Ganked V 2.0

Chapter 10 Fire in Nagrand

The first couple of months exploring Outland were not what Cyrus would call eventful. The first stop, Hellfire Peninsula, was a complete disappointment. He hated every minute of the red-earthed desert with its bizarre creatures, bone encrusted earth, and mad Orcs. Sure there was much to do in Hellfire Ramparts, and he came out quite well equipped for all his troubles, but he was happy when he left it.

Once it was over, his party headed southwest, towards the more fertile Terokkar Forest. He felt at home in the beautiful, crystalline forests and rolling meadows. Yes, it had a desert, but it wasn't quite as severe an eyesore as Hellfire. Despite the excitement of Shattrath, they decided to lodge at Allerian Stronghold. There were plenty of jobs there more suited for a group like his, folks who were more interested in mercenary work than in old stories, elves, and wars.

It was during that time, when Cyrus was away from the influence Denevell that he began to notice a stark difference between Denevell and some of the younger Night Elves staying at Allerian Stronghold. Denevell was wise and calm, while those elves were brash and loud. Denevell practiced moderation in everything, while those elves drunk and reveled.

He was so shocked during one night of revelry, as he watched some elven women dance nearly naked by the firelight, that he actually excused himself and took refuge on the rampart wall. This was not the sort of thing he had been accustomed to during his more modest upbringing in Elwynn Forest. Even his relationship with Lorenna was undertaken with great discretion. They never publicly displayed affection.

Daela noticed that he receded and followed. When she joined him at the rampart, she explained that after their world opened up and they lost their immortality, many of the younger Night Elves became lost and disillusioned. They escaped the cloistered life of Ashenvale, rebelled and explored. Once they grew out of it, and it was hoped that they would, they would learn wisdom and remember their traditions.

"Most of these elves are only around three hundred years old," she explained.

"And you?" he asked.

"I am 245 years old."

"And that is young?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, quite young. We reach maturity at 200."

"Then why aren't you over there?" he asked, pointing down to the revelers. "Dancing and drinking along with them?"

She flushed slightly, giving her pallid gray skin a rosy tint.

"I would have, but I have grown. Brother Denevell's taught me so much about being a true Elf, our history, and how it was in the Elder Days. I simply can't turn my back on them as they have."

"Ah," Cyrus said, giving her a knowing glance.

It was the only thing that needed to be said. He understood everything at once. After a pause, he gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, which was several inches above his head.

"You'll see him soon. We only have four months left before we all meet over in Shattrath."

She nodded and smiled.

"You're lucky that you got to stay with Lorenna."

As he watched the revelers down below, he caught a blonde woman talking to an elf rogue. His hair was very dark blue, almost midnight. The armor he sported was of the highest quality. He was beardless, usually the sign of a young elf, and quite drunk. He bent forward and whispered something in the woman's ear. The woman looked around her, scanning the surroundings, before following the elf to the Inn.

Cyrus smirked knowingly. He'd known it would only be a matter of time.

"Hm, I guess you could say that," he said nonchalantly.

Should I go now? Or should I wait a couple of days? I should probably pack first, he thought to himself.

Cyrus planned his escape for the next week, while feigning ignorance of her betrayal. It was quite amusing to see how she would sneak away on the pretext of some chore or menial task that she was never quite so enthused about doing before. After a while, she even began to skip out on work. Stymying the Arakkoa? She needed to mend her gloves. Get some Timber Worg Tails? She had to buff her boots.

So it was that Cyrus sent Geldie a letter one day, explaining the situation. Their arrangement was not working out. It didn't matter what Lorenna did, but he wasn't about to stick around while she did it. He would be leaving with Wigget the next day and she needed to take their place. He packed his bags, not even bothering to hide it from Lorenna. She wouldn't notice, so there was no need to explain. Then, on the day he was scheduled to leave, he pointedly informed her that he was going fishing. He took his fishing pole and rode to a nearby stream, but didn't dismount. After a ten minute stroll, he returned to the city, unmounted his horse, entered the inn, walked up the stairs, calmly approached their room and opened the door.

What he saw was exactly what he expected to see, with the added bonus of contraband in the form of a pile of Bloodthistle.

