10 – Dead Men Lead Nothing

The elites readied themselves for a potential battle. They were occupied in the armoury selecting a variety of carefully manufactured poisons to coat their blades when Sauren darted across the lobby leading from the missions room to the dining hall. He needed to find Don and Reed.

The two boys were just coming up from the kitchens when he spotted them with a tray of food each. Busy talking to each other they didn't see the slight distortion of air circling them.

Sauren smirked as he looked at the contents of their trays; a haunch of venison, roast boar, glazed ham, sweet potatoes and glacé carrots. On other plates, they had their desserts – a fair selection of fruits, cheeses and of course, the irresistible cakes. He could not deny he needed something to eat, but as ever, his ubiquitous hunger for knowledge and the intricate workings of the Guild, especially where it involved the elites, far surpassed his need for a succulent pastry.

"They weren't regular whores," Don said to his colleague who was hungrily munching away on a savoury.

"Ah knaw," Reed mumbled between over-enthusiastic mouthfuls. "They were too refined."

"Yes." Don heaved a huge sigh. "Two of them as well! By the gods, I can't even get one!"

Some crumbs fell from Reed's mouth when Don confessed the pitiable truth and clumsily he dropped his tray on a nearby table. "What? You mean you haven't...?" His eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. He made a lewd gesture with his fingers.

Don blushed.

Sauren was equally stunned. He had assumed Don had been quite busy in that department. A little self-satisfied grin played on his stealthed lips.

"No, I haven't. I'm too...shy." Don said in a whisper as he took a seat next to Reed.

"Oh, we'll have to sort that then," Reed said, resuming his demolition of pastries.

Voices from the courtyard alerted Sauren that he could not hang about listening to his two bodyguards as they organised Don's sexual goals. He needed to make haste. With the subtlest of moves, he materialised, facing them across the table. "I suggest you visit the city then, Don, and pay your coin at the brothels."

Both boys were taken unaware having been engrossed in their conversation. Reed laughed a little nervously as Don blushed more and tried to disguise his embarrassment by pushing the tray of food towards Sauren. "Here's your food." He said, disgruntled.

Sauren grinned and pushed the tray back. "I shall decline, thank you."

"But, you said..." Reed began.

"Yes, I know," Sauren replied, raising a warning eyebrow at the boy's tone. "But, I have places to be, so no time to waste. Enjoy the food!" He turned to leave the dining hall.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Don rose. His humiliation was replaced by concern.

Sauren merely raised his forefinger to his lips before he melded with his surroundings and slid from the room.

The elites were gathering in the courtyard where Alaen and another mage with two priests were already waiting. Brett was nowhere to be seen so Sauren assumed he was still in the armoury with some of the others. It would be unwise to go in there, even stealthed – the trained eyes of the elites, Brett, in particular, would probably detect him easily.

He cursed himself for not having had the initiative to have taken weapons from his father's private collection before he decided to snoop in the missions room. He swithered whether he would have time to run up and get them now. Luckily, Brett's voice carried out the room announcing all to congregate in the courtyard in ten minutes. He had time!

Turning back towards the tower he darted between the supports of the walkway and made his way up the spiral stone staircase to the chambers. He was not aware that a pair of blue eyes watched him like a hawk.

He quietly closed the door behind him when he entered his father's rooms and checked that no maids were within doing their housekeeping. After due consideration, he realised they had been and gone; probably hours before. It was, after all, now early evening.

He stole over to the recess which housed the portrait of his mother. As always, her sweet face captured his attention and a pang of regret at not having known her washed over him. But, he did not have time to pay respects now, he needed the secret she kept concealed.

He ran his fingers along the bottom of the painting and pressed the small cover which guarded a button. On releasing it, a metallic click announced the secret stash of daggers was open. Sauren pulled the portrait towards him and there, enclosed in a glass case, five sets of specialised daggers were displayed on a bed of crimson silk. These lethal beauties had been gifted to his father from appreciative clients and to the boy's knowledge, had not actually been used by Sa'themar in battle. They were, nonetheless, designed to kill and not meant to be merely ornamental.

