The Traitor

Chapter Seven

"I have been informed of your victory," Zamah said that morning, and Morla coughed from the smoke pouring out of a fizzling green vial. The woman shook the vial and set it down on the little wooden workbench, wiped her hands on a towel and exhaled.

Morla looked around, curiously, and then signed, "Where is Matheas?" She wanted to see her teacher. She knew he had been watching. A deeper, vainer part of her wanted to know what he thought; if he had liked her performance; if he approved. Zamah raised one eyebrow.

"He left." The apothecary dismissively waved her hand. "Anyway, I want to talk to you about where your training will go next. I have a job for you." Morla felt her heart sink. He had left without saying good-bye? She knew they were only pupil and teacher, but she had felt a certain companionship with the undead warlock. Beneath the rotting skin and lipless mouth was a person she felt was truly a friend. There was a feeling of betrayal, but she quickly squashed it and focused on what Zamah had to tell her.

--

Sure enough, Morla was to be a spy. Zamah assured the girl that she was still being tested, and she wouldn't have big jobs for some time yet: her ability needed to be assessed further, and as she put it, "We have to fully consider your loyalty to the Horde and its purposes." This comment made Morla itch, but she disregarded it.

They were sending her to the Eastern Kingdoms, first. "You will need a disguise," Zamah told her. "You are an entity not yet known to the Horde beyond Thunder Bluff. Chief Bloodhoof will be ordering your tauren friend to escort you there." Morla was silent and kept her face unexpressive, though it pleased her to have Clef go along with her for her first mission. "You will travel to a small village in the hills of Hillsbrad; there, you will bring me samples of the vegetation they grow there. It is a farming town. Do this however you can. You can buy whatever you like from the tailor to disguise yourself." Zamah took a breath then and then, with a serious look in her faintly glowing eyes, she said, "Good luck, human. There's nothing else I can give you. If you succeed in this, there are many places your life will go. The path you choose will make you plain, or exceptional. It is up to you."

Clef seemed to be surprisingly satisfied with this outcome, and he immediately set to preparing their trip. He showed her maps he had bought and kept in the drawers, and they looked over them to find the best route to Hillsbrad. While Clef had some trouble with them, Morla immediately caught on to the style of them and deciphered on a separate piece of paper the legend of the map. "It looks like we have to fly to Orgrimmar," she signed, making a distasteful face and sticking out her tongue, "and take the zeppelin from there to the Undercity. Then, we'll go by bat to the Tarren Mill, in Hillsbrad. We will separate there."

Clef growled. "What if a Horde sees you?"

"I'll kill them." She turned a very serious face on her friend, and he swallowed. "You won't have to worry about me. I passed my test," she signed to him. Clef nodded, clearly unconvinced, and left soon after to arrange a wyvern flight.

They went together later that afternoon to the tailoring shop, where Clef spoke for her with the head tailor about possible disguises. A traveling salesman, she surmised she could be. Or perhaps a farmgirl. "You'll want to see if you can test their wares," Clef said. "Maybe you should just say you are an adventurer and you need to buy some supplies."

This seemed reasonable, and they pooled what remained of their funds together, and put it in a small pouch that Morla could take with her. They fitted her out with what the tailor considered to be reasonable clothing for the role the warlock was to assume. From a weapon master, she bought a staff—which she didn't know how to use—and declared that they were ready to go.

The day they had arranged to leave, a messenger came to the door. "I have a delivery for a Miss Morla Stronghorn," The messenger held out a small wooden box to Clef, who took it and gave the tauren girl a few coppers for her time. She quickly left and he closed the door.

"What's this?" he asked, giving her the box. Morla shrugged her shoulders and told him with her hands, "No idea." She opened the box and let out a little breath.

She turned it around to show to Clef. "Pretty jewel," he said, looking at it. The ruby glittered brightly, and when Morla held it in her hand, she realized just how large it really was—nearly two inches across. A stone like it had to be manufactured. It couldn't be real. She remembered how it had been, embedded into the great giant's forehead, and she clasped it tightly in her palm. Who had left this for her? Matheas? Zamah? Clef looked at her curiously. "What is it?"