At first the three people didn't say anything. Lorenna covered herself as modestly as she could, even though there wasn't anything anyone hadn't seen. The Night Elf sat back, his eyes in a half-dazed glazed in a state he'd come to recognize as thistlehigh. The room smelled of the pungent weed. Messing with magic? He was being rebellious indeed. Not that it mattered to him. Cyrus merely walked in and calmly gathered his packed bags.

"Cyrus! This isn't how it looks!" Lorenna said, as she walked up to him, slipping on a robe.

"This isn't how it looks either. I'm not taking my bags and leaving for Nagrand, it only looks that way," he retorted with amusement.

She glared at him, incensed at his blaze attitude.

"Well, good luck to you," he said turning to the elf.

The elf gave him a playful salute as Cyrus walked away. By this time, Lorenna had had enough. Sure she was the one who cheated, but the fact that he wasn't affected crushed her pride. What was she to him? No man had left her before. She was always ended a relationships on her terms.

"Why..." she stammered. "I never liked you!"

Cyrus didn't pay any attention. He walked down the hall, ignoring her. All the while, Lorenna followed behind him, throwing cut downs and biting insults, trying to get a rise out of him. It failed. The other patrons could hear the commotion. Some of them cracked open their room's doors and took a peek at the unfolding drama.

"Cyrus!" She called as he started walking down the stairs. "You never satisfied me!"

She smirked with satisfaction as she watched him finally stop. He paused and turned to her with a crooked smile. It was completely void of hurt or malice, and that is what stung her the most. He simply did not care.

"Now I know that's a lie," he teased and then calmly sauntered down the stairs.

One of the onlookers, a pink-haired gnome male, laughed heartily before being stopped cold by her glare. Cyrus did not take one last look as he walked out of the inn and into the town. Wigget was waiting for him at the stables. She was packed and ready to go. By this time, Daela had figured out what had happened, and she was not happy. She was there too, to see them off.

"Well, it's about time," Wigget said. "That took long enough."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Cyrus said with satisfaction.

"I can't wait to get out of this dark, gloomy forest and to some greener pastures," Wigget exclaimed.

"I am sorry about what happened," Daela said. "I...wish that she hadn't done that. She will come to regret it, you know."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Cyrus said with a shrug. "Listen, don't worry, we'll still see each other in four months."

"Are you sure?" She asked skeptically.

"We'll all miss you if you don't show up, so you have to come!" Wigget exclaimed.

"At any rate, what will happen to us now? Two is too few..." Daela wondered.

"I sent Geldie a note and told her what happened. She'll arrive in a couple of days. Just don't let Lorenna make you do all the work," Cyrus replied.

She smiled, reassured.

"Got it. Good bye!"

After one last wave, they began their journey north.

The trip would take about three days, so they weren't too concerned about speed. They sang and talked happily about their adventures so far. It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd been stuck in Theramore, lovelorn. He couldn't help but find a little satisfaction in being the one to walk away.

It wasn't long before Cyrus' sharp ears caught a conversation to his right. It sounded like elvish, and both voices were definitely masculine. It was so close to Allerian that it could be two High Elves conversing, but he hadn't seen elves wander even that far. They tended to stay close to town on account of their small numbers. He hushed Wigget and stopped his horse. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it seemed too harsh to be a simple friendly conversation. Something didn't feel right.

With silence learned from years of experience, he quickly dismounted from his horse and commanded Wigget to do the same. She followed him quietly, although she could not hear anything. With motions, she asked if she should summon her Void Walker LubLub. He shook his head, and pointed to his ear.

No, it would make too much noise.

She shrugged her shoulders.

That's true.

As they crept forward, Wigget finally began to hear what Cyrus had picked up at the road. Their tone was tense and clipped. They were involved in a heated discussion. It was not until they reached a small clearing, that Cyrus was able to see what was going on. One of the High Elves of Allerian Stronghold, a tall auburn haired man dressed in a sky-blue shirt and deep blue trousers, was arguing with someone who appeared to be...

"...A Blood Elf!" Wigget whispered, alarmed.

