RANGER GENERAL - by J CAE
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm still the same person even though I've changed my pen name. I'm this weird--I detest having numbers in my pen name and I don't like this unique name thingie. Anyways, my new name is still pretty similar to my old, so there.
CHAPTER THREE: THE LAST HOPE
Alanen drank from his whalebone mug.
How long must he wait? He was tired of fighting the Undead--they just refused to stay dead. Yet if he stopped or loosened his guard, he would be consumed by his enemies. And he would lose his little girl.
He looked across the tent at his five-year-old daughter Elma, who was oblivious to the war and killing around her. The beautiful brunette had lost her mother during the great destruction of Dalaran--the woman ran back into their house to save her pet rabbit and was killed by a falling column. Alanen did not even attempt to save her. He just grabbed Elma and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
Perhaps it was blessing that Elma was so young. She did not understand the cruel death of her mother. She was still able to smile and play after all that happened, while her father feared for her. He told her it was just a game, that they were away from home to see how well she could take care of herself without her mother's help. And she thought it was a good chance to prove that she had grown up. It hurt him to think that one day, Elma might wake up to the truth. What devastation would that be on the young soul!
Alanen knew his survival had not come with luck--if he was so darn lucky why would he lose his wife, his house and all his possessions? The Highest Light had only allowed him to live because it had, in the past, deprived him of the joy and security of a normal life.
His special powers--he never told anyone about them, was a secret, a burden all through his life. Since his mother discovered that he could speak with shadows, she made him promise not to tell anyone. He was very young then, probably seven or eight years old. He enjoyed the idea of being special and kept it a secret from other people until it became too much to bear.
As he grew older, he learned the hostility the normal folks had for special people. How they hated them, considered them to be unholy spirits, and how the normal would try to convert these special people in the most violent ways. Alanen feared for his own fate and became withdrawn from the rest of society. He had wasted his life hiding in fear--as if he was waiting for the Undead to come, for a chance to become a hero.
He shook his head to clear his mind. How could he be thinking of such dark thoughts?
Only one thing he could be sure. The Highest Light had preserved and chosen him to act in this most desperate hour of humanity. His power had become somewhat the last hope for the living. He alone had the ability to drive the Undead away. The living revered him as some sort of god sent. And he would willingly serve his race and all other mortals.
"Daddy," Elma tugged at the sleeve of his tunic, and he looked at the little girl who climbed onto his mattress where he was sitting and thinking.
He tried to cast aside his worries and smile for his daughter, "What is it?"
"The man with the funny moustache is here to see you," Elma told him, pointing at the entrance of the tent where a knight stood waiting--he flinched a little at the description yet he did not mind. Elma was the most adorable child he had ever seen--in fact, one of the last few children that the Living had left.
Setting down his mug on the worn mattress beside him, Alanen chuckled, "I'm sorry about that, Usven." And he asked, "What news have you for me?"
"Everything's normal, sir," Usven replied, unconsciously touching his moustache. What the little girl said was rather impolite but true. His moustache was dark brown, a great contrast to his near blond hair. Elma often wondered if it was fake, that Usven had only glued it on to make himself look more serious--or was it a wig he was wearing?
"No ghouls, zombies or whatnot?"
Usven shook his head.
"Good, good," Alanen nodded and sighed. He was always a prudent warrior. Even though it seemed all peace and quiet now, he knew it was only the prologue to another phase of Undead invasion--the calm before the storm. "We best make use of this period to prepare for another assault. The demons always return when we are least ready."
"Of course, general," Usven bowed. "I will go alert the others."
It had only been a year ago when these knights called him a wack, a scum, a rascal who had no job, whom not even his wife looked upon as a man. Now, he was a general. Their general.
"Good night, sir," Usven bowed before he exited from Alanen's tent.
Now, they addressed him as sir.
"Good night."
Alanen listened for Usven's footsteps as he pulled away. Three metres. Four. Five.
He put little Elma on his lap. The father and daughter exchanged a look--and they both burst into laughter.
"Little girls should not speak about big knights this way," Alanen had to give his daughter a small lecture. "It is not courteous. It makes people angry."
Elma looked shocked, "Are you angry at me, Daddy?"
"No, no," Alanen hugged his daughter tighter to his chest and planted a kiss on top of her head. "Daddy will never be angry with you. Never."
His precious daughter! She was the only one in this world from whom he could feel real love.
