Author's Notes:

Yeah, still no sex. I'm working on it.

You all know who Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to, and all of the canon characters, including Tyrande. The rest are mine.

R&R if you like, but remember, if you start foaming at the mouth, it's your issue, not mine. I take no responsibility for resulting psychological damage if my writing breaks your brain.

Oh, and I did a little something with formatting to make it easier to distinguish changes in locations.

Act I, Scene II

The Cards Come Up Lovers

Three priestesses considered the sign their goddess had given them. Three priestesses looked up from the pool between them, meeting each other's gazes with a deliberate equinamity that could not conceal the apprehension in their eyes. Three priestesses rose from the cushions of gray silk they'd knelt upon.

The symbol they'd seen at that same twinkling moment in the moonlit waters before it was overtaken by enigmatic clouds was unmistakable, each seeing confirmation in their sister priestesses' eyes.

Elune had given them a clear sign. It remained to be seen what exactly she had warned them about. Opportunity and calamity, luck and ill fortune, light and darkness. All these things were sides of the same coin.

The denominations of this coin however, were enough to make the three of them tremble.

Tyrande would need to be warned. The Cenarion Circle must be roused. The omens had to be divined before fate took them unawares. They could not afford another such disaster as the destruction of Nordrassil. The Kal'dorei had learned all too well that isolation gained them nothing. This time they would know what was coming before it was upon them.

Ж

Nathiel ignored the humans who shot him sideways glances as he waited in the lobby of Ambryn's apartment building, their surreptitious gazes of little concern. They were almost without exception mages, clad in robes of varying colors and styles denoting the towers they served and worked and researched in.

He was prepared for a night of leisure this time, his night-blue plate armor left at home. He wore a pale blue shirt, the top few buttons undone, and black slacks over well-polished boots. His black jacket was left unbuttoned, hands tucked into his pockets as he waited. He'd arrived fifteen minutes early and it was five minutes past when Ambryn was supposed to show, but his impatience was anticipatory, not annoyed. He was looking forward to tonight.

His gaze caught on a cloud of golden, curly hair like rich, spun honey across the lobby, and his heart beat faster. He moved towards the lift, ignoring the alarmed glance the concierge and the security guard shot him.

Ambryn wore a shirt of opaque, embroidered white lace with wide, sweeping sleeves. The collar was high, but open in front, giving an air of elegance without being overly formal or conservative, short tails untucked to add to the air of casual grace, with a light vest of green silk buttoned in brass and a pair of dark slacks. In particular, Nathiel's gaze lingered on Ambryn's hips, the way that the vest gathered in fabric to emphasize the lines of his smaller body, not childishly slim, but shapely.

Those jade eyes brightened at the sight of him, a smile shaping the full lips, and Nathiel laid his hands unhesitatingly on the hips he'd been admiring, enjoying the way his large hands fit over them. He didn't hesitate, but bent, and pressed his lips to Ambryn's, gently, but firmly, restraining himself from more with an effort.

The jade eyes were sparkling up at him as he pulled back, color in the human mage's cheeks, smile turned a bit more shy, and somehow more intimate as well.

Ambryn tilted his head back as Nathiel approached, felt a breathless rush of excitement as the night elf's hands came to rest confidently at his waist. He didn't have a chance to say hello. Nathiel's kiss made his thoughts spin into unrecognizable chaos, and there was nothing to be done but forget whatever they'd been.

"Hello." Nathiel's bass voice was smooth and warm. He smiled warmly. "You look stunning."

Ambryn felt more heat rise to his cheeks. "Thank you." He lowered his gaze, biting his lips, trying to reconstruct his derailed train of thought. His eyes lingered on the hollow of Nathiel's throat and the small portion of hard, slightly hairy chest that was visible. He tried to think of an appropriate way to respond.

"You're . . . remarkable," he managed at last, blushing even harder as he looked up, meeting those silver eyes once more.

A thumb and gentle finger caught beneath his chin, and the look on Nathiel's chiseled features was enough to make Ambryn forget to breathe for a moment. The night elf's lips were on his once more, and a strong, hard arm slid around his waist.

