Chapter 12

"Chieftain?"

"Nrgh?" Veren Redmorning said. Someone was shaking his shoulder carefully, avoiding the stitches. He did not want to get up. His fever had only broken a few hours ago, and he felt just about strong enough to roll over and go back to sleep.

"Must you wake him?" Kev'ran's voice said. "He has not rested well in some time."

"I'm afraid we will need his decision on this," Shel'yin said. "We cannot simply allow an Undead into the camp."

"A what?" Veren opened his eyes and looked up at the warlock, instantly awake. Well. As close as I'm going to get. At least his head felt clearer now that the fever had passed.

"Glaive came into the camp leaning on what appears to be a skeleton," Shel'yin said. "She seems to have suffered an injury. Her speech is not completely coherent, and we were not certain what to do."

"Where in the bloody Twisting Nether did she find an animate dead in Ashenvale?" Veren sat up and reached for his sword harness, pushing back the blanket. He already wore his tunic. He'd been too cold without it.

"Some of the satyrs can raise skeletons," Shel'yin said. "This one does not appear to be one of theirs."

"And, being you, you decided that if you let it in, it will kill all of us in our sleep," Veren finished. Shel'yin raised one eyebrow.

"No Undead can be trusted," he said.

"Here, Chieftain." Kev'ran slipped a cloak around his shoulders. "You should try not to stay outside for long. It is snowing again."

Shel'yin seized Redmorning's harness and hoisted him upright without waiting to be asked.

"Thank you," Veren said irritably, once he had fully gained his balance. "Where are they?"

"By one of the watch fires," Shel'yin said, and led the way. His steps were utterly silent in the snow, and through the falling white he seemed ghostly. Kev'ran caught up to Redmorning a moment later, slinging a satchel over one shoulder as she padded along.

"If Glaive is seriously hurt, she belongs in the hall," Veren Redmorning said to Shel'yin's back. "Undead or no Undead."

The warlock's reply was largely inaudible. Veren thought he recognized the words "chieftain" and "stupid."

"What was that?" he asked mildly.

"Nothing, Chieftain," Shel'yin said.

The watch fire glowed red past the warlock's shoulder. Veren heard the faint hiss of snow falling into the open blaze through the vent in the canvas that formed a rough shelter around it.

Glaive sat on a log close to the fire, her head in her hands. The thing that stood beside her was undoubtedly a skeleton. It was also definitely not Orcish. The jaw is too small.

Veren Redmorning looked curiously at the Undead as he stepped under the canvas.

"That's not Elvish armor," he said.

"I was human, once," said the skeleton. At least, Veren assumed that was where the voice came from. It seemed unlikely that any living thing could sound like that.

"My name is Veren Redmorning," Veren said. "This is the Tattered Banner Clan."

Shel'yin fell back behind Veren's shoulder. Redmorning felt him there, a large body radiating heat and disapproval.

"I no longer remember my born name," the dead man said. His Orcish was fluent and natural. "Now I am Rokhyel Shadebreaker. I have no nation, though I was once a knight of Alterac."

"If you permit me a moment, Milord Shadebreaker…"

The skeleton nodded. Veren crouched in front of Glaive as Kev'ran sat down on the log beside her. "What happened, Glaive?"

"…Was playing a game…"

"What game?"

"Don't remember," Glaive said. She raised her head, blinking. As pale as her eyes were, the different sizes of her pupils were very obvious. "Kill satyrs…"

"There must have been a large number, then," Kev'ran said. She also seemed to be looking at the Elf's eyes. "She would easily have killed one or two. Isn't that true, Glaive?"

"Did kill two," Glaive said. "Maybe three. Ask dead man."

"It was three," Shadebreaker said. "She was hit by an ancient. I believe she landed on her head."

"There is no doubt," Kev'ran said. "She has quite a lump on this side."

"How did you come to be there?" Shel'yin asked. Veren shot him a look. He looked back impassively, arms folded.

"A satyr found me lying frozen," Shadebreaker said. "Since I could not move, they believed I was dead."

I can't imagine what would give them that idea, Veren thought, but kept it to himself. "And, being satyrs, they probably had an interesting use planned for your component parts," he said. "What did you do?"

"I cast death and decay on them," Shadebreaker said. "And I threw the coil over two. Their lives sustain me now."

Kev'ran glanced up sharply from her examination of the Elf. The two warlocks looked at each other.

Small points of green light sprang up in empty sockets. "Your advisors will tell you that only death knights can perform the arts of which I speak," Shadebreaker said quietly. "It is the truth."

"I had understood that Liches cast death and decay," Shel'yin said.

"Perhaps that is the way of things now," Shadebreaker said. "There were no Liches in my day. I have seen the new knights from a distance, and heard their beating hearts. They and I are not of the same kith."

"How did you come to help Glaive all the way back here?" Veren Redmorning asked, forestalling further argument from Shel'yin.

"She was trying to come to my aid when the ancient struck her," said the skeleton. "And I was curious. She said she lived with Orcs. I had never heard of such a thing."

"Me either," Glaive said, raising her head slowly. "…Found me in the snow…"

"Here, drink this," Kev'ran said. She extracted a small vial and a smaller cup from the satchel, poured a tiny draught, and helped the Elf swallow it.

"You ran into a camp full of satyrs to help one Undead?" Veren Redmorning said.

"Of course she did," Shel'yin muttered. "It is now clear. All Night Elves are mad."

Glaive swallowed a couple of times, then turned her violet eyes on the warlock. "Orcs mad," she said, her voice a little stronger. "Not adopt dead man quick-quick. He good at kill things."

"That much is clear," Veren Redmorning said. He straightened carefully, wary of his balance. He still felt weak. "Are you indeed a nationless man, Rokhyel Shadebreaker?"

"Yes, Chieftain Redmorning," said the resonant voice. "Those who are left in Alterac would tear me bone from bone, if they saw me now."

"Then you are welcome to the Tattered Banner," Redmorning said. "It doesn't matter if you're alive or dead. Those who belong to no one, belong to us."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker set the point of his sword in the snow and bowed over the hilt. Firelight reflected from the smooth dome of his skull.

"I have wandered long. Never have I found any, alive or dead, who would accept my service," he said. "I am yours to command."