Chapter 20 - The Demon Hunter
"Myrista? Child are you decent? Wake up!"
Her uncle's pounding at the door woke Myrista with a start. She blinked and shook her head to clear it. Where was she? Where was Brogan? Hew was just here. Or was that a dream?
The pounding came again, somewhat more insistent. Myrista sat up and looked around. Her room at the Gilded Rose was small but comfortable. Pale light leaked past her curtains. The sun had not yet risen. She was alone, with only the narrow bed and a small vanity for company. She had been so exhausted last night that she had fallen asleep in her cloths.
"Er... come in Uncle."
The door opened quickly and Mallet entered. His appearance drove away all remains of sleep from her mind. The paladin looked like he hadn't slept all night. He was wearing his full plate mail armor. Silver-edged steel with gauntlets, boots, and enormous shoulder pads. His face looked grim
"Uncle, what's happened?"
"Neither boy came back last night. You were falling asleep in your cider, so I sent you to bed around midnight, and I stayed up until three before going out looking for them. I went to old town first, to try and find Edwynn. You can't set foot on that side of the canal without seeing a dozen folk who need the Light's aid. I should have worn my armor. That way my appearance would have commanded a little more respect. I almost had trouble a couple of times, but they backed off when they saw I was a paladin. I finally found someone who had seen Edwynn entering a house at the south end of town. There were guards outside, and they seemed to be expecting me. A man named Osborne told me that Edwynn would be staying there for the foreseeable future, and they that would send someone around for his things in the morning."
"Send someone? What's going on?"
Mallet sighed. He took the chair by the dresser and turned it backwards and sat in it. He folded his arms across the chair's back. "Every man must choose his own path, child. One of the most difficult lessons life teaches us is that the path of righteousness is not for everyone. Edwynn has made his choice. He has thrown in his lot with a den of thieves, liars, and murderers."
"No! That can't be true! Edwynn said he was going to work for Stormwind as a spy!"
"What do you think spies do, Myrista?" Mallet's face was somehow sympathetic and harsh at the same time. "The king insists that he needs those black hearted brigands to do his dirty work, and I am not so naive as to believe that is not true. Stormwind has many enemies. Some cannot be fought with lances, swords, or even wizards. But I have seen what they teach at this so-called Network. They teach you how to poison, and how to stab a man in the back.
"Uncle, please! I've known Edwynn since I was ten years old. He's a good person. Besides, it can't be all that bad. You're a soldier. You're trained to kill."
"It's not the same. Soldiers depend on each other to survive. When a squire wishes to become a paladin, the Order of the Silver Hand will look within them for certain qualities. They must have compassion, and be prepared to step forward and defend those less able to defend themselves. A paladin is trained to fight battles not for his own glory, but instead to aid those that fight with him. Always we must be prepared to forgo an attack and instead heal a wounded comrade. That is what it means to be a Knight of the Silver Hand.
"Myrista, rogues are honor less bastards. They know only two things: how to steal and how to murder. On the field of battle they are only good at sneaking around behind someone and sliding a knife between their ribs. That's no way for a warrior to die. Honor demands that you challenge your foe head-on, and allow them to surrender. The very idea that the king would allow men to be trained to fight in such a deceitful fashion turns my stomach. There is no honor in it. Even the Orcs understand that."
Myrista shook her head in confusion. "What good is honor to someone who's dead? What cares how men kill each other as long as you are alive in the end?"
"Honor is everything! Honor is the one thing, the ONLY thing, that can never be taken from you. You can destroy a man's home, steal his property, drive away his family and friends, or defeat him in combat. But no one can steal another man's honor. No one. The rich cannot buy honor. The mighty cannot take it by force of arms. The wise cannot learn it in a book. Honor comes from within. It is how you live your life everyday. Your honor defines you.
"Child, no man is immortal. We all pass on sooner or later. Even the memory of our deeds eventually fades away. Did we live our lives with honor? It is that, and nothing else, that matters in the end.
Myrista closed her eyes and slowly blew out her breath into her hair. She didn't understand honor, and she doubted she ever would. Honor didn't buy food for the hungry, or offer solace to the families of men who had died in war. Knights and warriors might believe in honorable combat, but she could certainly see the advantage of winning a victory using all necessary means. Rules were for games of cards and dice, not for the battlefield where men's lives were at steak. But it didn't matter; there were more important things to worry about.
