Part 12

Nerissa avoided Ferruk actively, but something kept dragging at the back of her mind. Outside of avoiding him, her thoughts were not for Ferruk, but for a strange sense of malevolence, a malignant, creeping evil that came from in front of them. They were riding straight towards it, and it was making her more and more agitated.

It was Malovici that she kept unconsciously gravitating towards. Though she did spend some part of the day chatting with Whitecrow, and obtained some feminine items from Nantu, who happened to be an alchemist (and of course, carried her own), she kept finding herself riding beside Malovici.

Neither of them spoke for the longest time, and she would drift away after some time. But there she was, back beside Malovici. Indeed, she was riding so close to him that she was bumping against his leg.

"What's the matter with you, girl? You want to just ride in my lap, eh?" he finally asked her.

She shook her head and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Malovici looked at her with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Stop," he said, his voice carrying strongly to the others.

He sat looking at her quietly as the others came back to them.

"What's up?" Whitecrow asked.

Malovici shrugged, "I don't know. Ask the girl. Go ahead, girl, tell us what's bothering you."

"I…" she started, and then stopped. "It's nothing, it's silly," she finally said.

"Tha' ain't good 'nuff, gurlie," Nantu said. "Ya gots da fey look about ya. Ya gonna has ta tell us."

"It's just… I've had this feeling all day, and it's only getting stronger," she said lamely. "I'm sure it's just my over-active imagination, and my inexperience in genuine battle. I didn't mean to hold us up." Her gelding skittered nervously, betraying her tension.

"What feelin?" Nantu probed.

"Just… well. Just that there's a dark cloud of danger hovering over the Keep," she said. "More than normal, more than Keleseth, more than… I don't know. It all seems so foolish."

Nantu and Malovici exchanged a significant look, and Nantu said grimly, "She lookin' fey fer sure." Malovici nodded.

Whitecrow looked between the two of them, "What?" Both shook their heads.

Nerissa, in the meantime, hoped for a random earthquake to swallow her up for her fanciful thinking. She sighed and tried to figure out a way to get herself out of this predicament. She ignored what the others were saying while she tried to sort out how to get them moving again and take the focus off of herself.

"So, what shall we do about it? We don't have a choice of whether or not to go forward," Malovici said.

"Dunno what it's 'bout," Nantu said, "so we ain't able ta prepare, neither."

"Somebody wanna let me in on the secret?" Whitecrow grumbled irritably.

"She looks fey," Malovici said. "We're thinking she's having a genuine premonition."

"She looks fine to me," Whitecrow said.

"Look again," came Nantu's reply.

Whitecrow stepped closer to Nerissa, and obeyed. This time, as he looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly they meant, he saw a sort of shadow on her face, though the sun shone on it as brightly as a moment before. He blanched and pulled away, "What the hell is that?"

Nerissa was finding it hard to bring her mind to focus on the conversation at hand, as if it were taking place far away from her. She could hear and see, as through a tunnel. Her vision narrowed further and they seemed to become a pinprick of distant light. She swayed in the saddle, and tried to speak.

She panicked, paralyzed and unable to make her body respond. The three were speaking to each other, Ferruk waiting a ways away in silence. None of them heard her as she tried to squeak out a plea for help.

A moment later, Ferruk rode towards the group, the other three ignoring Nerissa as they discussed the merits of moving on or staying. Nerissa's swaying, and the far-away look on her face made him nervous. He hesitated to draw near the group, particularly to her, but he was drawn by the pale and unaware look of her face.

Just as he drew close, she began to topple. In a leap, he was off of his worg, grunting as she fell into his arms. She had fainted dead away while the group argued around her.

The dark, fey shadow had vanished, and she lay silent and passive in his arms. Whitecrow quickly pulled her bedroll off of her mount and threw it down a few feet from the road. Ferruk laid her gently on it, and the four of them stood staring at her in stark concern. Malovici squatted down and pulled an eyelid up.

"She'll be fine. Let her sleep it off." He slunk off towards the forest's edge and started checking to make sure all of his body parts were still firmly attached.

The rest set about eating. If they were stopped anyway, they just as well make use of the time.

Ferruk sat down beside Nerissa, a deep part of him still overflowing with a need to protect her and to be near her. He couldn't help but look at her as she lay unconscious. She was, in his opinion, very beautiful. In sleep, she was like an angel; her face softened even further, her red hair forming a halo around her, and the gold of her skin shimmering in the sunlight.

