BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
A/N: Hey people, my story 'My Ruins' made it to the Featured Story POLL on Shattered Enigma! Please vote for me (or it, heehee). Head to
www . shatteredenigma . com (no spaces in between). Gracias!! Luv ya!! Aaand...
WingchumonZERO: Geh! My eyes!! I didn't see your review when I last updated. My apologies for that. Thanks so much for reading (hugs WCMZ).
CHAPTER SIX: EMBLAZONED
(ORGRIMMAR, 2 MONTHS AFTER THE BLACK WARDEN WAS DRIVEN BACK)
Illidan could almost envision how Sylvanas's soft, smooth skin would glow in the gentle light of the moon.
With her warm body spooned against his, she laid with her head rested on his chest. Her deep, easy breathing told him she was finally asleep--well, she deserved rest. It was only ten days after she gave birth, and her strength was barely recovered. She had not been sleeping well--perhaps she had not been sleeping at all.
He could certainly understand her reluctance to develop a bond with her son--she would not sleep with the baby in the same hut and instead left him with a nurse. Soon, she knew, she must leave for the death and chill of Northrend and it would have been much easier emotionally if she had no regrets over her choice. But deep down, she knew that leaving Tianithan would be her greatest regret.
Illidan asked her to reconsider--it seemed cruel even to him that she should deprive Tianithan of his mother. They both knew the chances she was taking in challenging Ner'zhul even though she refused to admit it. She tried to reason with him and stated that she was at the pinnacle of her power and would defeat Ner'zhul so that Tianithan would grow up safe from the Scourge's terror. Their discussion turned into heated debate. Illidan wondered why he bothered to get so angry at her--she was Kael's lover and Tianithan, her child. It was hardly any of his business to begin with, but he felt he almost could not allow her to do as she pleased.
The quarrel between them ended abruptly earlier in the night when he told her he was tired.
He stretched out on the floor and exhaustion immediately came over him. But something nagged at his conscience and he could not find rest. He just could not tell what it was.
On the mattress at the other end of the room, Sylvanas was not getting any sleep either. He thought he could hear sighs and silent tears. She was not completely indifferent to his point, he knew. No mother could abandon her child without guilt. He laid there and listened, unsure if he should offer her comfort. But he was too proud to give it, and she would be too proud to receive it anyway.
Finally, the mattress creaked softly to indicate that she got off it. Her footsteps were soundless except to elven ears. Illidan thought she would head outside. But instead, she crouched beside him. He would have gotten up. But somehow, he laid there and pretended to be asleep, while his keen ears were listening for sounds of her movement.
Or was she waiting for him to wake?
"Sylvanas?" he hissed.
He heard her nightdress whisper.
And then she was lying on the floor beside him with her head on his shoulder.
No thoughts entered his mind for a moment. Then he wondered if he should put his arms around her or push her away.
Suddenly he realized he could not remember the last time he was so close to someone before. It had nothing to do with her resting against him. It was not physical. He certainly had his opinion about her. She was the frustration in his life at the moment and she got on his nerves more than anyone had ever done so since he sailed across the damned sea with her. He had no idea what possessed him then, but he had been grateful to her for restoring his life enough to volunteer himself an escort. He had not seen the endless aggravation coming.
But at least he understood her now.
"Sylvanas..." he whispered, choked with emotions suddenly. He wondered if he should be bothered by this embarrassing intimacy they shared.
"You know, Illidan," she whispered, seeming to be oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Tianithan's skin has a soft purplish hue."
He made no comment. The pain in her voice raked his heart.
"His eyes are blue like mine, and his hair is golden, like..." a sob caught in her throat. Like Kael's.
"He is so soft to touch," Sylvanas continued. "Lights! I didn't know an infant could be so light in weight."
Illidan had to agree with her. He had never held a child until Tianithan was born.
"But this...creature," she whimpered, "this babe is...life."
All right. He put an arm around her shivering shoulders.
She responded by hugging him tight, "Just holding him is enough to make me think...that leaving is a sin." The coarse orcish fabric of her garments brushed against his skin.
"It's not too late to turn back," he sighed softly. Secretly, he was marvelling at how warm her body was against his--she had always been quite detached from him. "In truth, Kael..." he paused at the name, "he would be quite pleased." It was strange to speak about Kael when they were lying so close together and sharing so much. Sometimes he was confused and he had to remind himself that she was not his lover.
"I have to go," but she declared, failing to hide the bitterness in her tone. "I can't live with myself if I do not. But I can't live without Tianithan either."
Her tears dampened his tunic. He let her weep her pent-up frustrations and tried to console her, "You can wait until you decide."
"I do not want to change my mind," she breathed.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, struggling to keep his temper from flaring, "What do you want then?"
Silence.
He thought he was rude and ought to apologize, but his pride kept him from doing so.
But if she was damaged by his impatient outburst, she showed no signs of it. Her mind was preoccupied with greater agony, "I want you to take Tianithan and leave while I'm asleep. Could you...please..."
