Never Expect the Unexpected

Gilveradin Sunchaser glanced up with mild interest when the four men entered the camp. Their bearing was confident and in control. He was immediately on his guard.

"What can I do for you?" he asked calmly, rising to his feet. He didn't even spare a glance at Shindigger; he knew Rhapsody was well aware of the threat that just walked up on them.

"Just looking for information, friend," Derek said in anything but a friendly way. His sneer wasn't particularly friendly, either. Gil narrowed his eyes.

"Make yourselves comfortable," the High Elf said mildly. "I'm sure we have enough brew to go around. My friend here has a cask that might be ready to open by now."

"Not looking for booze, Elf," Derek sneered. "Your friend here can't speak for himself?"

"He only engages in conversation with fellow epicureans of fermented delights," Gil replied loftily, pleased that the ruffian from the tower seemed ill-equipped to handle a multi-syllabic statement.

"Shut yer yap," he growled. Turning to the Dwarf, he said, "Saw an Orc down here last night. Know anything about him?"

"Stole my pants," Shindigger muttered blearily.

"Stole... the Orc stole your pants?" Derek asked, wrongfooted by the unexpected declaration. It didn't appear that the inebriated man was missing any such item.

"No, yuh dimwit," the Dwarf flared. "That prancing deviant stole my pants! Then he gave them to the Orc! In shreds, I might add!"

"Come now, be charitable," Gil admonished. "The poor bastard was practically naked." In an aside to Derek, he stage-whispered, "Not much better after what I had to do to that drunkard's drawers to get him into them."

"Get away from me," Derek growled, stepping back. Fixing the Elf with a hostile glare for a moment, he once more addressed the Dwarf. "He say anything to you?"

"What the hell would he say to me?" Shindigger roared, still upset about the pants, apparently. "I'm not Horde. He talked to Gil over there, always so damn friendly. The lady talked to me. And, I'd like to say, you dumb fucks oughta be ashamed of yerselves!"

The fat Dwarf rose to his feet and put his huge fists to his waist like a father scolding his sons. Derek could barely keep from laughing. He glanced back and saw that his two men, Andrew and Ben, were grinning on either side of him, but Amarn... where the hell was Amarn?

"I saw what you did to that boy!" Shindigger barked. "Like there isn't enough hate between the Alliance and the Horde, you gotta go and sow some more of it. Oughta take you over my knee, you rotten cur!"

Derek suddenly realized that the formerly wobbly, swaying Dwarf was standing straight and steadily, eyes sharp and speech clear. Glancing at the High Elf, he saw no signs of drunkenness in him, either.

"Right," he smirked. "This is all just an act, right? Make people think you're a couple of bums getting plowed in the mountains, but you're really..."

He didn't get to finish. Rhapsody Shindigger, who'd heard enough about what went on in that 'secret' tower of SI:7's, silenced the taller man with an uppercut that also sent Derek flat on his back. The first man to recover from the shocking attack pulled a sword and lunged at the Dwarf, only to find his chest caved in with a Dwarven warhammer. The second man backed up to draw his own sword from a safer distance. Derek struggled to stand.

"Giving the Alliance a bad name!" the Dwarf roared, advancing on the trembling swordsman.

"Permission to join in and kick their asses, Rhapsody?" Gilveradin called cheerfully.

"Granted, yuh sod," Shindigger snapped.

"Kiss the ground!"

Rhapsody Shindigger threw himself face down.

A fireball roughly four feet wide roared across the camp, warming the Dwarf's backside as it passed, and exploded right where Derek was just getting his legs under him. The man was thrown ten feet to land in a singed pile at the edge of the camp.

The swordsman reluctantly tried to attack Gil, but was thwarted by a thick hand darting out and grabbing his ankle, sending him sprawling. Rhapsody stood and gave the man a kick in the kidneys for good measure.

"Now get the hell out of our camp and mind your own affairs!"

The two survivors limped away. Derek tried applying bandages one-handed to his seared flesh, swearing under his breath as they descended the trail down to the valley.

"Could've told you," Amarn said suddenly, coalescing into view on a rock they were approaching.

"Where the fuck were you?" Derek roared. "Ben's dead. What were you doing? Buffing your nails?"

Amarn lifted a trim eyebrow. "Those two aren't involved. Never have been. They've had a camp here for years."

Fuming, Derek snarled, "Why didn't you say so?"

Grinning, the mage just shrugged.

"Asshole."

Their troubles were only beginning. Once on the road, Derek asked Amarn about the spell.

