Chapter 24 - Escape

'About bloody time...' He thought, but not moving. He heard Watu suddenly stand up behind him, then he heard her walking halfway out of the hut they were in. There were many noises outside, mostly from the trolls screaming and getting in position to defend their camp.

Discreetly looking over his shoulder, he confirmed the woman had her upper half out of the tent, and he could hear her talking with someone outside. Which meant this was his chance.

While he slept, Dalrus had curled up into a ball on the floor, with his knees pressed against his chest. This meant his hands were within perfect range of his boots. Very careful so he wouldn't make any noise by rattling the chains on his bindings, the boy pulled one of his spare knives from his boot, then quickly held it against his chest, hidden under his arm.

Watu was still exchanging information with an unseen troll outside, and the boy made use of her distraction. The chains were much like everything else in the orc camp; heavy, sturdy and crude. The iron was very solid and thick, meaning there was no way to break them. It quickly became clear, however, that their makers never thought about someone picking them open. It also helped that the lock was far bigger than most Dalrus was used to dealing with, which made sense, considering the orcs were beings of larger proportions than the humans. He didn't even need a second pin; he simply slipped the tip of his knife into the lock, closed his eyes, then spun the weapon around until he found the sweet spot. The next thing would be all about timing. Letting out a very loud grunt and spinning around, the metallic clicking noise of his cuffs opening were completely drowned out. He made sure to keep his wrists over his lap and his back turned to Watu as the troll pulled her head back inside of the tent to look down at her prisoner. "What's going on?" Dalrus asked, feigning ignorance.

The woman let out a low grunt as she walked back to the middle of the tent and pulled her spear out of the wall. "Your friends be attacking us. Don't you worry, mon. Nobody is gonna make it all the way here." She then reached up with her weapon, the tip touching a small bag Dalrus hadn't noticed earlier was hanging from the very tip of the pole holding the tent up. She laid it down in front of her, and, peering over, Dalrus noticed inside were some wooden patches of armor. "Either way, it be good to be prepared." Watu proudly declared as she removed her chest wrap and unbuckled her belt.

The boy's eyes went so wide they began to hurt,feeling as though they were about to pop from their sockets. His mouth hung slightly agape as the image of the troll woman disrobing in front of him was forever burned into his mind. "Uh..." Was all he could say, his mind raging as if a thunderstorm was throwing all his thoughts in disarray.

Watu was now bent over the bag, rummaging through the bag's contents and pulling out a tribal-looking chest plate, her hind quarters in full view of the boy. The loincloth did very little to suppress her curves before, but now he had a full, unimpeded view of them, and it was…

At that moment she stopped and looked up at him, her expression somewhat grumpy. "What?"

It took him another moment of starting like a mindless zombie before finally he cleared his throat and managed to form coherent thoughts. "You're naked." Was all he could think of saying, his eyes not averting from her for one second.

The troll simply scoffed, then her focus went back to her armor. Standing up straight, she held it in front of her body for a second, inspecting it. "Of course, I can't go to battle wearing noting but rags, mon. I need to put on my armor." She then nodded to herself and proceeded to strap the thing to her chest, much to the boy's dismay. Still, his eyes were mostly glued to her lower half. "I... Just thought most women would be uncomfortable doing something like this in front of a man." He stated, mesmerized by what he was seeing.

It was by no means the first time in his life seeing a woman bare. It was, however, the first time where she was not only aware that Dalrus was there, watching her, but also one as… Exotic as Watu was. Somehow, Dalrus thought her azure skin was even more beautiful than the tones human women carried.

Watu simply shrugged, then pulled out a couple of thick wooden bracers, which she proceeded to strap to her forearms. "A man, maybe. You still be a child, mon. What, did you tink I was presenting myself to you?" She let out a loud, hearty laugh at that. "Don't be ridiculous, mon." Next were shin guards wrapped in what appeared to be a snake's ribcage, and last, what appeared to be a thick leather skirt covered in dangling bone chips all over its extension. She then put her belt back on, Dalrus' daggers being strapped to its sides. The boy simply stared, dumbfounded, as she finished putting on her armor, the final touch being a large wooden mask with a long skull painted over it and feather adornations surrounding the crown. "Now you stay down and be quiet." She ordered, hanging the tent's opening to pins around its sides and standing guard with her back to him, spear in hand.

