The Traitor

Chapter Three

Morla was fifteen when they met Lo'jar.

It was easy to hide in the Thousand Needles. Clef caught and skinned hyenas, and cut them into squares; Morla, with the skills Louro had taught her in tailoring, sewed them together and made for them a thick tent, covering it with fat oils to protect it from the rain, if it ever came. Clef mined metals like his mother and occasionally sold them. They lived rather simply, hunting or avoiding any of those who might be wandering through.

Clef tested his skills as often as possible. He and his axe had grown close; they were compatriots in battle, understanding of one another. He improved it constantly, lowering the weight of the handle while ordering incremental increases in the size of the iron edge. Clef swung it like it was only a small hunting knife, with speed and efficiency. The purple hyenas became too easy for him, and the few alliance wanderers that came through either died by his hand or tried to escape him.

To solve this problem, Morla had learned to create traps of the most intricate kind. Some would lure greedy alliance miners; others presented opportunities to adventurous humans. But never did she experience the same painful heat as that fateful day—until they met Lo'jar.

Half-elf and half-troll, Lo'jar was a sad tale, Morla thought. He didn't think so.

When Morla woke up at sunrise, Clef was sitting on the edge of the needle they had settled on. It was tall enough that should others be residing on another needle, their tent would still be invisible. The tauren, with hair uncut and rolling down his great big shoulders, was polishing his axe after sharpening the blade with one of his various tools. Morla came out and stood behind him. This was a ritual of the summer: when the needles were at their coolest in temperature—the sunrise—they came out of the generally closed-off tent to enjoy the weather and the great watercolors of the morning light on the sky. It began at the bottom of the horizon with a vague purplish-red, and grew tithe morning into an intense orange, until the sun peeked over the tops of the distant needles and became too blinding to watch any longer.

As the light began to appear and the starry black sky began to alleviate into a medium blue, Morla sat down on the rock behind Clef and began to braid his hair for the day. She began at the top, combing it with a bone comb she had made, and then tied sinew strings into the hair as she made it into a careful design, finishing at the bottom with an untamed burst that rested in the middle of his back. Some hair that fell around his eyes and forehead was still too short, and went wild about his ears. When the girl was done with his hair she took out her skin full of oil, and rubbed it on his horns until they shined. The tip of one had grown back and she even sharpened them occasionally.

Just then Morla heard the sound of footsteps, and quickly jumped up to look over the side away from where Clef sat. Far down she saw a bluish-purple humanoid, indefinable from the distance. She turned to her pulley system and pulled a series of ropes until the hangar came up. Tying the anchor, she fixed the speed—so she wouldn't plummet, and also so that she wouldn't hang in mid-air when she took hold of the hangar—and sailed silently down the side of the needle.

Once she reached the last ridge, the girl ran around to where she had seen the creature approaching and crouched behind a scraggly bush.

Upon closer inspection, Morla saw that his skin was more of a silvery purple. The hair was wild and of a deep wine color. Two small tusks emerged from the sides of his mouth and caused his thick lips to purse. From this, she knew immediately he must be a troll, but he lacked both the incredible height, build, and color of a usual one. He also walked with an oddly graceful stride, so much that Morla was riveted to him and couldn't bring herself to look away, until he walked right into one of her traps.

With the jelly of sea-plants from the burning pond, she had made long invisible strings and tied them across the narrow space between two great big needles. She had gotten the idea from spider webs. When the troll walked into them, he flashed around a confused look and tried without much effort to step back. When the jelly stuck to him, however, the troll began to move a little more, and when there was still no give, he thrashed violently and began to shout vicious obscenities.

Morla stepped out from behind the bush and laughed a little, causing the troll's great ears to twitch, and he turned to look at her. His eyes grew wide and his mouth spread into a nasty smile. Though there was a sword strapped to his back, one that he couldn't access, he pulled a hidden knife from his bracers and began to hack away at the jelly ropes. Morla's smile faded as he kept his eyes on hers, the wicked smile growing wider as he began to free himself.

