(AN: If you thought that not enough had gone to hell in the last chapter, well then, hold onto your butts for this one!)
(A few thoughts about the last chapter: some of the characterizations of Cardinal Hess and Agnette Fallow were of my creation. Namely the Cardinal's "deathbed confession" and how Fallow is presented. In my brother's original draft, she is much more fanatical, like Mila Jovovich's Joan of Arc from the Luc Besson film The Messenger. But since I hate that cliche, of prophets 'really' being just madmen, I've written it off. Apart from being possessed by Sargeras, Medivh never seemed to be mad in his role as the Prophet from Warcraft III, and while Illidan would laugh and mock at him [along with the creative team at Blizzard, what with Hatuun and all those lore rewrites in Legion, Velen seems quite sane and 'together.' So I made Agnette's visions more subtle and less fanatical.)
Winds of Death
The dark crypt was filled with the sound of Marion's hammer striking the stone mural. While this happened, Crusader Davidson sent one of his soldiers to fetch a pair of iron-chain cuffs: it wasn't very long until someone sniffed out the assassin. Sister Clarke told them not to harm her yet, but to send for stronger bonds for her than the ropes they currently had. Along with this, each of the two hundred soldiers were given torches to light their way in the darkness. All the while, the sound of battle continued around them in the Monastery.
"How long will they be able to hold them off?" Abner asked aloud.
"Not forever, sir," Baris replied. "A shame we're so few in number."
"We won't be able to make our escape with so many," Abner stated. "Two hundred and seven in a small tunnel deep underground. It's madness!"
"We can't hold them off forever," Crusader Davidson stated. "So unless you have any ideas, talking won't do any of us a lick of good."
The three of them were standing outside the small crypt, and Abner looked about at the stonework of it. The crypt was sturdily built, and only the greatest of forces could have broken it.
"We could seal the crypt," Abner finally said. "But we'd have to blow it up out here, and we'd also have to wait until we're deep within the tunnel. Don't want to collapse the whole damn thing."
"But we don't have any powder," Baris added.
"I have a little," Abner said. "Not nearly enough to seal off the tunnel, I'll wager."
"There's an entire powder room here in the Monastery's armory," Crusader Davidson added.
"I can't do that," Abner dismissed. "The others will need that for the defense."
"We shouldn't need too much," Davidson stated. "Maybe just a barrel or two."
"Baris," Abner said. "Round us up some powder. Davidson, you and me should go talk to Marion. She'll know the logistics for this little plan better than us."
The young man went on his way and the two soldiers made their way down into the crypt. They found Marion busy at work, breaking away the mural with her hammer. It was sad that so beautiful a work of art would be destroyed to facilitate their escape, but it couldn't be helped. It took them a while to get the Dwarf's attention, after which they told her of their plan.
"Ye gotta be jokin'!" she exclaimed. "Bringin' down this 'ere buildin' on our heads, while we're innit t' boot?"
"We're running out of time," Abner returned. "Can it be done?"
"Aye, but it'll be difficult as hell," Marion said. "I'll have t' do it meself. I may be a tinker, but I know me way 'round stone. Ye might say it's in me blood."
Marion placed down the hammer and began kicking the rest of the masonry out of the way. Within short time, there was an opening just big enough for a tall man like Varlaine to walk through, as long as they ducked first. At once, the Dwarf began to examine the entrance she made, looking for the best way to use the explosives.
"While I have your attention, sir," Crusader Davidson said. "What are we gonna do about that monstrosity?"
"Nora...Sister Clarke, that is, has plans for it," Abner replied.
"That's all well and good," Crusader Davidson stated. "Sister Clarke is a prelate, and her wisdom is appreciated by all. But I don't trust that thing she's keeping; and I can tell from your voice and the look in your eye that you don't either."
"So what do you want me to do about it, then?" Abner asked. "Sister Clarke's dead set on bringing it with us. I don't know, maybe she thinks Abbendis and the inquisitors at Tyr's Hand can get more out of that fiend than its insults."
"I say let there be a contingency in case that monster tries to break free," the crusader replied. "Where's Sister Clarke?"
Abner led Crusader Davidson up to the top room of the crypt, already filling up with the soldiers from their 'honor guard.' Setheras, Sister Clarke, Prophet Fallow, Calia, and the assassin were standing there, waiting nervously for them: that is, the humans and the Elf were waiting, while the assassin was merely standing by herself, pushed up against the wall, bound in chains.
"What's taking so long?" Sister Clarke asked. "The sounds of battle are getting closer!"
"I know, I know," Abner dismissed. "Look, we need a back-up plan in case that thing tries to make a break for it." He pointed to the assassin.
"She has a name, you know!" Calia retorted.
"Do I look like I give a damn about that thing's name?" Abner asked. "It's an undead monster and it's going to try something."
"Why?" Calia asked. "How long has she been with you and not tried to kill you? If she was your enemy, wouldn't she have tried to kill you sooner?"
"It's biding its time," Abner retorted. "Waiting for the proper moment..." He turned to Sister Clarke and said in a hushed voice. "Like when we're in a dark, underground tunnel."
"Point taken," Sister Clarke returned. She mused pensively for a moment, tapping the bottom of her chin with one of her gloved fingers, then suddenly smiling as a thought came to mind. "I know! There's a supply room near the Forlorn Cloister. Rohan in Tyr's Hand requested some new reagents for poisons recently; there should be something you can use there."
"Good," Abner said. "I'm going to go find something. Make sure it doesn't leave until I get back."
"Yes, sir," Sister Clarke added with a sarcastic grin.
Abner ran back out of the crypt and through the lines of soldiers just as Baris came back with a barrel of gunpowder. He made his way to the cloister and began rifling through the supplies. As he had often used poisons on some of his traps, Abner knew his way around potions almost as well as an apprentice alchemist. It took him little time to find a few vials of some poisons he knew brought paralysis to those affected.
These will work, he thought to himself. Not to kill the assassin, but to incapacitate it if it should try to get away.
