Chapter Fourteen
Dead Ends
There were very few times in his life when he'd been so weary, and at the same time so infused with purpose, that sleep eluded him like a teasing lover refusing her charms. No matter how still he lay, no matter how hard he tried to empty his mind, all he could see were the bodies. They haunted him, even the ones he hadn't seen, in vivid detail. He'd heard shepherds sometimes counted their sheep to fall asleep, but for him counting bodies offered no such relief.
Puros sighed, staring up at the bright stars above. The night was dark and they shone with no moon to add to their splendor, filling the night with a deceptive light that one thought they could move through, thought they could see in, until they tried. Even now, waving his fingers across his eyes, he could barely see their silhouettes.
Stars. Bastions of the Light that chase away shadow. Can you offer us anything but the comfort of relief from complete blackness? The stars twinkled merrily above, paying no mind to him or his problems, or the shadows he feared not even the Light could aid him in dismissing.
He could see in his mind the dark form of Nex, a shadow among shadows, huddled against the wall with a gryphon at his back ready to strike. How weak the lad had seemed, how weary. At the end of his strength, not even the shadows aiding him any longer. And even knowing all his crimes Puros had felt pity for him. He'd let his guard down, thinking the boy ready to be captured and imprisoned in the Stockades. It would have been a welcome relief to let powers greater than his own decide the boy's fate. He wouldn't have had to deal with the guilt of slaying him, after Nex had saved his life the last time they'd met.
It was weakness, nothing less. If he hadn't been such a soft fool he could have seen the attack coming and avoided it, and likely slain Nex there before he could continue his murders.
A soft tread nearby alerted him to the approach of one of the sentries, and a moment later a weary voice whispered in his ear. "It's been four hours, Lord Puros." A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking it gently. "I'm sorry, m'lord. I was to wake you, you said." After a pause the hand shook his shoulder again. "It's been four-"
"I'm awake," Puros said, more sharply than he had intended. The sentry drew back, surprised, and Puros sighed. He was as ragged as any of his men, and being unable to take advantage of the opportunity for much-needed sleep hadn't helped. He tried to moderate his tone a little. "Start waking the men."
The man nodded, then cupped shadowy hands around his mouth and bellowed "Oy! Wake up everyone. Time to move out!"
All around the camp men came out of their blankets with blistering oaths, scrabbling for weapons thrown aside in absolute weariness before they'd gone to sleep. Puros shook his head; he'd been on plenty of marches, and for small groups in hostile lands the standard practice was for the sentries to go from person to person, waking them quietly. The youth knew that, and the fact that he still shouted loud enough to wake every enemy for miles was a bad sign. They were all too tired, making stupid mistakes, not caring about procedures that could save their lives.
It was an even worse sign when Puros realized he didn't care how loud the sentry had been. He was just glad the men were getting up quickly.
The two priests, Antono and Gergor, were moving among the men and horses, invoking a prayer to the Light to grant them all greater endurance and fortitude. Puros began making his own rounds, blessing each man individually with greater might and strength of will. While these holy spells possessed considerable potency even they were reaching their limits; men were not meant to go for so long or so far with so little rest. And as hard as they were all pushing, he had seen how their pace slowed hour after hour in this hellish pursuit. Triple-time had fallen to double-time, which had fallen to time-and-a-half, and now they were struggling to maintain a normal marching pace.
One man remained in his blankets, refusing to move no matter how his companions nudged and prodded him. One even went so far as to dump a precious stream of water from his canteen over him, but the man simply rolled over and huddled tighter in his blankets, weeping.
Puros moved to kneel beside the man. "Kyle, is it?" he asked gently. There was no answer. "Kyle, you have to get up. We must continue, and if you aren't with us you'll quickly fall prey to foul creatures in this harsh land."
"I dun care," the young paladin groaned. "Leave m'be."
Puros remained still over the weeping figure, head bowed. Though it may have seemed he'd fallen asleep he was in fact begging the Light for a boon. It was not a gift the Light bestowed often, but Puros laid his hands on the youth's head and continued his beseechings, hoping against hope. He couldn't stomach the thought of leaving one of his brothers in this land.
