Chapter 2

Most of the guards, familiar with Jorn's habits, were zealously on duty when he made his rounds at sunset. He had to confiscate one jug of shandy off Dumb Zig's party, but that was usual. Zig kept forgetting that the rest of his group couldn't hold liquor as well as he could.

It was not until he reached the guard post behind his camp, the one furthest from the entrance, that Chief Raveloe encountered any problems. The brigand Big Terl and his two best pals were indeed playing strip poker. Madge and Bambi were already down to their shifts, snuggled up to the men and giggling.

And Terl's got his breastplate off, Jorn thought with some annoyance. And they built a fire. At night. In Dalaran. He swung down from his mount in a convenient dark spot. Brown had not survived five years as Jorn's horse without learning how to stay quiet and blend in.

Jorn had not survived thirty years as a bandit without being able to do likewise. Accordingly, all five were taken completely by surprise when Jorn's hand reached out of a shadow and grabbed Terl by the throat.

A wild scramble for weapons ensued. The women, veterans of camp life in Dalaran, quietly hid behind the nearest bit of stone.

"See, if I'd been an actual Undead, you'd all be dead now," Jorn said.

Vert and Gilly froze with axes belatedly in hand, expressions of dread crossing their leathery faces. They dropped the weapons.

Yeah, you ought to know my voice by now. Jorn nudged Terl forward into the firelight, so they could see that Jorn had his arm twisted up behind his back.

"We was just having some fun, Boss," Terl said. His voice sounded slightly strained. He was almost as tall as Jorn. It don't matter, though.

"I saw that," Jorn said. He kicked Terl in the back of the knee and let go of his arm just before it hit the breaking point.

"Ow! What you wanna- " the brigand started indignantly, starting to get up. Jorn swatted him with an open hand, knocking him flat.

"You just don't learn, do ya?" Jorn demanded coldly. "I ought to beat you bloody, but then I'd hafta put you on soft duty for a good two weeks. So I'm gonna tell you all one time, and you listen real close."

The other men nodded hastily. Terl muttered something. Jorn rested a foot on his back and applied pressure. He groaned.

"This city is crawling with things that want to kill us just for being alive. This is the reason why we got guards posted every single night. So the very next man I catch sitting next to a fire without a weapon had better enjoy that fire, 'cause he ain't gonna see light for a long time. This bein'on account of where I am going to shove his head. Understood?"

"Understood, Boss!" the other two chorused. Terl groaned again.

"Speak up, Terl," Jorn said mildly.

"Understood," Terl ground out. Jorn removed his foot from the brigand's back, then kicked him hard enough that Jorn calculated his ribs would be sore for some days.

"You two, get out here," he said. The women edged reluctantly out from cover.

"You wouldn't hit a girl, would you, Chief?" Bambi asked. She breathed deeply,emphasizing her primary assets.

"Lady, I would hit your old granny if I caught her distracting these clowns," Jorn said. "And it ain't no good you leaning forward, either.If I see either one of you out here again, I'm gonna have Blitz turn you into a sheep, and then you can't date nobody but Terl. Get me?"

"We get you," Madge said sulkily, and gathered up her dress. The two women withdrew quietly, all the same. They were angry. They weren't suicidal.

"Good," Jorn said. "Give me the cards, Vert."

The bandit obediently gathered up the pack and handed them to his chief. Raveloe tucked them into his belt pouch. He kept an eye on Terl, in case the bandit should lose his temper and require Jorn to do the same.

Gilly doused the fire. It hissed as the coals died down.All four men stood in the dark, blending with the night.

Then Jorn heard a distant sound, a hollow wail that could just conceivably come from a woman's throat.

"Chief, was that - " Vert started to whisper. Jorn cut him off with a sharp gesture.

Not our girls. They went the other way. The sound had come from the west, the opposite direction from the camp. Jorn padded over to where he had left his horse and mounted up. He motioned for the others to follow him. Terl, his sulks forgotten, grabbed his breastplate and javelin and hastily armed himself.