*~*~*~*
The next morning, Usven returned to Alanen's tent to find the man still sitting on the mattress, watching over his snoozing child as if he had not slept or moved an inch. And in truth, he had not. Alanen had not been able to slumber through the night since the Undead came, for fear they might take his daughter away the moment he let down his defences. He only took quick naps to snatch some rest, yet he was ever vigilant. Even the smallest crow of the nightingales could wake him.
"Apologies," Usven whispered, careful not to wake the little girl. "But it is one of the woman. Her father, the Farmer Jon, said that she was taken away by ghouls while they were collecting firewood. He asked you for help, general."
"Of course," Alanen could certainly comprehend the anxiety the old farmer must be feeling, even though he knew it would be a near impossible quest. He would try his best to rescue the woman, for the sake of compassion.
Trusting his daughter under the care of Usven's wife, Alanen hurried outside to meet Jon. Meris was his daughter's name. She and her father were attacked in the woods somewhere west of their encampment and the old farmer had managed to escape while his daughter was captured. He ran back to the camp for help--he did not know what else to do.
Alanen asked Jon to bring him back to where the incident happened. Half the men in the camp volunteered to join this rescue attempt--if they could find Meris and bring her back, it would mean they have one less enemy to worry about. With swords belted and bows and arrows in place, they ventured into the western forest in search of their missing sister.
At the scene, Alanen found locks of bloodied dark hair on the forest floor among many messy footprints. Convinced that the hair belonged to his daughter, Jon threw himself to the ground and burst into tears. What cruel fate must his child suffer in the hands of the Undead?
"Get up, Jon," Alanen felt his pain. But he only extended a hand. "Weeping is no help. In which direction had the ghouls taken your girl?"
"I do not know," the old farmer got up, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. "It happened too fast. I do not know."
The general sighed inwardly. This was not helping. He examined the tracks on the floor--they split off into many directions. It was impossible to follow every track. He gripped the hilt of his sword. If only...
Turning to his right, he saw another drop of blood, almost concealed under the shade of a tree. He took a closer look at it. It had been shed only recently. To his men, he beckoned, "She might have been taken this way. Follow me. Stay together."
His men followed without questioning. They trusted his judgement.
But they did not have to go very far before realizing the truth.
Alanen only put his hands on Jon's shoulder when they found Meris hanging on a tree, a rope tied around her broken neck. Part of her hair was indeed gone. Her eyes were wide open, unseeing, unblinking. The old farmer dropped to his knees.
Yet suddenly, the woman let out a low wail. Her body began to transform.
"No," Alanen muttered as he felt his own spine getting hot. Power surged from his core up to his hand, his fingertips.
The woman's eyes closed suddenly and she extended her hands. Her fingernails changed shape into sharp knives--she used them to cut herself down from the tree. She had become another Undead. She lunged at one of the men and began ripping him apart.
Alanen drew his sword, and so did his fellow men. They charged towards the crazed zombie that parried the blades and arrows with her nails. But she would not succeed. Not while Alanen was there.
With a cry, he unleashed his power. It ran from his fingers up the hilt and through blade of his sword. He swung his weapon through the middle section of the zombie, splitting it into two halves. She wriggled for a while and, finally, stopped moving.
He sheathed his sword. Immediately, his men tended to their injured comrades. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he attempted to calm himself when old Jon's accusing eyes locked with his.
"I asked you to save her," Jon's voice was trembling with despair. With hate. "But you murdered her."
"There was no other choice," Alanen sighed. "I'm sorry. She could not be saved."
Did you even try?
A third voice--of a woman. He looked again and saw the spirit of Meris floating over Jon's head.
"Jon!" he cried out loud. But it was no use. The old man could not hear him.
You killed me. I was innocent. For this, you will pay.
Meris screeched as she rammed herself through her father's body, killing him instantly.
Her haunting voice resounded in Alanen¡¦s head.
I was innocent. I was innocent. I was innocent.
*~*~*~*
"Oh, it's you," Kael pretended to wring the water out from his cloak, but it was too late.
Sylvanas knew he had seen her brooch--not that she minded. Now he knew her name, he might remember a few things about her. It would make it easier for him to trust her.
He stood up and timidly let his eyes wander to her face. The frost that formed on her hair and eyelashes did not seem to bother her. "When you didn't show up, I thought you were dead..." and he left the statement hanging, knowing that he said the wrong thing again.
"I am a corpse. What do you mean?" she snatched the brooch from his hands, feigning anger.
"Sylvanas..."
