will constitute a breach of contract on your part. You realize the Cartel would never deal with you again."

"Yes. Unfortunately for you the contract terminates when you do, removing the Cartel from the obligation of paying out your death benefit." Drazgh smiled humorlessly. "The Horde would suffer from losing goblin workers and materials, the Cartel would suffer from losing its primary source of business. But you and your craftsmen, Overseer, would lose by far the most out of the deal. Death with a pitiful final tally."

The goblin's expression was dark. "So if the fleet makes it in one piece I get a trade prince's ransom. And if there's problems, even ones outside my control, I get screwed out of being remembered by my own people."

Drazgh smiled, showing his tusks. "I'm sure Hellscream did a fine job keeping you on task with the fear of death. He obviously doesn't know the proper way to motivate goblins."

Blitwhistle sighed. "No, he doesn't. Which is why I like working with him." He put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Goblins began popping out of the woodwork. Sometimes literally. "There may be a few, ah, improvements to be made to the fleet before we depart."

Drazgh nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

.

"Hey boss what's the big idea with these new orders?" Hal asked indignantly. "You trying to keep us alive or something?"

Of course it would be his second doing the most complaining. "There's always the next big score," Blitwhistle said patiently.

Hal scowled at him. "Keep telling us that, boss. I figured when we signed on with the orcs we'd be hitting it big time left and right, like we did during the Second War. But so far this time around it almost looks like the Alliance would be the ones to work for to get our final payoff."

Blitwhistle sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I've been meaning to ask you about that, Sparkfuse. Normally I expect less ambition in my right hand man . . . I don't like having to find replacements for useful people. Why are you so interested in winning the jackpot by cashing out early?"

"Oh what, you ask me now? I've been doing the high risk high reward jobs for two decades now trying to find one with 100% assurance of death, and you decide to wait this long to find out?"

"Yes."

Hal paused and rubbed his chin, looking at his boss suspiciously. "I'm just trying to hit the Hall of Fame in the final tally, same as any goblin."

The overseer shook his head. "Oh sure, we all dream of dying in a shower of coins. But most of us keep telling ourselves tomorrow is as good a day to rack in our final tally as today. Then they get too old for the best contracts and never manage it. But you've been gunning for that death benefit since you were a kid. What's your story?"

Hal shrugged. "Runs in the family, you know? My father had it, my grandmother had it. Sparkfuses for seven generations have hit the Hall of Fame. We've got a dozen names up there. I figured I'd get a kid early, so he'd be old enough to be beneficiary for my death benefits, and then I'd just go for it. With so many records in the family why not hit the one for being the youngest Sparkfuse to get the biggest fortune?"

Blitwhistle looked at him sympathetically. "You've missed that mark though, haven't you? Drik Sparkfuse cashed in at age 32, nearly three hundred daraiks."

"Yeah yeah, don't remind me." Hal gave the fighter engine a vindictive blow with his socket wrench.

An uncomfortable silence settled. "Well there's always the management track," Blitwhistle said, trying to sound comforting. "If I get lucky and cash out early you'll probably take over for me. You might get even higher in the Cartel. Maybe even earn your way to the Hall of Fame instead of getting in by death benefit. That'd be something your family would remember for a few centuries."

Hal dropped the wrench and searched around for his arclight spanner. "Yeah, if I want to live to be a hundred humping my ass for the same result a convenient careless mistake would get me."

Well, obviously his second didn't want to be comforted. "You gotta look on the bright side. Maybe the Alliance will intercept us and blow us out of the sky."

Hal brightened. "Hey yeah. Or the lifting gas sacs could catch a spark and blow the ship to smithereens. I just gotta kept my chin up."

Blitwhistle caught Hal's arclight spanner and twisted the crackling tip slightly closer to his second's face. "As long as it's an accident, Sparkfuse," he said quietly. "Don't embarrass the Cartel, me, or the Horde, or your offspring will be searching for your name in the scrap pile."

Hal scowled at him, jerking his tool away. "Two decades I've done it honest, long after I would've gotten any benefit outta that kinda scam. You think I'm going to suddenly switch gears now?"

Satisfied, Blitwhistle clapped his second on the shoulder and continued on. The fleet was going to be embarking soon, and thanks to Drazgh's confounded meddling his workmen were going to be killing themselves right up to when the ropes cast off to plug the leaks and weld the sparking wires.

He'd damn well better pay the promised bonus. It may be impossible to keep so many ships, and their escort fighters, in the air through a two month voyage across storm-wracked seas, but he intended to do the impossible yet again. And for that all he asked was that he be compensated as promised.

A goblin could only take being kicked around for so long, and then he started wondering if he couldn't earn himself a death benefit by taking the business partners screwing him over with him.

.

Say what you would about Hellscream, and Drazgh could say plenty, but you had to admit he had a flair for the dramatic.

The fifty rising airships were silhouetted by the fiery coin of the sun just topping the horizon, giving all the orcs and vassal races who'd remained in Orgrimmar a real show. Most had gathered on the beach to watch the airships launch and turn their slow way east, out over the sea, on their long and glorious voyage to conquest, plunder, and victory.

One month, just as Blitwhistle had promised.

Drazgh had joined the rest of his Dek'Terror lining the railings of the airship squinting fiercely into the sunrise. A useless, empty gesture, since all the interesting action would be on the other railing looking back to Orgrimmar. Nothing to see to the east but empty sea until they'd traveled for a few weeks.

Having a more intimate knowledge of the airship's construction, he didn't lean against the railing.