As he went back to the crypt, a thought entered into Abner's mind. Thoradin would not be able to be taken into the bowels of a crypt, not in the wounded state that he was in. He hadn't planned on so great a battle and so had little with which to mend the bear's wounds. Furthermore, in such close quarters underground and in pitch darkness, he feared that the beast's wild nature might return and he might make havoc of the soldiers. He pocketed the vials into his survival patch, to apply them to the knife in his belt shortly, then made his way to the stables nearby, where Thoradin was housed. At his insistence, the stable-hands let him lead the bear back out and into the courtyard; tears were in his eyes.
"This is the end of the line for you, my old friend," he said. "I can't take you with us into the dark."
The bear sat down and looked at Abner.
"Don't do this to me," Abner replied. "It's hard enough seeing you so beaten up." The bear reached out and placed one paw, filled with four-inch claws, on Abner's shoulder. He chuckled.
"You know the way back to Hearthglen," he said assuredly. "I'll be along shortly. Go there, and be safe. I'll see to your wounds once we're back home." He reached down and removed the harness. He then pointed the way east, and the bear began to slowly lumber away. He had no doubt that Thoradin could make it into the mountains, even despite the siege camps.
Light be with you, old friend, he thought to himself. Though he wasn't very religious, he called upon the Light to see Thoradin through to Hearthglen, and that he wouldn't succumb to his wounds.
By now, the entire crypt was filled with soldiers to the brim. They made a narrow passage through which the group could pass through to the bottom, where Marion was busy preparing the tunnel entrance for a controlled explosion. At the surface, the rest of the group was standing ready; Sister Clarke insisted that the Scarlet Prophet give some words of hope and encouragement to their company. The night was still some ways away, but the coming of war to so holy a place meant that the days of the Scarlet Crusade were numbered. Abner stood beside the prisoner, and kept an eye on Calia: almost as bad as it coming free of its own would be if the misguided princess actually freed it herself. He had applied the paralyzing poison to the knife in his belt and the smell was quite formidable; those near him winced if they got a whiff of the scent, which irritated the nostrils. A pair of bound hands wagged impotently from the assassin, in Abner's direction; no sooner had he felt the assassin's hands brushing against him, he seized it by the back of its shrouded neck and pulled it in closer to him. Already bitter at letting Thoradin go, he was in no mood for her bullshit.
"Keep it up," he threatened. "I beg you. One flick of my wrist and you'll be stiff as a board, but still quite useful and not fully dead...at least not yet!" He shoved the assassin's head forward forcefully, then turned to where Sister Clarke and Agnette Fallow stood. After a moment of tense silence, broken by the distant sounds of battle, the Scarlet Prophet spoke to the soldiers of Crusader Davidson's company in a loud voice.
"Brothers and sisters of the Scarlet Crusade," Agnette said. "Our hated enemy, the undead, and their vile allies, stand upon the doorstep of this hallowed ground. I know that all of you would give your life to protect this Monastery; I know that all is dark about us, and that our order is hemmed in a narrow place and cannot get free. But fear not: the Light has not abandoned us. Sister Clarke has told me that we have with us the princess, as well as the Crown of the House of Menethil. Through us the Scarlet Crusade will live on! We will go east, to our brothers in Hearthglen and Tyr's Hand, and bring this hope to them. We may lose this battle, here at the Scarlet Monastery, but know that, by going on this quest, we have won the war. Lordaeron shall be restored and you, my devout two hundred, shall be immortalized as the ones who saved our land! For Lordaeron! For the Scarlet Crusade! For the Light!"
The cry was taken up thrice over by the soldiers gathered about and within the crypt: those below brought noise of cheering to the otherwise grim and silent house of the dead. Setheras and Marion cheered down below, and Baris cheered above; Sister Clarke dabbed at her eyes with her gloved hands, and even Abner's heart was lifted at these bold words.
In the bowels of the crypt, Crusader Davidson gave the order to his men: it was time to move out. Now the crypt was filled with the sounds of men in armor marching along, torches held aloft. It would take some time for the two hundred to make their way through the crypt and into the tunnel at the bottom-most level: it was a little more than half high at the entrance, then rose up to about six feet, and only wide enough for three to walk abreast. Sister Clarke delivered the assassin Mardenholde into the keeping of the soldiers: four armed men guarded her, with one leading her on a rope tied about the neck, one holding a torch to light the way, and two at the rear with their swords drawn and the points aimed at the assassin's back, in case she should try something. A few paces behind them walked the Princess, who refused to be parted from the assassin in case the 'fanatics' tried to harm her against their orders.
The small group would take up the rear, with Abner and Setheras at the front, Marion and Baris at the back, and Sister Clarke and Agnette Fallow in the midst of them. These had the most important job of covering their escape, as well as the Dwarf for setting the charges that would seal off the tunnel from access via the crypt. Meanwhile, the sounds of battle were growing ever near. It seemed that the Scarlet Monastery would soon be overrun before they had time to get into the tunnels.
But, even as it seemed that they would soon be seeing the rotten faces of undead here in the courtyard, Setheras gave a cry: "We're up, let's go!" With all speed they made their way through the crypt, down to the very bottom level and through the opening in the mural into the tunnel. Marion, bringing up the rear with Baris, paused to set some fuses to her charge and uncoil the wire that would be used to set off the explosives. They ran about one hundred feet from the entrance and came to a halt as Marion took her time to wind out the wire to where they waited for her.
"We should keep moving," Setheras said. "The others are outpacing us. Also, if this doesn't work, the tunnel is going to collapse in on us first."
"She's good at this," Abner replied, referring to Marion. "She's an expert. She won't let us down."
"Agnette," Sister Clarke said, turning to the Scarlet Prophet. "That was a rousing speech. But do you think it's wise to say those things?"
"Every word of it was true," Agnette replied.
"Even the part about the Light not abandoning us?" Sister Clarke asked.
"The Light hasn't abandoned us," Agnette said. Setheras and Sister Clarke gaped at her in awe, while Abner kept his eyes on the figure of the Dwarf making her way over to them.
"I used a confession spell on that assassin," Sister Clarke reasoned. "She said that the Light has abandoned us."
