Sorry it's been late, but Warcraft and other schoolness took over for a while. The night I have an essay due, the first one this semester, I thought--I'll procrastinate by editing! So I've had this done for a while. The next one won't come out until after the first because has been down, and it has good AFF content. So. Cool. Thanks for all the comments.

The Traitor

Chapter Fourteen

Lo'jar sat with his mother at the table and was silent as she pondered what he had told her. The elf was small, of course, and she had cropped her hair recently so it was short around her enormous ears. There was a deep intelligence in the glow of her eyes, and so with this she said, "And that's it?"

The half-troll looked up in confusion. "What do you mean, is that it? Of course it is."

"You're willing to let her go, just like that?"

"Well, I have to!" Her little boy looked so frustrated, so tormented and torn, that his mother truly pitied him. He had so much of the look of his father, fuming and brushing his rogue hair away from his face, that she sighed and reached out to touch his arm.

"Now, come on." Lo'jar seemed to calm down and he regarded his mother carefully.

"It's her assignment. She has to be there, and who knows how long she'll stay; I don't want to leave her there, mother, I really don't, but that's all I can do. I've just got to go on and forget."

The elf watched him as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders; he stared off out the window with an irritated look on his attractive face. "I know how you're feeling," she told him, "and it isn't great. But don't give up."

Lo'jar nodded but didn't look at his mother. He seemed absent suddenly, and when he spoke, his voice was just as distant as his eyes. "I wanted to take care of her, mother. I've never felt that before, and I'll never feel it again. Knowing she doesn't need me is what fills me up with dread." He turned back to her and saw that she hadn't gotten older, not ever; his father had aged a little in the time he was alive, but his mother—she had always been the same, still little and lithe and would probably outlast her own son. "If something happens to her there, I won't be able to help. Even if she doesn't want me around, it's so hard to be away."

She found it horribly and somewhat tragically ironic that like his father, her son had found something so peculiar to love; it disturbed her a little, but admiring his half-elf, half-troll features, she couldn't imagine that he could have it any other way.

"I can only give you one piece of advice," she said. "Wait. Live your life as you should and wait. If you two were meant to be, then fate will make it so; otherwise, move on." She smiled at him and stood up, coming over to smooth back some of his wild hair. Lo'jar seemed indifferent to her ministrations, but he nodded his head and sunk back into the chair.

--

So Lo'jar did as he was told. After he stayed with his mother for a time and helped her to clear out the house, they left it to rot, not to be used again until a human family took refuge there, and then it became another stead on the map. They went to Booty Bay, separately; no one was surprised when they stayed together, for his mother, after some years, hadn't bothered to keep it a secret that she was involved with a troll. Most travelers weren't privy to this information, and those others that remained in Booty Bay were just as indifferent to anyone's lifestyle.

Lo'jar helped his mother like he had as a child, pressing the hides, salting them, and watching while his mother worked her magic. She was a much sought leatherworker and though most of her works she simply sold, others were commissions from rich adventurers.

He was there for two weeks before he announced that he was returning to Kalimdor, and would be staying with his cousins in Durotar and Mulgore for some time.

"Tell Koya I said hello," was all that she said when he took his bags and boarded the boat to Ratchet. From there, he got onto a caravan to Durotar, and was accepted back into Sen'jin Village.

Knowing something was amiss, Lo'jar's cousin and mentor approached him one day shortly after he had arrived. Lo'jar hadn't felt the same kinship with his relatives as he usually did, and Ishkuza, a well-known shaman, decided it would be right to ask what bothered him.

It was late in the evening and the rest of the extended family had gone to sleep or left to their homes; Lo'jar was sitting on the sand near the beach when his older cousin unexpectedly joined him.

Ishkuza drew his hand through his great white mohawk. "What's bothering you, cousin?"

Clearly taken by surprise, Lo'jar glanced up at the other shaman and replied defensively, "What do you mean? Nothing's bothering me. I'm great."