At the front of the fleet of airships sailed Orgrim's Hammer, second of its name. Hellscream had been infuriated to learn that Thrall had lost his beloved airship in the Plane of Earth, but his fury was tempered by his pleasure at the opportunity to steal the name back for his own flagship. It, and four ships behind it, were crammed with his finest Kor'kron and most elite worg riders.

Dek'Terror had been assigned the rearguard, the place of lowest honor. The only time they could expect heroics was when the battle was lost, their honor eternally tainted by sacrificing themselves to let the others live to find victory another day. Drazgh had lived long enough to appreciate the role of such warriors, but his orcs still rankled at riding the five airships at the back of the fleet. Even the treasonous trolls, who'd kept themselves aloof from combat and said nothing about their leader's treachery in threatening their warchief, had been put before them in the line of airships, the thirty directly behind Hellscream's own. And Vol'jin himself rode with them.

But Drazgh agreed with this decision, even if he would've preferred to not be the one put here. The fleet needed trustworthy orcs to encircle the fleet front and back, and Dek'Terror had the task of guarding the vital final ten ships situated just ahead of them. All the munitions, provisions, and armaments were stowed in nine of those ships, and more vital still the tenth had been outfitted with kennels for the worgs rode by Hellscream's riders, and those claimed by the officers, including Drazgh's own.

If any Dek'Terror complained too loudly, at least the could be comforted in knowing they hadn't been assigned as a worg wrangler. Drazgh knew from experience that his race's beloved companions hated airship travel, and made an even bigger mess than usual. Even competent wranglers got snapped at.

But such thoughts were fleeting, driven away by the wind and the fierce sun burning into his eyes. Goblin sailors were casting off the lines, making final adjustments to the balloons, and all around him engines were roaring to life and propellers beginning the slow, relentless spin that would carry the fleet across the sea to the Eastern Kingdoms. Hellscream's airship slid smoothly into the air, guided by Blitwhistle himself, and behind them the airships bobbed upward in pairs, fighting air currents and quirks of their engines to stay level with each other.

Half the fleet was in the air when the roar of the airships' engines was joined by a slightly softer but higher pitched roar, and from the top decks of each airship its complement of escort planes launched, swooping port and starboard to avoid the airships and buzzing about them like flies around an elekk carcass.

Blitwhistle hadn't been pleased by that particular bit of pomp, whining about fuel expendages and the extra risk of trying to coordinate launching the escorts from the tops of launching airships before any of the ships had even been kept in the air long enough to make sure its systems were functioning properly.

Here, too, Drazgh agreed with Hellscream. Not only did it make a fine show, but it allowed him to see if all the escorts were working properly before the fleet even launched. That was probably one of the reasons why Blitwhistle had objected so strenuously: rather than having time for his mechanics to do further work on the planes in the air, he was facing the prospect of losing his bonus just minutes after they'd launched, and possibly by pilot error rather than mechanical failure.

But there were no pilot errors that he could see as the escorts began flying complicated formations and doing complex aerial maneuvers, and no mechanical failures either. And the stirring sight drew a deafening roar from the assembled crowd below and behind, cries for the Warchief, for victory, and for the Horde. The noise was overpowering even on the airships, and down among the crowds it had to be deafening.

"Cast final lines!" a goblin's voice piped from the front of the deck. "Engines full, and take us five degrees starboard for that wind! Let's see if we can match Orgrim's Hammer for a clean launch."

Drazgh looked ahead to where the goblin captain stood at the controls, surrounded by hustling goblin crew. It seemed like a large majority of Blitwhistle's craftsmen and engineers were trained to smoothly transition into roles aboard the airships, leaving the manufactory manned with a skeleton crew and led by a minor engineer promoted to the task. The goblins were investing as much into this venture as any race.

Unfortunately Dagra's Scowl, Drazgh's own airship, was being piloted by Blitwhistle's own second, Hal Sparkfuse. Normally that would've filled him with confidence, but after his run-in with the goblin prior to Deneth's sendoff he'd done a little digging. Competent as he was, the goblin was also notorious for chasing the most dangerous tasks that could earn him a death benefit.

Hardly comforting that he'd chosen Drazgh's ship, of all of the fleet, to pilot.

But Drazgh pushed aside that misgiving as well, letting it slip away into the glory of the moment. Dek'Terror rose a fierce cheer as their ships lifted into the sky, and Drazgh joined his voice to theirs, shouting threats and taunts to the enemy they'd finally set out to pursue.

The Twilight's Hammer and the Dragonmaw both had best see to their weapons and prepare to meet their ancestors. While this army was not large by the standards of the major conflicts he'd been in, numbering scarcely more than three thousand fighters and perhaps another five hundred crew, it was represented by the finest fighters the Horde had to offer. The airships alone could decimate armies with their armaments.

And for good or ill, the Warchief led them.

.

Render hissed through the air, coming within an inch of the blood elf before he managed to twist aside. Deneth reset and brought the weapon back up in a reverse of the previous blow, stepping forward to reduce his room to dodge. But Nova stepped as well, to the side, and again the weapon whooshed past.

"Come on," Nova said lightly.

Deneth growled and spun her axe around to a reverse grip, whipping the lighter end of the haft at the elf's face. His head bobbed and darted out of the way, and when she again flipped Render to bring its head hissing across at chest level he leaned over backwards and idly watched it pass overhead.

"Pride of the Horde," he taunted. "Quit grabbing your ass and hit me!"

