Chapter 14

The skies were the milky grey of corpse flesh when Sarah, puffing and cursing to herself, began to ascend the long spiral staircase up to her target's room…all the way at the top of the tower. Breathing, heart beats, sweat, clothes clinging uncomfortably to your back like some sort of limp, damp lover spooning you. Sarah hated it all, hated it and would make sure that she took all of her frustrations out on the room's occupants before she flung her uncomfortable, useless body off the side of the tower, her true and proper body slipping past the unyielding cobblestones as the flesh one smashed mercilessly against them. As she walked she ran through her mind the sequence of tasks before her once she reached the room, having finally reached a satisfactory plan of attack. Poison the mage with the Banenettle leaves, curse the dwarf with magicks that would dim his sight and soften him up with some unholy screams. Then, when they were both near death, go to work on their minds, taking away every last good thought either of them had before finally letting their tortured souls slip into death. It was simple, it was elegant, it would work.

Pausing to catch her breath Sarah froze as a nearby door opened and disgorged a heavily robed figure. Sometimes a magically sensitive person could sense her presence lurking around in a flesh body, something that would be disastrous to her plans right now. Leetha tried to keep her outward expression calm as the robed man closed the door behind him and, noticing her for the first time, started a bit at her presence. " You're here rather early. What brings you to Greymere Tower at such a time of the day? " the man asked searchingly, slipping his hood back to reveal a middle-aged wizard with chestnut hair and more than a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from countless hours of peering at text and precise measurements.

" The…usual. Waking Master Skychaser from his drunken slumber, " Sarah replied awkwardly, gesturing her head up the stairs. The robed man looked in the direction of the stairs, shaking his head.

" I know of him. Such talent wasted on a broken man. The Sorcerous Sight is not a gift often seen among his kind, and now it's the only thing keeping him useful to the Alliance anymore, " the mage snorted, the contempt, and perhaps a touch of jealousy, clear in his voice.

Sarah panicked again. The Sorcerous Sight? Suul had said nothing of such an ability, and Leetha, thinking back to her days in Silvermoon, knew the term had been tossed around when the discussion of mages arose. Did it allow him to see things others would miss? Would it allow him to see her true form?

" Well, you look as if you want to be on your way. Don't wander while here, there's dangerous experiments afoot at all hours of the day, " he robed wizard said finally, nodding in farewell to her and making his way down the staircase.

Sarah was too shaken to form even a simple farewell of her own, her mind racing with new contingents and doubts. She continued her ascent slowly, her expression deeply concerned. Suul'Dracol would not take kindly too her failing, and this body was the best possible one to get into the mage's room without suspicion. After some thought Sarah then steeled herself, resolute in her mission. She would proceed with what she planned already. If she operated fast enough, she could poison the mage, still bleary-eyed from being awoken and hung-over, before he could perceive her true nature and destroy her physical shell. Everything else would fall into place after that.

She was here. From this vantage point Sarah could see most of Theramore, still sleeping beneath a grey sky, looking so peaceful. Sarah used to love the view that was afforded from the top of the tower, now she just thought that it would be a nice place to watch the city tear itself apart once Suul had completed his ritual and turned everyone in the city into a berserking lunatic. They could watch it together, she thought, toasting the success of his mission while drinking in the wails of anguish and suffering from below. The thought calmed her dark soul somewhat, letting her concentrate on what to do next. Sarah approached the door, looking at the golden handle, the memories of her doing this time- and-time again flooding to the fore. Her foot, the one that pained her before, stamped the ground thrice, and she spoke the necessary word; " Beslak. "

The handle crackled with blue lightning, then ceased. Sarah gasped the handle and pushed inwards, the magic making the metal warm to her touch. Inside, it was still very much dark, the shuttered windows keeping it gloomy, something that Sarah wouldn't have minded if she did not possess shins to slam into unseen furnishings. Picking her way carefully through the darkness she approached the windows, peering around as she carefully drew the curtains apart. There was a light snoring coming from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the glowing hearth, the pitch far too deep for an elf's voice. The dwarf slept here then, the elven wizard in the small bedchamber to her left, behind the closed door. With some effort she swung one of the shutters open, just enough to allow her room to work. The dwarf snorted and shifted around in his comfortable seat, but otherwise did not stir from the noise or light. Nodding in satisfaction to herself Sarah crept over to the array of copper goblets and selected one, pouring water into it from the enchanted pitcher. Once it was full enough Sarah fished around for the packet she had bought at the apothecaries with the money she was saving for a new formal dress, drawing out the powered Banenettle and, tearing open a corner, poured a liberal amount into the water. As an after-thought, Sarah then sprinkled some dried mint leaves in the concoction, hoping that they would cover up the musty smell long enough for the mage to swallow it down.