"What about Brogan?"
"Aye, about that. Remember last night when that man came in saying he thought part of the bazaar was on fire? By the time I got back from old town the city guard was prowling every inch of the trade district. They were looking for a young wizard who matched Brogan's appearance exactly."
"What did they want with him?"
"I'm not sure. Something horrible had happened. Apparently they had caught him but he slipped away and now the city guard is out for blood. They questioned me for two-thirds of an hour before they let me come back to the inn."
"Uncle, did you tell them you knew him?"
Mallet's face became quite solemn. "We are here to redeem Brogan, not condemn him. It pains me to think the local constables would not work with us. But the fire in the eyes of the men I met last night reminded me too much of the Scarlet Crusade. They did not want justice, they wanted revenge. If they caught Brogan, he would be hung first and tried second, and nothing an old man like me could say would make any difference."
"We can't give up on him!"
"Oh, we're not going to. But it is unlikely that the two of us will find him before a hundred city officers do. Instead, I think it's time I put some of this reputation of mine to work. Let's get you to the cathedral, and then I'll go find the truth of what happened last night.
"I want to come with you."
Mallet took a deep breath. "Myrista, I'm not your father, but..."
"No uncle, listen to me. Brogan and Edwynn are my friends. It was my decision to let Mythril stay at the manor, and it's my fault the Defias attacked. Those boys risked their lives to rescue me from the bandits. It's the least I can do to see what they're accusing Brogan of. Besides, I..." Myrista stopped and blushed for a moment. She seemed about to say something, and then changed her mind. "If I was missing, I think they would both come looking for me."
"I'm sorry Myrista. I..."
"Please, Sir Mallius! It's very important to me!"
In that instant his sixteen year old niece was forever severed from the memory of the pigtailed little girl who made him tell her war stories until she fell asleep. Mallet felt his iron resolve that had withstood dragon's fire melt before the watery eyes of a young girl worried about her friends.
"Alright. But I don't know how long this will take. We will do what we can, but if the bells strike noon and we haven't found him, then I'm taking you to the cathedral if I have to bind you hand and foot to do it."
Wearing his full armor and riding astride Star, Mallius Crownguard looked every bit the storybook hero that the fireside tales of Northshire made him out to be. He trotted his charger proudly towards the bazaar, drawing stares and comments from all sides. Myrista rode behind her uncle's saddle, and was shocked to hear that not all the comments from the crowd were complementary. Distain filled looks came from certain people. Others grabbed their children and pulled them away rapidly.
"Uncle..." Myrista commented. "Some of the people seem afraid of you."
"Big man on a big horse. Wouldn't you be afraid?" Mallet's words sounded like a jest, but his voice carried only sadness. "Paladins are not thought of as we used to be. I fear Prince Arthas and the Scarlet Crusade have permanently damaged our reputation."
"You mentioned the Scarlet Crusade before. Who are they?"
"Zealots. Citizens of Lorderon mostly, who've lost everything to the Scourge conquests of those lands. Many are former paladins and priests that feel that our first duty is to punish evil. They twist the meaning of the Light, and use it to burn their enemies. I have seen what passes for justice in Hearthglen, and I do not care for it."
"But the Light should be used to punish evil and burn the wicked."
"Aye, but that is not our first duty. Always the priority should be to protect the weak and heal the injured. Otherwise, the line between the virtuous and the wicked grows unclear."
The priestess said nothing, her uncle's words weighing heavily on her mind. They rode through the crowd without speaking for a while before Myrista asked a question. "Are they powerful?"
"Who? The Scarlet Crusade? They are quite powerful."
At that point they arrived at the south end of the bazaar. The cobblestones here were blacked and covered with in soot and ash. Several shops were demolished and everywhere shattered glass from broken streetlamps could be seen.
"You there!" Mallet called out to a nearby guard. "Who's in charge here?"
"Who's asking?" an armored knight on a brown stallion turned to answer them. His rank insignia marked him as a general.