With a snarl she redoubled her efforts, swinging her weapon again and again with all the speed her arms could muster. She was fresh, Render's weight rested familiar in her hands, and she had never felt more in control of herself. And yet as the blasted elf kept dancing she couldn't hit him!

She was used to battle being a contest of strength. Her training opponents had always parried her blows, or met them with shield or armor. Very rarely in her experience did they dodge unless the blow was ludicrously slow or poorly aimed. Even on the battlefield, against the night elves and other agile enemies, she'd never felt this slow and awkward.

This had to rank as one of the most humiliating fights of her life. If you could even call it a fight when she wasn't landing any blows and Nova was just dancing around like a jackass.

With a sudden charge she was able to get close enough to him to where she was able to execute one of her prized routines, a blindingly quick chop to get an opponent off balance, then a far-reaching slash with her grip near the end of Render's haft. Instead of staggering backwards like her opponents usually did Nova twisted aside from the chop, then stepped into her and slammed his shoulder into her ribcage.

It wasn't a particularly solid blow, but he did it just as she was shifting position. The next thing she knew she was flat on her back. She lay there motionless for a moment, straining to control her rage. If she moved she was afraid she'd go berserk and destroy Render on the nearest rock.

"Okay seriously," Nova said. "Is this a joke or something?"

"Don't be cruel, Hiezal," Anette scolded.

Nova snorted and ambled over to lean against a tree trunk. "Cruel would be having her try to hit you instead, dear heart."

"Oh that's not true," Anette protested. "I'm not any faster than you, I'm just a smaller target."

"Smallest target I've ever hit," Nova shot back. Anette giggled.

Deneth rolled over and shoved to her hands and knees, then to her feet. After a second glaring between the two she tossed Render aside. "We're done." Without waiting for a response she stalked into the trees, going far enough away to hopefully be out of earshot before finding a sturdy trunk and slamming her gauntleted fists against it over and over until she was afraid she'd break her knuckles.

"Don't be mad, big sister," a high, sweet voice said from behind her. "You're swinging a heavy axe in heavy armor. On the battlefield you're a terror. But Hiezal and me, we're used to doing everything we can to avoid being seen, and when that fails to avoid being hit."

"I can't hit him, and he can do whatever he wants to me," Deneth growled. "That means I could never beat him in a fight."

"Why would you want to?" Anette asked innocently, coming to stand next to her. "You never have to worry about Hiezal wanting to hurt you."

Deneth snarled and dropped to the ground leaning against the abused tree. "And what about others like him? What if I'm on the other side of the battlefield from a night elf who could walk up to me, slip past my attacks, and slit my throat?"

"You have your armor."

"Armor isn't perfect."

Anette shrugged. "Then you have me and Hiezal to watch your back. No one's faster or sneakier than us."

"And should I ask you to chew my food while I'm at it?" Deneth demanded. "Wipe my ass, clean my armor? And doing all that you might as well swing my weapon too and complete my humiliation!" She stomped away again.

To her absolute outrage Anette followed her, small round face set stubbornly. "You're a good warrior, Deneth. You're one of the best I've seen. Don't you know yet that Hiezal is one of the most graceful of a race of extremely agile elves, with a lifetime of experience more than four times as long as ours. And he practices and hones his reflexes constantly. Not to mention you're not used to an enemy who dodges. All you need is more practice with him, to learn more about how a person who dodges thinks differently from a person who meets attacks. Maybe try learning how to dodge yourself so you understand it. Then you'll be able to hit any enemy that comes at you."

"Don't mock me with your sympathy," Deneth growled. She couldn't bring herself to take a swing at Anette, but she broke into a run. A few minutes later when she looked back she was alone.

When she could finally bring herself to return to camp dawn had come and gone, and the others were already packed up and waiting to depart.

"-don't see why," Nova was saying when she arrived. "She's the one who asked me. Probably off her game since fighting those two cultists and realizing she couldn't touch them." Deneth slipped behind a tree to listen.

"You know you're supposed to be stern while teaching, Hiezal, not insulting" Anette replied. "And you're already too mean to her. She's not as savage as she'd like everyone to think, and Clovis's death hit her as hard as anyone. Harder, maybe, since she can't admit to herself that she's grieving."

Deneth wasn't sure about that at all. Bravik hadn't said a word since his companion's death, and as soon as the burial was done he'd immediately taken flight once more, again searching for the pass they sought.

Perhaps some of it was that, like the blood elves, the tauren been more confident with one of his own race around. But the tenderness with which he'd carried Clovis to the rough grave they'd dug suggested something more, if she was any judge of tauren.

And it hadn't been her weeping all night at the loss of a friend and ally. Anette could talk all she liked about how sad Deneth was, but while she missed Clovis and wished the tauren was still there, she'd buried closer friends without a tear shed. The half-elf was just fooling herself into thinking Deneth shared her own feelings.

As if to convince herself of that Deneth wasted no more time in stomping into the clearing, retrieving her axe and pack and getting everything situated for travel. "We'll march closer to the mountains today," she snapped. "We're getting close to the point where we'll have to reveal ourselves to the night elves if we can't find the pass we seek, but in case Bravik finds it I want to be as close to where it starts as possible."

"The terrain be tougher closer ta da mountains," Jin'zur warned. "And we no longer have Clovis ta speed our pace."

"Then we shouldn't waste time." Deneth strode out of the clearing, daring anyone to say otherwise.

No one did. Anette came to walk beside her, holding her hand, and Nova took his familiar place off to the side. Delphine rubbed her head against the half-elf's shoulder for a moment, then padded after Jin'zur as he slipped ahead to scout their path.

