The Traitor

Chapter Twelve

Morla didn't hear about her experiments until a month after arriving in the small farming town in Hillsbrad. The place was surprisingly safer than she had expected, for the poisoned crops had all been cut down and new ones planted. Though they were poor for now, spirits were higher and when she came in, dressed in her nicest clothes, the footmen stopped her.

"What is your business?" She looked at them hopelessly and shrugged her shoulders. She felt quite miserable—she was going to be honest with herself. The crushed look in her lover's face had been almost too much. Morla gestured to her throat and then made a kind of sign with her fingers, like eating and drinking.

The two footmen that had come up to her gave each other looks. One said, "I don't see why not."

"Well, they said no strangers were allowed in, without a valid reason."

The first footman looked over her and she gave him the most endearing, innocent smile she could, despite the welling blackness building in her chest. "Look, she can't even reason with us. Just let her through and maybe have her talk to the councilman." The second seemed to consider this and then gave an irritated sigh, gesturing with his hand that she might pass by.

The first footman led her through the town, which looked only slightly different from the first time she had seen it, toward the town hall. A few men in robes gathered near the entrance, clearly picnicking for the midday and one stood when he saw them approach. "This girl appeared. She looks dumb, sir, so I don't know what to do with 'er."

Morla looked at the older man, who stroked and tended a salt and pepper beard. He looked her over and shrugged his shoulders. "What does she want here?"

The footman shrugged and, knowing he was useless, the councilman ushered him off. He took Morla by the elbow very gentleman-like and, nodding to his peers, took her inside the town hall.

It wasn't much of a building, a few rooms with wood paneling and one or two tapestries; inside and through a few doorways there was a more open room, and he sat her down at the table and poured her a drink, which she took gratefully. "Can you write?"

Morla quickly nodded her head and he provided her with pen and paper. She had practiced Common written language, both from memory and with a little tutoring. Now, she easily took down this brief history: "I have been an adventurer in the past, but I have been cut off from my family for certain reasons, and I am searching for work and shelter." It was simple and straight to the point, just one full sentence. She looked it over and then gave it to him with a nod of approval.

The older man considered her words for a few moments and then gave her a dazzling, somewhat odd smile, and tucked the paper away. He opened his hands and said, "Well, welcome to our humble village! Since the crop plague took a few valuable lives with it, the horse farm down the street has been looking for a new hand. I can take you there and we'll see what can be set up for you." This seemed simple enough for Morla, who had some experience with animals—namely the spiritual kodo mounts of the Tauren—and found the idea of working with a creature beside sentient beings very provoking.

Some hours later, Morla was seated at the table with a maid, another hand and a trainer's assistant. The table was adjacent to a larger one where the family ate. It was a rather extended family, with a mother and father, a set of grandparents, five children, an in-law and two grandchildren. They all lived in the very well-furnished house, for in the last years horses had become a profitable business and many people came from distances, even Stormwind, to buy the mounts grown at Miller Stead. They had one very prestigious stud that was well-cared for by the other hand. Morla had been informed that she would be handling the mares and their foals. This idea pleased her, and she relished the meal of meat, potatoes and beans set in front of her. It was classical enough—the family hadn't expected someone to come, so they promised real fine dining the coming evening.

It wasn't until Morla was done eating that she stopped to examine the people who now spoke rapidly and with great enthusiasm to one another. The grandfather was quiet while the grandmother argued with the mother. Two of the children were whispering and the grandchildren had gone off to play outside; one daughter was kneading her napkin and the father was talking with two of his sons, one of which Morla immediately recognized. His brown hair had grown darker and longer, and he now tied some of it back in a style that was very attractive, as far as humans went, she thought. He looked different without his helmet but his dark eyes were still just as innocent-looking as the day she had so casually noted his existence. He had acknowledged her but seemed too shy to do much more, so she turned away eventually.

A much more detailed image of Lo'jar still remained in the rear of her mind and it continued to bother her, so she smiled all around and silently excused herself from the table. The other hand followed her out and showed her the bunk she would use in the little off-house that used to be the servants' quarters. Now they had one maid, who slept in the bed below where Morla was putting in a pillow and extra blanket. "These nights can be chilly, it's not just spring yet." She only nodded and the hand, noting the tired lines under her eyes, smiled. "We'll all be in later, but we'll try to be quiet. Get sleep, because you'll be up early."