"By the grace of the Light, Marcus Jonathan! I haven't seen you since the second war. I had heard Fordragon made you a general."
The knight's eyes narrowed as he studied Mallet's face. "Crownguard, is that you? I didn't recognize you without a bag of dice in your hand or a supply train to guard."
Mallet's mood cooled instantly. "That was uncalled for, Marcus."
"Was it? And call me general when you address me, knight." The general trotted his horse over until his stallion was standing alongside the paladin's mount.
"I'm retired now, general."
"Indeed? Or were you asked to leave? I'm certain the Order of the Silver Hand has little room for knights who disobey orders."
Mallet straightened slightly. "Ah, it's about that, is it? That was a long time ago. The Order understands that men's lives should not be thrown away to satisfy some lordling's ego. That tower was too well defended, and my men were exhausted."
"That was for Trollbane to decide. "Esarus thar no'Darador'" By blood and honor we serve, Mallius. If the Duke said you had the strength to take the tower than you should have done it."
"Duke Trollbane led from the rear."
"Trollbane was a master strategist, which is more than anyone can say for you. I should add that is takes a special skill to fight through three wars and live long enough to retire. I think it's called 'cowardice.'
A swift intake of breath was Mallet's only response. The two men stared at each other, a silent hatred flowing between them.
"Why are you here, Crownguard?" The general asked.
Mallet choose his words carefully. "A member of my party went missing last night. We had just arrived from Goldshire and he was new to the city. My niece and I are looking for him now."
"I see." Marcus's eyes noticed Myrista for the first time and dismissed her instantly. "Well, even if you are a poor soldier, you are no traitor. Nor can I believe you would associate with one. The city was attacked last night. A warlock apparently was haggling over the price of some service and summoned a demon, who killed a merchant and began burning the bazzar. A wizard arrived, killed the demon, and stole off with the warlock. We're looking for them now."
"I can aid you with that." Mallet offered. "I tracked dozens of demons and death knights during the wars."
"That won't be necessary." Marcus trotted his horse around so that Mallet faced his back. "Even if you were a more reliable soldier, we have no need for you. We already have a 'demon expert.'
Mallet was about to ask what that meant when Myrista gasped and clutched his arm. Mallet followed her gaze. Twenty paces away a cluster of guards stood around two Night Elves.
"That's her." Myrista whispered to her uncle. "That's Mythril."
The druid looked very different from the last time Myrista had seen her. Her leather outfit was new, and dyed a deep green to contrast sharply with her purple skin. She wore a cloak which looked like it was composed of living leaves. Once again she bore no visible weapon, but her companion more than made up for it.
If Mythril was tall, the male Night Elf beside her was positively enormous. He was over eight feet tall, and his body was probably over six hundred pounds of solid muscle. He wore only blackened pants of an odd leather that Mallet recognized as the hide of a felstalker. His skin was a lighter shade of purple than the druid's, and covered with old scars. In each hand two exotic double-edged sword blades arced from odd hilts that he carried. The Night Elf was barefoot and bare-chested. Perhaps the oddest thing about him however was that he wore a blindfold over his eyes.
"Uncle, who is that?"
"I'm not certain. I... I think it's Illidan."
"Don't be ridiculous," Marcus Jonathan scoffed. "Illidan Stormrage is dead or at least fled to Outland. That is Colberthas, the demon hunter."
The General had not said the name loudly, but somehow the Night Elf heard. Colberthas turned towards them. Mythril had been speaking to a couple of guards, but also turned to follow his sightless gaze. Her starlight filled eyes met Myrista's. The female then turned to her companion and said something. The two began to approach.
Myrista's grip on Mallet's arm tightened. How much had Mythril told them? The general did not seem to like her uncle very much. If he discovered that they had brought a warlock to Stormwind would he hold them responsible for all of this destruction?
"Well ambassador, have you discovered anything?" The general spoke to Mythril, but his comments seemed meant for the demon hunter. The druid began speaking to Colberthas in the odd Night Elf language. At first it seemed like she was translating for him, but she continued at length for several moments. The demon hunter said nothing. After a while Mythril turned and addresses Myrista.
"Lady Crownguard, it is agreeable to see you again so soon. I am sorry we had to part on such sudden terms."