"It's not possible," Agnette replied. "I heard the voice of the Light not but three days ago."
"What did it say?" Sister Clarke asked.
"A darkness has taken hold of the Scarlet Crusade at its root," Agnette began. "A deceiver sits in the highest place of our order. The Light cannot bless our cause until that cancer has been removed."
"Another purge?" Sister Clarke asked, in a defeated tone. "Haven't we had enough purges already? Only the faithful remain, what more could we sacrifice?"
"Not of the laity, but the leadership," Agnette replied.
"I'd be careful who you say that to, lady," Abner stated, turning over his shoulder to the ladies. "Good men have burned for less."
"That is why they've burned," Agnette replied. "Because they were getting too close to the truth."
"The deceiver, right?" Abner asked.
"Who is this deceiver?" Sister Clarke asked. "The High General? The Grand Inquisitor? The Grand Crusader?"
"Wait a minute," Abner interjected, turning back to them. "You're not seriously thinking about betraying our order?"
"Of course not," Sister Clarke returned. "I want the Scarlet Crusade to succeed in its mission."
"It's too late," Agnette sighed.
"No, it can't be!" Sister Clarke returned. "The Pilgrim's Road passes through the Eastweald near Stratholme. We can come to the Scarlet Bastion, we can take Dathrohan captive and use the Light to draw out the truth."
"This is treason," Abner argued. "Saidan Dathrohan is a legend; cut from the same noble cloth as Uther the Lightbringer, Gavinrad the Dire, and the other heroes of the Silver Hand. How can you even consider this?"
"This is no easier for me than it is for you, Varlaine," Nora retorted. "More for me, even: I am a priest, we held the Silver Hand in high honor. It breaks my heart to even think that we should raise our hands against one who has fought and bled so much for the cause!"
"It won't come to pass," Agnette added.
"Why tell us this if there's nothing we can do about it?" Nora exclaimed.
"You wanted answers? Well, now you have them," Agnette replied. "But the Crusade cannot be allowed to die. If you want to stay alive, then you will keep us far away from Stratholme. The plague awaits us in the Scarlet Bastion, as well as Tyr's Hand."
"Tyr's Hand?" Abner asked. "But that's where we were supposed to be going!"
"What we seek is at the end of the Pilgrim's Road," Agnette stated. "The child of the Light."
"What is that?" Setheras asked. "Child of the Light."
"Is it possible?" Nora gasped.
At that moment, Marion came up to them, holding the detonator in her hands. She noticed them all standing around, gaping in awe.
"Have ye taken leave o'yer senses?" she asked. "Th' enemy's on our tales! Get goin' while I blow this up!"
As if roused from a stupor, they ran on down the tunnel after the soldiers. There was a loud explosion behind them, enhanced to unbearable levels within the dark, echoing confines of the tunnel. The sound of falling rocks was heard and Marion came running after the taller of them, trying to catch up as the entrance collapsed behind them.
For the next several hours, the company walked in the darkness of the tunnel. The assassin seemed to be calming down and did very little movement or trying to attack her captors. As for the group, they were bringing up the rear behind them. Marion's controlled explosion hadn't brought the tunnel down upon their heads, and the lack of any sounds of pursuit meant that the enemy couldn't get to them that way. For the present, they had escaped danger yet again. Yet they walked on in darkness, the only sounds the doleful echoes of their brothers before them, marching on through the tunnel. It spiraled downward in a wide arc, going left and then right, and then right again, until they lost all sense of direction related to the outside world. For all they knew, they might still be underneath the Scarlet Monastery.
As they continued walking, Abner thought that he would pry at Sister Clarke and the Scarlet Prophet, to see if they had anything further to say on what they had revealed.
"Any one of you mind explaining a few things?" he asked.
"There's that insolent streak of yours, hunter," Nora said with a coy grin. "It's going to get you hurt some day."
"Hopefully not before we arrive at where we're going," Abner replied, turning them to Agnette Fallow. "Which, by the way, you never told me much about. What is this child of the Light that you spoke of?"
"I don't know," Agnette replied.
"Didn't the Light tell you what to expect at the end of our journey?" Abner asked.
"Your doubt is not helpful," Agnette said. "It feeds the disbelief in your heart and makes you grow colder."
"That's never been a problem before," Abner dismissed.
"It is now," said the Scarlet Prophet.
"What about you?" Abner asked, turning to Sister Clarke. "What is this child of the Light?"
"There's a rumor," she began. "More like a myth, from the time when the Pilgrim's Road was made. It was believed that, early on, before the tenets of the Light were codified into our common religion, a group of itinerant priests came to the end of the Pilgrim's Road in Northeron, called there collectively by visions of something they called the child of the Light."
Setheras seemed most intent on listening to what was being said; possibly more than Abner. At least once he bumped into Marion while not watching where he was going. The Dwarf swore beneath her breath, then laughed at the clumsiness of the otherwise graceful Elf. He bore the remark rather well, all things considered, and continued listening intently.
"That doesn't make sense," Abner replied. "Even for you priests."
"Well, see, that's what I believed," Nora continued. "In all my studies, I've never heard of the notion of the Light having offspring. True, we've come to associate the Light with the god Tyr, after whom Tyr's Hand was named, and he was even invoked during the Second War against the Horde. But the phrase still started to appear in certain rare texts from the age of Thoradin and the founding of Arathor."
"Hmm," Abner mused. "So we have no idea what we'll find at the other side of this tunnel?"
"Oh, not at all!" Nora replied. "See, the myth goes that these itinerant priests founded some sort of secretive cult in Northeron. What they do or what they're even called is a mystery, as no recent records exist of encounters with their order. But I have a few ideas of my own."
"And what ideas are those?" Abner asked.
"Perhaps the child of the Light is some kind of sacred artifact, or even a lineage," Nora reasoned. "Perhaps the leader of this cult? A title passed on from generation to generation. Some very powerful ascetic who could wield the Light more powerfully than any cleric or paladin in history: even greater than Uther himself." A discerning smile appeared across her face.