"You still got a bead on her?"

"Indeed," the mage replied. "They are nearly a mile ahead. We gave them a decent head start before you idiots saw fit to harass Rhapsody Shindigger."

"Shut the fuck up," Derek growled. "All right, which direction?"

Amarn gave him a withering look. "East. You don't think they went to Aerie Peak to partake of Dwarven hospitality, do you?"

"Just making sure," he muttered sourly. "Let's go."

The Trolls of Shadra'alor didn't much like encroachment on their territory. Whenever they saw anyone wandering within sight of their walls, a warband was dispatched to attend to the offense, and several small parties ranged out to re-assert their claim in the area.

One such group caught wind of the SI:7 men and fell upon them with extreme prejudice.

Derek was rather grateful that the sudden appearance of half a dozen angry Trolls was met with Amarn in attendance and fully engaged. He really wasn't surprised by the previous disappearance; it was the way the mage was wired. If you were determined to fuck up, he'd stand back and watch you do it. Probably how he got his jollies.

Several violent explosions coupled with Derek's and Andrew's swinging swords managed to finish off the first group, but they were in for a time of it. Not ten minutes later, a second group found them, then a third. Progress was slowed to a crawl, allowing their quarry to get further ahead.

Amarn wasn't worried. This was simply a minor inconvenience. He had a lock on Joanne's attunement spell and knew exactly where she was.

In the middle of the Arathi Highlands.

Field Marshall Oslight wasn't quite sure what to make of his guests. The woman clung desperately to the Orc, weeping hysterically when Sergeant Maclear tried to separate them. The Orc... honestly, Oslight had never seen anyone so badly injured and still able to walk. Cuts and bruises, burns and bite marks pocked his brown skin from head to toe. The way he carried himself when led away from the skirmish by guards bespoke worse internal damage than the relatively short spill he'd just taken should have inflicted.

And the woman's words, repeated over and over: 'Don't hurt him, please. He has suffered enough. For the love of the Light, don't hurt him.'

Looking down at the Orc now as he sat on the ground, leaning against a crate, Oslight hardly knew where to begin, what questions to ask. Glancing aside, he saw Maclear offering a handkerchief to the distraught woman a discreet thirty feet away.

The Orc appeared done in. Completely defeated. As if his entire world just ended. Oslight had seen that look years before, and it furrowed his brow now.

At a loss, he said, "What happened to you?"

Fentulk couldn't raise his head. He had never been driven so hard or so far, but he knew he was past his endurance. He could feel it in the way his muscles twitched and spasmed. He knew it in the way his eyes filled with hopeless tears.

It was over. He'd never see his home again. He'd likely never set eyes on Joanne again, either. They'd take her away, send her back because of her contract, then they'd kill him. Or worse, send him back to the tower as well, where death was kept at bay regardless of how desperately he might beg for it.

He couldn't fight them, not to protect her, not to protect himself. They took his feeble sword away. All he could do was command Moke to keep his distance, stay out of bowshot. Likely wouldn't ever see the windrock he'd raised from a chick again, either.

Swallowing a hard lump forming in his throat, he tried to put on a brave face. Probably unsuccessfully. They wouldn't care, really. This man, whoever he was, would just not care. No point in telling the whole story, because he would not care.

But Fentulk couldn't lie.

"Was... captured by the Alliance," he rasped brokenly. "Thought I was a spy."

Oslight's eyes narrowed, once more flicking over the Orc's tortured flesh. "Are you?"

A sob broke from Fentulk's throat, and he covered his eyes with one hand as his shoulders shook with despair. He'd answered that question so many times, and no one ever believed him. They just beat him harder, as if that would change his answer. The only one who believed him was Joanne.

Unable to speak, he shook his head, not expecting it to make any difference now, when it hadn't before.

As a soldier, Oslight had seen many things in his career. He'd personally questioned suspected spies; some were Orcs from Hammerfall, others were Forsaken from the Defilers' ranks. One thing in which he'd always prided himself was his ability to read a person. It was rather a sixth sense, of knowing when he was being lied to. Part of that sense was in knowing when his enemy still believed himself at some advantage. Perhaps harboring some extra bit of information that would lead to Oslight's demise or the spy's rescue. A glint in the eye, a tiny smirk. Some telltale sign.

He saw nothing of the sort in this Orc. The man was broken. Utterly shattered. And telling the truth.

"What part does the woman play in this?" Oslight asked when the Orc mastered himself once more.

Taking a shuddering breath, Fentulk replied, "She helped me escape, and I helped her."