For nearly a minute there was no sound but the men preparing to move out. Then soft light gleamed from between his fingers, and Puros could feel strength flowing into the lad. It was so potent that the residues which flowed over him washed away some of his own weariness, leaving his exhausted mind clearer and his aching limbs stronger. He almost wanted to weep himself for the relief. He stood, hardly swaying, and proffered his hand. After a moment the lad accepted it and began seeing to packing his things.
Within a few more minutes' time they were all mounted up. Glancing around the camp one last time, Puros nodded and raised a hand, and with no more preamble than that they started the day's travel.
. . . . .
Six hours later they were struggling to maintain even normal pace, blessings and prayers notwithstanding. The sky was pale with the beginnings of pre-dawn glow, obviously enough for Jed Farnsen, their tracker, to see their quarry's footprints by. The man was well ahead of the rest of the party, blessed with incredible endurance and more lightly shod than his traveling companions.
It was obvious Jed could see the tracks because he was kneeling beside them, swearing loudly, vehemently, and with shocking creativity. His three tracking hounds, which had proven invaluable for following their quarry at night, lay on their stomachs nearby with their heads between their forepaws, looking at their master with almost human distress.
Puros reined in beside the leather-clad woodsman. "Something new?"
The man glared up at him. "Not a goldurn thing's new, and hell if it looks to ever be. His pace don't look to have slackened one bit from when I first began following him, other then when he moseyed through them ogres a day or so back, or his running into that dead-end gorge and 'ciding to backtrack rather than climb down the cliffs some three days through the Burning Steppes. Tarnation take me iffen we don't push and push, and hour by hour his trail jes' gets older and older. He may wear boots, but I reckon whatever this thing is I'm doubting I want to catch him."
Puros sagged out of his saddle, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily as he knelt beside the tracker. "How far ahead is he?" he asked.
Jed rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, glaring at the tracks. "Can't hardly say for sure, but hellfire take me iffen he was walking this area sooner'n two days ago."
Behind him a few of the paladins groaned. Puros wanted to groan with them. Eleven days they'd pushed themselves, through rugged terrain not even a goat could enjoy, and often trying to skirt patrols of wild men gone feral from the orcish wars, or even bands of orcs that had escaped being rounded up into the internment camps. Those that hadn't actually escaped those internment camps when the pit gladiator Thrall led his little rebellion, and elected to flee south rather than making their way across the sea.
They hadn't seen a hint of civilization for nearly a week, and even their second string remounts were pushed to the edge of exhaustion. Two had already fallen over dead from it, and more would likely follow before they made it out of this hellish area where dark dwarves and orcs squabbled beneath the ground.
"We'll rest for an hour here," he said. "Break out some of the horse meat, and remember we're on half rations for water until we can find more, and that may not be for a while." His men were too weary to respond, with groans or cheers, and Puros felt a moment of despair. Two days behind, passing through lands so foul that even the gnomes' insane underground tram seemed tempting by comparison. At this rate Nex had to already be in the Badlands, perhaps even entering the mountainous region surrounding Loch Modan.
Jarvak's outburst back when they'd just begun, that their quarry would be back in the Plaguelands while they were still slogging through the Wetlands, came back to him with the ring of prophecy. They were going slower and slower, and Nex was neither slowing nor stopping.
"Belay that," he said softly, voice thick with despair. "We'll rest for two hours."
. . . . .
Nex watched warily as the gryphon passed overhead, a bit north of his position. He'd been seeing more and more of them lately.
It stood to reason, he supposed. He was getting close to Ironforge and the dwarven lands bordering Khaz Modan, and it was the dwarves who bred and trained the beasts. No reason not to assume they'd use them in their patrols, especially in this mountainous region. Still, it was safe to assume they were on the lookout for him. At least he hadn't seen any waver in their course while passing overhead, so he could assume he hadn't been spotted.