Ishkuza laughed. He patted the smaller troll's shoulder. "Whatever you say. Is it a woman?"

Lo'jar gaped. "How did you know?"

"I can sense these things," Ishkuza replied with a wink. "Tell me about it. Let your old cousin help."

Ishkuza had always known something was very peculiar about the boy that his late uncle had brought on a hot day nearly twenty years ago. He hadn't grown into his size and always remained looking strange; there was something that was simply striking about him, and Ishkuza hadn't been able to place his finger on it until he stumbled across a letter. It was from someone, and beside another in response; the pen was clearly Lo'jar's, but it was written in Darnassian—this much Ishkuza knew, though he couldn't read any of it. But he never mentioned it to his cousin. Lo'jar was a good enough boy with significant talent in shamanism; he would let him keep his secret.

Lo'jar told his cousin what he could, without revealing much of anything; he kept the plots of Orgimmar to himself, and of course couldn't reveal that she wasn't a troll woman. Ishkuza remained thoughtful until Lo'jar had finished, and then he patted his junior on the shoulder.

"I don't know what you're hiding, but this girl you speak of doesn't sound like any trolless I've ever come upon; she sounds quite unique, and that itself is worth holding on to. Have you considered contacting her?"

"I don't... I don't think I could, or should, where she is right now." The cousins looked at one another, and then Ishkuza laughed.

"I wish you could tell me the truth about it, but something tells me you can't. From what you've been able to say, this situation sounds too complicated for anyone but yourself to figure out. Just do what you think you should do. Your instincts are very strong, cousin, and I think they'll lead you right."

Lo'jar then took this advice very seriously, and only stopped briefly in Mulgore to see his surrogate uncle, aunt, and two cousins; Koya was naturally suspicious, after the incident she had witnessed in Hillsbrad; she had never been very tauren-like, a mistrustful character with a hot temper. But Koya's father, a good friend of Lo'jar's own departed father, knew the half-troll's background and besides Koya, who had found out by eavesdropping, no one else knew. Koya did not ask about what had happened to Lo'jar, and he didn't offer an explanation. Instead, she insisted that she go on with him, at least until Undercity.

So it was with this that Lo'jar found himself standing on the road outside of the border to Elwynn, lurking behind some trees and watching the one bored-looking guard that stood beside the road. It had been a month, or maybe two, and he figured that by now his girl had probably made her way to the human capital. Somehow he would make his way in and find her, wherever she might be—he had the advantage of speaking Common and Darnassian, and though it would be difficult to disguise himself, he could do it. Koya found a black rag and wrapped it around his head, polishing the silver marks around his eyes and emphasizing his usually-hidden eyebrows. She also bought sleek armor that would make him look smaller than he was, and when she was done, he looked quite impressively like an elven rogue.

"You're quite lucky," Koya told him as they prepared to separate. "Though you may never quite fit in either here or there, you can always pass through."

"I suppose," Lo'jar replied, and when he walked away off into the forest of the humans, Koya had a little bit of a gut feeling that she wouldn't be seeing her strange cousin for a very long time.

--

He was looking for a needle in a haystack, with nothing but his hands to help him. Thus he thought at first it was lucky when she contacted him in his sleep; however, upon looking closer, he realized exactly what was going on, and then he found himself inside a dark room with a human man sitting on the bed on the far side.

The blankets on the bed were all thrown about, and the man stood up when he saw Lo'jar come out of the darkness. They were both silent and stared at one another, and then after a moment the half-troll asked, realizing his complete vulnerability, "Where is she?" He was wearing only his pants, for he had been pleasantly asleep in his rented room in Stormwind.

The man, mouth still open with incredulity, lightly shook his head. "I.. I don't know. She was just here, and now she's gone."