When he left she changed into some thick red cloth things she had adopted as sleepwear and climbed into the bed, which she found oddly comfortable. It was nothing compared to her bed at home... she sat up. It was she and Lo'jar's bed. She wondered if he was sleeping there, or if he was in Tarren Mill, or in the Undercity talking to Matheas and discussing all of her little secrets that the undead warlock somehow knew.

She didn't think yet on what she had said—it all just sprung from her, unbidden and, she had to think about it, mostly unfelt. She had just wanted him to step away, to leave her and get over it. There was something about the city and her job and all the things about it that made her feel so suffocated. It was never his fault, but at that moment, he was there. She blamed him, and though he didn't deserve it, she felt like a load had been lifted from her shoulders.

When the little human crawled back in bed, she felt warmth beside her and Alrash stood, watching her. He was alight in the darkness and he said to her, quietly, "We'll watch, and help. Call if you need it." She thought these strange words coming from the little denizen of hell, but the odd creature shook his head around a little spasmodically for a moment and then disappeared. She wondered what he meant, but sleep overtook her and she felt a little sad about the coldness of her bed.

--

At that time, Lo'jar was sitting outside the Mill, on top of a hill in the grass. The sun was setting and he watched it turn a blood color as it began to disappear behind the hills that, when he looked close enough, he could see had pines on them and were a much darker color than the green sheen of Hillsbrad. He didn't think too much about it, because somewhere he knew he would spend any infinite time until he saw her again—if he saw her again—thinking about it. For now, he would drift away from his haunted mind and instead pondered the color of the day and night as they faded into one another.

After the sun had disappeared and the stars had come out, glittering far brighter than Lo'jar remembered them being, he went back to the little town and took the last bat he could find. It would take him the short distance to Hammerfall, because his mother was home for a short time taking care of the rotting old place before she decided to completely abandon it. She had sold off the one cow as her last piece of business and was only staying there for a few days to memorize the sentimental value of it. He resolved that he would stay with her for a while, and go with her to Booty Bay; from there, he would continue with the life he had lived before he ever ran in to the misfit tauren and misplaced human, to pretend that the short interlude had never occurred.

Sitting on the bat, he wondered what he would tell his mother, if anything. After a time he decided if anyone could understand, it would be the night elf that fell in love with a troll. He could look to her. The half-troll rolled his shoulders and leaned forward on the bat, feeling more tired than ever before in his memory.

--

Morla groggily opened her eyes when she felt pokes on her arm. She saw the trainer's assistant still asleep, and the maid was hoping to prod her awake. Eventually she managed to sit up in bed and the maid gestured with her arm out the door, making it seem urgent. The maid went on outside and Morla crawled out and off the bed, where she set about to changing her clothes and dashing out after the other woman.

"Sunrise," she said, pointing off to the hills. "This is when you'll be awake from now on. My name is Bobby." She offered her hand and Morla took it, tentatively shaking. Bobby nodded her head and took a good step back, as if putting distance between them, and then gestured to the barn. "The other hand, James, is already opening up and feeding. You should go in there and he'll tell you what to do." Before the girl could leave, Bobby pointed to a thick leather pair of overalls hanging on the door. "Put those on. You don't want to get your clothes grubby as you'll be working in the stalls."

Though this prospect didn't seem overly bright, Morla was still optimistic as she managed on the heavy clothing and tied on boots that were too big for her. The maid had left into the house and so the warlock followed the orders given and went toward the big barn door.

The hand she had seen the previous evening was briefly feeding the animals before letting them out into the relatively small but still green pasture. He pointed silently to the amounts he was taking from the stack of hay in the back corner and then gestured to the empty stalls ahead; Morla set about to finding a pair of gloves and then followed on with her duties, doing any thing that the man, in his mid-twenties to early thirties, asked her to do. He had a gentle voice but hard-set eyes, like someone who had seen a lot of things but didn't talk about them. There came little out of his mouth that wasn't absolutely necessary to say, and because of her muteness, the two spent the morning mostly in silence.