It took him a few moments to snap back into reality after that. He was suddenly reminded of the situation he was in when he lifted his hand to scratch his cheek and the cuffs fell off his wrist and over his lap. 'Oh. Right. Escape.' He leaned to the side, trying to take a look at what was going on outside. He couldn't see much; Watu's tent was right on the edge of the troll camp, and from what he could tell, most of the trolls had left to join the defenses at their main entrance. The moment could not be more perfect.

Just as he was about to begin his escape plan, he hesitated, then looked up. His daggers were both dangling from the troll's hips. It was still a pain in his heart to see what she had done to them, adding those gems and bone teeth to the blades, on top of what appeared to be ritualistic markings. The handles were also far longer now, enough for Dalrus to be able to wrap both hands around. They had become unusable to him. He would do better leaving them behind.

But then... He was reminded of that day when his master had presented those weapons to him. It was during his first day of training as a rogue, that fateful morning when his father had announced Dalrus' fate to him.

"Tell me your name, boy." Master Silvius had said, his cowl pulled over his head as he crossed his arms in front of the little boy who couldn't stop staring at the man's nose. "You don't know my name? Dad didn't tell you?" Dalrus had answered, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes as the two of them stood in the middle of the Plaguefang back garden.

What came next would be the very first time his master slapped him across the side of his head. "When I ask you something, boy, you do what I tell you instead of talking back with witty quips. Now tell me your name!"

"OUCH!" Dalrus screamed as he fell, rubbing his head and looking up at the mean old man. "You hit me! I'm gonna tell my dad!"

Silvius had then squatted down on the ground, his wrinkly face looming over Dalrus as he scowled. "And I am going to hit you again if you don't learn to behave. Your father asked me to turn you into a rogue, and that's what I'm going to do, even if it means beating the teachings into you. Actually, let me rephrase that. Especially if it means beating the teachings into you. Your father doesn't mean a thing while we are together, boy. I am your master. Your teacher. And I will teach you how to be someone of use to your family. Now, say your name!"

Trying to hold back his tears, five year old Dalrus sniffed then looked up at the man. "D-Dalrus. And it's my birthday today..."

"So it is." Silvius said, standing up with a satisfied look on his face. "Now tell me your family name."

"It's Plaguefang." The boy replied, remaining on his knees on the grassy floor.

"That's right. You heard what your brother said earlier, didn't you? You know what being the plague means. But now, that's no longer the case. You're a Plaguefang. Which means... We need to give this pup some fangs to bite with." Smirking, his master had then pulled out the two weapons from his cloak; a pair of old looking daggers, with a dark steel jagged blade. "You take good care of these, boy. These weapons have a lot of history behind them. You'll never find better stabbers in your whole damn life."

Still sniffing, Dalrus finally managed to stand up and, with shaky hands, he took the daggers out of his master's hands, then he looked up at him and said: "About time I got my birthday gift! Where's my cake?"

And that had been the second time his master hit him. Ah, good times.

Snapping out of his flashback, Dalrus sighed to himself, then leaned his head to the side until his neck cracked. He dropped his cuffs against the furs below, always careful not to rattle them and warn Watu about his movements, then, making slightly less noise than a cat without its claws, he stalked forward and reached out for his first weapon dangling over her right side.

It was hard to tell because of the mask, but he could see Watu's gaze was fixed to a spot to their left, from which the loud noises of an ongoing battle could be heard.

Holding in his breath, Dalrus lifted his spare pocket knife and used its edge to slowly start to cut the binding holding his weapon to the woman's waist. His movements had to be very precise, but he couldn't afford to be slow. All it would take was her to randomly decide to look at least two of the four cardinal directions and he would be spotted. Fortunately, she seemed to be quite single minded in her watch. It took him less than a minute to loosen the hold on his weapon, a time during which Dalrus had been very careful to hold his dagger with his free hand and, little by little, he applied more and more pressure to it, thus relieving its weight in a gradual way that the woman didn't notice over time.

