Deathrose, Thorium, Essence, and Hot Water
They parted ways the next morning.
"See yeh soon, bonebag," Ingomar said. "Try not tae let any dogs chew y'up, alrigh'?"
"I'll do my best," Cian said. "Try not to fall under anyone's shoe."
"Oh, aye," Ingomar said. "Or leg warmers, in yer case."
She boarded the hippogriff while he frowned at his clawed feet, which always tore right through the soft leather soles of his boots.
"Give us a shout if your psycho ex comes looking for you," Linnaris said.
"She's not my ex. I hardly know her."
"My mistake," Linn said, grinning mischievously.
Eulalia hugged him, her grip on him so fierce that Cian feared his ribs would crack.
"Please," she whispered in his ear, bending low to match his height, "Please be careful."
"Why is everyone so worried about me?" he said. "I'm not a child." Though, he supposed that twenty-five years was a little young compared to four thousand something. Relatively speaking.
"It is not an easy time for persons of your kind," Eulalia said. "We are only hopeful for your safety." She kissed him, chastely, on his scarred, sallow cheek. "Remember that if you are hurt, we will come for you."
"And what if it's you who gets hurt?" He said, with a little more challenge than necessary.
"Then I expect you to come help me, too," Eulalia said, as if she couldn't think of anything more obvious.
After she left, Cian took out his neglected hearthstone. He touched the rune inscribed on it, and the carving glowed. In a few seconds, he was returned home: the Undercity Inn.
Cian hadn't checked his mailbox in ages, not that he expected anything to be waiting for him, and there wasn't much: a few old letters from the auction house, bits of cloth he had mailed to himself, notes thanking him for fighting the Alliance (oh, irony) and one actual letter, from his friend Kesriana. The scroll bore the seal of her quickly diminishing house (a snake's open mouth, its fangs dripping with venom). Cian unrolled the letter, which asked him to meet her by the bank in two weeks' time. The letter had been sent just before he kidnapped Eulalia, and that had happened nearly a month ago now. Damn.
He was in the middle of scratching out an apology when Kesriana appeared in the inn, as though summoned.
"Nice of you to show up, Mr. McCulloch! I thought you'd gone and got swallowed up by the earth. Or some other manner of slavering beast." She tackled him suddenly, sending him sprawling over an open coffin. His elbow splintered.
"Hi, Kes," he groaned. "Long time no see."
"Damn right. You're lucky we aren't related, or I'd carve out your spleen," she said. "I mean, since the heart's already gone, of course."
"Sorry," he said. "Lots going on."
"Ain't that the truth," she said. "Welcome to the last bastion of free undead on the entire planet, buddy."
"Really?" he said, peeking outside the inn, and finding that the city was unusually bustling.
"Really really! In fact, Ci-ci, now that you're here, I think you'll be politely asked to stick around. Or kicked in the teeth and then politely asked—however you want to play it." She said all of this with cheer and candor, as though the whole situation amused her endlessly. Which, really, it would.
"No, I can't stay—I've got things to do—"
"Yes, yes, every place you have to be is important. For now, why don't you have a cup of rotwood tea with me? I need to dole out some gory details about my trip to the Alterac Mountains … distant cousin there who fell in with the Syndicate, you see …"
Cian supposed he had no grounds to refuse, and he was glad to see her. He didn't get on well with most of his own race, but he and Kes had killed Scarlet zealots together, the sort of experience that created lasting bonds. He obediently followed her to an alchemist's shop (which doubled as an exotic tea service) and then sat with her on the slick, slimy stones of the Undercity floor. He could not linger too long, but presently he had few options: abomination patrol had tripled, and anyone attempting to leave was brutally detained. Nothing short of an audience with Sylvanas herself would grant release.
"Just a quick cup," Cian said. He didn't relish the prospect of meeting with the Dark Lady, but nor did he like the idea of Eulalia and company breaking into the city in search of him. Especially if he was without the water he'd agreed to collect.
"Why's that? What's the rush?" Kes asked. She sipped her tea, grimacing in pleasure.
"Just, things to do," Cian said. "You know."
"What things?" Kes shut one eye, an indication that she sensed a lie.
"Roguish things," he said. "Look, I need to go. Can you help me sneak out of here?"
"Not unless you deign to share the reason," Kes said.
He sighed. "Okay—do you remember the woman I told you about? The one I traveled with before I died?"
She curled her fingers near her ears and flexed them. "Night elf chick, am I right?"
"That'll be the one."
"Are you involved in some kind of cross-faction imbroglio?"
He coughed. "Little bit."