The elf was a Blood Knight, but they could not see his face clearly. It was half-covered by a crimson and black helm and he stood in the shadow of a large olemba tree. Cyrus desperately motioned her to be quiet. Elves had extremely sharp hearing. Lucky for them, they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

"Listen Sol, I don't care if we are family, I am not going to get caught in this mess," the High Elf began.

"All I want is for you is to make some inquiries. I would have done it myself if it weren't illegal," Sol argued.

"Since when did that stop you? That stack of Bloodthistle you just sold me isn't exactly sanctioned," Aeman observed. He was not amused.

"That would land me a fine. This would land me in a prison."

"Hrm," Aeman murmured to himself. "Well, I suppose I could do it, for the right price. I need enough to pay off any unwanted attention, after all. How about 50 gold?"

"Fifty? That's outright theft! I will give you twenty-five!" Sol demanded.

"Forty-Five," Aeman countered.

"Thirty," Sol retorted.

"Forty gold, ten silver and three copper," Aeman said authoritatively. "And that's my final offer."

Sol paused a few moments to consider the proposal. He sighed and nodded his head at last. They shook hands and Sol handed the High Elf the coin.

"It was nice doing business with you, as always, cousin," Sol remarked sarcastically.

"You got plenty for the Bloodthistle, so I won't hear complaints from you. Now give me the information."

Sol handed Aeman a small white envelope, which Aeman took and placed in his breast pocket.

Now, Cyrus and Wigget did not quite know what was going on. But it didn't take someone with a high degree of intelligence to guess that Aeman, an elf who was already known for distributing spirits, had just bought contraband from a Blood Elf, of all people. At any rate, Cyrus had seen enough.

"Aeman Brightsong! What is the meaning of this treachery?" He demanded, charging with his sword drawn.

"Whatever do you mean?" Aeman asked, smoothly.

Cyrus noted with distaste that elves where always so smooth, no matter what happened to them, they always spoke with that velvety voice.

"Don't play stupid. What did you get from that Blood Elf? What treachery is this?" Cyrus demanded.

"Yeah!" Wigget yelled, playing along. "Are you going to blow up Allerian? Are you going to make a mega-destruction device? Spit it out?"

Aeman didn't break a sweat.

"Would you like some Bloodthistle? I have just acquired some, it isn't dry yet, so I'll be willing to discount it thirty percent: two gold per leaf. It makes good chew wet."

"You make a tidy profit out of that," Sol remarked in Thalassian. "Well, I'm going now. I'll leave you to deal with the locals."

"Tell me about it, you have a good day," Aeman replied with a sigh.

Sol gave him a wave and began to walk away, but Cyrus was not deterred.

"Hey! Where is he going? Get back here! This must be reported at once!"

Aeman laughed at his naivety.

"Go on, report away. I will simply tell them the truth, this is a family matter of which you humans have no business interfering."

Cyrus was quite shocked. He'd always thought that High Elves were so noble, and yet here was one smuggling forbidden leaf, buying it from a sworn enemy, and all without any trace of shame.

"Family...but I thought you hated each other..." he began, feeling rather foolish.

"We do, but we were once of one Race, or have you forgotten? Typical human, all bulk and no brain. So, do you want the Bloodthistle or not? It's good for travel." Aeman asked.

"Huh?" He asked, confused.

"I can see your horses from here. Usually we are good at keeping an eye on the road. Can't let intrepid detectives bumbling about," Aeman replied with a jeer.

Cyrus flushed red, embarrassed, acutely aware of the mockery.

"Come on Cyrus," little Wigget said. "We just started the trip and Nagrand is a long way from here. Neiana is waiting, and Skinflint and Denevell too. They will be happy to see us. I bet Draenei cuisine at Telaar is delicious. I wonder what their Inns look like."

She took the dejected man by the hand and lead him to the horse, while Aeman walked off, shaking his head. Unseen by the three, Sol had not left the area. Shortly after saying goodbye to Aeman, he'd slid behind a large olemba tree and listened in to their conversation. He'd recognized Cyrus and Wigget at once, although he made no show of it to keep himself from being discovered.

