The Traitor

Chapter Thirteen

They talked often now. Henry worked for parts of the day, coming home around two for lunch; these times he went to the barn with the meal wrapped up, and they went out to the field away from the farm and ate on a little blanket, complete with white and red square pattern, and they ate chicken complemented by bread. In this solitude they didn't speak often, for Henry had a quiet nature and by nature, so did Morla.

She quite enjoyed the man's company. He was quite nice to look at, with finer features than any she had seen, though she saw few humans on a regular basis, so she had little foundation for comparison. His hair looked very soft and one time she ventured to touch it: he shied at first, but seeing her intention, he welcomed her and she marveled at the silkiness of it. The boy had one prominent mark on his face, a lengthwise scar from his ear to his cheek that was colored reddish-pink, but faded into white. It was a story about riding horses as a child—he didn't much like the animals these days. This seemed reasonable to Morla.

Her spontaneous lessons became weekly, and then daily; by that time, she was concocting potions and storing them, sometimes venturing out on her one weekend day off to sell them in Southshore. It was a long walk, but she would go with Ellen on occasion, and other times Marcello would go also to make sure nothing befell them on their way—though Morla knew she could defend them far better than some infinitesimal human male.

She developed a reputation in the small town and Ellen must have known, but she said nothing; she spoke to Morla sometimes, usually simple things and requests.

Life went on like this for some time, until one of the vendors in Southshore asked where she hailed from. She motioned off toward the village, and he gave her a blank look, so she drew a map. This was what she needed: someone seeking her out.

"We want to start a new line, and we were looking for a reliable supplier."

Morla wrote her answer: "Then I need a supplier, as well." They exchanged figures and they would ship her what she needed—besides the special ingredients, which they would add into her final paycheck, but she had to get for herself as a part of the job description—and she would come back with their line. It was a great deal, and though the pay was minimal, he ensured her that if her skills were what she said, then there was a very conducive future ahead of her.

What was tricky was telling Henry about her little hobby.

--

Morla's great opportunity came in mid-July. The Miller family had fairly acknowledged that she and Henry were in "courting" mode, or whatever silly humans called it, and so they were often left alone to be together—Hilda figured they would have to get another hand for the farm when the two were married, but she didn't mind. Morla looked forward to this for a multiplicity of reasons, but the greatest for her was that they had the opportunity to move away—possibly to Elwynn, which was a very appealing idea. It would perfectly serve her purposes.

Henry proposed to her in the corral while she sat atop a little old mare, nearing eight in the evening, so the sun was just beginning to set. He went over and whispered in James's ear; the hand stopped the horse and Henry went to where Morla was, and because she was so high up, he needn't kneel. He lightly grasped her knee in one hand and the unexpected touch was surprising, but not unwelcome; then he held out a small soft red cloth and she took it, unfolding it, and inside there was a thin gold band that had little visual value, but she could feel the sentiment behind it. She could only nod her head and smile as he took the ring and slid it on her finger, and held it up for anyone who might be near to see.

They didn't move her out of the servants' quarters. It was inappropriate to let them stay together, and everyone agreed on this—except Morla, who found it all very and unnecessarily complex—and there weren't any extra rooms even with Lennie and Bo sharing their little room in the back of the house. So she would stay in her same bunk, even though Henry quite chivalrously offered to switch with her, and continued to work on her little projects.

It became the custom then that they would work with the horses in the afternoon, and then eat lunch—Morla, James, and Henry. James seemed indifferent to the whole thing and seemed occasionally displeased that he would be losing the hand he had just finished training, but he never talked to her about it and she really had no way to bring it up, or a reason to.

Henry had to work a day through when Horde sightings increased, and so he stayed out on duty and had a sandwich; James left her alone with the horse, Maria, and they went around together in the paddock alone, switching between a trot and a slow, gentle lope that soothed the warlock's nerves. She wanted to take the spare time to summon up Alrash and practice with him, or release corruption spells on little rabbits, but the motion of the horse was too alluring and so she remained there, going in circles and occasionally making figure eight shapes.