"What did you do?" Kes said this with the excitement of a child about to receive a long-anticipated gift.
"I didn't do anything," he said. "Except die, like everyone else here."
"So why do you wanna bust out? Missing your girlfriend?"
"Shh," Cian said. "And we're not dating."
"And I'm not a murderous sociopath with no respect for life!" she paused, laughed. "Oh wait, I completely am!"
"Can't a man and a woman just be friends? Or mortal enemies, as the case may be?" He knew he didn't believe at least one of those statements.
"Sure, normal men and women can," Kes said. "But you passed normal about a plague and a dagger to the chest ago."
"Are you going to help me or not?"
"Give me a real answer and I might do you the same favor," Kes said. She sipped her tea delicately, holding the cup with perfect poise (pinky claw out, other claws in).
"We're trying to find a cure for undeath," Cian said quietly.
"What?" Kes said. She dropped her cup (but her imp caught it handily) and reeled back in her chair. "What did you just say?"
A passing merchant peered over at them, and Cian hissed, "Keep it down! Like you said, I'm not related to you, so you don't need to kill me!"
"Of course I don't," she said. "You're already dead, in case you've failed to notice."
"Well, my friend thinks she can fix that."
"And you want to help her."
"Yes," he said, explaining about the Pharmakon Elixir and the journal.
"Interesting. Hopeless and stupid, but interesting."
She considered for a moment, swirling the dregs of her tea around the bottom of the cup. Her imp danced under the table, chattering to her in demonic, and Kes nodded like she understood.
"Right then," she said, "Let's mosey."
"You have an idea?" Cian said hopefully.
"The sewers," she said. "They're heavily guarded right now, naturally, but I'll distract them so you can nip by."
Cian bowed low. "Thank you."
"Ah, I was getting bored anyway."
"Why don't you escape too?"
"My cousin may or may not have become the leader of a major crime syndicate in my absence, and I may or may not have spooned his eyeballs out of his head. As a consequence, legions of thugs may or may not be looking for me." Kes shrugged, whistled. "Possibly."
She motioned for him to follow. "C'mon. This is gonna be good."
Cian gratefully obeyed, and hoped the others were having an easier time on their respective quests.
--
Cian's handwriting was about as legible as bear spit. Ingomar pursed her lips and squinted at her third of parchment. Her list was short, and she was already nearly done; the recipe called for some quantities of powdered gold, mithril, and thorium, and she needed only to gather the thorium.
Still, these were all her best guesses—Cian's loopy scrawl could be asking for anything, depending on how she rotated the parchment. He'd just have to take her findings and like them.
Ingomar steered her ram across the bridge into the Eastern Plaguelands, her senses attuned to the presence of any minerals in the immediate area. She felt a tingle along her spine as she passed the Marris Stead, home to Nathanos Blightcaller. Cautiously, Ingomar directed her ram up the slope beside the farmhouse. If the mineral deposit was close enough, she could mine it without attracting any unsavory attention.
But she needn't have worried. Nathanos was not home.
"Well, then," Ingomar said to her ram. "Tha's nice." She hopped down off her saddle and ambled towards the thorium vein, which was jutting out of one of the small hills near the farmhouse. Bones of past challengers to Nathanos' authority cracked under her plate boots as she climbed the hill, miner's pick at the ready. She struck the glowing green crystal, and as it sang from the force, she heard a voice. In her peripheral vision, she spotted movement inside the farmhouse, silhouettes passing by the broken, grimy windows. Perhaps other travelers. She could have paused, investigated. But Ingomar did not suffer interruptions when mining, and she struck the vein again. Light take her if a few unknown mutterings deterred her purpose.
She liked mining even more than fishing; the vibration of cracking mineral soothed her in the deepest, most dwarvenly bits of her nature. Pulling riches from the earth felt as natural as walking or breathing, as simple and pleasurable as peeling a ripe fruit. The blood of stones flowed in her veins, and mining felt like accepting gifts from her family.
The voices multiplied with each strike of Ingomar's pick. She was nearly finished with the vein when someone spoke from directly behind her.
"Nice day, isn't it?"
Ingomar glanced over her shoulder. A low-ranking member of the Cult of the Damned, a peasant in necromancer's clothing. Her lower lip curled. "If ye like unholy decay an' th' smell of fresh corpses in th' mornin'," she said. "Which I reckon y'do."
"I'm a student at the school of necromancy," he said politely. "My homework is to capture a dwarf for dissection. I really thought it would be harder!" He was smiling, proud. Ingomar took another chunk out of the thorium vein.