Oslight frowned. "You helped... her? What do you mean?"

"She was... a servant," the Orc said. "Little better'n a slave."

"So you helped her escape?" the Marshall pressed. Fentulk nodded. Weighing this information, Oslight said quietly, "All right. Don't go anywhere."

A gruff, bitter chuckle shook the Orc for a moment. He was surrounded by guards, at the bottom of a deep, well-defended depression. Where could he possibly go?

To Fentulk's utter shock, the man leaned over and firmly patted his shoulder before walking away to consult with his Sergeant.

"What did you learn?" Oslight asked in a low voice. Maclear's troubled expression was concerning.

"She's... uh...," the Sergeant began uncertainly. "Sir, she's terribly concerned about the Orc. I could get almost nothing out of her but pleading on his behalf." Shifting on her feet uncomfortably, Maclear went on, "She's afraid we'll hurt him. She said he's been tortured for weeks."

"Looks like he has, yes," Oslight agreed, glancing at the Orc for a moment. "He wouldn't even say that much, though. Did she say who captured him? Who abused him?"

The Sergeant's face contorted in a scowl. Lip curled, she snarled, "SI:7."

Oslight blinked in shock. "He didn't tell me that."

"He probably didn't think you'd care," Maclear said. "Since he's Horde. She said they're always rougher on the Horde." She looked over at the Orc herself and grimaced. "I remember the camps," she murmured.

Nodding, the Marshall said, "As do I. It's not been so many years that those memories have faded. They were here, and in Hillsbrad. They built Hammerfall on the ruins of the biggest." A hard look stole over his face. "I never agreed with it."

Maclear shook her head. "I didn't either, sir."

Sighing, Oslight said, "What is your recommendation?"

Memories of the listless inmates in the internment camps drifted through her mind. The abuses they suffered, the families torn asunder, little to no shelter, some camps erected in fetid swamps, the defeated Orcs fed scraps a dog would refuse, men shackled and whipped for the smallest offenses, women assaulted... Maclear winced and bowed her head. Had the Orcs deserved such treatment? Was the Alliance justified in rounding them up, even those who hadn't been engaged in warfare, and locking them in cages? She'd never believed so.

And there was another matter here that drove her resolve.

"Let them go," she replied firmly. "Both of them."

Oslight raised an eyebrow. "Both?"

"Yes sir," she said with even stronger conviction. "She is committed to him. It is the only humane thing to do."

Oslight nodded in agreement. He'd suspected as much, simply by the terrified worry in the woman's eyes when they took the Orc in hand. "Call the priests. They need seeing to."

"Yes sir," she replied, saluting and hurrying to fetch the healers.

Returning to the Orc, Oslight appraised him for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Fentulk," the Orc replied dully.

"Where are you bound, Fentulk?"

The mild tone of the Marshall's voice made him look up. "Home. Just... wanna go home." The word alone tore another sob from Fentulk's throat, and he bowed his head again.

"I've no doubt you'll get there," Oslight said gruffly. His mouth formed a grim line. "We'll see you on your way."

Blinking back tears, Fentulk raised his eyes to the Marshall's. "What?"

Before Oslight could respond, a young woman from the healers walked up with a bulging pack of supplies. Oslight nodded to her and stepped aside as she knelt beside the Orc and began tending his many hurts.

Fentulk could barely breathe. Instead of chains, he was being healed. The cool relief of healing magic seeped through his aching body, pouring over him in a gentle wave. Looking over where Joanne was, he saw another priest treating her injuries as well.

Sergeant Maclear took it upon herself to deal with the tradesmen who'd set up their traveling wagons full of miscellaneous goods, bargaining for the largest clothing they could provide. Not being suppliers to the Horde in general or Orcs in particular, they had a difficult time securing an outfit that would fit him. A fellow soldier handy with a sewing needle was employed to adjust the cut for the bulky Orc.

When she presented the breeches and tunic to Fentulk an hour later, he wept openly, barely able to choke out a grateful thank you. Joanne was likewise provided with a change of clothes, and was similarly speechless.

Once the healing process was as complete as it could be, for only time and rest would fully restore the Orc's body, he and Joanne were reunited. She practically fell into his arms, and they embraced gratefully for several minutes. Made slightly uncomfortable by the obvious affection, Oslight looked away awkwardly, but Maclear watched, her suspicions of the woman's feelings confirmed.