He smoothed the hair back from her face, his large fingers easily capturing a wisp of it and moving it aside. A slow aching burn grew in him as he touched her. How he would miss her! Such a short period of time he'd known her, and she seemed a natural part of his life. He tried to remember what he used to think about instead of her, and failed.

Inherently, because he understood the way that orcs were, he knew that he could never go back. He'd always love her. He'd die remembering her, thinking of her, wondering what that flower was that she smelled like. His feelings were confusing, frightening, and impossibly strong.

As he sat watching her, he saw her lips start to move. He leaned forward, thinking she was trying to speak.

"What is it?" Malovici inquired as he loped towards them.

"Looks like she's trying to talk," Ferruk told him.

Nantu and Whitecrow followed on the heels of Malovici, and Nerissa's voice got slowly louder and stronger.

"Death stalks even now, seeking what it will find.

The lost one is restored, the treasures reunited.

What was last loved is lost to all.

A life restored approaches immortality.

Blue takes white, and thus white is brought low.

Guard what is precious, diligence is its own reward."

She repeated it three times, and then fell back to sleep. Whitecrow wrote it down, and then Malovici woke her up with a shake to the shoulder. She gasped to wakefulness as if startled. "Did I oversleep?" she asked.

"Something like that," Malovici said dryly. "Let's get going."

Nerissa looked around, "Where are we? What happened?"

"We'll tell yas on da way," Nantu said. They rode on through the afternoon; Nantu explaining the morning's experience for Nerissa in her heavily accented orcish.

"Do you know what any of it means?" Whitecrow asked her when Nantu was done.

"No," Nerissa said, her face puzzled and slightly haggard, "that has never happened to me before. I'm not too sure I liked it."

Whitecrow's chuckle rippled through the air, 'heh heh heh,' then he said, "I can't say as I blame you much there."

But Ferruk knew what the last line meant. It was speaking to him, telling him to follow them and guard Nerissa. He would follow from afar so that they could move on in peace without him, but if he found anyone stalking them, he would kill them. Or die trying, as he was now vulnerable himself, of course.

It didn't matter. Diligence was, indeed, its own reward.

The group traveled onwards, with Ferruk still avoiding the rest of the party. He no longer made any overtures towards Nerissa at all, lost in his own pain. They chattered nervously about the prophecy, Nerissa as confused as the rest of them.

What good is a prophecy that you can't even understand? Ferruk wondered. Why bother to give us a prophecy when it is meaningless to us and we can't stop it, anyway?

He sighed and shifted in his saddle, waiting eagerly and yet with near terror for nighttime. He wanted to get it done and over with, he wanted to get on with it… he wanted to stay with them forever. He realized as well, as the hours passed, that he couldn't tell them. He couldn't admit that the elements had left him entirely.

He couldn't shame himself any further before the people whose good opinion he valued the most in all the world. He would leave, but he wouldn't tell them. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't face them if they knew the true depth of his dishonor. He couldn't live with the knowledge that they were aware of what he'd done, what he'd lost, what he'd thrown away—beyond what they already knew.

At long last, the evening dragged to a close. It seemed both interminable, and yet also fleeting. The last moments with his dear friends. The final hours seeing their faces, hearing their voices, and being part of their inner circle. He would see them only from afar from now on. It was fitting that it be that way, for it was better than he deserved, yet it would also torture him—which he also deserved.

Darkness fell, and Ferruk watched carefully to see where Malovici went. The Forsaken man crept into the woods to keep watch, and Ferruk padded into the woods in the opposite direction. He found a tree with a high crotch and climbed it, quite easily for a man of his mass. He could see the campfire from here, and so he would be able to keep an eye out if anything should happen there.

He finally fell into a fitful sleep, waking before dawn and moving further away, on the off chance that they searched for him. He thought it unlikely, but not entirely impossible. He had alienated every one of them, so he was fairly sure that they wouldn't search at all.


"Do ya think she'll be as hot as that bitch what hired us?" the replacing sentry asked.

"Nah," the other man answered. "No way anyone can be as hot as that blond bitch. But this Nerissa don't need to be nowhere near as hot as her to be good enough to fuck."

The first laughed in agreement and made a grossly suggestive thrust with his hips, cupping his crotch with his hand. "Hell yeah, I can't fucking wait, it's been months!"

