The voice sounded from the shadows. Secundia stilled where she stood, within the hollow chambers most often used to conduct formal meetings of the council. Absence of footfalls indicated the presence of her superior and lover. He was in grievous humor now that the fool was dead.
"Yes beloved?"
His form materialized out of the darkness. "Have you yet determined what it was that befell Garrel? Though his demise falls square upon his own shoulders. The gods forbid that I should have one serve me who has control of his passions."
"Or who has the intelligence to understand the necessity of control." The tone was cold, distaste for the one mentioned clearly evident. "He was a fool, and as such died. No, I have not seen what befell him yet; something in this place remembers a better time, and tampers with the spells that I use to see the tale."
"Enough to know that he fell, and that steel was involved." Secundia felt his hands rest on her shoulders and shivered. His voice continued on, "His carelessness has led someone into our midst. It must be seen to. What Garrel has set in motion could well destroy us as our pact with the Legion is tenuous at best. He shall redeem himself, I think, before he is allowed to rest."
"If you think it best. Though it would be gratifying should he not be able to sate his base desires in any fashion."
The voice seemed amused as it answered her. "That shall be given due consideration. Perhaps it will be the ideal punishment, aside from walking again the mortal plane with the knowledge that as soon as his task is done he must needs wander the outer darkness for eternity."
Hands withdrew from her shoulders, and the presence faded away. Secundia turned again to her casting, drawing in again the weaves of power and inscribing the runes. Unil was now dealing with his servant. It would be best to have something to show to him upon his return. She shivered again, though whether from cold, longing, or fear could not be determined.
It was done. The elf stared in ill concealed contempt as the mass of flesh reanimated, rising from the cold of death to live as a mockery of all who breathe. The undead creature stumbled to its feet, reflexes dulled from the smooth grace formerly attributed to it.
"Unil, what is this that you have done to me?" Air wheezed from stiffened lungs, the voice distasteful to the ear. The former elf looked at his master with fury in what remained of his visage. "What have you done...!"
The elf watched him silently as the creature manipulated its limbs, trying to bring back a sense of itself. "You brought this upon yourself with your own foolishness, Garrel."
"But what use can I be to you as dead? Better to lie in the grave and join the ancient ones than this, to walk where I should not, not able to touch, though I desire to. I cannot abide it!" His voice grew stronger in his denial, though it grew no easier on the hearing.
Unil smiled coldly, his visage hard. "No, wonder though you will. Perhaps this is better for you. Join the ancient ones? Hardly. Those giving themselves over to evil have always been condemned to walking outside the land of the dead. Wandering for eternity, cursed to forever be without rest. That, or to be bound by forces of greater good, unless they can be overcome."
"Again, this is your fate. To walk in the world until you finish what you started, and repair the breach which your lusts have brought us to. Strength is needed in the solicitation of the Legions from beyond. Strength is what they respect, if they respect anything at all. You were a weakness. You have now been dealt with. Our strength remains undiminished despite your failure."
"Go now and finish what you should not have started in the beginning."
With that parting reminder, Unil turned and seemed to melt away from sight. Garrel seethed in anger for a long moment before turning and staggering away towards the outside world. There were things that he needed to accomplish.
Far to the south now, Borqk and his warriors had finally found a quiet place to lay hidden. Close to where the internment camps for the orcish clans had been, the area was strangely deserted. Rumors had abounded to the north where his band had hidden that a new warchief had arisen to rally the Horde. That was why they had started on their journey. Demons had pursued them on the way, fell creatures that before had been summoned to their aid, now seeking orcish blood.
Moving undetected through the territory of the former Alliance had not been easy, but vigilance had waned with the imprisonment or destruction of the greatest part of the Horde. Human sentries and patrols no longer had the advantage of elven eyes and ears, the elves of Silverymoon having withdrawn from the Alliance at the end of the conflict.
Few now indeed were left among humankind, mainly being those whose main focus lay with the arcane arts. A few clerics as well, their humility allowing them to accept a lesser place than that which might have been accorded to them. For whatever reasons, Borqk was grateful for the break in the ranks.
At the moment, three of his warriors were scouting the lay of the land. It was the hope of the sub-chief that a message had been left before the Horde had departed, a message to any stragglers who might happen by. His hope was not disappointed.
His scouts returned one by one, entering the glade after furtively checking for adversaries. "What have you seen?"
"News, my chief!" The first scout spoke up, his face fairly glowing. "The Warchief Thrall lies yet in the harbor, preparing to embark to a new land. We are to join him at once."
"Hellscream is with him, my chief!" Another voice interjected.
The band gathered round in eagerness as they watched their leader ponder the information. When at last he turned to them, a new fire gleamed in his eyes. "Prepare to join the Warchief. We march to join the Horde!"
Letting out a roar of approval, the orcish warriors followed Borqk out of the glade and towards the ocean.