Morla only shook her head and put the jewel back in the box, which she then placed in the bag she hung from her belt. She would take it with her, in case she ever needed money; then she would sell it for all the gold it was worth. Clef seemed to forget the issue then and they left the inn, reserving their rooms so they could keep their things there while they were gone. Not that the Thunder Bluff inn was very busy, anyway.

They took a wyvern over the mountains, across the desolate flats of the Barrens and Durotar before arriving in Orgrimmar late that night. Morla kept her cloak on and the hood over her head so her face was hidden in shadows. It was her first time in the incredible city—and Clef's second—and she was nearly run over by kodo, wolves, raptors and skeletal horses more times than she could count. Clef kept her close to him and acted like a battering ram, pushing past great crowds of people as they wound their way from the wyvern tower to the immense front gates of Orgrimmar.

The sun had long gone down when they finally made their way out of the metropolis. They walked a short way to the zeppelin stop. A goblin told them, "You made it just in time. The last zeppelin is leaving for the night in a few minutes." They hurried up the stairs and made it onto the great flying ship just before it departed from the station.

They found rooms in the great bottom of the ship, and when they awoke the next morning, they were flying over the great, dark forests of Tirisfal Glades.

"It may be better," Clef said, "to come back through Booty Bay."

Morla gave him a quizzical look. "It's neutral. You're less likely to be... detected." He let out a sigh, and then pulled out a small bottle from his pocket. Making sure the door was closed, he instructed her to lean back, and he sprayed something on her that burned her skin when it made contact, and then the feeling faded away. She scowled at him. "They can smell you. Those s-skeletons can s-smell a human a m-mile away." He shook the bottle and put it away. "I bought that as a part of your disguise." With his great nose, he inhaled her smell, shuddered, and nodded. "That will do."

The zeppelin approached the tower and settled beside the off ramp. Morla stayed close behind Clef as they navigated down the tower and into the great Undercity.

Through the front gates of the ruins, Morla felt a shiver run down her spine. The place was cold—far colder than home, she thought. A few warriors went by them, mostly undead, going in and out of small tunnels guarded by immense, grotesque creatures. Some had two heads, and most had great, open wounds with guts spilling out of them like rejected laboratory creations. They paid the travelers no heed, distracted by their own stupidity.

They got on the elevator and when it began to descend, Morla felt a sudden warmth through the bag at her side. Curious, she opened it and saw that the little wooden box was glowing with a reddish hue. Removing it, and feeling the heat did come from it, she took out the gem. As the elevator dropped it grew warmer and brighter, until they settled inside the city. Clef looked at it as they stepped off the elevator. "Odd," he said.

They followed signs to the bat keeper, and as they walked, the gem began to grow cold again. "Hold on," Morla signed to Clef, who stopped and watched her. When she stopped walking it stopped changing; when she walked backwards a few feet, it grew warmer again. "I think it wants me to go somewhere," she told him with her fingers.

"Well..." Clef took the gem in one hand, and Morla's arm in the other. "Let's follow it."

They maneuvered back the way they had come, but when they passed the tunnel from where the elevator had come, it began to grow cold again, so they shifted directions and decided to press into one of the quarters. Luckily, Morla thought, there were plenty of maps and signs telling them what lay in which direction, despite the ancient quality of the ruins and the city.

It was like playing a childhood game: they went one way, and the gem cooled, so they went the other. Eventually, they made their way into a far part of the city: the apothecary. It surely wasn't a coincidence, Morla knew. Someone was bringing them there. A few of the undead they passed looked at Morla, but figured she was no more than one of their own, too disfigured to show her face.

After nearly two hours of navigating, the gem turned a very bright red and Morla nearly dropped it from the heat. She gave it to Clef, whose thick fur protected him, and they looked around for whatever the gem had led them to.

Morla let out a voiceless whimper. Matheas smiled at her where he sat at a desk, just inside a little shack-like building, propped up against one of the ancient stone walls. They were on the very outskirts of the city, where vagrants, rats, and the brave practiced their crafts. He was writing out something on a long sheet of paper when the pair came in, and somehow the door closed behind them with a creak and a slam.

"I was wondering when you would come upon me," he said, "though this was far sooner than I expected." Morla stared at him for a moment, and then began to sign hastily. Seeing that the undead man couldn't understand her, Clef translated.