"Fortunately," the student went on, "Professor Vector didn't say the specimen had to be alive, or I'd be sooo worried. Live flesh is super hard to wrangle, am I right?" He thrust a dagger into her back, and Ingomar growled as the flimsy blade crumpled against her armor.
"I gave ye a chance, laddie," she said, turning around. "I jus' want ye tae know 'at."
She unhooked her hammer from her belt and brought it down on the student's head. He wilted faster than his weapon had, squealing like a frog and managing a throttled complaint about due dates and the loss of his scholarship. Ingomar kicked him for good measure, and then frowned at the farmhouse. Two or three other students were huddled inside it, clearly plotting her demise.
"Barry, you idiot!" a girl shouted. "We were supposed to attack together. This is a group project!"
"Ye've got tae be kiddin' me," Ingomar said. She charged into the house, knocked out the shouting girl, and then incapacitated the two remaining with sharp, swift blows to their chests. She consecrated the ground beneath their bodies, and sighed as the acrid scent of sizzling, corrupted flesh filled the air.
"Nobody interrupts me minin'," she said. "Or collects me for nae bloody dissection, neither."
She touched her hearthstone. She had an appointment to keep.
--
Linnaris turned the blade like a screw into her opponent's back. Viscous liquid seeped from the elemental's wound, and she struck next across its midsection, causing it to falter and dissipate. Its bracers fell with a thunk to the ground, and Linnaris stuffed its life essence into her pack. She was in Felwod, cutting down the toxic horrors that bubbled and splashed their way through deep pits in the forest floor. She was having absolutely no problems or interruptions; in fact, things were so lovely that she hummed a jaunty tune to accompany her relentless slaughter.
She whistled as she strolled up the path to Talonbranch Glade, blades dripping with elemental goo.
"Acid green isn't really your color."
"Hey, there, Arolaide," Linnaris said, turning. The priest's horse galloped onto the path, followed closely by a Dreadsteed carrying a gnome warlock.
"We killed cultists," Viraj said proudly. His horse cantered up by Linnaris and Viraj hugged her neck, which Linnaris endured until her boot tips melted from proximity to the Dreadsteed's flaming hooves.
"Those people disgust me," Arolaide said. "Who installs braziers anymore? I mean, honestly. Wall sconces offer a much subtler effect, don't you think?"
"Absolutely," Linnaris said. "Where you headed?"
"Nowhere fabulous. Do you need something?" Arolaide said.
"Nope," Linnaris said. "I have to say, this is the easiest thing I've done in a while."
No sooner had the words faded from the air than did an echoing roar shake the trees around them.
"Uncouth," Arolaide said.
Linnaris squinted into the murky forest. The path trembled, pebbles bounced against her calves. She smelled burning leaves, and a pile of branches crashed onto the stones, engulfed in green flames. The Infernal stomped out a moment later, barreling directly at Linnaris.
"I think not, sir!" Viraj said. He intoned a spell in demonic, and chains wrapped around the Infernal's rock and sulfur body, binding its rage.
"Destroy … you …" it said, in its echoing, burnt baritone of a voice.
"Hey, buddy, what'd I ever do to you?" Linnaris said.
"Destroy … all of you … " the Infernal said, and a fresh rumbling almost knocked Linn off of her feet.
"I can't hold him forever," Viraj said. "Or any of his friends. Much as I would like to! But Infernals are pretty high up there on the ornery scale."
"You might want to mount, dear," Arolaide said.
Linnaris summoned her nightsaber as a whole pack of Infernals crashed through the trees, clambering rapidly after Linnaris and her two friends, their fiery rock limbs tearing through tree trunks and underbrush, upsetting the owls.
"Honey, did you steal something from Sargeras himself?" Arolaide said. She clucked her tongue, and their mounts took off. "Because I hope it was good."
"I was just here for some life essence! That's it!" Linnaris cried. The Infernals roared in unison, and their mounts groaned in fear, spurred on by their own anxiety as much as their riders'.
"There weren't any Infernals even near me," Linnaris said. "Not a single one."
"They must want something from you," Viraj said.
"I haven't done anything to want me for," Linnaris said, looking back at the oncoming Infernal tide, led by the one Viraj had released moments before scrambling into his Dreadsteed's saddle. "Unless those elementals are paying the demons for protection."
"Maybe it was how you did it," Viraj suggested. "Maybe they thought you were mocking them."
"They weren't near me!"
Exasperated, she half-wanted to turn around and ask the demons what the problem was, but a voice in her head advised her against this plan.
"Hate to interrupt this productive discussion," Arolaide said. "But they seem to be catching up."