She glared at him. But the coldness in her gaze quickly faded as she saw sorrow in his eyes.
"I can't believe this is really you. How could he do this to you? I never imagined..." Nothing from what he remembered about her remained. He could see no signs of that splendid warrior woman whose skills and wit impressed him. No way he could have associated this dark banshee with someone he looked up to as an elder sister in the past.
She tried to evade the topic, "Let's move before Kel'thuzad gets away."
She did not blame him totally for not recognizing her. Even she could not accept how differently she felt. It was as if every part of her had died, leaving behind something greyish, deteriorating, demonic.
Kael guessed she was not in for a sentimental reunion. Fine.
"Are we the only ones left?" he asked, looking outside the tunnel to see no one. Sylvanas did not answer--she did not have to. He already had the idea. A lot of his men--their people died in the frozen sea.
"My banshees are scouring the area for survivors," she muttered, guilt clotting at her throat. "I didn't expect a third power to intercept us that way. But we should be all right. I am certain Kel'thuzad would not have a large force with him here. It would take a while before reinforcements reach him."
Nodding to her, he assured her that he was ready. The two of them headed deeper into the tunnel.
It was dark inside, yet it did not trouble Sylvanas's eyes that were used to dimness. Kael followed her closely behind, bracing himself for any dangers that might emerge suddenly.
A gigantic corpse laid in their path--it once belonged to a Nerubian Queen. The cold had preserved its shell well, though foul stench was beginning to emit from beneath. Yet it was obvious that the insect-humanoid had not been corrupted by Ner'zhul's powers.
"It seems that we're passing through some sort of graveyard," Sylvanas remarked as she pointed. Beyond the Nerubian Queen corpse, there laid a thousand more smaller corpses, half buried in the ice. The scene before them told a story--perhaps the Nerubians had lost the battle and they came here to die in hiding so that the lich king could not possess them. It just seemed so sad.
A noise behind them!
Kael spun around, ready to fend for himself when he found that it was only four ghouls, followed by three Blood Elven warriors that smelled like foul seawater.
"Mistress," the ghouls hissed, saluting Sylvanas. "The banshees sent us."
"Good," Sylvanas acknowledged. At least someone was still out there, 'alive'.
They pressed on--time was against their favour. The deeper they journeyed the darker it seemed, and more unpredictable.
Sylvanas and the ghouls stepped into a pond of knee-high liquid. Kael paused. He could not see quite clearly in the dark, but if what he suspected was true...
"What is that?" he swallowed hard. That harsh rusty stench could not belong to anything else. "Blood?"
Sylvanas turned back and looked at him for two good seconds as though walking through a pool of blood was not a great deal to her, "Yes."
The Blood Elves behind Kael were also doubtful, and they looked at their prince for guidance.
"Are you coming or not?" came the dark ranger's impatient voice.
Kael sighed. Between getting stuck in the dark and following her into someplace unknown, he had to choose one path. He stepped into the pond, fighting the urge to run away. This was way too much. He thought he could hear her mocking him in his mind--whatever did he call himself a blood elf for if he was so afraid of blood.
But seeing bleeding enemies and bleeding cave walls were two different things. The former was ecstasy. The latter was horror.
He wadded through the pool of blood, his almost dried cloak immediately became soaked again. And this time, he did not only shiver from the cold--but from disgust as well.
Ah well. The faster he walked the sooner he'd be out of this hell--or should he say, not be out ever again? He quickened his pace but kept his eyes to the ground in search of a clean spot to set his feet on.
The next section of the tunnel was rather dry, but unusually quiet. Sylvanas became cautious.
"Kel'thuzad!"
Kael looked around carefully at Sylvanas's voice. Their enemy was near.
"Stop hiding! You know you'll end here."
A giant block of ice fell on top of them, and Sylvanas and Kael side-stepped just in time to avoid it. The lich was alone on a side, watching as if he was amazed by their quick reflexes.
The Dark Lady crossed her arms, "Not cool enough to face me? I should have known." The lich was alone yet was not threatened by the dangerous position he was in--another ambush? She would not be shocked if her guess was true.
"Sylvanas," Kel'thuzad shook his skeletal head as if he was displeased. "The lich king already knows about your plans. Give them up and you may yet be spared from his wrath."
"My only source of pain is knowing that Arthas still reigns over this land," she replied, pointing her black arrow at him. Ambush or not, her arrow would kill him before he could attack again.