Lo'jar growled. The scene in his mind had been intimately familiar: Morla reached out to him from the black void, body bound back with ropes, eyes wide and mouth open in a scream that he knew. He had only watched her and then she was sucked back in, licked up as if by a monster, and it seemed she had disappeared from here, too.

He went over to the bed and when he came closer, the human jumped back and carefully kept at least ten feet between them. Lo'jar put his hand down where he assumed his girl had been and the bed was still warm. "I don't know who you are, or why she was here with you, but I need to know: where is her box?"

Henry, who only had a vague mental grip on the situation, gaped at the clearly troll-like creature that somehow spoke his language fluently. "B-b-box?"

"Yes, the box! The wood one, with the stone inside it."

A few things had come together in Lo'jar's mind, and this was one of them. He wasn't about to let someone steal her away, not in the dark, and not without a fight from him. So he waited as the human, obviously afraid, bustled across the room to the dresser and began to look through the top three drawers. After a few moments he stopped moving and then looked back at Lo'jar, who was impatiently waiting.

"Is this what you're talking about?" Henry, ever obliging when his life was in danger, held up a small, stain-wood container with gold latches—the same box she had kept the necklace in, and the same box he was sure she had put the stone into. She hadn't told him, but Lo'jar had seen that Gothor had given it to her. What for, he didn't know, but there was something about it that he knew held a key to the mystery.

Lo'jar nodded and swiftly took the offending object, not bothering to look at Henry as he did so. However, when he reached to open it, the human cleared his throat and Lo'jar looked up at him.

"I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but first, how do you know my wife has this, and second, what are you doing with it? I don't have time for this, whoever you are. I need to find her."

The whole situation struck Lo'jar as funny, and so he laughed; he laughed, and then laughed some more, and then he stopped very suddenly and growled like an animal. Wife, was it? She had certainly gone on quickly. It was a part of her job, to be sure, but Lo'jar had hoped she had had more pride than that. "She's nothing of yours, and she never will be. She was using you, stupid human," he ground out and turned away, quickly opening the box. He wasn't going to deal with this man's petty affairs.

"Pardon me?" Henry replied incredulously. "I don't know what you're trying to say, but she's my wife, and that's it."

"Think that if you like." Lo'jar found there what he was looking for: beneath the necklace was a letter and the little black stone, patterned with bright lines that seemed to pulse when he held it. "Turn on a light, will you?"

Henry was about to object to being ordered around when the half-troll looked at him with deadly eyes and carefully rubbed one of his sharp, white tusks. Henry gulped and went across the room to light the oil lamp, which he carefully brought over and set down on the small table beside the bed. Satisfied, Lo'jar raised the stone up to look at it closer.

Inside there seemed to be something, a liquid perhaps, that bubbled and fumed; the stone itself seemed to be more like a window, and the steam from inside fogged up the visual. He rubbed his hand over the surface and where his fingers touched, the gold-hinted veins widened and throbbed. "Morla, where are you?" asked the half-troll out loud. He rubbed the stone again and felt that it was warmer, but there was no significant response he could note.

He sat down on the bed and with a bit of a smirk noticed that the human was still very guardedly watching him, stationed on the far side of the room still by the dresser. Lo'jar then took the letter, which was very carefully addressed in Orcish to some address the half-troll couldn't understand, and ripped it open. The paper inside was long and it took him a moment to unfold.

"I send two gifts to you, and I will be quick about their description. The first is this simple human. Though it may please you to kill her, or do whatever you like to her, I ask you not to only because I believe—and so does Cairne Bloodhoof—that she is one of the greatest assets we can have. Her power is incredible and considered by some to be limitless, should she receive the right training. She is mute and mostly harmless to us: her brief history is outlined in a letter sent to me by Cairne, which in turn was given to him by one of the shamans in the village where she was found.

"The second item I give to you is this stone, which holds in it the power to utterly control her, should she either get out of hand; should you want to coerce her to do anything you please; or should you want to destroy her. She has done fine work already in infiltrating Alliance outposts, and is skilled in alchemy and her native power of the fel. I ask nothing of you, and only provide this tool to your cause. She has a manner of disguising herself amongst us that is convincing, should you need it of her.