For Fentulk, the fact that she was in his arms at all was a miracle he'd never imagined. Looking past Joanne, he said shakily to Oslight, "Can't tell yuh what this means. Got no way to repay yuh for it."

Oslight waved a hand and snorted dismissively, then said seriously, "I hope for you it means that the Alliance is not entirely peopled by barbarians."

"I never thought that."

"That is good," Oslight replied. "It seems this woman wants to stay with you."

Unsure, Fentulk stiffened slightly. "You gonna let'er?"

A slight smile curved the Marshall's mouth. "Thanks to you, she is a free woman. She can make her own choices. I'll not stand in the way."

Hearing his words, Joanne turned in Fentulk's embrace, reluctant to let go, and smiled tearfully. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded, feeling his raw emotions bubbling up again and swallowing hard to control them, "thank you. Thank you."

Clearing his throat, Oslight huffed a bit and turned southward, pointing up the slope leading out of the encampment. "What you'll want to do is head up this hill and follow the path straight south. You will come to a crossroads with a sign pointing east to Hammerfall. Follow the road to another crossroads, where the sign will direct you northeast. That road will take you to the Horde fortress. In your condition, I would say it will take you a day and a half."

Turning back to Fentulk, he said sternly, "You will need to protect her from your own people, very likely."

Standing straight and proud in spite of the stiffness and aching still present in his limbs, the Orc replied, "With my life."

Oslight nodded, satisfied. "I expected no less. I've always admired your people's sense of honor. When an Orc gives his word, he stands by it."

"I do," Fentulk said, his voice stronger.

"All right then," the Marshall said, then handed the Orc a heavy pack. "Here. There are enough rations to get your there, plus a bit extra. The sword you had was rather worthless. I judge by the extremely agitated windrock that has been circling above for hours that you are a hunter. A gun would suit you better, eh?"

Fentulk didn't know quite what to say, and his grip slipped again. Shaking his head, he said, "That's too much. I can't take a gun, sir. The sword's all right. I'll get by."

Oslight shook his head firmly. "No, you'll take the gun. There are spiders as big as a cart horse and raptors too smart for their own good roaming the hills. I'll not send you out there armed with a butter knife." Weighing his words carefully, he said, "Miss Joanne here may have thrown her lot in with you, but she's still a member of the Alliance. I would be remiss if I did not ensure her safety in these lands." He gave Fentulk an understanding look. "You take care of her, now."

"I will," Fentulk replied, accepting the gun and the pack.

Oslight once more firmly patted the Orc's thick shoulder, and watched them make their slow way up the hill. Maclear stood beside him.

"She loves him," she commented in a low voice.

"And he, her." The Marshall took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I hope 'home' for him isn't Orgrimmar. I don't think his Warchief will accept them."

"They obviously can't go to Stormwind," the Sergeant growled. "Even if SI:7 wasn't involved, Wrynn would throw him in the stockade for... being an Orc."

"Mind yourself," Oslight warned in an undertone. "We of Stromgarde don't have to agree with everything the king says, but he's still our king."

"Yes, sir," she said stiffly.

True to the Marshall's word, an hour of steady hiking brought Fentulk and Joanne to a crossroads with a weathered old sign pointing to Hammerfall. This was the sort of straightforward directions they'd lacked in the Hinterlands.

"Do you feel all right?" Joanne said, finally breaking the silence that had lasted since leaving Refuge Pointe.

"A lot better," he replied. "A bit sore, but better. You?"

"I am fine," she said. "How I must have shocked them when I..." She closed her eyes tightly, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I hope I did not offend you..."

"Joanne," he said gruffly, resting his hands on her small shoulders, "they let us go. What's more, they let you go with me. If you... comin' to me like that... had anything to do with it, I ain't offended." He struggled to swallow another rush of strong feelings. Every emotion was raw and refused to be put in check, it seemed. He'd never been so completely beaten down. "Wouldn't be offended anyway. Told yuh... remember? When you set me free. Told yuh I... I was in love with yuh." He fought hard to make himself say it now. He'd come so close to never having another chance. "I think I am."

Joanne reached up and gently touched his cheek. "When we are in Nagrand, and all of this is behind us, if you can still say such words, perhaps I will be able to say them also."

"Don't think where I'm standin's gonna change what I feel," he growled, letting his hands fall to his sides. "But yer probably right."

"I do not doubt you speak your heart, Fentulk," she said softly, stroking his face. "My heart is not so easily read."

Nodding, he took her hand and led her east down the road.