As soon as the creature had faded completely from sight, no longer even a speck in the sky, Nex moved out from around his boulder and broke into a trot for the green blur in the distance. The broiling sun beat relentlessly overhead in this sere, dead land, and the loose sandy soil caught that heat and reflected it back in a furnace blast. Even with his magic the harsh environment was taking a punishing toll on his body, and Nex had the unpleasant notion he'd have to fall into one of his resting trances before too much longer. It would be nice if he could reach the higher, cooler elevations and relative greenness of Loch Modan, but that was more of a preference than a necessity.
One upside, at least, was that there were almost no other living things in this wasteland, aside from carrion scavengers and a hint of ogres to the south, away from the direction he was traveling. And in the slight chance he was still being pursued those who followed him would have to rest by day and travel by night, unless they wanted to suffer heat dementia or heatstroke.
Most such worries were nothing more than distant thoughts in the back of his mind, however. He was nearly through the dwarven lands, and soon enough he'd pass across the former borders of Lordaeron and arrive at his meeting-place with Stormrage.
. . . . .
Puros lifted the end of his white and gold tabard and used it to dab at the sweat streaming into his eyes. Like everything else it was gritty with windblown dust and sand, and the main result of his efforts were that the sweat was replaced by tearing as his eyes tried to push out the grit.
The sun was barely an hour over the horizon and it was already broiling hot, and it seemed the farther down the passes they went the worse it got. He was already regretting his decision to stick to their usual pattern and rest during the coolest hours of the night; in this land traveling by day was little short of suicide. "They call this the Badlands?" he asked Jed, who was stumbling along beside his horse looking thoroughly miserable.
The tracker glanced at him, pursed his lips as if to spit, and then apparently thought better of wasting the moisture. "So's I recall," he said shortly. "Tweren't ever here afore, and don't reckon I'd like to be here now." He stumbled, though the ground was fairly flat. A bad sign. Then with a sigh he slapped at Puros's leg to get his attention and pointed at an outcrop of rock like a table on one thick central leg in the distance. "Spect we should head for that, m'lord. Afore noon iffen we knows what's good for us. A little shade when the day's hottest will do us a right treat."
"If by that you mean we might survive until nightfall." Puros glanced at the indicated formation and shook his head grimly. It wasn't far, which was a bad thing. If getting there before noon was going to be a challenge, which he feared it would be, and waiting until the day cooled before continuing on, Nex would significantly lengthen his lead. He'd begun despairing of ever catching the murderer before now, unless for some reason Nex decided to stop, but now it was truly sinking in that their cause was hopeless. To add to his worries their water was running dangerously low. "To that outcrop, then," he said. "We'll go slow, and rest often. Quarter water rations, and less if you think you can manage it."
No one replied, although all followed his lead in turning away from due north to northeast. That put them closer to directly facing the sun, enough that he could feel it beating his face even though he kept his eyes resolutely on the ground directly in front of his horse. He glanced up at the sun for just a moment, but even that was enough to make his eyes smart. The sky was a pale blue, nearly white, and looked as sere and desolate as the land below.
To make matters worse he saw a few black spots dotting the cloudless expanse, and worriedly blinked a few times. He was no expert on such ailments, but was seeing black spots a sign of impending heatstroke? He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, looking around, and saw no spots, but when he looked up at the sky there they were again. The black dots, making a tight V along the northern horizon. It wasn't until he heard murmuring behind him that he realized the dots were real, and they were getting larger.
Jed Farnsen dropped into a crouch, cursing. "Do we hide, m'lord?" he asked.
Puros squinted at the approaching shapes. "What are they?"
"Feral dragons, mayhaps," the tracker said with a shrug, "or buzzards. Or wyverns or cloud serpents or rocs or possibly even gryphons. Whatever they are they'll see fourteen half-dead humans as a tasty meal."
Puros only heard the word gryphon. "Is it possible they're a dwarven patrol?"
Jed shrugged. "Hell if I know. Wouldn't think the mountain folk come this far east on patrol, but in hard times like these anything's possible."
