Chapter 11

Ranger-General


X Ranger X

When Thomas woke, it came with immediate awareness. It was a natural waking, not in the urgency of an attack, and he noticed it came without the tired aches and stress his body had carried for the previous weeks. A full night of rest... the thought came with some surprise, but he was suddenly glad for it, appreciative of Genveera's advice.

He recalled too where they camped and the state of his people, but the shock was gone, and the sorrow was fading. It was no longer a burden to carry; life moved on.

The sound of a someone else breathing, with the faint pulse of a sleeping heart rate, almost came as a surprise to him. He had forgotten about Snow's presence, and he hadn't thought she would stay through the morning. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who desperately needed the rest. Opening his eyes, he could see the full length of her pale back, slender as she was, with a hint of her buttocks disappearing beneath his blanket.

Thomas began to feel torn over whether he should regret the night with her, when he had been starting a relationship with Sarrine, or appreciative, for he knew he so desperately needed the comfort. He knew he was grateful now that she was still here, as his hand found her hip and stroked the warm, pale skin.

One thing he hadn't missed though was the tangled mass of brown where her head should have been, laid over the formerly white hair. He could feel from his touch through her that the magic of the glamor had slipped from her as she slept. This, whomever she was, was the true face of the woman behind Snow. The only ranger who fit the bill was Flaerie, yet that reserved woman maintained short hair, and her skin was many shades darker.

Snow woke shortly into the contact, giving a cute hum and arching her flawless back. After a moment, she began to turn over, revealing a wide smile on her lips. Pretty green eyes found his, giving Thomas the full view of Snow's real face finally. She began to utter a word, he was nearly certain the start of the Thalassian word for "Shadow," then froze, eyes widening in start.

With a short meep of surprise, the woman bolted up, only the grace of her race keeping her from falling over instead, and she immediately leaped over him and towards the door. Her hand swung up between steps, he saw, and the veiled gown left the floor to wrap around her as she ran. At the tent flap, a word of magic changed the shape of the article, and glamor was applied over her, but she was already outside before the spells finished.

Still lying down with his head supported by one arm, Thomas smiled at the abrupt exit. Her face was committed to memory, though he doubted he would ever see it around the camp. It was some time later that he actually followed her up and got ready for the big day.

XxX

"So what can you tell us of these daemons," Thomas asked Ysanna, Lorrin, and the other blood elves from Stonard. They sat in a circle on the flat blocks of Stormwind, somewhere in the ruins of Trade District, while around them, Donvorei, his men, and other recruited help dashed about, trying to excavate goods from the ashes. The auction house especially had been a figurative gold mine. The bank, more literal.

With them were also a few rangers, Raeloth, and some officers. Strange though was the absence of Genveera.

"They are many, and their strength varies," a magister, Sarthas, replied. "It was obvious for us on the walls, as no matter how direct a hit was, some just wouldn't go down as easily as others."

"A few hours before we reached your fort, I saw something that might have been one of these. It looked like a... corrupted mage-eater. Black and strange, however. Is that somewhere along the lines?" Thomas followed.

Sarthas seemed the one to talk to, as one with the most experience. The others only nodded along with his words. "Exactly so. I'm not one for demonology, but Vessa is. She profiled mage-eaters, imps, even eredar among the daemons, but these are not the demons we know. They are the shadows of demons, summoned from burning pits and abyssal realms, not from a place as known as the Twisting Nether. They know only viciousness, strength, and malice. Even the weakest cannot be controlled by a warlock. And among them, there are those that cannot be identified in demonology terms."

"Shadows of demons," Thomas repeated, nodding. "For their color, yes? Black is universal?" There were more nods. "That is worrisome. We all know how countless the demons of the Nether are. We can only hope whatever is bringing these daemons here doesn't possess similar numbers. Tell me about the differences though. These daemons that do not have the images of demons."

Sarthas shook his head, reluctant, until Ysanna's partner Lorrin piped in, "I'll tell you then! These fiends haven't any eyes. Hard to mistake the usual fel green glow of them, but these things move like literal shadows, unable to be tracked properly by any eye. I was content remaining in my muggy home during the nights, but just once I tried tracking these daemons using the ley lines."

"Lorrin," Ysanna warned.

"He has a right to know!" the man snapped. His partner's lips pursed, but she didn't pursue her point. "The ley lines, Ranger-General, are a complex weave of arcane pathways that run the planet. They are overseen by the Aspect of Magic, and only he knows the full web of them. It is through these pathways that we make our portals, connecting access points to access points. Stonard had such a point, Stormwind's Mage Tower did – and it has outlasted the stone walls, clearly. Any mage can learn to use the ley lines, but for those who master the field, we can do much more.

"Since death of the last Aspect, Malygos, the lines have been volatile and uncharted. Open to use and abuse for all sorts of arcane beings, but the few blues left have been keeping up a firm watch, until recent times. Among other things, that's given me access to the ley lines for personal use."

"To us," Ysanna added, solemnly. Thomas understood the forbidden nature of what Lorrin was trying to explain, and her reluctance.

"Now," continued the portal master, "I won't go into every detail of what my tracking entitled, but I found very quickly that I wasn't alone in the travel of it. The daemons are using it for travel – not all, but enough. I severed a few connections as I went (you know, cutting them in half as they stepped between sides of a portal), but then the one I was following stopped its night flight and opened a new path into the ley lines. I traced the ends of its portals, only to find myself ripped out of my travels and flung back into my body."

The man paused to bat his forehead with a handkerchief. Thomas noticed the pallid color his skin had become, now dotted with beads of sweat. His green eyes though were vacant, turned upon the memory. "These daemons are not simple spell-weavers, Ranger-General. Swifter than I, a portal master, they turned me on my ass and opened a pathway into my chambers, where I sat. It opened a portal elsewhere from a ley line access point, from the hot spot in Stonard.