She had met the trainer again a few times, but he never spoke to her; instead, he took on his assistant, and often she could hear the older man hollering angrily across the barnyard. He seemed to have a foul distemper and though he was accomplished with the horses, he was quite rude to them, too. With her muteness there was an inherent ability in Morla to observe people better, for she was never thinking of what she was going to say, but wholly listened to them and watched them move and talk. From watching this man's agitations she saw he was an easily irritable person, with an inability to relate to anyone but himself; he was fully absorbed in those things that involved him and nothing else. He was very demanding and greatly disliked anything to be denied to him. Mr. Dolen could not accept blame for anything, even when the rather ornery colt he was training lost skin off his leg from a rather harsh episode.

Everything about him would have disturbed a normal person, could they see what Morla saw, but she was too used to seeing the absolute natures of people that she hardly regarded him. Instead, she listened to Henry and his father exchange words about where they were planning to live, and what they might use to buy the house that Henry could see in his mind's eye.

He told her about it. "I have a lot of money saved up, you know, from various jobs, and what I usually do. Of course I give many large parts to my parents, because I still live with them—which I find not so much abhorrent before, but absolutely unacceptable after we wed—and I have plans for the rest. Outside of the town of Goldshire, rather close to the metropolis but not quite inside of it, I wish to build a house, and till a farm; we can have a modest crop with some hands, and some horses, and some cows and sheep too; we can work it, and also I can offer up my abilities as a guardsman. I have always found this land to be one not fit for living, with the threat always lingering on the outside. If we were to live in Elwynn, we would be protected by Westfall to the west, Duskwood to the south, Redridge to the east and Stormwind and the dwarves to the north; we would have little to fear there, and having come from these troubled lands, that is vastly appealing to me." Morla could only agree with this, and so Henry set a date sometime before the wedding to go and seek out a stead on which they could build.

This day in July James had gone off on a short errand to get a bridle repaired by the local leatherworker, and Morla sat, riding Maria about; they were having a pleasant time, for the sun was gentler today than it had been and there was a bit of a breeze rippling through, so the grass bent and glimmered like a vibrant emerald carpet covering landscape. As she watched, she didn't see the trainer approaching; when she turned at the sound of the gate being opened, she was surprised.

"Why are you on that pony?" His voice was disguised, Morla noticed, but what he was hiding in it, she couldn't be sure. Immediately she became suspicious of him when he walked towards her and patted the animal's neck, and it jerked a little but didn't move, being as obedient as it was. She shrugged her shoulders and gently touched Maria's mane, and the horse was slightly more at ease. Mr. Dolen removed himself a few steps away and went around her, so he could observe the cinch from a short distance.

"Ah, right, you're the mute one," he said, looking at her. He barely nodded his head and seemed to be examining her, as she sat there and was intent on what he had to say. "While I don't quite appreciate you riding one of my horses, especially while I am still on the watch, I can't deny that you have a fair posture." Morla knew this man so well, even if it was just a brush in the jacket to the amount of things she knew about people she actually came into contact with regularly, that she didn't spring on his comment about the horses—who in fact belonged to Gwen Miller—and gave him instead a look that was more appreciating of his statement. He rubbed his chin. "Ride around for me."

Obeying, Morla took the reins and with only the faintest clip from her heel she got Maria walking, an even pace; then she was trotting, and with her thighs and a little help from the mouth she wound the animal around in fun shapes; finally she loped, absorbing the movement and encouraging a mild speed. Eventually she slowed and went around to where Mr. Dolen stood.

The man watched her with careful eyes and clapped. The claps went on for some time and then he abruptly stopped, and said, "Absolutely wonderful. Has James been teaching you? He's doing quite a job, and procuring quite the rider. Might you be interested in competitions?"

At this, Morla wished she could laugh outright, but she couldn't; instead she shook her head and gave the best appearance of disinterest. "You could be quite good." She still said nothing nor made any movement, and he seemed to quickly grow bored of her inability to reply to his compliments.