The tranquility, however, was broken at nearly eleven when there came a piercing woman's voice. "Lunch!" Immediately, Morla turned to run inside, but James carefully tended to everything before heading to the house. She took this cue and followed his precedent, wanting to make a good impression. There was something much more enduring and attractive about this kind of assignment; though she was deceiving these people, she felt comfortable—much more than she had expected being. They weren't odd city people, or obnoxious travelers; they reminded her a little of her own people, tender and plain, living out their days with simple passions and work. Though she wasn't at home among the lands of the Alliance, there was a certain charm about the farm that made her future seem more bearable.

Lunch was loud, with everyone in attendance. A few of them were on the porch, others on the stairs, and the rest at two round tables near the door, all outside. The day was too nice, the mother had proclaimed when she brought the great meal outside. The two young children were ravenous, and Morla learned they were named Bo and Lennie, both boys. Their mother was Ellen, and their father was the son-in-law, Marcello. The two other girls in the family were Helena and Missy, while the boys were Henry and Edgar. Helena and Missy were the youngest, twins not even thirteen; Edgar was seventeen, and Henry was nearly twenty-three. Ellen was the oldest at twenty-four, and her two boys were four and five respectively. The mother and father of the many children were Hilda and Gwen. These names were all difficult for Morla to remember, for she had never grown up familiar with human names like a normal person; she could easily picture Brightwood, or Swifthoof—names like these were ones she knew. The two old people were Hilda's parents, and they weren't given any names: "Granny and Grandpa work just fine."

It was an accepting group of people, who talked to her even though she couldn't reply in a way they would understand. The food had an alluring aroma to it and when she ate it, she felt revitalized, and gave her greatest silent thanks to the cook. The mother told her, "I could have hired a cook, years ago, but I never did. I cook for this, a mute girl bowing her head and smiling." Morla felt a genuine ability to like such warmth. There wasn't a threatening bone in the whole place.

That afternoon the assistant-trainer came out and with him was the trainer, a professional man that lived in his own house a few yards off the street from the farm. He wasn't much like the Millers, and James seemed to avoid him with a most definite interest. From the assistant—Morgan—as he went into the tack barn to get ready the trainer's mount for the day, Morla learned the man was Mr. Dolen and he wasn't much to be trifled with except by Mr. Miller; even the young equestrian Edgar avoided him, because of the man's "much deserved" superiority complex.

Morla went about her afternoon duties far quicker than James had expected her to, and she took the half hour that remained to her before dinner to go out and watch Mr. Dolen ride about the paddock. He stopped the young horse every few steps, adjusting him, before going on to test his gait. It was all very mechanical and practiced. She watched him a little longer, hiding behind a trough, before James called her to go in.

That night the family opted to keep her while the other hand went back to put up the horses again. "You can handle it by yourself for now," Hilda told him, waving him off and smiling giddily at Morla. "Come in when you're done, we'll have cake."

"What for?" asked the two girls sitting in the corner of the great room, interrupting their discussion of the pattern of the blanket they were preparing to make.

"We have a new hand, of course. That warrants a cake."

"Everything warrants a cake for you, mother," Henry interjected. The mother stuck out her tongue at him and went back to the kitchen. Morla looked ahead, almost not wanting to look at him again in case he decided to ask her questions. Something about his familiarity made her nervous.

"So, do you like it here so far?" She raised her eyes and watched him where he sat on a stool, leaning back against the piano. He had opened it and occasionally pressed down a key, not making a tune but merely testing out the clearly underused instrument. Morla nodded and vaguely shrugged her shoulders. "Well, you'll be treated all right here." He didn't talk for a few more moments and Morla got bored with him, and looked away to watch the twin girls giggling and whispering, glancing at her every so often. When they caught her gaze they grinned big grins, and Morla couldn't help but smile sheepishly in return.