"And from its shimmering window, I could see my prey, now my hunter. I cannot well describe its shape, but I can describe my terror. As quickly as I could, I locked the portal down, preventing travel, and even now its mocking laughter, like the deep brass horns of war, haunts my sleep. What I could see of it through, through those murky depths and in the height of my horror, was an alien head, ribbed like the eredar, but where the eyes should have been, ugly gouge lines scarred around empty sockets. But it could see! With sightless eyes, it stared right at me, lips peeled in that horrific smile, until my body shook like the leafs of fall. It... it..."

His recounting ended there, as he ran the handkerchief over his face again, and he shook himself from his trance. Ysanna was touching his wrist, though Lorrin seemed not to notice. At his silence, she said, "A portal without ley line access is a highly irregular and noticeable thing – a movement of the ley lines themselves – and I had felt it immediately. By my arrival, Lorrin, even in the midst of this, managed to seal the rift shut, and together we shifted the line back into place. After the fact, I concluded that it managed the portal by tracing Lorrin to his point of entry. I believe, and hope, that the daemons do not have such ability as to open a portal anywhere as they will."

"That which I saw was not a daemon," Lorrin jolted back into the conversation, suddenly vehement. "It was a Sightless daemon. They are different; stronger, more resilient, intelligent, and blessed with such dark powers. The sightless eyes are the marker; it was not an isolated encounter."

"Sightless," Thomas tested the word, considering it. In Common, he repeated, "Sightless..." A name for their enemy. A Sightless could have been responsible for the slaughter outside the Dark Portal, yet the mage-eater had been a regular daemon. It was a sobering marker of how many the enemy possessed.

"Ranger-General Thomas," a masculine voice called, thick with a Thalassian accent.

Thomas looked up for Jerath, knowing the voice, only to see a pole impale the ash before him. He paused, scanning it and the banner it bore, while his friend leaned on the splintered wood. "I discovered this posted outside the sundered bridge, facing the forest. It is too pristine to have been here since the razing of Stormwind. I'd say it was very deliberately placed following, as a marker of conquest."

"And the tracks? Do they lead into the forest?" Thomas asked. It was reflex to continue conversation in the language presented to him.

One thing he always appreciated with this man was his ability as a ranger. There would be no question that Jerath had seen the tracks and followed them within caution, that he knew every detail already of the area. He was superior to even Thomas in this regard.

"The tracks lead north, into the mountains. The footprints are gone, but the taint of magic in the soil will remain for some time. They seemed very careful not to step into the woods."

Finally some good news. It had Thomas' lips turn up in a smile, and he nodded to the man before looking back to the banner. The others stood to also take a look, beginning to speculate:

"It can't be some kind of target, there's no base."

"I'd place it as a marker of similar meaning. Stormwind was a target, now it is ashes." That one was Raeloth.

"Or a sigil. The marks are finely done, but I'd guess it as the symbol of the enemy. Their flag."

"A white flag, with three black circles? That is the most childish image I've ever heard. It is clearly a marker, as the commander says."

Thomas touched its edges, feeling along the smooth fray of it. White-dyed frostweave, by feel, with the thin fabric gently contorting into folds in the light breeze. The circles were immaculate, without imperfection, spaced nearly – but not quite – inside each other much like a bullseye. A banner of the daemons. Sightless...

His raised hand interrupted their continued musings. He found himself nodding, understanding and appreciating the clever truth of the banner. This foe was not at all like the barbaric orcs with their brutal banners. They were very deliberate, unique, with attention to fine detail. And intelligent enough.

"Gentlemen," he started, drawing in their attention further. "Behold the Sightless Eye, the driving symbol of the daemons. Indeed, this is their flag." It was not just some bullseye with no pupil – no, it was an eye with a white pupil. A sightless eye.

There was a quiet moment of consideration as each listened to his explanation. They began to nod along with him, finding his own conclusions. To Jerath, Thomas asked, "Where is the Swan? I would have her also see this."

The blood elf glanced up into the crowds of Donvorei's workers, for not even a second, then looked back. "She's about two hundred yards out and coming here, tucked between the canal bed."

Murmurs from the other warriors and officers around them – Thomas, amused, could hear the marvel at Jerath's ability – as he nodded his thanks. Someone, it seemed, had an especially late wake up.

One of the officers, a Blood Knight – Thomas thought his name was Flenadar – mentioned, "The Green Army needs its symbol still. We should take their flag and paint the iris green, make it after our eyes. The Exilee has such a strong cadre of rangers, including the Ranger-General himself, I think it'd make a fine symbol and a finer point to these daemons."

"Huh, the Shadow has green eyes too. Never noticed before," someone mentioned, picked between the following murmur by Thomas as they considered the proposal. Such would be to issue a challenge to these daemons. He liked it, but he knew better than to risk incitement of them. There was more than his own life to consider.

Genveera was greeted upon arrival, and she was quick to notice the flag, staring at it with shrouded curiosity. Raeloth explained its origins and Thomas' theory on it, and she placed her agreement with him. The blond ranger stopped beside Thomas, arms crossing in her consideration, and as she did, he picked up a faint whiff of sex clinging to her, hidden among the leathers of her armor, the dusts and swamps of their travels, and more. Morning now, her green eyes were without the glow of mana, assuming she had fed the night before.

It went without saying that Jerath also noticed, but it was only when he connected the lingering scent on Thomas himself to that of Genveera that his blond eyebrows rose. As Thomas had realized the previous night with Snow, there wasn't such a connection, and he gave a very subtle shake of his head when Jerath's keen eyes fell upon him. The ranger shrugged.

Personally, Thomas didn't know what to think of Genveera and her taking some nameless lover to bed, but he knew it wasn't his business.

The banner was taken from its pole and given to an officer to have painted, once Thomas decided he'd like to see the end result. Before their meeting disbanded, for the new blood elves to catch up on the events of the last few years for the Sunfury and the marches of the Exilee, Lorrin wanted to mention that he noticed most of the Sightless portals originated at or were bound to Northrend. For such a barren and now unimportant place, he found it suspicious.