Taking the lethal brew with her she slipped over to the green bedroom door, peering back at the slumbering dwarf. The tapestry of Silvermoon in its glory caught her eye, causing a stirring of conflicting emotions in her bleak heart. It was in the tapestry and it likely never would be again, yet at the same time those elegant spires twisted and burnt by the meat wagon's projectiles of burning effluence, the forested land corrupted and dying from the carpet of Blight laid down during Arthas's advance on the Sunwell, comforted her rather than saddened her. So much death, so many painful memories. Remembering herself, Sarah opened the door a crack and peered inside. There was steady breathing coming from within the room, faint but detectable. He was still sleeping as well. Opening the door fully the maid walked in, holding the cup possessively before her. This was it.

The mage stirred at her approached, obviously not in a deep a slumber as the dwarf, or perhaps just possessing sharper senses. His eyes fluttered open and he drew in a deep, cleansing breath as he awoke, twisting a bit as he muscles demanded to be stretched. The wizard winced as he did this, however, his left hand going to his right shoulder and the bandages there, a rust brown patch of dried blood just visible against the white linen in the dim room.

" Oh, Sarah. I didn't hear you enter, " he said, sitting up slightly in his bed peering at her through sleep-blurred eyes. Sarah gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain calm.

" I brought you this, " the maid greeted in a voice she hoped was cheerful, offering the water laced with dried green leaves.

" Oh, no, your services won't be necessary this morning, Sarah, sorry to have made you come up all those damnable stairs to hear that. "

Sarah frowned, unmoving.

" Well, sire, at least take a drink to cleanse your mouth. Then at least I have done some good here for all my travels. "

Crys regarded the human maid for a moment, gingerly rotating his right shoulder. Damn he was stiff this morning, and his previous meal pickled with booze did leave a most unappealing taste in his mouth.

" Did you wake Dagh, the dwarf, " Crys asked, correcting himself as he sipped the drink. Sarah fairly beamed at him, a wide grin on her face.

" No, though I suspect he will be awake very soon, " she grinned. Raising an eyebrow at her leer Crys took in a large portion of the water swishing it around in his mouth. There was something different about it this morning, even the bitter taste in his mouth couldn't over-power it. Once he had cleaned out the inside of his mouth he spit the water back into the cup, his lips curling up at the acrid aftertaste. Handing the goblet back to her Sarah seemed to simply drop the cup onto the floor, it landing with a high-pitched metallic ring and a splash of water while she immediately turned to her left and walked out of the room. Crys scowled, the whole sequence of events seeming askew to him, especially Sarah's odd behavior. Reaching down to retrieve the cup the sour taste in his mouth began to tingle, then burn. Gritting his teeth against this new discomfort Crys scooped up the goblet, noticing that there were far more mint leaves in the water than usual…and the water didn't taste like it had nearly that many added…something was terribly wrong. Crys struggled to his feet, his head suddenly swimming, his limbs trembling as the fire in his mouth continued to burn. Sarah. How could she? No one could pay her enough to kill someone, she wasn't that kind of person, but the evidence was currently spilled all over his floor and acidly searing the inside of his mouth.

As the trembling elf shuffled his way to the room's door he heard Daghmor suddenly cry out in alarm, his voice still slurred from sleep.

" Crys! Lad! There's foul magic afoot! Someone's half-blinded me, rouse yourself! " the dwarf bellowed, followed closely by the sound of furniture being moved forcibly and an rap of wood on wood. Magic? Had Sarah let others in with her? Assassins? The poisoned warmage strained to hear, but he could only hear Daghmor's cursing and stumbling, and Sarah's chilling laughter. Retching, the wizard collapsed to his hands and knees, feeling the toxins work its way through his body.

