Chapter IV

In her own bleak way, Sylvanas was not displeased. Wasn't she faced with the consequences of her own folly? At least he hadn't thought it would be easy. And now that I could hardly fight off one abomination, he doesn't need the humans any more. I wonder why he let some of the dwarves get away?

"Thank you," Varimathras said, still in that strangely quiet voice. "Milady Sylvanas, you really do not look well."

"What, wasn't the mortar team part of your strategy?" she asked, speaking slowly to make her words clear. "Then you won't even need your… Whatever they are." Her voice covered the sound of the bowstring stretching as she nocked the arrow behind King Terenas' throne. She had to lean heavily against the stone back to do it, since her left leg muscles were not quite functional and kept trying to buckle. Her black arrows had done their work, and two skeletons in armor now stood where the bodies of men had been. They gnashed their teeth, awaiting orders.

"It's entirely like you to over-plan something like this," she went on. "Are you really such a coward that you don't think you could take me yourself even now?"

Varimathras stared at her, his black eyes impenetrable.

"Answer me, curse you," Sylvanas said.

"Milady," Varimathras said slowly, flapping his wings again. "You think this is some kind of a coup?"

Sylvanas stared back with her one good eye, dumbfounded at his reaction.

"I mapped out your route the first time you used it," Varimathras said. "Every time you visited the surface these last few months, I took the Elevator and doubled back to follow you. I knew you would not follow my advice, and I was certain that if I left you alone, you would come to harm. It is clear that I was entirely correct."

"I never saw you," Sylvanas said. "I was an Elven ranger for centuries, and I never saw you once."

"I am a Nathrezim," Varimathras said. "How often did you look up, Milady?"

Sylvanas stood silent, letting the bow string go slack. She could feel tendons tearing in the arm now, anyway. The throne was like a block of ice, colder than she was, leaching away even the little warmth the splinters had left her.

She –had- looked up. But she had been listening for the clank of dwarvish flying machines or the grind of gargoyle joints. The soft whisper of demon wings could easily be lost in muffling snow.

"You're saying you've been following me all this time so you could protect me?"

"As is my duty and my privilege, my Queen."

"But why?"

Varimathras shrugged his huge shoulders. "Did I not promise to serve you?"

"When I told you it was that or die, yes," Sylvanas said drily.

"Threats are an established means of gaining fealty among my people, Milady," Varimathras said. "I have, I confess, heard better than yours."

"You've heard better - than - ?"

"Ahem," Varimathras cleared his throat as Sylvanas slurred to an outraged halt. "For a first effort in one so new to our ways, however, I was very impressed. Mine is a calculating race, Lady Sylvanas. And you showed facility for calculation, in addition to your other qualities.

"You presented me with a logical problem well before my capture. I saw that the Undead willingly followed you, which was no mean accomplishment in itself. However, I knew it would not be enough against the might of our combined armies. And I knew that, while the three of us united would destroy you, your abilities were such that it would only require the assistance of one to insure your victory. From then on, with the right help and advice, I knew you would rise without check."

Sylvanas edged around the throne and half-collapsed on the edge of the seat, arrows forgotten. (She still did not seem able to let go of the bow.) She was not sure she believed what she was hearing, but it really did not matter. He could still kill her any time he wished.

He watched her, frowning with worry which might, just possibly, be real. His eyebrows were quite large.

"You're saying you were never afraid for your life?" Sylvanas said.

Around her, the bony knights leaned silently on their makeshift staves, patient as Undeads are wont to be. The other inhabitants of the room were in no shape to complain.

"Of course I was, Milady," Varimathras said. "Once I was captured, you had more than enough resources to have me killed."

"But you don't think I could have done it myself?"

"Ahem." Varimathras cleared his throat again. "We are not dissimilar in our ability to use magic. But I had, at that point, considerably more experience than did you, Milady."

She noted with some irritation that he forebore to even mention the wings, claws, or the fact he was twice her size.

"I have seen lifetimes of men, Varimathras," Sylvanas said. At the moment, she felt every second of that age. She had been wounded often, but generally she had been able to heal herself not long afterwards. Varimathras had always been very insistent that she keep obsidian statues close by. She had laughed at him, in the privacy of her own head, for being a fawning coward.

"Yes," Varimathras said. He spread his clawed fingers. "I myself am of a similar age. But I have been a Dreadlord all that time. You had only been an Undead for a few weeks when we first met, my Queen."

"I see," Sylvanas said slowly. She forced between her stiff lips the question she had been waiting to ask. "Then why didn't you kill me then, and add my forces to your own?" The shard in her cheek was causing real trouble now, but pulling it out without a way to regenerate would simply do more damage. "You could do it now. It would be logical. Or…"

How many times had they been alone together, these last few months? She had been so sure of him that she had never insisted they be guarded. In hindsight, that seemed particularly idiotic.