Westley couldn't stop himself from trembling. He held onto the door post of the stable and his legs felt like they were held up by him rather than holding him up.
What had he gotten himself into?
Angie and Vick knew something was wrong, and greatly wrong. They stomped and whinnied until Westley approached their stalls to lean on the wooden post separating them.
"Angie…" Westley whispered "I…I can't do this anymore. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I…" He tried to breathe in. "There are…there are some really bad creatures out there. Dead creatures. So I took you here, because here was the only safe place, you see. I didn't want them to harm you and Vick. I couldn't let anything happen to you. You know I couldn't. But now…now I don't know anymore…"
Angie leaned forward to push softly against his cheek, her warm breath all around him. Westley patted her head and leaned on her. It always made things feel a little better, a little less terrible.
"Angie…they have one of these dead creatures. Wroth has it in the cellar, in…that room. And the thing is, this dead creature…it's…it's not a creature…it's a girl. She's an elf. Wroth…he hurts her. He…burned her. She screamed. How can she be a monster? What did she do? What's the point?!"
Westley slammed his fist into the post so it shook. Vick snorted and huffed from beside them and Angie pushed against the gate keeping her from Westley.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have frightened you. Shhhh…" Westley reached out so he could put his hand on Vick too. "I have to keep you safe. I know that. I just…I don't think I'm cut out for this."
Westley sighed deeply.
No, he wasn't cut out for this. He hated and feared the undead that had set fire to his home and taken all his friends and family from him, taken everything except Angie and Vick. But mostly he feared them, and famine, and the plague. Everything that could take Angie and Vick away.
"So we're here." Westley croaked. "They keep you fed here, and let me take care of you. And the undead don't come here. At least they haven't yet." He shook his head. "Except her. She's here. And I saw her and she…" He shuddered. He had no words left. They had run out.
No, he wasn't cut out for this.
Did he even want to be?
Westley couldn't stay too long, he had to report for an evening shift of some hard or dirty work that he'd welcome with open arms so long as it kept him as far away from Wroth as possible.
The stables lay next to the wall, built into it in a practical way so that it's roof served to support the wall as an improvised tower or storage area. Unfortunately it also meant that Westley would be reporting for his work on the other side of the courtyard and crossing it meant going right next to the tiny iron barred holes letting in dim light into the cellars.
He walked quickly, wanting to be on the other side as soon as possible. It was getting dark and there was a light coming from…no. He couldn't look that way. He couldn't…
A high scream tore through every desperate thought of what Westley could or couldn't do. He froze on the spot, literally feeling the blood drain from his face and cold enough to shiver. Without thinking he took a step and then another towards the cellar windows, drawn despite wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between himself and that nightmarish place.
"Westley!"
Westley looked up. Rodoh, one of the servants like himself, hurried up to him.
"Good I caught ye, mate. Ye got a busy day tomorrow. Have ye fed the horses yet?"
"No, why?" Why was Rodoh here asking about that of all things?
"Well, don't. Just got word, they're goin' tomorrow. Gonna butcher 'em in the afternoon and they don't want their bellies full, you know. So, ah, guess ye're gonna be needed a lot then. Sorry, mate. Know ye like 'em."
Rodoh's words echoed. They turned to thunder in Westley's ears. His breaths echoed. His heartbeats echoed.
"Yeah, well, gotta go." Rodoh looked at him uncomfortably and backed away from Westley's blank stare.
"Who was it?" Westley almost coughed, he was so hoarse. "Who decided it?"
"Wroth. Uh, see ye…"
The world spun around him. Westley staggered, seeing only blackness, and grabbed at the cold stone surface of the wall. His vision slowly returned, hazy and dimmed, but his breaths still echoed in his mind.
Then another scream cut through the echo, so close. So very, very close. And the sound of something…hissing, and a putrid smell.
Westley fell to his knees, and threw up everything he had ever eaten.
Anya was. Positively. Bouncing.
It was early in the morning and almost foggy, damp and cold. And it was the prettiest and best of all possible mornings. Because Lady Proudmoore was still sleeping and hadn't had a trace of her nightmares or restless sleep like she had sometimes exhibited when Anya had watched her earlier, and she had looked so wonderfully peaceful that Anya had left a lantern lit throughout the night just to see her better.
And Sylvanas had kissed her.
She, and Anya, had done so at times before, ages ago when they were ranging partners and Sylvanas was not yet a captain and still allowed herself to joke and laugh and live to the fullest. But that had always been as a joke at rowdy nights or for sisterly comfort or good fortune before a dangerous task.
Not like this. This was the kind of kiss Anya had never dared to admit how much she had begun to long for. The kind she had dreamt about without ever telling anyone, not even Velonara. The kind that set her lips aflame and made her want to melt into Sylvanas' arms and drown in the very visibly blazing fires of her eyes.
They hadn't said anything afterwards. Not even when Lyana had left to take Kitthix for a walk and back to his lair and Kitala had dragged Clea along to accompany her, which she reluctantly did after pulling up Lady Proudmoore's blankets over her shoulder and whispering 'good night'. It suited Anya just fine. She wanted nothing more at the time than to rest in Sylvanas' arms and happily burn inside.