This was how she lived, then, learning to work in the stable during the day, and often being asked to sit in with the family during the evening; the mother had taken a very sudden and great liking to her, so she was often asked to come in while Henry played piano, or when Missy and Helena performed plays with hand-puppets and hid behind a wood box, their feet poking out from the sides. The girls liked her immediately and though they sometimes were annoyed with her muteness, they thought of it as a game and liked to imagine what she wanted to say to them. Sometimes they were right, and other times, Morla shook her head and sighed. Mr. Miller, Gwen—a name only used by Hilda's parents—was more distant and focused very intently on his business, meeting often with Mr. Dolen and going out to meet with traders. The Horde presence so close to their home didn't seem to worry them, and they never spoke of the tragedy Morla remembered hearing about—and remembered facilitating. The grandparents were tired old folk and though the grandmother was the talkative kind, Morla saw they were fading with age. They were kind enough. Edgar was indifferent to her, only wanting to learn to ride and train and sell horses. Marcello was a tradesman and often kept to his and Ellen's room; Ellen herself was a tailor and owned a shop in Southshore, which she traveled to with frequency to deliver finished products and pick up new materials. The two boys were wildmen and spent all their days playing, often following Morla into the barn to help her idly with her chores.

Henry was a very different matter altogether. He was kind and gentle, but with it came a very distinct distance. When she was near him she often felt his eyes intently on her, but when she turned, he looked away and acted like she didn't exist. It was a peculiar thing to her but, not needing to be perplexed in a society already so alien, she avoided thinking about it.

There was one odd thing, besides Henry, that occupied Morla in her first days at the Miller farm. In her bags she had stowed some things that a guard left with her. "From Thrall, with instructions." Why he hadn't just kept them she didn't know; inside there was the small, black stone that she knew was familiar—though she couldn't quite place it—and a letter. It had a note attached, and the letter was sealed, so she didn't open it.

The note read, "In Undercity, show this badge, and ask to see Sylvanas. This letter and the contents of this box must go to him. He will know if any have been tampered with." Was this what she had been working towards? Being sent the final distance, now that she had gone so far? She rolled the black stone over in her hand and then kept the box the way she found it, closing the latch and stowing it away in a safe place. For a few days she had felt almost curious to the breaking point about what might be inside the letter; but after a while she grew tired of thinking about it and eventually forgot.

Morla then was absorbed into her new life. James began to learn some of her signs, which she changed a little to suit the Common language, as a few were simply only practical in the Orcish sense. A few of these also the family learned—at least those that cared to—but only one picked up everything she taught them (when asked) and remembered.

It was an evening of the full moon, as the middle of spring came on and new foals were gallivanting about the paddock, let out to play thanks to the fair weather. Morla sat on the porch and watched the two boys play much like the horses, so similar and yet, still different; piano came out through the windows until people began talking, when the music stopped. After a few seconds the door opened and Morla felt a familiar presence settle down on the steps beside her.

"What ended you up here?"

She didn't dare look up. Having Henry directly address her was rarer than a pleasant look from the horse trainer. After a few moments she felt that his patience might be wearing waiting for a reply, so she signed to him in the simplest way she could, knowing he probably wouldn't understand.

"I was a traveler and a hunter for a while, but I wanted to go home and re-settle. When I went, however, the house had been destroyed." Surprisingly, he nodded his head without looking a bit perplexed.

"I see." There was a pause that Morla felt was uncomfortable, but she was sure he didn't detect at all. "How long are you staying for?"

This was a trickier question. "As long as I'm welcome."

When she stopped signing he looked up from her hands and it was the only moment she could remember beside that day years ago when he had actually looked at her right in the eyes. It was a little unnerving. "I'm sure you're welcome until you die."

Though the phrase seemed menacing, his voice was pleasant and kind, much like she was used to. Usually the girl could feel messages through people, or see in them what they meant; this man, however, was more secretive than that, but yet she couldn't feel anything but amity in him.

Without warning he smiled, and stood up. There came some music through the window and she heard Hilda shout, and Ellen say, "Ah! The phonograph!" It was an upbeat tune, starting very suddenly, strange to her but with a country charm. She gave Henry a curious look and he only smiled.