Instead, he came closer, and the girl felt a chill run from the point on her knee where he touched her through her hips, spine and right into her mind. She jerked back without conscious acquiescence. This seemed to release the man, and he leaned in more. Morla cleared her throat but Mr. Dolen only smiled.

"Well, I would very much like for you to do this. It would be good for you." He looked around, and Morla immediately recognized the surveying look; he was asking himself, "Is anyone watching?" He was saying in his mind, "There is no one, I can do as I please, and she'll never say a word."

There was something ominous about him—though what was more ominous to Morla was that she couldn't quite do anything about it. She knew that exposing her powers could risk her life, and this small trifle was hardly worth it; though her opinion altered a little when his hand moved up from her knee and across her thigh, she remained still and eternally silent.

The horse seemed to detect the strangeness going on behind her and the creature jerked a little, causing the trainer's grip to release just long enough. However, he took Morla by the arm and, surprising Maria, pulled the girl right off the saddle without much effort. The horse trotted to the side of the small ring, wanting to get out, but when she found the gate closed she stood there and slung her head over the door.

Morla landed without much grace, as her foot had caught, and so she was half-crumpled on the dirt ground; the older man tightly gripped her arm to keep the other half of her aloft. She attempted to take herself to her feet—by jerking her arm away—but he most definitely wouldn't let her free and instead he pulled her up with a sudden and uncomfortable movement. Once Morla was standing Mr. Dolen took her wrists in his hands and, knowing he could completely physically overpower her, he took his time walking across the small area to the fence; he pressed her against it and told her, "Well, isn't this nice." He squeezed her hands tighter and shook her; in response, she nodded her head and he smiled widely.

This was a fear that Morla had never quite experienced before, and so she had a little spark of fear in her that when he moved closer, ignited. It rose up into her throat when she could smell his overpowering smell of horse and sweat and a kind of scummy musk. As he touched her and began to press his body against hers, she felt as if everything was squeezing her to the fence and she became suddenly aware of the wooden boards in her back; they splintered through her shirt and she squinted her eyes. The man took this as an expression of distaste and it agitated him—this Morla quite clearly saw when she looked up once more and he squeezed his fingers into her arms instead of her wrists, so she felt the flesh bruise.

"What?" he asked disdainfully, and quietly, as if anyone else might hear him. "You don't like it? Are you afraid?"

Not wanting to admit weakness, Morla shook her head and looked defiantly back at him, though she knew this wasn't the best idea; instinct seemed to take her over and the little flame of fear was both asking her to flee, and asking her to fight—whichever was most possible. With the instinct to fight came the warmth in her arms, and she tried to hold it back and see if this irrational man could be reasoned with before she accidentally destroyed him.

Then he gripped her with one hand and began to roam with the other. The first image that sprouted up in Morla's mind was of a time when a strange but alluring creature touched her, much more gently, much more intimately, and she realized she couldn't quite remember his name; but she focused on this and tried to dissuade the rippling power that sought to be released and unleash horror upon this bold and pitiful man. She closed her eyes and only wondered what might happen to her, should she lose control.

She would have to defend herself, if it came to that; until then, she waited, silent, and struggled occasionally with her hands while her thin body remained still as a board. Though Mr. Dolen seemed daunted for a short time by her resistance, he quickly resumed and pressed one knee of his between her legs. This contact was infinitely unwelcome, and the little flame of fear rose up in her to a bonfire and she began to writhe.

Morla would get away. She would spare his stupid life and escape with her own mortal will, and Hilda would believe her; the trainer would be gone before the day was up. This much she knew and it comforted her when she lashed out in her arm with all of her strength, so it momentarily pulled away from Mr. Dolen's iron-hard grip. This surprised him enough that she could wriggle more of herself away from the shield of his body, which held her down like a vice or a rock; but he recovered too quickly and then, now angry, slammed her body with force back against the fence.

Pain lanced through her very muscles as the wood boards refused to give and took against her quite rudely. He now began to reach up her shirt with one hand and hold her still with the power of two legs and a spare arm. If he didn't stop quite soon, they would come, even without her asking. It had happened before; it would happen again.