Sylvanas had changed. It was subtle, and Anya was sure Sylvanas herself was unaware of it and would adamantly deny it if asked. But it was there. It was there in the way she barked orders to find decent food and water for their living mage, it was there when she looked with pride upon the crew of the Banshee's Wail, and it was there in the scandalous humour that she exhibited to make Lady Proudmoore blush. She had even kissed Anya like that right in front of her own squadron!
There was no doubt in Anya's mind about who they owed their Dark Lady's improvement to. Lady Proudmoore had cracked that loathsome shell of guilt and duty that Anya and all the dark rangers combined hadn't managed to put more than a dent in. Anya might never come to terms with Sylvanas being the Banshee Queen, but perhaps the Dark Lady needn't be such a stifling office to hold after all. At least in Lady Proudmoore's presence Anya had decided that she rather liked Sylvanas being the Dark Lady.
In that sense it was actually grossly unfair that Lady Proudmoore of all people should have missed seeing Sylvanas kiss Anya, if that now had to be seen by anyone else. Anya would have liked to watch the look on her face. And…
And maybe someone ought to kiss Lady Proudmoore too. Because she bloody well deserved it.
And Anya would definitely like to watch the look on Lady Proudmoore's face if Sylvanas did that.
Anya tried to hide that thought away somewhere. It was a little bit too distracting. Sylvanas had left again during the night, reluctantly but also seemingly pleased. Anya was on her way to report to Areiel as per the daily routine. She would stop by the archery range to take a look at first. The wet weather was not kind to bowstrings but Areiel also had a twisted love for early morning exercises.
Anya did not find Areiel there but there was a lone figure shooting in the mist, one that Anya would know anywhere. But something was not right. Velonara was standing too stiffly and her movements were jerky and uneven.
Anya approached cautiously to stand at her side.
"Hey."
Velonara only huffed.
"What are you doing?"
"Cooling…" Velonara angrily loosed another arrow. "…down!" She reached for another one in her quiver but Anya gently stopped her with her hand on Velonara's. "Kalira sent me away until I 'cool down and find my focus again'." Velonara spat out. "We argued." she added darkly.
"About what? What's happened?"
"Oh, so now you fucking care?!"
Anya was taken aback. She and Velonara had been at each other's throats countless times but never with this kind of…contempt? She took a step back.
"Vel, what…"
"Because everyone isn't so damned lucky we get to sit in the keep playing with dolls while the rest of us are doing our damned fucking jobs! Some of us had to report back in yesterday and deal with all this miserable fucking shit!"
"Deal with what?! Just say it, Vel!"
"Cyndia's gone. The Scarlets took her."
"Took her?"
"The squad lost her in the smoke when retreating. But she wouldn't have been killed easily. Nara and Lenara think the Scarlets overpowered her and dragged her away but Kalira forbade anyone else from going back to look for her. She said Cyndia was dead or would be better off dead." Velonaras voice had lost all spirit, it was hollow and monotone.
Anya felt as if something had fallen on top of her. The Lordaeron keep perhaps.
"Noo… Vel, I'm so sorry..."
Anya instinctively stepped closer.
"Like you care!" Velonara turned on the spot and her fist sent Anya flying to the ground. "At least Cyndia never threw me away like an old pair of boots!" she cried out.
Anya stared at her, more out of shock than pain, although Velonara hit hard when she meant to.
"It wasn't like that! You know that! I was sabotaging you just as much as the other way around!" Anya rose slowly, careful not to spook her friend. "You know I love Cyndia – she's a great ranging partner to you, how could I not?"
"She's the best." Velonara suddenly screamed and kicked viciously at the ground. Then all her anger seemed to have run it's course and she slumped, with her head hanging. "W…was the best."
Anya took the final step forward to catch Velonara in her arms, who had no tears to shed but was shaking quietly. She held her up with an arm around her back and another keeping Velonara's head tight to her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I hit you…" Velonara whispered hoarsely.
Anya hugged her harder in response.
"I don't blame Proudmoore, she's not like them, not at all…"
"No, she isn't." Anya whispered back.
"Why can't the others be like her? We fucking kidnapped her and she's still friends with us…"
"Lady Proudmoore is one of a kind, I think." Anya stroked tenderly across Velonara's hair. "I could tell Areiel to let you come and visit. You can keep watch over her with me while she wakes up."
Velonara nodded hesitantly into her shoulder.
"Good. Come on. Come with me, Vel. Don't be alone today."
Sylvanas did not sleep and did not dream, but her night felt not a little like it anyway. A few hours of refuge from the bleak realities of being the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken. A few hours of warmth and…peace? By Belore, how could she ever have been in a hurry to get back to Lordaeron?
She picked up another report from the pile as she heard the change of guards outside her quarters. Ten o'clock in the morning, already.
They had captives.
Two of them, a dwarf and a human, held at some ruined farm outside Brill. The immediate question was whether to move them inside the Undercity and expose them to the foul air there or let them be and risk them harmed by potential Scourge incursions. Inscourgeons, Areiel would probably say. The more final question was what to do with them.