Two hours later, near the peak of a foothill they'd elected to climb over rather than go around, a screeching mesa eagle circled them once, then swooped down to land in their midst, shapeshifting into Bravik standing in an awkward perch.

The tauren straightened heavily. Dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, as did the way he tottered before finding his balance. "I've found it," he said. "But if we'd hoped for an unguarded way into Hyjal our hope is vain. Alliance forces are camped in the pass."

Nova's spoke, voice sharp. "Alliance forces?" he repeated. "As in not night elf?"

Bravik nodded. "Humans," he clarified. "Several hundred strong bearing a blue tabard with a silver lion upon their breast."

The blood elves exchanged surprised glances. "You don't say," Nova whispered, almost to himself. "Any idea why such a large force is camped out guarding a tiny pass, rather than within Hyjal where they could be more useful?"

Bravik shrugged. "They have a few patrols out, as if assigned to guard the past, but the majority of them remain within their camp."

Anette danced eagerly, eyes lit up. "Is it them, Hiezal?" she asked.

"Maybe," Nova replied slowly. "Although with our luck it's probably an Outland group, maybe even led by Trollbane himself."

"What are you talking about?" Deneth demanded. "Do you know these humans?"

The blood elf ignored her question. "Well, friends, pick your doom. Humans here and now, or farther north to night elves. I believe Anette could be more useful with her own kin, but the decision is yours." As he said that last his eyes were resting on Deneth pointedly.

Deneth scowled. Thrall had given them this mission, and she wasn't above putting herself at the mercy of pinkskins to see it completed. "We've been traveling long enough."

"Humans it is!" Nova said brightly, rubbing his hands together. He turned to Bravik. "Now, where did you say the closest patrol was?"

.

As she'd expected, the humans were riding their horses.

The beasts were easier to feed and train than worgs, and far easier to find fodder for, so it was no surprise they were common. Especially since humans wearing their heaviest plate were rarely strong enough to go far without a beast to carry them.

Deneth had enough experience facing mounted foes to respect the advantage those mounts gave. Some warhorses were trained to bite and kick, or topple other mounts or large foes with their shoulders. But even knowing all that she couldn't help but view mounted humans with contempt.

Too weak to carry their supplies without the aid of a beast, too lazy to walk on their own feet. Orcs spurred by drums and whips could nearly match the pace of mounted humans over long distances, and a charge of even the most disciplined warhorses could be disrupted by the whiff of a single worg.

Fitting, in a way, that Orcish mounts preyed upon human ones the way orcs so easily preyed upon humans.

These ones were wearing the heaviest plate and riding chargers, heavy cavalry and probably more than their fair share of knights amongst the group, if Deneth's knowledge of pinkskins held any bearing. Those big horses were ill suited to these treacherous mountain trails, and the group picked its way slowly.

All bore the silver lion-head tabard, and most had the lion painted on the shields slung behind their saddles as well. Only the one at their head was completely unadorned, a worn but well cared for broadsword at his waist and a scarred and dented tower shield of unpainted wood and steel bands on his arm.

A shield that large could be awkward in the saddle, and the man's armor, while a complete set of heavy plate, was light enough to wear afoot, his size suggesting he'd make light of such burdens. This was a man used to fighting on the ground, and he wasn't a member of the organization the others belonged to.

And yet he led the group.

"Stay here," Nova hissed. "Keep your hands away from your weapons too, if you don't mind." With that the blond blood elf strode out of the cover of the undergrowth. By all appearances he was unarmed, his sword and dagger left aside in Jin'zur's care. But Deneth wouldn't have wagered any sum on him being without weapons hidden somewhere in his camouflaged garb. Anette followed right behind, dressed in flowing blue Apprentice robes that hugged her slender form and made her look like a lost waif, the effect increased by the unbound river of dark hair that flowed to her waist. Unlike Nova she had a dagger belted beside the pouch on her left hip, but few would consider a mage's knife as great a threat as the mage herself.

More fools they.

"Horde!" one of the silver lion bearers shouted. With a ringing rasp that sounded almost as one a dozen weapons sprang from their sheaths. Disciplined veterans.

Nova waved a snowy white cloth, indicating his desire for truce. "Peace, good humans," he called in Common. Her father had seen the importance of being able to communicate with the enemy, so Deneth could understand most of what he said. "As you can see by our tabards we claim neutrality, affiliated with the Guardians of Hyjal."

"Bullshit," the same man snarled. An officer certainly, perhaps second in command. "We've been burned trusting blood elves before."

"We might say the same of humans," Nova replied lightly, starting forward with the flag still waving merrily overhead. "But will not your leader speak for you, sir? He of the unadorned armor?"

There was a pause, almost long enough to make Deneth's hands twitch to her weapons. They were still out of sight, but she obeyed Nova's directions even so. Finally the human leader spoke, voice ringing hollowly from the depths of his full helm. "Put away your weapons, men," he said curtly. With that he reached up and unfastened his helm, pulling it free to reveal a heavily disfigured face, the snow of his hair suggesting at least sixty years of hard experience, perhaps more. Burn scars, Deneth was sure, extending mostly along the left side of his face and head, leaving the hair slightly patchy there.

The lion officer gave a cry of protest. "But sir, these are Horde! They're enemies."

"Horde, yes. Enemies, no. If their claims are true they fight beside us here in Hyjal." The scarred man glared at Nova. "Am I right?"