Having no way to call to her companion, she ran back to the pulley and saw that she hadn't anchored the hangar at the bottom and it had drifted up too high for her to grab. The human girl turned around then, her face beginning to change into an expression of panic as the small troll pulled loose from her trap and replaced her knife, taking out the immense sword on his back instead, which he wielded easily in one hand. She took off at a run up the needle, thankful that the ridge ran up the side of it in a sloping spiral. Morla sprinted, knowing that the troll was behind her and not willing to pause for any moment to see if he was still behind her. His footsteps grew louder and she tried to run faster, looking up and moaning inside at how far she still had to go.

She found the hangar halfway up and grabbed onto it, tugging the string hanging a foot away to make the pulley move. Morla flew upward, now having a moment to look at her follower, and he stared back at her with incredulity. At the top she swung off and ran over to where Clef still sat. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him, signing madly that someone was after her when he turned around.

"Followed you? Up here?" She quickly nodded her head and turned to where the spiral reached the top. Immediately Clef pulled out his axe and crouched. She signed that it was a troll and he sighed. "I'll just have to talk." He shot her a look. "Just leave it to me." Morla rolled her eyes and adjusted her loose white cotton shirt, stepping back in case the troll did decide to do away with her.

Eventually he came up over the top and his hasty rage stopped abruptly when he saw the immense tauren looming over him.

"There was a human here," the troll said, lowering his sword. He paused when he saw Clef not do the same. Then he noticed Morla crouching and furrowed his brows in confusion.

"The human's mine," Clef replied.

The troll smiled. "Your toy?"

"Sure," he said, non-committal, and seeing the other's apparent amiableness, he attempted a smile and lowered his axe. Morla, confused—and still not very well versed in Orcish—came up behind Clef and touched his arm. He swatted her away and gave her a meaningful look, and she stepped back.

The troll laughed at the exchange and came forward, putting his sword away and offering his hand. "I'm Lo'jar," he said, and Clef hastily shook the hand and stepped back.

"I'm Clef," the tauren replied. He rubbed his bicep nervously and the troll smiled.

"Where'd you find her?" he asked, pointing at Morla, who sat by the cliff with her feet drawn up to her chest. The troll grinned.

"A-ah, well," Clef stuttered, eyes shifting into his mood. "Actually, she's not human."

Morla looked at him with incredulity. She signed, "That was the best you could come up with?" He shrugged his shoulders at her and the troll looked oddly between them.

"Is she one of those? Who can change their appearances?" Clef looked at him and then smiled a great, fake smile, and nodded his head.

"Oh, y-yeah," the tauren told him, "but she can't talk." Lo'jar nodded his head but his eyes remained a little suspicious. He looked over at Morla.

"Ah, sorry about earlier," he said to her. She stood up, taking on the role of a Horde who was indeed wearing only a disguise. She crossed her arms and nodded. Lo'jar looked between them. "But what was with the trap?"

Morla signed hastily to her companion and he spoke to the troll. "She likes to trap Alliance when they go by," he said, "but her disguise hadn't worn off yet when she saw you."

"How long does it take? Can't she dispel the spell?"

"Ah... no. She's not that good yet." Morla was impressed with Clef's grasp on the situation. He hadn't stuttered so much that he couldn't be understood, and he hadn't frozen up yet. "It may not wear off for another few hours."

"I see..." Lo'jar looked at her, and quite suddenly he pulled out his sword and lunged towards her. Morla opened her mouth to scream and Clef almost didn't reach her in time, but he reached out his axe and nearly split the sword in half with the impact. Lo'jar stumbled back and Clef jumped on him, pinning him easily to the ground with his axe positioned over the troll's head.

"I d-d-don't want to k-kill you," Clef cried, trembling wildly. "T-t-touch her and y-you're... y-y-you're dead!" The troll's eyes widened.

"She is a human, then," he murmured, apparently comfortable with being at the unpredictable tauren's mercy. Morla came up beside them and tried to touch Clef's arm, but he shrugged her away, eyes still on his enemy.

"She's m-mine."

"Let me up, then. I won't hurt her if you don't kill me." The troll caught on quickly to the tauren's deficiency. While Clef couldn't be bested by strength, he could be compromised with easily, and Morla couldn't convince him otherwise while he wasn't focused on her.

"Oh, o-okay." Clef carefully raised himself up and the troll followed suit, jumping back to put space between them. Lo'jar dropped his sword to the ground and raised his hands.