Sylvanas would have given a hundred captives for not losing Cyndia.
Who could have expected the Scarlets to suddenly rally and somehow manage to intercept her retreating central column of rangers and banshees in the middle of fire and smoke?
She could, because she was supposed to know better than to underestimate the fanaticism of the Scarlet Crusade. Their disregard for their own lives made them reckless and at times sloppy, but at times also unpredictable.
She heard the sound of rushed footsteps outside. A messenger? There was some hushed conversation with her deathguards before her door was slammed open without even a knock by a frantic-looking Kitala.
"Dark Lady, Lady Proudmoore is trying to escape!" she nearly yelled.
"What?! How?!"
A dozen terrible images of broken walls and dead rangers flashed before Sylvanas. How could this have happened? And by Belore, why? Why now? Kitala evidently caught on to her trail of thoughts for she shook her head quickly.
"We have Lady Proudmoore contained inside her room, we haven't harmed her and she hasn't attacked anyone. But she's been shouting at us for nearly two hours straight and tried to barrel her way through matter what we do or say. Anya's seriously considering just locking the door and waiting outside."
"But?"
"These dungeons were designed by the human mages, right? And Lady Proudmoore is one of their best, and we know she is freakishly powerful. Anya told me to ask you just how sure we are about those wards if someone like her would really set her mind to picking them apart, Dark Lady."
Sylvanas cursed.
"Walk with me, Kitala. And keep talking! How did this start?"
"Vel came to visit and we…learned about Cyndia."
Kitala's voice was heavy and Sylvanas could not find it in herself to blame whoever had dragged Velonara over and started this. Anya, most likely. She was Velonara's best friend after all. Sylvanas had a distinct feeling she could guess how this story would continue.
"Then Nara and Lenara came by looking for her and found her telling Lady Proudmoore everything and filled her in with their opinions that Cyndia could have been captured instead of killed but nobody knew for certain. Lady Proudmoore and Anya had sort of grabbed hold of Vel but when she heard that she flew up and demanded to see you and that we should use her as a negotiator to determine if Cyndia actually was captured and get her released. And the 'Naras sort of agreed. That's mainly how things have been since then. None of us want to hurt her but we don't know how to talk her out of this either. Lady Proudmoore can be quite stubborn as you know and I think she cares a lot for Vel even if she's such a tease."
That sounded just like her mage, Sylvanas had to agree as they both climbed hurriedly to the surface.
"New orders - find Kalira at once and send her to Lady Proudmoore's quarters!" she commanded as she marched as quickly as she could down towards the dungeons. Control was everything in this situation and she would not appear hurried or unbalanced. Besides, it was always useful with a few moments to take stock of the situation before you.
It was more or less as Kitala had described it. Anya and Lyana barred the doorway with their bodies while Clea restrained her mage from behind, all while they were engaging in what seemed like little more than a shouting match with one another. The three 'Naras, as they were usually called, stood beside mostly silent. Sylvanas felt a pang of guilt as she took in their forlorn appearances. She should have visited them during the night. Queen or not she was their Dark Lady and they were her rangers. But where the hell had Kalira been?
"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore!" Sylvanas raised her voice slightly as she strode inside the room. "May I ask the reason for this commotion?"
"Lady Windrunner, how extremely fortunate! I am merely entertaining some guests." Proudmoore's tone was as sharp as her own and made it clear that she knew fully well that Sylvanas knew the answer to her own question.
"I see. Am I to understand from this rather loud entertainment that you are now turning your linguistic studies from Thalassian to Banshee Wails?"
Under normal circumstances, that and a stern glare should have shut Proudmoore up. But now it only solicited a slight reddening of her cheeks, which may just as well have been irritation rather than embarrassment. Sylvanas realised that she was seeing her standing tall in just the same manner as when she had gripped her mage staff to channel her magical current at sea. Before her stood Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramoore, with her mind set upon someone other than herself.
"We have no time for that. One of your rangers is missing and we need to get her back if at all possible. I can help with that. The Scarlet Crusade may attack you all on sight but I can serve as your ambassador to negotiate with them to exchange prisoners."
Such as a certain dwarf and human mentioned in her reports, no doubt. Sylvanas glared harshly around the room.
"Since when are we in the habit of divulging military matters to foreign heads of state?" To their credit, her rangers had shame enough to at least shift uncomfortably.
"Seriously? And just how am I supposed to cause you harm with that information under watch inside a magically warded dungeon?" Proudmoore asked impatiently.
She had a point, after all. Sylvanas decided to drop the matter.
"Lady Proudmoore, I appreciate your willingness to help but ranger Cyndia Hawkspear was reported lost weeks ago and is presumed to be dead. What makes you think there would be something for us to negotiate over, even if we could?"
That did in fact give her mage pause.
"But…they tell me she got separated in the smoke from the fires. So if she was fighting she would have had a good opportunity to escape out of sight. But if she was surprised she could have been quickly knocked down and overpowered, and in that case the enemy would want to keep a valuable prisoner for questioning or ransom, right?"