In answer Nova turned and beckoned to the rest of them. Deneth led the way out onto the narrow trail, Bravik and Jin'zur flanking her. Their appearance made the humans stiffen, but they obeyed their commanders orders to put away their weapons.

Nova was grinning.

Deneth opened her mouth to speak, but Nova beat her to it. "I'd have to be ten kinds of stupid to fight against you, Lord Marbrand. We're here for the Twilight's Hammer."

"Who gives a damn why they're here?" Lord Marbrand's officer protested. He still held his weapon. "These are the same animals that cut a red slaughter through Ashenvale. Who fed our allies to their mounts like carrion."

The scarred leader turned a dark glare on his officer. One of his eyes was slightly milky, likely injured in the same blaze that scarred his face, and it made the expression all the more intimidating. "Put it away, Canner. These Horde are under my personal protection."

"But why?" the irate human demanded.

Marbrand gestured towards Nova of all people. "Because I owe my life to this blood elf. Long before his people ever considered joining the Horde, back when the Horde was still a ragtag bunch scraping together an existence in Durotar, he stood over my wounded body and gathered a pile of corpses around us before he finally fell himself. Whatever the sins of the Horde, the Castaway is a true man of honor."

The air was split by a piercing shriek of laughter. "Hiezal, a man of honor?" Anette demanded, rolling on the ground holding her stomach in mirth. "Boy are you easy to fool, burned knight."

Marbrand's eyes tightened. "I'll admit your companion has his faults, and he owes me and some friends of mine a great deal of gold. But he's also a better man than you know."

Anette abruptly hopped to her feet and pelted over to the group of humans, some of whom actually redrew their weapons as if expecting an attack. But she only leapt up and threw her arms around the burned lord's knee, vaulting up into his lap and showering his face with kisses. Marbrand looked so stunned it was a surprise he didn't fall off his horse at this barrage of affection. "He's the best man I know," she said, resting a head on his armored shoulder. "I'm glad you're his friend, because that means we're more than friends. You're like my grandfather, which is good because my own grandfather hates me."

Marbrand craned his neck to glance down at the limpet who'd attached herself to him. "Are you mocking me, child?"

Her reply was an emphatic kiss on the mouth. "No, I love you for being the kind of person Hiezal would risk his life to protect. Can I call you grandfather?"

The scarred Elder gently picked Anette up and leaned out of his saddle to set her on the ground, turning his glare towards Nova. "Castaway, what the hell is wrong with this girl?"

Nova was rubbing his face, his hand hiding a smile. "She's a Firedge."

Deneth frowned. She hadn't heard Anette's surname before now, and it meant nothing to her. But Marbrand looked as if he'd been punched in the gut by an ogre. "She's . . ." He trailed off, spluttering. Then, oddly, he glanced at her features, eyes darting to the ones that suggested a human heritage. To Deneth's surprise that scarred face paled, possibly in fear. "Gods of Light and Truth," he breathed. After a brief hesitation he swung out of his saddle, motioning for his men to dismount as well. The movement was somewhat stiff, indicating injury or stiff muscles, but she would've been hesitant to call it an advantage.

"This is the farthest from any place I would've expected to have a reunion with you and Lady's Saire's child, Castaway," he growled. "Perhaps we'd better hear more of your purposes."

"On the way to your camp, perhaps?" Nova asked. "If your offer of hospitality extends so far. We've recently fought a grim battle and grieve a lost companion, and we'd appreciate the rest. You have my word our intentions are peaceful."

Marbrand's eyes fell on Deneth, and she stiffened in spite of herself. She felt as if she was under the stern gaze of her father after disappointing him. "And you can speak for your companions?"

"He doesn't need to speak for us," Deneth said, striding forward. Not all the way to where Nova stood, but closer. "You have my word, human, on the honor of my axe and my family's name, that my weapons will not be raised against you save in defense."

"And I as well," Bravik said. "No tauren ever raises his weapon save in the direst of need."

"Ya have no worry about me," Jin'zur said, resting a hand on Delphine's russet head. "Mah bow be for Twilight Cultists."

Marbrand looked them over, so long and slow he might've been trying to read their souls and all the days of their lives in one long inspection. Then he turned and started back up the trail, leading his horse behind him. The other humans stayed mounted, some riding ahead while others dropped behind as if to escort them like prisoners. Deneth didn't like having humans at her back, but she didn't see how she could possibly object without increasing tensions further.

Which wasn't to say Anette had any such inhibitions. One of the humans dropping back to guard them was Marbrand's second, the hostile officer the burned knight had called Canner. The girl ran over and patted his booted foot. "Now that we're all friends can I thank you for being so protective of Grandfather?"

The human glared down at her through his half-helm, but he was obviously hesitant to speak angrily to the girl. "I apologize for my initial greeting, child," he said stiffly. "I wasn't aware of the full situation, as Marbrand so rightly chided me, and I let old hostilities guide my tongue."

"That's all right," Anette said, hugging his ankle as she walked along beside him. "It takes wisdom to see when you're wrong, and courage and decency to admit it. You remind me of old Elder Ooluu, who I met down in Stranglethorn."

The grizzled veteran smiled indulgently. "I've been to the jungles there a time or two. Was this Ooluu noble and wise, child?"

"Oh yes," she said happily. "He was the most respected bonobo in his tribe."

The human stiffened in affront, and up ahead Nova rubbed his face with one hand. "Ah, dear heart," he said carefully. "Most humans take umbrage at being compared, even favorably, to creatures lower on the evolutionary tree such as monkeys."