The two finished their discussion and the sentry whose turn it was to sleep left towards the large encampment. Valorin watched him go from the stealthy position he'd taken at the top of a tree. He'd intended to simply slip on past them, trying to follow the road without actually being on the road.

But the name of his target stopped him. It seemed that either his patron, or someone else, had hired a large number of people to acquire the same target as he. This just wouldn't do. He wanted his prize, and some dirty, unwashed human's lust was insignificant in the face of getting that prize.

Thus, he slowly crept down the tree, managing to keep a powerful grip on it, despite the decay of his body. Slowly, he made his way behind the sentry, and then crept close to him. First, a stab in the back of the neck with an odd two-pronged dagger paralyzed the man, then a single, sudden slice across the front of his neck, and the man slumped, not even able to gurgle for breath. Valorin Ebbtide stood impassively over the dying man, watching him as blood flowed from the wound to pool on the frozen ground.

When the man finally stared sightlessly at him, Valorin's glowing orbs turned towards the encampment, where he could sense body heat, the stench of those who didn't bathe, and a fire pit that had cooled to glowing coals and which had not been restarted into a blazing fire.

This sign of laziness was quite beneficial to his intent. Slinking low, he stalked into the encampment. One by one, bedroll to bedroll, he started slowly slicing throats or puncturing kidneys to paralyze his victims. After which, he would slit their jugular veins and allow their lives to pour out into the ground beneath them. It took him several hours, but at last, he had cleared the camp, except for the single tent. He didn't know what was inside, and had no desire to find out. It could be one person, it could be five. The tent was sizeable, and therefore not of interest to him.

After all, the leader or leaders were useless without their lackeys, at least for a time. More than long enough for him to complete his work and capture his prize, and that was all he cared about. It wasn't personal, it was business.

He turned and melted into the night, moving on in hopes of locating his quarry tonight.


They searched in pairs for four and a half hours. They could find neither evidence of foul play, nor any evidence of Ferruk at all. It was as if he had never even been there beyond the indentation where his bedroll had been. Even that had faded within a couple of hours as the short, resilient grass lifted to seek the nourishment of the sun.

Nerissa suggested that perhaps he had left. The others attacked her angrily for her suggestion. She didn't know him, so she shouldn't speak. She had no right to do so. And if he did, it was her fault. She said nothing, as she couldn't really argue with that logic. If he did leave, she didn't know why for sure, but he had certainly been unhappy ever since she had shown up.

So she followed them in silence as they finally left the campsite. They were discussing what they were going to do, if they should send for another, or try to enter the dungeon as they were. They were very afraid that they couldn't make it, and perhaps they should give up the fight, as it was Ferruk tasked with the extermination of Prince Keleseth, not the rest of them.

Nerissa, afraid to talk, but feeling it was too important to keep silent about, broke in, "We have to go. Someone has to do it, and we're all there is. And we can't leave Ferruk's work undone. Tell me I don't know him all you want to," she continued defensively, "but I know he wouldn't want that."

They glared at her, and then went back to talking, their voices lower this time, clearly excluding her. Suddenly she realized clearly that she was very unwanted. In their minds, she had replaced their dear friend, and she was a terribly poor trade.

She slowed down, letting them draw away from her, and then turned back towards town. She didn't know what she would do, but she did know that she shouldn't follow them anymore. Kicking her gelding forcibly, she sent him into a breakneck gallop towards the lift down to Vengeance Landing.

He skimmed along the road, his hooves thundering, and she watched the ground fly past. They leaped over ruts and careened past potholes, sometimes missing them by mere inches. The wind whipped the tears from her face, and she spurred him on, faster and faster.

She was running away from the tears, tears that seemed ever in front of her.

Then she heard it, the flapping of wings behind her. Her pursuer dropped closer, closer, closer. Suddenly terrified, she turned the gelding into the woods, hoping that the trees would confound the flying beast above.

The world was a roar of sound—terrified hooves, flapping wings, and the thunderous terror of her own heartbeat.

For a moment, she regretting leaving the others behind, but then a cold understanding fell over her. They would hand her over, anyway. Only Ferruk had had any vested interest in her at all.

She sobbed as she realized that this was how it all ended. That she wouldn't get to tell him she was sorry, that she loved him, that she'd marry him. Suddenly it didn't matter who was wrong or right.

Of course it didn't… it was too late.

The flapping of wings drew closer, and she saw a glob of froth hit her arm. Her gelding wouldn't last much longer. They would never make it.


