Epilogue – Two days later

There was a rattle of a key in a lock and suddenly light spilled into the chamber. The white haired figure stirred as the wooden door swung open. Someone entered and came to the edge of the bars. A man, wearing expensive boots. He looked into the cell and frowned.

"Still not eating?" The man asked the prisoner. He looked at the stale bread and bowl of thin gruel.

The prisoner said nothing.

"Still not talking either? Fine by me. My name is Mathias Shaw. We've never been introduced formally but I believe we had some mutual friends. The Light knows we have mutual enemies.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that these are dangerous times. The king is missing. Lady Prestor rules Stormwind in his stead. Her idea of justice is somewhat… harsh. She held your trial this morning, without you present of course. I don't think it will surprise you that you were found guilty. Treason, desertion, aiding the enemies of Stormwind. All the good stuff."

The prisoner said nothing.

"You've made a lot of friends over the years. Grayson Shadowbreaker and Bishop Farthing both spoke to your heroism and character. But I think it was the peasant woman and her little girl that saved your life. Talked about you single-handedly taking on a dozen Defias bandits in her home. They made you out to be a real hero, they did."

"Still, Prestor was furious. She wanted you beheaded. But Fordring talked her down to life without parole in the stockades. Supposedly they're going to strip you of the Light as well. Grayson is going to do it, but he's a busy man. Might have to postpone it until next week. Or the week after. Or even later. Who knows…?

"All of your property had been seized. Prestor's people managed to get to your hammer before I could. It's gone, no idea where. Your lands have been seized, and of course your title stripped. I did manage to make arrangements for your niece though. She's been buried in Northshire, next to her mother. As for the boy, Brogan, he was buried in an unmarked grave outside the gates, along with the other bandit and warlock corpses. We only found one night elf corpse, that of the demon hunter. No telling what happened to the druid. They say druids turn into wisps when they die. Just because there's no body doesn't mean she's not dead.

"Anyway, I guess that's about it. You'll be transferred to the stockades tomorrow. It can be a rough place, especially for lawmen. Or ex-lawmen in your case. My advice would be to eat up. You'll need your strength."

Shaw stood there for a moment. The prisoner said nothing. Shaw nodded once and turned to leave.

The prisoner mumbled.

"Sorry." Shaw stopped and turned to him. "I didn't catch that."

"My horse." The prisoner repeated. "Star. My horse. She'll never take another rider while I'm alive. They're not going to kill her are they?"

"Oh no. She's good stock, that one. They auctioned off as a breeder this morning. The stablemaster from Northshire seemed particularly interested. Jorik Kerridan. His boy left with her not an hour ago. Bright lad. Short, with long black hair and a scar on his left cheek. Funny thing though. Northshire's not two days ride but he looked like he was packed for a long journey. Had a shovel with him too. No idea what that was about. Well, I have things to attend to. Good luck, paladin."

With that the spymaster stepped out and the door closed. In darkness Mallet sat alone, pondering what Shaw had said. After a minute, the old man reached down and picked up the bowl and stale bread. He ate it all.

It was two hours after midnight when Edwynn finally heard the noise; a faint scratching, hardly audible over the wind in the trees or the hooting of owls. As if the graveyard outside Stormwind's gates wasn't scary enough at night. Over three dozen were dead; Defias bandits, warlocks of the twilight hammer, and Stormwind's own coven. They had been lined up and buried side by side in a long row, without coffins or markers of any form. Luckily the graves were shallow. Star watched nervously, tied to a nearby tree, as Edwynn had dug up the first three bodies. None of them were the one he sought, but that didn't matter anymore. Now he had the scratching noise to go by. It only took twenty minutes to remove most of the loose surface soil. A couple more strokes and his shovel struck organic flesh. A yelp of pain secured his hopes.

"Sorry about that." The rogue grimaced.

Five minutes later Brogan's face, neck, and one arm were uncovered. The warlock gasped and breathed deeply of the cold spring air.

"What the heck took you so long?" The warlock panted.

"Hey! You weren't easy to find. There were almost forty bodies interned yesterday. And the penalty for grave robbing is they cut off your hand. Here." Edwynn passed a wineskin down to his friend, who drank greedily.

"So, how did you survive anyway?" Edwynn asked as he began shoveling the remaining dirt from Brogan's chest and legs.

"The same spell I used to save that guard who fell into the canal. It's called 'unending breath'. I had enough air to recast it every hour or so. Almost fell asleep a couple of times though. That was pretty scary."

"And your wound?"

"They didn't cut off my head, or burn me, so it eventually regenerated. Hurt like hell though. And I'm hungry as all sin. How long as it been?"

"Two days and three nights. I've got some salted port and carrots on the horse. If we start walking tonight we can be in Lakeshire in two days."

"What's in Lakeshire?"

"Nothing." The rogue sighed. "I figured we could hide there until we figure out our next move. We've got to find Nickolas and the book, but I don't have a clue where to start looking."

"Perhaps I can help?"

The voice was a woman's and less than an inch from Edwynn's ear. He jumped, tripped on his shovel, and fell face forward into Brogan's shallow grave. He scrambled there for a moment, and then turned over to look above him.

At first there was nothing but shadow. Then two pinpoints of light appeared where eyes should be. Star stamped and pulled at the tree that bound her.

"Mythril?" Edwynn asked the blackness.

"I'm afraid not." A deeper shadow moved forward. Too short to be a night elf. But the voice was deep and strong. And the eyes glowed.

Edwynn gasped. "Garona?"

The half-orc smiled. "Lord Pernolde sends his regards. He has a message for you. The syndicate was recently asked to acquire a great many curious artifacts. Books, rare stones, and a series of personal effects that managed to survive a fire at Crownguard manor in Northshire. The objects were loaded onto a boat that sailed last night for Ashenvale."

"Ashenvale?" Edwynn repeated the name.

"Yes. In Kalimdor, far to the west. A long journey, but they say there are artifacts that would allow someone to traverse the distance instantaneously. Magical mirrors or portals. The region is littered with the ruins of ancient elven cities destroyed by powerful spells. The barriers between the worlds are supposedly weak there. It is the sort of place someone would go if they wanted to perform experiments far from prying eyes. I don't suppose you know anyone who fits the bill?"

"Ashenvale…" Edwynn repeated again. He blinked helplessly up at the assassin. "How would I…"

"The goblins have a shipping route from Booty Bay, south of here, to Ratchet, on the east coast of Kalimdor. From there you must cross the barrens. The route is long, and dangerous. You will undoubtedly encounter orcs, trolls, pirates, demons, and the gods know what else. The journey will be good for you. It will toughen you up. By the time you reach the end, you might actually be strong enough to succeed at the task set before you."

"And then what? If I defeat Nickolas and destroy the demon? What then?"

The half-orc turned away and took a step, vanishing instantly into the darkness. "Then you'll return to Stormwind a hero… and I will murder you."

Edwynn swallowed loudly. "Great. I just can't wait to get started then."

-END-