"Yes, yes, I see! That's why we've been sent here, as the last hope of the Scarlet Crusade! Whatever awaits us at the end of the Pilgrim's Road is likely some very powerful boon, a blessing from the Light, whether a grand cleric or a powerful artifact. It might just be what we need to survive the days to come!"
"That's assuming an awful lot," Abner reasoned.
"There's only one way to find out," Nora returned.
At length they could see the flickering of torches in the dark tunnel and the echoed sound of murmuring ahead of them. The path turned to stairs that now ascended upward. Ahead they saw their comrades standing in double-lines on either side of the tunnel, and before them the light of the mid-afternoon sky. All at once they made their way through the double-rows and up the stairs to the exit of the tunnel: a wide cave mouth that opened up in the midst of a wooded glade on the side of the mountains. No sooner had they appeared when Abner walked out of the glade and found a small footpath that ran roughly east to west.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaimed.
"What is it?" Nora asked, coming up behind him.
"I know this path," he said. "I must have walked it a thousand times. This leads up into the mountains, towards the refugee camp."
"By the Light!" Nora gasped. "Perhaps the use of the pass was never forgotten, though the legend vanished. Now it seems that we might just be saved by the Pilgrim's Road!" She turned to Crusader Davidson. "Give the order, have your men march forward down the path."
They made their way out of the cave, onto the path and began hiking up into the mountains. Abner led the way, as he knew these roads from his days as a lone wanderer in Tirisfal during and after the Third War. If he was right, as he guessed that he was, they would soon be in the refugee camp. He hoped to see Margaret and little Susan again, and perhaps even Thoradin had made his way hither: the latter he didn't properly expect, but wished in his heart that they might run into each other again.
But as the company claimed the hill, they saw the camp in ruins. Tents had been knocked over, shacks were burning, and the smell of death was everywhere. Abner was aghast at what he saw: these were unarmed and, for the most part, defenseless refugees. What evil had brought about their death? It seemed that some greater power of evil had determined to wipe out every last remnant of the people of Lordaeron: first the Scarlet Crusade, and now their protected refugees.
Around him, Crusader Davidson gave the call for his men to search the camp. Abner immediately went to the shack where he had spent the night and called out for Margaret: no answer came. He looked all throughout it, but saw no sign of them or the children: not even so much as bodies. Suddenly he heard a shuffling sound and, drawing the pistol that had been in his belt, he made his way to the back, towards the shed. Slowly he came, thinking that he had cornered an enemy who he might be able to get the drop on if he was careful. Quickly he turned around, pointing the pistol at the shed behind the shack.
To his surprise, he saw little Susan peeping out from the doors.
"Hello, mister!" she greeted cheerfully.
"You!" Abner sighed. "What's going on here? Where's everyone else?"
"The undead came," she said. "They attacked the camp. Everyone's gone. But I was safe."
"How?" Abner asked.
"Mother kept me safe," Susan replied.
"Your mother?" Abner returned, remembering how she had gotten upset when the other children said that her mother was dead. It seemed a harmless thing at the time, to assure her that her mother was still alive - though she likely wasn't - but the little girl now spoke of her mother as though she was actually here.
"Mhmm," Susan nodded. "She's in here with me. Let me show you!" With that, the little girl pulled back the doors and Abner's eyes widened in shock. Within the tool-shed was an undead creature, chained to support beams of the shack. Worse still, he noticed an array of clean-picked bones lying at the creature's feet: some of them looked quite human. Abner took aim with his pistol but Susan stepped in front of him.
"No, don't shoot!" she urged. "That's my mother!"
He could barely make out an answer to this. Instead he was stunned silent for a moment as he looked at the monster, gnashing its rotten teeth at them and clawing to reach little Susan, and the girl with her earnest face looking up at him, pleading for mercy.
"That is an undead monster!" Abner retorted.
"Don't say that," Susan returned. "You'll hurt her feelings."
Again he was stunned into silence. The world around him seemed to shrink and he was alone out back of the ruined shack, by the woodshed, with Susan and her undead mother. Suddenly a dark thought came into his mind as he looked again at the bones lying around the monster's feet.
"Susan," he asked. "Where's everyone from the village?"
"They're gone," she replied simply. "Some ran off into the woods, some stayed and were dragged off by the undead, some were killed here in the village But mother was getting tired of eating old dead rats and plagued squirrels."
Abner could scarcely contain himself. Into his mind came the words of Captain Ashton, only half-heeded at the time, about feral undead. They would have come up here, searching for one of their own, and likely been the death of everyone else in the camp. This little girl might just be responsible for the deaths of everyone in the refugee camp, and all because she was giving shelter to this monster that, even now, wanted to eat her. He knew what he had to do.
"Susan, look at your mother," he said. "She's trying to claw at you. She wants to eat you!"
"She just doesn't know any better," Susan reasoned. "She will soon."
His pistol grew heavy in his hand, as he had kept it held up and aimed at the undead creature. He knew what he had to do, but for some reason, he couldn't make himself do it. The words of Calia Menethil came back into his mind, condemning him of every evil action set to the name of the Scarlet Crusade, and many others that had never been set to them.
"Where's Margaret?" he asked. "Where is she?"
"She found out about mother," Susan said. "I had to knock her out. But mother was so hungry at the time..."
"You fed her to that...thing?" he asked, holding himself in from throwing up.
"I tried to tell her no, but she insisted," Susan replied.
At this point, something snapped within Abner Varlaine. He remembered his training. Whatever this thing was, it was no longer Susan's mother. Furthermore, Susan herself seemed to be quite mad herself, keeping a live undead zombie in the woodshed and potentially threaten all of their lives. He wondered now if there would be another attack if they left her without being taken care of. He knew what he had to do; it would be quick and painless, and over in a moment.
"Susan," Varlaine said. "Look at your mother."
Baris was the first one to hear the gunshot and ran over to the shed where his mentor was standing over two dead bodies lying in what had once been a woodshed. One was lying face down and the other was older, more rotten, lying on top of the smaller one and was also missing its head. Standing nearby was Abner Varlaine, with Captain Ashton's sword drawn in his one hand and holstering a match-lock pistol in his other hand.