Thomas nodded as it confirmed his own suspicions. "That banner too is "frostweave," found only up in the arctic too. When we march for war, we would do well to begin there."

Lorrin's later mutter of, "I fucking hate the cold," as he walked away was ignored. He had no way of knowing Thomas could still his whispers at thirty yards distance.

That left Thomas with the rangers. Sarrine was not among them; he was glad for it, unable to face her in good conscious after the previous night. He wanted to wash away the scent of Snow and sex before the confrontation. From those he did see though, excluding Genveera, they carried new daggers at their sides. One for each, bearing blackened leather grips and smooth elven steel hilts. They were standardized.

He asked to see one, adding, "So you have found a name for yourselves, have you?" Jerath did not perform grand gestures or tricks when drawing and offering his dagger, hilt first. Thomas took it in his right hand and turned it over a few times. The blade itself was of similar metal, tinged like a dark grey steel, and still reflected light as if was polished. The finely etched runes went from the underside of the thin guards down under the leather, blocking an enchanter from reading them.

"Ashblades. Or Ashblades," Jerath said, giving both translations.

Upon noticing Genveera's gaze upon it, he offered it for her to see, asking, "Not for you?"

"I was preoccupied when they met," she explained. There was a palpable tension between her and the dubbed Ashblades at the reminder. After turning it about and giving it a swing, Genveera nodded as she returned the blade to Jerath. "Finely balanced. It sings in the wind well. A worthy weapon."

Thomas tried to drag attention away from the schism by saying, "I hope you realize that by taking a place as my private guard, you are excluded from the usual missions I or Raeloth would send you on. They will have to be passed on now to the rogues and assassins."

"Yet when you rush headlong into your usual trouble, you will have little choice but to keep us along," Loraeoth countered, throwing a playful twist on the words. Thomas huffed a laugh and shook his head, looking up at the ceaseless scrambling of Donvorei's men. It would be hours before they dug out all the wealth and supplies Stormwind had housed, if they could at all.

To the rangers present, he asked lightly, "How angry do you think Meyanna, Raeloth, and the rest would get if I left into the forest now to bring my mentor here?"

"You know the human expression "chewing stones?"" Jertah mentioned, his words much clearer in his native tongue. "Angry enough to chew through mithril."

Thomas laughed, listening as Genveera spoke, "It is good that you won't though, as such would leave the camp and Donvorei nearly defenseless in your absence."

Her words had him sigh, and he nodded. At least she was not one of the Ashblades; he had plans for the Swan when they reached the enemy.

XxX

The sun had begun its descent once the Exilee finally began to move towards the forest of Azeroth. It was no easy travel, now laden with nearly a hundred carts and the great stone bridge crumbled to the water below. It took a few minutes for the craftmen to levitate some of the blocks back into a thin, arcane-enforced bridge for them, and then they passed the mountains of blackened rubble that were once part of the outer wall.

At the forest though, Thomas encouraged them to song, while he and the Ashblades took to the head of their forces. The elves' spirits elevated, and the horrors of the world were forgotten then in the return to nature. They all noticed when the forest rose up in song in turn, from the chirp of birds to the excited rustling of trees.

"You should not draw such attention to us," Ysanna warned as they marched. Her arms were folded tight over her blue robes, and her eyes were leery of the trees around them.

Thomas only smiled at her concerns. "That is exactly what I want. From here to the ends of Elwynn, and even through some parts of Duskwood, the forest exalts in our presence here. Anyone that can feel such stirrings will know that the children of the wood have come and will rejoice. A true ranger will also be able to ask the forest where we are."

"And the daemons?"

"They seem unnatural enough to never notice even the playful twists of the wind, and if they are close enough to hear our song – when they should not be in this forest at all – then I doubt silence would help five hundred travelers escape their attention."

From the side, he noticed Sarrine face him. "So you can feel the forest too then? Without an affinity to it or magic?"

Thomas lifted his hand, feeling the small swath of wind curl over it, seeing the twirl of a caught leaf in its passing. He smiled and looked to the trees, where a small congregation of birds was following them, landing on the nearby branches to join in the songs. The young trees bent at their trunks, only a bit but noticeable, while the old ones groaned their weary limbs in their own acknowledgment.

"No, I cannot feel it, but the forest sings back, if one knows how to listen. It is a living thing, and its ancient emotions grow so riled. I sometimes wonder how anyone can not notice." Sarrine smiled back at him, then turned her own attention to the forest. Thomas added, "Watch with me now for the presence of another. If I recall well, he has a preference for the hollows beneath roots."

They passed fifteen miles into the forest, far removed now from any civilization. Goldshire was now miles to their south west, as they had diverted from the road nearly from the start. Thomas did notice that the bandit and gnoll problems had been dealt with in his absence to Outland; one way or another, they had been dealt with.

Thomas stopped them where they were, recognizing the old playgrounds of his youth. This was where his mentor had taken him, for their games. The sun, vanished long since behind the trees of the west, had only an hour left of any discernible light, the sky already darkening to deep indigo to the east. Above, the spattering of puffy clouds began to assume tints of pink and orange, while the forest below had shadows creeping with larger presence.

"Shall we break camp here, Ranger-General?" Raeloth asked, joining him in the center of the rocky clearing Thomas had moved to.

The one human in the army shook his head slowly. "Just water and rest for now. I'll decide in a few minutes if this is where we will stay the night."

"Yes, sir," the commander agreed, turning to pass the orders along to the officers. Before he could depart to rest himself, Thomas added, "Commander, forgive me for being unprofessional, but I'll need to take leave right now. Thirty minutes at most. The rangers will come with me."

Brows furrowed, Raeloth turned back to him. He was in his usual stance, with a hand on the hilt of his sword, as he asked, "Sir?"

Thomas hesitated, then paced to the side as the attention of the Ashblades and Genveera fell upon him. At a particular tree, with a single low branch as thick as Thomas that stretched horizontally for several yards, Thomas stopped. His foot dragged over the smooth dirt there, separate from the usual grass.