"You are the cause of your own pain," his tone was calm. "For you do not accept what is happening to yourself. The lich king will forgive you if you return to his side. He will grant you power."
"He shall never control me again," the dark ranger fumed. "Save your breath."
"It will be pure idiocy if you keep on fighting," the lich only warned her. "You will never be able to stand against an all-knowing one."
"I don't apologize for not being omniscience," she snapped. "He may know what my future holds, but he will never know me enough to stop me."
Kel'thuzad only sighed. "Very well then. You have been warned."
And behind the dark ranger, Kael gasped. Ner'zhul/Arthas himself appeared with Frostmourne drawn.
Sylvanas quickly spun around and let her arrow fly. The lich king parried the arrow and melted it before it hit the ground. The Scourge swarmed to the scene but strangely, they held their position behind their king.
"I know you'd try to kill me again, Sylvanas," Ner'zhul said in a terrible voice that echoed through the tunnels. "You'd never stop until I am dead. This is your curse."
Sylvanas said nothing but notched another arrow to her bow stubbornly. She could see that her eight banshees had arrived with two more Blood Elves and a few crypt fiends. This reinforcement was hardly enough to counter the lich king's army however. She wink-signalled twice to her banshees--possess as they could.
"Soon enough," the lich king continued. "You will become as soulless as I am. Soon enough, you will begin to see as I do. And you will thank me for destroying your weaknesses."
"Are you done with your speech?"
She knew, by weaknesses, he meant her life, her home, everyone she once loved and respected. True, without these things in mind she could fight without cares. But she would never thank him for anything.
The lich king waved a hand, and his army charged. Sylvanas's banshees began their work.
Kael felt stricken the moment he and Ner'zhul engaged in battle--for a split second, he had been connected telepathically to the lich king. He could feel the pain that Ner'zhul had experienced, all the agony from decades of imprisonment and anger towards Kil'jaeden by whose hands he suffered most.
And suddenly, Sylvanas's betrayal seemed so wrong.
No! Kael shook his head. The destruction of Quel'thalas could never be justified. One who called himself an elf should never let this hatred go.
He pulled his consciousness away and jerked himself awake again. The next thing he knew, Ner'zhul was swinging the runeblade at Sylvanas who managed to evade the deadly bow--though it still left a mark on her arm. Dark liquid poured out from the cut--not blood, but something darker.
Kael summoned a phoenix with no consideration to whether its heat would melt the ice in the tunnels. He just knew it was the only way he could hold the lich king back. He then banished a necromancer who tried to approach him.
But the lich king cut the battle short by recalling his forces into a portal. Before he stepped inside, he gave Sylvanas a warning, "I may let you kill me, but I will destroy you before that. I hope you will be more ready than you are now."
And then, bluish lights engulfed both Sylvanas and Kael.
*~*~*~*
Questions or comments, please email me at ardentsq@hotmail.com.
*~*~*~*
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you reviewers. Really love you guys and girls.
Oops. Sorry about the countless typos in the last chapter. I replaced it. Hopefully it's better.
For some strange reason this chapter came easier than the previous one. I was tempted to turn this into a Kael x Syl fic. Or maybe not. After all Syl is a corpse. It would be so totally evil.
PsionOfTheStorm: Haha thank you. I'm glad you like Syl. I appreciate your, er, enthusiasm but please don¡¦t hurt me...please?!
randh13th: Thanks. Alanen doesn't serve the Alliance. He's just a random guy who was made leader after the Alliance completely failed. As for his powers, you will know later ^_^. Varimathras is still in the dead forest, waiting for Syl to return.
Ira Poon: Oh really? Must be the tax thing. But if I have to go to HK, I'll first have to pay for my air ticket ^_^. I admit the last chapter wasn't the best I could manage. But I got rather sick after looking at it 7 days straight.
SaSsY-GuRl-TaYlOr: Thank you. I'll be updating soon. Arthas will see a lot more than stars...mwahhahahahaha
TheGrandSlayer: Kael...*grins rather evilly* is in deep deep trouble.
Forever Jake: Wow! Thanks for your compliments!
PD: Hey thanks. I will keep on writing.
Melchior: You like Kael? Good for you. I think he's kinda cute too, but I think I would've liked him more if he could stand on his own 2 feet. I didn't like the part when he served Illidan. Anyways, Kael, IMO, is strong and passionate, but he lacked the judgement, and is easily swayed. I doubt he's capable of avenging his people alone. But with a little help from our Syl, he might. ^_^