"You guys keep going," Linnaris said. "I'll handle this."
Arolaide looked askance at Linn. "Ordinarily I might agree, but I think we're firmly in this one together. Infernals aren't known for their discerning intelligence when it comes to their targets. Even if they want you, they're going to get us."
"Bloody hell," Linn said. They couldn't lead the demons to the glade, or any other populated place—Linnaris had done some things in her life that she wouldn't want put in a book, but damned if she'd be responsible for the destruction of any villages or outposts. Except …
"Deadwood," she gasped. "The furbolgs will distract'em."
She veered off the road, and the Infernals followed, proving that she was their quarry. Linnaris charged into the hostile furbolg village, and was instantly set upon by their shaman and warriors, though their attentions shifted when the Infernals flowed over their huts, like a river of living lava. The furbolgs abandoned their pursuit of Linnaris and attacked the demons, as she expected. Their numbers were so great that the demons were overwhelmed, and Linnaris headed back to the road, meeting up with Arolaide and Viraj by the entrance to Timbermaw Hold.
"Let's get the hell out of here," she said.
The three hurried to Talonbranch (after warning the outpost about a possible Infernal threat) and hopped gryphons to Darnassus.
Resting on the gryphon's feathered neck, Linnaris let her muscles unclench, felt her sweat dry in the rushing wind. The attack troubled her. Had she taken something of import to the Burning Legion recently? She thought not, but truth be told, she had picked a lot of pockets. A review of her filchings, major and minor, could occupy her for the rest of her life. And she hardly had time for that: she wasn't immortal anymore.
But the danger was behind her now, hopefully still ravaging the corrupted furbolg camp. Maybe it was a freak thing, maybe Viraj was somehow right.
Maybe. Hopefully.
--
The deathrose bloomed only on the corpses of forest shamblers, along the thick vines that comprised their muscles. Eulalia extracted one with expert precision, taking it by the root, keeping every delicate, crimson petal intact. As she tucked the flower into her pouch, her long ears picked up a faint rustling in the canopy. This was not the light movement of a bird, but the harsh dissonance produced by swift limbs. Someone was there.
"Greetings, Shan'do Swiftarrow." Her visitor dropped down before her. His black leather armor blurred the shape of his body, melding it with the shadows. An owl perched on his shoulder, and hooted at Eulalia with familiarity.
"Hello, thero'shan," Eulalia said. The male night elf pressed his fist to his palm and bowed low.
She giggled and dragged him into a brisk hug, which he endured grimly. The owl hooted again and stepped onto Eulalia's head. She reached to smooth its feathers.
"You look nice, Villanelle," she told the owl. "How are you, Yldwen?"
"I am well," Yldwen said. "Though wondering about your business in Ashenvale."
"I'm not hurtin' stuff," Eulalia said. "This guy was dead when I got here, pinky swear."
"I have little concern for that," Yldwen said. "But the deathrose is a potent herb, as I am sure you are aware."
"It is for the health of a dear friend."
"Health, hm? What health do you hope to restore with poison?"
"I don't quite know yet," Eulalia admitted, and opened her bags to her student, so that he could see the various herbs she had so far collected. "But to be fair, there is no limit to the things I do not know."
"Interesting assemblage," Yldwen said. He would not ask her for the details; it was not his custom to pry, or even to appear prying. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the dewy grass, and Villanelle perched on his shoulder, her amber eyes as inquisitive and luminous as his own.
"Does anything else bother you, thero'shan?"
"Much, shan'do," Yldwen said. "The wind smells of decay, and betides ill omens."
"That makes sense," Eulalia said. "What with all the zombifyin' happening lately."
"Yes. I would ask you to take care."
"I'm not worried."
"Sometimes it is not our enemies we should fear."
"You've been reading again," Eulalia said.
"Perhaps a little."
Surreptitiously, in the motion of affixing her pouches to her belt, Eulalia slipped an arrow from her quiver and threw it, aiming to pierce Yldwen's throat. A second's whistle, and Yldwen's hand caught the arrow, stopping it before the point breached his skin. He flipped the arrow in his fingers and returned it to her with a sober expression.
"Never be distracted by idle talk," Yldwen said, before she could. "Though I do not mark this talk as idleness."
"Surely not," Eulalia said cheerfully. "But all noise distracts the senses, if not rightly managed."
"Doubtlessly so, shan'do. Lately I have found much reason to heed this advice. Just two days ago the undead, who used to confine their crawling and slinking to the ruined barrow den, launched an attack on Forest Song. Their numbers have multiplied, and they have concealed themselves in the trees. Astranaar is finally considering a fence."
