Fourteen.
Just a short chapter to let anyone who still maybe be waiting that no, I'm not dead and yes, the story will continue. Sorry for the lack of updates – it took a while to figure out where this story was heading. Apologies for the wait. And for whatever reason, in my head VanCleef sounds like Crowley from 'Supernatural'.
~ RT 2.0
It swirled and dance within its spherical prison, twisting and folding in upon itself as though it were in agony. A gold so brilliant it was almost white, it struggled, but day by day the, as more of it filled the interior of the crystalline prison, the thrashing became weaker. It was tired – nearly as exhausted as the young woman who fought to recall what it was the sphere contained and why she should care. Taliah's gaze once again drifted to the floor of the chamber and the pool of congealed blood not an arm's length away. She was so very tired, both body and – …soul. It's a soul…my soul! The realization struck her like a harsh slap to the face. With an explosive snarl, the paladin began to thrash and fight one more, a string of obscenities spewing forth from her cracked and bleeding lips. What had once been but a sliver of light within the prison was now filled it nearly to half. Fierce, wild grey eyes skewered the Lich King who sat upon his throne, the crystalline siphon containing her soul balanced on the tips of his fingers. For her troubles, Arthas sent a lance of agony ripping through her bound and tortured body as a sign of his displeasure and her howls of suffering echoed thought the Halls of Reflection, or would have had she actually been there. His hold upon her mind was strong and he doubted whether she could distinguish reality from the nightmare he was putting her through any more. She had her lucid moments, such as now, though they were growing shorter in length and easily sent into retreat with the application of enough torture. For eight days her mind had been his playground and it would not be long now until she finally could endure no more.
Necrucian squatted by the guttering fire to carefully feed the small branches to the flame to keep it from smoking. Beside him, Taliah slept soundly, the boy lost somewhere beneath the blankets that kept her warm. Despite the love he had torn from her that terrible day at Light's Hope, she had remained and opened the palm of her hand with his dagger, pressing the heavily bleeding wound to his injuries only to lose consciousness from blood loss. Though it was a day and a half later, she was still pale and greatly weakened by the sacrifice that saved him and while his recovery had been swift, the paladin's was not. She could have just left him, as he'd ordered her to, and taken the missives to Stormwind herself, leaving him to die in the lonely forest clearing in Hillsbrad where he now watched over her. The deathknight knew he needed her far more than she did him – without the paladin as escort, he would find no transport to Stormwind and his mission would fail. Necrucian watched her sleep, the pale brow and matted black curls all that showed above the blanket. Removing his gauntlet Necrucian reached out tentatively and gently pulled a leaf from the tangled, matted curls…
The forest clearing before him dissolved into the dark, low rolling hills of Westfall and the deathknight silent cursed himself, thankful that Kal was not there to see him in the midst of another of the waking dreams that plagued him. In disgust, he jammed a swatch of tinder into the campfire, causing sparks and smoke to lazily upwards into the clear night sky. "You'll want to be careful with fires around here, friend. Tends to attract all manner of riffraff." The calm, pleasant voice of the man behind him made the deathknight whirl and draw the immense sword from the scabbard on his back, but the visitor seemed undaunted. The stranger's head only came to Necrucian's chest in height, and he watched the deathknight with cold dark eyes despite the smile on his lips. His hair was long and dark, though whether it be black or brown, the darkness made it a mystery and by the confident way he held himself, Necrucian knew the stranger was more than competent wielding the rapier and short-sword that remained sheathed at his belt. He was clad in well used but well made boiled leather armour, the dark colouring of which had kept him concealed until he'd entered the circle of light given off by the fire.
Redemption was in his hand, but held low, the tip of the greatsword almost touching the ground. It would not take much effort to flick the blade upwards and gut this cocky visitor, but the fact he had approached at all piqued the deathknight's curiosity. Other then Kal, this was the first person he'd seen outside of Moonbrook. Little had been said between the deathknight and the horsesoldier since the unpleasantness of their first night on the road, and they spoke to each other only when necessary. They had dragged Moonbrook for days and sat at the corner table in the Black Dog tavern for so long the barkeep threatened to start charging them rent. No amount of cajoling, drink-buying, bribery or finally threats when Necrucian had had enough cat-and-mouse could persuade the denizens of the smuggler's town to talk. It was as if the man had vanished like smoke and Kal had finally decided that perhaps his enquiries might bear more fruit without the towering mountain of black plate clad deathknight scowling over his shoulder. Necrucian had watched him ride off that afternoon, half-hoping the cavalryman would not return. "And what manner of 'riffraff' would you be, friend?"
"The kind who knows things that might be of interest to you." The stranger approached as though he owned the place and squatted by the fire to warm his hands. Sheathing the huge sword, Necrucian could not keep away the expression of incredulous interest he wore. The man looked up at him and grinned a little. "I knew you were the reasonable sort." Though his words had a slight drawl to them, the deathknight was certain it was feigned.
