Chapter 8: Fealty
The dusty winds of the Hellfire Peninsula wrapped around Meric. He could feel the grime penetrating his leathers and mail, encrusting his flesh. He scratched his the scum from the corners of his eyes. When the warrior had first arrived in this Light-forsaken land, pinkeye had been his greatest enemy. The infections had kept from doing battle for quite some time, though as with his comrades, he'd adjusted over the years to accept the new environment.
Would still rather be in the marshes or forest, Meric's thought. Still though, there was an important mission to be completed here in the Waste; the orcs yet remained, and this was their stronghold. Their demon masters also.
Behind the lean, muscled frame of Meric Bastonn followed his eleven companions; the ex-pirate admiral Sinbad Slywaters, huge Burdock Trafford, joking Jurgen Klein, the sisters Talia and Mira, silent Morgan Claine, beer-gutted Borodino, dark-featured, mustachioed Gonzolo, the dwarven-raised Odinn Orcsplitter, and the elf Lotus tel Tallon...and carried over Trafford's shoulder, their prisoner, the blood elf.
The black tower pierced the clouds in the distance. Meric cursed it and turned away. For almost twenty years the ramparts of Hellfire Citadel had held the legions of Kargath Bladefist's orcish Horde. In all these long years, neither the remainder of the Alliance of Lordaeron's Expedition Forces nor the Horde had been able to crack each other. Great battles had been fought across the land in the beginning, but as time passed, the battles diminished into minor skirmishes fought over newly laid borders. The Expedition's forces had splintered off to cover more land, spreading thin across the ruined world.
Up ahead the image of Honor Hold began to open before them. Standing on a spit of rock that rose above the surrounding land, the Hold was circled by checkered walls rising fifty feet high, banners of blue, green, white, and red fluttering about them. Most of the lower layers of bricks had been made from stone taken from the lands around the Dark Portal in Azeroth. They were grey and white. When stone had run low, or when renovations, improvements, or repairs were needed, new quarries had been opened up near the Cutting Hills off to the west as well as the canyons below, rendering the reddish rock blocks that now dotted the walls.
Inside the Hold, various ringed levels culminated with the enormous drum keep. Lord General Danath's banners were visible even from here; great white sheets with the Stromgarde mailed fist implanted. The pinnacle of the keep was lined with impaled orc, ogre, and demon skulls. For twenty years Honor Hold had been a bastion of law and justice in this twisted, alien world. Men and women of different creed, culture, and country had forgotten their differences. When the Portal was slammed shut and the world broke, they all became kin.
"Home." Trafford said, always a man of few words. His simple sentence ran true though. The sons and daughters of Azeroth knew Honor Hold to be their lonely home.
Approaching, Gonzolo pulled a wizened and cracked tusk-bone horn, blowing it thrice to announce their return. As the band passed under the portcullis Meric looked up. Small murder holes had been placed along the ceiling of the passageway to pour hot oil and privy muck at invaders.
Entering into the bailey square, commotion engulfed the party. A square of pikemen were training in the green near the stables where a sortie of lancers was dismounting. Gryphon riders from the Aeire Peak dwarf Kuradan circled the sky, their shadows playing off the cobbled stones. Men and women scurried to and fro, intent on completing whatever tasks had been assigned to keep them busy. A new shipment of what seemed iron and copper ores was being counted out and weighed in the main while an elderly man tended to some sickly looking crop in the far corner of the Hold.
A bored looking man dressed in scrappy clothes appeared and produced parchment.
"Name, rank, code and file."
"Meric Bastonn, First Note, Blue Kite. The mission was to monitor enemy movement in the Great Fissure."
"And he is...?" The intermediary scribbled. He knew Meric and the rest, though the soldier never bothered to learn the scribe's name.
"A blood elf. We might be able to wring more talk out of this one than the last."
"General Danath certainly has it in for these blood elves, I know. But of course, your kind is always greatly welcomed and cherished." The intermediary bowed his head slightly at Lotus. The elf rolled her eyes and stalked off. Half of Meric's party's heads loped after her image as she disappeared behind a corner, their faces painted with stupid smiles.