Nathiel realized that the other humans were staring openly now, didn't conceal the faint smirk that crossed his features as he put an arm around Ambryn and escorted him out, holding the door for him. The doorman started as he spotted Ambryn nestled securely under Nathiel's arm and quickly handed him the bouquet he'd been holding, blushing furiously.

Ambryn blinked as the roses were presented, taking them carefully in his arms. The sweet, light scent, combined with the nearness of Nathiel's body and the sensation of his touch did beautifully devastating things to Ambryn's equilibrium. He felt warmth flush all through him, intoxicating and dizzying.

A carriage waited for them at the base of the steps down from the porch, and Ambryn reached out to get a hold of the handle to pull himself up onto the step only to feel Nathiel's hands on his hips once more, lifting him smoothly before he could even step up.

Nathiel couldn't resist showing off a little by lifting Ambryn in his arms, and truth be told, his date felt pleasingly light in his hands without being overly airy, as though he'd been built with Nathiel in mind. Nathiel smiled at the thought as he followed Ambryn into the carriage. He wanted to pull Ambryn into his lap, but it was probably still a little soon for that, especially the way the human still blushed shyly around him.

"I've been looking forward to tonight," he said quietly, wrapping one arm around Ambryn's shoulders.

Ambryn leaned gingerly against the big night elf warrior, relishing the feel of the hard muscles of Nathiel's body as a big, powerful arm settled around him in a very pleasing fashion.

"I could hardly think of anything else," he admitted.

Nathiel's libido had let him know in no uncertain terms that Shyster's was the fast track into Ambryn's pants. He knew from experience that the club's dim lighting, deep-throated night elf drums, sexually-charged atmosphere, and strong alcohol combined to form a powerful aphrodisiac that no partner had ever been able to resist.

His better sense had won out. He was glad now that it had. He could still sense the tentativeness in Ambryn's body, not yet fully relaxed in his embrace. Shyster's would have been a disaster with someone so completely inexperienced. The carriage didn't take the right on Madront Avenue that would have taken them to the nightclub, continued on down the boulevard instead past Dalaran's red light district, headed toward the bright magical lights of Canticle Quarter.

Ambryn smiled warmly at Nathiel as the big night elf handed him out of the carriage. His jade eyes lingered for a moment before slipping past him, over his shoulder.

They sparkled anew, a half-incredulous smile pulling at his lips, and Nathiel silently congratulated himself as he settled his hand once more against the small of Ambryn's back and escorted him up the steps towards the polished double doors and broad, white marble of the hall.

The Cerulean Lights was a club of a different sort from Shyster's, a lot more expensive, and if Nathiel's inquiries were accurate, likely costing the rest of the troll's coin and a good deal more. Elegantly attired waiters in smart vests and trim slacks with black bowties seated them at a white-clothed, candle-lit table on the second floor of the massive, high-ceilinged chamber. They were right next to the railing where they had an unrestricted view of the live orchestra and the singer who was just mounting the stage, her sequined dress glimmering with every movement, sapphires dripping from her ears beneath her long brown hair and gleaming on her breast.

"This is . . ." Ambryn's voice drifted off, and his jade eyes glowed as they met Nathiel's gaze. "It's perfect," he said softly.

Even Nathiel was impressed by the versatility of the silky alto voice of the singer, classy but not boring, the orchestra making generous use of brass for a bright, glamorous accompaniment, what the humans called "big band" style music. The food was excellent, flavor and portions clearly winning out over show in priority, and as Nathiel led Ambryn down to the floor for a dance, he could sense the eagerness in Ambryn's touch, a broad, matching grin seeming to have settled permanently on his own lips.

He led the way out onto the floor, pulled Ambryn into his arms, and as the music kicked up, they moved together. He didn't know the dance, but he was practiced enough to adapt, and Ambryn seemed to know instinctively how to respond to him, graceful and complementary, countenance practically glowing.

It was like Nathiel couldn't make a wrong move. He felt invincible, everything falling into place. It was almost magical. He looked down into Ambryn's eyes, saw his own euphoric pleasure reflected there, and bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. It might have been his imagination, but he didn't think there was as much hesitancy there.

