Chapter X

Father Malroy had been a priest of the Light for as long as anyone could remember. It was through his service to the Light that he had met and befriended a young Anadelias and helped nurture his talents with the Light and set him on the path to becoming a paladin. This was why upon hearing the news of Anadelias' death, he had broken down and not spoken for days. It was also because of this life-long friendship that he had gone to a secluded farmhouse in the middle of nowhere on a whim upon receiving a note from the supposedly dead paladin, asking him to meet here. He had found the meeting spot, an old barn around the back, and had been waiting for nearly an hour, wondering to himself what he expected to get out of this clandestine meeting.

Before he could dwell anymore on the matter, Malroy heard the old barn door creak open and waited for the newcomer to find their way to him. Rounding the corner was a male in non-descript simple clothes and a travelling cloak that also had a hood, which was conveniently obscuring their face at present.

"Father Malroy, I'm glad you came." Came the deep, foreboding voice from within the hood.

Malroy instantly fell into a defensive stance with his staff in front of him, ready to parry any attacks. "Come no closer – I can sense your undeath from here!"

"I do not intend to harm you Father, merely talk." He replied.

"I will not listen to any lies you spout."

"Would you accuse Leonid Barthalomew of spouting lies just because he is undead as well?"

Malroy visibly relaxed a little. "I suppose you have a point."

The hooded man nodded. "And I have also come unarmed and with no hostile intent." He lifted his arms away from his sides and turned around once to prove that he was in fact, unarmed.

Father Malroy nodded in the direction of an upturned feed trough. "Let us talk then."

Both men sat down on the rusted makeshift bench, although Malroy still kept a respectable distance from the hooded figure.

"Well, as I'm sure you're well aware; I'm Father Malroy. And you are?"

The other man let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose we might as well get this out of the way now."

He lifted both his hands to the hem of his hood and drew it back, revealing his pale-gray face, dark grey hair and his eyes that glowed with an unnatural light blue hue.

"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight and free of the Scourge's grasp." He hesitated. "But you would remember me better as...Anadelias."

Malroy nearly fell off his 'seat' at the revelation. Visibly shocked, his hand trembled slightly as he held onto his staff for support.

"Ana..." Malroy's voice broke momentarily "Anadelias, is that really you?"

Dreadsorrow grumbled noisily. "No, Anadelias is dead, physically at least. Mentally, I still have memories of a past life, but that's it. No pity or guilt or emotion." Dreadsorrow knew the last part was a lie, but he did not need anyone else to believe anything except the status quo for now.

Malroy eyed the plain-clothed death knight opposite him warily. "If you really were Anadelias, then you should know the answer to this: How did we first meet?"

Surprisingly, the question drew a smile from the undead man sitting on the other end of the trough.

"I was young, twelve I think, my parents were visiting Lordaeron and I was chasing my best friend – Gavrin – through the alleys when I turned a corner and slammed into someone and knocked them over. I later found out it was you whom I had run into. It was not long after that that you helped me onto the path of becoming a paladin."

"Oh, Anadelias, my boy, what have they done to you?" Father Malroy said, his voice choked with emotion.

Dreadsorrow used his hand to indicate the state of his body. "I thought it was obvious. But my current condition is of no consequence. There is another reason I asked you here."

"You still tricked me into coming here, using the name of a dead friend to guarantee my coming."

Dreadsorrow scoffed. "Technically, I am still Anadelias, from a certain point of view. So it wasn't a lie."

Malroy rolled his eyes. "Of course it wasn't. So tell me then, my boy, why did you ask me here, in the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears?"

Dreadsorrow's mood shifted noticeably from ever-so-slightly jovial back to serious and blunt. "Gavrin. What happened to him?"

Like an unconscious reciprocation, Malroy's mood changed as well. His shoulders sagged at the mention of Anadelias' lifelong friend.

"Ahhh, my boy, it's a sad state of affairs. By some sliver of a miracle of the Light he survived the encounter where you fell and not long after Anadelias – you, disappeared, he vowed he'd find you, much like you would do if Gavrin went missing. For weeks he searched high and low for you, but he found nothing. Not long after, he slipped into a depression and began to spend more and more time at taverns, drinking his time and problems away." Malroy shook his head. "I've seen more death and destruction than most, but when a man dies within himself, it's always a tragedy."