"You know of this 'Stoldt' that I seek?" Necrucian's arms crossed over his chest and he stood relaxed as he looked down at his visitor. "I would be very interested in knowing where I could find him."
"I could tell you where he is, though I doubt much he'd be of much use to you." The man rubbed his hands together for warmth. "Unless you can make the dead talk." The dark hawkish eyes looked up at the deathknight without fear. "Though considering what you are, it might be possible."
"Not one of my talents, sadly." The deathknight replied coldly. He could indeed raise the dead, but they were little more than puppets under his thrall. The glowing cerulean eyes narrowed as he watched the man. "Who killed him?" There was no harm in asking, and perhaps whoever killed the man he was supposed to be looking for knew something useful.
"I did." The stranger replied as though they were merely discussing the weather. "The man had become a liability to my organisation." He shook his head, causing the long hair pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck to sway in time. "Hiring thugs to go after a paladin was poor planning. Taking a contract from a Stormwind noble was against company policy. Keeping the money earned from said contract for himself was unforgivable. When I had a little chat with him, he confessed to having been skimming off the top and using company assets for personal gain for a while now. Pity. I almost didn't dislike him." The man's shoulders shrugged "I've got no quarrel with Varian's bastard, only Varian and his Counsel."
"VanCleef." Necrucian smirked. Varian seemed to detest the man with every fibre of his being, but the deathknight had no reason to dislike him as of yet. Beyond the circle of light given off by the fire, he barely heard the rustle of many pairs of boots in the grass and raised a brow.
"And you would be Necrucian." Edwin VanCleef's predatory gaze shifted back to the fire. "Don't mind my entourage, they're just making sure we aren't disturbed." Behind the rebel leader's squatting form, a man, bound and hooded, was shoved from the darkness to nearly face-plant by the fire. From the muffled protests coming from within the rough burlap hood, the man had also been gagged for good measure. "Your friend here is lucky to still have his head. He might be dressed like a drifter, but he stinks of Stormwind nobility." The deathknight wanted to laugh as Kal Havarbrook, bound hand and foot, squirmed indignantly in the grass. He'd been so certain he could pass as something other than a nobleman's son, it was almost gratifying to see the cavalry officer proven wrong. "Consider his being alive a sign of my good faith."
"What is it you want, VanCleef?" Necrucian made no move to help Kal. That the rebel leader knew who they both were did not surprise him. A man as clever as Edwin reportedly was would have a network of spies to rival Stormwind's.
"The girl I knew nothing about until her timely fit of heroics, so obviously there are secrets even I've yet to pry out of Varian's kingdom. I do, however, know what happened way up in Light's Hope, and I know why you're here. You wouldn't have come all this way if the threat weren't real." The knowing smirk in the man's cold eyes was gone, replaced with something akin to worry.
"The threat is not just real, it is imminent." Necrucian intoned, "I feel that our time to prepare is running out, and the Nobles" the word was acid on his tongue "refused to see their peril."
"They will, though be it before or after it's too late to act is up to you." The certainty in Edwin's words gave the deathknight pause. "Whoever hired Stoldt did it through a third party and while Rorge didn't remember much of a description, the courier was wearing a ring with a Death's Head symbol and it unsettled him. Ol' Rorge was pretty specific about that while he was begging for his life."
"The Cult of the Damned…" The dead made to serve Arthas could almost be pitied in their mindlessness, but he held nothing but hatred for the living men and women who had willingly pledged their allegiance to the Lich King through his lieutenant Kel'thuzad. They carried out their king's work were the dead could not, and it was they who had brought the plague riddled grain to Andorhal for distribution through Lordaeron even before Arthas had merged with Ner'zhul. The prospect of having Cult agents in Stormwind, under his very nose, cause the deathknight's eyes to glow wrathful and bright and make the air about him cold enough that it hurt to breathe it in.
"Something is rotten in Stormwind." VanCleef replied, drawing to his full height and crossing his own arms over his chest. "And for a change it's something besides her politics. If the Cult is active in the city, the Lich King will not be far behind, but beyond a symbol on a ring, I have nothing else of value to offer. Trust me when I say my interrogation was thorough, and rather disappointingly bereft of details that would interest you beyond what I've shared." the rebel held up a casual hand, as much a sign for his men in the darkness to stay their weapons as it was for the deathknight to calm himself. "From what news I have in the last day, you will want to return to Stormwind with all due haste." Again he rubbed his hands over the fire to drive off the cold and damp of the mid-spring night. "The paladin is dying and the physician can find no reason behind her decline. For that I'm sorry. Return to Stormwind Necrucian, and take that" he pointed casually down at Kal who had grown still "with you. Do not return." As though he had somewhere else to be, VanCleef merely turned and strode off and the soft rustle of his unseen entourage faded with him.