The group fell silent, watching the approaching shapes with equal parts anticipation and dread. A few minutes passed before the priest Gergor, eyes gazing far away and in the midst of spellcasting, stiffened in his saddle and came back to himself with a jolt. "It's gryphons, all right," he said with a weary smile. "Three in formation, with a dwarf maid riding the foremost, a great obsidian creature, and two males riding the smaller ones at her flanks."
A ragged cheer went up, and Puros was gratified to see hope on his men's faces for the first time in days.
The approach of the gryphons abruptly became much swifter, as if they'd spotted the party, and a moment later they'd broken formation and were flying a wide circle overhead, one behind the other. Then the black gryphon broke away from the other two, its rider giving a complicated signal, and banked down to land a short distance away.
Puros dismounted, leaving his horse in the hands of one of his brothers, and started forward, waving wearily. "Well met!" he called out as he came within earshot.
The gryphon rider vaulted expertly out of her riding harness. Like all dwarves she was stout and muscular, though with more feminine curves than her male counterparts. "How are ye?" she called back, trotting forward. "Me name's Greana Swifthammer." As the female dwarf closed with him she lifted up her flight goggles, squinting in the bright sun, and grinned at him. The goggles left a red imprint around her eyes that might have been ludicrous if she hadn't been riding that vicious-looking black gryphon. That and the fearsome stormhammers resting at either hip, ready to be thrown. "I heared ye were needing-" she cut off abruptly, staring at the paladins behind Puros with shock. "Magni's bronze whiskers, what's happened to yer party?"
Puros glanced back at his brothers and their companions, all of whom wilted under the blistering sun of the Badlands. One of the younger paladins had dismounted and was actually asleep under his horse, using the beast for shade. The way the animal was wavering the stunt appeared even more risky than usual.
He turned back. "We've pushed ourselves hard in pursuit of a tireless enemy," he said quietly. "You know who it is we hunt?"
The female nodded grimly, waving to the pair of gryphons overhead to come in for a landing. As her two companions expertly set their mounts down beside her fierce black gryphon Greana turned back to him. "Aye, we know. Yer mate Manaspark's been doing yer cause justice in Ironforge, and there's nary a dwarf on patrol who doesn't know the villain's face to recognize it on sight."
Puros glanced at the two figures in riding leathers dismounting behind their leader. Neither one was small enough to be a gnome. "Where is Master Perival?" he asked. Though they hadn't traveled far together, he'd developed a surprising fondness for the mage.
"He's at the south tunnel, watching fer yer man Nex," the dwarf assured him. She turned to one of her escorts. "Look at these humans here, Flintshatter! Toss 'em your canteens and get their empty ones, then go find yerself some water and bring it back."
"Aye," the dwarf said, unstrapping a few leather bags that sloshed tantalizingly from beneath his flight saddle.
Puros accepted one gratefully, taking a small swig that even so seemed selfish, then handing it off to one of the dozens of hands eagerly jostling to accept it. The dwarf gave the other to the priest Antono, who went around to the men too listless to stir. Then with surprising efficiency the rider went around to the horses and began gathering up flasks and canteens, holding them all in his stubby arms as he jogged back to his mount.
Puros sank to a sitting position on the ground, too weary to stand. "Thank you, Mistrees Swifthammer. Your arrival is a boon to us, not least because of the water you bring."
"Aye," the dwarf glanced at the sere ground, shimmering with heat waves, and elected to remain standing. "Mebbe I'm being blunt with ye, but whatever yer commitment ye were being fools, pushing through this dustbowl like ye were at the races. It's lucky ye didn't find yerselves waylaid by orcs or ogres, and yer men too weak tae fight. Even withnae enemy but the sun ye were asking fer death tae find ye."
"I know." Puros looked away, towards the shimmer of green along a sloping valley to the north that suggested the beginning of the region of Loch Modan. "And all of it for naught. Our quarry runs swift as a gryphon in flight, with a demon's own endurance. I fear he's already far ahead of us."
The dwarf smiled at him with a sort of grim satisfaction. "Nae so far ahead as ye might be thinking. And few things be swift as a gryphon in flight, none of 'em running on two legs or four."