They danced several more songs, took a brief break for wine and a little rest, and the night seemed to drift by like the wind, until they were in each others' arms, the music soft and tender, a lone, sensual horn accompanying a male singer's husky song, strings lilting in the background. Ambryn's head rested against Nathiel's chest as they turned slowly, the night elf's big hands on his hips.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift with the music, let the world fall away to nothing. When Nathiel bent to kiss him, Ambryn tilted his head back, and surrendered to the long, deep kiss, powerful and yet not urgent. It was as though his dim daydreams had suddenly come to life, only this was better, far better. He wanted this to last forever. Nathiel let up, and Ambryn could feel him breathe in.

"I don't want to take you home."

Nathiel's deep voice was a murmur in Ambryn's ear. Ambryn felt a moment of anxiety, fought it down, and remained in the night elf's embrace. He was worried, even a little afraid, because everything so far had been perfect. He didn't want to spoil it.

"Okay," he said softly.

Nathiel felt the faint, almost undetectable tremor that passed through Ambryn's body, but the human didn't tense, didn't pull away. Had it been fear, Nathiel wondered, or anticipation?

He could feel his desire like a sleeping volcano, powerful and warm, but not yet pressing. He was strangely content just to drift here in the lowered lights, music playing around them, as if the rest of the world had quietly faded away to give them privacy.

The music wound down at last, after what seemed like an all-too-brief eternity. Nathiel held Ambryn for a moment longer.

He left his date by the door, and went to go pay his tab. The bill was intercepted before he could lay his hand on it by a pair of slender fingers, and he looked into the eyes of a pale-skinned elf woman, her eyes a faded blue, her features aged. She turned her head, exhaling smoke from the long, slim brass pipe in one hand, a curl of blue tobacco smoke unfurling between her wrinkled lips.

"This one's on the house." Her gaze lingered on him, and if she was at all affected by the faint hostility in his stare, she didn't show it.

"Yes ma'am." The tuxedo'ed matre'd gave Nathiel the same impersonal smile he'd given the other patrons. "Have a good night sir. Please come and end enjoy our hospitality again."

Ambryn gave him a curious look, but Nathiel just smiled at him, even as he privately wondered what that had been all about.

He paid the carriage driver for another hour of his time, told him to drive slow, and they rode around the Canticle Quarter for another half hour.

"I had a wonderful time," Ambryn said softly as he leaned against Nathiel, completely relaxed, not even a little afraid in the night elf's embrace. "It was . . . better than I'd ever dreamed. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nathiel's voice was warm. He let the tip of his finger trail down the edge of one pale cheek. "I had a great time – a really great time." In truth he was a little surprised by how much he'd enjoyed it. He hadn't lied when he said he didn't want to take Ambryn home though. Something told him this wouldn't be like other nights. That when they came together, it would be something genuinely remarkable, memorable, special.

In a way, it was that strange feeling that made him decide to continue to wait until Ambryn was truly ready. After a perfect night, he didn't want to spoil it, wake up beside Ambryn only to discover he'd made their relationship something cheap and tawdry. He wanted it to be special, he realized.

So he gave the carriage driver new directions and they left the Canticle Quarter behind, headed for Ambryn's apartment building.

Nathiel didn't wait for Ambryn to step down, just pulled the human mage against him and set him gently on the ground, holding him for a long minute before bending his head and kissing him once more, relishing the way Ambryn opened trustingly to him, unafraid.

No, he thought as he pulled back, he didn't want to spoil this.

The lobby was empty now except for the lone security guard, dressed in a brown uniform, a wand at his belt.

It took another full twenty minutes to say goodnight at Ambryn's door on the fourth floor. Nathiel couldn't manage to let go of him, fingers running through those honey-spun curls, feeling them twine around his fingers, watching them spring back once more when he released them, kissing Ambryn long and slowly and tenderly. He burned for more, and yet, at the same time, it was strangely enough.

Finally, with an almighty exertion of self-control, he was able to let Ambryn go, memorizing the dreamy smile on his face, in his beautiful jade eyes. It was a lot harder than he'd been expecting.

Ambryn woke, stretched, turned his face toward the sunshine streaming in through the window, and smiled as last night played again in his mind. It had been everything he'd ever dreamed and more - his first date. He could still feel Nathiel's big hands, his strong arms, the press of his hard body, hear the beat of his heart in his chest. He could still remember the kisses and the sweet fire they kindled in his blood.