He did not even think twice, "Aye, I will."
They laid side by side in silence for another long while, until when he felt her head loll to a side, and her strawberry-blonde curls brushed softly past his shoulders. She was asleep.
He breathed a soft sigh and stroked her cheek. He knew she was exhausted. He knew she did not want to wake.
He carried her back to bed.
Then, his thumb slid gently down to her bottom lip. He traced the outline of her mouth, so soft and supple. She was going to battle Ner'zhul alone and she might never return. Even if she did, she would return to Kael's side, and Illidan would probably never enter her thoughts again.
There would be no future between them.
"Just rest now," Illidan whispered. "The pain will pass."
Bending over her, he brushed his lips against hers in a kiss as soft as rain.
And then, he took his leave for Ashenvale.
Once more, the demon hunter was free. Once more, he should live for his own cause again. And yet somehow, he thought he would miss that part of himself he left behind, trapped with a half-crazy woman he might have loved.
This was the last contact that Illidan Stormrage and Sylvanas Windrunner had before her life and soul were claimed again by the lich king.
(ON THE WAY TO ASHENVALE)
Here he came.
An owl cooed amid the shades of willow draperies, drawing the Black Warden's attention back to her hunt.
She pried apart the branches at the top of the tree and lifted her eyes to the full moon's glow. She was in a very old forest where the canopies were thick enough to block out any light. It was as if the trees wanted to hold between their claws an eternal night.
She could smell the scent of rain wafting slowly towards her. In another two hours, rain clouds would come to conceal the moon. She would not mind a rainstorm. It was the downpour inside her head that she needed shelter from.
Sometimes, she wondered why the Night Elves bothered to worship the deity who chose the moon as a symbol of herself, so inconsistent and aloof. Just as she waxed and waned with the seasons, she could but bestow on mortals incomplete lives.
She brushed away some curious wisps that played amid the shadows for a better look at the clearing she had chosen for a battlefield just below. They scattered like light.
The glade beneath was a completely different world. The thick white trunks of ancient trees soaked up the ethereal glow of Elune and reflected it upon the clearing.
A leopard growled somewhere at a distance. She almost thought she could hear its jaw snarling though she knew she would not find it. The vile tormentors were speaking to each other in the language of the demon world--chains of sounds that resembled predatory beasts grunting.
"Mistress, we are ready."
In the dark, a dozen pairs of glowing eyes fluttered open from atop the trees.
The Black Warden grunted a reply.
You will be mine, Illidan.
The thought brought a smile to her lips. At last, vengeance was hers...
The demon hunter did not pause as he made his way into the clearing. He suspected nothing. Grass rustled quietly against his knees as he continued walking, seeming to be at complete ease with the surroundings. She fought the urge to leap from her tree and rip him apart, but she must wait...
Now!
She descended quickly and soundlessly from her tree and landed almost on top of him--curse his keen ears and elven reflexes, he stepped back just in time. But she managed to open a gash on his shoulder before he turned around and drew his weapon. She smiled as she heard his wound sizzle from the effect of her poison.
Why, only one curved blade?
With the other hand, Illidan freed a bundle on his back and guarded it in his arms. Her demon eyes could not make out what it was yet, but she knew it was important to him anyhow. She would take it from him.
She roared a command, and the vile tormentors echoed in frenzied excitement as they swarmed from their hiding places and surrounded the demon hunter.
Now, they would have him.
Shifting her weight on one foot, she carefully dragged the other across the soil. One step to the right. Illidan immediately rotated to face her--she noticed the way his black silky hair reflected moonlight. It appeared to be almost white.
She knew she had caught him off guard, and she enjoyed his shock--no, terror. He was alone now--without the Dark Lady's protection. The Black Warden would see to it that he would die the most painful death.
"Why do you hunt me?" his question was a curt angry bark.
"Why?" she mocked, her lips spread in a sneer, "Why? That is all you ever ask! Why did I fail? Why did I let my brother chain me up like a slave? Why did I not kill him? Why? Why?"
"No doubt you are a warden from the Barrow Deeps." He persisted, "Who do you work for? Malfurion could not have employed you and your foul legion of demons."
"Feigning innocence won't help," she snapped, waving a hand. "You should know very well. You are to pay for the pain you put Maiev through."
Illidan groaned and dropped his weapon as the cut of Frostmourne began to burn again. The pain held him in spasm, and he crashed to his knees. The infant in his arms began to cry from the ungentle pressure he exerted.
The Black Warden's eyes widened as she drew back from the unexpected burst of noise, "What is that? A baby?" Then, she shook her head, "Well, you can save the drama, get up and fight me. I won't spare his life anymore than I will yours."
Illidan cursed her as he got up to his feet--did she seriously think he would beg her? But damn! He needed to figure out what enchantments had been put on his wound that refused to heal! He had to somehow put an end to it!