"I leave you with that. To use the stone, my head shaman advisor has provided a text."

There was no signature, but Lo'jar knew the letter was from Thrall. He quickly passed over this note and went on to the smaller one included, which had drawings of the stone he held in his hand.

"These instructions not yet tested, but are as described:

"Press on this part and command; press on this part and then look inside, for a map; press on this part and then the creature is vulnerable."

Lo'jar looked to the second piece and turned over the stone until he found a dip in its surface, which he had attributed just to the stone, but now found his thumb fit there. Henry watched the whole thing with a frightened fascination, unsure of what to do with a creature that should appear to him hostile, but did not act as such. He as even more amazed when the odd looking troll took the stone away from his hands and looked into it.

"Remember this when I say it," Lo'jar told the human.

"What?"

"Remember what I say!" Henry quickly went to the desk and took some paper and a pen, not wanting to incur the troll's wrath, and waited.

After a moment Lo'jar began. "South of here, and then east, there is some grass... and a river. Across the river there is a path that goes through trees, and then a village; at the top of a hill is a mansion." He froze. Henry gave him an odd look, waiting for him to go on; but when he met the half-troll's gaze he was equally surprised.

"What is it?"

"I know." For a moment they both looked confused, and then Lo'jar seemed very suddenly to calm. His shoulders relaxed and his whole pose softened. They were both silent and for the first time, the half-troll felt uncomfortable around a human—he wouldn't kill it, but he couldn't just let him be. He knew it shouldn't have been difficult, but Morla wasn't just a human. This man was plain and unthreatening, though, and despite the surge of jealousy Lo'jar felt when his woman was claimed as this man's wife, he wouldn't just kill him.

"Who are you?" Henry said, and they locked eyes.

"Lo'jar."

"I'm Henry." Then Lo'jar began to put the things back into the box, which he tucked away in his bag. "I want to find her, too."

"This doesn't involve you," the half-troll responded immediately.

"But it does!" The certainty in his voice made Lo'jar flinch and look up at him once more. The human, Henry, was standing with his legs squared; his fists were clenched; his mouth was a thin line, for his lips and teeth were pressed closely together. "She's my wife, and I'm going to find out what happened to her. Obviously you know something."

"This is true," Lo'jar began, "but if anyone's going to find her, it's me." He stared at Henry, who couldn't hold the piercing, glowing gaze for more than a few seconds. "Anyway, I don't care about your silly human laws. She's mine."

With that, he turned around and went out the door and into the hall. He looked around in the dark and found stairs, which he took to the entryway; as he stepped outside, he heard the sound of things slamming and moving about, and then there were heavy steps. Henry came out after him carrying a bag and breathing heavily. "I'll follow you. Wherever you're going." Lo'jar let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, then turned away; he looked sideways at Henry.

"You don't know what you're getting into."

"Clearly not."

Lo'jar had two choices: he could debilitate him, or let him come and face his own doom; the second option was far more appealing. So they began to walk through Elwynn, under the cover of darkness. The moon was out but it wasn't even half-full, and Lo'jar imagined it cast a crescent shaped glimmer on the world, if looked at from high up. Henry seemed less inclined to ponder, though, and after they had gone for nearly a half-hour in silence, he spoke up, much to Lo'jar's chagrin.

"What are you, exactly? You speak Common, and you don't look much like a troll."

"How many trolls have you seen?"

Henry cleared his throat. "A few—they go by the village, but most don't try to come in anymore."

There were a few empty moments before Lo'jar replied, and he didn't once look over at the man he was addressing. "I'm only part troll."

"Then how do you know Morla?"

"What did she tell you?"