"Stormwind was never my home. It was the city of my people, my race, and a powerful symbol, but this here was my home. I slept right here, in this spot, under this tree, more nights than I have in a tent in all my years following. I have come full circle, and it is my wish, as just Thomas the orphan, to revisit my youth."

The commander gave a slow nod, settling back on his heels in a more relaxed manner. "If that is your wish, Ranger-General. I'm sure the lot of us will manage a few minutes without your watch. Bring back some food if you will though. We haven't added meat to the stores in the last few days."

With mutual salutes, both men left to their respective tasks. Thomas sprinted up the rocky wall in short leaps, and at the top he found his careful balance sustaining him as he ran along the rim of the cliff. Below, the rangers followed, keeping him in sight as they all ran.

A quarter mile down, Thomas turned from his place and jumped from the cliff edge, landing perfectly onto a reaching arm of an old tree, where he found a handhold on the branch above and swung himself up. Realizing, the rangers began to climb. From the next branch, Thomas saw the second leap to the next tree, no longer as distant as it had seemed in his youth, and he made it in easy steps, smiling at the memory.

Foot over foot, he moved along this curved branch to the heart of the oak, then climbed the next branch which speared over the trees to the south, away from the rocky wall. At the slope down, he stopped walking and began to slide down the branch, muscles carefully braced for each bump and change of the trunk, before its lower lip tucked upward again. For that, he planted one foot on the knob and jumped, from the tree into the green canopy beyond.

Laughing now, Thomas realized the rangers could not easily keep up with him, adapting well to the terrain but not knowing it as intimately as he did. Jerath was sprinting over the tree tops where the branches should not have been able to support his weight. He would not be behind for long. The green cushion caught Thomas' fall, with the one firm branch caught in a fist and swinging him through the leaves. His hand slipped free, emitting him to free fall once again.

Thomas saw the next branch approaching fast, and his knees tucked to his chest as he realized he fell faster and had longer limbs now. His weight carried him over and past, and his body sprang free to grab firmly the following branch. He spun up it, and once on his feet again, he leapt to the left-reaching branch and continued again.

The thrill was there, his actions guided by memory in a dream-like trance. This was the forest of his youth, where he had learned all the tricks and techniques of rangers, where he had mastered acrobatics and learned a world of no obstacles. Where one could run free. This was where he belonged.

The tree-path led back to the rocky cliff, only higher up it now as the land sloped up, and Thomas performed the leap back onto the cliff, glancing only briefly back for signs of his pursuit. He saw crimsons, golds, and moving browns through the leaves and nodded to himself, then jumped to climb up the rocky wall again, only halfway, and jumped into the towering ancient – the largest tree in Elwynn – at its own midway. The branches here could present two feet widths of flat tops to run down, but the space between them above and below were much further than usual trees.

At the center, handholds had been carved into the trunk, fit for smaller hands than his, and he pulled himself up, fist over fist and foot over foot. His fingers burned at the grip, but he was unrelenting. The carved path ended at another wide branch, this one to the right – and towards the forest again – and Thomas finally slowed his pace to walk down it.

The leafy canopy had regrown since his time here, leaving him fighting through the younger branches to step past the blockade, before he was outside the growth and along to the forest. He had seven more feet of branch length before it was too brittle for human weight. At that end, he stopped, planting one foot on a severed knob, and looked out into the forest bathed in sunset.

No matter how begotten the world was, the forest remained, pristine as he remembered. The ashes of Stormwind were of no issue here, in his home. Putting his fingers to his mouth, he performed a particular whistle, that of a bluejay giving the call to its family. He performed the sound three times, then listened with all his ears could.

Ten seconds passed without any return, until... just there, a call. Distant, a mile out, a sound like the family's call back. Perhaps. It was too faint even for his ears.

The first ranger arrived then. It was unusual for Jerath to make any sound when moving, yet at the pace Thomas had forced him at, it was no surprise to hear the small tap of his last footfall. Beyond, Thomas could hear the rustle of leaves and grass and that of feet against bark as the other rangers sought to reach him. Nodding to himself, Thomas stepped back to where the bearded man was standing, sharing a nod with him, and together they called the attention of the rest as they climbed down instead.

On the ground, all of the rangers crouched around Thomas, their breathing light. He gave no words now, no sounds that could be tracked. With a raised hand, he gave them the signal to hunt as rangers do. They took to the trees together, calling shadows around themselves. They were in two groups, Thomas and Genveera; he would be glad to have Jerath lead in combat situations, but the man, no matter how skilled, was always quick to decline. Jerath said he had led as a Bloodwarder, but he hated command.

Though not spaced far from Genveera's squad, the distinction was clear. With Thomas were Jerath, Velanee, Sarrine, Farron, Dor'rath, and Jon'ah. They spread further apart in their hunt to cover more area, until Thomas had to rely entirely on Genveera to watch her own squad, losing track of it. His eyes were everyone in this forest of his youth, and he recalled the aged feelings of being outmatched by his foe, even in familiar woods. He was looking to the same obvious places and ignoring the same places he had as a child.

Jon'ah went down.

Thomas' heart stopped in the instant he did, as the presence of his ally vanished completely, without warning or sound. Jerath stopped too, his faint trickle of blended shadow growing still and vanishing from perception. Brows furrowed, Thomas watched the area, but he knew his only choice was to wait. As much as it pained him, his team would become the bait, and he would strike exactly where the next one vanished. He hoped the desperate hope that the assailant was who he thought it was, and not a daemon.

His breath was held in the tense moment. It passed, and he held again, while those around him sought to stand still again. His foe was too clever for such a game, thorough in their hunt of his team. Genveera's presence had been lost entirely as they remained locked down. Likely, Jon'ah's body was bound and hidden, to escape their find. Everyone twitched at the sound of a stone rustling a bush, revealed to be Dor'rath who threw it. The rogue-like man only shrugged at their combined looks.