Puros turned back to her, catching a certain pleased edge to her tone. "You have good news?" he asked eagerly. No news would make up for the last two weeks, but anything was better than knowing they had failed.
"Aye, good news. When Manaspark came tae Ironforge Magni sent out patrols along every easy route, aye, and some of the harder ones too. We caught sight o' yer man Nex not long after he entered the Badlands, and figgered out which way he was goin'. He may have come by Loch Modan days before ye, but I promise ye he hasn't left it, and willnae until ye can catch him."
"But how..." Puros began, then remembered what Greana had said about Manaspark waiting at the southern tunnel. "Oh no." With effort he lurched to his feet, catching at the gryphon rider's shoulder in his haste. "You have to get to your men guarding the tunnels. Nex is an enemy greater than you can imagine, and not one to be taken lightly. He may have already passed whatever blockade you've set up."
Greana caught his hand and patted it gently before pushing it off her shoulder. "No need tae fret, human. We dwarves may havenae fought half the battles ye and yer's have, but we're nae fools. And yer damn gnome did right by ye, sure enough. We got strong guards at the north, south, an' west tunnels. Paladins o' our own, aye, an' a few priests with 'em. Not tae mention the mages Manaspark chivvied away from his people in spite o' their problems. Manaspark told us what we needed tae know of the enemy, and we're prepared."
Puros sagged back to the ground, as much in relief as in weariness. "We might catch him, then," he whispered. "Do you know where he is now?"
The female dwarf let out a gutbusting guffaw that was not in the least bit ladylike. "Aye, suren we do. The scrawny murderer's been bumping into one dead end ravine after another fer nearly a day now, after he seen the tunnels guarded an' no place else to go. We're takin' wagers on how long it'll take before he's desperate enough to start climbing." She patted the stormhammers on her belt fondly. "Wouldnae like to bet on his chances if he does."
"We had best be off, then," Puros said, once again pushing to his feet. "With your water and a bit of effort we can be to Loch Modan by nightfall, and in a position to capture him by dawn."
To his surprise the sturdy dwarf pushed him back down firmly. "Nay, human," she said gently. "Ye keep on pushing like ye have been, the only thing ye'll be catching is yer deaths o' some sickness. Yer villain is penned in the Loch Modan valley sure as a roc huddling in its cave, with no way out but through the gryphon's beak. Take the time tae rest and gather yer strength, and trust us tae keep yer boy in place until ye can catch up."
. . . . .
The group, traveling slower with Greana's constant assurances that their quarry remained trapped searching his way among the spidering maze of ravines, finally reached the main road that led from Dun Morogh through Loch Modan to the Wetlands. A few of his men even sank to their knees and kissed the neatly tended cobblestones, weary as they were from a night's travel in the Badlands and a morning's trek up a gradually greening valley that funneled a blessedly cool wind down from the mountains.
"Set up camp," Puros said with a smile. He waved to the road. "Right across the road if you like." His men lost no time in doing just that, and in spite of the noon sun most quickly went to sleep.
Jed Farnsen, however, didn't seem inclined to sleep. He was glancing north nervously, roughly in the direction of Nex's last reported whereabouts. After an undecided moment the tracker abruptly made for Puros, whistling sharply to call his three dogs to heel. "Begging your pardon, m'lord," he said. "But I reckon you won't be needing my services at this point. Iffen you could see clear to paying me for my troubles, I'd like to make for the south tunnel and Ironforge."
Puros was surprised, although he supposed he shouldn't have been. The man had made it clear his thoughts on following Nex on more than one occasion. "I assure you there'll be no danger in accompanying our party as we complete our goal," he said. "Are you certain you wish to leave?"
Jed laughed shortly. "My pader always told me 'sure you can track a stone giant, boy, it don't even take much skill. The main question is whether you want to catch it. And iffen you do, what's to say it stays caught?' I figger this character you think it's so all-fired important to catch might jes' be a mountain giant."
Puros looked around the camp. "I think we're prepared to handle the situation."