Finally, he finished cutting the binding, and his weapon was free. With a sting in his heart, he realized it was far heavier than before, almost twice its original weight. Those really might as well be short swords now, rather than daggers.

Next was the other one. The woman didn't show signs of noticing him as he got to work, although this was far more tricky. It was directly below her line of sight. It was a real blessing she had chosen to wear the mask, otherwise, he would be within range of her peripheral vision.

This time, his work had to be far slower. If he made a mistake, if he moved a little bit too fast, she would notice. He was still holding his breath, sweat already running down his brow. His arms were burning from all the abuse he had received the past couple of days, but Dalrus was determined. He would not return empty handed.

It felt like he worked on stealing back his other dagger for hours, but, at last, it came free from her belt, and he quickly stepped away, both of his weapons now dangling from his own belt instead. 'Whew... Glad that worked.' He thought, watching Watu for a few moments to make sure she was still completely oblivious to the fact she had her weapons stolen right out of her belt. 'Alright, that went well. OK, time for step two.' He looked back behind him. Nothing but the tent's fabric surrounding him from all sides. There really was only one way out. Dalrus took a deep breath.

'Hey, babe, you still there?'

Silence.

'Now, look, I know we had our differences, said some harsh things to each other, but you know I still love you, right?'

No response within his head.

'I'm gonna take that as a yes and hope you don't want to see me dead yet.'

Exhaling through his nose, the young rogue gathered his focus, and began to pull those thin strands of energy off the topmost layers of the void. He really didn't want to take any chances... But he seriously was not in the mood to be hearing more voices, either. To his pleasant surprise, there was nothing. Only his own thoughts within his mind. He took that as a good sign. Looking down, he saw nothing. His stealth had worked. The power of the Shadow was making him completely invisible once more.

That, however, might not be enough for him to simply walk right past Watu. The woman may not be expecting him to walk right past her, but she was also on guard. She was on high alert. Even with his stealth, it was possible for her to take notice of him.

'Alright, so, it's just gonna be for a little while now, but I'm gonna be taking a little bit more, OK? Don't start giving me hallucinations or anything.'

Taking another deep breath, Dalrus enveloped himself with even thicker layers of Shadow energy. Breathing became hard after that, but for the moment, he was absolutely certain he was completely undetectable. Nothing short of directly crashing against the troll would alert her of his presence. And so, not wasting a moment, Dalrus did a low crouch and broke into a sprint, even the wind pressure being completely suppressed by his advanced stealth state.

That, of course, didn't last long. Two, maybe three seconds at most. As soon as he felt the burden grow too great for him to bear, Dalrus halted to a complete stop, now right in the middle of the troll camp and a good distance away from his guard, and remained completely still as he felt that thicker veil of Shadow energy washing past his body and leaving him, while he made sure to keep his hold on the thinner layers keeping him hidden from sight.

He looked back over his shoulder. Watu was still staring at the source of the sounds of battle. Dalrus let out a long sigh of relief. It would seem this part of his escape was a success. Now to somehow navigate himself through the Horde camp while the entrances were being disputed.

Fortunately for him, the entire camp was in chaos. Under the watchful gaze of the grunts, the peons were still hard at work carrying resources and building or reinforcing structures. He reached the edge of the troll camp, where a single sentinel stood guard over a wooden watch post, staring at the same direction Watu was. Sneaking past him was easy.

Dalrus then found himself right in the middle of the orc camp. He stopped for a moment, then looked around, trying to get his bearings. 'Come on, Dalrus, think. What's the next move?' He could see the main halls where he and Thrall had spoken earlier. Over the horizon, the first rays of sunlight were already peeking over, casting some light to the encampment. Time was running out.

"I should kill Thrall."

The words came so naturally, sounding just like his own, he almost didn't question them. He blinked, confused.

"He is the enemy. Kill him. He wishes to see all you hold dear dead. End him before he can bring you more grief. Then go back and make that woman pay for what she's done to your beloved weapons."

Dalrus closed his eyes, anger rising within him. 'I am not going to do either of those things. I am going to leave this place and get back to where my brother is waiting for me.'

"He is already dead. Your enemies have taken him from you. Make them pay for their crimes with blood!"