It was amusing to him how they always ended up running into each other. He was intensely curious about where they were going and if a certain human girl was with them. Wigget's exposition gave him all the information he needed. They were travelling by horse, which meant that they were changing venues permanently and it would take days. Flight travel was only used for quick trips, since they couldn't hold nearly as much as horse, among other logistical problems. Lucky for him, all he had to do was ride his Red Wind Rider and he'd be in Nagrand in less than an hour. If he knew Neiana at all, then she would be out, picking herbs some distance away from Telaar, but not too far, so she could easily flee if she sensed any danger.

He became anxious to see her, if only to see if the ganking she'd received had left any scars. Back at Stonebreaker Hold, he stabled his Charger and mounted his Wind Rider. Off he flew to Nagrand without bothering to tell his waiting party that he'd returned or that where he was going.

When he arrived at Nagrand, it was well past noon. While flying, he'd spotted her just where he knew she would be, but he judged it would be easier to travel from Garadar using a terrestrial mount. He didn't want to attract any attention and a flying mount would be seen landing near Telaar from every window in the town. After landing at Garadar, he rented a Dire Wolf mount, and rode carefully towards Telaar.

Neiana's impression of Outland had been a little different from Cyrus'. Sure Hellfire Peninsula was a little parched, but the history behind it was fascinating. As a magic user, she could practically feel the magical energies infused in the earth, holding the frail continent in the Nether within its gossamer web. She knew that the slightest imbalance would send the world, and its denizens, crumbling away into the void. The sky was vast and beautiful, with nebulae and other celestial bodies gleaming through the violet atmosphere.

As for the Draenei, she was intrigued by them. These were people of magic, old beyond years, who had suffered a great deal. She thought them beautiful, especially the women, who in her opinion rivaled any elf in poise and grace. And to her surprise, they were a rather fun-loving, playful bunch despite their longevity and history.

They were sympathetic creatures, and she felt strong ties of kingship with them. After all, they too had suffered from losing their home. In a way, they were orphans just as she was. The Broken ones were especially piteous, since they were such a departure from their original noble nature. It was for this reason that they traveled northwest, to Nagrand, once their stay at Hellfire Peninsula came to an end, even though Denevell would have preferred to go to Zangarmarsh. Skinflint remarked rather darkly in private that he spoiled her entirely too much.

To which Denevell retorted, "Well, she is your little girl."

While she was there, she met a group of Dreanei traveling companions, two males and a female, whom she befriended. The woman's name was Tula, and she was a Paladin who wore her brown hair in pig tails and liked sparkly jewels. The males were a hunter and a shaman, Durn and Sen. Neiana had a hard time telling the difference between the two, a fact they used to their advantage when playing pranks on her. All were siblings, and she learned that all three were young by Draenei standards. The eldest, Durn, was a mere 2000 years old.

Skinflint encouraged the friendship, and allowed her to go with them on jobs and hunts without complaint. It was one of those days, when they were returning from a hunt that Neiana sensed Blindweed near a pool of water. It was close enough to Telaar so she felt secure. She probably didn't need the extra protection.

"You guys go on ahead, I have to gather some of this up!" she called.

"Be careful, we'll see you at the Inn!" Tula called back to her.

Neiana opened her bag and gathered her herbalist tools. As she prepared to collect the Blindweed, she caught her reflection in the water. Now apart from everyone, she allowed herself a little vanity. Her hair was disheveled and worn from her travels. She removed her hat and undid her bun, letting her hair fall loose. A wave of chestnut-brown hair cascaded down to her waist. With deft hands, she began to brush it. She would give it a quick braid before going back to her herbalism. As she examined her reflection, she admitted that she was not ugly, and at twenty, was beginning to feel a little lonely. There was a piece of her missing somewhere.

As for advice, she didn't feel like she could turn to anyone in her party. Geldie and Skinflint, being dwarves, didn't care. The Draenei seemed to have an entirely different perspective on such things, as old as they were, and Denevell was a puzzle.

When she'd asked him about it, one day while he was in cat form, he merely said that Night Elves and humans are of different minds when it comes to love. He left it at that, although there was a sadness that she noted in his voice that pulled at her heart. She couldn't bear to inquire further.