"What happened?" Baris asked.
"Undead," Abner replied. "They must have wiped out everyone in the camp. Found a straggler and put it down."
"That explains the gunshot," Baris nodded. He noticed that Abner was cleaning something off the captain's sword that was not human blood.
"So what's the plan?" Baris asked.
"Whatever Sister Clarke says we do next," Abner resigned with a weary sigh. "Or the Scarlet Prophet."
"But I follow you, sir," Baris replied. "And this Sister Clarke, where did she come from? And where's Captain Ashton?"
"You remember that hooded fellow who was with the captain?" Abner asked. "That was Sister Clarke; an inquisitor or something from the Monastery."
"And the captain?"
"He fell." The two of them hung their heads in sorrow.
"He was a good man," Baris said.
"Not just a good man," said Abner in reply. "One of the best. Among the likes of Grand Crusader Dathrohan or Highlord Mograine, that's where he belongs. No less for so worthy a man."
"So what happens now?" Baris asked. "Did you go out into Tirisfal for nothing?"
"Not for nothing, not yet at least. We have the princess of Lordaeron."
"The princess is here with us?" Baris asked in a hushed voice.
"Yes," Abner nodded. "And we have the crown of King Terenas." He pointed to Sister Clarke. "She has it in that book she's got." Baris looked thither and saw a large, ancient copy of Catechism of the Church of the Holy Light hanging at her hip by a long leather strap that rested on her shoulder.
"Sir!" a voice cried out in a loud voice. "Something's coming!"
Abner looked this way and that: on the hills to the north and south and on the refugee path they had taken he saw nothing. The path that led south and east, the way forward, however, was different. Out from the trees there walked a figure clad from head to toe in black armor. As it came closer, they noticed a long-sword upon the figure's belt, and that the land beneath its feet withered and decayed into dull browns, grays, and black. Abner and Baris returned to the company, that was now gathered about in a circle around the princess, swords drawn and shields at the ready. Baris drew his sword and Abner fitted an arrow onto the string of his bow but did not bend it. On either side, there stepped forth Setheras and Marion, both of them gleaming with light; long-sword and hammer held at the ready.
"Halt in the name of the Scarlet Crusade!" Crusader Davidson cried out. "Tell us who you are and what your business is. Speak now, or why should we not kill you where you stand?"
There was no answer. The figure then halted less than twenty yards away from them. The figure then reached up and removed the black hood from off its head and revealed to them who it was. Setheras gasped aloud and stepped forward, pointing his sword downward. What they saw was a pale face with glowing blue eyes, raven black hair tied in a long braid resting upon the shoulders, and long, sweeping, pointed ears: even at distance they could tell that it was an Elf.
"Araley?" Setheras gasped. "By the Sunwell! What happened to you? I looked for you for days, weeks, but I never found you, or our fathers. I thought you were dead!"
The elf woman let out a soft, mocking chuckle.
"Oh, Setheras, always so naive," she said. "You should have stayed in Silvermoon. Now you will be the first one to die."
"Ara..." Setheras stammered. "No! What are you saying?"
"The Lich King scourged these lands of the living once before," Araley said. "Now he has come in person to finish what he started. Even now the dread necropolis Acherus floats in the skies of the Plaguelands, heralding the coming of death. Your beloved Crusade will not stand before the might of the Scourge: New Avalon is already under siege; soon it will fall."
"No!" Setheras retorted defiantly. "No! It cannot fall, it mustn't fall; it will not fall. The Light will prevail!"
"Still holding on to your religious fairy tales, are you?" Araley asked. "Such a pity: I was once like you, blinded by faith and tradition. But I have seen the impotence of your holy light firsthand upon the field of battle: your light was not enough to save the Sunwarders from the wrath of the Lich King. Surely you must have guessed what happened to your dear father by now, haven't you?"
"Don't you dare speak his name!" Setheras retorted. "Not after betraying everything you once fought for and believed!"
"Who the hell is this?" Abner asked. "How do you know her?" But the Elf didn't answer.
"Tindel Dawnbreaker," Araley purred, in a condescending, mocking voice. "Yes, that was the one. He and my father fell in battle against the Scourge: the light forsook them. But, instead of raising them up as his servants, the Lich King had their bodies used as munition for the Scourge's meat-wagons."
The sound of struggling was heard behind them and Abner cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The undead assassin, bound, shrouded, and gagged though it was, was flailing and thrashing about, and letting out a muffled roar of anger. Four soldiers broke formation and had to secure her, in case she should try to break free in the midst of the battle.
"Why have you done this?" Setheras asked. "How could you possibly serve the one who destroyed our homeland, slaughtered our people, and took from us our birthright?!"
"Birthright?" Araley laughed. "Power is the birthright of the Quel'dorei. Behold a taste of that power!"
The death knight drew forth her long-sword from its sheath: the black blade glistened with crimson runes of blood magic. Her blue eyes turned red and streams of red swirled around her like a bloody shield. The soldiers gripped their weapons tightly, preparing themselves for the inevitable charge. Despite the death knight's power, she was only one and they were two hundred and five: they could easily overwhelm her and deliver a killing blow with maybe losing only as few as five or seven.
Then Araley held her sword towards the Scarlet Crusaders. Out of the woods behind the death knight came a host of the dead. As Abner looked upon them, he noticed by their clothes that they were the refugees whose bodies he hadn't found in the camp. They were now servants of the Scourge. More and more of them kept pouring out of the woods and gathering behind the death knight. The odds had suddenly shifted out of their favor and their enemy was now outnumbering them. The soldiers looked this way and that in fear, and their hands faltered upon their swords.
"Steel yourselves, brothers!" Crusader Davidson said to his men. "We are the Scarlet Crusade: we do not surrender!"