There was a blur of motion and Morla felt the wind knocked out of her. She fell back further against the fence and without someone to hold her up she fell, gripping one of the planks and filling her hands with long, thin splinters. She heard scuffling and she saw above her that James had leapt upon the trainer, his arms around the older man's neck. Mr. Dolen cried out in anger and reached back, taking a hold of James by means that Morla couldn't quite make out, and threw him down like a professional wrestler. But the farmhand was equally empowered by rage and lunged, headfirst, into Mr. Dolen; they both stumbled a few feet and a movement by the trainer took them both to the ground. There they punched and kicked, rolling about like irritated apes. The girl was fascinated and managed to get to her feet, where she watched with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Finally, she approached the fray. In a way she wouldn't be able to remember later, she managed to take a hold of Mr. Dolen and then she kicked him in the side, so she felt a rib broke beneath her shoe and that feeling was one of the most gratifying she had ever felt. The man cried out and in his surprise and agony, James managed to get away from him and subdue him by a similar kick. He didn't move much, but his eyes were open and he was shouting out curses like Morla had never heard before.

James was breathing hard and when he looked at her, he said nothing and stepped back nervously. He kept his eyes on the ground, before his wounds took his attention.

Morla looked over the poor boy and saw that he was bruised all over, with a few scrapes and a very nasty looking cut in his shirt; it was the only part that was showing underneath his leather travelwear. Leaving the wretch on the ground moaning, the girl took James by the arm and they equally limped back to the house.

--

Only Hilda, Edgar and Missy were there, but that was enough; while Morla went to get the healing potions she kept behind the bed, Edgar went out and dragged Mr. Dolen into the house in a way that must have been extremely horrible for both of them, because when she got back, Edgar was hollering and the trainer was moaning even worse than before. Missy had left and James was silent and sitting, holding his arm, while Hilda sought to tend to him but he wouldn't say anything until Morla returned.

She came in and without motioning anything to him she began tending to his wounds with the potion. She had him drink some for the well-being of his internal organs and she applied the rest to outer cuts and bruises. She removed his armor and shirt, and following the trail of a particular cut, she found quite a large gash in him where he must have intercepted with a rock, or perhaps Mr. Dolen's boot; no one said anything as she did this, and once she had finished, James replaced his clothes.

Then, much to Edgar's objections, she set about to fixing up the pitiful, whining horse trainer. He didn't seem to acknowledge that she was there for he was so absorbed in his pain. She made him take the drink and at first he spit it up, but then he took it; after that he seemed to be doing better and Morla left alone his superficial wounds.

Once she had finished she stood and put away her supplies. Eventually Hilda sat down at the table.

"I have a few questions." Morla sat down across from her and nodded. Mr. Dolen was still on the floor, and Edgar kept an eye on him should he try to do anything.

Hilda looked at her eldest son. "What did you encounter?"

"This man forcing himself upon my assistant." He kept his eyes straight ahead, and his hands were clasped together on the table. "I attacked him, to take him off of her. As you can see—"

"He roughed her up," Edgar finished.

"Shut up." Henry was standing by the door with Missy, who had gone to get him; the boys looked at each other, but the seventeen-year-old was finished by his brother's deadly severity. Hilda only nodded at this and looked at Morla.

"This is true?" The girl very faintly nodded, not looking at her fiancé. It was best to let James do the talking, and keep her participation to a minimum. Then, the woman let out a sigh and said, "At least you are all right. It's a miracle that James came when he did."

"Not really," he interrupted. "I knew something was wrong, so I came." He looked at Morla and the expression was so intense, his ice blue eyes so full of something that she couldn't define, it frightened her and she had to look away. Henry, seeing this, came over and sat down beside Morla; he took up her hands in his and comfortingly rubbed them. James looked away.

Hilda cleared her throat. Then, she looked at the empty vials on the table. "Are these yours?"

Morla saw that the mother was talking to her and she nodded her head. "You bought them?" She shook her head. This caused both Henry and his mother to look surprised.

"I made them," she signed to Henry, who interpreted.

"Do you do this often?"

Morla nodded again.