He weighed each pair in his hands, assessing how they balanced in his grip and chose a set based on which ones he felt would serve him best. Closing the glass front he then took down a belted scabbard from those hanging on hooks at the edge. With the weapons secured in place around his waist, he then closed the portrait. "Sorry, mother. Another time," he said, placing a finger kiss on the portrait.

He left the room and descended the stairs two and three at a time. Stopping just inside the doorway to the tower he watched as the elites gathered. Brett was speaking to them all in a lowered tone, but Sauren could pick up enough snippets to know the plan of action.

He waited as the mage conjured a portal and the elites started to pour through. He inched nearer as each one vanished from sight. Apart from the conjuring mage himself, Brett was last to pass through and Sauren, still stealthed, moved swiftly.

Absorbed within the watery centre he followed the rogues through the tunnelled passage. His heart was hammering. He knew he was taking a huge risk, but he felt daring today. He was uncertain, however, that he could contribute effectively to the possible battle which lay ahead. He had after all, only trained against dummies and other inanimate objects. He had not yet driven a blade into flesh and quite frankly, he doubted he would be given the opportunity under Brett's tutelage until possibly years later. This way, he may be able to prove he would ripen as a rogue sooner than most.

The end of the portal drew nearer, giving way to a somewhat dark and forbidding environment - the Blackened Woods. The rogues stealthed just prior to exiting the spinning circumference and moved to the left. Sauren dodged behind them, watching them all keenly, making sure none had detected the stowaway.

The portal snapped shut once the mage stepped through. A suppressed grunt sounded nearby and the half-elf glanced to his left then right, alarmed that he might have been spotted. Nothing, no-one. All the Blades were in front of him.

From the right, he heard the signature whistle which announced his father was near. Sa'themar approached his troupe. Moving slightly further back, Sauren listened intently.

"It is as I feared. We must fight. The Rangers are defending to the northeast but the war party is sizeable. We have to cut the trolls down."

"What of the others - the orcs and those diabolical beings Brett informed us about?"

Sa'themar's tone hardened. "They are pressing forward with the trolls."

Brett spoke up. "You should know Zul'jin has been freed by the orcs."

The Guild Leader's eyes flashed. With a curt nod, he addressed them all again. "The trolls fierceness and hatred of my people will be galvanised by this... unfortunate turn of events." There was no mistaking the sound of despondency in his voice.

Sauren's resolve trembled at his father's tone. Sa'themar was not a man to be easily intimidated nor unnerved. For his voice to be attenuated by such emotion was a sign that perhaps Sauren's decision to follow in this matter had been the dumbest idea he'd had. It was uncharacteristic enough his acting on impulse but now it also seemed utterly irresponsible. He felt the blood drain when his father signalled for the troupe to move out.

Staying far enough behind so not to be detected, he crouched as he advanced through the woodlands and out onto the open ground. Up ahead he saw lynx stalking their prey and bats flitting below the canopies of the trees.

The group of shadow-melded rogues were safe from attack from the beasts due to their numbers, but a lynx was steadily following the path Sauren was taking a short distance behind. He had hoped his stealth kept him safe, but as the yellow eyes continued to stare in his direction he soon realised it could see the distorted air rippling around him and knew he was the stray from the pack - he was prey.

Lost for what to do, he nervously continued following the group of rogues, hoping the lynx would find something else to draw its attention. He equally knew if it decided to attack he had no alternative but to defend himself and that in turn would reveal his presence to the elites - and his father.

At that point sounds of battle reached the group. Up the east bank of the lake, all manner of shouts, screams and roars could be heard. The rogues pressed forward picking up speed.

Sauren thought the ruckus would frighten the lynx, but he couldn't have been more wrong. As the elites widened the distance between themselves and him, the lynx lowered itself, preparing to run and pounce. Its movements were like lightning. It was bounding towards him and he had no choice but to be ready for the attack. He crouched and drew his daggers.

His eyes widened as he saw the beast leap towards him. He brought up the two blades. As the lynx passed overhead, Sauren thrust his daggers up in a cross then pulled them apart. The beast roared and the half-elf felt something warm and wet sliding down his head and neck. The cat's blood. A moment's euphoria filled him - he had succeeded in injuring the animal at least. He spun round and there it lay, it's chest heaving as it fought for air. A wide grin played on his lips and amazement at his own skill then fed his ego.

