Meeting the Mag'har

They did not make camp even when night fell. Fentulk was too wary of predators, demons, and the Alliance to allow more than brief rests, and Joanne was too afraid to sleep in any case. The rations provided by Trukk were plentiful, though, so they did not lack for water or meat to keep them going. By afternoon the following day, with the Pools of Aggonar to their right, Fentulk was just able to make out watchers on the cliffs above.

Grinning, he said, "There they are. Mag'har." His voice was full of pride for his people. So close to seeing them again, especially in this blighted land and after such hardship, he was moved nearly to tears. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat with difficulty, he took Joanne's hand and nodded reassuringly to her.

Though she put on a brave face and returned Fentulk's smile, Joanne was anything but calm inside. She felt almost no connection to the Alliance any longer, for her early associations with the faction had been grievous. The folk at Refuge Point gave her only a brief glimpse into a nobler sort of human, but it was not quite enough to turn her completely. In truth, though the Orcs had frequently shown distrust of her presence and apparent relationship with Fentulk, they still helped her stay with him and gave him aid to return home. Yet with each new acquaintance, she feared an unwelcome end to their journey. It was this she was thinking of when his steps diverted off the dusty path.

"Should be less'n a mile from here," Fentulk informed her, squinting against the relentless sun.

"What do you expect of them?" she asked nervously.

"Nothin'. Just payin' respects, is all. Shouldn't... shouldn't be no trouble." Yet he ducked his head and didn't look at her. Perhaps it was more than a decade ago that he'd last been here, and maybe Captain Gorkan wouldn't remember, but Fentulk had given his word. It pained him to be returning as promised, yet in such dire straits.

Ahead of them, carved into the red cliff face, was a rugged path up the mountainside. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Fentulk led the way up.

The path was covered in loose scree and proved difficult for Joanne's simple shoes to manage. She clung to Fentulk's hand, leaning on his arm sometimes, and tried not to fall. His own feet, bare for so long, were toughened and seemed immune to the hot sands they'd been travelling. He had an easier time navigating the uneven ground.

"Here they come," Fentulk warned in an undertone, and Joanne looked up the path sharply. Three wolf riders were galloping toward them. She gripped his arm fearfully, and he patted her hands. The Mag'har men slowed their mounts as they approached. Fentulk and Joanne stopped.

One stared down at them directly, while the other two flanked them. The woman resisted the urge to bury her face against Fentulk's burly arm, for their expressions were fierce and seemed unforgiving.

"Dabu," Fentulk said gruffly, nodding to the apparent leader.

"What is your business here?" the Mag'har growled in Orcish. His eyes flicked to Joanne. "And with one of them?"

"We're passing through this way," Fentulk replied carefully. "I made a promise to your captain years ago that I'd stop by next time I was able. Gorkan still in command?"

The leader slowly nodded. "Aye. Name?"

"Fentulk."

"And hers?"

"Joanne." Seeing the continued hostility in the Orc's face, Fentulk hastened to add, "We don't mean no trouble. If he don't wanna see me... us... we'll keep goin'. On our way to Garadar. It's just... I made a promise to Gorkan."

"You takin' her to Garadar?" the Orc asked, raising an eyebrow and curling his lip.

"Yes," Fentulk replied stiffly.

The leader looked Joanne up and down for a long moment, his face openly displaying his distaste. That she cringed from his glowering expression seemed to satisfy him, for he eventually grunted and jerked his chin. "Come on, then." Turning his mount around, he led the way up the path at a walk.

"What did he say?" Joanne whispered as they fell into step behind the leader, his men taking up the rear position.

"Not much," Fentulk replied just as quietly. "He ain't happy about... me takin' you to Garadar."

"Can no one just... just leave us be?" she lamented half to herself. "We are harming no one."

"Not everyone sees it that way," he said, squeezing her hand. A swell of warmth flowed through him, hearing those words from her. As though she wished to be with him and could not understand why anyone would deny her such a thing. "Just hope we don't run into them Draenei. Good as fucked, if they catch you with me."

"It is not fair," she hissed. "I thought when you took me from that tower and... and gave me a life, I would be allowed to live it how I wished. Am I so... so naïve that I believe I should be left alone to make my own choices?"

"Nah," Fentulk assured her. "You got the same thought as anyone. Same as me. Bein' what everyone thinks yuh oughta be just... rubs wrong, yuh know? Me, I was supposed to be a warrior cause my ma was. Long line of warriors in her family. But I couldn't do that. Don't like killin' folks, I guess. Beasts, yeah, if I need to. If there're mouths to feed. If the folks need clothing. If the herds get too big and the land's threatened."

"Does your mother... is she...," Joanne faltered.

"Disappointed?" Fentulk supplied with a grin. "Nah. Not no more. Used to be, sure. She said a big, strong lad like me oughta pull my weight. So I brought her a clefthoof hide. She thought I got it from a tradesman, til I showed her the bandages."

"What happened?" she asked, a fond smile on her face.

"Well," he drawled, enjoying himself, "I hunted this clefthoof calf on my own. Mind you, it wasn't in the best of health. We do that too, you see; if they're sick and weak, they ain't gonna do nothin' but slow the herd down, make it hard for'em to move around and sorta spread their grazin' over a wide area. That's how we get an even use of the land; keep the herds doin' what they're doin', pretty much. So this calf was a weak one and needed to be taken. Me and Moke cut it from the herd and while he was after the calf's eyes, I was shootin' with my old bow." A grin spread across his face. "That calf weren't so helpless as he looked. He charged me. Now a clefthoof calf's still bigger'n me, so gettin' hit in the chest ain't the end of it. He done knocked me clean on my ass about five yards away." Glancing at Joanne's surprised expression, he whispered, "Told my ma it was ten. Anyway, broke about half my ribs. But I brought that clefthoof down all by myself."