"How often?"

"I am an alchemist," she signed, which was again relayed. She shrugged her shoulders. "It was a talent I developed on my adventures."

Hilda seemed to contemplate this, while Henry only looked perplexed; then he shrugged his shoulders and stood up.

"This is inconsequential. James is fine now, and I'm sure this man will be with medical attention. I'm going to get father."

"He's at the town hall today," Hilda told him.

"I know."

As Henry was leaving, Morgan, the trainer's assistant, came in a little breathless and Edgar related the story to him, as Hilda rose and left the room. Morgan sat beside Morla where Henry had been and watched her; she eventually returned his gaze and the gentle hand seemed pleased.

"You look all right," he said, sighing. "I found Maria standing abandoned in the ring, and no one was around but I had seen Dolen walking off toward where you had been. I heard loud voices in here and so I came." He ran a hand through his hair and hunched his shoulders.

"I suppose you've just been promoted to head trainer," James interjected.

Morgan looked at James and didn't say anything after that; he patted Morla's shoulder once, and then went out to finish attending to the horses. Edgar remained to watch over the injured man on the floor, but not once did he speak to the mute, and she made no move to look at him. The uncertain tranquility was broken when Bobby came in and carefully took Morla by the arm, and led her out of the house and to the servants' quarters. There, the maid put up her charge and though it was the middle of the day, she said, "Take a nap, and we'll bring you dinner."

Morla was more tired than she had previously thought. There was still a bit of fear in the bottom of her and when she went to sleep, she didn't think or know that it was a spark that would never go out.

--

After then, it was open that she was working with potions and things of that nature. She began receiving her supplies from Southshore and she was set on a new schedule, where most of her day was with the horses, while some part was reserved for creating the various concoctions the store owner required.

The family, at least the older parts of it, learned of what had occurred and immediately the two girls called for something to be done to Mr. Dolen; but Morla resisted this and Gwen settled it all by saying, "He will never set foot on this farm again, or any others in Hillsbrad." As usual, his heavy voice ended any argument and dinner went on in silence.

Morla went with Henry on their short trip to Elwynn. They flew by gryphon to Stormwind, and went out on horseback to the lands outside the great city. Though Morla had seen the town before, Henry showed her a quaint tavern and other interesting things she hadn't previously noticed. He was very astute, and though he kept a reasonable distance from her usually, he took the opportunity on the gryphon to hold her as tightly against him as he could.

The little region seemed nice enough, Morla thought, and close enough, as well. They rode westward from Goldshire for a short while and there was a sign by the woods, announcing them uninhabitable because of the wolves and other creatures living there; this seemed easy to remedy to Henry and he immediately went to the officials of Goldshire to announce his intention.

The next few months were easy for Morla, and for once she could enjoy it. She was busy and though Henry was often gone, preparing the land, she often found company with James and Morgan as they took the old assistant through his new duties as head trainer. He seemed eager and Morla found the black-haired boy had an unusual affinity for horses, and they for him; it appeared he would do his job well, if not better than his predecessor.

Work on the house was well, from what Morla knew, and two weeks before the wedding she and Henry traveled back once more to look at it. He had hired a good number of people to build it for him—this was the amount of money he had saved, and he had only used a portion—and when they saw it, the neat little two-story cottage was nearly finished. They had cleared the trees and hunted the wolves; with the help of Henry's friends among the footmen, they had chased off the Defias that occasionally hung around the property, which resided near the lake. The furnishings were being placed on the lower floor as the upper one was being completed.

Morla was satisfied and let Henry know. They sat outside the property in the grass and loosely held hands, while he told her some of the things he had done to suit them both. She was overcome with a strange kind of feeling, like she was finally seeing a place where she knew she could belong; it was welcoming and not unnatural, for Henry's humanness didn't bother her like the rest of his kind did. Before her was a place that she was intended for, and not one she had to adapt herself to live in. The idea of belonging frightened her at first, but Henry's hand clasping hers and his quiet, melodious voice lured her in and she couldn't help but smile.