For the first time, Dalrus was too angry to come up with a witty retort to the dark voices within his head. This time, he didn't even bother. He knew it was not true. It simply wasn't. Felrus wouldn't die like that. With renewed determination, Dalrus made a straight line for the source of the battle noises, approaching the main gates of the Horde camp.

Arriving there, he was surprised to see that the colours of the human attackers were not the dull grey of the Gilneas Brigade, but rather, they all sported an orange banner, and the boy didn't recognize a single one of the people there. He then remembered that his wasn't the only garrison defending the way to Stonetalon Peaks, but only one of four. 'I guess they caught wind of the orcs here and decided to launch an attack of their own.' Dalrus thought, making his way to one of the watchtowers behind the wall of wooden spikes surrounding the orc camp. Trolls armed with throwing spears as well as orcs holding bows were raining down their deadly bolts down on the attackers.

"Kill them. Slaughter every last one of them. Paint the walls with their blood."

'Up yours.'

Ignoring the voices once more, Dalrus reached the top of the tower, where its four occupants were too focused on the enemy below to even think someone could sneak up on their post. Dalrus readied himself, then ran as fast as he could towards the edge of the tower, surprising one troll who had been about to hurl his spear and making him drop his weapon. Without looking back, Dalrus jumped over the railing, arms and legs spread wide to balance himself in the air as he fell, leaping over the deadly wooden spikes below and landing safely onto the dusty ground after a short barrel roll to break his fall. Looking back over his shoulder, he confirmed that he had successfully managed to leave the Horde camp behind.

To his left, the battle still raged on, although things definitely did not look good for the attackers. Half the force, from what Dalrus could tell, had been decimated already, with little losses on the orc side. It would seem the trolls and the tauren were making a big difference, tipping the battle in the Horde's favour. That, and the watchtowers were doing a fine job disrupting the attacker's backline.

The main reason for the Horde's success, however, was, without a doubt, their Warchief leading from the front. Mounted on a huge black wolf as large as a warhorse, Thrall was a sight to behold. He lifted his hammer above his head, but, instead of bringing it down against someone's head, the weapon was enveloped by crackling lightning bolts, which then jumped to the nearest human footsoldier before chaining to another, and then yet another person after that. Three charred, lifeless corpses fell to the ground.

After that, the orc did bring his hammer down, and before him, two wolves materialized in a puff of black smoke and crackling energy, the beast's hides a deep shade of purple. Due to the fact Dalrus could see through their bodies, he imagined those creatures were summoned spirits of some sort. That didn't make them any less deadly. The wolves leapt and snarled, fang and claw at work to claim the lives of more members of the Human Expedition.

The battle was as good as lost. Dalrus couldn't bear to watch any more. Averting his gaze, he forced himself to march towards the general direction he remembered the Gilneas Brigade was. It wasn't difficult, as they were all generally based around the mountain pass.

As he walked, he could still hear the sounds of battle behind him. But it didn't take long for them to fade off. He didn't look back to confirm if that was because he was out of range... Or because the battle was over.

The sun continued to cast its rays down upon the arid wastelands of Kalimdor. Stonetalon Peaks loomed over the distance, where most of the Human Expedition camps were established. Directly to the northeast of the main Horde camp, Dalrus noticed, he could see another, far larger camp. This one sported the purple banners of the Warsong clan. Wisely, he decided to stay as clear from that as possible, and continued to make his way northwards.

Soon, however, the morning sunlight began to completely illuminate his path. Now Dalrus could see the land wasn't only cracked ground and rocky formations, but there actually were trees there too. Some of them were quite peculiar. They didn't sport any leaves on them, were completely green, jutted straight out of the ground and were completely covered in spikes, most of them totally devoid any branches, and those that weren't usually had two or three at most, looking more like growths coming out of the trees rather than branches.

His biggest issue, however, was the ravenous, growing hunger assailing him. It had been nearly a full day since his last meal, unless one could count the small drink of water the Warchief had shared with him last night. It was at that moment that exhaustion hit the boy like a hammer blow. Suddenly, his legs felt very weak, and he could barely stand. Gasping, he collapsed onto the floor on his hands and legs, his entire body overtaken by a shiver as he tried to get up once more. It looked like his adrenaline rushes had finally worn off, and the full weight of the past twenty four hours were pressing down on him.