The sun was beginning to set when their weary feet demanded a rest. The good people of the League of Arathor had done their best to clothe him, but shoes large enough for his feet couldn't be found among the tradesmen. Still barefoot, and now traveling a road accustomed to wagons and horses, he felt every rock like a dagger driven into his flesh.

The Marshall had not been mistaken regarding the wildlife in the region, either. The well-traveled road was relatively safe from migrating raptors and hunting spiders, but at night they might not be so lucky. Moke kept a vigilant watch in the sky above; he would likely get little rest himself tonight.

Along the road, they found a series of stoney outcroppings. Assessing them as potential shelter, Fentulk sought out a suitable hollow for their rest in the fading light.

"This'll do," he finally said. It was a fissure in the rock wall that would likely keep most predators from reaching them. Assuming Fentulk could squeeze inside.

It was tight, but he'd been virtually starved for weeks. A month ago, he wouldn't have fit.

Sitting together in the narrow space, they shared venison jerky and Dwarven mild cheese. Fentulk could think of no meal more welcome than this one.

Except perhaps the fresh bread Joanne brought him in his cell. He could still remember how sweet it tasted before Derek drove it forcibly back out of him.

Growing drowsy from the food and feeling safe for the first time in weeks, neither of them spoke a word about it. Joanne all but melted against him, and he wrapped her in his arms, so naturally and easily that there was no need for speech. This was what he'd been looking for, what he'd hoped to find. Sighing with contentment, he let his cheek rest on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

***Where the hell are you?***

Fentulk jolted upright, startling Joanne into fearful alertness.

"What is it?" she asked, eyes darting about.

"Kora," he breathed, feeling inexplicable dread.

The way he said the name made Joanne even more nervous. "Who is Kora?"

"That... 'friend' of mine we was supposed to meet," he explained. Wincing, he muttered. "She's gonna be pissed. Hang on a sec." Grudgingly, he settled back and closed his eyes, feeling for the connection with the Orc woman.

***Runnin' late Kora, sorry.***

***It doesn't take that long to traverse the Hinterlands. Where are you?***

***About half a day outside of Refuge Pointe.***

...

***Where? That isn't even in the Hinterlands! How the hell did you get into the Arathi Highlands?***

***We got chased by Trolls through a tunnel in the mountains and came out here. It don't matter. We're on our way to Hammerfall. Should get there tomorrow. Can yuh meet us there?***

***Fine. By the ancestors, you are insanely stupid. Simple instructions, and you couldn't follow them.***

***You didn't tell me there was a great fucking Troll village that close to Aerie Peak! Yuh didn't tell me the road don't go straight east! Yuh didn't tell me to do nothin' but go straight east! We couldn't go straight fucking east!***

***I never said, go straight east! I said head east. Of course, you would have to account for Troll villages on your way.***

***Never mind. Never fucking mind. We're on our way to Hammerfall. Please just... meet us there. I wanna go home, Kora. I... I'm done. I just wanna go home. Please.***

...

***Very well. I will take a flight over in the morning, but you had better be there. I will not be pleased if I have to travel up and down the coast trying to find you!***

***Thank you.***

***Yes. You should.***

The connection severed abruptly, and Fentulk sagged, rubbing his face. "Fucking bitch," he muttered.

Joanne flinched at his tone. "Is... is she coming?"

"Yeah," he snarled. "And she's gonna make me suffer for it."

"You can hardly be blamed," she said defensively. "If she is your friend, should she not do whatever it takes to help you?"

"I ain't had many friends," he said wearily, "but yeah, a friend would do that. Kora... ain't much of a friend, but she's all I got."

Sighing, Joanne rested her small hand on his heart. "You have me, Fentulk."

He covered her hand with his, a slight smile on his face. "Yeah. I do. Don't think I ain't grateful for that." Cheeks darkening, he ducked his head. "And... you know... yuh got me. If... you want."

"I think I just might, Fentulk," she whispered, then settled once more in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he let himself relax. Moke was on the watch above, and the cricket song was soothing. Yet once more, a voice invaded his thoughts, but this was a memory, not an outside intrusion.

Women can be real weird about these things. You may think she don't want ya, not now, but wait til she sees ya with another woman. Then it'll get... innerestin'.

Could that be why Kora was so much more belligerant and cruel than he remembered? Was she jealous? She had offered herself to him, and he'd rejected her. Fentulk scoffed at the idea. More like she was offended by Fentulk's preference of a human over an Orc woman. Over her in particular, perhaps.

Now that he thought about it, Kora was rather power-hungry, and Fentulk had never been a man she could control.