"Another reason women shouldn't be allowed to serve." Meric grumbled, running a hand through his sparse hair.
"If only men would learn to prioritize." Talia laughed lightly, following after Lotus.
"Oh, I'd prioritize...starting with you." Jurgen grinned.
More stupid smiles. Meric felt the heat on his neck rising. There was no time for such frivolities. No man here was younger than 33, and yet they acted like boys who'd never seen a naked woman half the time within the walls of Honor Hold.
Little honor they have.
"All of you, out of my sight! Not you Burdock." The party dispersed.
"Aye. Take the prisoner to the gallows. I shall send a runner to inform General Danath of your prize."
The sudden movement of the orcs worried him enough, but this elf could be a harbinger of something far worse. Should those blood elves return, Honor Hold would have to fight two fronts. It would be impossible.
"Another thing. He is skilled in magic. We saw him cut one of the orc bands to pieces without laying a hand on them. We should call on the Archmage to restrain and bond him." Meric recalled the elf's fire as he tore apart the orcs with ease. The
"We can send for Barion instead. There is no need to call upon the Archmage herself."
"Barion is but a whelp. This elf is strong." The memory of that look scared Meric. "We will need her power to hold him."
Honor Hold Dungeons
A splash of icy water snapped Alaric from the dreaming world and back to the waking. A bright light blinded him for a moment as his eyes adjusted. Four men stood fully armored in old, tarnished plate. The insignias of the Alliance were pressed into the gorgets and hauberks, badges of allegiance. One held a shimmering lantern. The elf he'd seen earlier also stood with them, her heart-shaped face framed by a mass of copper hair. Her large, hazel eyes looked down on him in disgust. She wore rather...revealing...leathers under a green Quel'thalas Ranger cloak.
Turning his head to avoid her ample bosom, a headache blossomed. Touching the back of his head, the elf felt warm, wet blood smearing onto his hand. He cursed then looked up at his captors.
A tall woman with a crown of gray braids had appeared without a sound. She wore a loose robe with crimson trim that slid silently across the floor, giving the impression of floating rather than walking. Her lined face held a stern expression. Alaric recognized her immediately; Gilda Taerum, Court Sorceress of Lordaeron.
"Gilda." Alaric said, a smile reaching his face. The sorceress lips did not so much as twitch. Her eyes remained hard and probing.
Tis a miracle even one of them is alive after twenty years stranded. And an even greater one to meet them the day I arrive.
"Alaric. Why are you in Outland?"
"Outland? Is this not Draenor?"
"Do not play the dunce with me, Quel!" Gilda lowered her ivory staff. Alaric was flung backwards and pinned against the moldy wall. He felt the breath knocked out of him.
"Gilda-what-is the meaning-of this reception?" Alaric struggled to ask. He remembered her as the quiet, reserved girl that clung to the curtains when they were first introduced. That had been in Dalaran many long decades ago. They had both been apprentices to Archmage Antonidas in those days. They'd gotten drunk for the first time off of his wine cellar, and been assigned three weeks of hard labor to repay Antonidas. The kindly old man had only carried out a third of their sentence.
"You may not have aged a day, but don't think that familiarity means that kindness remains between us after what you're people did."
Confusion gripped Alaric. He'd not expected to be welcomed as a hero, but he certainly did not anticipate such an outcome. What had happened in these twenty years to harden Gilda so? The spell continued to press Alaric against the wall harder and harder. He felt his bones bending painfully. If this kept up, Gilda would kill him.
What in the Light happened to her?
Instinctively he reached for his magic. The elf felt the warm light of arcane magic fill his body, enveloping him in the cloud of energy. He tried to cast a shield around himself, but felt a barrier preventing him from tying off the channeled magic. He gathered more magic to himself. Again, the barrier held him in check. He felt its wall, searching for cracks. There were none. It was a flawless, Kirin Tor styled spell.
"Release me - Gilda!" Alaric gasped, unable to breach the barrier or breathe. Suddenly he fell to the ground, hair spilling over his eyes. Heaving, Alaric lay prostrate, recovering his strength before looking up to met Gilda's gray eyes.