"I'd advise you to think twice," he retrieved his weapon. His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of vile tormentors advancing. "The child's death would bring the combined forces of the Forsaken and the Sunstrider against you."
"So he is the Dark Lady's child--where might you be heading with him? To your brother's? Well, this unholy creature begs for me to put an end to him."
The Black Warden leapt, swinging her blade arm in an arch. Illidan shifted his footing lithely and raised his weapon to deflect the blow. He spun around as he sensed himself approached from all directions. The legion of female demons clawed at him, tearing open fresh wounds and sucked in his blood. He attempted unsuccessfully to fight them off him while keeping Tianithan safe...
And yet, and yet...the Nubian deceived.
The secret night winds brought forth creatures that had familiarized themselves with the shadows and gave their souls to the night.
"Hurry!"
Warriors rushed to surround the horde of vile tormentors and their mistress. A spark of light erupted in the forest, intriguing as well as traitorous--an arrow, imbued with magical energies, struck the black warden through a weakness in her chest plate. She turned to catch the sneer on the female general's face. Elune's mercy was merely a misunderstood grandeur--she cared naught for mortal strife.
Another three arrows impaled her twisted body.
"Lord Illidan, we are with you," Scilla's reptilian eyes gleamed as she focused on her master. Naga warriors materialized from amid the darkness--followed by a massive army of satyrs and undead warriors.
"In the name of the Dark Lady!" Varimathras's cry was clear and impassionate.
The Black Warden cursed. Outfoxed again by the Dark Lady.
Her own army was concealed in deeper shadows of the forest, awaiting her order. With a sharp jerk of her hand, she signalled her sentinel owl that perched itself on a tree away to alert them. But could reinforcements reach her in time now that she was surrounded by a thousand enemies?
Naga warriors shot webs in the air, stretching them from tree trunk to tree trunk. Trapped within the knitted wires, the vile tormentors struggled to free themselves, but their efforts could but further entangle them in the snare.
The Black Warden was lucky enough to avoid the nets with a blink spell, but she had thrown herself at undead warriors who moved quickly against her. If she were to cast another, she would have to go far enough in order to avoid her opponents.
She flexed her blades and cut through a few of her enemies, but sleep powder whisked past her nose before she could ready another blink spell. She attempted to fight the drowsiness that came over her, and yet...
Demon corpses littered the forest floor. Fearing that reinforcements might reach the Black Warden soon, the alliance would have to be quick in completing their task.
Illidan waded through the bloodied mess, grimacing in revulsion as he stepped over the warm liquid and gore beneath his feet. The stench of mortality waft from the foul, broken bodies and blended with the faint scent of pine until it became a part of the silent forest, just as crimson demon blood infiltrated into the soil to become a part of the mucky earth.
The undead allies searched for living demons amid the fallen, taking great pleasure in ending their lives. Shrill screams invaded Illidan's eardrums, and he almost wanted to ask them to stop. But the battle drained his strength, and he decided against wasting his breath.
Among the moaning female demons, Varimathras located the Black Warden, panting in short gasps. A limp was torn from her, and she was too weak to resist him as he pulled off her helm to reveal a pale sickly night elven face, blistered with burns and disease. He did not think she had any chance of living past the night, and yet it was only wise not to risk leaving her alive. His giant claws went round her neck.
She writhed--the sudden burst of strength from her dying body took him by surprise, and yet he was still stronger and had her under control once more. For a few seconds, her dim yellow eyes stared blankly as though she was already gone. But her lips quivered slightly as she whispered, "Forgive me, Maiev. You'll have to wait a little longer."
Illidan grunted in pain. He handed the screaming infant over to Scilla and clutched at his wrist where the cut flared white-hot again. The sea witch attempted unsuccessfully to silence the child. She noticed a small cut on his cheek and put him in the arms of Mondelv the healer. The undead elf cast a healing enchantment--the infant was quiet again.
"You are all fools," the Black Warden's voice quaked as Varimathras tightened his grip. She no longer struggled. Across her face, there was an unnatural smile, "I cannot die as long as Maiev lives."
"Just what are you..."
A brittle snap truncated Illidan's question. Varimathras let the lank form of his victim slide into the mud.
"We best just leave it," the dreadlord hissed, his tone devoid of emotion. "All she will do is to confuse us."
It was too late for objections. The demon hunter sighed. His pain subsided almost immediately as he took Tianithan again from Mondelv. Taking his mind off the Black Warden, he figured, would make the pain go away. Her death suited him fine.
The undead elf indicated the bloodied wounds on Illidan's chest, back and arms, "Do you require my healing?"
The Night Elf reflexively backed away in repugnance, convincing himself that he heard an undertone in Mondelv's words, "No. You best stay away from me."
(DEEP IN THE GROVE OF ASHENVALE)
Shan'do, it is Illidan. He has returned to request an audience with you.
No, it is not possible. Bless his soul, but do not get my hopes high, I pray. He has already fallen. The Spirits tell me so, and they cannot deceive.