"I won't do anything," he said, and Clef seemed convinced enough to replace his axe on his back.

--

Lo'jar nodded his head. "So then, how long have you two been here?"

"Three years, about," Clef replied, "this is our third summer."

"Why choose the Thousand Needles?"

"It's the farthest away from society." Morla was working on another toy, trimming pieces of wood as a creature they had caught the day before roasted over the fire. It was midday and Clef had just finished explaining, rather slowly and brokenly, his and Morla's story.

"She's loyal to the Horde, then?"

Clef nodded his head and patted the girl on the head. "So then, how do you know she really does have these powers, if she's never used them again?"

Morla signed and Clef told him, "She hasn't needed to."

Lo'jar observed her for a moment. "What if you did?" he said to her. She gave him a curious look. "Here's what I'm saying: if you really have the abilities of an advanced warlock, why not use them? You could be a bounty hunter. You would have the element of surprise! There are a lot of things you could do, if you could convince a chief to accept you, though that in itself would be difficult, if not impossible."

"It really was she," Clef interrupted unexpectedly. He took Morla by the arm to pull her towards him and indicated that Lo'jar should look. "I w-wouldn't, well, know, but y-you might," he said, and showed him her wrist. The white mark was still there, looking as fresh as it had the day it appeared, white inside and seared black around the edges. Lo'jar nodded his head.

"Though I've never seen many warlocks, you can see the shape here is familiar, at least to me. Though I can't tell you what it is, I've seen it before." He shrugged his shoulders. Morla drew back hastily from the situation and Clef only nodded his head. Lo'jar looked between Clef and Morla, and then laughed. "What a pair you two make! You'll never get anything done with a mute girl and an inept tauren speaking for her." He looked pensive, stroking his chin.

"I know!" Morla jumped at the suddenness of the troll's exclamation. "Teach me your language, give me a part of your profits, and I'll help you."

The human and tauren companions looked at one another. Clef explained to her in greater detail in Taurahe what Lo'jar had told them, and she seemed to contemplate this for a number of moments.

"But what really can he do for us?" Morla signed to Clef.

"Talk, for one," he replied. "He is also a shaman, I can tell. I won't always be able to defend you." He brushed his braid away from his shoulder.

"I don't want to stay here forever," Morla signed.

"Indeed. He m-might be able to he-help us."

"How can we trust him? He might turn me in for a reward."

Lo'jar was picking at his nails when Clef turned to him. "H-how can we trust you?" asked the tauren.

Snorting, Lo'jar rubbed his face, and pulled away his hand. The movement was deliberate; he pulled down his sleeve over his hand and repeated the action when both Morla and Clef were watching. On his sleeve was paint the color of his skin, and where the paint had been were long, silver marks. They surrounded his eyes, which Morla now noticed glowed slightly from the pupil, a glow that was echoed in the whites near the edges. The silver spread up and away from his eyelashes toward his ears, and down his cheeks like thick, elegant spider legs. He rubbed off the rest of the makeup and at once she knew.

"He's got elf in him," she signed, and Clef stared at the troll, and repeated her message.

"Quick little thing," Lo'jar replied with a guarded smile. "I'm half. That's my big secret, the thing absolutely no one can know about me besides you." He took a packet out of his jacket and opened it, reapplying the paint to his face and covering up the beautiful markings once more. Morla nodded her head and looked up at him.

"All right," she signed. "We'll enter into a contract with you."

--

They spent two months working on Morla's "powers." In the meantime, Lo'jar learned her sign language and helped her to make it more intricate and concise, while brushing her up on her understanding of Orcish.

Clef and Lo'jar took the girl for her first test down to the wyvern nests along the cliff walls. They sat her down a short distance from where a number of the parents congregated. The careful shaman had taken an egg and put it in her lap, instructing her to wait. Lo'jar and Clef walked up beside the group and all at once, they were noticed. The wyverns rushed toward the two invaders, who led them to where Morla waited. Giving her no warning, they rushed past her, leaving her to stare with wide, terrified eyes as the creatures came.