It was not without logic, if also a far too simplistic reasoning. But her mage did not know the relentless hatred of the Scarlet Crusade. She hadn't seen the fanaticism in their eyes, their recklessness with their own lives in the name of eradicating undead. Just as Sylvanas prepared to answer a new voice interrupted her from the door.
"Dark Lady. I believe I should say something now." Kalira had apparently followed her example in familiarizing herself with the scene before announcing her presence.
Sylvanas waved her inside.
"I heard the latest bits" Kalira began without further ado. "and now that we are all standing here like wishfully thinking fools I understand that I need to make a public confession. During the retreat shortly after that Cyndia had not reported in, our path crossed the foot of a steep ridge that goes about parallel with the road east to Hearthglen. The road and a lot of ground around it is visible from the top. I abandoned my column to scale that ridge and look for Cyndia. I caught sight of Scarlet forces withdrawing east but saw no trace of her amongst them and no wagons or anything else that would have hidden her. I stayed put for nearly an hour until there was nothing in sight and returned to catch up with my column, which I did before we reached the Undercity."
Kalira turned to Velonara.
"I was in command and acted wrongly. I will accept the consequences of that. But I would not have abandoned Cyndia without a fight. If I had seen her I would have descended that slope to free her. Please believe that."
Velonara looked down into the floor but Sylvanas could see her make a small nod.
Sylvanas clenched her jaw and made a mental effort not to say anything too rash. It was damned hard. How were you supposed to lead when people didn't tell you things?
"We will talk about this later, Kalira. It does however change little. For all we know Cyndia could still have been incapacitated or perished somewhere out of sight."
"The smoke would have cleared now. If we find the place where Cyndia got separated we can search the ground…" Anya suggested.
A trail over a month cold. Sylvanas sighed inwardly.
But she could see that the idea had ensnared them. Everyone was talking at the same time.
Hope was a dangerous thing. Sometimes it could hurt you deeper than anything else.
Sylvanas looked at her mage. Proudmoore was standing next to Velonara, whispering something to her that made Velonara nod a little.
Hope was a precious thing. Sometimes it could keep you standing when no other thing would.
She looked at Kalira. Had it been Sylvanas in her place she might very well not have waited to seek a good vantage point but dived headlong back into the smoke.
It would be a fool's errand. But all military commanders of note soon learned that sometimes you were forced to make foolish decisions. And perhaps what her people needed right now was a reckless, foolhardy dash into enemy territory. Because her people were not mindless animated corpses. They were Forsaken, with thoughts and feelings of their own, and it was growing all too clear that morale was at an all-time low.
Sometimes…hope was worth a risk.
"Rangers! Attention!" Sylvanas barked. "This bickering is pointless. Kalira, you will prepare for a far ranging mission with your own squadron and one in support to determine the fate of Cyndia and anyone else not accounted for. Your secondary objective is to reconnoitre current Scarlet positions and activity in the area."
"Not good enough!"
All eyes turned on Proudmoore.
Sylvanas was fuming. Sometimes… The nerve of that girl.
But her mage met her with eyes that were the storm itself.
"EVERYBODY OUT!" Proudmoore shouted. "Lady Windrunner and I have something to discuss promptly."
Yes, how sure was Sylvanas now about those wards?
Sylvanas nodded towards the door and her rangers left the room, bewildered and in the case of her own squadron somewhat uneasily.
"So, Lady Proudmoore, we have something to discuss?" Sylvanas asked icily.
"Yes, Lady Windrunner, we certainly do. We have put this conversation off far too long." Proudmoore straightened herself to her full length and took a deep breath. "As ruler of Theramoore it is my pleasure to invite you, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of Lordaeron, to the first round of official diplomatic negotiations between our two realms."
Belore, how her mage shone. Her voice rang, clear as a bell, and she sounded…proud.
"As our first step towards the establishment of permanent diplomatic relations between our realms and subsequent military alliance against the Scourge, I suggest joint negotiations with the Scarlet Crusade with the immediate aim of obtaining the release of any Forsaken individual held captive, and the long term aim of effecting a cessation of all hostilities against Lordaeron and a treaty of mutual non-aggression."
Sylvanas' body could no longer shake, nor could her heart beat faster since it did not beat at all. But her eyes could widen slightly in disbelief and she could, apparently, still be rendered speechless.
This can not be. This is a cruel joke.
But just like several times when they had shared the cabin onboard the Banshee's Wail, Proudmoore seemed to look right into her soul, for she took a step closer, right in front of Sylvanas.
"This is for real. You are not alone in the world." her mage whispered. "Now, would Her Majesty like to take her seat on the cold, hard stone floor or the rumpled, uneven bedrolls?"
"Wherever My Lady prefers it."
Hours later, seated at the head of her Council of War, Sylvanas concluded that while perhaps overly trusting and naive Proudmoore knew her business as a negotiator. Her reasoning was sound and rational and Sylvanas had found herself agreeing on most details without much deliberation.
She had laid out the main details to her councillors and now leaned back in her chair and let them absorb it and raise questions. She considered her war council in the meantime. It was time for some alterations, she realised it more with each report she caught up with and each briefing she received.