Sticking to the woods, Ferruk followed Nerissa back towards town. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She had abandoned her only protectors. He felt a towering fury overcome him. How typical of her to do something so totally unthinking. She cared so little about her own life, it was a wonder she'd survived this long.

He kicked his worg into a gallop, watching the trees, and trying to keep her in sight at the same time. It was this preoccupation that landed him in the camp. He literally ran straight into it before realizing it. The smell of blood alerted him, and he stopped. Looking around, he saw the strange carnage, and a frisson of fear ran up his spine.

There was no reason to assume that it had anything to do with them, with Nerissa, with the group… and yet there was also no reason not to. And the strangeness of it, of multiple men assassinated in their beds while they slept feet from each other, made it impossible to ignore. He had to warn the others. All personal feelings aside, their safety was at stake.

He started searching the camp, hoping to find some clue as to what had happened and why. Then he realized that Nerissa had probably far outrun him, and considered getting on his flying mount. But even as he started to call for it, five Vrykul stepped out of the woods. The three women had bows trained on him, their worg pets snarling and slavering at their sides.

He was trapped and helpless. He couldn't defend himself, nor flee. He waited for them to kill him. "Ferruk?" One of them said, a man who seemed to be in charge.

Ferruk refused to answer, folding his arms and glaring back. He felt suddenly very small as the five stalked towards him, towering over him. The man snarled and then grunted, "Don't matter. You'll come with us anyway."

Ferruk pulled his maces out, and when they came for him, he struggled briefly, but was overpowered as easily as if he were a child. Two of the worgs pulled his arms out of their sockets, and he felt shame as he bellowed in pain.

That fast, it was over. He was taken with barely any fight at all. He was strapped into a bundle with no consideration whatsoever for his injuries, which were fairly substantial. He bellowed once more in pain before darkness claimed him and he slipped gratefully into the oblivion of unconsciousness.


Jebbik was livid. All of the people he'd gathered up were dead. What was he supposed to do, go back to Veebex and tell him that everyone had died, and he didn't know why or how? No, that certainly wouldn't do.

On the bright side, it did mean that there was a hell of a lot less money to share with anyone else. If he could only find himself a good partner, preferably one with really big muscles! Then he'd be set, and the cut would be significantly higher for both of them.

He had been rifling through pockets when he heard the sound of an approaching rider. Hiding behind a tree, he watched as an orc rode into the camp, and was enraged that the man dared to plunder the pockets of his men. The thief, those were his pockets now! Then he saw the Vrykul come up and capture the orc.

The wheels started turning in his devious little mind. If he could set that orc free, he would be so grateful that he'd help Jebbik capture one measly little elf girl.

He rubbed his hands together and set off after the orc and the five Vrykul holding him hostage. Luckily for Jebbik, they set a leisurely pace, because he had to run to keep up with them. As they neared the Keep, he had to scramble madly to keep from being seen, but managed to keep up with them.

When they started down the long ramp towards the Keep, he panicked slightly. It was going to be tough going to get out of there if he failed to win the orc's assistance. But it was for several thousand gold now that the others were dead, so he decided to keep following. So far as he knew, it was his only hope.


While Ferruk was getting himself captured, Nerissa was still running from the dark shadows of the riders overhead. She raced and dodged between the trees, trying to keep them guessing at her direction. She wasn't sure where her newfound understanding of fleeing was coming from, but supposed in some dim part of her mind that even elves had preservation instincts that took over in the face of terror.

It was, of course, inevitable that the beasts overtook her. One flew past her and its rider dropped almost directly in her path. It was Whitecrow, and she was on a collision course with him. She tried to steer the horse away from him, jerking the beast's head roughly to the side.

This resulted in the mighty gelding falling over, throwing her in a crumple of plate and flying hair. The gelding fought for footing, rolling and flailing with his dangerous hooves. At last, he found purchase and gained his footing, lurching off of her leg and to a stand. She continued to shriek in pain the whole time the gelding ground against her newly broken leg.

Healing washed over her, and she lay panting and heaving on the ground. Hooves once more approached her, these pitch black and shining like her gelding's, but cloven, unlike her gelding's. She stared up into Whitecrow's face, and suddenly, she was angry. Very, very angry.

They'd chased her away, and then they'd chased her down.

She stood up, jerking her sword free. "What do you want? Just leave me alone!"

"You're going to just run off like that? We've already lost one friend today, and you're just going to run off without saying a thing?" Whitecrow's big shoulders shifted as he spoke, a gesture betraying his nervous tension.