Anette turned reproachful eyes on him. "Apes, Hiezal. Don't be insensitive."

The older blood elf nearly choked, spluttering in mirth he struggled to conceal for the sake of the offended human onlookers.

Deneth listened to the exchange and suddenly a lot more about humans made sense. The pinkskins often called orcs by names like ape, monkey, and orangutan. Most of her fellow orcs assumed it was a descriptive term, like "greenskin". But if humans themselves were outraged by being called such things, because they suggested ties to a primitive and savage past humans wanted to forget, then for them the insult was a low one.

She doubted it would change her own reaction to being called such things, since she was used to enemies hurling insults and this one held no sting for her. But she'd remember it next time she wanted to enrage a human.

For the next little while she walked silently, keeping close by her tauren and troll companions as Nova and Anette walked beside Marbrand. Or at least Nova did, while Anette did her best to lavish Marbrand's horse with loving attention as they walked, feeding it bits of food from her pack that the four-legged beast greedily snorked up in its flappy lips.

"I wish we could've met under friendlier circumstances," Nova eventually said, glancing idly at the row of hostile backs ahead. "Centuries of friendship between our peoples, all broken in a few short decades. It takes the end of the world itself to convince us to set aside our quarrels and join forces against the true threat."

Marbrand shook his head wearily, and for a moment he looked like her father did after one of his old dreams. "Dark days have come among us. I spent my life struggling to restore Azeroth to the peace I knew in my youth. Alas, I fear that peace will not return in my lifetime. Perhaps it never will." As he said this he turned his head, and his eyes settled on Deneth. There was more than a little condemnation in them.

She drew herself up indignantly. Could this human possibly blame her for Deathwing and the Twilight's Hammer cult? For the trouble they were currently in? "You complain of dark days, old one?" she demanded. "My people's homeworld is destroyed, and most of our numbers obliterated. We scrape in a desert, surrounded by enemies and fighting to survive in the face of utter destruction."

The humans muttered angrily to themselves, and the old burned knight went so far as to spit off to the side. "Don't speak to me of the troubles of orcs, girl," he growled. "Your world is destroyed by your own hands. I would know, I was there. Your people are surrounded by enemies because you attack everyone you come across. And you speak of utter destruction? You would have brought that fate on the draenei, and on the races of Azeroth as well." He smiled humorlessly. "Yes, I was on the receiving end of much of your people's current history."

The unfairness of his words made Deneth grit her teeth, and it was all she could do to not attack him then and there. "I did none of those things, human," she spat. "Would you lay the sins of the father at the feet of his children?"

"I would," the human said. "I must. We tried letting your people find their redemption and look at where we are now. I'm starting to believe if you don't punish the children they're bound to repeat the mistakes of their fathers. I can think of no better example than your own Warchief. Son of Grom, the leader of the Warsong who embraced demon blood not once but twice. By all accounts Garrosh is every bit his father's son. And your people universally embraced him as your leader."

Marbrand shifted, eyes narrowing. "Or what of you yourself, girl? Most of the Orcish nation's warriors participated in the recent slaughter in Ashenvale. Will you say you didn't take part?"

She scowled. "That is a different thing, human. The suzh'algez, the night-skinned elves, are wardens of our prison, trapping us in a barren land to wither and die. We fought in Northrend for the good of you humans, the true victims of the Scourge, and starved and weakened ourselves by stretching so far. And you repay us by refusing us the resources we need."

To her surprise the human threw back his head and laughed. "Is that what your leaders tell you, girl?" he asked. By his laughter she'd expected his tone to be mocking, but if anything it was incredulous. "Azeroth has been decimated by warfare, in great part due to the actions of your people. Vast expanses of verdant land are opened up to settlement. You complain of living in a wasteland guarded by enemies? It was your own former Warchief, Thrall, who settled you there, wasn't it? And if the night elves watch you closely don't they have good reason? They first met you when you encroached upon their lands, laid waste to their beloved forests, butchered large numbers of them, then drank demon blood and murdered one of their gods. You don't think they'd be hostile neighbors?"

This drew Deneth aback. She hadn't ever paused to consider why her people lived in Durotar. "Where else would we go?" she demanded.

The scarred human's eyes glittered. "After your current aggression, it could be argued you no longer have anywhere to go. But that aside I can think of countless places. Feralas, Un'Goro, Stranglethorn now that the Gurubashi trolls have been destroyed or integrated into other tribes. The once-rich kingdoms in the northern Eastern Kingdoms if your ally the Banshee Queen didn't seem determined to make them plagued wastes. The Swamp of Sorrows. Truth be told your own lands are greener and richer since the Cataclysm, so your complaining of living in a wasteland is weaker than it once was."

He laughed again. "Hell, if all else failed why not Northrend? The Scourge is vanquished, there are still green lands there, and the Alliance has little interest in holding any of that territory of death and devastation. The few undead, vrykul, and hostile races that do remain would be a suitable outlet for your race's endless well of aggression, and you need not ever complain of being trapped in."

Deneth shuddered. "You would banish us to the north? Our people loathe the cold."

Marbrand's eyes tightened, although she didn't know what in her last words could've angered him. But instead of answering he turned to Nova. "The orcs are as unrepentant as ever, I see," he said.

Nova shrugged. "So it would seem. Yet even so this particular orc's main purpose for being here is to do her best to mend ties with the other races. I was assured she was an able ambassador in that regard.

Deneth didn't like the sharp look the blood elf gave her, but his chastising shut her up.

