Chapter 8

Eck pooled a good amount of water into his hand and splashed it onto his face. He rubbed the cold liquid into his dry skin. He tried to control his breathing, but it came in rapid explosions through his throat and lungs. The wound on his shoulder was burning furiously. When he tried to scratch it, bits of flesh dripped off bone and onto the floor. This was bad, he remembered thinking, before he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.

He coughed, wheezed, as bile and blood spurted up his throat. What he'd give to return to his days as one of the Scourge at this moment. In that time, he had felt no pain, none of the agony that writhed through his body. It burned. Every breath he forced through his body set his lungs ablaze. Something was corrupting his mind. He could feel it wiggling, working its way into his every thought.

He summoned all his skills as a healer to purge this thing from him. Holy light and shadow darkness surrounded his body as he searched for what was inside him, but he could find nothing. He let out a scream.

---

The troll knocked on the wooden door until it opened with a heavy creek.

"Hello Aloos," said the undead female.

"Howdy Liz. Is Jon home?"

Elizabeth Eck nodded. "He's right up stairs. Why?"

"Well, I don't know where da fuck everyone got to. Taff been gone for a day. Cerb disappeared. I afraid Eck be gone too."

"No, he's fine." Elizabeth thought to herself. "Actually, there is a wound on his shoulder. I've tried to heal it, but nothing works: herbs, potions, spells."

"Ya mon, I don't know what it is. Lots a da patients in da inn have it to. Its weird mon, some kinda thing da Scarlets dosed dere weapons in."

Elizabeth stepped away from the door. "Would you like to come in?"

---

"Taff," cooed a voice. "Taff."

The grey furred tauren slowly, painfully lifted his heavy head. The front of his body was stained with blood, both his and humans'. "Mom?" he asked.

"Yes," said the white cow. Translucent hands brushed beneath her son's chin and helped with his burden.

"I'm sorry mom, I let my guard down and that human shoved the sword into my side. I should have remembered what you and dad always taught me."

"It's alright son, you saved that Forsaken's life with that healing touch. Taff listen to me. It's not yet your time to die."

"There's a sword sticking out of my stomach," he said with bitter sarcasm. "I'm pretty sure I'm dead mom. I'm going to join our ancestors at last."

"No, you've survived worse than this. Now get up."

"Mom," the grey bull growled weakly.

"Taff, get up now or everyone you love is dead."

Thick fingers dug into the dirt as he tried to lift his heavy hide. Failing he tried again, but a sudden crack of his ribs made him tumble back to the ground. With one final, heavy push, lifted his body off the dirt. Carefully, he reached behind him, clutched the sword's handle, and yanked it from his flesh with a roar of pain. Hot blood slipped out of the open wound before Taff was able to apply pressure. He quickly removed a bandage from his belt and wrapped his chest.

"Good," his mother said. "Now listen to me son. The Forsaken in the town of Brill are suffering from a great corruption. You must travel to the Scarlet Monastery"

"Why? What are they infected with?"

"Something far worse than the plague of undeath."

---

Aloos slowly nudged the door open and peeked inside. "Eck?" he called into the empty room. "Ye here mon?"

He slipped inside, drawing one of the daggers from his belt. The bedroom was small enough that, with a glance, the troll confirmed it was empty. But there was a bathroom, and so Aloos knocked on the wood.

"Eck mon. Ye okay? Ye wife is worried."

No response.

The troll used his theaving tools to pick the door's lock and entered. "Eck?"

This time, a response came in the form of a snarl, followed by the faint sound of a weapon cutting through the air. He dove to his side, flipping onto one hand then two feet. A staff, Eck's staff, crashed into the floor that Aloos had stood on moments before.

"What da fuck ye doin?" demanded the troll.

The undead lifted his staff and swung again.

---

The undead steed moved with a surprising amount of speed and grace, given its sickly and deformed appearance. On second thought, the entire Forsaken army acted with speed and grace, despite their infection of the plague.

Regardless, the undead steed seemed intolerant of its rider. It bucked and jerked with each opportunity. It trotted when ordered to gallop and galloped when asked to trot. Occasionally, it would refuse to move completely.

Lunn Pantherfoot seemed to have no such trouble with her mount: a lavender purple night saber. The jungle cat moved much like its master: swift, graceful, and in a strange way: beautiful.

"What is a night elf doing serving the Horde?" Shaak finally asked, after an hour of silent ridding.

"I'm a defector," Lunn replied quickly, her sharp glowing eyes gazing over the forest's lands.

"What do you mean?" Shaak asked again.

"I've been exiled by the Alliance and my own people," she snapped. "So now I serve the Horde."

"I'm," Shaak stuttered. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Could you be a little more specific? Why would your own kind forsake you?"

"Same reason the Alliance abandoned you," Lunn sighed, brushing the indigo hair from her face. "For a long time, a long time ago, I was a proud member of the night elf race. Unlike most females, I'm fluent in druidism, which made me something of a prodigy to my fellow night elves. When I was still young, far too young for such responsibility, I was granted the position of leader in a small squad. Towards the end of the Third War, my team and I were sent to the toxic wastelands, formerly your Quel 'Thalas. We were sent to purge the Scourge. We greatly underestimated their numbers. We were hopelessly outmatched."

Shaak's eyes wwere wide with fascination. Even his plauged steed had stopped its resistance, as if it longed for the story to climax.

"Of the ten that were in my squad, three of us had fallen after a week. We fleed, but the Scourge continued their pursuit. After what seemed like an eternity of flight, hiding like outlaws, we stumbled into one of the Horde's encampments."

"And they saved you?"

"Of-course not, they imprisoned us for espinoge. They'd of executed us too if not for Taff. He was the only one who would listen to me when I told them we weren't there to fight them, but rather the mutual enemy of the Scourge. He vouched for me, deputized my squad.

"For almost a year, we fought against the Scourge alongside the Horde. We lived with them, ate with them, fought with them. Some of us died alongside them.

"When we'd inflicted great wounds to the Lich King, what few remained of my squad returned to the Alliance. We weren't in Stormwind for more than a few minutes before we were taken as prisoner. You see, we broke the golden rule. We shared the bed of the Horde."

"Like my kind and the naga," Shaak muttered bitterly beneath his breath.

"My own queen betrayed me," Lunn continued. "She exiled me for doing my mission. My goddamn mission.

"I wandered around for a while. If I were to step foot in an Alliance town, I'd be shot on sight, so I lived in the goblin's lands or just the wilderness. Finally, with nothing left to lose, I joined with the Horde."

"Do you ever want to go back?" Shaak asked.

"No," Lunn shook her head. "Not once."