But Shan'do, it is your brother, and he is very much alive. Just go to him and speak with him, will you not? He is well, and you will see.
Furion Stormrage breathed a sigh. No. The Sentinels might have been trying to cheer him up, but they should never think to play such a hoax on him. Illidan was dead to him--to Tyrande as well. The Spirits had made him see Illidan, run through by Frostmourne and left to die in his own pool of blood. He had felt immobilized by an excruciating pain--that had been the moment when he knew his brother ceased to breathe. Illidan was dead. How could he still be there in Ashenvale? How could he ever request to have a meeting with him?
Would he be no more than a wandering spirit who could not return to the Goddess's Realm? Imaginary lights playing tricks among the shadows? With a heavy heart, Furion rode to where the Sentinels said Illidan was as swiftly as he could. Even if it was just some cruel will-o'-the-wisp, he only wished he could catch a glimpse of his brother before he faded forever.
He thought of many questions to ask his brother, but he did not know how to ask. He had no words, and all the time in the world could not have allowed him to tell Illidan how he felt inside, reeling, churning within an emotional turmoil he could not escape from. How could you describe equally strong hate and love you feel for your closest brother? How could you speak of your secret joy and secret fear of finding someone you thought to be dead so long ago?
And as he was nearing the glades where Illidan was to meet him, he began to hesitate. He would die to meet his brother again, to know that he was still alive, but he was not certain he wanted the answer.
No, I must be out of my head. Illidan is already dead, and I have felt it in my dreams.
"Shan'do?" a druid looked at him with concern. "Are you well?"
"I am," Furion muttered a reply, though he knew he must have become so pale. Swallowing another silent sigh, he hurried past the trees into the glade where at least twenty Sentinels stood guard around a robust warrior with a high elven baby in his arms.
"Brother," Furion found himself at a total loss for words as the Sentinels moved to let him pass, "I do not believe what I see at all--wait. You are injured."
Illidan rose from his sitting position and limped forward, "It is good to see you. I will not be staying, but I have a request to ask of you." He tried to ignore the fact that his arms and chest were bleeding from the black warden's attacks and there was something burning in his veins which made him sick. He almost missed a step.
Furion caught him in his arms before he fell, "You should lie down. I'll summon a healer to look at your wounds."
"I won't be staying," Illidan repeated. "But a healer...would be nice."
(SOMEWHERE IN LORDAERON, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED TO KALIMDOR)
An undead bastion materialized around Kael. Before he figured out what was going on, he could hear the sorceress curse under her breath, "I knew this would happen!"
He did not know what she was referring to, but from the sound of it, it was no cause to celebrate. Three runes of teleportation glowing on the ground told them that they were being pursued. The death knight and his legion of undead appeared, intending to finish the work they had begun.
"My powers are limited," the young woman admitted hastily. "I haven't taken us far enough. But once I have another teleportation spell ready, I will cast it."
Kael made no response. It would all depend on the sorceress now and his feelings about the situation were irrelevant. He saw Iria chewing her bottom lip as she readied herself for a battle--with the degree of injury she suffered, the best she could do was to sit upright on the ground and fire at will. She had little chance of surviving the skirmish, if at all. Kael would defend her as best he could, and he knew Khecomo would do the same. Yet he was not certain he could do much. At least now he need not worry about burning walls and falling debris. He could use his magic freely.
The death knight lunged at the sorceress, his eggshell white eyes giving out a golden malicious glint. Abomination and ghouls heeded his example, wanting to put an end to this strange mutiny in their queen's ranks.
The girl held out her stave. Energy concentrated at one end of it, forming a white gleaming globe of power. She flung it to the skies with a graceful wave of her arm, and ice shards rained like falling knives from the skies, tearing through undead skin, scraping against undead armour. The death knight's wounds leaked brown fluids. He did not slow, however. He leapt at the young woman, swinging his runeblade at her open side.
Kael wanted to warn her--a name almost erupted from his lips, but suddenly he realized she had not given him a name to call her yet. It shocked him how much this young woman reminded him of Jaina Proudmoore, even though the former bore no physical resemblance to latter. Perhaps it was the extreme confidence and grace with which she cast her spells--although her power seemed to exceed what he remembered of Jaina's. Lights, it had been nearly two decades since he last saw the archmage, or anyone who had received training from the Kirin Tor for that matter. Who was the young woman? How was it possible that she wielded the skills of the lost magi guild?
The sorceress parried the death knight's blow with her stave with precision and strength. Though her quick reflexes and proper training could help preserve her, she had no advantage against her opponent in a contest of physical strength. Kael worried for her. Thinking quickly, he waved his hands to weave a spell.
The death knight suddenly found himself slowed and etherealized, his weapon touched the sorceress's shoulder harmlessly. Realizing his disadvantage against two mages, he moved away, ordering the Forsaken warriors to move in and cover him. Understanding immediately, the sorceress fell back behind Kael. Pillars of bright fire consumed the death knight and his lackeys. The smell of charred rotted flesh filled the air, and the sorceress fought the urge to cover her nose.