She should change the leadership structure too as soon as possible. Her Council of War was too big and included too many rangers. While that gave Sylvanas many advisors she new she could trust it also aggravated a lot of her Forsaken. She should cut down on the number of members and limit it to strictly military matters, freeing up some ranger lieutenants and lessening the impression of favouritism. Areiel, Anya and Kalira would be enough.
Civic issues would be better handled by a city council and she could hardly wait to put Varimathras there and at an arms length from her army. When they needed his expertise – which they unfortunately did a lot – she could call upon him for that and nothing else. Most importantly, it would open up a place for the civilian Forsaken to take part in the governing and present their issues and grievances that now took up too much of her own time. Sylvanas would be free to focus on…what, exactly?
That would need some thinking. But the Undercity could not be allowed collapse into rioting the moment she went outside the door.
Perhaps offensive operations against the Scourge was the next step, to reclaim territory and open up for the eager masses of prospective new champions Areiel had briefed her on to begin gathering resources in earnest. Or undertake quests as the proper term was of course, as Sylvanas had after all suggested herself on the way to Kalimdor.
But first the Scarlets needed to be handled after all. It brought Sylvanas' thoughts back to the matter at hand.
Proudmoore had immediately suggested releasing the dwarf as a show of good faith. While giving away one of two assets as an opening move was not the most economical idea, her mage had raised some very valid points. It was unlikely that the Scarlets would believe anything less than a testimony from one of their own, or their allies in this case, about living prisoners in the clutches of the Forsaken and until they did their prisoners were worthless. Secondly, with the dwarves' sense of kinship and what they considered honourable it was also probable that their bearded prisoner would consider any lack of effort to save one of their own as foul play, which would sully the crusaders' reputation with Khaz Modan which Sylvanas guessed must be a major source of supplies and materials for them.
Her mage had not met the prisoners personally but Sylvanas counted on them having plenty of time to talk during the march east, which would give Proudmoore time to get a feeling for the Scarlet sentiments and perhaps work her charm on them. A definite strong point about their plan was that it did not rely on any particular secrecy, on the contrary it would probably be beneficial to inform both human and dwarf of their intentions.
But there were no guarantees. And even faced with the humiliating question of how an undead in their grasp could outvalue a Scarlet brother in captivity there was no telling how their leadership would react.
Sylvanas reached a decision.
She would give the Scarlets a chance, but she was not inclined to take one.
"Baron Frostfel."
The middle-aged, if such a term was truly applicable for an undead human, commander of the dreadguards turned to her at once. He was an imposing figure clad in dark grey full plate, and with a prodigious moustache and flowing hair the epitome of strong-jawed blustering Lordaeronian nobility. But for all his pompousness – which he had enough of for a company – the baron had proven himself both loyal and a very knowledgeable commander of heavy infantry, and Sylvanas and Areiel owed a lot of their revisions of tactics in order to better accommodate human Forsaken infantry to him.
"My Queen?"
"Ready the dreadguard and deathguard for march in two days."
"How many would you require, My Queen?"
"All."
"Zat shall be my pleasure!" he assured her and stretched his fingers eagerly. "If zere is nothing else, I shall get right to it."
Sylvanas nodded.
"Areiel, alert Amora Eagleye, Anthis Sunbow and Vorel after this meeting. I want their squadrons ready to march as well."
Areiel nodded, but did not hesitate to voice her concern.
"The guards and rangers are a small portion of our forces but the most crucial one. What of the defence of the city in the meantime?"
"The entire Undercity will be locked down in my absence with only minimal sorties to scout. Entrances will be trapped or sealed completely."
In the tight confines of their winding maze superior numbers would count for little and even average infantry would be able to cause great harm to a besieger.
"Now, there remains the small but crucial detail of escorting Lady Proudmoore to the Scarlet stronghold of Hearthglen where she can act as our representative. She will be under the guard of dark rangers but her magical prowess makes it imperative to restrain her spellcasting abilities. To that end I need every magic user of the city with any knowledge in enchanting to report to me immediately, regardless of current orders, for the task of crafting anti-magic shackles that fit her. Time is of the essence."
"My Queen, if I may, I believe I can solve that particular problem in little time, as it is of the essence as you say." Varimathras' claws touched each other the way someone else's fingertips might do when in deep thought and his eyes gleamed green deep inside their impenetrable blackness.
There was no change of tone or twitch of the face that hinted at anything at all. Sylvanas found herself nearly wishing there had been.
An hour later Sylvanas and Anya stood in Sylvanas' quarters bent over a set of brass-coloured shackles on the desk. Sylvanas had stared for minutes at every inch of them and had a junior mage and warlock of the Forsaken summoned to each try them on without any other immediate effect than the loss of access to their respective mana. The shackles were uncomfortably heavy but perhaps they were made to be able to contain demons and other uncommonly strong creatures, who could tell?
"I can not spot any inconsistencies." Sylvanas finally conceded. "These will have to do."
"Perhaps you should try them on yourself, Dark Lady? Just to be sure." Anya's voice was the personification of innocence. "Or maybe I could have a pair crafted for stubborn queens who won't take their baths…" she shrugged.
"Oh, would you now?" Sylvanas loomed threateningly over Anya.