Shoulder to shoulder they stood, the devout two hundred. Shields were locked and swords and spears set at the ready. Setheras, Baris, and Marion stood alongside Crusader Davidson, whose armor blazed with holy light: they stood with weapons drawn, waiting as the line of the dead began to approach them. From behind came an arrow fired from the bow of Abner Varlaine towards the death knight; the arrowhead smote the breast-plate of her armor and bounced off without piercing through. Quickly he fitted another arrow, then fired at the nearest undead creature, striking it through the head. Another arrow fell shy of another head-shot and knocked loose the jaw of its target; the monster now lumbered towards them without a bottom jaw. Just before he could fit another arrow into the string, cries went up from the soldiers as the line of undead crashed upon them.
Abner quickly looked this way and that for high ground: he had to find someplace where he could pick off the undead without endangering his fellow soldiers. A line of hills to the left looked advantageous. But even as he plucked two arrows from his quiver, he noticed Sister Clarke. She and Calia and the prisoner were standing apart from the line of soldiers behind the battle lines. The princess had a short knife in her hand and Nora was kneeling down, seemingly not doing anything.
"What the hell are you doing?" Abner asked, as he came to a stop where the Inquisitor was kneeling. "Do something!"
"I am doing something," Nora replied.
"And what's that?"
"Praying," she said.
"Oh, great," Abner dismissed.
"I bring hope and strength from the Light to our soldiers," Nora said. "That is my duty; now do yours and fight."
With an angry grunt, he leaped off towards the hills to the left as fast as his legs could carry him. Once at the top, he began raining arrows down upon the enemy from behind. No sooner had he begun but they noticed him and some moved after him. But he was quick on his heels and, before they could take him, fled from his vantage point to another to continue firing upon the undead.
Meanwhile, the death knight began to walk slowly towards the line of battle. There was no urgency in her steps, and her sword also had been returned to her sheath; both of these struck fear into the hearts of those who saw her. The ground rotted beneath her feet, turning black and gray with each step. As she approached the battle-line, those living soldiers who were closest to her fell to the ground, red-faced and screaming in agony. Their flesh seared and acrid steam rose from their suits of armor; the blood magic of Araley caused the blood to boil within their veins. Those who were unfortunate enough to fall to the blood boil plague suffered a cruel, agonizing death.
"Stand strong, crusaders!" Crusader Davidson shouted. "The Light is with us! We will not falter!"
Those who heard his voice were encouraged and continued the battle; those immediately around the Crusader were protected and were not affected by the boiling blood plague that struck all who came near the death knight. Seeing this, the death knight held out one hand and, summoning her necrotic powers, seized one soldier with the grip of death and pulled him through the air. Before he collapsed at her feet, she held out her hand between herself and the soldier, fingers outstretched like the claw of the undead ghouls in her host, aimed at the soldier's neck. The soldier began to gasp for air, and flailed in vain to save himself. Araley's lips curled into a cruel, wolf-like grin as the soldier writhed between asphyxiation and burning alive from the blood boiling within his veins. At last he fell to the ground, shriveled and burned, and thoroughly dead. The death knight held her hands above the fallen body and it began to glow with a blue light. As the power began to pass into the body from the death knight, the blood boil plague subsided. The soldiers began to prevail and slay the undead, and now they were almost on top of her.
A blade struck through between the plates of her armor, spraying her face with her own blood. The reanimation ritual was halted. With rage in her eyes, the death knight seized the Crusader; all the blood drained out of the soldier's body and he fell to the ground ashen pale and dead. Reinvigorated with the life's blood of her enemy, the death knight pulled the sword from her body and heaved it lance-like through the helmet visor of one of the soldiers. Then she drew out her rune-blade and began cutting down those who had dared approach her when her power waned.
The battle lasted on for about the space of one hour. All throughout that time the undead were cut down like wheat before the harvester; and one by one, the Scarlet Crusaders were killed in turn. Two hundred went down to one hundred, and then seventy, then fifty, and then as few as twenty. Throughout the ebb and flow of the battle, the death knight was moving between attacking and defending: her power was great, but she was only a servant of a greater power and she was not that greater power itself. As such, she could not create storms of remorseless winter to bite and tear the flesh off her enemies, nor could she reanimate all who had fallen as undead slaves to fight the Crusaders. If she had a moment free from distraction, she could raise one at a time, and so she could not overwhelm her enemies with legions of undead. But the majority of her power was aimed at rotting the ground beneath their feet, which caused lethargy and sluggish movements, or draining their blood to heal the wounds she had received.
But as the battle went on, the death knight began to realize that those who were gathered around the Crusaders - whom she guessed rightly as the ones whose armor blazed with Light - were not affected by her blood magic. Worse still, the number of ghouls and zombies on her side was slowly dwindling, as she could not keep them at bay and raise up more at the same time.
On the other side, the heroes were becoming weaker and weaker as the hour of their battle lengthened. Baris had received a nasty across the right cheek from one of the ghouls; Crusader Davidson had almost been overwhelmed by a large group of undead before his soldiers rescued him, and he now bore many wounds across his body. Marion, who was the strongest of the group and often threw herself into the thickest part of the fray, had taken the most wounds of all of them; her eyes were blazing with wrath, her voice was hoarse from her defiant shouts and roars, and her face was filthy from the remains of her enemies. She could barely stand on her own two feet anymore, and often had to plant herself in one place, take a knee with her shield perpendicular to the ground holding her up, and bash those who dared try to attack her. Only Setheras, lithe and nimble Elf that he was, had evaded harm from the battle; he bore only bruises beneath his jerkin where his armor had been pushed against him when the enemy struck him, but even he was starting to pant.
Abner, meanwhile, had only had to fend off attacks from zombies a few times, and had been bloodied and wounded himself as well, bearing a rather nasty cut near the left eyebrow that was dripping blood down his face. All of his arrows had been spent and he was now making his way for a rock to find cover in order to load his pistol with shot and powder. But even as he was running towards the rock, he felt himself dragged through the air and fall face down at the feet of the death knight. He could feel his legs becoming weaker than normal, as if a great weight had been applied to them and he was being ineffably drawn down into the earth.
"Abner!" Nora cried out.