"She wants to know why you left without saying goodbye to her. She also wants to know what the big pretty jewel is for," he told Matheas, who only nodded his head.

"Oh, Morla," he said, with a slight laugh in his croupy voice. "You have been my best pupil. I brought you here because I want to tell you something about this jewel." He came around the desk then and pulled up her hood. With one hand, flesh melted away from two of the fingers, he took the ruby from her open hand and held it up to the faint lamplight. "I know of a man that will make this into a necklace just for you. Morla, you will always have trouble in this world: you are mute, you are naive, and you are human. But I created this gem for you, and it will solve all of your problems. Except for being ignorant." He laughed. "I assume you are going on a mission for Zamah?"

Morla nodded.

"Then take the jewel to this man. He will make it into a necklace for you, which will channel the spell I have put into it." Matheas wrote out something on a small piece of paper and gave it to her. "It will take a very long time, but it is the only thing I can give you." The zombie smiled at her and she smiled back, slowly nodding her head. "You taught even me a few things. I hope you make something great of yourself." He kneeled down then, in front of her, for standing, he was nearly a foot and a half taller than she. "When you toppled that giant, I saw your demons—your caretakers. Someone is watching you, always beware of that. You must take caution with your power. These kinds of abilities are not freely given." He lightly touched her, never her skin directly, but he rubbed her shoulder where her shirt protected her. "There will always be someone out to get you, whether it is the Borders, Zamah, or Thrall himself. Know that, and be prepared. Should you ever need me, the jewel will lead you there." Matheas smiled a broad smile, where one could see his grimy teeth and molding jaw bone. Morla gave him a confused expression. The Borders? Thrall? She furrowed her brow, but he quickly distracted her by waving one hand dismissively.

Morla felt her stomach lurch when Matheas led them out the door and put her hood back on over her head. "Now, listen to me. I want you to do everything that you're told to do, unless you know it means certain death. Only then can you run away." He pressed the ruby into her hand then and closed her fingers around it. He looked up at Clef and nodded his head. "Now go on. I'm sure you have places to be. See me again sometime."

With that, he went back into the shack and closed the door behind him, leaving the two to stand out in the middle of the small square. The tauren and human exchanged looks, and then looked at the paper. It had an address on it that appeared easy enough to follow, but to make sure, they found one of the grotesque horrors that stood at every other intersection and Clef asked how to get to the shop.

"Jeweler, center, near bank," the monster groaned, and a bit of pus oozed from its mouth. Morla hurriedly went past it, holding her nose, and Clef followed.

The Undercity was a relatively empty place, compared to Orgrimmar, and they had a much easier time navigating it without crowds blocking their movement. Morla wasn't sure what Matheas had meant when he gave the gem to her, but she figured she would do as he asked. She didn't have much capacity to question authority, and Clef didn't have much capacity to question her. With this combination, they went quietly to the shop and Clef did the talking. He gave the address, which had a note scribbled on it in a language he couldn't understand, to the zombie man working at the front desk of the shop. He looked up at the tauren and furrowed his brow, but didn't say anything else and held out his hand. Clef took the jewel from Morla and gave it to him.

"It will be ready in about seven months," he said. "This kind of project will take a very long time. I will forward the payment request to Brownwater, like he asked." When Clef and Morla didn't move to leave, the man cleared his throat.

Interpreting Morla, Clef asked, "Seven months?"

"Probably closer to a year. Lots of procuring and aging required. Come back later." The tauren furrowed his brow, but turned around and left anyway.

--

Sitting at his desk, Matheas remembered what Zamah had first told him. "The pupil is a human. A living, breathing human. I have been contracted by Cairne Bloodhoof to prepare her, and I will further subcontract to you. There is a lot of money in this, Matheas. I trust you will be able to deal with her, even if she is human. She's got something different about her. She was raised by tauren, or something." The apothecary shrugged her shoulders, and Matheas nodded.

"What do you want me to teach her?"

