The sun was setting by the time they got Bloodmoon Isle, and Khadgar and Lyra set down as unobtrusively as possible next to an ancient Vrykul fishing shack. The roof of the structure and many sections of the wall were long since rotted away by the fierce elements of the northern seas, but it provided more cover than anything else on the bare rocky shore.
A great stone fort stood on the isle's rise, which must have dated back to Prince Arthas' fateful journey north. It was worn and crumbling, although here and there there was clear evidence that it had recently become inhabited again. A pile of rubble with would have compromised it's defensive perimeter cleared away here, some wooden palisades erected in gaps of fortification there.
The keep itself was a stout circular structure, perhaps four stories high with long curving outer walls and a single new looking iron banded gate that was only accessible by a cut zigzag path leading up the steep and rocky hillside. There weren't any obvious guards or sentries, but it would be hard to spot them from their low angle if they were trying to keep hidden.
Lyra shrugged off the polymorph as Khadgar's Raven form shimmered and he resumed his proper appearance. Lyra suppressed a wince, polymorphs, especially ones that had lasted for four hours tended to leave their victim with a headache – so Lyra had a killer one.
Still, she did her best to ignore it, every moment that the curse remained Dalaran and the entire war against the Scourge was in danger. Double agents could cause untold damage, especially if they managed to infect one of the higher ranked mages in the city. It would be easy to change orders to send battalions on suicide missions, arrange unforeseeable ambushes, or poke a hole in the cities wards and let in the undead if you were, say, on the Council of Six.
Although that was probably an argument in favour of the traitor being an apprentice, if Runeweaver or Modera had been a mole, then they surely would have done things like that already. Or perhaps they already had? That was a worrying thought, but not one Lyra could really act on. Either everything was lost and their fates was already sealed, or they had a chance; when faced with those options, you sort of had to assume the latter.
Lyra withdrew her Arcane Surveyor and waved it at the keep, carefully sticking to the shadows. The artefact reported its findings a moment later.
"Wards," she said. "Lots of them."
"Any obvious weaknesses?" asked Khadgar, taking the stick and waving it himself.
"The matrix on the South Eastern wall looks like it might be able to be stretched a little," she said. "But we'd have to be careful not to break it entirely, otherwise they'd notice immediately – assuming they have a mage here."
"We need to assume that they do. Unless the traitor did the spellwork themselves, a curse of this magnitude would need someone skilled and powerful and familiar with advanced enchanting," he said, focusing for a moment before shaking his head. "I see the weakness you're talking about, but it's far too obvious to have been missed. It's a trap, and we have no way of knowing what is on a ward-layer behind it, or just who is in there at the moment – it could be Kel'Thuzzad, or the Lich King himself for all we know."
"Oh," said Lyra, feeling a bit foolish.
"You've gotten excellent at spotting weaknesses in wards though; it was a good idea," he said, squeezing her shoulder before turning back and studying the fort for a few moments more. "Got any others?"
Lyra licked her lips. She did have one, but Khadgar wasn't going to like it. "Well..."
"Well?"
"There is no way that they could keep track of all those turned, right? They have been abducting and biting people all over the place, and if they're in Dalaran, which they must be, they'd be getting new mage 'recruits' all the time."
"I… don't follow."
"How would they know I hadn't been turned?" she said. "If we can't detect them, how would they detect each other?"
"Apprentice, I don't like where this is going."
"If they'd turned you, I'm sure they would have reported it. But me? I'm just an apprentice," she said, licking her lips before saying the bit she knew he wouldn't like. "I could just walk up to the front gates, claim I have information stolen from the Council of Six – the battle-plans the Argent Crusade shared with us a few days ago for example."
"And if they have those already then they'd know you were lying, and kill or turn you."
"But they can't have access to that information. I've been thinking, it must be one of the apprentices," she said. "If the Scourge had someone on the Six, or high enough up to get those orders, then we'd have already lost this war."
"And if this isn't the Scourge?"
"Who else can it be?" she said. "No one else stands to benefit from this, not since the Nexus War is over. The Drakkari might have, but they're dead and gone, and they wouldn't have had time to set up a spy network in the Kirin Tor to get their hands on Argul's research."
"Apprentice, you theory relies on dozens of suppositions," said Khadgar.
"How else are we going to get past the wards?" she asked. "Short of blasting them down, we can't – and that isn't an option, there could be anything in there, and if we failed and were repulsed they would know they'd been found out and probably start massacring people in Dalaran. But if I do get in, I'll be able to see any traps that might have been laid, and erode the wards much more easily. I make a tiny hole, you find it, make it bigger, then you're in. I can even scout for the curses' anchoring artefact beforehand."