Sarah, by contrast, was having a great time. Her plan succeeded despite possible obstacles; the wizard drew closer to death with each passing moment and the dwarf was currently striking at shadows and chairs, her powerful curse distorting and bending the light entering his eyes. Now, to calm his movements by letting him bleed a bit, Sarah mentally noted to herself. The maid opened her mouth wide, her jaw popping and cheeks pulling taut as the muscles obeyed Leetha's commands. It didn't stop there, though. A searing, tearing pain originating at the corners of the woman's mouth proceeded the actual rending of the flesh, the long, jagged rip in her cheeks worming its way up to where her jawbone joined the rest of her skull; the banshee's absolute control over her puppet's body allowing her to bypass its normal limits. True, Leetha felt the pain as well, felt the warm, sticky blood course over the sides of her ruined lower face, but it would be a temporary thing. It was only with her jaw distended like this that she was able to unleash her devastating sonic attack, which she did with great relish.

Crystal stemware shattered as she howled, the tapestry on the wall rippling and tossing around as if a strong gust of wind had blown through the chamber. The concentrated aural power of the scream acted like invisible claws as they struck, tearing away leather and flesh from the dwarf's left shoulder and arm, blood spattering on the fireplace mantle behind him. The force of the attack also caused the disoriented rogue to stagger backwards, striking a book shelf with his back and sending some poorly positioned books tumbling to the ground. Sarah grinned as her tongue, like some fleshy worm investigating the bloody ruins of its home, swayed back and forth in sadistic pleasure. Two short shrieks and more flesh and leather parted, the dwarf collapsing to the floor, still doggedly gripping onto his wooden club, such a pitiful weapon against one such as her. The dwarf called out the elf's name again, trying to regain his feet, his bearded face a red mixture of anger and pain. That's when the burning shards of magic ripped through Sarah's right side, punching a coin-sized hole through her upper arm and sending more blood to the room's floor.

Crys could only keep retching and keep himself from falling prone, listening as an unearthly shriek he had heard only once before split the quiet morning air following by a choking gasp of pain from Daghmor. A banshee. He had fought her kind before, back on Lordaeron before the evacuation. They were always elves, their faces as cruel and cold as a murderer's knife, their horrid wailing could be heard for miles, sapping the courage of soldiers to fight such a thing. Their most horrifying ability, however, was to inhabit the bodies of anyone they choose, and infiltrate their enemies strongholds, sowing chaos with assassinations and sabotage before finally being struck down. Even then, without magic the banshee would simply escape by phasing through the ground, ready to strike another day. It also made it sickeningly clear why Sarah was doing this, because technically, she wasn't. The cult behind the murders had them watched, saw that Sarah could gain entry to the room, and possessed her. Another innocent dead. Focusing on not passing out the elf tried to think as the room spun and swam around him. For some reason the burning, dry feeling in his mouth seemed familiar, the fire creeping through is veins, the vomiting…Banenettle! It was Banenettle she had used!

Summoning up what flagging strength he had left the elf crawled over to the table where the mother-of-pearl pitcher sat, along with the copper cups and dried mint leaves. Trembling hands gripped the table's edge and the elf with painful slowness lifted himself to his feet. Behind him, there were two more short, quick screams and the found of something meaty hitting the floor. Dagh wouldn't last much longer, and neither would he if he didn't act fast. His hand grasped the pewter container with the dehydrated mint leaves in it with a desperate hold, dragging the metal container towards him and tipping its contents into his open mouth. Crys almost gagged on the dry contents, but forced himself to take as many as he could into his mouth, chewing clumsily. The cooling burn of the mint started to saturate his mouth, the sudden rush of eye-watering menthol burning away some of the poison's affects on his senses. Crys dropped the container to his feet as he swiveled around on the spot, still holding onto the table for support. He brought a spell to the front of his mind and focused on releasing the energies like he had countless times before. His fingertips glowed white for a moment before the arcane energy leapt off of them, forming into dagger-sized bolts which streaked noiselessly towards the possessed maid.