While she combed her hair, she thought she felt something lightly graze the strands of her loose hair. An amorphous shape reflected in the pool for an instant. It was standing directly behind her, dark, and in the general shape of a man. But it was so swift and indistinct, that she wondered if she'd imagined it. She quickly turned, thinking it may be an ambush, but saw no one. However, the clump of boulders to the north was suspicious. Surely there was someone there, hiding behind a rock. Since they were hiding, it meant one of two things: either he was an enemy or a pervert.

"Show yourself!" she demanded.

She raised herself slowly and took her staff by the hand.

"Whoever you are! I demand you show yourself!" she continued her demand, fearlessly.

Behind one of the larger boulders, there appeared a Blood Elf, in red and black plate armor. She couldn't help but notice that half his torso was exposed, peaking from between the straps of his chest plate. His face was partially covered by a helm, but she recognized his features at once.

"Sol!" she yelled with rage. "Why have you come to haunt me now? Do you think I am weak because of your beauty and my womanhood!? I will show you weakness!"

She silenced him and prepared to throw a fireblast in his direction, but he merely removed an item from one of his pacts and set it gently on the ground.

"Blast it! Come at me, damn it! You still have your sword."

But he wasn't affected by the taunt, which infuriated her. He whistled shrilly, revealing a large Dire Wolf. The elf swiftly mounted it and kicked it sides, commanding it to run forward. As he rode away, Neiana became enraged with his dismissal. She impulsively jumped on her horse, leaving her herbalism items, staff, and hat by the pool, and rushed on after him.

"Sol! Come back and fight me!" she cried.

She cast a firebolt in his direction, which he managed to dodge as he rushed on to Garadar. He turned to look back for a brief moment, and noticed that her loose hair was flying behind her, red tinged in the light, like a burgundy flame. After a few more volleys and a few minutes of chase, Sol veered to the northeast, leading her away from Garadar, and danger, and to Skysong Lake.

"Come on Chesse! We must catch up to that bastard!" she commanded, as she reared the horse to the right, chasing after him, not minding how close she was to the Horde encampment.

The horse found a reserve and burst in speed, managing to catch up to the Dire Wolf's side. Although had she been clearheaded, she would have noticed that Sol also slowed down to meet her. As they ran side-by-side into the sparse forest that surrounded the lake, the wolf turned at the horse and growled, snapping its fangs. But Chesse was a disciplined, well mostly, disciplined war horse. He pushed back at the Dire Wolf, bearing its teeth. Horse or no, his bites could do much damage.

Meanwhile, Neiana noticed that Sol was grinning. He was enjoying himself! It wouldn't do. She extended her right hand, preparing Cone of Cold, which would hopefully knock him off the mount and unsettle him, when she felt him grab her by the wrist and lift up her arm. The spell released harmlessly up in the air. He slowed the wolf, and along with it, the horse followed suit. She struggled with his grasp, but could not pull herself free. Just as she was about to reach for her wand with her left hand, he held it fast as well.

The mounts stopped all together, although they glared at each other, and occasionally shuffled with impatience, as their riders faced each other. He gripped her hands tightly, the right above her head and the left now near his chest. They were close, much too close for her comfort. She could see the sweat that glistened off his skin, and watch the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. They were surrounded on all sides by a small patch of woods, shielding them from prying eyes.

"Well, aren't you curious to see what I left behind?" he asked her in heavily accented common.

Her eyes widened with shock. He could understand her! He could speak common! This whole time, he knew what she was saying and he pretended not to understand! If not for the fact that she was dead set against the idea of Sol and Autumn being the same man, she would have figured it out that instant. As it was, the thought did not even occur to her.

"How dare you toy with me you arrogant cur! Let me go at once!"

"Why? It was you who chased me," he replied mischievously. "It was you who attacked me. I merely left an item that was promised to you in Winterspring for services rendered. I am not the aggressor here. Why should I let you go?"

She glared at him; her blue eyes sparkling; her cheeks flushed with anger.

"I hate you," she hissed.

He merely narrowed his eyes,

"Liar. Your pulse tells me different."