Jorn navigated silently through the maze of walls, away from the guard post. His horse's canvas-swathed hooves made little sound, and the two of them were almost invisible in the autumn night despite the gibbous moon.

I know I heard a banshee. Not likely to forget what that sounds like.

As he moved forward he heard other sounds now: at least two sets of running feet, impractically shod and ringing on the flagstones. That's no Forsaken. They go quiet, or my boys make short work of them. He drew his short sword from its padded sheath. As he urged the horse slowly forward, he began to call up mana, coiling it around him like a rope. It was easy here in the old mage city, where mana was practically part of the stone.

Be easy for whatever's chasing them up ahead, too, he thought.

As the sound came closer, Jorn pulled Brown up. The two of them became completely invisible, shadowmelding effortlessly in the magic-heavy environment of Dalaran. He did not look back to see if his men were doing the same. He'd chewed them out, but the bandits were smart enough to hide when something was after them.

He did not have long to wait. A pair of Elvish priests darted around a bend a few yards away, trying to dodge around the piles of debris in the dark. One was visibly limping, and Jorn's night-ready eyes identified the blood stains on both Elves' blue robes. Theirs, 'cause it's still red.

The lame Elf tripped on a chunk of stone and fell, grunting in pain as his knee struck the ground. The other Elf turned at the sound.

"Go on!" the first onehissed in a typical tenor.

Then the two gargoyles swooped down over the wall, claws reaching. Jorn spurred his horse forward. The two elves scrambled aside, startled at his sudden appearance.

Lazy Forsaken. I shouldn't be able to do this, Jorn thought as he cut a low-flying gargoyle out of the air. The other reared, screeching, and turned to grab for altitude. Terl's spear caught it under the left wing. It dropped like a stone.

Then a rending shriek came out of the dark. Jorn pressed his hands to his ears as the banshee's wail cut its way through his brain. He could see her ahead of him, shrinking to a purple sphere as she prepared to drive her way into his head and steal his mind.

Jorn pressed his knees into the horse's sides, urging her forward. The purple light flew at his face, filling his vision. Then something hit his face with the force of a dead leaf, and Jorn cut the banshee in half. A descending wail seemed to turn his skull inside out, and then she was gone.

"Beats me why that always works," he said, over the ringing in his ears. Something warm trickled out of the left one. "You'd think a ghost couldn't be cut."

No one seemed to be listening. One Elf lay flat on the ground, and the other leaned over him, gold lights glittering around his eyes and hands as he desperately tried to heal his companion.

Jorn could see it was already too late. Once you saw what dead looked like, you never forgot.

"Gilly," he said, without taking his eyes from the Elves. "Get back and get a party out here, fast as you can. Tell them to bring a stretcher. Vert and Terl, you stay sharp."

He wiped the black blood from his sword on his saddle blanket, then sheathed it. Brown snorted, but stood still.

Chief Raveloe slid from the saddle. He stood still for a second, holding the stirrup as he waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. Lucky there was just one. Little too slow putting up my shield. The mana had already dissipated, lost when he lost his concentration.

"You okay, Boss?" Vert's voice was asking from somewhere far off.

"Yeah, fine." He wiped a drop of blood from his nose. Jorn looked up to see the living Elf sitting slumped on the ground in the dark, lights extinguished. He stared down at his comrade with pale and unblinking eyes.

"I did not realize his wound was dire," he said. A thin, pale hand reached out to pull the other priest's robe over a deep cut in his belly. "He ran ahead so fast."

"Probably didn't know himself," Jorn said. "I've seen it where they never feel it at all."

The living Elf closed the dead one's eyes, murmuring a prayer in his own language. Then he got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on his staff. Light eyes of an uncertain color stared up at Raveloe. The pupil and iris were visible now that the magic was exhausted.

"You are not Alliance," the Elf said. "Who are you?"

Then he fainted.

"Yeah, me too," Jorn muttered, and went to pick up the unconscious Elf.