Sarah groaned in new pain and hissed in anger. She spun around to see the wizard still standing, bits of mint leaves plastered around his mouth and down the front of his tunic. He should be convulsing on the ground by now! She must not have used enough Banenettle, and of her two targets he was the only one who was able to deliver real damage to her. Leaving the dwarf behind her she stalked towards the mage, who had his hand still raised towards her and seemed to be concentrating on another spell. His lack of aim told the banshee he was still barely holding himself together, and would not be able to put up much physical resistance. Slipping a shield of invisible evil around herself Sarah's upper lips curled in a horrid, bloody grin as the elf's next spell, a rapid gust of fire, passed harmlessly across the surface of her barrier. Her kind was vulnerable to magic, but they had also found ways to counter it. A panicked look passed over the wizard's face as he realized that his one weapon was useless against her now, which rapidly shifted to revulsion as Sarah grabbed his head with claw-like fingers, holding him steady while boring holes into him with her gaze. A gurgling chuckle originated from the back of the maid's throat, her dangling jaw moving out of sync with her words as they came from the banshee's voice and not the maid's.

" Foolish man, you are dead already but are too bullheaded to admit it. Your dwarf friend will last a bit longer thanks to you, but it seems I must deal with your stubborn self first. Mustn't ruin the body too much before I am done with it, " she chided, pressing her fingers harder into his skull, eliciting a whine of pain from the mage as his toxin-weakened arms tried to pry them away from his head.

" Your physical anguish is only the appetizer, dear sweet countryman. Let's slip in a little deeper and see what you have rushing through your mind in your final moments of life. "

Spectral fingers extended out past Sarah's physical ones, boring into Crys's head like icy stilettos of pain.

" Ooh! Yes! So much suffering and self-loathing! Magnificent! " Leetha hissed, her grisly, bloody grin widening, bits of gore dripping off of her chin.

" A sister, your only relation left alive. What a pity it would be if you couldn't even remember her name, or what she looked like before you passed away. No final farewells and apologies about leaving her, just the knowledge that you will never see her face again, even in your last thoughts, " the banshee's laugh bubbling up once again from Sarah's blood-drenched throat.

"Reconsider, at the very least. A day, no more. You'll see that…"

"…do you think that little of me now?"

He had looked up at her then, but her face, it was…indistinct. Fuzzy. She wore red, and was crying, but her face, it was gone, like a smudge on a glass pane.

" To remain behind…"

" Destroyed. Gone. Ravaged. Do they sound better coming from me?"

" You were not there either, " he had said angrily. He was angry with her. He shouldn't have been angry with her. He had left her angry. Left her.

" I hope you can live with your choice. "

Or had he wished, in those final moments, that she wouldn't? That she would die for being so stupid as to remain behind in a land turned into a massive graveyard . Let her die. She abandoned him for a land that no one can save. She left had him.

Rhh…sar? What was her name? It should be right there, right next to the names of his parents, his cousins, his teachers. A non-name for a non-face.

Crys screamed freely then, as Leetha tore through his mind like a madman with shears would tear through a tome of brittle paper. Somehow, as the oil from the mint leaves began to soothe the Banenettle poison ravaging his system, the warmage was able to focus. His eyes were closed, clenched tightly against the pain, but he did not need them. Mana surged upwards from the core of his being, flowing like a geyser towards his mind, preparing to erupt, and it did. A clarion chime rang out as sparkling mana breached the air, bursting outwards from the mage and washing against the banshee's protective barrier. She hissed and tried to dig into his mind deeper, but the energy burned her fingers, forcing them to jerk back with a spasm of spectral and corporeal digits. Crys kept summoning the energy, again and again, battering against the undead elf's shielding, tearing at it, weakening it.

Sarah staggered backward away from the wizard, her burned fingers held up in an effort to protect herself as the raw energy washed over her. The warmage's eyes flicked open now, glimmering with tears and filled with rage. Sarah slumped against the golden oak table only to be buffeted backwards by another blast. Her scream tore at Crys's already injured right side, causing him to wince and pause in is assault, but only for a moment. Taking a shaky step forward the mage continued his assault, not caring that the empty pit that was his magical addiction continued to grow and grow as more of his energy left. Sarah had collapsed to the ground now, her dress smoking and blackened from the magical attacks, her skin red and blistered. A small part of Crys died each time he was forced to cause more damage to the body of the woman who had shown him such altruistic kindness in the past, but the part of him that was in control now reminded him that she was already dead, and the banshee within was only wearing her like some sort of clothing made of living flesh.

Sarah, her face a blackened ruin now, tried to sit up, her jaw dropping in an effort to scream again. She didn't have a chance as Matilda came down and struck the side of her head with a resounding "crack", the head lolling off to the side and all movement ceasing. Daghmor crouched unsteadily beside her, his club raised again to strike down if necessary.