"And …" Eulalia said slowly, "What did you make of your attackers?"
"Clearly not an organized Horde force, if that's what you're asking," Yldwen said. "I couldn't discern their objective; they don't seem interested in much beyond general destruction. In fact, I've seen groups of them harrying the orc lumbermen of the Warsong Clan."
"Did you help?" Eulalia asked, sharply.
Yldwen's expression remained placid. "Naturally. Though I did not permit myself to be seen."
Eulalia nodded. "Good."
"It is dishonorable to abide an unfair fight."
"And in such times sides should be forgotten," Eulalia finished. After a moment's quiet, she said, "What brings you here, anyway? I thought you preferred colder, dwarvier places."
"I do. But I am called by trouble."
"Aww. You really are my student."
Yldwen set his hands palm-up on his knees. "Afternoon meditation is upon me."
Eulalia rose and bowed. "I gotta hurry, especially after what you've said. Please protect everyone here as best you can."
Yldwen's body faded into the shadows, as Villanelle took flight. "Until my bones and blood run to dust, shan'do."
--
Sweat collected in Cian's breastbone, slid down the exposed vertebra of his back, dampened the leathers stuck to his body. Hanging vines, heavy with flowering fruit, brushed the top of his head as he stole through the jungle, wary of the ancient and hungry wildlife. A devilsaur stomped by Cian's hidden form and it lingered, its beady, savagely intelligent eyes intent upon the patch of air that concealed him. Startled, Cian realized that the primal spark in the creature's eyes reminded him of Eulalia.
He expected her and the others to show up soon, as he was already a day and a half late for their agreed meeting, though not of his own volition. Kesriana's distraction had proven effective (but what quarterwit abomination wasn't amused by an imp's acrobatics, combined with a loose Infernal and a Doomguard?), but he trudged through the rank sewers while cloaked in shadow, and had remained that way until Orgrimmar. Not wanting to report to Thrall yet (and observing the distinct lack of undead presence in the orcish city), he had crept from there as well, slowly making his way to Ratchet, the place that had started him on this insane venture.
The goblins, as predicted, weren't bothered about his race. They dealt with anyone who had money, and will enough to part with it.
As a consequence of this roundabout traveling, and his original stopover in the Undercity, he was ridiculously off-schedule. He could almost hear Ingomar's unsurprised contempt, Eulalia's worry, Linnaris's exasperation. He would explain when they found him.
The hot springs weren't far now. His bone toes clutched the soft, aromatic soil as she slipped through trees that seemed to brush the clouds. Rich, musky smells of sweet flowers, damp gorilla fur, and old raptor droppings hung thick in the air, which was itself heavy as a cotton veil. Cian loved it, the perfume and the filth, too heady to be ignored. Breathing in the scent of so much life made him feel a little alive, too. In Un'Goro, he walked on this planet's pulse, felt it thrum steadily beneath the fertile earth.
The Lich King's voice could not reach him here, could not extend its chilled tendrils into this cradle of life. As he approached the hot springs, something like optimism blossomed within him. Perhaps the ancient power in the crater really could cure undeath.
Cian took the flask out of his bags and bent beside the largest pool, filling the container with one scoop. He was about to break into a sprint when he heard something heavy tromping towards him. He let the shadows conceal him, and for a moment the heavy footfalls stopped. At first he thought it was one of the girls' mounts, but if they saw him, why not call out? Quietly, Cian drew his knives. Maybe it was just a dinosaur.
The footsteps resumed, and a felguard soon entered Cian's field of view. It marched straight at him, battle axe raised, as though Cian weren't hidden at all. When the demon was within twenty yards, it charged. Stunned, both literally and figuratively, Cian leapt back from the felguard's axe swing, narrowly avoiding the unplanned separation of his torso from his legs.
Cursing, he rolled on the ground and jumped up behind the demon, driving both his daggers into its back. It howled in fury and tried to whirl around, but Cian jammed the pommel of one dagger into his best estimation of the thing's kidney, and its body sagged. Triumphant, Cian prepared for a finishing strike, but before he could brace himself, another axe cut into his back. Snarling, he jumped sideways, tearing his cloak to rags on the edges of two menacing axes, and was confronted with a score more of felguards, each one angrier than the last.
"Do you guys need something?" Cian said, eyeing the broad clearing around the springs, looking for a decent means of escape.
"Just your broken bones, darlin'," a female voice said, and the felguard army parted to allow a young warlock through. She wasn't Nina, but she had the same sinuous carriage, same off-hand attitude in her cold, painted face.