Khecomo's twin blades had already been unsheathed. They danced quickly in synchronized motion, cutting deep into undead flesh as their master's lithe form spun in a deadly waltz. His brown cape flared behind him, catching flakes of undead flesh that drifted all too much like crimson snow. Their fluids soaked through his leather armour, and he would have found it disgusting had his thoughts been allowed to wander for a second away from the battle.
Iria's arrows had pinned their share of ghouls to the ground. Her quiver was almost empty now--one could hardly find a worse moment to be approached by an abomination. She struggled to get to her feet.
The monstrosity widened its yellow eyes, its mouth parting in a greedy grin--Iria could not but regard it in total revulsion. Though the hulk of sinew and muscles seemed ungainly and clumsy, it galloped with amazing speed. She had to move back before...
"Khecomo!"
The rider jumped in front of her, his blades swinging to trap the butcher's knife between them. Agilely, he somersaulted over the shoulder of the abomination and made it whirl around to face him--successfully drawing its attention away from the weakened Iria. To the ranger general, he cried, "I leave the ghouls to you!"
"All right!"
Khec ducked as the abomination's chopper forcefully sailed over his head--he could feel the wind whip through his hair. He quickly rolled out of the way as the weapon made a pendulum return, his leather knee-guard scraping against the blighted soil as he skid away from reach. Frustrated that its efforts were in vain, the abomination roared and made a tactless step forward, exposing its unprotected belly. Khec jumped forward and jabbed both blades into the monster's gut, opening the flesh in opposite directions.
As soon as the smoke cleared, the death knight pointed his runeblade at one of his ghouls and began to siphon the quintessence from the hapless creature to replenish his own strength. The ghoul twisted, howled and turned over in agony until it was reduced to a singed mess.
Another four runes appeared on the ground, and Varimathras arrived with a legion of banshees and necromancers.
"Cast a phoenix!" the sorceress alerted Kael. "The dreadlord will put us all to sleep."
Kael did as he was told--even if Varimathras succeeded, the phoenix would be able to defend them for a while. Dark chaotic energies coursed through his veins, answering to his arcane commands. He shot both hands up in the air, his robes billowing as magical winds fluttered through it. A giant, burning phoenix materialized in the air, its heat emanating intensely. Its wings rained fire as it soared towards the dreadlord's legion.
It had been so long since he called upon the phoenix and the dark power that flowed through Alanen and Elma's veins. Kael had become the last heir to their legacy without ever understanding what it represented--he preferred not to trace the origin of their power. The two's unfortunate deaths were too much on his conscience. It was always painful to remember...and yet sorrow alone was the source of their strength.
The necromancers scurried away from the melting heat. Even Varimathras's spells were interrupted as he dashed out of the phoenix's range, allowing Kael and the sorceress some more time to manoeuvre their defence.
"Do you have the spell ready?" Kael asked her, betraying panic in his tone. If only she could take them out of there...
The sorceress was about to speak when a painful death coil knocked her to her knees and cut her answer short. Crawling to her feet again, she threw herself at her opponent angrily before the mage could say another word, "Wait till I kill that death knight!"
Kael found himself wanting to scream at her, only he did not have a name to call her. He could but watch as she conjured a fireball and threw it at the undead hero. The death knight who was more than prepared for her attack knocked her to the ground with ease, and raised his runeblade to impale her. Kael weaved another banish spell--all right, he should have known she was hardly as strong as she thought.
"Stand back!" instead of being grateful, she cursed agitatedly. Rolling off from the ground, she made her stave burn with a blinding blue light and whispered some spell sequences unknown to him. With a cry, she thrust her stave through the ethereal body of the death knight. Black energies furiously wrapped around his deadened body. The sorceress backed away, ecstasy written on her face as though she was marvelling at her work. Kael did not understand it until he watched the death knight implode into chunks of charred flesh.
"I've always hated death knights with a passion," he thought he heard her mutter.
There was a vicious grin on her face as she rejoined him. He could not but be thrown into query--who was she to possess such inexplicable powers? How could she have done what she just did?
"Come," she paid no heed to his widened eyes nor dropped jaw. "I have the spell ready."
Kael stared at the polished stone floor beneath his boots. Beside him, wearing the same expression of wonder were his two elven escorts. Iria was leaning heavily against Khecomo for support. But he just did not comprehend...
"We'll be safe here."
His eyes followed the young sorceress as she headed down the avenue of a reconstructed town. He had not the slightest idea where he was, but believed they were no longer under pursuit.
But there was also something about this town. There were, like in many human cities of Lordaeron, ruins of a once great civilization. There were fallen buildings and undead blight. But unlike most of them, there was also life.