"Mebbe you is, maybe you ain't. Leastaways I'll have my money now, iffen you please."
"As you wish." Puros drew a few gold from his pouch, then after some contemplation a few more, pressing them into the tracker's hands. "You have the gratitude of the Church of Light for your services. Go in the Light, wherever your travels take you."
The man gaped at the coins for a moment, then grinned at Puros. "Thankee, m'lord. Reckon I'll do just that. Hoy Bur, Rub, Josephine, on we go then boys and girl!" The dogs took off southwards in a flurry of excited barking, and Jed followed them whistling softly.
Puros watched him go for a moment, almost envying him his freedom from continuing the task. Then he turned back to the camp.
A few of the veteran paladins, no stranger to the feel of coming conflict, were taking a short time before laying out their bedrolls to clean and oil their weapons and scour their armor of the sweat and sand of the Badlands. It didn't take long before they gleamed as bright and proud as they had upon leaving Stormwind. Chagrined by their example, Puros took some time to do the same before gratefully finding sleep in his own bedroll.
They had another happy surprise some five or so hours later, when they were wakened from their sleep by the sentries calling gladly down the road to a party of half a dozen dwarves and gnomes, riding tamed rams and mechanostriders, respectively. Proudly at the head of the group rode none other than Perival Manaspark himself. Upon hearing the sentries' cries the mage sped his mechanostrider into a swifter pace, flying across the distance between the two groups.
Puros pushed out of his own bedroll to meet Perival at the perimeter of the camp, clasping hands warmly with the gnome atop his mount. "I understand we have you to thank for all of the good that has come of our seemingly fruitless chase."
The mage grinned. "Not fruitless!" he said happily. "A friend to guest is a happy event, and a messenger bearing good news better still. But a friend with good news is by far the best." He motioned vaguely up into the sky. "Greana caught sight of us making our way to you and landed with the word. All her gryphon riders are closely watching Nex's movements, ready to report his slightest change of direction. And do you know why?"
"I have a feeling. But tell me anyway."
Manaspark beamed. "His constant search of the ravines is bringing him swiftly closer to us. With the help of the gryphon riders we'll be able to catch him in a dead end where he can't escape and take him captive!"
"Good news and a good friend both!" Puros said with a laugh, clapping the gnome on the shoulder. Then he leapt into action, bellowing for his brothers to wake and prepare. Men began rushing everywhere, trying to tend to a dozen chores at once. Those who'd gone right to sleep were now checking their weapons and armor and, sheepishly, setting to the tasks of caring for them while their more experienced brothers were already putting their armor on.
Manaspark watched it all, amused, while the dwarves and gnomes of his own party came up alongside and dismounted, joining in the preparations. Then the little mage dismounted from his own mechanostrider, sauntering over to pick up a helmet a paladin had left behind and handing it to the chagrined lad when he came to retrieve it. "Shine it up good, Sir Paladin," the gnome said. "By nightfall you'll be representing justice!"
. . . . .
The trail he'd been following ended in a cave, and even from fifty yards away his keen eyes could pierce the shadows well enough to see that it was only a few feet deep. It bore all the signs of an animal den, which meant he'd been following an animal trail, and one that didn't go anywhere.
Nex cursed, glaring around the dead end before him, and at the cliffs above that seemed to loom directly into the mountains surrounding Dun Morogh. He'd been encountering such dead ends far too often the last few days, ever since he'd followed the main dwarven road far enough to see it ended in a heavily guarded tunnel through the mountains, forcing him to turn back and seek another path. He'd found the road lead to two other tunnels in the south, both equally well guarded. Since then he'd left the roads and begun searching for a path too small for the dwarves to guard. Obviously they couldn't cover every route in an area this size.
At least, they couldn't if this area was anything but jagged peaks tickling the sky in every damn direction but the way he'd come. He was starting to fear that the only way to get past those impenetrable mountain walls was to either climb them, go around them, or go under them through the dwarven tunnels.