Shaking his head, Thomas had Dor'rath cloak himself in shadows again, and they moved. He was ready this time, standing in the very center, with each member of his squad within reach of a Shadow Step. Thomas found his eyes closed more often than open as they dove up and down trees, across branches and over fallen logs and rock cropping. His perceptions of motion, when spread like this, worked much better without visual sensation to override it.

There was a moment where Sarrine flinched, and Thomas was upon her area in an instant, crouched beside her with his dagger ready, but it had only been a sleeping owl. Fortunately, Shadow Stepping did not break Thomas' stealth, and he retreated to his place in the center. The others moved when he did, tracking him like he did them. His eyes, when opened, looked to odd shadows under the roots of certain trees, if the cavity could house a man – and often if it couldn't.

Farron was missing. It took Thomas a second to realize his total presences was lacking one, and he ran a name count to be sure. When it was clear to him that light-hearted man was no longer among them, Thomas gestured to where Jerath was. Though the ranger could not be seen, he got the warning, vanishing from Thomas' perception as he stopped moving. A few seconds later, as they continued forward, Jerath erupted from his place of hiding to fire his bow at a tree ten yards to their collective left.

Thomas caught the movement of a shadow, jumping from the arrow, but even as he began to step towards it, his senses caught the whistle of wind behind him, the sharp intake of a woman's breath, and he Shadow Stepped to Velanee on the gamble of a millisecond of recognition. His dagger caught another in a parry, seeing the blunt end reaching first for the silver head of hair. So their enemy was sapping its victims. Thomas' other dagger struck forward, into the blur of his opponent, and it danced back, flickering once into the shape of a dark humanoid before vanishing again.

Thomas clutched onto the shadows as well, and he pursued, finding another clash of steel as he struck. There was a flurry of moment in the next instant, and their daggers chimed like jingling of a coin sack as the exchange. Clearly, this enemy was also a rogue or a ranger, and it retreated back just as Thomas found his quick-bursting stores of energy hit bottom. The presence of the enemy vanished right as Jerath reached him, with Velanee aiming now to the shadows around them. Her fast heartbeat was audible to him in that moment.

Reviewing the confrontation in his head, Thomas' mind finally was allowed to run on more than instinct. It recalled the distinct twists of the blades he had squared against, showed him that how Thomas had moved his own hands to prevent being disarmed was a trick he had learned from experience against those exact twists. They were familiar, and known. It at least confirmed enough to Thomas for him to drop the shadows, falling into a wary stance but easily visible.

"Stand down," Thomas ordered. He slid a foot forward, and then the other, inching along without losing his form. The others were not quick to listen, each clutching their black daggers in one hand as a reminder of their Ashblade status, so he repeated, "Stay back. I know his tricks."

By now, his foe would recognize him as well. Few enough humans knew Thalassian, and the distinctness of his voice and accent would be enough. Those the leather face-mask Thomas wore was different from the one this foe had last seen, he would know who lied behind it.

Years later, Thomas knew better now than to partake in showy knife tricks and the like, but more important was knowing how it would rile up this enemy. Thomas flung both daggers up into the air, giving them a fast twirl so he could track their sound, and swung his bow down from his shoulder as he drew and arrow, then nocked it. With no hesitation, it was loosed into a distant hollow of roots. A form quickly dove out, vanishing even as it rolled to the side, and Thomas fired a second arrow at its position. He missed, but the enemy dropped his own hold on the shadows, revealing himself.

The smile that had been building up on Thomas' lips vanished at the sight of his opponent. The long blond hair tied was now back into a strict tail, no longer loose for the wind to play with, and gone were the ranger regalia leathers in favor of the dark marks of an assassin, a killer. Certainly, this man was an elf, but the trademark eyes showed not blue or green but were hidden behind a strip of cloth, blinding him or hiding the sockets of eyes gone. The tension clung to his shoulders, this foe, and the grip on his own daggers did not waver. He came again.

Thomas caught the falling daggers and met the attack. Their feet danced to keep them afloat in safe positions, then struck in wicked kicks and sweeps. Their arms blocked each other more often than their blades met each other, until a tangle of limbs had them in a grapple. On reflex, Thomas wanted to lose his daggers again to get his hands on his opponent, but old words echoed in his head. One leg found the ground, catching all their weight, and Thomas twisted himself out of his opponent's grip. A serpentine kris sought his chest, but Thomas kept moving, getting a hand on the ground – now abandoning that dagger – and between arm and leg, he kept hold on the elf and flung them both over his head in a high arc before slamming them into the grass again.

Turning, Thomas stuck his remaining dagger at the throat of his dazed foe, demanding, "Enough!" He noticed that the kris was already in position to gut him, but the hand held back, leaving them in a stalemate.

"Know my tricks, do you?" a quiet, solemn voice asked from chapped, pale lips. "So bold in your absence, Young Jack?"

Thomas finally did smile, relieved, but his joy seemed caught in a net of unease. "I managed a tie, didn't I?" He moved his dagger away from the slender throat.

The elf did not remove his kris.

"And now you are dead," he whispered.

Thomas' abs clenched at the words, even his relief dissipating. He vanished not just from sight but entirely from the tangle of limbs, leaving the elf clutching air, and then Thomas reappeared behind him. With a short growl, Thomas' left arm slipped under the elf's, restraining it, while his hand slid up to yank back on the ponytail to present the throat to the dagger in his right hand. He held the winning hand now, stomping on the elf's fist at the first twitch, grinding his soft-soled boot until the fingers uncurled from the hilt of the kris.

Pig-skin colored lips peeled back in a grimace, but a fierce smile was there. With more life than before, he said, "Good! Good, Jack. You have grown since our last parting, learned beyond that which you gleaned from me. You would not survive here otherwise."

Thomas' hold was unyielding, even leaning his weight onto the elf's back to keep him unable to slip out like a snake. The other rangers encircled them, looking uneasy. Thomas asked, "How long have you been fighting?" He did not know that grey-black uniform, but he knew its meaning. "And your eyes..."