"You didn't want me there, and you blame it all on me that Ferruk left, too! Why shouldn't I leave? You were all ignoring me, all gossiping about me right in front of me," she growled at him, waving the broadsword as menacingly as she could manage.

"You're right. We were unfair, and we were wrong. We reacted to losing one friend by hurting another, and that wasn't right," he told her.

The sword point wavered and then fell. She sobbed again, hurt still flooding through her, attended by relief and gratitude that he hadn't said the same thing to her again as earlier. He stepped towards her, and when she didn't back away, he stepped forward again. Finally, she was wrapped in his arms.

"I lost him, too" she said, and started crying harder.

"I know," Whitecrow said softly. "We're sorry, Nerissa. When we realized you were gone, we were just as hurt as we were when we realized Ferruk was gone."

Nerissa lifted her head and looked at Nantu. Nantu nodded. Malovici nodded as well, then went back to picking at a thread that was sticking out of his thigh.

"We have to find Ferruk, but you are right, we have to complete the mission first. It's more important than any one of us, even Ferruk. There's no time to go and get another to come with us, so we will all have to work extra hard to get through this. Do you think you're up to it?" Whitecrow's soft brown eyes looked into her green, glowing ones.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm up to it. You'll see. We'll search for Ferruk after, you swear?"

His shoulders shrugged again, the characteristic gesture she'd come to know so well. "We should take you to Dalaran first," he told her.

She shook her head, and stepped away from him. "No. Ferruk first," she said. "I may be safer in Dalaran, but to be safer, I'd have to stay there forever. I would never be happy like that. I know that now. I wasn't happy before, and now I know that, too."

The others mounted up, she only after she had inspected the gelding for any damage or injury. Convinced that his worst problem was exhaustion, she walked him, the others walking along with her until he had cooled down. Then she finally mounted and rode at the smooth, easy lope they were all accustomed to.

They rode for several hours, making up the lost time. Finally, they passed where they had camped, and then could see, in the distance, the tall lamppost that marked the crossroads. They were nearing their destination, and all of them harbored their individual opinions about it. They stopped as a group and stared at the lamp, before finally setting out again.

The chill over the land seemed extra deep, extra dark, and extra cold at that moment for Nerissa. She wished she knew what the future held. The so-called prophecy did little to reassure her.


Ferruk came to strapped to a wall. He recognized the tall, fallen high elf in front of him. It was Prince Keleseth.

"How nice of you to join us, Ferruk," he said. His voice was urbane, suave, even charming. He had a slight accent, giving his voice a cultured and elegant sound. Somehow, that just made it the more chilling.

Ferruk snarled at him. "Why don't you just get it over with? Just kill me now and be done. Or Turn me, whatever."

Keleseth stepped down off the dais where the map was in the center of the room, striding slowly towards Ferruk. "Why, Ferruk. How uninspired of you! The Horde are not the only ones with intel, you know. I was quite pleased to hear that an orc was among those sent to destroy me. A futile gesture, of course, but perfectly expected."

He walked up to Ferruk and actually ran a hand down his jaw. "Yes, you will make an excellent pet," he said.

"Never!" Ferruk growled at him, rage growing in him.

"Oh, you will, Ferruk. Trust me on this one," Keleseth said, and put his hand on one of the skeletons that was slinking around him much like a dog at the heels of his master. "You will be as obedient and grateful as these, my little pet. You will destroy any who come against me. You think you won't, but I assure you, you shall.

"You will love me for the power I will give you. You will wish to please me, in order to keep it. I am a kind master. So long as you kill and obey, I will allow you to keep it," Keleseth continued. He stepped back up to the dais, nearly upsetting a small figure of a tower that was there, representing who-knows-what.

Ferruk simply stared at him, snarling and straining at his bonds. After a moment, Ferruk said, "Kill me now, because if I ever get free, I will kill you."

Keleseth's eyes crinkled above the freakish bandana that covered his mouth and nose, it being dyed to make it appear as if the bottom of his face was nothing but fangs and gore. "Ah, Ferruk, good boy, that's more like it! Show me that rousing orc spirit!

"Speaking of orc spirit, your people have such an interesting history, wouldn't you say? I especially like how easily you are controlled by a little bit of blood. Such eager slaves you make, suckling at the blood of demons, killing at your master's bidding, raping and pillaging with total abandon.