Balking at this, Henry didn't say anything; Lo'jar thought he had given up his questions, but then he said, "She told us she used to be a traveler, but her home and family were destroyed, so she left. She found work on our farm." He paused. "This wasn't anything like the truth, was it?"

Lo'jar couldn't help but laugh—the second time he had done so that evening, for it was all too deliciously ridiculous. With a malicious tone he told the human, "Of course not. Not to blow her cover or anything, but Morla is probably one of the greatest warlocks of our time." He snickered. "She also is not one of you. She belongs to me, and a big tauren who you probably wouldn't want to mess with." He heard Henry's steps falter, but he didn't stop; this was rather admirable.

"But, forget that for now. I really shouldn't be telling you anything. In fact, it would be best you forgot this conversation, and the rest of this night, as I plan to take my girl away with me once I've found her and rescued her from the grasp of evil." The half-troll winked, but Henry didn't find his comment funny at all.

"I don't know what you mean by that," he replied with a kind of quiet indignity, "but I think you are mistaken. She is my wife, and I have won her quite fairly; and besides, I don't think there is much that any woman would see in a creature like you, anyway."

This was quite the wrong thing to say, but Henry didn't appear to care. In one quick step Lo'jar turned on his heel and backhanded the offender in the face, knocking him sideways and then down when he lost his balance. Lo'jar breathed deeply twice.

"I love her more than any insignificant bug like you ever could." He turned back and kept walking down the path, like nothing had occurred. Henry quickly got to his feet and followed, deciding not to say anything further as he held his cheek; it throbbed painfully.

It was nearing dawn when they reached a short path that led off the main road, and they took it. Lo'jar reached the river at daybreak, and took off all his clothes save some short, thin breeches he wore underneath it all. Holding his garments over his head he nonchalantly crossed the river, and waited a few moments to dry before redressing. Henry, finding this sensible but not wanting to copy, waded through the water and came out on the other side with most of his lower half reasonably soaked through. He shivered because the morning was cold, but the slight breeze quickly dried him despite the wind chill it caused.

The walk from the shore to the village was short, but the atmosphere changed quickly from the bright greenery of Elwynn to the dreary, dying pines of Duskwood; even the air seemed to lessen in quality. Cloud cover seemed to appear out of nowhere and what should have been a bright, end-of-summer morning was dreary and dirty.

They stood at the end of the path, having stopped, and looked into the small hamlet that was just waking up. There did appear to be some activity, however, above the little village on the hill that sat above it. A man sat on horseback, with another horse beside him, apparently laden with packs; they were by the long, pillared entrance of the great house, and two women standing there were talking furiously.

Lo'jar then, crouching and jogging up beside one of the houses, stood behind it for a few moments; once he determined no one had any idea he was there, he continued on, jumping from house to house until he was far enough up the hill that he could see and hear what was going on at the top of it.

"Her uncle is going to want her back," one of the women was saying. "He's not going to just let you take her off like that, and destroy her."

The man atop the horse was older and had wild, grey hair. He laughed loudly, with a very definite malicious tune, and leaned down to look at the two insolent women: one older, and one only a girl. "I'll do whatever I please, whether or not the Borders have anything to do with it. They know this as well as I," he said, and then Lo'jar saw that it wasn't packs over the other horse, but Morla, hung over it on her belly with her arms and legs dangling on either side.

He heard a shuffling noise behind him and immediately turned, his staff in one hand; Henry was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly expecting to have a blow struck to his person. They were silent and kept the gaze for some seconds, and then Henry looked past the half-troll and saw the same scene. His mouth went open as if he were going to speak, so Lo'jar quickly grabbed him by the head and muffled him with one hand. Henry struggled for a moment but his adversary was much stronger, and once he had accepted this, he stopped moving and they both returned their eyes to what was going on ahead.