That fire pooled between his legs, and he shifted, sheets and coverlet rustling as he rolled over onto his side, a hunger awake in him that was for nothing so ordinary as food. He thought of Nathiel's mouth, his warm tongue, slipping inside . . . inside him.

His eyes drifted halfway shut, heart beating faster.

He drifted down the hallway in a cloud of half-oblivious wonder, a dreamy smile on his face, gaze lost in the distance, pausing as he passed through the decorative brass gates of the lift.

The man who stood in the center of the starkly empty lobby had his arms folded across his chest, his elaborate steel-gray robes richly embroidered with dark blue runes. His blonde hair was cut short at the sides, a tightly curled mass of it atop his head, and his brown eyes were hard.

"Papa-" Ambryn's tone was shocked.

"Explain yourself, Ambryn."

Ambryn was caught completely off his guard. Tybalt Dellani looked completely unchanged from the last time he'd seen him. His father never seemed to age, always immaculate and pressed in a way Ambryn never could be, power surrounding him like an invisible cloak of authority.

It had been two years since Ambryn had left the house, moved in here, two years since he thought he'd cut his ties. He was utterly unprepared. It was, he thought despairingly, almost as though the man had been waiting for the most opportune moment to pounce.

"I – explain . . .?"

One hand came across in a cutting gesture. "I received word only yesterday that you were attacked! Three days after the fact." The ambassador's face tightened. "I was the last to find out! How dare you embarrass me in this fashion? You should have come straight home! Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

The words came back with shocking ease.

"As I recall, you evicted me because I wouldn't whore myself out as a groom for Elenna Fairling." Even the viperous tone was there, waiting to rise. It was almost as though the last two years hadn't happened. "That would be right after you skipped your own wife's funeral to leave for a political conference in Stormwind Keep because you couldn't be a day late. Perhaps you've been too busy pandering and negotiating political favors to recall, but she is dead."

Oh yes, it was all coming back. The vein was already pulsing in his father's temple, brown eyes turning to dark stones in their sockets, hard and unforgiving, the calm of his expression an obvious lie to anyone who knew him well. Ambryn mentally prepared himself for the battle that was about to erupt.

"As if I could forget." Tybalt Dellani's cold voice had turned to frost. "Especially when I heard that you'd been seen at Adaliria's last night."

When he actually turned his head away, it was enough to temporarily stun Ambryn. His voice was almost normal. Almost. "I'm . . . glad that you're all right."

"I'm fine." Ambryn backed down slightly, still wary, but also puzzled by his father's abrupt and uncharacteristic change of stance. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm going to find your attacker and have his guts ripped out." Tybalt's voice remained emotionless. "And also because . . . the event has brought to my attention a possibility that . . . I had not actually considered before." Brown eyes met Ambryn's once more. "I've begun to suspect that perhaps you . . . were in earnest." His voice had turned faintly hesitant. "Are you really not planning on coming home?"

Ambryn wanted to laugh at just how ludicrous the question was, at the idea that he could possibly have wanted to return to what had become a cold, silent house, almost a tomb really, where he and his younger sister and brother had practically become ghosts themselves. His older brother Royce had even stopped coming home. He could still remember the screaming, the fighting, the angry words almost every night for two weeks between the two of them. Who could possibly want to go back to that?

"No," he said simply, tone even, looking his father right in the eye. "I'm not."

Tybalt Dellani's brown eyes widened, and for the first time in his life that Ambryn could recall, he said nothing, had no cutting retort, no unbreachable composure invincible to any challenge. His father looked nothing so much as extremely surprised.

Ambryn shook his head and let out a small, quiet sigh. " Good day, Ambassador."

And still looking nonplussed, Tybalt Dellani walked slowly out, like a man dazed and wondering when the world had turned itself inside out.

Ambryn waited until he was gone to sit down on a bench and cry.

He started at the feel of gentle hands on his shoulders several minutes later, looked up in surprise at Nathiel, and lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Nathiel did a quick mental calculation, and pulled Ambryn into his arms. His luck from last night was evidently still with him, because the human didn't struggle in the slightest, just clung to him, crying silent tears. He held Ambryn until his shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'd like to buy you breakfast."