Danil stood alone at the remnants of the sentry post. The night watch was ended, and the patrols had moved farther from the village during the daylight hours. In retrospect, he should really be back in the village asleep, but the problems that weighed on his mind refused to allow him that luxury. 'Wizards.'
Even troubled thoughts could not overcome the weariness of the night watch and the warmth of the daylight that fell into the clearing. The knight dozed on his feet, never sensing the approach of the four figures that materialized out of the background of the forest. A subdued shout awoke him.
"Sir Danil!"
He jerked to awareness, seeing the elves as they spread out around him like leaves scattered by the wind. Each ranger had an arrow upon the string while the sorceress readied herself to hinder the progress of any nearby foe. The knight had to pause for a moment at the absurdity of it all. Here they were worried that he had been taken by some unseen foe, when the reality was that he had succumbed to the lure of sleep.
"Hold, I am well. I fear that the only enemy that hath beset is my own self. The night watch has long since been to their sleep, but like any fool would, I chose the worst place to do so." He groaned as he shifted in his armor, holding up a hand to forestall any help from the elf standing nearby. "I came here merely to think, but I fear that I fell into the subtle embrace of sleep."
The elves gave no visible sign of relief other than returning arrows to quivers. Not even the daily patrols made them lose their vigilance, even in times of peace and solitude. For an elven ranger, there never was such a time.
Striving valiantly to stifle a yawn, Danil managed to voice the question foremost on his mind at the moment. "Have you any word from your comrades in arms? Say they what time permits them to pursue this matter?"
Stern faces met his question in silence. Finally Riversong spoke. "I regret that I must bear this news. Our kin have moved beyond all call of aid; they have returned to our homeland. We can count on none but those you see here, although each of us is pledged to the destruction of evil wherever it may take root."
Nassiel raised an eyebrow imperceptibly before interrupting any further conversation. "One comes."
A few moments later, even the knight himself could pick up on the rustling of the blades of grass and the clanking of plated armor. A footman strode into the clearing his face bent to a purpose.
"Sir Danil, the knight commander requests your immediate presence." Seeing the older knight's stare, he explained further. "Messenger, sir. Yours I think?"
"Ah, I see. Very well then, we shall return to the commander where I shall present myself with all haste. Thank you soldier."
The footman nodded and clanked his way hurriedly towards town, his duty as a messenger concluded and returning now with haste to his prior post. Behind him armor clanked as the knight followed, the elves melting into the edges of the forest were silent.
They arrived together at the central building, elven boots keeping silent time with the knight's ponderous footfalls. Inside the structure Bertrand glanced over at the two knights who were keeping him company. The younger knight, Duragon nodded to him. As Danil and his entourage appeared in the doorway, the knight commander stood and cleared his throat. This immediately drew all attention to him and he motioned that those newly arrived should take seats.
As they sat upon the rough wooden benches that populated the building, the white haired knight gazed around the room at the occupants. To his right was the mage Bertrand and the young messenger Sartos. On his left hand Duragon Trollbane, with four elves and Danil sitting in full attention before him.
"Now then," the old man's voice echoed slightly in the mostly empty chamber, "perhaps I could have a full explanation for the dark rumors that trouble you Danil Braveheart."
"Aye, very well."
Danil rose to tell the tale in whole, of all the circumstance and happenstance that had brought about his actions. The rest held their silence throughout the telling, Duragon only revealing his disclosure of the darkness encroaching to the commander to his cousin. The older knight nodded, saying nothing either to condemn or praise what he had done.
When he finished his missive, the commander stood again bidding him to be seated again and for Bertrand to rise and unfold the reply from Tower. The mage stood slowly, smoothing his brilliant colored robes as he did so. Turning without haste he nodded to Sartos who opened the missive that the tower had given him and handed it over to the mage. Without ceremony or ritual Bertrand read aloud the simple reply.
"To the knight contingent stationed in the Village of Undermane."
"From the Council of Mages, Overseers of the Tower."
"We hereby acknowledge both your missive and the messenger that brought the same.
It is with great regret that we return to you very little help upon your hour of need. For
although the darkness you describe seems great, a greater challenge lays upon us from
the crown, and how we shall answer both perplexes us."
"It seems best then that our representative should accompany you and report back to us
on the current state of things. We leave you to his most capable judgment."
"Signed by the senior members of the Tower." Bertrand stared at the letter for a moment before snorting in derision. Muttering quietly to himself, his fingers worked quickly to re-roll the parchment. "Most capable judgment indeed. Varcanos got his fingers into the pie before they finished baking it I'd bet."
With a grim smile he turned and faced Danil head on. "I, good knight, am Bertrand the Bold, often described as a mage of some power and greater talent for bothering all those who surround me. I am told that this especially applies to those who stand greatly upon the cornerstone of contempt and the platform of pomp and ceremony. However, I'll see what it is that bothers your little lives down here so that I can return and pursue weightier matters with my brother wizards." Only a hint of sarcasm could be detected in his tone.