" This isn't over…yet, " Crys gasped, an ethereal mist started to flow from the corpse. Wailing with her unearthly voice Leetha rose up from the charred remains of her host, her angular face a mask of pure hatred.

" You will die this day, worm! You will suffer and your city will crumble, your…," the banshee ranted, opening her mouth impossibly wide and gesturing with her freakishly long fingers at the wizard before her. Crys ended her speech and her existence with pure, massive blast of mage fire, fueling the spell with his own anger and pain, feeding it such power that it very nearly consumed him as well. The ghostly woman disintegrated as the conflagration swallowed her, wailing something about 'her revenge' before her face and pale hair were consumed. There was a blast of heat that washed over the entire scene and then nothing, the conjured fire and its target vanishing so that not even embers remained. Crys immediately collapsed to his knees, striking them painfully on the unyielding floor, his breathing ragged and uneven. Daghmor collapsed back onto his rump, blood trickling over the black leather of his armor from his wounds, Matilda held loosely, comfortingly in his hands.

" Told you, they would send someone, " Dagh managed to say in-between deep draws of breath.

" Liar…you said there'd be ten, " Crys replied, drawing a short, choking laugh from them both as the horror of their near-deaths and the smoking, mangled ruin of the human woman between them was forgotten in a second of mirth almost bordering on the psychotic for being so at odds with the grim situation. It was only a moment, though, and soon guilt and grief choked the elf's throat up more than the poison had minutes prior.

" Why do you have leaves all over your face? " Daghmor asked, peering at him, his eyes no longer clouded by the banshee's spell.

" Mint leaves. Once when I was an apprentice I was grinding dried Banenettle in a mortar and pestle, told to take short, controlled breaths through my nose to avoid becoming sick from it, then I accidentally sneezed. The powder flew up into my face and I breathed some of it in. I started choking and vomiting as the ground leaves traveled into my lungs, my teacher noticing my distress almost immediately. Seizing a nearby mint plant that had been hung to dry he hold me to eat as much of it as I could. The oils from the mint plant slow and dampen the effects of Banenettle almost immediately, and I suspect that the banshee putting some mint in the drink to cover up the smell diluted the poison to keep it from being a lethal dose, " Crys explained, brushing absently at his face.

" Otherwise, " Dagh asked, leaving the question in the air.

" I'd be in a coma right now, speeding towards death, and she'd be…be, " Crys answered, his speech breaking down as he remembered the horrible assault the banshee had inflicted on his mind. The elf's eyes moved rapidly back and forth as if searching for something, his mouth agape.

" No, no. No, no, no! " the elf cried, his face twisting up in an expression of disbelief and anguish. " She's gone! " he finally sobbed, fingers curling into shaking fists and pounding the indifferent stone floor in his grief.

" Who's gone? The maid? " Dagh asked, uncomprehending, gesturing towards the corpse.

Crys shook his head rapidly, his tangled blonde hair tossing about as he did so.

" No! My sister! My memories of her, Rahh..srrr…" Crys strained to say her name.

Daghmor looked on pityingly as his friend attempted to remember the name of his only living relation. He knew well the impact of losing someone so special to you, but to not even be able to remember their name, that was a fresh kind of hell.

" Think, Dagh! I must have mentioned her name to your before! " the elf cried, reaching out and gripping onto the dwarf's shoulders, not caring that one of those shoulders was injured and wet with blood, let alone the spellcaster's own wounds which screamed with pain at his movements.

" You mentioned her name only a few times before lad, and we were both half-tanked when you did. I'll try, for you, now stop stabbing your fingers into my arms and calm down. We need to get patched up and alert help quickly, the ghost bitch might have had back-up waiting nearby to finish the job if she couldn't, " the rogue stated in a calming but stern voice while looking towards the door. Shivering and feeling utterly violated, Crys said nothing at first, getting shakily to his feet. " I have enough for one more spell. It'll put us in the middle of the barracks, where we can get some quick help and alert the guard at the same time. "