Women gathered their children around themselves as the newcomers passed, and men glared at them with open distrust. Kael could understand their feelings well--three bloodied elves with their hair and clothes singed and a young woman who looked as though she had barely managed to escape with her life. Who would want to go near them?
The elven king recognized a fallen arcane tower. Something struck him as familiar. He seemed to remember that tower from so many years ago--
"Wait! Is--is this Dalaran?" his question made the sorceress pause. She nodded impassively. He exclaimed in awe, "You have teleported us as far as Dalaran in two spells?" How could anyone so young possess so much power? Or was it his eyes that deceived him, and she was not as young as she appeared to be?
The girl nodded again and made no comment, as though it was no great deal. He remembered it was only moments ago when he heard her admit to not being powerful enough to teleport vast distances--he just had no idea how vast she had in mind.
"A tavern," she pointed at a swinging sign hanging from a crude two-storey building that had been erected after the fall of Dalaran. "Your general could use some rest and have a healer tend to her."
Kael cast a worried glance at Iria. She was barely able to walk by herself. Her cheeks flustered with embarrassment and humiliation. For crying out loud, her fierce glare seemed to say, she was a general, not some helpless gentry lady who needed to be taken care of. But judging from her degree of injury, Kael could not disagree with the sorceress. His own injured shoulder burnt with pain as well. He followed her into the tavern.
The tavern keeper was a huge human with broad shoulders and a thick beard. As he moved from behind the counter to greet the sorceress, he easily towered over her petit form. It seemed almost awkward to see him struggling to bow, "Mistress! It is always pleasant to see you again. What can I do for you and your...friends?" he eyed the three elves standing at the doorway.
"Give them rooms--the best suite for the elflord," she said, patting the tavern keeper on his muscled arm, "hot baths, and then a hearty meal. They need a healer, so send for your wife. That is all I can think of now--wait. They need new clothes. Fetch Ted the tailor."
"Certainly, mistress," the tall man, despite of his intimidating physique seemed nervous around the young woman--had he also had a taste of her powers?
Kael had no gold to pay for the expenses--his castle had been burnt down and probably his city as well. Sylvanas would most probably empty his treasury before pulling out, but that speculation did not improve his situation. He had not the faintest idea where he should find gold now, but he was sure this was not a good time to mention it. He would speak with the sorceress later.
After settling the three into their rooms, she turned to Kael, "I have some business to attend to in town. But I shall return shortly and find you fed and rested. Then we shall talk some more."
"We appreciate this, my lady..." Kael started to reply--but he paused, "But how about a name we can call you?"
He thought he saw hesitation crept upon her fair features, "I have plenty. Most people around here call me demon child, or the Blood Leprechaun--not very flattering, I should say."
Then clearly injured, she turned and headed out of his room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.
Zypporah, the innkeeper's wife was one of the best healers in town, Kael was told. She was a civil and mild-mannered lady with a hint of sorrow in her honey-brown eyes.
"Things have changed so much after Lady Leprecha arrived," she said softly, pulling the blanket up to Iria's chin. "Although no one has the faintest idea from whereabouts she came."
Kael nodded, leaning against the wall.
"Some say she's half-elven," Zypporah went on. "Begging your pardon, milord, but I have never seen a half-elf in my life, so I just assume that she is."
His thoughts wandered to Finnall Goldensword, the half-elven daughter of Daelin Proudmoore--sister of Jaina Proudmoore. He had by chance crossed paths with the half-elf when she attempted to persuade the blood elves into alliance. His blood elves found the idea of being under the command of a half-breed ridiculous, and Kael, for more selfish reasons, also rejected her offer. But he remembered how she looked. She resembled Jaina, save that she was far more arrogant and far less sophisticated. He just had this vague impression that all half-elves were like Finnall, and certainly the delicacy and grace of Leprecha would state otherwise.
"But why would they call her demon child?" he narrowed his eyes, puzzled.
"There are talks," Zypporah paused to make sure that Iria was completely comfortable. "Some say she is not elven, and that she is the product of her mother's unholy union with a demon--it is all but speculation. Lady Leprecha only said that she never knew her father, and that her mother was killed in a fire. Rumours spread, you know."
"It is interesting how far rumours can carry themselves," Iria commented.
"But there is no denying that her powers are unnatural for a human girl," the healer stood straight and turned her face towards the elven king. "I daresay even for an elf."
Kael agreed completely.
Zypporah continued, "Before she came, there were rogues who used to come and rob us of our food and gold. Sometimes, they took the girls for their sport as well. The day Lady Leprecha came, our neighbour's girl-child was captured. They didn't know what to do, and the missus was weeping and begging my man to do something. Leprecha just sat at a corner of the tavern and said nothing. Then she went out, bringing the child back, dragging her two dead captors on the back of her horse. How she had done it, we did not know then. But after she left, the mob returned to avenge their fallen. They killed many. They burnt down houses. My man chased after the lady. He asked her to help defend the village--she requested payment, and being desperate as we were, we promised her. We had no idea she'd be asking for so much."