"What's this?" General Jonathan turned to Mallet. "You know each other?"
"Sir Mallius and I have never met, your eminence." the druid interjected before anyone else could speak. "However, his niece was kind enough to allow me to stay at their home on my journey to Stormwind. Her hospitality was most generous, and I owe her and her household a great debt."
"It is good to finally meet you." Mallet's tone was even, his mood unreadable. "After what happened to my house I..."
"Please good sir," Myrista held up her hand and cut him off quickly. "Let us not bore our associates with personal matters. We can discuss such things after we conclude the pressing business of what happened here last night." She turned to Marcus. "Your eminence, Colberthas has learned much about what has transpired. There were at least two warlocks at work here."
"Two you say?" the general looked grim. If he heard Myrista's gasp of surprise, he ignored it.
"Yes. Each spell caster leaves a unique mark when he calls the magic. It can be detected and tracked by those who have the proper skills. There is also evidence of a more powerful demonic influence. A powerful entity, possibly even a lieutenant of the Burning Legion, has been at work here."
Myrista puzzled at what Mythril was saying. It sounded like the druid was talking about Balba'yorn, but if so, why didn't the elf speak of the demon by name. Could it be that she was afraid her own involvement would be discovered?
General Jonathan set his jaw. "You said you can track the warlocks?"
Again Mythril answered quickly. "We must continue the investigation for a while longer. But yes, we should be able to find them if they are still within Stormwind. However, these are dire portents your eminence. I cannot stress enough how important it would be to inform your superiors of our discoveries.
"Indeed." Jonathan turned his horse around and faced Mallet once again. "As you can see old man, these are dangerous times. I hope your friend has not been snatched up bu the evil ones to become a sacrifice for the dark powers. But as you can see we have the situation well in hand and do not require your aid. And as for you young lady, I suggest you find yourself a more capable bodyguard. Your uncle is long past his prime. You would be better off hiring a gnomish tinker than a cowardly grandfather looking for once more chance to reclaim his lost glory."
"Damn you Marcus!" Mallet's hand dropped to his hammer.
"What?" The general's own hand fell to his sword hilt. "Are you calling me a liar, knight? Was I not a witness at your court-martial? Were you not stripped down to corporal and removed from command because of your failure? Your cowardice jeopardized the entire expedition, and I will be lost to the Twisting Neither before I let anyone forget about it!"
With that the general drove his spurs into his horse's flank and rode off in the direction of the castle, leaving the two Crownguards with the Night Elves.
"Uncle, I don't care if he's a general or not. How could you let him say those things about you?" Myrista's face burned from embarrassment. Looking around, she saw several of the Stormwind guards muttering to each other and casting dirty looks in their direction.
"Because they were true, Myrista." Mallet's voice was full of pain, and for the first time he seemed old in his daughter's eyes. Before anything more could be said, he turned to Mythril. "You have something of mine."
"I beg your pardon?" The druid seemed simultaneously startled and offended.
"I am in no mood to dance at words with you, elf. The book belongs to me. You stole it yesterday and..."
"You stink." The demon hunter said unexpectedly.
"What?" Mallet replied in shock.
"You heard me." The sightless warrior's voice was deep and hollow. "You reek of the Legion's filth. You both do." He turned his head slightly to address Myrista as well. "You have been in his presence, I can smell it. I should cut you down where you stand. My blades thirst for the blood of the unclean. But your taint is trivial compared to these dark wizards. Their stench permeates everything. They are nested deep within the city's bowels like a cancer. I will carve them out. And if that fails, I will burn this city and everyone in it to the ground."
The Crownguards were speechless. Mythril said something in their own language. Colberthas spat on the ground before answering. "You think I jest Queren? They are only humans. It was humans who allowed Sargaras to enter the world. It was humans that summoned Archamode. They are weak. They deserve our pity, not our protection. And do not imagine that I am not aware of your own involvement in this. When the warlocks are dead, you will answer to the Circle or you will answer to my swords!" And with that he turned abruptly and strode off through the crowd and into the city.
There was a moment of silence before Mythril spoke to the humans. "I am sorry Lady Crownguard. I fear my hubris in bringing the codex to Stormwind may cause your city vast harm."