Sol's delicate fingers were not griping her that tightly and she felt herself shudder has he caressed his thumb over her wrist.

"Let me go, you fiend," she demanded, but her voice wavered.

He gave her a knowing smile. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. Her long lashes veiled her eyes, killing its fire but igniting one in Sol. He hadn't felt such fire since he'd seen Adelle's golden curls glisten in the sunlight all those years ago. A hunger he hadn't felt in years projected from his green eyes. Throwing all cares to the wind, he let go of her wrists, gathered up her face with one hand, pressed her close with the other, and kissed her. She was too shocked to breathe, too unsettled to move, and too confused to struggle.

It was then that moment that the blast of a riffle rang nearby, and a bullet grazed one of Sol's shoulder brace. Swift as lightning he let her go and dashed away through the thicket, leaving Neiana frozen in place. She touched her lips where he had pressed them with his own. They tingled. Her first kiss and it had been stolen! How could he? A small smile touched them, despite herself. No, she would not smile! She had not liked it. He was a fiend and monster; a traitor and thief!

Geldie walked up to her and called her name. Neiana did not hear her. Once again, the dwarf woman called her name, this time more forcefully. At last, Neiana looked at her and blushed, realizing that she'd seen everything.

"Please don't tell anyone!" she gasped. "It was not what I intended."

"That was tha' one from Winterspring, was it?" Geldie asked.

Neiana nodded slowly.

"He came up behind me. I wanted to fight him. To get back at him for betraying me...but..."

"Well, ya better be careful! Ya 'umans n' yer itch. Every time I am in a group with ye, I must keep ya from gettin' wit' child."

The Mage flushed with indignation. How dare she assume that she'd be so foolish as to engage in any sort of immodest behavior!

"I would never!" she declared.

"Of course not! Which is why I followed ya 'ere. I knew that ye were up ta somethin' as soon as I saw yer stuff lyin' by the pool. Typical 'uman. Now lass, let me tell ya 'bout tha letter I jest got in tha mail."

While on their way back to Telaar, Geldie informed her that Cyrus and Wigget were on their way and that she'd be going Allerian Stronghold. The news of Lorenna's betrayal saddened Neiana, as she'd hoped that Cyrus had found happiness. But Geldie knew better. She told her that she was not the sort of woman who would stick around one man until she got older.

Neiana asked Geldie to stop when they reached the boulders where she'd seen Sol place the item on the ground. Even through the tall grass, she caught something glistening on the ground. She hurriedly jumped off her horse and picked it up. It was a Diamond Focus Ring. At first her heart beat fast with excitement, as she remembered the kiss he'd stolen moments before. But it hardened just as fast. He was toying with her. Well, she was no one's toy! She would be a fool if she thought he cared about her at all.

Still, if she wanted to revenge herself on him, perhaps now she found his weakness. It was he who kissed her, after all. Perhaps she could use this to lure him into a trap of her own invention. But Outland was extremely large, much larger than she expected. It would be difficult for her to find him, but now that he knew where she was, it was likely that he would return. In all likelihood, he was stationed at Nagrand anyway. Her best bet was to stay in Nagrand for the remainder of her stay in Outland if she wanted to see him again.

She told no one of her plans. Geldie left the next morning.

Two days later, Cyrus and Wigget arrived tired and hungry. After a good bath and a meal, plans were made to head on to Zangarmarsh, where Denevell wanted to go. But Neiana insisted she would stay back. When pressed, she merely said that she loved the Draenei and wanted to stay with Tula, and was in no mood to change locations just yet.

Everyone was suspicious of her intentions, especially Cyrus, who probably knew her best of all of them. But she was a grown woman and there was only so much one could do.

"Will ya meet us at Shattrath in four months' time?" Skinflint asked, concerned.

"Yes, I promise I will meet you there," she replied firmly.

"Well, you better, or you'll find yourself with a mailing address in Outland," Cyrus remarked offhandedly.

"You stupid troll. I can go where I please anytime I want. I merely need to teleport to Stormwind to get back home. You've been hit too many times on the head," she snapped.

Only Denevell provided any sort of support.