"Do not get cocky, whipper-snapper," a familiar voice spoke. "It was not your blade which dealt the killing blow." Louvel materialised next to him.

The half-elf was stunned yet rather pleased to see the monocled rogue. "What are you doing here?" He asked.

Louvel smirked. "Well, I saw you watching them..." He pointed to the band of rogues cresting a hill up ahead. "...And I sensed you were going to follow, so I thought I would tag along." He adjusted the monocle. "Just as well I did if you ask me."

They both looked at the lynx. A chesty, blood-filled grunt was the last sound it made. Louvel stepped over the beast and recovered his dagger from its throat.

Sauren could not deny he probably had a very lucky break in Louvel being there. "Thank you," he said. "But, I think we should move forward." He gestured towards the rogue troupe.

"Oh, you are serious about catching up with them?" Louvel voiced with a degree of diffidence and humour.

The half-elf furrowed his brow, a little annoyed. "But of course. I don't intend to remain here and be stranded."

"Or eaten," Louvel jested, nudging the dead cat with his foot.

Sauren huffed, glancing at the lynx. "I concur."

"Then youngling, you should have thought of that before you stepped through the portal." Louvel said, re-sheathing his dagger.

Sauren shifted indignantly. "I am not a youngling, I am a man and one who will lead this guild someday with adequate if not exemplary experience."

His companion laughed lightly. "Dead men lead nothing, Sauren. I do not doubt your enthusiasm nor your dedication to doing well, but today will probably be the biggest mistake you make. Are you sure you wish to continue?"

Again the half-elf was irritated. He inwardly admitted that Louvel was most probably correct in his assumption but he would not back down now. "There is no point procrastinating this matter Louvel. I made my choice and I know what I'm doing." He bluffed.

"Very well." The well-dressed rogue tucked his monocle into his waistcoat pocket and started the way ahead. "But try to stay alive. This is not going to be like scratching the belly of that pussycat there. This is going to be seriously bloody."

Sauren did not argue the point, he was mature enough to know that bravado did not prepare one for battle, it only opened the way for a certified disaster.

They caught up with the others, remaining just a little way back behind some dark, thorny shrubbery.

As they peered over, the sight that met their eyes was indeed bloody. Rangers were firing their arrows with notable accuracy and pace at what seemed an endless stream of trolls. The aggressors' numbers were punctuated with large fierce orcs and at the very edges of the swarm, strange looking individuals on skeletal steeds progressed with an uncanny tenacity.

The two young rogues looked over to Sa'themar's troupe. With weapons at the ready, his father signalled the order to move forward.

Still concealed by the abundant foliage, Louvel skulked to the hilltop; Sauren kept close beside him.

To their far right, the wave of rogues melded with their surroundings and crested the hill. The scene below was grisly.

Rangers in uniformed lines hailed their fletched missiles at the encroaching army of trolls. Many fell to the skill of the archers, but more simply ran over the top of the still bodies and pressed forward with an unwavering ferocity. The fervid outpouring of hatred of the elves was clearly seen and heard in the trolls' vicious attacks and shrill battle cries.

Even the valiant elven warriors were hard-pressed to defend against such zealots. Sauren watched, wide-eyed as the swordsmen slashed and tore into the tusked barbarians, flesh and limbs flying through the air in a bloodied mass but still, the trolls' resolve was unshaken.

Spears and blades were launched at the high elves and many crumpled. The injured suffered even more as the trolls trampled over them and drove their weapons deep into the writhing bodies of the defenders. The din of clashing weapons, cries and screams rose steadily from the battlefield.

It was both exhilarating yet terrifying to the young half-elf. Sauren saw for the first time the enormity of such a battle and for all he firmly believed his father's skill and judgement was extraordinary, still, he feared for him. He turned concerned eyes towards the rogues and watched as his father lay out his strategy to the troupe. He was focused, in control and above all inspiring but he was entering a bloodbath and Sauren could not prevent the sense of dread washing over him.