The troll watched for a moment as the wyverns surrounded the girl. At first he waited with confidence, and then he grew impatient and a bit worried. Clef had opposed the idea from the start, but now he was furious. When they were nearly about to rush in, Morla came sprinting out from between two attacking wyverns and went between the shaman and the warrior, dodging them completely and continuing to run.

Lo'jar sighed and tried to think of another plan.

It was late at night when the troll went out of the tent and sat on the edge of the needle. They had tried putting her up against every kind of villain and every time, she ran away or Clef went in to save her. He would have to set up a situation around the tauren to make her use her powers.

While Clef slept Lo'jar took the girl away in her sleep, knowing he wouldn't have to worry about her screaming. He carried her down the needle and at one point she awoke, and tried to struggle, but he only drew his hood tighter around his face and pinned her against his shoulder. Eventually she gave up and only hung loosely.

Eventually he found the steaming lake he was looking for and waded out into the middle. He tied the girl's hands together at her back and placed her on a rock so she was underwater but her face remained above the surface. He climbed up onto a rock just above the lake and waited.

A boiling elemental saw her and motored through the water toward where she sat, helpless. Morla wasn't sure what to think: she knew that it had something to do with the sneaky shaman's quest to bring out her powers, but whether the hooded creature was him, she wasn't positive. This ambiguity frightened her and she didn't know if anyone would be saving her if something went wrong. Even she didn't know if she really had any powers at all—in fact, she thoroughly believed she didn't. What had happened in Bloodhoof was inexplicable, and no more than a vague memory to her.

Morla began to panic when the elemental was nearly on top of her, and two more appeared out of the water. She imagined what it would be like to die, unable to scream and without saying goodbye to Clef, the only person she could remember ever loving. Her parents were a distant and unimportant idea, while the tauren was the most important part of her childhood. He was the brother she never had.

Time seemed to slow down and Morla knew she would die—this was a sign of it. She would have to experience her death in slow motion. This particular thought horrified her, as she remembered rather vividly how her parents died and how the lion had almost destroyed her. She imagined that pain multiplied by a hundred times and her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

They were walking, away from all civilization. She was a danger, her village had said. So they sent her away, and her parents went with her to find the farthest, while safest, place to leave her. When the lion killed her parents, Morla realized now that she didn't horribly mind. The Stronghorns were more of parents to her than their own human counterparts ever were.

The memory became clearer as time slowed to a stop. The lion had taken her screaming mother and father apart, and she watched until the lion then came after her.

She remembered: the scout hadn't saved her; Alrash had. His name came to her immediately. She had known him, and he was why they threw her from her original village, and similarly from Bloodhoof. The scout hadn't mentioned that when they found her, though she was bloodied, the lion was inexplicably dead.

Morla looked up and saw the hooded figure sitting perfectly still on a rock above the water. From behind him peeked a red hand, still bright even in the nearly complete dark of the night. This time, the heat was soothing and comforting, and flowed through her into her hands and fingers. She called down the imp with her hands and he obeyed, hopping from the rocks to stand beside her.

"Now you know," he told her, and smiled his wild, sly smile. His ears twitched. "This is how to call me."

Morla nodded her head. "They'll come, if you want them to," and he swished his hand. The spirits the mute had seen in Bloodhoof appeared again, and when time normalized, she saw the hooded figure jump at the sudden arrival of the demons.

She watched them obliterate the first elemental easily. She felt as if they were an extension of herself, obeying commands that she only had to think or imagine. Their fire and power was her weapon, and they gave themselves to her willingly. Their limbs were hers; their wills were hers. They were merely tendrils of her mind, stretched out and existing as denizens of destruction. It both thrilled and terrified her.

Alrash came and untied her hands, and when the rest of the elementals had either died or fled, she stood up. Unused, the demons all looked at her for one brief moment and then raised their hands or fingers or simple limbs into the air, and evaporated like droplets of water in the daylight.

Looking up at the hooded figure above them, her imp followed her eyes and shouted, "You can come out now, shaman!"

Lo'jar pulled down his hood and smiled at her sheepishly. "It worked, didn't it?" Morla rolled her eyes. The imp disappeared in a wisp of smoke and the troll raised his eyebrows. "Looks like you're ready then."

Morla signed, "I think you're right."