"Nearly three weeks now, perhaps. Things have changed very quickly... and I've made my share of mistakes along the way." Fingers flicked towards his blindfold.

Silence followed, until Thomas asked, "Can I let you go now, you crazy bark sniffer? Or are you going to stay a fanged sheep?"

"I am quite done now."

"Thank the fucking Light," Thomas muttered, standing to his feet and letting the elf free. "The hell were you on about, Buck?"

The elf rolled to his back, facing Thomas with a smile, and he said, also in Common, "I had to be sure it was you, and I wanted to see where your skill lied now. They haven't gotten inside my mind yet, but there have been convincing illusions before."

"They?"

"The enemy," "Buck" replied solemnly. He jumped to his feet, snagging his kris with a hand in the spring, and the blindfolded gaze turned to peer at the people around them. Genveera had her bow trained upon his breast, crouched in a nearby tree without any warning of arrival, along with the rest of her squad. They had made enough noise to attract her, certainly. Shaking his head, the elf said, "First, let us rejoin your comrades in arms, then take them to my home. Your two flower-tramplers are trussed up under some trees along the way. We have so very much to speak about."

"Who is this, Ranger-General?" Genveera asked finally, calling attention to herself from the rest of Thomas' squad.

"So much to speak about," the elf repeated quietly, lips twitching in a smile.

"Everyone, this is Merridan Twilwing, my mentor. Buck, these are the Ashblades, and my second, Genveera the Swan. We're seeking to make a difference."

An odd smile twisted up one side of Merridan's face, a gesture much like the one Thomas made. In Thalassian, he said, "I dare say you came to the right place."

XxX

"The future looks brighter already. I would call you rescued, my lord."

"Who are they – these men that are coming?"

"They call themselves the Exilee. Blood elves, the whole lot, except for their leader. He was... my friend. Is my friend, perhaps, and loyal to the kingdom. Thomas is his name. He can be trusted."

"...I cannot, Merridan. I cannot, even for you. I made my promise. You must conceal the secret, from him, from them. They cannot detect even a trace of this. You will promise me, won't you? You will swear yourself into secrecy for me?"

"..."

"What I ask of you is difficult, I know. But Merridan, you must promise me. He cannot know, not yet. My time has not yet come."

"I cannot lie to the lad. I will not."

"You are an elf, sir – one of the cleverest I've ever met! You can mislead, can say words that are not truths or lies. When the time does come, he will understand, won't he?"

"In his youth, perhaps not. Now though, I can see experience in his eyes, maturity and responsibility... Yes, he will understand, but it will pain us both."

"I am sorry, friend, and you know it. But we cannot take the risk. So say it, I beg you."

"...I am sworn, Lord Dasen."

"I thank you, friend. We thank you."

XxX

Thomas strode up to Merridan once the army was sure of where they would be camping. Finding his old friend not alone, he said, "Ah, who have we here? I see you managed to save at least one since Azeroth's fall."

"I am Lord Dasen McAnole, of Stormwind's House of Nobles. Or at least formerly." The older man still carried a full head of medium-length black hair, though many worry-lines marked the sides of his eyes and gave deep lines in his brow. Dark eyes were kind if sharp, and his lips were restricted to a small smile as he held out his hand in friendly gesture to Thomas. Thomas accepted the hand gently. "Merridan has told me much about you. He holds you in high esteem."

"One could only hope," Thomas replied, giving a nod to Merridan. "You'll forgive me, Lord, if I skip the formalities and jump into the matters at hand. I was hoping to speak to Merridan about our enemy and his take on them."

"By all means, sir. Forget you even saw me," Dasen replied amiably, giving a nod of his head and stepping back.

To Merridan, Thomas asked, "Just one?"

"He is all that made it," the elf replied tightly. He took a step to the side and gestured. "Come. Let us build a fire and cook food. You can bring whomever you see fit for whatever we have to say."

Thomas nodded, until remembering the blindfold. "Right. Fires are safe out here?"

Merridan's teeth showed in his smile. "I've made sure of it."

With a laugh of his own, Thomas nodded again – useless, sure, but reflex – as he turned away with a hand up. "I'll round the sheep then. Usual spot?"

It was. Quickly, Thomas had Commander Raeloth, Captain Maloree, the Portal Masters Ysanna and Lorrin, Genveera, the ex-Bloodwarder Ashbaldes (Velanee, Farron, Meyanna, and Jerath), and several key officers follow him to the old campfire pit he and Merridan had used since he was a child. Also, Thomas brought the magister from the morning, Sarthas, as someone who had experience fighting the daemons. Merridan and Dasen were there waiting already.

"I see you have many men," Dasen commented positively at their arrival. "Where did you manage to find such an army in these times?"

"We have marched from Outland. Left the Dark Portal yesterday, in fact," Thomas told him, once he claimed his usual flat rock. The others found their own seats, until most were left siting on the grass. "We have these two here, Ysanna and Lorrin, to thank for the portals from Stonard to the city ruins. We total up to nearly five-hundred."

"You are a sight for weary eyes – ah, pardon, friend. It had seemed like no hope was to be found."

"We felt much the same," Thomas returned, before looking to Merridan. "So far, we have a lot of rumor and hearsay, with a bit of firsthand experience. I'm hoping you took the time to study and interrogate one."

"You know me too well. I will be glad to speak deep into the night, but before then, I would like to know about your adventures in our separation. These Exilee... these exiles are the Sunfury blood elves that Kael'thas had taken to Outland, yet now you stand at their head. They call you ranger. And then this lass here sits close to your right hand, plucking her bowstring like a lute, and her breathing is seems light and familiar at your presence. You have much to share, Jack."

Sarrine blushed at the comment, ceasing her hands, but Genveera gained attention by asking, "Is Jack your real name, Shadow?"

Merridan laughed at the question, and Thomas decided to let him answer. "Jack is his name no more than mine is Buck. It is a title, dully earned if I may say."