He needed a safe place to rest. He could not simply pass out in the middle of those plains, even if he could, somehow, keep his sealth on. He managed to hold on to the power of the Void for the time being, keeping his body hidden from sight still, just in case someone happened to be scouring the horizon looking for him. Desperate, he looked around himself, trying to find somewhere to use as shelter.

Directly to his right, in the east, was the Warsong camp. To the south, the main Horde camp. To the north was the promise of salvation and Stonetalon peaks. And to his left, more rocky formations and kilometers upon kilometers of canyons and wastelands.

Moaning in pain, Dalrus forced himself to stand and drag his feet towards the nearest rocks. There were three in total, all of them at least twice his height, all shaped erratically. It would have to do. He would not die here. Not like this. Crawling under the rocks, he found some space in between them where the harsh sunlight couldn't reach him. They were all very hard, rough and not in the least comfortable. But for someone on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, it was all he could possibly ask for. Too tired to even ask the voices in his head to give him some privacy for once, Dalrus' eyes rolled up on his head and he lost consciousness.

"Oh, sweetie... You are really pushing things too far like this."

Dalrus moaned, refusing to open his eyes. "Go away... I'm tired..."

"That won't do, dear. You're pushing yourself too far. I warned you about the void. If you keep this up... You'll burn yourself out."

Another moan of protest, the boy still keeping his eyes shut. "Shut up... I just want to rest now..."

"You're tired because you're doing it wrong, sweetie. All you do is pull from the void and wrap it around you like it's a cloth. The Shadow does not work that way. The more you pull, the stronger its grip over you becomes. It is not like the Light, that willingly blesses one with its power. To master the power of the shadows, you must truly become one with them, open yourself to its force, instead of so desperately separating it from you like this."

He covered his eyes. "Please... Go away... I can't... I just... This is too much..."

"Power has a price, young Dalrus. Your problem is that you are too willing to pay that price, and ignoring the consequences. You don't need to make this sacrifice. You don't need to play this game by its rules. You are a rogue. You can find another way."

Unable to take it anymore, he shouted at the top of his lungs: "BUT IF I DON'T PAY THE BLOODY PRICE, EVERYONE ELSE IS DEAD! WHAT'S THE POINT OF KEEPING MYSELF WHOLE THEN?"

"Again, there is your problem, dear. You think the right thing is to sacrifice yourself for the sake of others. But you'll learn... There are other ways of making it happen. I only hope it is not too late by then..."

Dalrus woke up. It was already dark again.

His body hurt so, so much. His muscles were very sore, and when he lifted his back, the pain that shot through his spine was so great he almost screamed. He rolled off the rocks he had been laying on and fell to the dirty floor below, his whole body trembling. His breath was heavy, and slowly, he lifted his eyes to try and catch his bearings.

It looked as if he slept through the whole day. The moon was high up in the sky now, its pleasant light somehow giving his sore body a little bit of comfort. His stomach was practically rumbling of hunger now, but he managed to ignore it and sat up, his back laying against the rocks. Despite the hunger and the initial soreness, at least now he felt much less tired. The pain was mostly due to his bad sleeping position and spot. That, at least, was a relief.

Now, to plan his next movement. Dalrus calculated his options. He remembered hearing that the Warsong camp was a day's march from the Gilneas Brigade. That, however, wasn't much solace. Marching meant walking nonstop all day long. Dalrus was starved and sore, not to mention the two enemy camps were right behind him. On top of that, Kalimdor was still host to many deadly creatures, like the centaurs and the harpies. It was foolish to think he could make that trip on his own.

That left him with little choices.

Then, an idea began to creep up in his mind. By now, the main Horde camp would surely have noticed his absence. They would be on high alert for him. That completely ruled that place out.

On the other hand, the Warsong orcs appeared to be nothing but bloodthirsty brutes who would hack him down at the first opportunity...

But at least they wouldn't be looking for him.

'Guess it's all or nothing now.' Dalrus thought to himself. Holding back a pained grunt, he stood up, then dedicated about twenty minutes to stretching all of his sore muscles. This gave him even more time to think of a plan.