"May I have this dance?" He tucked one hand behind his back and offered the other to her, and winked. She was too surprised to do anything else but accept and with a swift motion, they were off down the steps and into the grass. He spun her around and she went with it; he took her in a circle and she followed; she was moving and being carried along to the beat. His hands were firmly on hers and when the music went into a dip, he grasped her hip with one arm and tipped her back over it with an ease she found amazing. Humans were short, she thought, and small, but much stronger than she expected.

Before they could look at each other for long the music kicked back up again and they were spinning and moving their feet again. The moon was so enormous that it seemed to light up the whole world, giving it a surreal kind of silvery sheen. The little horses were dancing too, it seemed to her when she saw them, and the boys rolling and tumbling about in the lawn; even the flowers drifted to and fro, even though there was no breeze, and the air was an unusual kind of warm.

They tired after some minutes of this and sat back down on the steps, feeling much more at ease. Morla looked over at the man, who now seemed no more than a boy to her, and when he returned her gaze she smiled. They sat quietly there for some time, listening to the music as it changed to the next song and after a while, the moon rolled higher over the sky and the house began to go to sleep. Bo and Lennie went in to their mother's call and the only ones still out were Morla, Henry and the two foals, who went across the paddock and curled up in the soft grass.

As it seemed that even the stars' twinkle was dimming, Morla stood up after a period of silence and waved goodbye, gesturing to the servants' quarters to sleep. He looked at her pensively for a few moments and then nodded, and with that she went off to bed.

--

After two weeks, Morla began to take short trips during the time when she was left alone, during breaks or in the dead of night, out into the woods and fields. She used her spell of herb finding and went into the dark—for usually she had to settle on searching while everyone else slept. Small orbs of light would rise up into the air above an earthroot, or some silverleaf; she followed the little wisps and filled a bag, keeping the herbs that required drying and stuffing the rest in her pockets.

Once she had gathered quite the collection, stuffed behind the bed in bags she had learned to make from linen pieces or from bed sheets that Hilda threw away, she sent back to Orgrimmar for vials and other supplies. She sent with the letter a label that read like they were sentiments coming from a family; Sharp would understand.

Then life went on again and Morla spent her best days being charming and quiet, earning daily the affections of the kindly Millers. But Henry resumed avoiding her; he seemed to have re-adopted the method of watching her from afar, and then only talking to her when it was absolutely necessary. This regression saddened her in a surprising way, for she learned she cared more about his opinion than anyone else's in the household, save James. It seemed almost that he had a close-up distaste, and it bothered her.

It was late one evening after the trainer had left and the assistant was in the house talking with Mr. Miller when James came up to her, leading a fully tacked horse by the reins. Morla gave him a quizzical look.

"Are you ready?"

She raised one eyebrow.

"To learn to ride."

A few minutes later she was clinging onto the saddle for dear life, her knees buried in the animal's sides and her feet barely clinging to the stirrups. James was holding the reins with one hand and gesturing to her with the other as he spoke. "You've got to sit up straight. Here, take these in your hands. Don't hold them too tight or too loose." The girl tried to obey his instructions as best she could, and after a few moments of fumbling she had control. He released the horse but it didn't move, for the creature was older and somewhat jaded with life.

Eventually she managed to usher the horse forward a few steps before she jerked back roughly on the reins and the bored animal halted abruptly. "Now, be gentle. Have him walk."

She let loose on the reins and pressed the horse's sides so it stepped; then another, and then it was walking. She went around the small round paddock where Mr. Dolen usually trained, and she followed the dirt paths ground into the grass. Sometimes she turned and went the other way, or stopped and went reverse; the horse followed her orders easily and after nearly a half hour of this, James determined that they were done for the evening and helped her to get off using the fence.

After they had put up the animal they sat outside, still digesting dinner, and lounged on the fence beside the barn. Some horses ate and others stood, swishing their tails and looking on the two visitors with bored interest.

"So," James said, and Morla gave him an odd look. Rarely did he talk to her more than was necessary, and the assertiveness of his tone was surprising. "What's really your story?"

Morla jumped. Was he implying that he knew she was lying? Immediately questions flooded her; did he know her secret? How had he found out? Would anyone else learn of it, too?

He seemed to have sensed her panic and he waved one hand. "I don't really care any way, I'm just curious. You're not just anyone. You're a very particular someone and I merely want to know who."