"He's completely serious, isn't he." Mallet gazed after the demon hunter.
"About destroying Stormwind? Yes. And your knights and wizards would be hard pressed to stop him. Colberthas and those like him saw Illidan Stormrage as a great hero during the War of the Ancients. In the thousands of years that followed many attempted to retrace his rise to power. Colberthas slew a doomguard, drank its blood, and burned out his own eyes to further his lust. He is more demon then the creatures he hunts, but the Circle tolerates him because he has never failed them. Now that he knows there are warlocks in Stormwind, he will not sleep until he has killed them all."
"But it can't be true can it?" Myrista asked. "Brogan couldn't have actually summoned a demon. And he would never kill anyone."
"He killed several of the bandits easily enough. But there is some doubt about what happened here. There are many eyewitnesses, and their accounts are conflicting. One reputable man swears that the demon and the boy were fighting each other. But fear has given way to anger, and I have little doubt that the truth will have no bearing on the outcome if Brogan is caught."
"I want the codex back, Mythril." Mallet said grimly.
"For what purpose, sir knight?"
"I'm going to take Brogan and this demon book to the Cathedral. High Priest Benedictus will know how to break the curse and restore the boy."
Mythril lowered her voice. "Brogan has sworn the pact. He cannot be saved. It would be a mercy to kill him now before he damns himself further."
"I won't subscribe to your interpretation of events. A young man's soul is on the line."
"I am sorry. It is out of my hands now." Mythril's words carried a deep sadness and her ears drooped significantly.
"What's wrong?" Myrista asked. "What have you done with the book?"
"I gave it to the Cenarion Circle. In my desperation I thought our leader here in Stormwind would be able to destroy it instantly. Alas, this was not true. We summoned Colberthas to destroy the book, but Balba'yorn's influence is more subtle and more devious than I could have foreseen. No sooner had the demon hunter arrived than a rider from the castle appeared, screaming of warlocks and murder. Now the codex lies forgotten while we search for your friend. The Circle this is but a minor artifact, nothing to be seriously concerned about. They will not listen to my warnings about how powerful the demon is. And every second they delay the she-devil worms her way further and further into our leader's hearts. I was a fool to bring it here."
"Please, good lady." Mallet's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Give us the book. The bishop at the cathedral..."
"I am sorry, sir knight, but I do not trust that your priests have the power to resist the demon or destroy the book. Only Elune has the strength to confront this evil."
"You are making a mistake."
"It would not be the first time. My advice to you would be to abandon Brogan. The best anyone can hope for him is that Colberthas's blades end the boy's life swiftly. Good luck to you both." With that Mythril's form melted into the shape of a spotted jungle cat. The starry-eyed animal turned and raced away in the direction the demon hunter had gone.
"What now?"
"We go to the cathedral. I will see if Farthing has any influence over the Cenarion Circle. Perhaps he can persuade the elves to destroy the book, or allow us to discern if there is a way to sever its connection to Brogan."
Mallet pulled on Star's reigns and began to trot her towards the far side of Stormwind. After several minutes Myrista broached a question. "Uncle, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"What did you do that upset General Jonathan so."
Mallet sighed. "It was late in the second war. The alliance army was deep inside Draenor, far from the Dark Portal, and farther still from our homes and families. I lead a company on the front, consisting of paladins, elven archers, footmen, and a mage or two. Ner'Zhul was crafty, and he drew our main force farther and farther from our base at Hope's End. An army travels on its stomach, you see, and we were fed be food grown on captured orc farms or looted from conquered.
"After nearly two hundred leagues we arrived at the foot of the Shadowmoon fortress. It was then that Duke Trollbane gave a most bizarre order. He replaced half the knights and archers in my company with wounded footmen and peasants. He then ordered me to take the company and at dawn strike directly against the Shadowmoon clan's forward defenses. Two massive towers lined with cannons that were in perfect position to cover each other. It was the only pass to Ner'Zhul, and it had to be cleared if any assault against the fortress could succeed. My men would make the initial assault, followed by griffins, mages, and dwarven sappers. Heavy casualties were expected.