"I respect your wish to stay, Neiana. This land is quite beautiful and sad. It needs the healing touch only those who truly love it can provide," Denevell said.

This only made Neiana feel worse. As much as she did love Nagrand, she wasn't staying for the love of the land or any of that, she just wanted revenge. Wigget gave her a critical eye, but let it pass. If Cyrus wasn't going to point out the blatant lie, then neither would she.

The next morning, the Alliance party left in cordial terms with Neiana, with promises of meeting again in four months at Shattrath. As soon as they were gone, she quietly made preparations for her hunt. She would use Durn's Track Humanoid sense to systematically search for Blood Elves in the area, and hunt them down. If she found Sol among them, then she'd use herself as a lure to gank him.

She told her group the plan. As it was, they hated Blood Elves even more than she did so they readily agreed. The hunt went well, as far as the Draenei were concerned. They sacked no less than fifteen elves in the course of three months, looting them and selling their clothes for cash. Neiana thought the act was a little disrespectful, so she abstained. All the while, she wondered what happened to Sol. She did not see him again.

The plan may have worked had it not been for a meddling Orc. On the day that Sol met with Neiana, his party became concerned when he did not arrive from Allerian in a timely manner. Lucilin worried he'd been ganked. After all, he'd gone entirely too close to Alliance territory for her liking. She would have rushed out to search for him, but Guntag was more level headed. Before they went about on a wild goose chase, he checked with the Flight Master. He was informed that Sol had flown earlier that day, heading to Nagrand.

Guntag thought it was odd, although Lucilin guessed he'd gone ahead to scout the area. They were almost done with Terokkar forest, after all. He was not so sure, since Sol had expressly told him that they would be heading for Netherstorm to besiege Tempest Keep. Something didn't feel right, but he kept his feelings to from her, while discretely asking Huron to aim his Far Sight at Nagrand, in order to locate Sol.

Huron saw everything. His heavy bovine brow furrowed with concern at what he witnessed.

"I see why you brought me here," he murmured. "He is...volatile...as you said."

"What happened?" Guntag asked.

"He was followed by a human woman, whom he conversed with and kissed," Huron replied.

"Talked to? But how?"

He was much less concerned about the kissing part, even though that was unusual enough.

"He knows common, Guntag," Huron replied. "How do we know he's not a spy?"

"That elf has few principles. He believes in his own pocket more than anything else. But I have spent too much time with him to believe he could be a spy," Guntag murmured.

When Sol returned, they noticed that he looked rather refreshed and invigorated.

"And where were you?" Lucilin asked curtly.

"I was in Nagrand," Sol replied with exuberance. "I got chased by Alliance. It was great. We should definitely go there next. Guntag, there is plenty of big game for you to hunt. Huron, you would appreciate the view. And Bill?"

"Yes sir?"

"Plenty of herbs. Here's your cut from the sale," Sol said.

He tossed a small bag full of change.

"Hrm, it isn't quite what we expected," Bill mumbled.

"Keep it fresher next time," Sol interjected. "Now, we must rest before going tomorrow..."

"Sol, I thought the plan was to go to Netherstorm to attack Tempest Keep," Guntag interrupted.

"We'll still go, but we'll just take a small detour at Nagrand," Sol explained.

The explanation did not pacify the Orc. Guntag did not reply with words, but looked at him gravely as he motioned to a side room. Sol, curious to know what bothered him, went as directed, with Huron following. Lucilin tried to flounce in as well, but the giant Tauren slammed the door in her face.

"Hrmph," she said, and then pressed her ear to the door.

Unfortunately, the door was of heavy Orc make, so there was little she could make out, even with her excellent elf ears. Inside the room was dark, lit only by the evening's gray twilight. Huron did not leave his place by the door, and Guntag stood before Sol, weapons drawn at his side. Sol glanced at the blocked exit and noted Guntag's aggressive stance.

"Guntag, what is the meaning of this?" he asked cautiously.

"You tell us, Soliandrus Lightbringer, elf," the Orc spat. "It is you who has been lying to us."

"What do you mean?"

"You spoke with a human woman. I saw it with my own eyes, using Far Sight," Huron explained. "Now, how do we know you are not a spy?"