"All the tricks of the forsaken warlock that you can. I want her to find loyalty in her power. She must be as docile as possible, but have the kind of cruelty that I know you yourself wield: the same kind of emotion that has kept you from the great ranks. Only if she is this docile to command will Sylvanas accept her. This is my goal, you see." Zamah smiled, baring her teeth, and flicked back some of her thin hair. "This is Cairne's goal, as well—only to be rid of her. He can't stand to see your poisoned kind here. He knows only that her contract will move upwards. I will determine to where."

Matheas took this insult easily. "What of you, then? Are you not one of us?" With a laugh, Zamah turned around and busied herself with her potions.

"Never," she said. "You warlocks are a breed of your own."

Just like the little human girl, Matheas was a pawn in the plan, as well—but at least he knew it. He leaned back in his chair and hoped the jewel would help her. Of course he wanted success for the Horde; however, he wanted his own success even more, and so he implanted his posture in the little human. With his powers of foreseeing, he could prepare her, and keep her from the position he wanted so badly for himself.

--

Morla stood very much alone, dressed in a hat, grey pants, and a loose, white shirt. She had on a backpack—which used to be her cloth belt bag—that was held to her with suspenders. She kicked her boots together to push them on and stood on the side of the road, looking either direction to make sure no one was coming. She crossed the road and got on a path that wove up away, through an open field, and toward the hills. A few birds sang, but Hillsbrad was mostly a silent place. Bears hid in the trees, and lions roamed the open meadows in prides; they mostly left her alone as she passed. Beside a far hill she saw the fenced-off, tilled fields and thatched roofs of the farming community.

A few footmen posted out of the town looked at her curiously, but beyond that they didn't bat more than an eyelash. One in particular, a man with an overlarge steel helmet and fluttery, dark brown hair stared at her, and when she looked back at him, he hastily coughed and stood up straight. He kept his eyes ahead but once she had passed, Morla felt his intent gaze on her once more and it gave her a tingle in her back. She jogged ahead until he looked away.

As she approached the center of the town, she admired the peaceful atmosphere of the place. Peasants worked the fields, plowing and picking, carrying baskets on their shoulders and talking to the farmers who oversaw them. As she approached the center of town, she saw activity in the blacksmith and the city council center. Here she stopped and listened for a few moments to a conversation between a footman and a councilman, hoping to reorient herself to Common after a long absence.

"There is movement at the Mill," she heard the man say, and she recognized him as the same footman that had looked at her. He had his helmet off now, and his curly brown hair clung to his face in a rather charming manner. He had a boyishness about him when he addressed his superior. "We've sent two more men to investigate."

"I see," the councilman replied, holding his robe with one hand. "Do we know which direction they are going?"

"There has been a caravan of undead traveling to and from Arathi recently," the footman told his boss. "We haven't followed them successfully, so I can't say where they are headed." Morla decided to tune out at that moment should they notice she was eavesdropping. Walking around the fence of a field, she made her way to the nearest farmhouse she saw, where two farmers stood outside talking under a verandah.

One saw her, then, and smiled a radiant smile. "Look at that," he said, "a traveler. You won't find any stores here, missy!" The two farmers laughed, both blonde—and looking rather like brothers—and had an air that was genuinely pleasant. She decided they would be all right to approach. When she said nothing, the older-looking farmer raised one eyebrow.

"Is there something we can do for you?" he asked her, leaning over a little when he spoke. Morla knew she was short, but his movement was condescending. She quickly gestured to her muteness by holding her throat with one hand and making a cutting motion with her other hand. The two men exchanged looks and one smiled.

"A mute, hm? How did you manage to become an adventurer with a condition like that?" They laughed. Morla let out a sigh and took off her backpack, which she jangled to show that it was empty. Then, she pulled out three very large pieces of gold.

Their laughter was suddenly cut short. The first man coughed, then, and said, "I see. Well, my name is Burgess. This is my brother, Ray." He offered his hand then, which Morla easily took and shook.

Ray piped in. "Though we don't have any stores, each farm here specializes in a certain product. We raise tomatoes and potatoes here; the farm up the road has livestock, another raises horses, and two others grow corn and wheat." He looked directly at the valuable pieces she held and cleared his throat. "For a small fee, we could collect any number of things you would require for your travels."