Dreadsorrow frowned. "But where is he now, Father?"

A weary sigh escaped Malroy lips. "Last I heard he was at a tavern way down south, on the outskirts of a tiny village. The High Brow I believe it was called. It's a damn shame about that man. He always had so much faith."

Dreadsorrow stood up and brushed away some vagrant oats that had stuck to his cloak from the upended trough. "I will find him, no matter how long it takes, I will find him."

Father Malory chuckled to himself. "You've got more determination that quite a few living people I know, my boy."

Dreadsorrow grunted in apparent agreement before drawing the hood back over his head.

"Tell no one of our meeting – for all intents and purposes, Anadelias is dead and I do not exist."

Malroy simply nodded his head. "Yes, my boy, I can keep a secret. I already have quite a few I will be carrying to my grave."

Satisfied, Dreadsorrow moved to leave. "Suffer well, Father."

Malroy rose with help from his staff. "May the Light be with you, my boy." He said to the death knight's back as he left.

"More than you know." Dreadsorrow added under his breath, just quietly enough that Malroy would not hear him.

As the Father of the Church of the Holy Light watched the death knight leave the barn, he smiled and recited a small prayer for Dreadsorrow's safety. Although I really should be saying a prayer for the safety of anyone who gets in his way Malory mused.

Dreadsorrow stood out the front of the tavern, making sure the last of his disguise was in place before entering. He had not come this far only to fail because some drunk saw what he really was. Just as he was about to enter, a tingling sensation went up his spine and he felt that someone was watching him. He hesitated for a second while he quickly looked around but he could see no one. Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, he walked over to the tavern and entered.

Thankfully it was already evening, so there were no giant rays of sunlight pouring through the open door to announce his arrival and draw anymore unwanted attention than necessary. He quickly scanned the tavern's patrons and saw only harmless peasants. No soldiers or mercenaries to question his presence or scrutinise his disguise with a sharp military eye. Weaving between the tables and reaching the bar, he sat himself down onto one of the wooden stools and made sure his cowl was still hiding his face.

The bartender, a plump man in a severely stained shirt and a chequered rag draped over his shoulder, meandered over to Dreadsorrow to take his order.

"What'll ya have?"

Dreadsorrow did not look up, but instead turned his head in the bartender's direction. "Information."

The beady eyes of the bartender narrowed at Dreadsorrow's answer. "What kinda information?" He asked suspiciously.

"A man. He came though here not too long ago. Medium height, short black hair, muscled."

"Hmmm" The bartender scratched at the stubble on his double chin. "Ere, I'd like to help ya, but my memories aren't what they used to be, filled with 'oles they are."

Dreadsorrow let out an annoyed sigh of displeasure. "Of course it is." He reached into his travel cloak and pulled a small brown bag out before casually tossing it on the counter.

"Try harder." He said bluntly.

Beady eyes fixated upon the bulging coin bag and stubby fingers clamoured for it. The bartender opened it up and saw the glitter of gold before he quickly whisked it away and stashed the bag in his back pocket.

"Well, now that you mention it, there was a fella who looked kinda like that 'bout a week ago. Had one of 'em fancy warhammers with 'im too. All truesilver and gold like, it was."

Beneath the hood that obscured his face, Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "And?"

The bartender sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I was gettin' there.' He then leaned against the bar on one arm and beckoned Dreadsorrow closer with the other. The death knight did not move. After a few seconds when it was clear the death knight was not going to move closer, the bartender repositioned himself closer to Dreadsorrow.

"When he left 'ere, he was with two guys. Nasty fellas, but they don't cause trouble in here and they pay for their grog, so who am I to complain?"

"Get on with it." Dreadsorrow complained.

"Right, yeah. Anyway, these fellas, they're no good, heard rumours and the like. Folks reckon they're really them looney cultists. Twilight's Hammer they call 'em. Bloody doomsday cults. Good for business though, mind you. Everyone tries to drink their lives away before the world ends." The bartender chuckled to himself.

"Where are they now?"

"They got a camp, 'bout a day's travel east of 'ere. Give or take a few."

"I was never here." Dreadsorrow told the bartender, who nodded in response, as he got off his stool and headed for the exit.

As the bartender watched the cloaked man leave, he picked up another dirty stein in need of a decent clean and started to give it a once over with his chequered rag, keeping a close eye on the stranger until he left.