Sol was about to defend himself but Guntag interrupted.

"Don't you dare accuse Huron of lying, as I know you will. Tauren are bound by rules of honor that you elves do not understand," Guntag growled.

Sol did not raise his voice in defiance or fight. He understood his precarious situation. The fact that he understood common was not the problem. The problem was that he spoke with an Alliance woman. Now that was illegal. It could land him in jail - or worse - in an Undercity prison camp. He shuddered at the possibility.

"Give us one good reason we don't arrest you now and send you to the dungeons of Undercity," Huron rumbled.

"I was playing the Game," Sol replied, with as much confidence as he could muster.

His mouth felt dry. He realized, for the first time, that he was afraid. As afraid as he'd felt in a long time. He'd been in a dungeon before, and it was the stuff of nightmares. Some of the things he witnessed there haunted him still in his sleep or when he felt the shadows creep over him at night. He tried to hide it, but it was always there, like a specter glancing over his shoulder. If human dungeons could produce such terror, he could only imagine what the bloodless Forsaken would have in store.

"Why would you fly all the way to Nagrand to play the Game?" Guntag demanded.

Sol decided not to lie. It would do him no good.

"Her companions interrupted the sale of Bloodthistle. I was shocked, so I hid. I overheard them talking. I learned that Neiana, the woman we ganked at Winterspring, was alive and that she was in Nagrand. So I went there to finish the job we started months ago. I goaded her to chase me. I lead her to a secluded area, and then began to tease her. I spoke to her in common to lower her defenses. Once she was in my power, I would kill her. But I was interrupted by a hunter. I decided it was too risky, so I fled," he explained calmly.

Guntag narrowed his eyes. It was a plausible explanation, one that fit Sol's personality and methods, and it matched everything Huron had seen. The Orc decided to believe him. He wanted to believe him, for all he talked about elves, Sol was his friend.

"Well, you shouldn't concern yourself with that silly Game anymore. It doesn't fit your status. If you want a woman, then marry and sire a child. Perhaps that would settle you down," Guntag said, punching his arm playfully, and then he continued with audible disappointment. "I wish you had told me that you spoke common."

"I am sorry, friend, but you know how things are. I didn't want you to think that I would betray you. But I swear to you, as self-serving as I am, I hate humans and their ilk too much to ever betray the Horde," Sol declared emphatically.

Sol's passion resonated with the seasoned Orc. He nodded with agreement.

"Hrm. Let's forget about this then," Guntag exclaimed with some relief as he sheathed his swords. "Let's go to Netherstorm and hunt."

Guntag walked to the door, which Huron had opened.

"Coming?" Guntag asked.

"No, I'll stay here and settle my nerves a little bit. You can be quite scary, you know," Sol said.

The Orc gave him a knowing grin before replying. "I know."

Huron did not follow Guntag out of the room immediately. Instead, he turned back to Sol and loomed over him menacingly.

"Guntag may trust you, but I do not. I will be watching you, elf."

And with that he slammed the door, leaving him in the evening gloom.

Sol slumped on the bed and steadied his shaking hands. If there was one weakness of Horde, and it was a glaring one, is that the races didn't quite get along. At the very least, there was tension and discomfort, as exemplified by Guntag's toleration of Bill. At most, as exhibited by Huron, there was hostility. For all the lack of Alliance cooperation, at least they genuinely liked each other. Even the Draenei seemed to fit in quite nicely. A smart Alliance commander could exploit it. Good thing there was no such thing as a smart Alliance commander.

"Damn it," he whispered angrily.

He'd let his guard down over a pair of blue eyes and lustrous brown hair. Never again, he'd said. Sol had sworn he'd never be thrown in a dungeon again. There was nothing in life worth such a fate: not ideals, not money, and certainly not a woman. If he were a man, it may have been harder for him to control his budding feelings and risk it all. But he was no man, he was an elf. He could stifle such urges if need be, especially since he rarely felt their sting.

That night he wrote an entry:

Nagrand Summer - Day 14

Neiana.

The next morning they packed their things and left for Netherstorm.

AN: Thanks for the Reviews! Chapter 11 will be up soon.