But not Marbrand. "If that's your purpose here you should encourage your companion to keep her silence in future encounters with other races. Age has taught me patience and cooled my penchant for reckless action. I can't say the same for many of my allies when it comes to bandying words with honorless orcs."

That was too much, and Deneth started to reach over her shoulder, intending to teach the human the courtesy of her axe.

But before she could do anything a small hand slipped into hers, and she looked down to see Anette staring up at her with big eyes. The tiny half-elf jerked her head towards the clear space between their group and the humans riding behind, and Deneth reluctantly let herself be led away. It shamed her that others had to remind her of the oath she'd made to her father, and to Thrall, to do all she could to keep the peace with the Alliance.

Little as she liked it their enemies were once again their allies in this venture. It was the Twilights she'd come to fight.

That didn't stop her from being angry. When Deneth judged they were far enough away she yanked her hand free. "Why are you so friendly with the humans?" she demanded. "Your people swore an oath to the Warchief. To the Horde! Where's your loyalty?"

The girl gave her a hurt look. "I don't know."

That wasn't the answer Deneth was expecting. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Anette shrugged. "I don't know. My mother's a member of the Kirin Tor, influential among the Sunreavers. Hiezal took me around to a lot of dangerous places fighting with the Horde, but he never seemed to care about the fights. Anyway the Forsaken brought the blood elves into the Horde, and no one else has really seemed all that welcoming. And now the Forsaken seem to be going crazy and no idea what we're going to do about them, so . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "I never really considered myself a part of the Horde as much as, well, I don't know. We just do what we have to to survive, and make friends with anyone who'll help us in that goal. Isn't that a Horde thing?"

Deneth glared at the girl in disbelief. Was she seriously saying she didn't care about her oaths, or the loyalty of the faction that took her in when the blood elves were on the point of total collapse and needed aid in rebuilding? That there was no friendship or bonds, just cold callous convenience and impending betrayal if it was beneficial?

How could such dishonor be accepted in the Horde?

"So if the humans gave you a better offer you'd betray us?"

Anette's face crumpled in distress. "What? All this was about blood elves as a whole and the Horde, wasn't it? I would never do anything to you! You're my friends, you and Jin'zur and Bravik and Thrall and so many others. I promised I'd protect you!"

Deneth was still stinging from the human's words. "But you'd break that promise to save yourself?"

The half-elf burst into tears. "No I wouldn't!" she shouted. Then she turned and ran forward, past Nova and Marbrand to the line of humans riding single file.

.

Hiezal watched with Marbrand as Anette accosted one of his soldiers, a young woman in full plate, and wheedled her way up into the saddle. The silly girl was besieging her with a barrage of questions.

"Tell me of the child, Castaway," the old man said quietly. "I see her mother in her, although her coloring is much different. And perhaps I see her father's look as well."

Hiezal sucked air through his teeth in a warning hsst and quickly pulled the old commander closer, looking uneasy. "For the sake of old friendships and the sake of an innocent's life, Marbrand, I'd appreciate if you kept any insights about Saire to yourself."

The human gave him a surprised look, but it was one that demanded questions. Nova sighed and lowered his voice. "The child is utterly without guile, save what I've taught her, but in her life enemies have sought her out. I've been forced to slay many of those who fought beside me on the days before and during our cursed Northrend campaign under the command of . . . him. Many of my recent efforts in Outland and Northrend were for the purpose of silencing such threats."

Marbrand's eyes widened in shock. "So she is the daughter of Saire and L-"

Hiezal cut in, possibly too quickly. Other than that he did a good job of hiding his panic. Marbrand would've guessed immediately of course. Everyone did. "That?" he gave an easy laugh. "Don't be absurd, my Lord. Those two never shared a bed, all rumors to the contrary aside." He gave a shudder. "Besides, if she'd come from that blood she'd have been born with teeth in her cunt."

"And if anyone knows that's not true, it's Hiezal. He inspects the area regularly enough." Both jumped slightly as Anette slipped up next to Marbrand and took his hand. "Hi, Grandfather," she said. "Now that I've had time to think I remember you from a long time ago, although you probably don't remember me. Are you talking about my father? Who is he?"

Hiezal hated denying his dearest heart anything, but this was something he didn't have much choice about. "This is a conversation you shouldn't hear, dear heart," he said firmly. "Please go back to making friends with the Alliance soldiers."

She furrowed her brow stubbornly. "No. I want to know who he is."

To Hiezal's surprise Marbrand intervened. "Child," he said, the weight of long years of authority in his tone. "If you respect your guardian, obey him."

Anette turned wide eyes on him, looking almost disbelieving. Then she crossed her arms in a pout and stormed off, going right back to the woman she'd been talking to and, by all appearances, complaining about them. Hiezal could just imagine what she was saying.

Marbrand turned his scowling gaze back on him. "I've known you for a lecher in many ways, Castaway, but what that girl just suggested can't be the case. The child of your lover, someone you probably raised as a daughter?"

Hiezal hissed in irritation. Was there no one on this world who wouldn't judge him for that? Even the orc disapproved. "Set that aside, Marbrand. Saire spent years in Stormwind, and as is our way she had more than one lover, especially among the mages. Yet even so on discovering Anette's maternal heritage you jumped immediately to your suspicion, and you aren't the only one to do so. Even if she doesn't bear his blood the mere suspicion of it will set all his enemies on her. And he has more than a few of those, especially among my people and the Forsaken, and formerly the naga and Scourge. Kael'thas had a bounty on his head for almost a decade until word got around the arcane community of his death, and plenty would use the daughter to get to one they imagine to be her father. Or avenge the father's deeds on her innocent head."