"Lord Danath wants you alive, and so you shall remain - until the moment he is finished with you." She said, gathering a fistful of his hair in his palm and dragging him up. The guards approached, bearing steel. At sword point they pushed him out of the cell, the weapons jabbing into his back more than once.
"What is going on? What happened!" Alaric asked incredulously.
"I am no more obligated to answer stupid questions than entertain the killers of my brothers and sisters in my own house." Gilda hissed venomously. She wove another spell around Alaric, pressing his mouth closed with some invisible force.
Danath Trollbane, heir to Stromgarde and the Arathi legacy. He will hear me. Alaric remembered Danath's face. He'd met the man once in the ruins of the Dark Portal after the last battle of the Second War.
The troupe walked down narrow stone halls lit by weak-flamed braziers. His captor's faces, even Gilda's, were warped by the shadows playing off them. They passed other uniformed men and women who silently watched him with same look of hatred. Eventually they reached a long spiral staircase and ascended. The air grew warmer and Alaric could hear the sounds of a great fire and spitting logs.
They entered a large hall, the fire at one end and a long table crisscrossed with maps and battle plans. At the end of the room was a large table with more tomes and parchments spread across it. Behind it hung a plethora of colorful aegis's and shields from the various nations and provinces of the Alliance. Each bore a different emblem and design. They were the shields of fallen knights.
Standing at the table were two men; one, Alaric recognized as the man he'd seen when he'd been attacked and knocked out. His hair was cropped in a soldier's cut, and one eyebrow was completely white. The other was an older, broad shouldered man in his early fifties. A crown of thin gray circled the sides of his head, though the top was bald and shiny. A neatly trimmed beard, the same as it had been two decades ago, sat on a stony military face. Danath Trollbane wore an azure and gold tabard over a vest of simple white wool.
"We encountered four more orc scouting parties near the Great Fissure. There was also a large camp here. More than a hundred cookfires." The soldier explained.
"Much more pressure than we anticipated." Danath muttered, stroking his beard.
"I surmise that the orcs may be building for an attack against Honor Hold."
"I concluded as much. At the least, they are exploring the possibility. Kargath seems to be feeling for weaknesses. So, our old nemesis has finally quelled the Horde's rival factions." Danath seemed lost in thought.
"Lord General Danath!" Gilda Taerum announced their presence. "We bring First Note Meric Bastonn's prisoner. The blood elf."
"Ah yes, come." Danath eyed Alaric up and down. Suddenly, the spells stuffing Alaric's mouth unraveled. He walked toward Danath, flanked by the guards and Gilda.
"We found him in the Fissure. He was cutting down the orcs we were about to ambush." Meric said.
"He is shielded." Gilda said.
Danath approached, standing within half an arm's length of Alaric. His dark eyes stared deeply into the elf. Creases and wrinkles, more from the pressure of leadership and worry than age, crisscrossed Danath's face. Three small scars reached down his chin and toward the throat.
A warrior's eyes. A warrior's features.
"I am Alaric Faltron'Quel of Tranquillen, a loyal and genuine servant of the Alliance." Alaric said.
"And what alliance would that be? One with demons?" Danath asked, his voice.
Alaric stuttered for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Whatever inclinations you may have, I fall not within them. There is much to tell you. I am honored to be in the presence of such heroes. In time, perhaps we can find a way to return to Azeroth."
"Tidings? Have you come to tell us of how Lordaeron is lost to the world? How Quel'thalas lies in ashes? Have you come to whimsically explain that millions lie dead? These tales our ears have heard already. Whether truthful or not, I cannot determine." Danath turned, pouring a finger of alcohol in a small cup that lay on his desk.
You've met with Prince Kael'thas and my kin?"
"Aye." Danath took a look at his glass before downing the dark brown liquid. "We have met your...kin." Particular emphasis was placed on the last word.
Then they do live! There is yet hope for Quel'thalas! Alaric felt his spirits surge.