The rogues suddenly moved out and disappeared over the opposite side. Sauren rose and made to move forward - the urge to shout out to his father gripped him. Louvel's hand clamped over the half-elf's mouth, drawing him back. The brown eyes looked at the rogue, mild irritation burning. Louvel held one of his blades to his lips and shook his head. "Do not call out, Sauren. Your father does not need the distraction."

Sauren's eyes once more followed the troupe before he hesitantly nodded in agreement. He had to concede to Louvel's wisdom and for having read him so accurately; he could have easily jeopardised the party by his lack of forethought. Together they watched and could easily make out the stealthed forms as they charged into battle. Their enemies were unaware of their presence - until numbers started to wane.

The agile assassins circled their targets and jabbed quickly, repeatedly and mercilessly. Some of the trolls were immobilised and cut down, left to bleed out or suffer agonising deaths from the poisoned blades. The swiftness of the assault produced surprisingly encouraging results for all the rogues were a small band in comparison to their adversaries. The tactics behind the rogue attack were well executed and Sa'themar had little need to keep barking or signalling orders to his troupe - they all knew exactly where to be.

Although Louvel and Sauren could see the combined efforts of the Rangers and the rogues were starting to cause a dent in troll numbers, the threat from the axe-wielding orcs and the sinister horsemen was still advancing with impenetrable resolve. Inadvertently, the two youngsters shivered as they noted the crepuscular vapour which roiled and curled its way around the emaciated soldiers.

Fixated, Sauren started to feel an inexplicable pull towards the centre of chaos. His perturbation gave way to a strange and somewhat inapposite trembling, as if he was being charged, infused by an unknown impetus. An unspoken understanding passed between himself and Louvel. With a perceptive grin, the noble rogue jerked his head towards the fight and together they took off down the hillside.

"You have a death-wish, whipper-snapper," Louvel said over his shoulder.

"Perhaps it is in the blood, Nottley!" Sauren replied.

Louvel laughed and the two of them sped forward. "I'll top, you tail!" he said. Sauren nodded. He knew exactly what he was meant to do.

They neared the first few enemies on the left flank. He watched as Louvel projected himself forward, leaping high. One dagger was angled to slice the nearest troll's throat while his other would land the second cut, nearly decapitating the creature. Without pausing he leapt again and twisted mid-air as he delivered the same deadly strike on another troll.

In an almost frenetic outburst, Sauren sprinted before dropping to his knees, sliding towards the back of another troll's legs. Swiftly he drew his blades up across both the hamstring and Achilles tendon, causing the enemy to buckle instantly. The tusked warrior roared as he hit the ground flailing his arms bringing his spear in an arc as he tried to skewer whatever had attacked him - but by then Sauren had moved to his next target.

Still slashing and hacking, the half-elf tore between the advancing trolls, delivering the debilitating strikes which left the adversaries to the mercy of the elites if not the arrows from the Rangers bows. Each success fuelled his deep-set ambition but still he kept a close eye on Louvel - he did not want to lose this newfound friend.

A rush of air ruffled his platinum locks and he stared wide-eyed as the Firefurys jumped over where he crouched and engaged in combat with one of the orcs just a few yards ahead. He saw first-hand the exquisite choreography for which the couple were renowned.

Yathas, a few feet ahead of his wife suddenly turned his back on the orc, cupping his hands in front of himself. Lina used her husband's boost to launch herself high enough to reach the orc's shoulders.

The moment her thighs closed around the hulk's neck, Yathas resumed his advance. He leapt, pushing his daggers up under the orc's raised arms as it tried to grab for Lina. The blades penetrated just below the armpits causing the orc to spasm. At that same moment, Lina plunged her daggers into its temples. The enormous orc staggered forward losing balance.

Before it hit the ground, Lina had cleared its body and was advancing towards another with Yathas keeping perfect pace beside her.

Thwack! Thwack! Sauren looked to the skies. The muted whistles of speeding arrows preceded the dull thwacks as they either embedded themselves in enemy flesh or buried into the soft ground nearby. He had to move or he would become a pin-cushion within moments.