"That's true power, Ferruk. The power to destroy without conscience, the power to kill and rip and tear and sunder… yes, these are what once made your people a force to be reckoned with. Now, you are mere puppets, dancing to the whim of your Thrall. How appropriate that the very name of your leader speaks the truth of your race.

"You are slaves, Ferruk. Born to be slaves, living to stay slaves. It is the destiny of your people, and your personal destiny. You will be mine forever. I will give you power beyond your wildest imagining. Oh yes, Ferruk, snarl all you like, deny it all you wish… but the truth is, orcs are slaves, and always have been. Freedom is an illusion."

Suddenly Ferruk was slammed by a massive chunk of ice, and his muscles froze rigid as he was entombed in it. Keleseth walked up to him then, and with Ferruk's muscles and bones groaning in protest (although Ferruk himself could make no sound), he pried Ferruk's jaw open. He placed a small metal cylinder in Ferruk's jaws, and then strapped a chain under his chin, jerking it tight and twisting Ferruk's head and even his back backwards and upwards.

Within seconds, the ice melted away, but Ferruk could not dislodge the metal cylinder. Keleseth nodded, Ferruk barely able to see him out of the corner of his eye, so far back was his head tilted.

"Bring him," Keleseth commanded, and Ferruk expected to be moved. Instead, a Vrykul walked into the room, leading a dreadcaller, a demon that Ferruk recognized instantly from the Hellfire Peninsula. "I've made a bargain with Kil'Jaeden, Ferruk. I've been given this dreadcaller as a gift from him, for certain concessions once we own the Howling Fjord.

"And what, you might wonder, would I want from a demon? Of course, you shouldn't need to wonder by this point. It's obvious. You are about to dine on demon blood, and then you will be more powerful than any orc alive today. Oh, I know, you've suckled at the teat of 'honor and glory' your whole life, so you think that you will be able to withstand the call of power.

"Believe me when I tell you, Ferruk, it's unimaginable. You will find power to be the best lover you've ever embraced. You will wonder why you ever, for even a second, resisted it."

Keleseth turned to the demon, "Do it." The demon sliced its wrist with a fingernail, and Keleseth dipped his head, pulling the veil up slightly to take the tiniest lick of the poison seeping from its arm. "Ah, delectable. That is just enough to connect us, Ferruk. Now you will hear my voice, and you will learn to love it." Keleseth nodded towards Ferruk, and the demon stepped towards him.

Ferruk felt a horror like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It shot through his body with a powerful, driving force. He would rather die. He would rather die a thousand deaths. He struggled again, his mighty muscles heaving and bulging. He jerked and twisted as the dreadcaller stepped towards him, a keening sort of snarl emitting through the metal tube clamped between his jaws. He tried to clamp down harder, to collapse it so that nothing could flow through it.

To no avail. The monster stepped closer, and closer, and closer. Ferruk felt hopelessness as a sense of brutal finality fell over him. Keleseth was right, for all the wrong reasons. It was somehow fitting that he, with the brutality that he harbored in his soul, should come to this end. But he still fought it. He still dreaded it. He still hated it.

He pulled with the full force of terror, desperation, and horror at the chains that held his wrists. His powerful arms and chest bulged, cords and veins standing up on them like virulent worms intent upon destruction. Every inch of his body strained, screaming for freedom… or death.

But there was no escape. No freedom. No hope. No way out. He had abandoned those who could have saved him from this fate. He had sent the elements away though his own actions. He was totally alone.

As the thick ichor poured into the tube, he held his breath, and tried to push the bottom of his mobile, flexible tongue against it. The demon simply covered his nose with his other hand, and let the ichor continue to pour into the tube. Finally, Ferruk's autonomic nervous system betrayed him and forced him to gulp for air. As he did so, the burning ichor flowed down his throat.

He coughed and spluttered, and once more his massive bulk arched and bucked and clenched. Fire burned through him as the demon blood found its way into his system. His stomach burned with incredible agony, and as the chain was undone around his neck and the tube pulled free, he bellowed and roared in agony.

Every part of his body, from the largest to the tiniest, was afire with gripping, shrieking pain. It seemed to be an interminable moment of horrific torment, but was really only a few minutes.

Finally, he slumped against the restraints, panting and trembling. At last, he opened up his eyes. No longer green, they now glowed with an unholy red light. Easily, he yanked the chains from the wall as if they were nothing. Snapping the cuffs off of his wrists and legs, he walked to Keleseth.

There, he knelt, "What is your command, my master?"