The two women stepped back from the horses and exchanged looks. Appearing satisfied, the man did an about-face and began to lead the two horses off. Lo'jar noticed he had a longish robe and attached to it was a cape, with a strange pattern emblazoned on the back; then, he noticed it and recognized it as the same odd black mark that had once been burned into Morla's wrist. Henry seemed to have caught this, too, and so they waited with an added measure of anxiety as the man went away from the mansion and toward the woods, which angled off into the depths of Duskwood.

Lo'jar was overcome by the desire to follow and he thought it would do little harm, so he dashed off from the house where they hid after the two horses; one of the girls standing just up the hill saw him and cried out. Henry quickly followed after the half-troll and as the other woman saw them, the two disappeared into the trees after the thundering horses.

Henry had to lengthen his stride to keep up with Lo'jar, who went on ahead of him far easier. However, this going was much more difficult when the half-troll raised his arms above his head and seemed to cast a spell: he shrunk, quite suddenly, and his whole body became slightly transparent; his form stretched and shrunk in the space of a fraction of a second, until he had become a ghostly, furry grey wolf. He then went on much faster and Henry was quickly lost, though he easily could follow the horses' hoofprints in the soft ground.

With his traveling form Lo'jar caught up to the horses and carefully kept alongside them, hidden by trees. After some time they slowed down to a walk. When Morla began to stir, however, in her position that seemed horribly uncomfortable, the man stopped the pair of horses and waited as she struggled to sit up, clearly drugged.

The girl accommodated the horse after a while and managed to sit up properly, though there was no saddle, and stared across silently at her white-haired captor. He smiled widely and Lo'jar could see with his clear wolf's vision that his teeth were yellowed and rough, and his lips thin and dry.

"Feeling well?" Morla gave no indication of a response, and the man laughed. "I know you recognize me. It was sweet how you were dressed in that page's uniform." He sneered. "I wondered for a while who you were working for, but I find I don't really care. What a coincidence that you ended up back to me again. I should really have just taken you when you came that time, but I wanted to see where you were going with your odd little life."

Morla shifted uncomfortably on the horse and looked around a little, but had no real idea where she could be and so she concentrated once more on the old man. Lo'jar silently snuck around them to view the confrontation from the side, and saw that while her expression was apprehensive, she looked on her captor with familiarity. However, this familiarity seemed to bring a fear to her, and her shoulders were drawn up and her back was board-straight when the man started to speak again.

"You remember me, don't you, pretty child? You sure have grown up. Where have you been hiding all this time?" She said nothing, of course, and he laughed again. It was a scratchy sound, like his lungs were black inside. "Of course you can't reply. I could fix that, but you don't have all your things with you. Maybe you lost them somewhere along the way—that would be best, because then I can just kill you."

Morla visibly flinched, but the movement was minute and the man seemed to miss it. He leaned down and took a pouch from her horse's saddle bag, which he opened and removed a small knife from; Lo'jar felt his heart clench in his chest and he went to move towards them when the man reached forward and took Morla by the hair; he moved quickly at first, but he slowed down nearly to a stop.

Morla had begun to glow red and she quickly removed herself from his grasp, and climbed off the horse. It was all done with ease and she took a few steps back from the whole situation. She looked to the side and Lo'jar realized that she had been aware of his presence the whole time, and so he transformed back into himself and they stared at one another in complete silence. Her eyes were emotionless and the half-troll found her completely unreadable.

The girl turned away and then was joined by her imp, who had appeared from thin air. Time, then, resumed, and the man nearly fell back from the shift in balance Morla's movement had caused. He saw her standing some feet away from where she had been only a millisecond before, and for a moment was surprised; he recovered quickly, though, and smiled. "Oh, good, you haven't put the things I gave you to waste." Morla shrugged her shoulders.

The man also dismounted and with a kind of calmness that seemed odd to Lo'jar—who was completely ignored by both of them—and led his horse to a tree, where he tied it. He went back to where he was standing before and looked over at the half-troll.