He rose and moved deeper into the throng of battling bodies where he thought he heard Louvel shouting his name. Twisting to find the source, he was faced instead by one of the enemies.

A forest troll, considerably taller than himself, all limbs, muscle and tusks. Yellow irises with pin-prick pupils scanned the tell-tale ripples indicative of a stealthed individual. Like a mouse trapped by a housecat, Sauren found himself unable to move.

One of its tusks was broken near the tip, its fractured edge jagged and capable of rending flesh. Dry, cracked lips curled in a sneer revealing smaller pointed teeth, varying from shades of ochre- yellow to brown.

Skin the colour of forest vines bore tribal markings on muscular arms and were bound at the wrists with protective leather guards. Its neck and chest were adorned in necklaces bejewelled with morbid souvenirs - ears, teeth and tiny skulls, most likely of forest creatures; or so Sauren hoped.

The troll leaned closer, audibly sniffing, it's hooked nose barely inches from the half-elf. The creature emitted a sound, possibly laughter but minus the mirth. Its breath was rank mingled with a sickly, pungent odour, perhaps herbal of some description.

The only sounds Sauren could hear now, were the throaty growl of the antagonist in front of him; the clink and jangle of the metal hoops through its ears, the hollow clack of bone adornments around its neck. "Wat du wi ave here?" the troll said in a slow, deliberate drawl. "Yu be but a bwoy pickney." This time the laughter tripping from its lips was loaded with a vindictive mockery.

Rooted still to the spot, Sauren remained quiet, unable to think of how to respond partially because he could not quite understand the creature, but also in his mind, he was assessing his chances of survival; they were debatable, to say the least. This creature was undoubtedly experienced in war, swift in its attacks and devoid of any qualm to killing elves, pure-bred, half-breed, old or otherwise.

"Mi guh make yeye-wata a-plenty," it said, stepping nearer.

Sauren's eyes flashed to the spear as the troll tossed it up just enough to alter its grip on the shaft. Adrenalin fired through the half-elf and he kicked off, projecting himself in a somersault over the troll. His combatant lifted the spearhead as Sauren passed over-head, its blade tip nicking the boy's ribs. Sauren twisted as the sharpened flint pierced his skin but still managed to land in a good enough position to thrust his daggers into the troll's kidneys.

The creature roared more from fury at being duped by a young boy than from the pain he inflicted. Nonetheless, it soon turned into a scream as Sauren twisted the blades, shoving them deeper. Still, the troll attempted to turn, its three-fingered hand reaching for the platinum locks to try and yank the half-elf around.

Sauren glanced up as a spray of troll-blood hit him square in the face. Momentarily blinded, he felt the weight of his attacker slide from his daggers. He wiped the blood from his eyes with his sleeve and saw Louvel standing in front of him, his own daggers running with rivulets of fresh blood. The affluent rogue flashed a cheeky grin at the half-elf.

Unified roars of warning from the Rangers alerted the young men of a change in dynamics. All around them the battle still ensued; elves against trolls and orcs, warriors clashing with enemy warriors, rogues and archers. Blood flowed endlessly soaking the lichen and fern-covered ground. Bodies, mutilated, broken and crushed lay amid the chaos of battle - respect for the dead forgotten in the bid to win or at least survive the clash. But the way was opening for the macabre army of Death Knights to lay claim to the fallen.

Skeletal horses moved steadily into the passage afforded by the orcs and trolls. The ominous fog seemed to cling to the necromantic riders like a gigantic, expanding cloak as they infiltrated the battlefield and the path of the dead.

Louvel and Sauren felt their stomachs churn as from beneath the nocuous mist writhing bodies started to rise. Once human and elven, the creatures which took up arms in the wake of the Death Knights turned icy eyes towards their one-time brethren and started the advance to the weakened defence lines in the rear.

Again the roars erupted, but a spark of hope resounded within them. Straining to see over the combined mass of corpses, and still-battling foes, flashes of light and the unmistakable low thrum of powerful sortilege began to build from the east near the Farstrider's Enclave at the lake's edge. The elves, Rangers, warriors and rogues alike started to retreat towards the pulsing light.

