Chapter 16
Crys re-adjusted his sword and took a deep, calming breath. He was burning up too much of his energy too fast trying to keep up with the night elf. Spells were of little use, in the end hurting him more than her because they sapped his vitality. Between them, Daghmor let out a pained moan, but otherwise made no other motion or sound that would indicate he still breathed. His right arm was at an awkward angle, having been dislocated moments before as the Kaldorei assassin evened the odds in the battle. He needed a solution, a final surge that would put an end to this conflict, something unconventional. It had only been a little over a year since he had last seen real battle, but doing nothing but drinking and feeling sorry for himself had dulled him dangerously. His mind, in searching over his memories of past battles seized upon the seed of a plan, but the spell in question was one he hadn't cast in awhile, and it would take time to fully remember the incantation. He had to stall.
" Why do you do this? What made you this way? Why work for a human cult in a human city? Are you just a mercenary, killing for gold, or do you have something personal against the Alliance? " he shouted at her, remaining wary of her movements. She laughed again, the musical, tinkling laughter more suited for some woodland nymph than the brutal and deadly woman before him.
" Stalling for time now? Do you really think that any of the guard even know where you and your dwarf friend are? Or even care for that matter? They have a massive fire to douse, and compared to you two, they would let you die if keeping the men there meant they could save their powder stores. Theramore would have a rough time against the Blackwater Pirates with no cannons or muskets to fire, wouldn't they? " she taunted, taking a dainty step forward.
" What you do here is not personal. The humans haven't interacted with the Kaldorei enough for some crime or injustice of such a magnitude to force you to do this. You work with humans to destroy humans, why? " Crys pressed, teeth gritted in concentration as his mind tried to untangle the proper sequence of mental channels from the rest of his disorganized thoughts and emotions. What the banshee had done to him earlier wasn't helping matters much either.
" I work with far worse than humans, and you are correct that they are not my ultimate goal, but why should I waste my breath talking to a corpse, or a Quel'dorei corpse for that matter? I remember the day Dath'Remar and your kind were cast from Kalimdor, I secretly wishing the Maelstrom that was your kind's doing would swallow you all up and drag you down to the fate you deserved. Now your kind has returned to these shores, and while your numbers are few, it is barely tolerable. I will remedy that situation by leaving one less 'high' elf alive after tonight, " the purple-skinned assassin stated coldly, gesturing towards him.
He had struck a chord with this talk about the Exile. He had to keep her talking while he worked on the final steps of his spell.
" Funny you should talk about foul sorcery and demons, the mistakes of the past, " the warmage chuckled humorlessly, " when I know full well that your master works with necromancy, and the Aspects only know what he's doing with the body parts he's been gathering. The heart of an orc? The vital essence of one of your kind? Acting like some sort of lackey in gathering up these ghoulish items hardly leaves you in any position to be condemning me or any of my race about our past. You're a murderer, a thief, a traitor to your race and a willing participant in necromantic rituals. You'd make a fine
Quel'dorei, " Crys grinned wickedly at her. She actually growled as he said this, her body tensing underneath its tight covering of blackened leather, the myriad sheaths stitched onto it empty now. The gem on her gauntlet glowed blue briefly, the glaive behind him skipping ahead a few feet, a reminder of its presence.
" I did not choose this life, dog! It was chosen for me, by my betters, by betrayal so deep and foul it makes what I do here look like a trifling thing. I lost everything because of it, and now I will end your life and travel north to take my revenge! " she hissed, leaning forward in preparation to attack.
For a tiny moment, one so brief that Crys almost missed it as his mind was over-taxed as it was right now, the elf got the sense that he was looking into a mirror somehow. She was what he feared he might one day become, filled with bitterness and rage, using his skills to spread murder and mayhem. It could have very well of been him who set the Cannoneer's Yard ablaze, and now stood confronted by a Kaldorei investigator who had tracked him here. There was precious little time to ruminate over the concept, though, as his spell was finally prepared and she was intent on killing him this time.