"A title of what?" Sarrine asked. She, along with the others, seemed keenly interested in Thomas' old friend.

The smile was sly. "Why, the Jack of All Trades. He dabbled in more skills, arts, and trades in his youth than most elves already centuries old."

"I had an insistent teacher," Thomas explained, in a faux-woe.

"Yes, an unruly lad you were. "You're not my real dad. You can't tell me what to do!" he'd shout, even at learning letters. But the efforts have paid themselves off, yes? Even magical theory, you have used to detect and predict the actions of your opponents?"

"You broke your oaths to take in a human protegee," Meyanna mentioned quietly. "For what reason?"

Merridan gave her a stern look, though his covered eyes took from gesture. He told her, "A bold accusation for a ranger lord, young lady. Would you take your case with me to the courts of Silvermoon over this human?"

"Indirect teachings, with full intent, are no different..." Her voice trailed off as Farron gave her a look, and she hunched over herself, indifferent to him. "Regardless," she said through gritted teeth, as if pulling out fingernails, "I would much rather thank you for the efforts, for without them, we would not be here." Farron nodded while she looked away.

"Ranger lord," Thomas repeated, the question in his voice, only to be overcome by Jerath's bolder words. He spoke in Thalassian though:

"Ranger Lord Brightwing! You are him, the kin of Halduron. That is where I have heard "Merridan" before."

"Not in this life," Merridan whispered. "Not anymore. Alas, I will not bore the assembly with the details of all our pasts. Jack, if you please, and then I shall."

"As best you do, Sir Ranger Lord," Thomas returned, keeping his tone playful though the subject in mind. "I've been in deep Outland, as I told you I would. The Horde and Alliance have cleared out since the fall of the Betrayer and Kael'thas, though some do check back. However, the Shadow Cult moved quickly, vying to seize advantage of the skeleton crews left in the wake to perform further deeds, and I have hosted the efforts to kill off their poison. My latest success, and the death of their current leader, took me to the the crumbling wastes of Netherstorm.

"To my surprise, many of the Sunfury still lived, though most on their last leg of life. If they seem frail now, this is nothing against their shape at the time of my encounter. They had not even the strength to fight off a nether-corrupted mana beast at Manaforge Ara, falling in droves, and I intervened before I could think. There was no excuse after to rescue dead men. I offered to ferry them from the wastelands to Azeroth, to decide their own fates. That moment was a month ago."

Merridan rubbed his chin, creating a scratching sound at the scuff he needed to shave. It grated against Thomas' ears, no louder than the crickets beginning to chirp in the small clearing one over. "These plans of ferry did not seem to survive long, "Ranger General." I am guessing you took them into combat. You revealed yourself, and your skill, to them, and they saw within you compassion and valor. The traits of a human."

"And recklessness," Sarrine was quick to add, laughing when Merridan did.

Thomas clucked his tongue, but he nodded. "I struggle to find balance between my independent life of before and the responsibility of their lives now. I have been called into check repeatedly by those gathered here. We have, though, encountered masses of refuges fleeing Azeroth – the planet, not just my kingdom – to that shattered world we sought to escape. Since then, we have been thrust into a world of daemons and Sightless, a broken capital and scattered peoples. It seems the apocalypse came and went without notice, and we are in its aftermath."

"Yes, things have been hells and high waters in the last few weeks. I did not notice the state of things until I could see the billows of smoke rising from Stormwind, and the forest shrieked its fury and fear of creatures running through its depths in hunting droves. Sightless, you call them. Yes, I can agree to that. Lord Dasen was the first I could find among those in flight, and with him was the young Prince Anduin."

Noting the pristine lack of princely presence, and the comment of before, Thomas could assume what had happened. "These Sightless are skilled enough to overcome even your protection?"

"When determined," Merridan agreed solemnly. Dasen was looking to the fire, his features stark and depressed in the flickering orange light. "They came not long after the King was assassinated in his own chamber, surrounded by his guard. Those of importance, of influence or power, were targeted, and the prince was no exception. I'm afraid I do not have your skill to step through shadows, and my speed was not enough against three. Three... Sightless, yes."

Thomas leaned back and crossed his arms before him. "But you defeated them, yes? These Sightless are not so deadly as rumor prescribes."

Merridan looked to the fire, the glow overtaking his face and covered eyes, until he slowly shook his head. "No, you assume too much. The fight went terribly, and my eyes – and nearly my mind – were forfeit. I slew one for this terrible cost, and while the two others tried to flee, I barely captured one. Since then, only the lesser folk, those you called daemons, have dared wander into the forest, and I followed their presence to end them as I find them. Now, they mostly avoid the forest – in its entirety – but it was with great pleasure that I heard today the forest rejoice in song, rather than wail in fear. I am glad to see you, old friend."

Thomas nodded. "Forgive me for pressing upon dark times, but it is important to us all that we understand this adversary. What did your interrogation reveal?"

"Dark worlds and dark promises," Merridan whispered, his voice dropping quieter and quieter. "Sightless is so, yes, but perhaps not daemon. A master of... unspeakable evil controls them, controls whom is blessed with Sightless eyes, and his mark is done in shadows and earthy pleasures. The captive spoke much in his madness, but there is one note of importance... I'm sorry, I cannot pronounce his words, so allow me to spell them."

He raised his hand, and a blue light pooled there. A second later, a shrieking, clicking voice laughed between its wheezing. "To-ooh-ooh late, youngling! The Exyccikt'la-" Everyone winced at the inhuman sound over that word. "-have tak-k-ken the blood tolls! Quiver! Writhe! Squirm! Scream! Shriek! Groan! Shake!" The spell died abruptly, ending the sound.

Still grim, Merridan concluded, "That tirade continues until I slit its throat and removed its heart. Its vocabulary was... extensive."

"Light," someone muttered, stunned by the message.

Thomas remained unmoved from where he sat, arms still crossed. "In your best estimate, how many people remain all across the planet?"