"How much?" Kael asked, intending to find out more about his mysterious rescuer. "Please excuse me if I seem rude, Lady Zypporah."
The healer breathed an audible sigh, "Let us just say that after three years we still have not been able to pay half of it. On top of this sum, Leprecha also demands free service. Food, rooms, clothes, steeds..."
Guilt struck him as he understood everything--the rooms that he and his servitors were in, their wonderful meal, the new clothes that were made for him--all were debts to Leprecha.
"I will find ways of paying, Mistress Healer," Kael made his promise even though he was uncertain when or how he was going to keep it. "There is no reason for you to spend for my sake."
"No, no, please, Lord Elf," the healer shook her head, almost frightened. "It is our duty and honour. Besides, Leprecha will be mad, and she isn't easily tamed."
Kael was not about to convince himself he did not hear an undertone.
"You have just met her on the road, you say?" Zypporah's voice suddenly began to tremble. "Be wary of her. The bandits I was speaking of earlier--she killed them all in a single spell, all forty of them."
The mental image sent shivers down his back.
"Leprecha."
The sorceress sat herself at the table across from Kael'thas and Khecomo. She was in black robes with a dark blue shawl about her shoulders. She seemed to have been outside for a long time--she was still shivering from the night air's chill. The tavern keeper served the three of them hot tea and emptied out the canteen at Leprecha's request--it almost made Kael guilty.
"You confuse me a great deal," he said to the composed young woman who sat sipping her drink. "You'd better be honest with me. Why did you come to Quel'dara? Why did you fight Sylvanas?"
The reply was brief and devoid of emotion, "I went because she requested my presence. I fought her because I hate her."
"I...see."
"She killed my father."
"But I thought Zypporah said you never..."
"Knew my father, humph," she completed. "The knowledge that Sylvanas killed him does not mean I know how he was."
Kael nodded. But deep down, he sensed that the bond between her and her father must have been stronger than what she claimed. But if she would keep it to herself, he would respect her decision.
"You wish to avenge him," he suggested, "but how come you ended up in her ranks? Surely she must have trusted you enough to let you follow her into the castle."
She slammed her mug down on the table as though she was annoyed with his incessant inquires, "Consider it a favour I owe her for freeing me from some idiot's cage. My past does not concern you." The sudden jerk of her hand spilled some tea over the table.
Kael shrank back, but an older and less civil Khecomo interjected acidly, "Let us pray that this 'idiot' wasn't your father."
The sorceress narrowed her eyes with a childish air, "It's far too complicated for your understanding." Suddenly Kael was reminded that she could not be very much more than a child.
"Indeed? How complicated?"
Seeing that Khec intended to push the matter, Kael stopped him, "Let her go on, Khecomo."
"I doubt her motives, milord," Khec interrupted. "She's a lying wench who is hoping to pass it off with some horseshit. The less of her fibs we endure the better. I fear she has spiteful intentions for us."
"Point taken," Kael'thas nodded and asked Leprecha to continue with her explanation, "You said you offer us freedom. What is in it for you?"
"I expect truth from you, Kael."
Her use of his first name made him shudder--it was almost as if she had known him for a long time although he had no memories of meeting her in the past.
"What...kind of truth?"
"There is something you know about--but I must ask you when we are alone."
"If you are looking for an excuse to isolate our king, that was a pitiful attempt," Khec snapped, meeting the prideful emerald eyes of the young sorceress.
"If I had any spiteful intentions for your king," Leprecha mocked, "I would have already taken full advantage while you ramble on your horseshit. I suppose Zypporah has told you about how I killed forty men with one spell?"
Khecomo stiffened, "Are you threatening me?"
"I am."
"Well, try me, you little piece of--"
"I see, rider, your keen share of high society exacted on you a refined tongue indeed."
"Khecomo, hold your opinion," Kael took the hint and stepped in--his rider had lost control of his temper and reduced his tact to swearing unfit to come from the mouth of an elf.
The sorceress gave the rider a victorious sneer.
"I apologize, milord," Khec sighed. "It must be the stress of watching our homeland taken over by the undead."
"On that matter, King Kael'thas," Leprecha returned to their earlier discussion, composing herself again, "the Forsaken's aim was merely to take your people to the Undercity. Sylvanas needs them to fight for her--she does not need them dead. We'd get our chance to rescue them. She'd most certainly try to reach you and to make a deal with you--so we must make haste."
"Make haste?"
"I can help you besiege her city--if we can claim it before she returns..." "We have no army!" Kael cried in shock. "It is suicide to just--"
"That is precisely why I brought you here," Leprecha explained. "There is an underground slave market I know of. We can get the slaves to fight for us."
"How are we going to pay..."
"It doesn't matter. This town owes me seventy thousand gold."
"Seventy thousand! Do you have any idea how..."