Crys'annadath's hands and fingers twisted and wove in an intricate pattern rising ever upwards as he begun to chant. It was the spell he had attempted days earlier in the dwarven smithy but had been disrupted by a thrown dagger to his shoulder. In retrospect it might have been for the best that it hadn't worked then, even now the mage hoped his targeting was accurate and he wouldn't burn himself…or the unconscious dwarf just paces away. Golonda darted forward, fist poised for a vicious strike, all of her momentum and strength behind it. Time seemed to slow to a crawl for the elf, where it seemed one could completely consume a meal in between the beatings of his heart. His hands reached their apex and curled into claws as they thrust downwards, his voice shouting the final destructive syllable as a tiny, swirling cloud of fire appeared in the air just ahead of where he stood. The small cloud didn't remain small for long, blossoming outwards and then pouring down like some sort of reverse geyser of flame, striking the stone battlements with explosive force. As the fiery pillar churned and swirled just feet from his body Crys set the next part of his plan into action, knowing that the assassin was too quick to be caught by such a spell.
Golonda had to reach out and grasp the butt end of one of the nearby cannons in order to stop her charge in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp, her fingers and shoulder screaming in protest at the sudden jerk. The heat from the magically conjured fire washed over her, tossing her hair about and singeing her long, elegant eyebrows. This was his final hurrah, though, a spell of this power would leave him weakened and slow. He would fall moments after his spell did.
Crys reversed the grip on his sword, drawing it back behind his body and prepared to throw it forward like a javelin, its path to be guided by the same telekinetic force that had drawn his staff to his hand in the smithy fight. The elf closed his eyes, summoning up the Sorcerous Sight, focusing on the part of the wall he had been a few minutes before, where the Kaldorei stood now. She had stopped herself by grasping a cannon, and now stood ready to lunge forward once his spell had dropped. Her bracer began to glow as well, and the moon glaive behind him could be heard scraping and moving behind him.
Without opening his eyes Crys threw the sword tip first through the weakening fire column, guiding it along in relation to the image he saw in his mind's eye. The blade sliced through the spell's effect without hindrance or deviation, speeding unseen towards its target. Forcing his eyes open the fingers on Crys's right hand glowed white briefly and then shot out a set of magical darts through the dissipating fire storm as well. Lastly, his head whipped around to see the spinning disk closing in behind him he shifted his telekinetic focus to it, trying to push it past him, speeding it along its way to its owner. The elf wasn't fast enough to do all of these things, however, and the moon glaive bit deep into his upper left arm, the arcanite parting flesh like it were no more substantial than mist and slicing all the way to the bone with a spurt of red. The elf cried out and clamped his right hand over the large wound, feeling blood course over his trembling fingers.
She would trap him between her fist and her glaive, if one didn't get him the other would. The fire began to break apart and thin, it was almost time to act. Something glimmering speared forward in that moment though, and Golonda's eyes grew wide as the elf's sword flew forward towards her. Impossible! He had used her own trick against her and she fell for it! Twisting her upper body Golonda nevertheless felt the steel tip pierce her flesh just underneath her left collar bone, with enough force to send the now bloody tip out of her back. Gasping in pain the night elf tried to stand up straight, but succeeded instead in receiving three bolts to the chest, the magic burning through her leather suit and burrowing into the flesh beneath. There was no holding back the scream of pain that split the quiet night air then, the Kaldorei staggering against the wall, barely standing. There was a whirring, skipping noise then, the moon glaive dutifully returning to its perch on the back of the gauntlet, the gauntlet which was currently pressed against her torso as her hand clutched the sword in her shoulder. Summoning up the vestiges of her strength Golonda hopped up and back, landing on the wall's edge as her glaive clanged against the stone just below the injured night elf, preventing her own weapon from slicing into her.
Crys watched with some satisfaction as he was finally able to land a successful blow against his canny opponent, the tables of the battle having turned quite quickly. He was glad for this, because he was bleeding quite badly from his shoulder wound and probably couldn't cast another spell without fainting dead away. He shuffled over to stand before her as she teetered on the edge, her conscious efforts to remain standing at war with her grievous injuries. It was over.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Golonda tasted blood and her legs threatened to give out from under her at any time. She lost. She would never get her revenge, the death that she thought she was headed for back in the barrow prison upon her now, with no healing shrine nearby. The Quel'dorei was bleeding freely before her, and may yet die, but Suul would not get his items, not that it mattered to her now anyways. The distant glow of the fire grew fuzzy and indistinct to her eyes, her vision focusing just above the conflagration. There was a slight ringing in her ears, and as she staggered drunkenly backwards she thought she heard a voice, a familiar, sweet voice speaking to her.