"I must know if they are alive. Do they yet remain on Draenor? It is imperative I reach them." Alaric said excitedly.
"Your kin first came to us several years ago. At first we thought it a miracle that someone from Azeroth had reached us. They told us of the devastation of Lordaeron. And then I watched as they turned on us, slaughtering over a hundred of my men."
"I - what?" Alaric stared, his mouth open.
"Aye. They attacked us with the power of the Twisting Nether itself. This world is hell, and for twenty years we have fought not only orcs, but the most dark, evil terrors and demons that the Nether offers."
"I have seen Shadow Council warlocks raise the dead and summon their horrors. I have seen the Burning Legion wipe out entire lands with the flick of a wrist, and I can say that your kin have used the same power. To me, they are little more than demons themselves. We have paid in blood for their deception."
"Taboo." The female elf said.
"You must be mistaken. Yes, the blood elves have utilized alternative methods to channel. Yes, we've dabbled in fel magic, but never - "
"The blood elves drink tainted demon energy like they breath air. It has made their minds black and corrupt." Gilda stated.
Alaric felt anger and disbelief biting at the back of his mind. Prince Kael could never condone such actions. He and Kael were much the same; in age, action, and opinion. Though he'd never spent much time with the Prince, he'd always been in agreement with Kael'thas whenever they did meet. His father had even called them two of a kind once.
"Lies." He stammered. "My people, our people -" He looked at the elf-lady behind him. Her gaze pierced through him. It was the truth...but it couldn't be! "I never reckoned you to be a human supremacist Danath. I'd thought you above that! How can you listen to this rubbish!" Alaric turned the other elf.
"They are no longer my people." She said coldly, showing him her shoulder. Alaric's head sunk.
What in the Light is happening on this world? Am I going mad?
"You know all this. Do not try to pretend otherwise. Nothing has come from Azeroth since the breaking of this world except those blood elves. You are one of them." Danath accused, pointing a finger.
"What shall we do with him?" Meric asked. Danath looked longingly at his glass once more, and then to the shields on the wall.
"Have you anything to say? To prove your innocence, Alaric Faltron'Quel?" Danath asked.
Alaric stared at the ground, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. How was it possible? Was it a nightmare? He did not respond.
Without turning, Danath spoke. "Hang him."
Alaric was rustled out of the room, hands and feet bound by rope. The stairwell and main hall passed in a blur, an angry crowd gathering around him as his escort dragged him into the main square. His head spun with the revelations. There was no way Kael'thas could be behind such a travesty.
I must know the truth. I must return the Prince to his rightful place in Quel'thalas.
Suddenly a noose was being fitted around his neck in the midst of the castle square. Danath and the rest had appeared. The noisy throng of soldiers crowded at the base of the gibbet, intent on some entertainment.
"Gilda, this is madness! It is I! Alaric!" The elf called out.
"Be as you may, I will not take the chance of another massacre happening. The Sons of Lothar are my brothers and sisters now, not the ghosts of the past." Alaric frantically searched the barrier Gilda had erected around him for a weakness.
"Death to the enemies of Azeroth!" He could hear Danath shouting at the crowd. "Death to the enemies of the Sons of Lothar!"
The noose tightened, crushing Alaric's throat. Suddenly he remembered a weakness in Gilda's channeling that she'd always had as a child in Dalaran. He began to fill himself with magic, letting his body become a vessel of the ambient magic floating in the fabric of Outland. He engulfed the energy without end, letting himself fill to the brim. The crowd backed away, faces souring with abrupt fear as the elf's eyes began to glow with magical overflow.
There! He snapped Gilda's barrier like a twig.
Distantly he could hear Gilda shouting for everyone to run. She did not have the power to contain this much magic. Alaric felt his flesh searing and his bones creaking. At the last moment, he let all of it out, unleashing a torrent of flame straight into the sky.
Alaric panted as he turned to Danath Trollbane. The old man's face gracefully held his shock.
"Lord General Danath...on my honor... I am a friend. I give you my loyalty...and my word...I pledge that I am your man."
Danath Trollbane's expression cracked, and the man laughed.
Author's note: Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!