Irritated, Leprecha cut his exclamation short, "What do you say? I can get the army ready in the next two days. In attacking Quel'dara, Sylvanas has hollowed out a great proportion of her forces. The fortifications of the Undercity should not be too hard to break through--and once we have it under control, we can force her to release your people."
"Wait!" Khecomo accused angrily, "This is absurd--I think you are just trying to lead King Kael to her."
"Use your head, rider. Only someone who completely lacks sense would attempt an act like that."
"You are right--I doubt your intelligence," Khecomo returned dourly. "And all this you do only for a truth?"
"Aye, it is of great importance to me," she nodded. She paused for a few minutes, and then continued, "Well, I suppose I have another more selfish reason. My mentor has been trapped in the Undercity for ten years--she would be a powerful ally against the Dark Lady."
"And your mentor would be...?" Kael raised his brow--if his speculations were correct...
"Jaina Proudmoore," replied the sorceress. "I think you know her very well."
TEASER AND A/N:
Big hugs to all reviewers!!
Haha, I've got quite a few plot-related questions from you reviewers in the last chapter. I won't be answering some of them here since I assume nobody wants me to spoil my own story by giving out too much information which I tend to do. You will know the answers to most of them soooooooon! You're still very welcome to try your queries on me though if you want me to clear up something--sometimes you'd be able to catch my mistakes, and I'll really, really thank you for pointing it out.
Look for hints I'll be dropping somewhere below (smiles).
Aaand if I don't change my mind before I get to the second part of the story, Alanen will be getting his own interlude, w00t!! What? A problem? (whistles innocently)
Crimson Paladin: hugs CP I am so tempted to tell you the whole plot cuz you're so darn close to getting it right. But...nope. Let's see...almost all your questions are plot related, and I wouldn't wanna spoil anything for you (smirks evilly). I don't do Mary Sues, but let's just say that Leprecha will break someone's heart. Interesting idea...why haven't I ever thought of making Kael and Illi get at each other for Syl? Regardless, they'll get into a fight at some point of the story.
Trevor X1: Thanks for your support!! Oh I hate cliff-hangers too, but they get me going (hahaha). I was a little worried too about touching on dark themes that might not appeal to everyone, but I (sigh) can't really do happy stuff. I think the closest I've got is my other fic 'Listen', which has a lighter atmosphere (but somehow I'm already really stuck). Illidan will fall in love in this story, but I won't make him all sweet and nice--promise. He'd still be himself. Right now he's still a self-centred and driven character, yet he'd soon come to change--for the better, I hope.
Lurker: Thanks. Oh, certainly Ner'zhul is more calculated than that. Of course he'd only let himself be defeated if there are greater advantages to be gained (hint!!). He will still be a very powerful figure in the story.
inaam07: Go anti-Arthasism!! (hides from QotH). Oh I totally share your feelings about Maiev. When she said something like 'you orcs deserve a far worse fate' to Drak'thul in the second TFT mission, I was like 'Oh, okay, no need to be rude'. It didn't have a big effect on my views about her then. That catfight with Tyrande almost got my sympathy--until when she left the priestess to drown. I cursed at her and almost wrecked my mom's monitor¡X"what the h-ll! What the h-ll you----". But that aside, I like her characterization.
Oh, Maiev IS such a slut though. She and Furion belong together. He doesn't deserve Tyrande--you're absolutely right. He DID choose to leave her to go into the Emerald Dream.
On the matter of Kil'jaeden--despite the impossibility of his defeat suggested by many scholars of Warcraft, he is dead in my RG series. Deathwing has gone out drinking with Chen in afterlife, so he unfortunately will not be able to make an appearance in my story. I guess Nerz is powerful enough to raise Archimonde from death, but WHY would he want to do it? Nerz should be happy he's now the supreme villain around!! Find the four dragon aspects in Eternity's the Forgotten Ones--they don't want to migrate here (teehee).
DemonGod86: Yay, thanks!! I'm flattered. Your review totally made my day!! I will keep this fic going and hopefully will be able to wrap it up before W.O.W. comes out to wreck my plot--Blizz and I are so not on the same track. TFT's storyline was extremely different to what I've predicted and it totally screwed over one of my previous fanfics. Anyway, I'm about to enter the second year of my Blizz fic fandom!!
Thrall is playing perfectly into Ner'zhul's plan, yes...and of course that lich king is such a calculated villain...
There will be casualties among canon characters--Nerz being the first I have mentioned, but Illidan will NOT be involved. I hope your questions have been answered in this update--and heehee, I think I have created more questions regarding Maiev's fate.
BoB: Thanks for the correction in RG!! I'm certain there are 10 tons of typos and other errors in RG (and in my other fics as well), but I'm just too lazy to correct them. Someday I'll go back and fix them...someday...
P.S. Suddenly I feel the urge to do a really obscene and gothic War fic. Tell me you don't want to read it. If I manage to complete the first chapter before I change my mind, I'll post it up in the R-section with a different account.