Khadgar made a face he made when he didn't like something. "Apprentice, this is incredibly risky. Once you're behind those wards, if something happens to you, I won't know. I won't be able to help you."
"Khadgar, I am not a child. I fought in the Nexus War. I defeated a Scourge Necromancer in single combat. One of these days you are going to have to wake up to the fact that I'm a competent mage, one who has been sneaking around for most of her life. It's risky, but how else are we going to get in?"
"It isn't you competence I doubt."
"Then what is it?" huffed in irritation.
Khadgar rubbed his eyes. "You know you are dear to me Lyra, I don't want to see you hurt. And though you are gifted, and have more combat experience than many graduates, you are still an Apprentice only in your second year of instruction. There are fully trained mages I would not want to send in there alone."
"It's the best strategy I can think of," said Lyra, get annoyance disappearing as she looked at her hands. She still wasn't good at dealing with overt affection, even if she did appreciate it.
Minutes past before he spoke again.
"Fine, I can't think of another way in that is feasible in the short window of time we have. You're suppositions seem good, although I do not like this Apprentice."
"I'll be fine," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Promise."
"You better," he said, mussing up her hair and making her scowl.
Lyra schooled her features into a confident smirk that she hoped approximated what a freshly turned Worgen might wear as she approached the gates. She heard a faint shuffle in the gatehouse a few moments before a voice called down to her.
"Who goes there?"
"Apprentice Lyra of the Kirin Tor, well, former Apprentice I suppose," she drawled, cocking her hip and putting her hand on it, tapping her foot impatiently. "I have obtained information about the Argent Crusade's movements over the next few weeks in Icecrown."
It had been easy enough for Lyra to rustle up a passable forgery of the orders, since she had seen the real ones often enough during the Council meetings, and no mage worth their salt went anywhere without pen and paper.
Khadgar was a little concerned about how she seemed so experienced with forgery, but when she'd told her she'd done it to fake doctors notes at school on the days she couldn't face going to class he didn't say anything more about it.
There was a long pause, and she heard a few whispers, but not well enough to make out their content, before the guard spoke again. "One moment, the Master will want to see this straight away."
The gates creaked open, revealing several armed human men and women. Lyra strode in confidently, forcing herself not to flinch as the gates closed behind her with a worrying finality.
"You're a Half-Elf," blurted one of the guards, a tall woman with dark hair and a scar over one eye.
"Obviously," said Lyra, rolling her eyes and inflecting her voice with total disdain. "The gift was designed to affect Humans, I am Human enough. Not that I'd expect you to understand the fine details of arcane theory – what were you before you were turned? A lumberjack?"
The Lycanthrope scowled at her, but apparently accepted the excuse, before frowning as she examined Lyra's garb, focusing in on the raven at her throat. "Hold on, that's Medivh's sigil."
"My Kirin Tormaster was Khadgar, hence the reason I had access to these orders," Lyra said, waving the bundle of pages. "He inherited it from his master, and I inherited it from him. Now are you going to keep asking me pointless questions, or show me to the Master?"
The woman snarled at Lyra, but jerked her head before turning and heading towards the central keep. The others fell in around her, and Lyra tried very hard not to look nervous. If they saw through her ruse and decided to attack she would have very little time to react. Thankfully, although she didn't usually wear such expressions, elvish features were rather suited for looking haughty.
They passed dozens of Lycanthropes practising weapon drills in the yard. There must have been some kind of muffling field in effect, because she hadn't heard their loud grunting on her approach. Lyra wasn't entirely sure what the point of that was, since their Worgen forms were already weapons enough, but apparently she knew nothing about commanding an army. Still, even in human form they looked faster and stronger than they should have, and although no swordsperson other than a paladin or one of the Scourge's champion 'Death Knights' was any threat to a mage on an open field in single combat, even the most powerful magi could get taken by surprise or overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Then they entered the keep, and began making their way up towards the roof. They passed dozens of rooms filled with weapons and food supplies, enough to feed an entire army, before they reached the door that led out onto the roof.
Lyra followed the Worgen woman out onto the for a few steps roof before stopping in her tracks as she saw who was standing with his back to the door.
Lyra realised she had miscalculated, and badly.
Clad in fiery red robes and observing the sunset over the Grizzly Hills was Archmage Runeweaver, a man who sat on the Council of Six and who she had discounted as a possible suspect. What had she missed? There must have been some key piece she hadn't accounted for...