Marbrand shook his head. "So Saire has never acknowledged her own child?"

"Not openly. The story is she's a foundling I took on after the Northrend campaign. For those who dig deeper I've had rumors spread she's the bastard of Tyene and one of her human lovers, left in mine and Saire's care. Tyene isn't pleased that people think she ever let a man touch her, but for Anette's sake she lets the lie stand. She loves the girl. Everyone does, those intending to kill her aside."

Marbrand's gaze turned once more to Anette, brow furrowed. The girl had somehow convinced the woman soldier to dismount and show her a dance, and she was giggling as she mimicked the moves. "Perival told me of Lord Nex's final end," he said quietly. "The man never intended to leave a legacy. I'd hate to think in the end his legacy was putting an innocent girl with nothing to do with him in danger."

Hiezal felt his tension ease, although he couldn't done without anyone mentioning that name. Ever. "Then you'll keep your silence?"

The knight folded his arms, expression darkening. "On that, yes. Now let's speak more of you taking that innocent girl to your bed."

He threw up his hands. "What's wrong with everyone? She took me, and not without protest I promise you. Anyway she was well past the age of maturity when we, um, started, and even humans would find my behavior above reproach!"

"Nobody finds your behavior above reproach, Castaway. But even if that were true I feel compelled to protect her from harm, and there's no more certain way to harm a child than to-"

"Gods almighty!" Hiezal shouted. "You, Deneth, Thrall, the cow. Strangers we've barely met. Everyone feels protective of her, including me! Since she was born I've given my entire life to keeping her safe and happy. You think I'd ever do anything to hurt her? I'd sooner die!"

Both jumped again as Anette appeared again, placing herself protectively in front of Hiezal with her arms outstretched. "You leave him alone, Grandfather!" she said. "I don't know what you're talking about but you just leave him alone!"

Hiezal fought the urge to cover his face.

Marbrand opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to think better about it. For all her appearance and diminutive stature the girl's tone had something in it that wasn't about to be challenged. Hiezal knew well enough, since he'd had plenty of chances to think twice about doing just that. Eventually the human sighed, eyes glinting with a sort of irritated amusement. "I offer you my protection, child," he finally said. "From anything that troubles you."

Anette's anger immediately disappeared and she darted forward to jump up and throw her arms around his shoulders, legs dangling as she kissed his cheek. "I know you do, Grandfather. I'm glad you're here to help us."

The old knight's eyes narrowed at her casually including all of her companions in his offer, but then he gave up, awkwardly patting her on the back. "Such help as I can, child," he sighed. "Look at us, allies of the night elves and yet not even allowed to enter Hyjal. I don't see how you'll get through. And you've yet to tell me what your purpose here is."

"Maybe you could tell me who my father is first," Anette piped up.

Hiezal swatted her bottom. "Go dance with your friend some more!" he snapped. Anette gave him a smoldering look that promised sweet vengeance and stalked away. Tonight was going to be either heaven or hell by the looks of it. Possibly both.

"Actually I have told you our purpose," he said when she was gone. "Get into Hyjal, introduce ourselves to the Guardians of Hyjal, and fight the Twilight Cult. Vague orders, which makes them easy enough to follow."

Marbrand snorted. "Easy? Night elves haven't allowed intruders near sacred World Tree in ten thousand years. The Alliance sends troops to aid them and we're all rebuffed, sent to these miserable tiny passes to guard against further intrusion when even a goat would have trouble invading through here! We can't go south because your Warchief Thrall promised the orcs would back out of Ashenvale and Varian doesn't want to jeopardize that. So here we are, performing the most useless sentry duty known to man. And you, the faction that just slaughtered thousands of night elves, expect to get representatives in?"

Marbrand had a good point, unfortunately. Hiezal shrugged. "Orders are orders, right? Hey, maybe it's time you started pressing harder about your own admittance into Hyjal. The night elves have been whining for months about how much help they need, so they shouldn't argue too much."

The burned commander sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, Castaway, but you're not the person I'd want next to me as I struggle to convince my own allies to let me help them. And that goes double for your green-skinned friend. Triple for the troll, who bears Amani fetishes or I'm a clefthoof."

They brooded over that glumly for several long, silent minutes. "Well, at least we'll have time to catch up," he said morosely. "It is good to see you again by the way. And I'm glad Anette got a chance to really meet you. If there's anyone I would want her to spend time with, it's you."

Marbrand frowned. "She said she remembers me. Not surprising, since my face is nothing if not memorable. I recall a wee little thing on a visit to Tyene, once. Dark of hair, now I remember. Her?"

"Probably." Hiezal did his best to hide a pang of sadness. "I was in and out of her early life. It was only as she grew older that the danger to her increased and I needed to spirit her away."

"And now I've gone and connected her to Saire in the hearing of my men," Marbrand said grimly. "And even mentioned Lord-" he cut off, grimacing "-that is, our mutual human friend's name."

Hiezal nodded. He could've done without that. "Any of them who'd be in a position to connect the dots?"

The old man sighed. "Not among them. But I'm afraid if gossip spreads through camp there'll be those there who could do more with it."

He cursed. From Stranglethorn to Northrend his knives had silenced dozens who might do his maiden sweet harm, or even those with dangerous information and the inclination to give it to those who would. He didn't want to anger Marbrand by bringing death into the Alliance camp, but there was no barrier he wouldn't cross for Anette's sake.

None. "Who?"