Chapter Eight

Toby and Jake

We crashed through the underbrush after the fleeing man.

He moved well through the woods, legs pumping hard with desperation and adrenaline. I wanted to ask a vine or bush to jump out and trip him up, but the man was so far ahead, I could neither concentrate well enough while running, nor focus on the plant I wanted to speak to. Not to mention I still had no idea how I was doing it in the first place.

Behind us, I could hear muffled shouts and Moonborn's voice calling, but they faded rapidly in the distance.

I caught up with Katrina quickly. Her robes weren't made for cross-country sprints, and every tree branch and fern seemed to snag on her clothing or catch on her boots. "Tangle him up!" she cried at me as she ran.

"I cant!"

We suddenly found ourselves on a narrow foot-trail through the woods, with our quarry just ahead. Katrina stopped, preparing to cast a spell now that he was clearly in her sights. Unfortunately, I was right behind her, and as I came out onto the path, I barreled right into her.

She growled at me, but then refocused. Before she could get the spell off, however, he dashed to the side, off the path, disappearing into the trees.

"Damn it, Sorin!"

She started to run down the trail after him again, but I grabbed her sleeve. "We have to stop him before he can bring others!" she said.

I pointed to a small, rotting tree stump that abutted the path several feet in the opposite direction. "Follow me," I said.

"Sorin, he went that way!"

"I know where he's going," I said. I stepped into the underbrush on the other side of the stump.

"I thought you didn't remember any of this!" she protested, reluctantly following. "You'd better be right. Master Zargath will fry us both if he gets away."

We moved quickly through the woods to a small, tree-lined ravine that ran parallel to the path. I jogged down the slope, Katrina behind me, and ran along the bottom, which was dotted with puddles of sickly green water. Fifty feet later, we came to a cairn of rocks on the opposite side that marked a tiny, overgrown path, winding up the steep slope.

The slope of the ravine continued up, and then over, a low-slung hillside, covered in dense foliage and mats of rotting leaves. I proceeded instinctively, ducking around thick brambles, pushing through thickets, and scrambling over mossy rocks and logs. Behind me, Katrina labored to keep up.

I had no idea where I was going, I just knew how to get there.

We arrived at an immense fallen tree, as wide as I was tall, blocking our advance. It had been there for years. Katrina looked one way and then the other for the shortest route around it, but I knelt and started madly scraping away leaves and rotting vegetation.

"What the hell are you-" Katrina started to say, but her words fell short when my efforts revealed a sizable empty space underneath where the tree had fallen. I ducked down underneath, crawled to the other side, and began to pull away the foliage there.

"My robe is ruined already anyway," Katrina mumbled, and then joined me underneath.

In moments, the leaves were cleared away, and we were rewarded by a unobstructed view of our destination. In the middle of a large clearing down-slope from us stood an old cabin. Its architecture, decidedly foreign to this part of the world, did not consist of long boards or logs connected at right angles. Instead, its walls were made of sheets of a thick, earthen-toned material like dried mud. They were erected along fluid lines from one sturdy tree to the next, forming a wavy oval. The centerpiece of the structure had a second story, wrapped around four of the largest trees, and the top of the structure was domed, except for where the trees poked through.

Although we couldn't see it from our vantage, there was a beautiful garden out back. It was Callie's favorite place to play.

Katrina put a dirty hand to her forehead, fixing me with a disgusted glare. "Well done, tracker," she said sarcastically. "We lost the human, but look what we found instead-"

I put a finger to my lips and pointed.

The young man we were chasing, as if on queue, suddenly stepped from a line of trees into the clearing. He crouched down, carefully scanning the area, and then jogged across the overgrown lawn to the front door of the house, and then stepped inside.

Katrina grinned. "I take that back," she said hastily, then scrambled out from under the log. She got to her feet and started to jog down the tree-dotted slope toward the clearing.

"Katrina, wait!" I hissed, then followed her.

She was headed to the front door when I caught up with her. Grabbing her arm, I led her around the side to the back of the house, sneaking behind the trees that formed part of the walls. At the back of the house sprawled what once was an impressive garden. I paused as we came upon it, scattered memories coming to me of the many hours I had spent out there. The garden, like the clearing out front, and indeed the rest of the Tirisfal Glades, was overrun with brambles, moss, and a sickly green taint. Nevertheless, the arbor, trellises, elven pagodas, and even the stone fountain I had worked so hard on still stood, albeit a bit worse for neglect.

Silently, we crept onto the covered porch, and then in through the back door. The kitchen showed signs of recent activity. Dirty wooden dishes still covered the table, and the wash basin was wet. As we padded silently into the living room, I leaned my spear against the wall, pulling my dagger from its sheath. Coming around the corner, tense with anticipation, we encountered one of the home's occupants.

It was a dog.