Beside him was an ornate table on which rested an urn carved with half-moons, and which shone with arcane energy. It looked ancient, and had probably accumulated enough sympathetic association with the Goddess Elune to make it an ideal artefact.
Lyra thought for a moment she still might be able to play it off, but then hands like steel vices clamped down around Lyra's arm as the Archmage turned to face her, fixing her with an expression that seemed almost sad, and in an instant she knew he hadn't bought her supposed 'turning.' It might have been the fact she was too high profile despite her doubts to have not been reported as turned, it could have been that they had a better, more targeted system in place and she hadn't been on the list yet, or perhaps it was the fact that it was very unlikely that she would have access to any information that he didn't.
Lyra summoned up the power she'd need to blink, before gasping as the Archmage effortlessly counter-spelled her, mucking up the flow of arcane in her body. It would take perhaps as long as twenty seconds for her body to realign the flow of arcane energy within her, so she switched tactics and manifested fire around herself, something which although arcane in nature, was converted into the volatile pyromantic form of energy before she shaped it into a spell.
The Worgen holding Lyra yelped of pain as suddenly the small woman ignited, and they released her on reflex. Runeweaver responded with some kind of transparent chain, but Lyra was already ducking and rolling. It wasn't her first taste of magical combat and she had some idea what to expect. After her duel in Scholozar she and Khadgar had taken to sparring regularly - with non-lethal spells rather than real fire or ice - and although she always lost, she sometimes managed to last thirty seconds or so before he inevitably pinned her down.
Still, Lyra knew she was out of her league. Runeweaver wasn't as strong as Khadgar, but he was still an Archmage, and they didn't give that title out as a consolation prize, and she knew she probably wouldn't be able to escape. Although that wasn't going to let that stop her trying.
A Worgen snarled from her left and jumped at her through the flames, tackling her to the ground and pinning her with impossibly strong arms, one on her wrist, one around her throat. It howled in agony as it's flesh seared from the flames around her, but apparently was prepared to get third degree burns to stop her. Panicking, Lyra redoubled the flow of magic, fighting through the black spots appearing in her vision.
The fire around her shifted from red to blue, overwhelming even the Worgen's ridiculously elevated threshold for pain. It flung itself away from her, bits of bone showing through the ruined mess that had been its claws. Despite the creature being literally a monster, Lyra felt the familiar sickness in her stomach she had grown used to feeling during the war. If the curse was broken, and they regained their mind, they were going to need extensive healing to regain control of their limbs. Even with the miraculous healing power of the Light it might be weeks or months before they had full control back again.
Lyra rolled again blindly, avoiding another set of arcane manacles she had figured Runeweaver must be about to throw. She was sure if he wanted her dead she already would be, but apparently he wanted her alive. That was simultaneously comforting, since magic used to capture or subdue was always more difficult and finicky than simply raw destructive power, and terrifying, since it almost certainly meant he wanted to turn her into a Worgen.
The Worgen, seeing what she had done to their fellow backed away from her as Lyra tumbled to her feet, immediately jumping towards the door. They sheered away from her azure flames, and she was nearly at the door when something hooked her by her foot and she slammed face down onto the hard stone. Her nose crunched and broke, and pain and blood blossomed over her face as a magical chain wrapped up around her legs and torso, bringing with it the stifling sensation of being silenced - cut off from her magic entirely. Silences could be broken, but she doubted Runeweaver would give her a few hours to worry away at his frighteningly complex spell.
Her protective aura of flames gutted out, and strong arms wrenched her off the ground and back to her feet, dragging her back over to Runeweaver. She still struggled, despite the haze of pain, but Half-Elves weren't as strong as pure blooded Humans pound for pound, let alone Worgen, and Lyra was a very small woman. Normally she was more than pleased with the trade off of being quicker, but without her magic she was as weak as a kitten compared to the Worgen.
"Lyra, Lyra, Lyra," said Runeweaver, sighing and shaking his head. "Brave of you, but you were always too clever by half. I suppose you had some convoluted web of reasoning as to why it couldn't be me? I'm sorry child, but sometimes even someone as clever as you simply lacks the relevant information."
"How long?" said Lyra voice slightly distorted from her broken nose. "How long have you been a traitor?"
"Years," he said neutrally. "Since just after the sacking itself."
"Then why is the Kirin Tor still in this war?"
"Because I permit it."