"It's just something someone sort of suggested one time…" Anya grinned mischievously.
Sylvanas should really put her obnoxious ranger in her place and wipe that smirk off her face. She should put Anya in her proper place - her place being, more precisely, squeezed tightly between the wall and Sylvanas - and wipe that smirk off her face with another kiss. Because how dared she be such an aggravatingly lovely dark ranger and how had she the gall to always unerringly know how to take Sylvanas' mind off the troubles that plagued her?
Speaking of which, though…
"Anya, Lady Proudmoore is not to know about anything regarding this meeting." Sylvanas said seriously. "Inform her that we set out first thing tomorrow and see to it that we have supplies enough for her and our two Scarlet guests."
Anya nodded, attentive and focused again.
"What of the guards and the other squadrons?"
"They will have ample time to catch up. The living need their rest after all."
"Let's hope these are enough to keep her in bed, then." Anya smiled and disappeared through the door with her rattling burden.
Sylvanas had Raised three skeletal mounts for Proudmoore and the two prisoners. She had done so before meeting with her squadron and her mage, fearing that an open display of necromancy would upset her. Sylvanas could still scarcely believe that they had actually talked like they had, in their official capacities as heads of state, and that Proudmoore had not yet begun to laugh at her for believing the jest. The last thing she needed was to remind the woman of just how saturated with dark magic her very being was, Sylvanas reckoned.
Her rangers had bolted and heaped together mismatched saddles for all, little more than piles of cloth and padding, and tied the riders' hands to the neck of their mount. Lyana had suggested making an improvised bridle for each to give the impression that the skeletal horses were actually more than piles of animated bone and would become unruly if anyone tried to cause trouble. Now each had a dark ranger pretending to lead them, in a ghostly parody of a riding lesson for very young beginners. The comical side of it had not escaped her mage but Brokk Ironpick and Henry Turner behind her grumbled about unwieldy horses and glared darkly at their surroundings. It may have contributed to their mood that Anya and Velonara had quickly renamed them Broke Ironlick and Henry Turnip.
The journey initially proved uneventful and their nighttime rests gave Kalira's squadron ample opportunity to scout ahead. The land around them was sooted and ashy, but not completely burnt down. Here and there trees and bushes had weathered the fire and scattered new plants had sprouted on some spots.
The heavy shackles were a hindrance to her mage but she did not complain, although that had not stopped Sylvanas' ranger squadron from both fussing over and taunting her at every opportunity. Sylvanas had been forced to remind them on several occasions not to appear to familiar with Proudmoore in front of the dwarf they intended to release as messenger, lest she would be seen as too closely and eagerly connected to the Forsaken. The rangers had brought her tent with them too, leisurely sharing the burdens of a single sister and the two less appreciated retainers between themselves and the horses.
Proudmoore had stuck dutifully to their planning and had several conversations with the Scarlet dwarf and human. She appeared to have gained their ear but Sylvanas reckoned they may just as likely be pretending to listen out of a sense of self-preservation.
The road was still deserted when they neared the spot where Cyndia had been lost. Kalira, Nara and Lenara described what they could each recall and Sylvanas sent pairs to scout the area in a wide circle but nothing turned up. Every track had been smudged by the rains and every broken twig that could have offered a lead consumed in the flames. The discovery, or perhaps the lack of discovery of anything, led to Kalira and the 'Naras tensing visibly when Sylvanas ordered the group to continue towards Hearthglen. It was as if they had all embraced the possibility that Cyndia might still be found somewhere out there, unlikely as it may be.
By that point Sylvanas had already been notified that Anthis Sunbow and her rangers were ready just out of sight behind them.
The surrounding farmlands around Hearthglen lay in a low portion of land between the ridge to the south that Kalira had told about and hills and deeper forest to the north. It was a fertile part of Lordaeron but the town was a market town and not fortified. The local keep was a single stout tower, but Scarlet Crusade banners flew from the wooden town walls.
Sylvanas had accompanied Anya and Lyana to scout ahead. They had no difficulty surveying the Scarlet positions well out of range and sight of a human lookout.
"We can see patrols leaving and entering in three directions towards us." Anya whispered. "I will bet my boots that those relieve a sector of posted sentries. They are not keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings when they march, they are on their way to a specific destination without delay."
"Very good, Anya." Sylvanas whispered appreciatively. "We may yet make a captain of you…"
"Please don't start…" Anya mumbled while Lyana shook her head, all too used to the age old dispute between them.
Sylvanas carefully withdrew from her position.
"Lyana, send the dwarf ahead. Anya, relay their positions to Anthis."
Anya and Lyana nodded and left quietly, noiseless on the wet ground and melting into the shadows under the trees. Sylvanas meanwhile made her way back to where Clea and Kitala were waiting with Proudmoore and their packs behind some moss-covered boulders. Her mage was chewing on a piece of Lordamere pike. The rangers had noted that fishing was going to be both the easier and more appreciated way of feeding her even on land.
"Enjoying your meal, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas asked quietly when emerging without a sound from behind the stone.
Her mage yelped and almost dropped her lunch, her shackles clattering.