Crys put his right arm painfully out parallel to the ground, moving it in a slow half-circle before him as a glowing blue circle appeared beneath him.
" Are you sure you can… " Daghmor began, concerned, as he stumbled to his feet. There was a flash of light and the dwarf didn't have a chance to finish his question, as the two of them now were suspended in the air with their heads brushing the ceiling of Edward Strongshield's private office. The pair plummeted to the floor, drawing a startled cry from the paladin who had just completed his report about the previous night's encounter with the assassins. One of Crys' legs struck the table as they crashed onto the stonework floor, tipping the inkwell and spilling the ebony liquid all over the papers on his desk. Once the two had finished falling an awkward silence ensued, broken only by the glass inkwell rolling off of the desk to shatter on the floor, and pained groans from the two recently teleported companions. Edward, wearing an expression of complete surprise, mouth agape under his neatly trimmed handle-bar moustache, looked over the edge of the desk at the two interlopers. Crys, lifting his head up and peering at the holy warrior between eyes squinting against the agonizing multiple injuries he had sustained, managed to say only one thing before passing out completely:

"Close enough. "

Suul paced in his ritual chamber, this time however not muttering to himself about avenging Mal'Ganis's death. He walked in silence, his brow furrowed, his arms clasped loosely behind his back under the joint where his wings met his back. There was something that happened then, a slight stirring in the magical fields surrounding him. A slight movement at his side made him start, twisting his body around to regard the small pouch that hung from his belt. Eyes growing wide in alarm the dreadlord ripped the pouch from his side and opened it hastily. The lone finger that fell out into his palm promptly turned black, as if being exposed to a flame. The winged demon emitted a tiny noise of loss and disbelief as the blackened digit then collapsed into a line of fine dust on his pale hand. " No! " Suul raged, clenching his fist closed tightly, shutting away the image from his eyes. Leetha was destroyed, gone. Whether the two she was sent to kill were dead or not, he didn't know, even if she had succeeded her loss was almost more than Suul could bear. Quiet footsteps approached from behind him, but the dreadlord barely noticed. The room's door squealed open, and a voice spoke; clear, flat, and to the point.

" I leave for Ashenvale tomorrow, whether your plot has succeeded or not, " Golonda coldly informed him, her injury no longer bothering her and draped in her expansive cloak as if ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Dracol whirled around swiftly, taking several large paces forward to stand face-to-face with the equally tall Kaldorei.

" Do not presume to dictate the terms of our arrangement at a time like this! " he roared, baring his fangs and wishing for all the world he could sink them into her neck right now.

The former underwarden only glared back, her face an unmoving mask.

" Use me however you must in the next while, but I will not die for you, and I will leave tomorrow morning, even if I have to cut through all of your cultists and yourself to do

so, " she warned, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. How dare she, Suul silently fumed. She was a tool, not an artisan. It was his plan which would bring Theramore tumbling down around the human's ears, it was his ritual, while all she needed to do was butcher a few people and bring a part of them back to complete the spell. How…?

Suul stopped suddenly, his head turning off to the side as his eyes worked rapidly back- and-forth. Golonda stood unmoving as the dreadlord suddenly stalked away from her, moving over to stand next to his cauldron, his hands curling around the rim and staring into the deep red bubbling contents within. It was so simple Dracol was privately ashamed to not have thought of it sooner. He had a delicate and precise plan of his own design set out before him and because of his slavish adherence to it, he now stood on the brink of ruin. And elf and a dwarf…by the dark gods of the Twisting Nether the answer had been staring him in the face the whole time.

Suul whirled around, glaring at the Kaldorei who still stood stiff-backed and defiant by the door. " Kill the elven wizard and dwarf who have been investigating your murders. Kill them as soon as you think you can get away with it. Take the elf's eyes and the dwarf's hands, bring them back here and I will never want to see you again. No notes, no subtle fear, I want them butchered, tonight. "

" I know them, the pair that stumbled across me when I killed the druid. They will die, and after that I will not so much as raise a finger to aid you. I will be away to the mainland and travel swift and relentless to the northern forests, " the Kaldorei stated with the tiniest of nods of deference to him. Golonda had turned to leave so swiftly that Suul's dismissive gesture was almost lost to her, but she paid it no mind. Her final night in Theramore would be a brutal and bloody one, she would tear the elf's eyes out of his head while he still breathed if she felt she could save some time in doing so. You will be avenged, Awel. What we had will be avenged, she silently swore as she slipped through the passageways towards the surface.