The dog was of medium size and build. I knew at once that he was one of those dogs that had almost no significant breeding – a mystery mutt. Part Lordaeron Hound, part Aerie, part Wetlands Retriever, and part who-knows-what. I also knew at once that he was loving, faithful, and played a great game of chase-the-stick.

"Jake...?"

Katrina rolled her eyes. "By the lady," she grumbled, relaxing, "He's still alive? Where is that human?"

I stepped forward and knelt, holding out my empty hand, and smiled broadly. "Jake! By the Light it is good to see you, boy! How did you manage to-"

Jake took a couple hesitant steps forward, then suddenly backed up, bearing his teeth and letting out a low, guttural growl.

I slid forward a step or two. "Jake, it's me! It's Sorin!" I urged. He looked confused, frightened, backing away toward the front door, ready to either bite my hand off or run for it.

"Shhh," Katrina said, "The human will hear."

I didn't know at the time that all dogs abhor the undead; indeed, they are frequently trained to hunt us down. Instead, I assumed his confusion was because I spoke in orcish. I struggled a moment to form a phrase in Common.

That's when the other inhabitant of the house appeared, in the front doorway. He was the one we'd been chasing. No more than eighteen, he had sandy hair, freckles, and the scruff of a young man's beard. He held a powerful-looking heavy crossbow, bolt loaded, aimed right at my heart. His hands shook.

Katrina laughed. It wasn't kind. "Arn bolit, two Forsaken," she said in Common. I didn't quite follow all her words; it was like she was speaking too fast, though I knew she wasn't. Whatever she said did make an impression on him, however. He gulped, sweat beading on his brow, and his aim went from me to her, back to me again.

"Katrina," I said in a low, even voice, still down on one knee. "That's Toby. One of Will Saldean's boys. We can't hurt him." I remembered Toby now, at least bits and pieces. He lived on a large farm belonging to one of Brill's more prominent citizens. He was the youngest of six sons, more of a dreamer than a farmer, in truth. He often tested his father's patience to breaking, and on those days he would take refuge at our house, entertaining Callie, playing with Jake, and eating our food. We never minded.

Katrina fixed him with an icy glare. "Doesn't matter," she said. "Will Saldean is one of us now."

I didn't move. "Toby," I said in what I hoped was Common, "It's Sorin. Sorin Trollbane."

Jake now had his haunches backed up into Toby's leg. He held his head low, tail curled under, alternately growling and whining.

"Toby!" I repeated.

He swallowed again, eyes darting back and forth. I saw a glimmer of recognition in his face, mixed with confusion. "Sorin...?" he whispered.

I nodded slowly. "Run," I urged.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Katrina suddenly cried. She raised both hands, and her eyes and face darkened again, as they had during the fight on the road. Then both hands burst into flame.

Toby jerked the crossbow up and fired it. The bolt whistled across the room. His aim was poor; the missile missed the neck of Katrina's robe by six inches, instead punching a hole in the far wall. Katrina did not flinch.

I jumped to my feet and lunged at Toby, trying to shield him with my body. Jake growled viciously. Toby, wide eyes fixed on Katrina's hands, was unable to protect himself from my sudden move. He fumbled the crossbow as I plowed into him, and the two of us went tumbling out the front door, with Jake dancing around us, snarling and barking.

I wound up on top. As I lifted myself off him, I saw a crimson glow all around my hands and arms. I threw myself to the side to get clear of him, screaming "Run, Toby! Run!"

What happened next is hard to describe. I saw Toby scrambling backwards, but in that same instant, I heard a roar like the ocean in my ears, and then I was engulfed in a white-hot searing pain such as my new body had never experienced. Tongues of yellow flame obscured my vision, while the oily black stench of burning flesh filled my nostrils. I struggled to reach my hands and knees, only to collapse again.

I distinctly recall, despite the overwhelming torment, having a bizarre stray thought. I hoped I was not too close to the house; the stucco-and-resin coating I had used to cover all the walls was fantastic for insulation against the cold and the rain, but I used to worry that the resin might be flammable.

As I thrashed around, growing weaker and weaker, I heard vague voices beyond the roaring of the fire. At first, it was only Katrina. She kept crying the same thing over and over. "It's okay," I said to her, although I think I only did so in my mind, "Not your fault. I got in the way."

The roar died away, but the pain did not diminish. Katrina's distraught face appeared in my vision against a backdrop of blurry clouds and wisps of black smoke. She said something again. I couldn't really understand. I wanted to roll on my side, and look for Toby and Jake – were they okay? My muscles only trembled.

Then Moonborn was there. I didn't feel her hands on my arm, but I could hear her whispering softly in what must have been Taurhe. The pain and the palpable sense of weakness suddenly began to withdraw as if they were being siphoned away.

"Oh, Sorin, I'm so sorry. Please! Are you all right?" Katrina's voice. I blinked; my eyes started to focus. Strength returned, slowly.

"We lost you in the woods," said Moonborn. "You both ran off so quickly!"

I tried to get to my feet, a little too soon. I wobbled.