"You must be one of the ones who has been keeping her from me." He squinted his eyes. "Oh yes, I recognize you." He shifted his attention back to Morla and then held out his hands. "Do you know why you are here, right now, Bernadette Border?"

Morla shook her head. She still remained expressionless, and Alrash beside her took on the same pose as his wild little eyes boiled with fire.

"I have created you. You have something that is mine which I wish to take back. Your parents took you from me and then you disappeared into the world, only to reappear these many years later with a whole complex history behind you. But what you have used to get where you are, is not yours—it is a gift of mine that I need now in this time of trial."

Lo'jar walked up to stand beside Morla, who saw him from the corner of her eye but didn't turn to look, and rolled his shoulders. The girl made some signs with her hands that the man clearly couldn't understand, and then Lo'jar spoke.

"She has nothing of yours," he growled, clenching and unclenching his fist.

"How little both of you know." The white-haired man yawned. "My birth name is Timothy Bellem, but now I am Agram, by proper name." He stepped forward and Alrash met him in stride, flaming brighter and crackling with his energy. Agram smiled and then in his hand there was a shadowbolt, which instantly cast and caused the little imp to implode. Morla jumped back to avoid the searing ashes and sparks, though a few landed on her skin and burned her. "I know your memories are coming back to you. You will know that I have two options regarding you: I can go the more painful way and use my lovely tool which you took from me to extract what is mine from your weak little body, or I can go the easier way and merely destroy you."

Morla looked to Lo'jar and signed, which he interpreted: "She doesn't have it. She lost it long ago." He gave her a confused look but she didn't acknowledge him.

Agram laughed; then he raised one hand and there was a sharp cry. The human and half-troll looked over to see that Henry was frozen, eyes wide and mouth open. Then Morla gave in and ran over to where he was, holding her hand up to his cheek. She brushed his hair and when he gave no response, stuck in place, she turned back and her face was all drawn up and contorted with rage; her whole body seemed to take on a reddish glow and even from two yards away, Lo'jar could feel the heat coming from her.

The spark that had been born in her with the roaming hands of the horse trainer exploded then, and rose up without hesitation into a blazing flame, consuming her insides with fear, apprehension, and anger. They were emotions that Morla did not know she ought to avoid, and so she allowed them to consume her.

Agram looked pleased with her reaction and the half-troll saw that he was almost goading her, daring her to attack him; she rose up to the challenge and before Lo'jar could say anything to the contrary, to stop her from obliterating herself, an infernal howl came somehow from her body. The ground cracked around her and Lo'jar felt more helpless than ever, unable to stop her but unable to help.

There was a rippling in the ground and with it came the sound of demons. They came up from the cracks in the earth like smoke escaping and in the air they coagulated, forming great red bodies. Lo'jar saw the man's mouth slightly purse with apprehension, but he hid it well. The monsters hovered nearly fifteen feet, hissing and flaming but making no other noise; Morla was fixedly still, watching her enemy.

"You still have one last chance," Agram said, and when he nodded his head one of the demons began to writhe and wriggle, his body seeming to come apart the same way that it had come together. "Produce the item. I know you still have it."

Morla grinned a feral grin and the demon righted itself, surprising even Agram. She shook her head and the two creatures edged forward; however, their advance was halted by two flames. They were yellowish-orange, glittering at the bottom with a purplish-black. They hurled each from his hands, though he did not move them, and attacked each of Morla's monstrous minions. The creatures howled and wrestled each with their attacker, but it quickly appeared that they were no real match.

"It's quite amazing," Agram said, his voice somehow drifting up and over the great infernal noise of the hell-creatures' battle. "You've taken my small token and grown it; and while this is impressive, you are no match for me."

Lo'jar couldn't help but wonder what the man was speaking of—what "small thing" he might be wanting. After a few moments, where neither opponent said a word, and the red beings began to fade out from the overwhelming power of their attackers, Lo'jar realized it.