Going around them was an option, although it would almost double the amount of ground he'd have to travel. If he grew desperate enough he might try attacking the dwarven blockade at the north tunnel, although they would be prepared and not nearly so easy to maneuver around as the defenses of Stormwind had been. Going over the mountains was an equally unattractive option; not only would it take nearly as long as going around, but he'd be in plain sight of the constant gryphon patrols nearly the entire time. He didn't relish the thought of facing a dozen flying enemies throwing projectiles at him while he tried to climb the cliffs in this area.
He glanced back the way he'd come a bit doubtfully. Back was likely his best option, rather than trying to go over the cliffs. He hadn't seen any sight of pursuit for more than eight days, and he didn't think anyone had the stamina necessary to follow him at the pace he'd been maintaining for the last two weeks. If he continued searching it would take time, but eventually he might find another way over the mountains.
On the other hand Stormwind had certainly sent out his description to all its neighbors, and the Alliance had a daunting number of allies among the Eastern Kingdoms. Every moment he wasted backtracking through this miserable maze of dead ends and steep ridges was a moment more for his presence to be discovered. The dwarves preferred their mining and digging underground, but even their race had hunters adept at tracking and hunting in their own familiar territory.
Still, a small delay was a slight risk, and getting up into the mountains was a larger one. Decided, Nex turned and ran back the way he'd come.
. . . . .
Puros silently motioned his small army of paladins, priests, gnome mages, and dwarf huntsmen into position around the mouth of the ravine.
Greana had chosen an ideal spot for an ambush. The ravine ended in a dense grove of trees, and the only way around that grove was along a narrow and bouldered slope along one side of the ravine, where a rockslide had killed the trees and left a rough path. He positioned the huntsmen and mages at ideal spots along that path, where they could attack from a distance in the open area, while he put his paladins at the forefront of the grove with the priests behind. Once he was certain everyone was in position he gave the signal for everyone to hold their positions and moved forward alone. As he did he called to the Light to shine upon a tortured soul.
He would pacify the boy himself, Light willing.
. . . . .
Nex was nearly to the mouth of the ravine, running in a full sprint out of sheer frustration and ducking through a thick grove of trees rather than going around them, when his ears caught a soft rustle in the woods to his left.
He slowed, confused, but before he could react a warm comforting light abruptly washed over him like soft down. From out of nowhere feelings of unfathomable anguish and remorse ripped through his soul. Nex tripped and fell headlong, slamming into a tree trunk face-first. Stars flashed before his eyes, and he felt warm blood flowing from his nose. The guilt, though, the guilt like a mountain weighing upon his back, pressed him down and down until it was hard for him to breathe. He gasped, tears beginning to flow from his eyes. In abject misery he pulled himself to his knees and rested his head in his palms, groaning. In his mind's eye he could see the faces of every person he'd slain in Stormwind. More faces, even, ones that he didn't recognize but knew for a surety had died because of his actions.
What was this? He was no stranger to guilt; when he had been a boy and still harbored a shred of trust for Lynda she had often made him feel guilty as a means of controlling him. But he thought the ability to feel guilt for any of his actions had been purged from him long ago. He certainly hadn't given a second thought to the deaths of those humans before, seeing only the necessity of completing his mission, but...
The guilt was starting to fade, and he finally became truly aware of the warm Light washing over him. Light, in the midst of deepening dusk. Understanding dawned; this was a paladin spell.
Nex scowled, fighting the residual effects. Trust to those Light-wielding zealots to have an attack that preyed on feelings of guilt and remorse. He shoved away the remainder of the emotion and pushed to his feet, swiping at the blood on his face with an annoyed growl. He froze halfway through the gesture, however.
Surrounding him on every side among the trees were plate-clad humans, massive in their armor and some riding barded and armored chargers. Both men and mounts looked somewhat the worse for wear, but all the more sinister for it. From behind him came a voice he knew, cold as the judgment of the Light and twice as unforgiving.
"Nex-thanarak. You are under arrest for major crimes against the city of Stormwind and the people of Azeroth. Throw down your weapons and surrender or we will capture you by force."