Drawing himself up proudly, he looked at her again. Her warm smile puffed him up more.

"Was that... your first?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye. I was about fourteen, I think. Da was impressed. Said that kill made me a man." Fentulk shrugged sheepishly. "Had a... ceremony of sorts. To mark it."

"I have never seen a clefthoof," Joanne said, "but from what you describe, they must be... massive."

"Aye, they are," he nodded. "Even the little ones. A full grown bull's about as big as..."

Fentulk was interrupted by shouts up ahead, just out of sight at the top of the path where the Mag'har Post rested on a plateau. The wolf riders closed ranks, and the leader urged his mount into a run to investigate.

"What is happening?" Joanne asked fearfully.

"Don't know... maybe... Alliance?" Fentulk replied uncertainly. Taking her hand, he started to run up the path. Their guards trotted to keep up.

When they reached the plateau, half a dozen attackers were wheeling about in the air on gryphons, firing down at the Mag'har. The bow-wielding Orcs returned shots, aiming for the mounts. One was brought down, spilling its human rider to the ground in a broken heap. Fentulk shielded Joanne the best he could and hastened her to the relative cover afforded by a nearby wagon.

"Stay here," he growled, then pulled the rifle given to him by Oslight and rushed into the thick of the battle. His eyes had seen what hers had not; there were many wounded Mag'har about. They were obviously so frequently harrassed that they couldn't leave their posts even long enough to be properly healed. And the Alliance attackers were aiming for them in particular, evidently to finish the job.

Fentulk could endure a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

Amidst the chaos of the battle, the fliers began to descend and dismount, clearly not wishing to share the fate of their fellow. Joanne cowered in the shadow of the wagon, not daring to so much as peek around the side, when she heard familiar words being called out.

"Stay there, lady!" a clearly human voice yelled. "We'll rout these beasts in no time, and have you safe and sound back in Honor Hold!"

So this was a rescue? It couldn't be! There were many opportunities to attack the two of them on the way here. Whatever their original reasons for assaulting the Mag'har, she took deep offense that they were using her as an excuse for it now.

Her anger was not relieved when she saw a wounded Orc crawling – crawling – from the battle, and all about him bullets struck the ground... and him.

I do not need rescuing! her thoughts cried. And I will not be the cause of another's death!

There was a moment of indecision as she stared at the struggling Orc. If she went to his aid, would the Alliance stop shooting at him? Or would they continue, assuming she was a traitor? Would she die trying to help him?

As she had also risked death to help Fentulk, because it was the right thing to do?

Steeling herself, she rose to a crouch, gathered up her skirts, and sprinted the short distance to the fallen warrior.

"Be still!" she told him, knowing he likely didn't know what she said. Though he was covered in wounds from gun and bow, bleeding freely all over, she threw herself over his body and shielded his head and torso with her own. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself for whatever decision the Alliance men would make.

What the attackers thought of Joanne's action was not learned, for the Mag'har had enough warriors in the immediate vicinity that were in good enough condition to fight, and the assault was repelled. For good measure, they took the mounts out from under the retreating survivors, sending them to their deaths in the demon-patrolled Pools below. Though Fentulk was no warrior, he couldn't deny a deep satisfaction in the victory.

Once calm was restored, Joanne rose from the prone Orc's form and nearly wept, for his breathing was shallow and labored. One of the shaman tending the wounded hurried over and began sending waves of healing energy into the Orc. Fentulk took her hand and helped her up.

"You got hit!" he cried, looking her over with alarm.

"No," Joanne reassured him swiftly. "I am well. The blood is his." Lip trembling with guilt, she whispered, "They came to save me, didn't they?"

"I hope not," Fentulk growled. "I don't think so. This kinda shit happens a lot; you heard Trukk. They probably saw you and figured they'd get a bonus for a rescue."

"Please... ask if he will live," she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears.

Nodding, Fentulk asked the shaman how the warrior fared, and was told he would recover. Relaying the information to Joanne, he found her in his arms, weeping with relief. He didn't think she would be happy hearing of the two warriors who were not so lucky, and kept the information to himself.

The leader of the wolf riders who met them on the path approached. His dark brown eyes took in the downed warrior, the healer at work, and the woman with blood soaked into her dress. He also noted the casual ease with which Fentulk held her, as though an intimacy such as this had oft been shared.

"Name's Kralok," he growled abruptly, and extended a hand to Fentulk. The two shook hands firmly and briefly. "She your mate, then?"

Relieved that the question was spoken in Orcish, Fentulk shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"Brave lass," Kralok noted. "Saved him, I'm thinkin'. Captain'll wanna know of it. Come on." Jerking his head, he turned on his heel and headed for the small fort at the back of the plateau, nestled among high rock outcroppings.

"What did he say?" Joanne whispered as she followed alongside Fentulk.

Fentulk was deeply proud of her for showing the Mag'har that not all humans were as heartless and bloodthirsty as those who came to rain death on the already beleaguered Orcs, but couldn't deny the fact that if he'd seen her throw herself into the path of danger, he would have likely made himself vulnerable to attack and possibly died. He had to remind himself that she was stronger than she looked, in many ways not so easily seen.

"Said you was brave," he told her, and smiled. "My brave lady."