This was exactly the result Morla had been looking for. She rigorously nodded her head and flashed the biggest, most endearing smile that she could. The two men looked immediately charmed with her. "Can you write, then, what you would like? Come inside—it's too hot outside for business." Flashing one another thumbs up, the two led her to the farmhouse sitting on the far side of the field.

--

An hour later, Morla came out of the compound carrying her own bag plus another quite full. She had bread, cheese, vegetables, and some fruit from the trees behind the brothers' farm. Anything Zamah found irrelevant, Morla figured, she could keep for herself. Real human food was a kind of exotic treat, and she planned on fully taking advantage of it.

Walking down the same path she had come up on, the girl was noticed once again by the footman with the overlarge helmet. Rather than looking shy this time, he gave her a tentative smile and she saw him cock one foot. She couldn't help but smile back, and the poor man's throat choked up. He turned his head to cough, and when he looked back, Morla was gone.

She hurried down the path and across the road, where she hid in a small grove of trees. There, she replaced her disguise with her regular clothes and went down to the stream where she would wait for Clef to come for her.

Morla waited beside the little rock for nearly an hour. She pulled off a hunk of the soft, white bread and ate it, and took a drink from the water skin she had filled there as well. This sated her for the moment and she pulled loose strings from her cloak to entertain herself. When far too long had passed, she came closer to the road and was about to look around, when she heard two very deep voices arguing in Orcish.

"I'll put a drill bit through his neck if he doesn't have my metal smelted," one voice said, female-sounding. "Don't think I won't do it."

The second voice laughed, a rather familiar-sounding laugh—touchy and with a bit of a rough shake—and replied, "I wouldn't doubt you for a minute. But think of it this way: at least he's getting action. When was the last time you saw someone naked?"

"Very good point," the first voice snarled.

"Of course." Morla quickly covered her mouth, as if there was any way she could make a noise, and peered around the tree at the two voices.

Her eyes flew wide. Not wanting to jump out in front of them and make a scene in front of the tauren, she remained hidden and instead went back to her spot by the river, where she had left her bags. She easily strapped one on and carried the other with a single hand. The voices continued on and she followed them along the road, hoping by some chance that one would find a reason to walk away.

After a few minutes, though, the pair stopped talking and their steps evened, and Morla recognized that they planned to maintain a course for some time. This called for desperate measures.

Alrash answered his mistress's call, immediately arching himself for battle. However, when he saw no enemies in sight, he glared at her. She put a finger to her lips, asking for silence, and relayed to him exactly what she wanted him to do.

The tauren and troll stopped quite suddenly when a little flaming imp wandered across the path directly in front of them. "What the..." the tauren stared at him and when he was in front of her, Alrash turned his head and immediately conjured a fireball. "Warlock! Look for the warlock!"

The pair were in battle positions. The spotted tauren engaged Morla's imp without hesitation, taking the great sword off her back and slashing with speed, but little accuracy, at the little demon. Alrash quickly began to dodge and jog, pulling the druid off the road; infuriated with Alrash's speed, she summoned her cat form and the chase began.

The troll stood, watching for a few moments, before he turned around to look for the warlock that the creature belonged to. He looked one way and then another, and made the motion of turning back when he saw Morla.

She stood in front of him, hood drawn over her face, hardly five feet tall. Her hands hung out of her cloak and it was obvious enough that she was human. "There you are," the troll growled, holding his hands together to bring up a totem. However, his purplish arms went slack when Morla took off her hood and stared up at him.

Lo'jar did not have a response; instead, his jaw slipped open as if he had forgotten about it, and his tongue lolled a little out of his mouth. He looked at her more closely to make sure it was the right girl, and when he recognized the sincere look in her big, brown eyes, he took a swift two steps forward and swept her up into his grasp.

Morla let out a little surprised breath when the half-troll squeezed her against him, nearly pushing all the air from her lungs. When she began to gag he put her down, but he didn't let go of her shoulders. "Oh, dear, what are you doing here?" he asked in a low, desperate tone. He had a great smile on his face, but his eyebrows tilted up in an expression that Morla found a little sad. "This isn't where you should be. No, where is Clef? That idiot, I'll kill him for letting you leave alone!" Lo'jar let go of the girl and shook one fist, now tightening his lips.