"Who the hell are you?" Cian said.
"A friend, though my mama calls me Amarantha," the woman replied. "Why don't you come along with me, sugar? No need for all this vulgarity." She nodded to the demons that stood ready to converge on Cian.
"You're from the cult, aren't you?" Cian said. "What do you people want from me?"
"Personally, honey, I couldn't care less about you," Amarantha said. "But my baby sister's got designs on you, and she's a little busy just now, so I'm doin' her a favor. Cos I'm just a sweet girl like that." The woman smiled.
"I should have left your sister to burn," Cian said.
"She's a hellcat, no doubt," Amarantha said cheerfully. "But she didn't need your help, sweetie. Though surely you figured that out by now."
Cian shook his head. "What?"
"She chose you. Saw you stumbling around outside the family bakery—oh, how savory our pies were that day—and she got a little crush." The woman cocked her head to one side, appraising him. "She likes'em slim-hipped like you. Can't say I disagree, though you're still not what I prefer."
"Chose me?" Cian repeated, in shock.
"Sure, darlin'. You've been her pet project for the past four years. Who do you think commanded you while you were with us?"
"I don't remember," he said. "I try not to remember."
Amarantha laughed, rich and throaty, warm like a poker to the gut. "That explains a lot, my goodness."
"I don't want to hear any more," Cian said. He took a step back, and then dove into the hot springs. The woman howled with fresh laughter, and the felguards surged forward. Luckily, they were not skilled swimmers. Cian easily outpaced them, aiming for a strange fissure near the floor of the pool. Closing in on it, Cian thought the fissure looked unnatural, its edges jagged, like a wound. He was apprehensive, but low on options. He dove in.
Breath wasn't a problem for Cian's almost non-existent respiratory system, but the water scalded his bones, boiled the thick green sludge in his veins. He dropped onto solid ground relatively quickly, but the hard-packed dirt under his claws was no comfort. Giant insects, hideous hybrids of centipedes and beetles with poisonous, serrated mandibles, flanked him on all sides. A saying about frying pans and fires flashed through his mind.
"This day just keeps getting better," he grumbled as the insects advanced, hissing.
--
"He ain't comin', lassie," Ingomar said. "Knew I shouldna let yeh talk to tha' useless git."
"Something's wrong," Eulalia said soberly. "He promised."
"Oh, lass," Ingomar said, in the gentle, slightly condescending tone of someone who Knew Better. "Yeh cannae trust'im. Iono what happened between ye two when he was alive, but ye've got tae get somethin' straigh'—he ain' that man no more."
They sat, with Linnaris, in the Gadgetzan inn, around a long wooden table covered with platters of meat, fruit, and cheese. Linnaris sipped a glass of wine, listening keenly while her friends spoke. Eulalia gnawed on a boar flank, set it aside, and began to pull apart one of the softer cheeses.
Cian was three hours late.
"That is what he said, too," she informed her hunk of Darnassian mild. "But I think you both are wrong."
"Gonna side with Ing and Absentee McCulloch on this one, Euls," Linnaris said finally. "The boy died, hon. And who knows what the Scourge forced him to do before he got his will back? We can't name the horrors he's seen. Or committed."
"I don't care," Eulalia said. "He needs us. Something is wrong."
She stood up abruptly. "I'm going to find him."
"Alrigh', calm down," Ingomar said. "We'll all go together. If'n he's really hurt, he'll be after some healin'."
"I have bandages," Linnaris said helpfully.
Eulalia grabbed the two women as they made for the exit, hugged them tightly. "Thank you."
"Shucks," Linn said. "What are friends for, if not hunting down irascible zombie boyfriends?"
"What's a boyfriend?" Eulalia said wonderingly, though she was fuzzy on 'irascible' as well. That word sounded like a bitter root.
"Tell you when you're older," Linnaris said.
They emerged into the searing heat of the midday desert. Just before the city gates, Eulalia paused to speak with a goblin, passing him some coins in exchange for a handful of flasks filled with a bubbly, aquamarine liquid. To Linnaris, she said, "Hey! I'm gonna be five thousand in a few hundred years!"
"Baaby," Linn said, grinning.
On their mounts now, they set out across Tanaris, traveling west to the Un'Goro Crater.
"But really," Eulalia said, "that's like a mate, right?"
"Yeah," Linn said. "Sorta."
"Can we maybe not be edgin' 'round the concept of Forsaken and matin', if yeh please?" Ingomar said. "I'd prefer to keep me lunch firmly in me belly, if it's all tha' same tae you lot."