Moonborn sat me back down. "Not so fast," she said, "you were badly burned. Those runes of yours were pretty dim."

"Where are Jake and Toby?" I asked. My voice worked surprisingly well, considering the taste and smell of the oily black smoke were still embedded in my mouth, nose, and throat, and would remain so for weeks.

Katrina fixed me with an inscrutable look. "Gone," she said. "They fled into the woods."

She pointed to the far treeline. Snakestomper was there, jogging back toward us, shield and hammer still in hand. He spoke in Taurhe.

"Orcish, beloved brother," Moonborn replied. "The others want to know, too."

The big Tauren glared at Katrina and I, snorting and mumbling to himself, but offered no translation.

"He says that the human got away. We should not linger here."

I stood with Katrina's help. She gazed up at me anxiously. "Can you walk?" she asked.

I nodded. Surprisingly, I felt fine. My skin was its normal color; that is, an unhealthy, pasty white. The rune on my chest glowed as steadily as ever. Of course, what was left of my tattered clothing had been badly burnt. My jacket, torn and threadbare to begin with, was gone completely. My trousers suffered a similar fate. I stood only in blackened boots and small-clothes.

Katrina did not seem to notice the impropriety, but Moonborn raised an eyebrow at me.

I turned to go back into the house (which I was glad to see had not been affected by my little blaze). "Sorin, we need to meet back up with Benu and Master Zargath," said Katrina. "We can't stay here."

"I'll be just a moment," I mumbled, mostly ignoring her.

I went back inside, intending to get some clothes. This was my home, after all, even if someone else had been living in it. I stood in the middle of the living room. Now that we weren't chasing anyone, I could take it all in. Everything was a memory, from the tiny ripples in the resin that covered the inside of the walls, to the wood floor, the furniture. This place was where my old life, my life from before, lived on, even if it wasn't mine any more.

"We should burn it," Katrina said. She had come in, standing behind me.

"Excuse me?"

"It's obviously home to the Scarlets, or at least the resistance. Grab whatever it is you want to grab, and we'll burn it before we leave."

"This is my home, Katrina," I insisted. "We're not burning it."

"It's not your home anymore," she countered. "Look." She pointed at the dirty dishes still on the table. "The humans live here now."

"Toby lives here now," I argued, "and he's welcome to."

"Toby is part of the human resistance," Katrina said, getting angry. "Toby is the enemy. And that was a really stupid thing you did. What were you thinking? I am very sorry you got hurt, but, really, Sorin. Immolation is a powerful spell, and once it ignites I can't stop it; it has to burn itself out. Your runes were nearly fried."

"Maybe I wanted them to be fried," I said softly.

"So that's it then?" she retorted, rolling her eyes in disgust. "I didn't think you were the sort who would waste time feeling sorry for yourself. Guess I'm wasting my time on you. We'll just leave you here for the Scarlets. Do you know what they like to do to us?"

I raised my eyebrow. I didn't even know who these Scarlets were, let alone what they liked to do.

"They used to just torture us until we died, which can take days, even weeks. But their new High Inquisitor has taken to hacking us apart and then letting us go. We've had Risen brought home with no arms or legs, but very much alive. Even Lady Sylvanas hasn't figured out how to fix them yet."

I didn't respond. I was running my finger along the edge of a painting that hung over the table. It was a coastal scene, with a windswept bluff ablaze with wildflowers overlooking the water. It was Mortenay Cove, just a few miles to the north. We used to camp there overnight during the summer.

Katrina let out a long breath, trying to release her frustration. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Sorin, please. I know this is hard. Lots of Risen struggle to let go. Lady Sylvanas can help you. But we need to leave. That patrol we ran into were just resistance rabble. If we get caught by a party of Scarlets, we'll be in real trouble. Please."

I finally nodded. "No burning the house," I said.

"No burning," she agreed.

I moved quickly into the bedroom. Despite the evidence that someone else lived here now, much of the room had been preserved in it's previous state, as if the inhabitant was just a short-term guest. I rummaged through my closet until I found suitable clothing, picking out the least moth-eaten. I exchanged my charred footwear for a sturdy pair of boots.

As I left the bedroom, an object on one of the shelves caught my eye. I swept it up as I left. Katrina greeted me in the doorway, with my spear in hand. "Time to go," she said.

We took the short-cut back. There was no sign of any pursuit. As we went, I turned the object I had taken from the bedroom over and over in my hands. It was a small carving of a wolf, done by Annika. She had wanted me to teach her to sculpt wood, and the wolf was the first piece she did.

I remembered the look on her face when she gave it to me. She knew it was terrible, she had to explain what it was. Painting was her art; she had done all the pictures that hung on our walls. Yet this barely-recognizable piece of wood brought as much pride and joy to her face as her finest paintings. I treasured it.

She was excited to start on her second piece, but I never got to see it, because that was when I had sent them both to live with my father in Dalaran.

Just to be safe.