The Warsong were actively ignoring their Warchief's orders and attacking the human camps. Thrall appeared to be busy fending off attacks against himself. He doubted Hellscream would simply stand down after one battle. Most likely, he would continue his efforts to destroy the Human Expedition.

So, if Dalrus could somehow sneak into one of the attack groups... He was reminded of the catapults from the other day. Hiding in one of those things would be quite easy. And once the attack began, he would even be at an advantage point, once the humans left the keep to defend themselves once more. He could help sabotage the weapons, then join the defenders and return to one of the human camps.

A sound plan overall, so long as he wasn't discovered and gutted like a fish first.

'Nothing for it, I suppose. Let's go.' He thought, steeling himself for what was to come. He began to make his way towards the Warsong camp.

His opportunity, however, arrived much sooner than expected. Just as he was approaching the orc camp, its gates opened, and what appeared to be a caravan of kodo beasts was making its way out. They were all heavily packed with provisions, and a huge escort was accompanying them... In fact, it appeared as if every single Warsong orc was making their way.

His heart sank. If they really unleashed such a force against any of the human garrisons, he did not know if they would be able to defend themselves. Things looked quite bad.

He decided to take a closer look. Grunts and wolf riders surrounded the kodos, but in the back, carts presumably filled with provisions were being pulled along as well. Making his way towards one such, the young rogue managed to take a peek inside of the main Warsong camp. The place truly looked completely deserted, with most buildings having been scavenged for their materials. It looked like they fully intended to move someplace else.

As Dalrus approached the caravan, he began to overhear the orcs chatting amongst themselves.

"...A disgrace, is what it is! Why would the Chieftain listen to such orders? We should be joining the main force and cutting down those humans to the last!" One orc wolf rider was speaking from atop it's mount.

His companion, a grunt holding an axe, simply snorted. "Orders are orders. We can't go against the Warchief again. Even the Chieftain says so. We have to do as we are told."

"Bah!" The wolf rider waved his sword around as if cutting down an imaginary enemy. "To hell with that! I'll follow Chief Hellscream to the depths of the abyss itself! That Thrall is too soft. The Chieftain should be the Warchief, not a weakling who refuses to finish his enemies."

"Shhh!" The grunt looked around nervously, checking for anyone who might be listening in. Of course, he did not notice Dalrus. "You hold that tongue back before someone cuts it off, fool! Either way, the Chieftain decided to obey the Warchief, so we have no choice."

Dalrus was very curious now. Just how long had he been asleep? It would appear Thrall had made contact with Grommash, after all. And now the warmongering orc had been ordered to move, from the looks of things. It looked as if the entire Warsong clan was ready to move out. He decided to inspect the other wagons and kodos closer to confirm his suspicions.

After a few minutes, all doubt was gone. This really was the entirety of the Warsong clan ready to move out. From the camp they were leaving, what hadn't been salvaged for materials had been destroyed or left behind to rot. There were no women or children among them, only hardened male warriors and peons surrounded the kodo beasts and loaded the carts with provisions for the journey. Dalrus made his way towards one such wagon at the very rear of the caravan, and peeked inside.

What he saw made his heart flutter and his stomach churn.

Food. Food and water. Fruit, dried meat, flasks and sacks full of water, animal hides... All sorts of provisions filled the cart's floor, walls and ceiling. Desperate and starved as he was, the boy did not think twice before hopping inside of the wagon as soon as the nearby peons turned their backs on it to go gather more sacks full of food. Hiding behind one such sack - a particularly large one, at that - the boy slipped his hand inside so he could fish out one of its contents. It was to his great delight that he found a thick, ripe apple, which he immediately sunk his teeth into, having to hold his breath in order to suppress a moan of delight. He simply sat there, eyes closed, basking in the blissful sensation of that cool juice filling his mouth as he chewed, and, because of that, he failed to notice when the orcs sealed the wagon's doors behind him with a huge, heavy iron lock. It wasn't until he had feasted on half a dozen more apples and the order was given for the caravan to begin its journey that Dalrus realised he was trapped there. He gripped helplessly at the bars of his unintended cage and peered down at the orc guards who were unwittingly escorting the young rogue. "Oh, brother... I hope master Silvius never hears about this."