That one movement had distracted Sister Clarke enough that she had broken her praying. Now the power of the Light was removed from the Crusaders and the death knight's power prevailed over them. Those who had been protected were now dropping to their knees, the blood boiling within their veins. A cocoon of Holy Light blazed around Abner as Nora reached out with the Light to shield him, her attention focused on him rather than protecting the others. For the present, he was safe. But their numbers were dwindling rapidly; twenty had fallen down to seventeen, and then fifteen, thirteen, and then ten, as the soldiers were no match for the death knight. At last only nine remained alive: Arlin Davidson, Abner Varlaine, Marion Sledgeheart, Agnette Fallow, Baris Appleton, Setheras Darkbreaker, Sister Nora Clarke, Calia Menethil, and the assassin. Of these, only seven were armed (even Calia still bore her short knife), and they refused to back down. The undead broke upon them and they cut them down, as their numbers had been greatly reduced. The last one slashed open Sister Clarke's stomach with a knife before being decapitated by Baris, who called for Princess Calia and the Prophet to help him carry her to safety.
Abner hadn't yet recovered from his fall; the rotting earth held some kind of unholy, necrotic power that leeched the life out of him very slowly. So even though he was yet alive, he could not yet fully recover. Setheras and Marion were standing beside him, fighting off the undead that dared approach him. Marion was almost fully bent over from exhaustion, but she refused to bend her knees before her enemies. Setheras alone seemed eager and battle-ready, even after an hour and a half of fighting. Before them the death knight turned her glowing blue eyes; she was also gasping for air, and looking bemused that they still held their weapons in hand.
"Fools!" she shouted. "I killed two hundred of you, and you still think you can prevail against me?"
"The Scarlet Crusade will never surrender, Araley," Setheras replied. "No matter how hard you try to destroy us. We fight on till the very last; for Quel'thalas!"
"For...the Light!" gasped Marion.
"For Lordaeron!" Crusader Davidson shouted.
The death knight barely had a moment to raise her sword to defend herself from the Crusader as he attacked from her right. The two clashed swords again and again; Deathsbane against Hope-Ender, light against dark, holy against blood magic. They both swung wide and haphazard blows, as they were exhausted; but Araley had the power of the Lich King on her side, and it gave her a slight edge over the Crusader, small but just enough. One wide blow dinged off the death knight's armor, and gave her just enough of an opening. She thrust the sword beneath the pauldron beneath the arm, where the armor was at its weakest; only a hauberk of chain-mail beneath the plate armor. The blow struck true and the blade went all the way into his flesh. The death knight roared defiantly at her enemy as he died before her eyes. She pulled out the sword and let his body fall to her feet, then she stared at those who stood before her still.
"Is that the best you can do?" she gasped, her voice ragged and hoarse. "Has your Light forsaken you so easily?"
But the Light had not forsaken them. Even now as she taunted them, doubt lingered in her heart. Hope-Ender could not devour the soul of Crusader Arlin Davidson. She had hoped that she could devour his soul and replenish her own strength, and so slaughter the rest of these wounded and battle-weary crusaders. As it was, her power had been spent; she felt it with each haggard, hot breath she took as she stared them down. In her head, she could hear the voice of the Lich King, calling her back into the darkness of the east.
"You..." she breathed. "You haven't won! This isn't...a victory for you! Death has returned to this land...and...and your Crusade will be the first...to fall!"
With that, the death knight turned tail and fled back the way she had come, her black cloak swirling behind her as she ran.
"C'mon!" gasped Marion. "Ye rott'n b*tch! I'll...snap that wee fairy neck o'yorn!" With that, she fell to the ground in total exhaustion, panting heavily. From behind Baris came, and, seeing Abner on the ground, gave him his hand to help him onto his feet.
"Sir!" he asked. "Are you alright? Sister Clarke's hurt bad!"
Abner took Baris' hand and got back onto his feet. Even now the power of the death knight's spell was wearing off: the death and decay faded from the ground, leaving only bare patches of brown earth, and the blood plague was gone. Strength was returning to Abner's body with each heavy breath. He looked at Baris and gave him a firm slap on the back.
"Look at you, son!" he smiled. "You've been blooded. You're a man now; a man of the Scarlet Crusade." Baris blushed, and the wound on his face gushed as blood rushed to his face and out of the wound. "There'll be time to celebrate later. Come, let's see to the wounded."
But they had been busy fighting the enemy without that they had quite forgotten about the enemy within. The assassin Mardenholde had seen the fight and knew that there was little hope that the death knight would mistake her for one of her servants, even if she pretended to be so. While death was certainly welcome by her, there was yet something else she had to do: she had to return what had been stolen. The barrel of plague had been left at the Scarlet Monastery, and she had kept her ears open while her eyes had been shrouded: if what they said was true and the Horde was besieging that place, then the Apothecary Society would retrieve the barrel and take it back to the Undercity. There was, however, still the matter of the crown of Lordaeron, which was inside the book that Setheras now carried, the Catechism of the Church of the Holy Light, that Abner had stolen from the Undercity.
Therefore it was that, during the battle, Mardenholde had picked the locks of her bindings. The ring finger of her left hand had lost most of its flesh, and the bone had been filed and sharpened into a rudimentary skeleton key, which she could use even if her usual ring of lock-picks was not on hand, as it was now: this she often kept hidden by the gloves she wore, so that none could see the missing flesh. Once her hands were freed, it was only a matter of waiting for the opportunity to strike. She would not go back to the Banshee Queen empty-handed and in failure: those who failed Sylvanas Windrunner were slain and their corpses re-purposed for spare parts. As the battle wore down, she saw her opportunity and took it.
As soon as the death knight fled, Mardenholde threw off the shroud and made her break for it. Creeping up behind them, she slipped Abner's poisoned knife out of its pouch and delivered a swift stab into his gut. The paralyzing poison took affect almost immediately, causing him to double over and then fall face first into the ground. Even as he was falling, Mardenholde wasted little time in following up with her next attack. She brought the dagger out of Abner's side and plunged it into Setheras' face: the left eye burst into a gooey, bloody mess as the knife slid in and out of it swiftly. Following up, she drove the knife into his right eye, but this time the eye was stuck fast onto the knife's blade and tore out of Setheras' face as she pulled it out. Setheras collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony, holding his hands over his bloody eyes. Baris swung with his sword, but the assassin ducked out of the way and, faster than he could move, got up behind him and held the bleeding knife to his throat; the Elf's eyeball with its glowing blue iris still sitting along the blade, covered in blood.