His gaze turned to assess the assembled elves. His voice was hard when he spoke. "Ah, what have we here but soldiers all; masters of the blade and bow. Only one of you here has any understanding of the flows of magic, and by all chance has just arrived here at the behest of her fellows. And you or the knights yonder have chanced to see some rogue mage running amok?"
Athliel stood with refined grace in defense of those around her. "Perhaps it is as has been implied by many who have had dealings with us, that the elves are an arrogant people. I do not deny this." Her eyes flashed imperceptibly as she continued her rebuttal.
"However, we have none in present company as arrogant as you, Mage Bertrand."
"Perhaps it would be wise to see and understand the basis for the story then to dismiss it out of hand as the mad ravings of the uneducated. It does not take anything besides eyes and ears swift of hearing to understand that magic is used against yourself, even if the senses belong to a humble footman. And even great kings suffer from stupidity." Her smile was grim, but Bertrand could feel the dry humor behind it.
"I do, as you have implied, have some understanding of the flow of magic. Perhaps my observations would hold weight with you?"
The mage nodded without speaking and Athliel continued. "There was brought to my care one that had been struck by a simple form of elemental magic. Standard runic casting, except for one fact; the spell lingered yet in the blood, and that despite minor healing. Upon closer examination of the flows that lingered, I was presented with two flows that tangled in such a way as to present a single thread to the untrained eye. One was the elemental power of fire, but the other..."
"The other was something that I have never seen before in any casting by human or elf. It was a dark thread of desire; lust, a burning passion. It was this thread that bound the spell into the body of the recipient and held it there to fester and eat away at the core of his being." She hesitated before stating her conclusion, face carefully neutral.
"It was consistent with spells used by the demonic spellcasters that the horde summoned."
Bertrand stiffened and the rest of the room stilled with that pronouncement. It took a startled gasp from the young messenger to bring life back into the room. "De-emons? Here?"
"No." Valia Riversong stood now and all eyes turned to her. "The caster was an elf."
Bertrand waved a hand towards the assembled. "Well then, I fail to see why either the Council or even the knights of Lordaeron were necessary to this. It is one of your own; you elves should deal with it."
"If that were all that it was, chances are that you would never have divined this from anyone; by the time that the messenger arrived we had already located his lair and disposed of him. Unfortunately he is not alone in this endeavor. There are humans there and other beings, spellcasters all. That they are studying in secret arts that are forbidden to those without any guidance; is this not a concern of the Council and said worthy knights?"
The female elf touched the tip of her ear with the forefinger of her right hand before nodding in Bertrand's direction. "But perchance it may be necessary for the honored mage to view with his own eyes what others have risked life upon. It is upon this that we now prepare to embark."
"Time however, waits for no man." With this slightly cryptic remark she returned to her seat.
The 'Esteemed Mage' was red faced and rightly so, for he had understood somewhat the insult that the ranger had tendered him. His voice when he spoke was controlled, but hinted of the ire that lay behind. "Very well. I shall view this matter for myself and judge what must be done, as I was instructed. Hopefully it is of the urgent nature that you have ascribed to it."
Sartos shifted uncomfortably beside him as he sat down again. Bertrand felt pity for the lad, seeing as he had been made to attend this meeting by the decree of the knight commander. 'The lad has not the heart for this dull stuff. Though to be fair, he looked shaken enough when he decried 'demon' for the elf. Ah to be young and full of fire again!' The sound of heavy feet upon the wooden floor brought his attention back to the knight commander.
Rising, the old knight looked out over the persons gathered, eyes still hard in the face that fought back every wrinkle. He had heard hard news today, but ever the soldier, was now pondering on how best to meet the danger. The voice that demanded respect from hardened soldiers now spoke in firm tones as he outlined a new mission. Resources were few, but the ones that were available would be put to the best use he could manage.
Firm, grim tones ordered the knights present on the provisions that they were to take with them. "You'll find expedient to prepare yourselves as if going on distant patrol. Danil, you and Duragon are all that can be spared from the patrol. Amlius has recovered enough to oversee the city watch, which will give us just enough men to cover the necessary areas; things seem to be quieter nowadays."
"Mage Bertrand, your escort will be comprised of these two gallants and the boy. I fear that I can spare no others for the journey, but their courage and honor are beyond reproach. You need have no fear with them."
Turning to the elves, the old man's eyes softened just a bit, though his voice remained the same. "Peace be unto the People; accompany them if it be your will to do so."
Valia replied as the head of the company. "Unto you peace. We have given our word to see this thing through, and so we will lead into the darkness, hoping always that the light shall find us."
Nodding, the commander dismissed the gathering, leaving the party to gather such things as were necessary before the start of the journey.
Author's Notes:
Is anyone reading this? Please take the time to review and let me know whether I should continue to bother posting. I do appologize for the length of time that it has taken me to post this last chapter.
I seem to either write epics or one-shots.
Thanks to JCAE for the one review of this story. If you are reading this, go read "Ranger General". A very well done Warcraft fiction.