"But the morning of the attack, just before dawn, one of the other paladins, Grayson Shadowbreaker, came to me just as we were to march. He said that the griffins had been sent back to Hope's End, and were not to support our attack. I quickly rode to Trollbane's tent to see what had happened. As I was about to enter I heard him arguing with someone. It seemed that two days before we had learned that a raiding party from the Bleeding Hollow clan had swept in behind us and destroyed our farms and food supplies. We no longer had the resources to take the stronghold. We had enough food to feed a thousand men. To rebuild them would require precious weeks that our army didn't have. Trollbane had asked for a hundred new wizards and knights from Hope's End. But rather than put the new men on half-rations, he found a way to keep them well fed and battle ready by removing some unwanted mouths to feed. Those would be the men of my unit. It was a suicide mission.
Myrista's eyes were wide with horror. "By the Light, how could he?"
"The price of victory is measured in the currency of men's lives." Trollbane said that to my face when I barged into hi tent and confronted him. It was simple mathematics, really. Every day we spent on Draenor we lost hundreds of men to Orc raids or disease or the strange beasts that roamed that savage land. Trollbane's plan was brilliant, but heartless. It would bring the war to a close in days instead of months. In his mind the entire expeditionary force was already dead. He actually bragged that he hand-picked me for the assignment because I was popular with the men. I drank and gamed with the rank and file soldiers. Then that soulless bastard showed me my own eulogy, half-written right there on his desk. He had planned to read it to the men before the main assault. He said it would enflame their courage, and might even carry the day. Victory would be ours. All I had to do was have the decency to march a hundred half-dead men up that pass to their deaths."
Myrista was speechless. They moved in silence through the city. Then she asked "What did you do?"
A hint of mirth flashed behind the old man's blue eyes. "I crushed his staff sergeant's table with my hammer. It scared the piss out of his personal guard. One of them started screaming that Ner'Zhul warlocks had ensorceered me, and that I should be put down like a rabid dog. Luckily Grayson was there, and calmer heads prevailed. I was court-martialed, relieved of command, and busted down to corporal. But my actions that day shamed the Order of the Silver Hand. Uther himself stepped forward and volunteered to command my unit. He knew full well that he wasn't supposed to come back. But he was going anyway. We were at war, and Uther would do what needed to be done to win."
"Did Uther lead the mission?"
"No. My court-martial delayed us and that afternoon we received word that the main body of the Warsong clan was only a day's ride away. We were forced to withdraw and the war raged on for three more months. Weeks later Uther summoned me. The Duke had casually mentioned to him that, had my unit gone ahead with the attack, he still would have withdrawn. My actions and the resulting delay had saved the lives of a hundred cooks, lumberjacks, and wounded footmen. Men that Lord Trollbane didn't value. Uther told me that he admired my courage, and sense of ethics, but he feared I had no future in the military. And to a degree he was right."
Mallet pulled back on the reigns. They stood now in the grand forum before Stormwind's cathedral of Light. The building was beautiful, formed by the finest Stonemasons from glass and white marble. A line of petitioner's stretched out the front. Mallet looked at them and frowned.
"I will go inside and find the bishop. Wait here with Star." The paladin dismounted, straightened his armor and walked towards the grand doorway. The crowd parted for him and he disappeared inside.
Myrista slipped from Star's back and led the mount to a nearby bench. There she sat in the early morning sun and waited. After nearly half an hour of boredom a man sat down next to her.
"Hello" she said to the elderly gentleman.
"Hello to you." He replied. He was wearing a clergyman's robes, but it was red instead of black. "Are you here to join the order?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"You have the look of someone who wields the light, but you do not wear our robes."
"My apprentice robes were lost, but even so, they do not look like yours. What order are you from?"
"Oh, how rude of me." The old man blushed. "My name is Brother Crowley. I am from Lorderon. I have come to Stormwind to serve as ambassador from the Scarlet Crusade."
"Oh?" Myrista gasped. Her conversation with her uncle earlier flooded though her mind.
"Yes. And to answer your question Myrista Crownguard, yes, we are very powerful."
The priestess jumped to her feet. "How did you know..."
"...What you were thinking? It's a spell priests can learn, if they have the talent for it. And you seem quite talented young lady. Quite talented indeed. Tell me, would you like to learn how to be powerful?"