"Well, would you look at that?" she hissed into Baris' ear. "Bright-eyes hasn't got any eyes anymore." She licked the blood from the wound on his cheek with her long, black tongue. "Hmm, you taste good." She then looked down at Abner.
"I've changed my mind, Scarlet scum," she said. "I won't kill you just yet. I'm going to kill everyone you love first, while you lie there, paralyzed by your own poison, helpless to stop me. Then, after you've watched your loved ones die before your eyes, I'll put out your eyes, so that their deaths will be the last thing you'll ever see for what's left of your life. Because after that..." She chuckled. "...after that, then I'll kill you."
Abner strained against the paralysis, but he could move nothing below his neck: even his speech was slurred and his words came out slowly. His enemy would have no mercy upon them and he knew it was useless to beg for their lives.
"You..." he forced out. "...monstrous...b*tch!"
"Monster?" she retorted. "That's rich coming from you! Tell me something, Scarlet scum, how many women has your crusade killed? How many children have you personally killed?"
"Says..." Abner forced out again. "The fucking...cannibal!"
Mardenholde grinned mockingly at him. "You're quick-witted: from what I heard, you Scarlet scum were morons. Yes, I am a monster. I've killed and eaten many; men, women, and especially children. I warned you that I would try something, but your little priest b*tch wanted to keep me around. Not very bright, is she?"
Abner made no answer.
"What, nothing to say?" she asked. "Good, let's keep it that way. You're just where I want you to be." Her other hand seized Baris' wrist, preventing him from trying anything as she held him in her grasp.
"You probably thought it meant something, didn't you?" she asked. "All those lives you took, of us and your own kind. You said that it would all be worth it once you had your end; the restoration of Lordaeron. Is that what your precious Captain told you, after every raid he led you on?"
"Fuck...you..."
Mardenholde chuckled with realization. "Oh, now I see. You loved him, didn't you? Just as you love this boy here, right?" She smiled, flashing her yellow and black teeth at him. "Let me show you what happens to those you love."
Suddenly Mardenholde bit directly into Baris' neck, just above the collar of his chain-mail hauberk, that lay beneath his plate armor. Wildly she tore at him, biting off sizeable, bloody chunks. Baris cried out in pain, thrashing in vain and trying to free himself: but the assassin's grip on his wrist was iron and the knife remained firmly at his throat. There was blood all over the both of them, and more growing with each second. Suddenly there was a burst of blood and Baris' cries were replaced with gasps and his thrashing, flailing movements became shivering convulsions: the assassin's teeth had found and ruptured a major artery and Baris was bleeding out. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, and Mardenholde held him up as she continued devouring his neck.
Then, to Abner's horror as he watched, unable to do anything, she moved up from Baris' neck and began tearing apart his face. Half of his ear came off along with huge bloody chunks. Abner tried to close his eyes or move his head, but the paralysis kept his eyes frozen open and his head unable to move. Slowly, little by little, Mardenholde tore off Baris' face until there wasn't much left of his face to recognize him with. By this time, Baris had fallen into shock from the massive loss of blood and was too far gone.
Mardenholde let Baris' bloody body fall to the ground, as she gazed down triumphantly at the impotent Abner Varlaine. She then lifted the knife up to her lips and sucked the eyeball off it and into her mouth, relishing it as the gelatinous, glowing orb burst between her teeth in her mouth. But this wasn't enough for her, to merely wound and kill: she had to foil their mission utterly. She walked over to where Setheras lay, his hands over his bleeding eyes, unable to see, his world engulfed in pain. She took the book from him and ran away; Abner couldn't move his head and saw not where she ran to, and, for a time, saw her no more.
(AN: Some pretty heavy stuff happening in this chapter! I sweated through the concept phase for this one heavily, so that I could make everything happen in a believable way. I hope that paid off. In my brother's first draft of his version, the Devout Two Hundred are actually the "devout five hundred." I reduced their numbers because a] it made sense that fewer people would be sent away from the attack on the Scarlet Monastery, as they would need every man they could to defend the holy place, and b] it seemed more realistic for a single death knight to solo two hundred rather than five hundred. And c] I've been listening to "The Last Stand" by Sabaton and two hundred was closer to the Swiss guards from the event which that song retells, and I wanted to retell that in this story.)
(Here we see some of Setheras' past catching up to him in the form of Araley, my death knight. Just for the record, she's not getting a "misunderstood" backstory because she's evil. Flat-out telling you that she's not good: after what the Ebon Blade did in Legion, there is no excuse for their actions. Darion and Bolvar are dead to me [and Bolvar has much to answer for as well]. Also I wanted to rebut what Nathanos said to Genn Greymane in the Stormheim intro: it's really rich for Nathanos to call the Gilneans "monsters" when the Forsaken themselves are little better than the Scourge. So I got to do just that in this chapter. I also realized, while writing the older chapters, that I kept forgetting about Thoradin the bear: that is why I wrote that he was sent home before them.)
(A few final notes about the big battle scene in this chapter: I noticed that Melissa doesn't really do much until the final stage of the "boss fight" from Betrayer, so I explained "my version" of what a healer is doing in the midst of a battle. Also I made armor actually useful and not just paper. Also also, I'm sure everyone is going to be upset that the death knight doesn't spam raise undead from the bodies of the fallen Crusaders. Well, I did that for several reasons: first because she's a Blood death knight and they're not heavy on raising massive armies of undead, and secondly because her power isn't the same as the Lich King's. She's powerful but not invincible: so she can only use her power to do one very powerful thing, which is why she's always casting blood boil and death and decay but can't maintain a massive army of the undead. And her use of that power that way meant that she couldn't last the whole fight.)