The battle acoustics changed. Now the trolls and their allies were displaying uncertainty. Even the malignant dead warriors drew to a halt within the masses.

"Come on!" Louvel tugged at Sauren. "The tides will turn now."

"What?" Sauren flinched as the human rogue pulled him along. The wound to his side felt like it was burning. He placed a hand on the injury and gasped when he saw his fingers were coated in his own blood. Still, he had no time to worry about it now. They needed to reach safety or risk being caught up in whatever the next onslaught consisted of. "Louvel, what's happening?"

"The magi have arrived in force," Louvel explained.

Finally understanding, Sauren pushed along with the human rogue, artfully dodging any stray trolls that were still trying to keep their own advance moving.

A firm hand gripped Sauren at the back of his neck. He was about to strike with his blade when the one voice he did truly did not want to hear growled in his ear. "What the blazes are you doing here, boy!"

His mahogany eyes met his father's furious visage. The intensity of the Guild Master's eyes clearly stated that Sauren had more to worry him now than merely reaching the rear lines.

"I - I..." the half-elf gasped.

"Save it! You will have time to explain later, make no mistake." With a burst of speed, Sa'themar pulled Sauren along effortlessly. His troupe followed, snatching up the young noble rogue who accompanied their leader's son and escorting him within their group.

On reaching the Enclave, finally, the elves halted. There, still arriving through a myriad of multi-coloured portals, magi from Quel'thalas and the Isle of Quel'Danas arrived including Bel'ovir and the self-opinionated Dar'khan.

"You took your time!" Sa'themar sniped at his magister friend.

"One must never rush one's cup of tea, Sa'themar," Bel'ovir answered humorously until he saw an injured Sauren at the Guild Master's side. His smile faltered and he cocked a questioning eyebrow.

Sa'themar snarled. "Don't even ask!" He thrust Sauren towards Brett and the other rogues but it was Lina's fingers which rested on the half-elf's shoulders and she gave them a gentle, almost maternal, squeeze. The gesture did not ease the growing sense of dread the boy felt, however. He knew he was in for a severe reprimand when this debacle was over.

Dar'khan eyed the half-elf, a supercilious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Playing with the big boys now are we, Sauren?"

The half-elf glared at the magi through his blood-spattered hair. "We all have to start somewhere," he spat back, clutching his side.

His injury did not go unnoticed, in fact, the mage almost seemed to revel in it. "I dare say," Dar'khan retorted, haughtily. "Let us show you how things get done around here though."

The fighters were ushered back as a long line of magi moved towards what remained of the suspicious, restless rabble that was the trolls and their recondite army.

The air seemed to vibrate and shimmer as incantations were muttered in unison. Building to a rapid crescendo a synchronised wave of arcane energy spread out from the spell-weavers and razed the front lines of trolls and orcs. Amethyst ripples hissed and spat as the wave gradually diminished. Another chorus of enchantments was spoken and a larger, brighter cast reached further afield, pushing back the now panicked Death Knights and their emaciated steeds. Orcs grunted and roared, some making a bumbling attempt at backing away, crashing into trolls and falling over corpses.

The magi moved forward, their spells intensifying as they crossed the battlefield, erasing the now scattered pockets of enemies. Elemental streams of fire, frost and arcane shot forward catapulting the foe like coconuts from their stands at a shy.

The enemy was retreating. Of the Death Knight casualties and their newly-risen comrades, the magi separated heads from bodies with simple chants and anagogic blades shooting from their fingertips.

Behind the magi, priests who now exited the still open portals proceeded through the war-torn forest and administered aid to those who lay injured and bleeding. Prayers were said over the elves and their allies who were less fortunate.

The spell-casters continued pushing the enemy back over open ground and through the forests. It seemed, for the time being, the horde's attack had at least been severely fragmented.

Sa'themar turned to face his troupe. Few had come through without injury, varying degrees of cuts, gashes and bruises faced him, including that of, he now saw, his son's. The blood from the boy's wound was trickling over his slender fingers and splattering on the ground between his feet.

Sauren attempted to hold his father's gaze but as he heard the command for the Guild mages to take them home, consciousness slipped from the half-elf and he entered a very lurid, strange world indeed.