Morla shrugged her shoulders and looked away for some moments, and let out a sigh. The other farmhand didn't say anything else, and after a few minutes of awkwardness, he stood up and left.

The girl remained, thinking over his question and wondering really what his answer was. Even she didn't think she knew who she was anymore—she had felt so tauren, so purely Horde, but living with these people made her wonder just how much human was really in her. She remembered Lo'jar these times and wondered what he was doing, or how he was faring out in the world, since she knew that was where he had gone; but as time wore on, after the months began to pass, her image of him began to fade.

That night she sat still when the front door opened, some time after the house had grown quiet, and there were footsteps on the boards of the porch as someone came out. Henry sat down where James had been before, and he didn't say anything for the first few minutes, and then, "I guess I can't worry that you'll tell anyone else about this," he said, not looking at her. His eyes were focused intently on the ground, and Morla immediately began watching him.

He was quiet again and it seemed to her that he was gathering himself up inside. Then, he turned to her and with the sweetest, brownest eyes—almost black—he told her, "I think I'm in love with you." Morla almost didn't pay attention to his words because his face was so vulnerable and exposed, waiting patiently but with dread for a kind of verdict. He reminded her vaguely of an inmate she had seen, locked up and gazing out, knowing he will be condemned but hoping somehow that things would turn out all right in the end.

The confession was so sweet to her and so strange, she couldn't help but smile. This caught Henry off-guard, but he managed to keep himself together and wait for her as she summoned a response.

She had been told to ingrain herself—to make a name for herself, and to build a legitimate base among the Alliance. This boy, her elder by almost four years now, was just that: he could give her authenticity and with it she could move on with her plan.

It was almost too perfect. She couldn't help but grin at him and with a practiced kind of ease, she leaned forward and Henry brushed some of her hair away from her face, took her chin in his palm and kissed her. Hilda watched from her window above them and was pleased at the choice her son had made.

--

When her package returned, Morla took it to her room and sat quietly on her bunk, above the view of an average joe, and began to disassemble it. There was a letter from Zamah, and another from Sharp; there were two vials empty, and two more full of liquid, corked closed. They were labeled and she set them aside in their wrapping, putting them back in the bag so they would keep until she needed them.

Sharp merely assured her that her request had been received, and more would be sent within two weeks.

What Zamah had to say was more interesting:

"The farm where you allegedly," this word was underlined, and Morla imagined Zamah sneering as she wrote it because of her distaste for formality, "found the deadly herb is apparently abandoned. When I had heard of it there were some tending, but they left it because there didn't appear to be too much to gain from it besides a vague poison that was too easily detected to be spread in any way beside the spider venom, which was acknowledged. Thus I believe the following:

"Achsbor's spider was of the wild kind, larger and thus farther from Brill, and so it can't be reasonable to think that it ate the tame herb, which we will call merely Dreadherb, rather than the Dreadfall herb. If she properly knew what she was getting into with the spider, she would never have found one that could kill her even more easily than a human.

"The Dreadherbs had been well tended when you found them, and because of this claim of abandonment I believe it was not any forsaken that we know of, or even any one that we know of, who might have been tending them. Whoever this anonymous person was, he purposefully altered these herbs before the forsaken gave up on them—as I found them in this order, you found the result, and the appearance of them does not seem to have changed—and then continued to farm them after the owners of the farm had left.

"This leads me to this conclusion, and as you are someone I consider nearly my peer, I will share this information with you alone, for now: the logical explanation is that someone wants to weed out the orcs. Of course this is a common wish among the allies, but this incident is unique in that somehow, someone has managed to sneak into Tirisfal and go about their business like a person not out of place; also, he has not yet attempted anything on the race, but is merely gathering these herbs and letting them rot away.

"Because the intentions are not clear, we are leaving the stead alone for the time being. I have sent your assistant to watch it for a few days, and so he will not be able to continue communications with you until he returns. Though I know he is not made for field work, he'll have to do for now.

"Good luck. We expect to see things from you soon."

Morla wrapped up the letter. She didn't think about the ordeal when she went to sleep, because she knew Zamah, despite her callousness, was doing all the right thinking for her.