' Lie down, Golonda. You look tired. '
" Awel, I…have to, " the former Under-warden gasped reaching out blindly into the night sky.
' Shhh, lie back, my love. It doesn't matter now. You can rest. '
Golonda had no words for her, her eyes closing as her body pitched backwards, disappearing over the edge of the wall.
Crys shuffled forward, the splash of the night elf's body lost in amongst the crashing of the waves. Her body floated there for awhile, tossed about by the surf before being dragged down by the undertow, lost to the world. She seemed delirious just before she fell, reaching for someone, perhaps someone she had lost, that she had turned into a heartless killer over. The elf's own vision began to dim as well, even the torchlight unable to keep away the gathering darkness. Moving over to the tattered cloak Crys took up a sizeable piece and tied it around his arm as best he could. It wouldn't be enough, his blood soaking the strip in a matter of moments and continuing to drench his sleeve, trickling off his finger tips. The wizard stumbled towards the stairs, scanning the street for someone, anyone. The avenues had cleared, either from the approaching night or to gawk at the massive fire at the south end of the city. Crys made it to the first landing before he collapsed, using what remained of his staff to try and get back to his feet. The horses loitered around the base of the stairs. If he could get to one, all he had to do was remain conscious long enough for someone to spot him and summon some guards and a priest. The elf slowly worked his way towards the street, only making it half-way down before he slipped and tumbled down the rest, writhing on the ground in agony, his mouth open in a silent cry.
'Get up' the mage mentally cursed himself, struggling to stand.
It was no use. He would bleed out beside two horses who looked at him uncomprehendingly and were likely wondering when they were going back to their nice stalls in the stables. What, then, had he really expected though? Dying on a field somewhere after slaying some chief lieutenant of Archimonde, surrounded by weeping comrades, Jaina included, who would build a small mausoleum to commemorate his passing? A small, weak chuckle wormed its way out from between his clenched teeth.
I think I'm dying, sister. It feels a lot like the magical addiction does, cold and creeping. I would liked to have taken your name with me to the afterlife, but then, maybe I'll see you there anyways….
Crys'annadath Skychaser shuddered once and breathed his last on the darkened cobblestone street, the only two witnesses whickering softly and glancing around in a disinterested manner.
Muirdo scampered down the dimly lit corridor as quickly as the narrow passage would allow him, his breathing quick and heavy. Nearly slamming into a wall as he took a turn the humble servant of evil set his sights on a door he rarely approached and even more rarely entered. His master's ritual chamber. He skidded to a stop and tried to control his breathing. Delivering bad news incoherently was even worse than delivering bad news over all. Once he was certain he could speak clearly Muirdo placed a hand on the door's handle and steeled his will, putting his faith in that he had always served the dreadlord he was about to face with obedient competence. The door swung open under his hand, his demonic master crouching over his black iron cauldron, his eyes closed in concentration, or so it seemed.
" Master. B-bad news I'm afraid, soldiers have found our tunnels and… " the man started, gesturing and taking a glance back out the door. He fancied he could almost hear their mail-armored bodies clattering and clanking towards him. There was only one punishment for those found guilty of conspiring with necromancers or demons: a long fall off a short rope and his corpse suspended on a tall pole near the docks as a warning to any others who might follow in his foot steps, his rotting flesh honeycombed with burrowing flies and pecked at by crows. Muirdo felt no relief when he discovered he would never make it to the hangman's noose, instead staring with a vague sense of horror and surprise as he saw Suul's claws pushed into his torso all the way up to his actual fingers, the obsidian-sharp nails puncturing his left lung and upper liver. Quivering and looking up to his master with tears in his eyes the dreadlord only growled at him and tossed him aside like a doll, the dying cultist slamming into the limestone wall with five oozing holes in his chest. Muirdo wanted to say something as he slid to a heap on the floor, but it just came out as a burbling moan as his lungs collapsed and he came to a flailing, ignoble death in that chamber far beneath the surface.