He reached into his bag and took out the box; Morla saw this and looked at him then—for the first time since he had come out into the open, it seemed—with wide eyes. Her mouth opened and she signed, "Don't do it, don't open it." This halted the half-troll.

"What is it for?" he signed back to her.

She only shook her head; Agram, annoyed at being ignored in such a way, only had to flick his hand. The grass around them flamed up and created two small circles, one greater around Morla, and another smaller keeping Lo'jar imprisoned.

"Just what do you want?" the half-troll cried. "What do you want from her? What have you given her? This girl hasn't done anything wrong!"

Agram howled with laughter; finished with their task, the two balls of fire drifted back to him and hovered, dancing in circles and waiting for a command. "Oh, she hasn't, you are right about that. But she owes me something, you see—this girl's father had a great debt to me, and to pay it, he offered me this small child of his. I imbued her with a gift, one that she nor her family could quite appreciate." He walked towards Morla, who was nearly invisible behind the great flames that surrounded her.

"I was going to breed a tool, you see: one that would aid me in my great plan to rid the world of those disgusting creatures we call orcs. But the child was too wild and took the gift I gave her too closely into herself. The village grew afraid of her, you see, and then her insolent parents—fearing retribution by their own traitorous family—took her and went off into the wilds, where I assume they met their end." He grinned and Lo'jar saw those horrible, yellow teeth again; greenish black was growing between each of his incisors. "Now I wish to take back what is mine, so I might accomplish my goals."

A look of realization seemed to cross Morla's face, and when she looked at Lo'jar, she appeared to be quite afraid. "What is it?" he signed.

"I'm afraid," she replied, hands shaking, "I may never see you again." She looked quickly over at where Henry was, frozen in place, and the terrified expression grew deeper.

Lo'jar was at a loss, and she offered no more; instead, she turned to the man and her imp reappeared, all in pieces; the bits repaired themselves and the creature leaped forward, free of the flames, and hastily began to speak. It was clear that Morla was controlling the small creature, and its tiny, grating voice held her own words.

"I remember you now, and your foulness; I am familiar with your work—we have been following you for a time, and now that I have seen your identity, I know there is very little I can do. I have had faith in myself for years, but as both you and I know, the child cannot grow stronger than the parent; I contain only a small portion of what you have, and so I do not attempt further to fight you." Agram had a self-satisfied, sneering smirk on his wrinkly grey face.

Then, something strange happened: her eyes that had been hollow and afraid grew fiery once more. She raised her hands up and the imp, dancing wildly, cried, "I know of the plague you plan to unleash, and I will not allow it; there are many who will stop you, and though you might be rid of me, you will never pass these obstacles which stand in your way; we know what you know; try as you like, no one person can take on the whole Horde." The imp laughed, and laughed, and Agram's own smirk seemed to fade from his face.

"Do you know where I've been? I've been a traitor. I know the secrets of the Horde, and at this moment, I have sent a servant to the cities of Orgrimmar, of Undercity, and Thunder Bluff; they are on the alert. My family isn't here—those two horrible people were not parents, and they deserved to be ripped limb from limb by that lion, doing my vengeance. There is nothing you can do to me that hasn't already been done by the humans."

Then, Lo'jar held the stone in his hand, and it was hot like a coal. He and Morla exchanged a look, and then suddenly there was a roaring sound from below them. The stone grew hotter and when he tried to drop it, it lifted into the air and Agram saw it.

At that moment the earth broke apart, just a little, in the sense deeper than the surface; Morla walked through the fire and took Lo'jar in her arms, as if he were the child and she the parent. Then they were lifted away and disappeared. Agram remained, standing and watching the flames as they kept on.

Henry unfroze and looked at the demon man standing only some yards away. Where his wife and that strange troll-thing had been, there was no one; the untied horse had run off, and the tied one had passed out, probably from fear. Agram smiled at him and Henry wondered if he had somehow been dragged into a situation far beyond his realm of existence.

In that, he was right.