"A surprising many, woeful though it may seem now," Merridan told him quickly. "The closer you are to centralized power, the worse you had it, but in the desolate lands and barren peoples, they might not know this catastrophe has come at all. The Horde, Alliance – everyone was hit by the criteria of power."

"I can think of no more extensive wasteland than the frozen lands of Northrend," Thomas mentioned lightly, almost absently.

Merridan's lip twitched at the side. "Funny that you mention that place."

A hand was gestured to Maloree. The woman blinked at first, then quickly retrieved a folded cloth from a satchel she held at her side. It was white, with black and green.

Thomas began to unfold it, noticing that already his people had set and dried the dyes. With a snap, he unfurled it entirely, revealing the Sightless flag Jerath had found, not painted in imitation of a blood elf eye. "Their banner is composed of frostweave, and Lorrin managed to trace a sort of centralized power to there. Excuse the new look. Some thought it suiting."

Merridan made a loud hum as he accepted the banner. "Yes, I am so offended by the touches I cannot see. If my mind is still keen, I recall a white flag with three black circles, yes? What have you changed?"

"We painted the Sightless Eye green. More of a blood elven eye now."

Merridan laughed as his fingers etched at the fabric. "Headstrong, always, and it seems these Exilee only permit your tendencies. Hmm, yes, frostweave by touch. I was given no such word, but I have been a better killer than talker, and my emissaries to them came in the form of severed heads."

"Perhaps I see where the Shadow gets it from," Genveera speculated in a hushed whisper. Thomas and Merridan had identical smirks.

"So you will march to the frozen lands with your band of five hundred?" Merridan asked finally, returning to his solemn state.

"With you, if I could. Your skill and knowledge would be much appreciated. Your leadership, even, so called Ranger Lord," Thomas told him. He nodded towards the quiet lord. "Lord Dasen McAnole is welcome too, or we can find a safe place to leave you in the meanwhile."

Merridan scratched at his scruff again, and he mentioned, "I'm sorry, Jack, that I never told you. It is not well for a Ranger Lord to drop off the face of the planet to brood in a foreign forest. You were good at keeping that mouth shut, when it suited you, but I was taking no chances, and neither of our pasts seemed important in those days. Even now, I would not call them so."

"Forgiven, sir," Thomas told him robustly. "In fact, a few things were made clearer about you. What matters though is Buck, not any Brightwing. Will you accompany us?"

"I'm afraid the choice is not my own. I have an unbreakable obligation to Lord Dasen here, and his preservation. What say you, old friend? Will you march with us into the very den of the adversary? Will you bare your throat to them one more time, with a legion of hardy elves at your back? It will be cold, and frightful, and you will choke with fear, ash, and anguish – but we may have the opportunity to strike down the master of them all, including the Singing Blade whom claimed the king."

There was no hesitation from the weary lord. He shook his head and lifted it to face the conversation. "No, we must go. I will not have you taken from your friend and the conflict on my account. If we have the chance to strike at the enemy, if we have the possibility of victory, then we must go. I will offer myself to serve your army, Ranger-General, as I can. I may seem weak, but that only means I have much room to grow."

Thomas' lip turned up at that. "I see why you like him."

Merridan nodded. "Aye. He's like you but without the bitterness. Imagine if he was just a lad, like you had been." The lord's eyes glowered at that, surprisingly sharp in their glare. The elf did not wink – couldn't, without eyes – but the raised eyebrow and upturned lip, smiling like Thomas, was enough.

"Um, sir," Ysanna started, seeming reluctant on how to address Merridan. He addressed her with his face. "You mentioned "Singing Blades." In Stonard, we had thought them only rumor, but the Horde knew of those called "Windcutters." They were, by report, individual assassins that invaded each city and slew its leader in the seat of his or her power, noted by the whistle of their blades as they sliced through the air. Is that what you refer to?"

Genveera stepped up then. "That lord we encountered before the Dark Portal. He also called the assassin Singing Blade. I assume that is what the humans have taken to calling them... or him."

"Them," Merridan said sternly. "That... Sightless had referred to them as the Exyccikt'la." Even Merridan winced at the hairball-like sound of him trying to cough out the word like the monster had. "They are what we call the Singing Blades. The "blood tolls" I have assumed to mean the claiming of the leaders of the world."

The snaps and pops of the fire filled the following silence. In short while, Thomas shook his head and demanded, "What the hell are we fighting, Buck? Daemons, Sightless, Singing Blades... nothing has gotten this close to wiping out our world before. Not even the old gods."

With terrible shrieks, birds erupted from the trees around them, within a fifty yard radius Thomas noted in the abrupt moment, happening the moment the last word escaped his mouth. Only Merridan didn't flinch at the sound, nor look at the ongoing screeches.

With chilling formality and reservation, Merridan said in the moment, "They are a lingering possibility. Five were chained, two were freed. Three remain beneath our feet. Beware He That Always Watches. Beware the Beast Of All Eyes... Those Sightless did not cut out their eyes. They gave them away, freely."

No one said another word for a long moment. Thomas had a frown though, ending the quiet with, "There you go, getting all creepy on me again, Buck. I'm going to explain it as too long cooped up in a forest alone, and maybe a flash-fried mind at a meeting with madness, those Sightless dogs."

He looked to those around him, keeping his suspicions locked deep away. "Alright, this meeting is adjourned, or however you wish to say it. Keep in mind what you have all heard here, and repeat it with all reluctance. Buck and I have more to talk about, but you need not stay. Donvorei has a week to build what he can, then Ysanna and Lorrin, you will take us as far north as you can."

"I feel the blues would not appreciate it if we appeared at their Nexus, but there is a ley line at Wyrmrest Temple, in the Great Dragonblight of Northrend," the female portal master replied. "I cannot promise the structure remains still, but the node cannot be touched."

Thomas nodded. "The plan is set. Rest well, and remain vigilant."


AN: Thus we conclude Drekthac's and Thomas' part in The First Stage.