"Well, hello to you too, Lady Windrunner. I must have missed you knocking." she huffed and tried to look disapproving but the sight only made Sylvanas want to smile.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm about to waltz down into a nest of reputedly bloodthirsty maniacs to negotiate the release of an elite member of their arch-enemy's army. Never been better!" Proudmoore chirped flippantly.
Sylvanas paid no heed to her strained tone. To expect anything else would be inhuman. But she did not look too good.
"You look pale, Lady Proudmoore. Are you unwell?" Sylvanas asked and watched her thoughtfully.
"No, I just… To be honest, I don't know. I feel slightly nauseous. Have for days. It's probably just my diplomatic stage fever."
Sylvanas frowned. She didn't like it, but after all Proudmoore had only gotten a single evening and night's rest after coming to the Undercity before throwing herself into this venture. It would take longer than that to recover from the strenuous work of propelling a frigate for days with nothing but mana buns to live on at the end.
She let her mage finish her meal and waited. Sylvanas had never gotten used to waiting. She wanted something to do in the meantime, big or small it didn't matter very much. Whenever she had been scouting or having to stay hidden she had always kept her mind busy by taking stock of her surroundings in minute detail or naming all the rangers in the company and their specialties, and every high elven military unit and it's equipment and whatever else she could come up with. People had called her considerate and thorough for those kinds of things but Sylvanas had never felt like she deserved it. She just had to pass the time with something. She was no Anya. Anya could remain still as a statue for hour after hour and then rise like it had been a minute.
"What about you, Lady Windrunner? How are you feeling?" Proudmoore interrupted her mental fidgeting.
"Impatient. Restless." Sylvanas answered truthfully.
"You? Really?"
"Me, really. Does that surprise you, Lady Proudmoore?"
Her mage tilted her head a little, thoughtful and peering at Sylvanas. Like other times, it felt like she could see every single thing Sylvanas would want to hide inside herself.
"I think it does. You are always confident when I see you, you manage to be in control no matter the situation. Sometimes I'd really like to know how to do that."
If only you knew, my mage… I feel like I barely rule my own city.
"Do not sell yourself short, Lady Proudmoore. You possess far more confidence than you give yourself credit for."
And you inspire it.
Do you see it, my mage? How my sailors stand straighter when you are around? How you make my rangers smile again?
"Well, I wouldn't dare to argue with a banshee over a question of possession…" Proudmoore's mouth twitched at the corners and Clea and Kitala looked like they tried very hard to keep themselves quiet.
Sylvanas' thoughts of a suitably caustic reply were interrupted by the whistle of Velonara close by.
"Time to get going and work your magic, Lady of Theramoore." Sylvanas bowed with a flourish and indicated the path behind her. "After you."
When they came out of their hiding place, Jaina only stared. Before her stood not the one ranger squadron under Kalira, but four. And kneeling in front of them were no less than twenty men and women in dirty red garments and mail and leather armours. Their hands were tied together in a long line and their eyes had been covered by strips of cloth sheared from their shirts and cloaks.
"Twenty, Dark Lady." one of the new rangers reported in Thalassian. Jaina guessed she might be a lieutenant like Kalira and Anya. "One dead, one lightly wounded."
"Good work, Anthis." Sylvanas answered without any hint of surprise. "That makes our total twenty-one. That should even your odds a bit in the negotiations don't you think, Lady Proudmoore?" she added towards Jaina.
"Er…yes, ah, of course…" Jaina stammered. She didn't know if she was most taken aback by the sudden appearance of eighteen rangers that Sylvanas had kept her in the dark about, or how they had seemingly without any difficulty, or even much effort, been able to capture a matching number of armoured enemy soldiers. She didn't know what to quite think of what she saw. The rangers each held daggers or short swords ready, and their faces were impassive and their eyes on Sylvanas only. Jaina could see their prisoners' different state of mind. Clenched jaws on some, trembling chins on others. Shaking, laboured breathing. Bloody but shallow cuts here and there, dirt and mud. Dark stains on their trousers.
It was war and Jaina hated it.
But it was still war.
She closed her eyes briefly and tried to steady herself. Her mission remained the same. Negotiate. Find a solution that did not have to be paid for in blood, if she could. For the sake of both sides.
"Anya! Tell the guard to be ready if needed." Sylvanas called out. Was that what she had named Anya's squadron? Jaina shook off the thought, she had more pressing concerns.
Sylvanas walked up close to Jaina. She seemed to struggle with something.
"Lady Proudmoore…good luck." Sylvanas' jaws were working as if she debated whether to say something or not. "Cyndia matters greatly to me and all of us. But she is not alone in doing so." Sylvanas handed Jaina three gilded medallions. "Here. These are likely their officers' insignias, hand them over as proof that we have their scouts. You have one hour." Sylvanas said curtly, almost tense.
It was a strange sensation to be alone again.
Jaina walked across the open fields from the edge of the forest towards the town gates and felt…how did she really feel about this? She had been forced to adapt to being watched closely during just about every waking hour and most sleeping ones too she assumed. But the unnerving presence of emotionless rangers around her had turned into a comforting one of guardians and friends, and while Jaina would not deny that they were at times a bit too close by (she could do without someone standing guard outside her bathroom) she found herself missing her dark companions very much right now.