Blood dripped from Dracol's black claws, but the sight didn't cheer him. Flicking the red fluid off his talons like a human would the water of a creek Suul set about collecting what small, necessary items he would need once he escaped. The Shadow Council's reach wasn't infinite, he of all beings knew that. He would find a place to lie low for a decade or so, maybe find some humans to corrupt on the other continent and find out what sort of operations were going on regarding Northrend. He would survive this pitiful cult he had created and now watched be destroyed. Tossing the last thing into one of his pouches his sharp demon hearing could perceive the combat going on further along the passage. His cultists were poorly armed and unarmored, little more than meat shields with more zeal than skill, and would be over-run in a matter of moments. Suul only needed those moments to escape, though, and paced towards a section of wall that lead to a passage that only he knew of, one that would lead him to the coast where he would take wing and flee the city he could not bring down.
As he pushed aside the section of wall his blood froze in his veins as a magical, ethereal wind suddenly washed over his back. Despite himself Suul looked back, seeing the unmistakable black vortex sitting opened near his bubbling cauldron. First the Nathrezim's head began to shake in denial, then his voice added itself to his expression of disbelief: " No! " he yelled quite simply at the growing shrouded figure in the vortex. Dracol's next cry was wordless and long, his mind commanding his limbs to move but they only trembled, disobedient to his orders. That particular scream was one that would serve him well in his new home, though it never seemed to make time pass more quickly as the centuries ended up crawling by before him.
" It worked. He will awaken in moments. "
A sigh of relief.
" So you aren't satisfied with just fainting anymore, you had to go and die this time, hmm? An elf will do anything to get out of a proper fight. "
A deep chuckle.
A wordless, primitive response, a vague sense of movement. Arms. His arms? Him? Who was he? Where was he?
'Open your eyes and face reality', a tiny voice said from the darkness.
His face twitched and moved as he tried to remember exactly which muscles controlled the eyelids. Piercing light entering his eyes told him he had found the right ones. His vision was distorted and blurred, only vague blobs of darkness against a backdrop of blinding white light. He tried to speak but his tongue felt limp and incredibly dry, and only a hoarse whisper escaped his throat. Something was put to his lip and tepid water was poured into his mouth. He drank as best he could, coughing and sputtering as he sore throat tried to take it all in. Crys blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to sort out the images swimming before his eyes. Then it hit him. Pain. Like every vein and artery in his body had become nothing less than a passageway for liquid agony to crawl sluggishly through.
" Help me hold him, " one of the voices said, addressing the other blob. Then to him, the voice said; " It's the blood starting to flow again through your body, it will pass in time. "
Hands gripped onto his seizing limbs, pinning him against his hard and cold bed. The moisture in the elf's throat merely allowed him to scream a little more lustily in pain, the tingling burn just under his skin slowly becoming a hot ache, like he had a fever over the entire surface of his skin. His shuddering subsided and the limbs relaxed, as did the hands holding him.
" That wasn't exactly pleasant for someone who recently had a arm pulled out of joint, " the voice to his right groused.
" It was nothing compared to what he felt so stop complaining, or I can pull it back out if you wish. "
" Sarcasm from a paladin. What's next? A charitable goblin? "
The blob to his left, no…a man, with a moustache just sighed tersely and leaned in to peer at Crys closely. " Your eyesight will take a little while to recover, and you've still lost a lot of blood so take it easy. You're alive now, at least. "
" Alive… " a cracking voice, like that of an adolescent, said. His voice.
" So why didn't you just pull this little trick on the murder victims? Would've been able to identify the killer quicker and saved your city some deaths, " the left blob, no, a broadly build, bearded man asked, his tone irritated.
Another barely-patient sigh from the man with the moustache.