The wedding was quite boring and Morla dispensed it in her memory as an event of extreme unimportance; though she minded leaving her duties with the horses and the kindness of the wide Miller family, she was more excited to begin something that, although it was so much of a farce, seemed like a new part of her life unfolding. They rode down in a carriage laden with things, led by two horses and towing one more; they had arranged to purchase two milk cows and were postponing the sheep until they could find someone to tend them.

Though the journey was long, arriving at the house was worth the trip. Edgar and Marcello helped to unload the carriage, and left two of the horses—one for riding and one for plowing—while taking the other back with them; Morla, Henry, and all of their things remained.

--

There was a great bed on the second floor, in a wide master bedroom that they shared. Henry was shyer than Morla expected and so they lived together, contacting with no more than touches and kisses, for more than a week. Life was pleasant but difficult to get into, as Henry was working out his duties and Morla was trying to figure out the whole farm thing. Henry spent time with her on attaching the plow to the horse and, once she had plowed the field, showed her the art of planting; they had dug irrigation before the house was finished and as time began to pick up, the sown field came to life and Morla was most pleased with her work.

It was a late Sunday when Morla sat down to write to James, as he had asked her to do. He was still the same around her as ever; when they left, he merely waved and gave her a respectful nod. She hadn't known him very long, but Morla had a debt to him; it wasn't one she would long forget.

Then came the night when Henry turned to her and took her hands in his, just as she went to turn out the light. They looked at one another and Morla remembered when she had seen him just standing, his helmet too large, watching her. "I was in love with you then, too, and all the time that you lived with us," he admitted. His eyes absorbed her so often that she sometimes couldn't focus on what he said, but that time the two things were complementary and she heard him quite well.

"Doesn't it bother you not to hear me speak?" she signed.

Henry laughed then, a rare thing, and kissed her lightly on the nose. "No, not really. It's kind of charming." He hugged her and was quiet. They sat like that for some time until he lifted her head up by her chin and kissed her once more—on the lips.

Morla was then taken in by him, and her blood immediately warmed in a way that she recognized: he grasped her middle and she was utterly ready, so ready, that when the ropes wrapped around her she was taken completely by surprise. She cried out and Henry's eyes went wide like black saucers.

They jerked on her and everything was so sudden that she almost couldn't process what was happening. She remembered when they had wrapped around her limbs like this before, and she could see everything clear in her mind like they were life-real; Henry was calling to her, panicked, as her shock took her over and began to draw her under.

The ropes jerked again on her and then they must have become apparent, on the outside, for Henry began to holler louder. He had gotten up from the bed and was watching as she cried out—using all of her real voice—and writhed against the bonds that held her.

She remembered like it was yesterday. Lo'jar—yes, that was his name—was watching her and when they saw each other, he started; but then he recovered and said, quietly, "Is that you?" He saw that it was when she came closer, and then in the darkness of their minds, linked in this way, he saw how she was held captive and he too remembered. He came forward and all the existence of Henry and the bed and house faded from Morla's vision.

Lo'jar tried to undo the ropes but they only constricted tighter, and Morla began to quiet. "What's holding you? Morla, what is it? Where are you?"

She gave him a panicked look and then the ropes jerked back, pulling her not just away from him, but from her own mind. She felt herself begin to detach, separating like water and oil tend to do, and fear immediately filled her.

As Henry watched it, she had gone still and no longer cried; ropes were wrapped all around her and they had her pressed against the bed. She seemed to be sinking into it, while the ropes appeared to lift from her. The gold and red bracer he had seen on her arm before, but never asked about, began to shake and rattle and he let out an unexpected cry when it splintered into pieces. On his wife's soft, bronze skin was a black mark that he couldn't quite make out; it seemed to be glowing with a dark energy and it moved up her arm like a spider, crawling and growing up to her shoulder and along her neck.

Then, she screamed again and the words out of her mouth he couldn't understand: they seemed like Orcish, mottled and all churned about; Henry had to step further back from the bed for an unbearable heat came from it. He opened the window and began to holler for help, in case anyone might be passing, and when he looked back, Morla was gone.