Eulalia didn't pursue the matter, but Linnaris noticed her friend's lavender cheeks darken, and she stifled a giggle.
They rode until sunset, and then made camp in the middle of the desert. Ingomar built an enormous, cozy fire, and began to fry fish for dinner.
"I am happy, though," Eulalia said, as she watched Ing hum a dwarven drinking song and prod the fish.
"Ye oughta be," Ing said. "These salmon are gonna be spot on."
"Not about that. Well, I mean, about that, but also, I'm happy you both are here."
"A'course," Ing said. "I'm sure if I had a repugnant friend in constant need 'o rescue, ye'd be there in a ram's charge."
Eulalia nodded eagerly, then processed the statement and said, "I suspect that was an unkind word, just then."
"Trust yer intuition, me mum always said. Mind, after every baby she'd intuit that there'd be nae more, and I've got more brothers an' sisters than an oak has twigs."
"When I met Cian, he was very shy and kind. I still remember how he would stop to feed rabbits or squirrels that we met on the road. The rats too, even the black ones in Darkshire with mean eyes." She sighed. "Then Kitteh would kill and eat them."
"Circle of life," Linnaris said.
"I know ye miss who he was, Eulie," Ingomar said. "But ye cannae forget who he is. No one can 'ave gone through what he did and come out just as they were before."
"I believe that his heart is good."
"Y'mean the one he's nae got?"
"I was not speaking like that. Like physical-type," Eulalia said, flustered.
"Literally," Linnaris supplied.
"I'm hopin' yer righ'," Ingomar said. "Truly, I am. I'm just preparin' ye for th' inevi—er, I mean, th' possibilities."
Eulalia turned away from the campfire, tucked her hands beneath her cheeks, and rested her head on her tiger's flank as though he were a pillow. Kitteh rumbled pleasantly, and set his own great head between his paws.
Vexed, Eulalia did not sleep, but instead pouted at the empty, arid desert, at the cold, clear sky, at the silent dunes. She disliked the desert, though it spoke to her, as did all wild places. But the sand kept its secrets, and whatever it told was whispered, garbled, wary.
Ingomar poked her friend in the back with a skewer of salmon, which Eulalia accepted gratefully. After eating, her mood was much improved, but she longed for the riot of the jungle, for its cacophony, its willingness. More importantly, she longed to find Cian.
In the unruly garden of her mind, there stood some pillars of understanding for Ingomar's words. Eulalia did not much like these pillars, and felt they added very little to an otherwise lovely arrangement, but she could not deny that they existed. But if he was a stranger, if he was wholly changed, then that only increased her debt to him, and made her want to know him better, so that she might understand him, too.
Eventually, Ingomar and Linnaris fell asleep. Eulalia rolled onto her back, and felt her tiger's rhythmic heartbeat echo in her body, as he dreamed of the hunt, his paws occasionally batting an invisible foe.
Eulalia drew patterns in the sky and worried for her friend. She thought of their last conversation, though it shamed her. She thought of the kiss. She had been kissed before, though never so kindly. She had learned, through observation, that it was a prelude to mating among the upright races, which was rather less straightforward than the practices of the nightsabers who cared for her as a cub. Also, while animals didn't concern themselves over an audience, people tended toward unhappy feelings if they discovered an onlooker (and Eulalia used to onlook, guilelessly, while wandering the pools that speckled the forests of her youth).
It seemed a nice experience, and it had been, except for when the other fellow expected you not to move the next morning, and not to see anyone else. Eulalia needed to move and to see, and while her mates had passed the time, she could not remember any touch, any sigh, any lips except Cian's.
Nightsabers did not have lifetime unions, but Eulalia had seen night elf, high elf, even human and dwarf weddings by now (mostly dwarf, owing to Ingomar's large and excitable family). Feeling self-conscious as she imagined herself in all that confining lace, Eulalia pressed her face into Kitteh's coarse fur. She cleared her mind of all but tomorrow's task, and managed a little rest.
--
They reached the edge of the desert by late afternoon the next day. They were racing along the rim that separated the crater from Tanaris when an agonized scream, reduced to a gasp by its long journey upwards, just barely reached their ears. Eulalia halted her mount, ordered it back some ways, and then jumped down, peering over the rim's edge and into the crater below.
"Are ye sure?" Ingomar said.
"Yes," Eulalia raised her arms, curled her fingers, and stood on point, as wild magic swirled around her fists. Her eyesight sharpened, and she looked beyond the canopy, down past the branches crawling with insects and feasting birds, until she saw the jungle floor. Cian lay there on a pile of scattered soil, his ankle and one arm broken. Green blood oozed from his wounds, and the candlelights of his eyes were dim. He clutched at the soil, as if meaning to fling it at his attackers, which were too numerous to count—waves of felguards, interspersed with angry, clattering silthid, all closing in rapidly. He grimaced, and Eulalia felt his despair.