Sighing, the girl grabbed his hands roughly in hers and pulled them towards her to get his attention. The troll quickly looked at her and she shook her head, signing, "I'm all right. I'm working."

Lo'jar raised one eyebrow. "Working?" he asked. Morla nodded her head.

"They trained me. Now I'm working." She gestured to the bags on her shoulders. "I'm supposed to meet Clef here. He's late."

At that moment, they heard a yelp, and the tauren woman ran right by them holding her rear end, with her tail sticking straight out behind her. She was on fire, and Alrash chased her, arms raised, carrying a fireball, and laughing hysterically. "Did you organize this disruption?" Lo'jar asked, pointing to the druid that had circled around and was attempting to change into her bear form. The girl nodded her head and smiled shyly.

"It's really all right," Lo'jar said. "This is Koya. Koya! Stop it! He won't hurt you." These seemed to be magic words and the tauren stopped, bounced up to where the troll stood, and shifted rapidly back into her normal self. Alrash, seeing that he wasn't needed, disappeared.

"What? A human?" The tauren immediately lifted her sword.

"No, no, it's all right. Stop it, Koya." Lo'jar bopped her on the head—and how this was possible considering the tauren's height, Morla didn't know—and pointed to her. "This is a friend of mine. Morla, meet Koya. She's my cousin." Easily the human stepped forward and offered a hand. Koya was far less eager and gave Lo'jar a warning look.

"This is your warlock? She's a child!" The tauren stomped one foot. "I thought you were just making things up, honestly." She let out a breath and only with great effort did she take Morla's hand in her own, which she quickly shook and released.

"Now, why would I do that?" Lo'jar asked, elbowing her in the side. He looked back down at the human. "Where is your caretaker, by the way?"

Morla only shrugged her shoulders and looked at her wrist, where she would have given the time had she actually had a watch. Lo'jar nodded his head in understanding. Leaning forward, he pulled her hood back up over her head and patted her. "Just in case somebody comes by," he told her, and took her by the wrist. Koya looked wary as she followed the half-troll and the girl off the road and down to the same place Morla had been waiting before. There, the tauren assumed a bored look and wandered off into the woods, promising in Taurahe to be back when the girl was gone. She wasn't going to be associated with humans, she said. Understanding every word, Morla only remained quiet.

"What have you been doing since I left?" he asked, taking out his makeup to add onto that still on his face. Morla told him quickly what she could of her teacher and her tasks at the apothecary. "Then you're here on a mission?" The girl nodded and lifted the bag she hefted over one shoulder to show to him. "I see. Well, you're perfect for that, then." Lo'jar smiled.

At that moment, Clef came barreling down the side of the road, from a steep incline to the top of the stream where the pair sat. He launched himself into Lo'jar and the two went flying with a yelp from the shaman and a roar from the warrior. They rolled across the grass and somehow wheeled back to the riverside, where they intercepted a rather large group of boulders and both the assailant and the assailed cried out in pain. "You big oaf!" The half-troll cried, managing to free himself from Clef, and he got to his feet. He took some steps back. "What do you think you're doing?"

Clef stood then and looked at Lo'jar, then rubbed his head. "I thought you was troll." He looked over at Morla, who had her arms crossed and was giving him an exasperated look. The tauren smiled guiltily, and Lo'jar only dusted himself off and disregarded the interruption.

"As lovely as this is," he said to Morla, voice far more brusque than it had been, "I've got to be going. My cousin is very intent on a purchase and we must hurry along." The girl frowned at his change in attitude. He made a brushing motion with one hand. Clef gave them both a curious look, and then replied, "S-s-sure. We're j-just about to b-be going, too." Clearing his throat, he took Morla by the arm and she would have objected if she could, but she only held on and turned her head as she was dragged away.

Lo'jar kept his eyes down, brow furrowed, and when he thought she would be distracted, he looked up. Instead, their gazes met and immediately, the half-troll felt his insides surge. Silently, he signed to her, "I'll see you soon." Confusion flashed across her face, but Lo'jar turned away and called out to his tauren relative, who had wandered off.

Morla left with his cryptic message in her mind, and shrugged off Clef's hand so she could walk on her own.