The pick tumbled to the ground from limp hands. Traylon bent down to retrieve it, but his fingers were so stiff and numb from the cold that he could hardly bend them. Weak and shivering from the cold, the mage sank to his knees, curling in on himself to try and warm himself up. All he wore was a tattered brown tunic and thin brown leggings. He wore no cloak, shoes or gloves. He remembered saving slaves in the Pit of Saron, but he never imagined he would end up a slave himself.
"Get up, little one," a Draenei urged quietly.
"I-I c-can't," Traylon stammered.
The Draenei looked over his shoulder to see a jailor making its way towards them. He knelt down and grabbed Traylon's shoulders, pulling him to his feet. The Draenei then retrieved the pick and placed it in the mage's hands.
"Make it look like you're working," he whispered in Traylon's ear before going back to work.
Holding the pick with both hands, Traylon chiseled away at the rock wall.
"The Lich King's eyes are upon you," he could hear Arthas whisper in his mind.
Traylon coughed as his breath caught in his throat. Again, the pick fell from his hands as he was sent into a violent coughing fit. The Draenei and other slaves turned to look at him. Traylon collapsed to his knees, hacking and coughing, fighting for breath. The frigid air burned his lungs.
"Get up, little Blood Elf. Get up," the Draenei said with urgency.
Traylon knew what this was. It was the Lich King's attempt to break him. And though his spirit was strong, his body was weak. He had lost all sense of time, and he began doubting that anyone was even looking for him. He knew Trisen wouldn't abandon him, neither would his family. However, the cold was clouding his judgement, the physical labour slowly eating at his spirit. The Lich King was trying to break him.
And, he was winning.
Sairexanaris drummed his fingers against his arm, green eyes staring forward. Warsong Hold was approaching, but not fast enough. Two more weeks were lost in their campaign to rescue Traylon and Thallon. Two weeks they would never get back. The longer they idled, the closer they were to losing two innocent souls.
"As soon as we land we should make due haste for Icecrown," Solanlan suggested, walking up to the hunter.
"We don't even know where in Icecrown they are," Sairexanaris stated grimly.
"We'll search the entire citadel if we have to," Yazzoo said as he and Zorrion walked up. "But, we're bringing them home."
Solanlan turned to look at the priest. "How's Trisen?" he asked.
"Preparing herself," Yazzoo answered. "Hoping for the best, preparing for the worst."
The paladin nodded. "Like we all must do," he said.
Zorrion cast his eyes downward, his shoulders drooping. Sairexanaris went over and put a hand on his shoulder.
"We're going to find them, Zor," he vowed. "We're going to find them."
"Yeah," a voice said from behind. "No one messes with our brother-in-law and gets away with it."
The others turned to see Rodonov and Tomparis standing behind them. Trisen approached, her eyes burning with determination and rage.
"What's the plan?" Solanlan asked.
"When we dock, we fly for Icecrown," Trisen explained. "We tear that place apart until we find Traylon and Thallon. Rodonov and Tomparis will search for Thallon, the rest of us will locate Tray. We'll meet back in Dalaran when we have them."
The others nodded in agreement. Soon, the zeppelin was docking at Warsong Hold. They approached the flight master and took flight for Dalaran. When they reached the floating city they mounted up and headed for Icecrown. The citadel loomed in the distance, a haunting reminder of a past that should have been forgotten. Trisen stared ahead, gaze determined. Somewhere within those walls was her husband and son. She would bring them home. And if she saw Arthas, she would cleave his head from his shoulders for ever thinking about bringing harm to her family.
Traylon cried out in pain as a jailor slapped a whip across his back. The snow covered rocks were stained with blood. The other slaves stood back and watched, all too scared to stand up and fight. Traylon tried to crawl away, but the whip was only brought down harder. Another cry caught in his throat, choking him.
"Where is your sharp tongue, now, mage?" the jailor mocked. "There are slaves here tougher than you."
Traylon's hands instinctively lit up with arcane power, but he was so cold and weak that it quickly fizzled out. He fell to the ground, energy spent, breath coming out in ragged, laboured gasps. This was it. He was going to die here. Alone and forgotten. Traylon curled into a ball.
Arthas had won.
"Where's my family, bastard?" Trisen screeched as she held a guard by the front of his tunic.
The Death Knight laughed, his echoing voice boiling Trisen's blood even more. "They're probably dead, by now," he said, tauntingly.
"Liar!" Zorrion yelled, his hands igniting with blazing flames.
Solanlan held up his hand. "Calm yourself, Zorrion," the paladin advised. "He will tell us what we wish to know."
The guard laughed again. "You fool yourself, paladin," he spat. "Torture me all you want. I will never betray the Lich King."
"He has a child," Trisen hissed.
"What use would the Lich King have for a child?" the guard asked.
"He's right," Yazzoo said. "Arthas has no use for Thallon. Which means Shadowstorm must have him."
"So, where's Tray?" Sairexanaris asked.
Trisen stared deep into the guard's eyes as if searching his thoughts. She saw something in those soulless orbs that she never wanted to see. And then, it hit her. Where would Arthas keep the one he was trying to break?
"He's in the Pit," Trisen breathed.
The guard smirked darkly. "You're smarter than you look," he commented. "Very good."
"The Pit of Saron?" Sairexanaris asked for clarification.
"There's no other Pit in the citadel," Trisen told him. "Traylon must be there."
"If he's not dead, by now," the guard put in.
"Shut up," Trisen snapped. "He's still alive. I can sense his power, or what's left of it. What have you monsters done to him?"
The guard chuckled. "You are calling me a monster? Look in a mirror, lately, Stormrider? You were one of the Lich King's most loyal Death Knights. You did whatever he told you."
"My will was not my own, then," Trisen said. "But, now, I serve the Horde. I am the Lich King's puppet no more."
"It matters not to me," the guard replied. "And even if your warlock and hunter friends find your little boy, you're too late in saving your precious mate. All break in the Pit. Your mage is no different."
"Why you-"
Trisen fell back as a Chaos Bolt tore the guard from her grasp. He fell lifeless to the floor. Everyone turned to see Zorrion trembling with uncharacteristic rage.
"We know where Tray is," the warlock said. "And, I'll Chaos Bolt every last bastard who gets in our way."
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