The terms for the negotiations that Brokk Ironpick had been sent with were simple. The Scarlets would meet her outside their walls and Jaina would relay the Banshee Queen's terms and then withdraw. It was almost as simple as it could be, and Jaina could not imagine herself appearing as a threat with the heavy brass shackles weighing down her forearms.
The weather was clear but the sky cloudy, and under other circumstances it would have been a fine autumn day to walk along a muddy road towards a Lordaeronian town. Jaina could see red-clad guards by the gate, and that they had spotted her. They looked like they were expecting her approach and Jaina dearly hoped Brokk had been earnest with them.
Like with most towns Jaina knew of, there were some houses outside the walls too. Farms, tanners, an outlying tavern that catered to thirsty peasants making camp outside the walls for market days, sometimes a sawmill. The same was true for Hearthglen.
When Jaina was nearing the gates a Scarlet soldier pointed to a small house to the side of the road.
"In there!" he ordered.
Well, Jaina hadn't exactly expected them to be friendly.
She swallowed and approached the door. Before she had gotten close enough to knock it was opened by a man in red robes and a hood. He stepped aside to let Jaina come in without a word.
The inside of the house, or cottage perhaps being more apt, was as sparse as the exterior. A low ceiling and a single table with crude benches on each side greeted Jaina. Opposite of her was seated a man and a woman in red robes and pieces of ornate armour, both older than Jaina and with deep furrows in their brows and coarse faces. She got a distinct impression that neither of them used to smile or laugh very much, or encourage others to do that.
"Ahem, greetings." Jaina made a small bow, careful not to bang her head against the ceiling when she rose. "I am Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramoore, representative of Queen Sylvanas Windrunner of Lordaeron."
"If that was true you would know that a lady curtsys, young miss." the woman told her condescendingly.
Jaina added a curtsy, but did it with an ironic half smile that signalled that she gave in to a request she thought silly or overly stubborn. The Scarlet priestess (at least Jaina guessed she would be) just huffed at her.
"Now, now, let us sit down and begin." the man began in a more kindly tone. "I am Brother Hans of the Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade and this is Sister Grete. My child, we tank the Light that you have been allowed to escape the tainted clutches of the undead and come back to us. Will you accept the Light's blessing?"
Jaina had to fight down an instinctive urge to ask if there also was an Un-Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade. She had a feeling that Brother Hans and Sister Grete would not appreciate that logic to the same degree as Areiel or Velonara would.
"Yes, I guess so?" Jaina answered. To her knowledge Light spells were rarely harmful - to the living – if that was the intention and not simply reciting something.
Brother Hans did indeed channel Light magic. Jaina could not detect what it was like she could with most arcane spells but she had seen enough priests at work and been healed enough times to note that it appeared more like an small wave washing over her than a lingering actual blessing. She ignored it for now, it wasn't why she was here.
"Well, Brother Hans and Sister Grete, since we meet here I take it that master Brokk Ironpick has briefed you on the premises of the negotiation. The queen holds in captivity one Henry Turner, a member of your armed forces." Jaina cleared her throat. Did the Scarlet Crusade actually have anything but armed forces? "She offers to exchange him in return for any Forsaken you hold captive."
"That much poor Brokk has told us." Brother Hans nodded sadly.
"Then I first need to inform you that the circumstances have changed on that point." Jaina carefully put the three medallions on the table. "The queen now holds twenty-one Scarlet Crusade soldiers to exchange."
"May the Light shelter their souls." Brother Hans bowed his head momentarily, solemn as if Jaina had told him they had all died.
"So the queen is ready to exchange them for the return for those of her people that you may hold captive. She has asked me to inquire specifically if you hold a formerly elven ranger by the name of Cyndia Hawkspear captive." Jaina asked as normally as she could. A bad feeling was growing in her.
"My child, I would like to believe the words you speak, but the Light is not fooled by trickery. It sees the truth in us all."
Jaina frowned. What did he mean?
"I do not follow, Brother Hans. I assure this is no trick of any kind."
He looked sadly at Jaina.
"Yet still I detect Fel magic about you, my child. So I must regrettably ask you, what manner of demon are you?"
As he spoke the last words Brother Hans just about lit up with channelled Light spells, rising from his chair with Sister Grete following suit.
"No! I am not a demon!" Jaina frantically tried to make sense of it all. "These are magically warded shackles, nothing else."
"Witchcraft." Sister Grete sneered. "Mages deal with corrupting powers that human hand were never meant to touch." she declaimed.
"No, I swear, it isn't like that…"
"Maybe you are human and your heart was once good, my child, but you are tainted by Fel magic and you openly consort with the vile undead without any sense of remorse or revulsion." Brother Hans said as if delivering a final verdict. "The taint of Fel and Undeath are like a plague, and must be purged from humankind at any cost. You must turn from it's dark ways, my child, and repent so that at least your soul may be redeemed."
Jaina recoiled, terrified and disbelieving.
"Find comfort in the Light…"