" For one, the body needs to be mostly intact for a resurrection to work. The fish merchant was blown to bits, the orc had his heart removed, and the night elf all his blood and his soul sucked out. Secondly, resurrections are only allowed on certain persons as dictated by Alliance law. People like the Governess, the councilmen, and very important members of state are options, and even then the interim leader can veto it, provided that they give ample reason as to why. This makes things like assassinations to gain power difficult to do. "
" So, " the heavy-set, bearded man recounted, " you Silver Handers have the power over life and death itself, but you have to go through committees and votes to use the Light's gift? That smacks of all kinds of stupid. Since when did politicians decide everything that is just and fair in the world? Since when was the head of the church a secular weasel in a formal robe? "
" Stay your tongue, rogue! I admit that I rankle under the tethers placed upon a paladin's powers nowadays, but if we started flinging resurrections around people would come to us for every little thing, from a mother who passed away of old age to a favorite dog who got crushed under a wagon's wheel. We keep our powers until they are absolutely needed. Our people should not fear death if they have led a good life, nor should they look upon death with contempt knowing that they can simply be raised from the dead by a passing holy man. "
" I…am such an important person? " Crys croaked, some semblance of a smile struggling to get a grip on his mouth. The paladin, Edward was his name, responded with a bit of a smile and a shrug.
" Before Governess Proudmoore left she told me that should you fall in the execution of your duties to bring you back. She said you had once again proven to be a useful member of the Alliance and as such should be allowed this privilege, if only once. Few people get a second chance. For instance, she said nothing about the dwarf, " the paladin noted, gesturing to the scowling rogue with his head.
" I feel the same about you, choir boy. Did you know dancing on someone's grave is an old dwarven tradition that shows utmost respect to the deceased? Remember that if you should ever fall in battle, have your resurrection vetoed by a council and are floating around your grave as a ghost, " Daghmor said sourly.
Crys turned his head slowly to the side, his neck stiffer than he had ever felt it before, like he was trying to move his head through mud. With clearing eyesight he glanced about the room, and realized quite quickly why he was laying on something cold and hard. It was a stone slab, one of several in this cool subterranean room. A morgue. The elf shuddered and gasped, his weak limbs clutching at the sheet laid across his body.
" Why here? " he asked, somewhat angrily, his mind likely scarred enough by the experience of dying without waking up in the room where his corpse had been stored.
Edward sighed lightly, something he was doing a lot of lately.
" Simple logistics, " he offered, throwing his hands up in an admission of defeat.
" Sometimes the soul doesn't want to come back, and it saves a bit of time and effort with carrying a body, er, deceased person such as yourself around. I know this is difficult for you, but I trust you'll look at the positives. "
The warmage just nodded, hardly comforted but trying to push the disturbing thoughts of his previous dead state aside for the moment, anyways. After all, Jaina herself had ordered him resurrected, and that was something to be happy about.
When he had moved he noticed his left arm around the outer bicep was bandaged heavily, and stung quite fiercely now. Dark purple bruises were scattered across skin made deathly pale by blood loss. He had gone through quite a lot indeed.
" When you feel ready we'll get you upstairs to the infirmary and laying on something more comfortable. Your wounds should be for the most part healed, the bandages just a precaution. In a few days, after your body has some nutrients in it and has begun to rebuild its lost blood you'll feel worlds better, " the paladin assured him, standing up from his small stool and brushing his hands over the front of his breeches.
Crys laid his head back on the slab, staring at the ceiling, his eyes working back and forth but seeing nothing. Finally he said, " It was so weird, so unsettling now that I look back upon it. "
" What? You dying? I would figure as much, lad, " Daghmor chuckled, shaking his head.
" No, " the elf replied, rolling his head from side-to-side in a negative gesture, " the after part. There was nothing there. No light, no family members waiting, no paradise. Nothing. Just a yawning void. "
His words caused both the paladin and the rogue to shift uneasily in their spots, unsure of what to say. Finally, Edward spoke.
" Don't put too much into that, sir wizard. Death is a shaky and unknown realm even to the greatest scholars and necromancers. What you remember may only have been a transitional area, where you are not quite ready to ascend to the next plane of existence, like you were wanting to return to do something unfinished. "
The elven mage just nodded weakly, saying nothing. The thought was chilling though, a realm of featureless black awaiting any and all who perished, a thousand times a thousand souls drifting forever in the inky beyond.