She released the magic and took out a flask from her bags, one of the potions she'd purchased in Gadgetzan.
"He's there," she said. "Big trouble. You guys hurry."
"What are you doing?" Linnaris said, as Eulalia ran from the edge.
"Keeping my promise," she replied. At about twenty feet from the edge, she stopped. Then, she broke into a sprint, dashing for the rim as though it were a finish line she had to cross.
"Euls!" Ingomar cried, as the night elf launched herself into the crater.
"Go!" Eulalia said, and then her body fell, gaining momentum with every second.
Dumbfounded, her friends took off for the entrance to the crater, hoping to reach Eulalia's corpse before any hungry predators.
But Eulalia had no intention of dying. She drank the flask midway through her fall, and laughed as her body became feather-light. She let go of the empty flask and the wind slammed it into a tree trunk, where it shattered into so many glittering shards. As these pieces fell around him, Cian looked up, just in time to see Eulalia's potion fade. She drew her polearm and landed, full-force, in front of him, her restored weight causing a small quake that threw up rocks and dirt in a circle around her crouched knees. In the ensuing confusion, she impaled the nearest felguard with her spear, smiling maniacally as its blood coated the tines and dripped down the shaft of her weapon.
"Hi there," Eulalia said. "Need some help?"
"A little," Cian coughed, unable to mask his amazement (or his terrible, worsening pain). "It's been a long day."
Eulalia helped him up and he staggered against her, unable to stand fully upright.
"We've got to run," Cian said. "There are too many."
Eulalia nodded and then suddenly lifted him, swinging him onto her back like a sack of grain. As he hung, helplessly swaying over her shoulders, she kneeled on the grass and laid a trap. As the demons and silithid attacked, the ground froze, forming a slick, steaming layer of ice that slowed their onslaught.
"Wha' in th' name 'o Uther's beard have ye gotten yerself into!" Ingomar roared over the tide, as she and Linnaris arrived, plowing through the hostile crowd on their mounts. At first, they were ignored—the objective seeming firmly to be Cian—but then a woman astride a Dreadsteed joined the oncoming fray.
"What delicious friends you have!" she called to Cian, and he struggled to lift his chin, to look into her glinting eye. Her plans had changed. She shouted to the felguards in demonic, and they turned on Ingomar and Linnaris, forcibly dragging them from their mounts.
Several felguards then charged Eulalia at once, and she dropped Cian as she was flung backwards. The demons grabbed her arms and legs, hefting her over their heads while she thrashed and spat like a feral cat.
"Get out of here!" Linnaris cried to Cian, as she stabbed wildly, unable to maintain her focus or balance. Ingomar could hardly intone a spell, so many and so swift were the axe strikes.
The impact from the drop had broken Cian's other ankle, and he lay still, unsure of what to do.
"Move it, ye great idiot!" Ingomar yelled. "Else we're doin' this fer nothin'!"
The felguards had bound Eulalia, oblivious to the deep gouges she had inflicted on each of them. They tossed her unceremoniously on the back of the warlock's dreadsteed, then went to help their brothers overwhelm Ingomar and Linnaris.
Cian was helpless. He beat the dirt in frustration, and struggled to stand, only to collapse after a few seconds on his feet. They should have stayed where they were! Their shouts—angry, fierce, but still laced with real fear—rang in his ears. Ingomar and Linnaris were captured. The tides of demons receded, though not before the warlock allowed them to unleash their aggression on the silithid who had chased Cian from their tunnels.
"Thank you for these gorgeous presents," Amarantha cooed to Cian, as she looked down at his heaving, bloody body. She leaned back in her saddle and trailed a curved fingernail across Linnaris's horrified face. "I shall enjoy them."
"Don't … don't you touch her," Cian said, and cringed at his own humiliation, his powerless threat.
"You can see them again," Amarantha said. "Though I daresay my sister will want a chat first. Come visit us, won't you? We'll be waiting." She smiled lovingly at her cargo. "We'll all be waiting."
Her manicured nail sliced the air in front of her, opening a dark portal which sealed itself after she disappeared inside of it.
--
Staaay tuned :)
Mini-playlist for this chapter:
"Ain't No Mountain High Enough" (Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell version)
"If You're Gonna Jump" (Natasha Bedingfeld, remixed by Paul Oakenfold)