Suddenly it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her as a frigid power made itself known to her, and Lyra slowly turned her head, her mind turning to a mush of terror as she took in the dark grey plate, the piercing blue eyes, and the terrible glow of the rune-sword that had felled a kingdom. Arthas. The Lich King. The ruler of the Scourge.
"Runeweaver, who is this?" rumbled the thing that had once been a Prince of Lordaron.
"Archmage Khadgar's Apprentice, my King," said Runeweaver, bowing. "He has been investigating the 'disappearances' in the Grizzly Hills. Apparently he, and his Apprentice, managed to follow the trail here. He must be close by."
"Sloppy. It is too early for this plan to be revealed," said the Lich King, making Runeweaver flinch. "Where then, girl, is Khadgar?"
Lyra raised her head as high as she could, rage slowly sapping away her terror. This was the man who had killed her parents, robbed her of a home where she would have been loved, completely changed the course of her life because of his lust for power. She would not give him the satisfaction.
"I will never betray him, nor the Kirin Tor," she snarled. "Nor Azeroth. I will resist you to my dying breath. Do your worst, monster."
She spat a glob of blood which landed on his chest-plate with a wet 'thwack,' and she heard Runeweaver take a deep breath in shock as the glob of bloody spittle trickled down the skull-festooned metal. Apparently that wasn't adhering to Royal Protocol.
But the Lich King just laughed. "Bold, there are few who would not be grovelling by this point. Runeweaver did, when he was where you are all those years ago; he begged to be spared; told me he would do anything if only I'd let him and his family live. Wouldn't you rather that? You need not be turned or raised. Someone as driven, as skilled as you could go far in my Cult of the Damned."
"Fuck you."
The Lich King smiled widely, his smile still pearly white despite decades of undeath. "I approve. But your resistance is ultimately futile," he said, raising the rune-blade. "I have a only to kill and reanimate you to get the information I need."
Lyra took a deep breath and forced herself to look into his eyes, trying to pour every ounce of contempt and hatred she could into her glare. She would face death on her feet, with her eyes open – just like her parents had. Whatever followed, she would resist for as long as she could. Power coiled along the blade of Frostmourne, and Lyra shivered as the temperature plummeted.
"My King," said Runeweaver in an almost urgent voice, a moment before the Lich King unleashed his spell. "If I may..."
"Go on," said the monster, turning his head slightly, but keeping the magic primed.
"The Worgen Curse would just as easily turn her to your side, and would allow her to continue to operate as an agent in the Kirin Tor. An undead would be noticed, but the Kirin Tor have yet to develop a method to detect my new Worgen."
The Lich King deliberated for a moment, before lowering his blade.
"Yes," he smiled. "That is more elegant."
"Tamara," said Runeweaver neutrally, speaking to the woman who Lyra had goaded. "Would you please do the honours?"
The woman turned to Lyra and grinned ferally, before her form shifted and a moment later a nine foot wolf-like creature stood before her. It opened it's mouth, revealing dozens of razor sharp teeth as long as her fingers.
Lyra trembled involuntarily as it stepped towards her, and yelped as the creature's teeth closed around her neck. Khadgar wasn't coming to save her this time, no one was. She was going to be turned into a monster and then used as a weapon against her home. She had miscalculated; she had been too assured of her own cleverness; she had failed, and now she was going to pay the price.
The fangs sank into her soft flesh, not deeply enough to kill her, just deeply enough for the curse to transfer over into her body and rob her of everything that made her herself.
A.N.A wild update appears!
So, self-justification time. Last year I hit a writers block for this story – probably because I insisted on writing a bit over thirty thousand words in the space of two weeks and got burnt out – and instead of powering through it or slowing down I went off to write some other stuff and eventually forgot about it entirely.
I got an email the other day though from which reminded me of it, and I came back to find I had a few very nice reviews. So thanks to those people, I'm glad you liked it.
Then I read back through the story, and although it feels a bit rougher than my current self-imposed writing standards (although perhaps I'm imagining it; the pride of authorship and all that), I decided to revive it since I quite like the characters and the dynamic I had going. I had a bit written from last year that I hadn't published, although I wasn't happy with it and it was significantly shorter, so instead wrote this!
I have one more chapter, or rather, the second half of this one, written that I'm editing, and although I can promise nothing (I have already demonstrated how fickle and unreliable I am!), I hope I can write a chapter every so often and not get burnt out.
I will also need to go back and change a few things punctuation wise in the early chapters which bugged the hell out of me while I was reading it back. I also somehow failed to include a section with Moodle after Lyra returns with him to his home but before he's back in Dalaran, which I will need to add in.