" I can walk, I think, " he said, slowly, painfully sitting up and swinging his aching legs over the side of the stone slab, eager to be away from this place. Daghmor, his right arm in a sling, slipped off his own stool and limped over.
" Dunno how much help I'll be, lad, but lean on me if you want. "
Crys nodded, holding the burial shroud around his naked body as best he could and resting his free hand on the dwarf's left shoulder. The walk was tediously slow and frustrating for all concerned, but at long last they trod upon wooden planks and shuffled along to the now familiar barracks infirmary. There, the elf found a comfortingly warm woolen robe to slip on and he fairly collapsed onto the cot, the small walk surprisingly taxing. " How long was I…? " Crys asked, deliberately trailing off.
" A little over a day, " the paladin responded, " We went ahead with the raid, my boys soot-covered and tired after fighting the blaze but mad as demons at the cult. We raided later that same night, killed any cultist who didn't surrender, found some foul ritual chamber with Makers-know-what bubbling and seething within a black cauldron and an oddly killed corpse against a wall. We doubt he was the leader of the cult, but we can't be too sure either way. We sanctified the entire area and rooted out every last room, cubbyhole and turn down there. Suffice to say that particular cult won't be bothering Theramore again for a very long time, if ever. "
Crys nodded. " The fire was put out successfully then I take it? " Again, Edward answered, nodding.
" Yes. It took a lot of gumption and hard work, as well as a few mages with water elementals to keep the powder stores from going up. That in and of itself was a real victory. If you had told me you could conjure one of those up I would have reconsidered bringing you along, and likely saved you a bit of trouble with that assassin to boot, " the holy warrior mused.
Crys let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. " Never learned that one. They have their uses to be sure, but I saw one run amuck and kill a student who was trying to control it. I don't take chances like that, not when there's plenty of other things out there trying to kill me already. "
" Well, I should let you rest, you've been through a hell of a lot over the past while. Call for someone if you need anything, I put everyone here at your disposal. "
A thought occurred to Crys as the paladin turned to leave, but he painfully dismissed it. Sarah was merely a poor maid, there would be no way that he could convince the councilmen to bring her back to life, if such a thing was even possible considering her body's current state. She was gone, he had to just admit it and let it go. Daghmor shuffled over to the cot beside him and with a grunt of effort, seated himself on the edge before laying himself out, hissing from between clenched teeth as his injuries protested the movement.
" Glad to see you made it at least, " Crys'annadath pointed out.
" Aye lad, I awoke in some terrible pain though, jostled around in a stretcher heading here. They found the night elf bitch's weapon and assumed she had fallen off the edge into the water below. I assume she died and just didn't run away? "
The wizard shook his head, then answered verbally as his friend was unlikely to have seen the gesture. " No. She was quite injured before she fell, and I think she was dead before she hit the water. If she didn't bleed out down there she would have been dashed against the rocks or drowned by the undertow. She won't be coming back. "
" I see. Not bad for what passes as a warrior among the elves. Get some dwarven training in there and you'll be formidable indeed, " Daghmor smirked.
" I certainly would like to learn that skin to stone ability you had there before you went down like a limp rag. Maybe with an elf's body I would be able to move faster than a boulder on a flat plain does while I have it activated. "
" Nothing doing lad, it takes a real man to learn something like that. You elves probably have something similar though, probably turn yourselves into leaves and blow away at the slightest breeze. "
" Nice to be able to verbally spar with you again, Dagh, " Crys laughed, a short one that made his lungs ache afterwards.
" You still owe me my money, elf. Don't think getting all weepy eyed will make me forget that. "
" There's a 'saving-your-life' deduction on that one though, remember that when payment is finally rendered to you. "
" Get some sleep, scarecrow, or I'll be haggling with the executor of your estate for my earnings. "
Crys said nothing, just smiling faintly and closing his eyes. A thousand little thoughts and pains were threatening to fall down on him, but he quickly let himself drift away into the comforting darkness of sleep. There would be time enough for all of that.