For a moment as Ambryn pulled back, Nathiel feared he'd made a misstep at last, but Ambryn wiped his eyes, and while the smile on his face wasn't exactly firm, it was genuine.

"I'd love that."

They walked, as much to give Ambryn time to fully regain his composure as because the breakfast place Nathiel had in mind was only a few streets away. He'd only been to the spot a couple of times previously, and never after he'd had a date the night before, so the first thing he'd done on the way over was to make sure it was still where he remembered it.

The broad windows faced the east, letting in the morning sun to cascade across the worn wooden floor and spill across the polished tabletops. There were a few souls still lingering over a late breakfast, the main crowd already come and gone. The waitress was an older woman, her graying hair pulled back with a simple leather thong, her smile friendly as she took their orders.

Ambryn was calmed now, looking almost normal. Nathiel admired the way the light caught in his hair, touched his pale cheeks and brow with warm gold, illuminated the hollows of his throat. His clothing was plainer today, just a green shirt with elbow-length sleeves, a little yellow piping at the collar, ordinary trousers. In a way it was nice to see him relaxed, dressed casually.

It was also a little bit of a relief, because Nathiel himself was only wearing a sleeveless gray shirt and dark trousers. Part of him thought he should ask what had happened back in the apartment building lobby. The rest didn't want to see that pained expression cross those lovely features again and told him to shush up and not spoil it.

Ambryn wondered if Nathiel had any idea how good he looked right now, blue hair in casual, yet attractive disarray, powerful arms bare, clothing showing off his musculature, tight shirt clinging to his broad, chiseled chest and rippling abdomen. The sight was mouthwatering, but in a way different from last night.

"I'd forgotten how pretty the city is in the morning," Nathiel said absently, not actually glancing at the view at all, gaze still locked on Ambryn, drinking in the sight of him.

"It really is lovely," Ambryn replied, gaze rising to Nathiel's handsome face, feeling his heart beat slightly faster.

The smile on Nathiel's lips widened, and he reached across the table, twining his fingers with Ambryn's.

Ж

K'dzok crouched down in the little snow hut the locals called an "igloo", and listened to the sizzle of gnoll flesh cooking over the fire, punctuated by the occasional pop as fat plopped into the flames that burned on nothing.

Truthfully he was slightly surprised that the structure didn't melt right on top of them, but the frigid temperatures outside likely had something to do with that.

The fire itself was courtesy of Hiath. The blood elf mage had his arms folded, huddled into his thick robes, his eerie, green-glowing eyes staring fixedly into the flames. He'd been closemouthed and withdrawn even for one of his kind since his twin had been forcefully ejected from the Steel Sheen for desertion.

Never mind that Loiath likely would have died and never found Mraugon and the others to warn them of what was transpiring had he stayed to fight. Rules were rules, and Mraugon was as unyielding in the orders he gave as those he received. It was a trait that hadn't bothered K'dzok overmuch in the years he'd known the big tauren up until now. It was starting to grate though.

It was the reason he was out here in the middle of a howling blizzard, waiting on the ribs of one of the gnolls they'd dismembered to cook, cramped into this strange little snow-hut, his butt cold, his stomach and his wallet empty.

It was why he was sharing the fire with a skinny, sullen elf he didn't fancy in the slightest and a pair of orcs who just didn't have any appeal after the soft, pretty faces of humans.

He remembered one soft, pretty face in particular, jade eyes beneath curls like spun honey, wide and bright, and his pants were suddenly tighter, the air not quite as frigid. He remembered burning, fiery throbbing, ebbing away beneath cool, sweet numbness.

Logically he knew the two were unrelated. The human he'd had his arm broken over certainly wouldn't have come out into the forest, drank the blood and eaten the liver, kidneys, and heart of another human, and slaughtered three goblin quacks. And yet, there was something in that strange surcease of pain that reminded him of the way the ice had dulled the fire in his shoulder after the night elf had nearly ripped it whole from his socket, a strange, twisted sort of mercy in the act.

"So how many of these dog-fellas we gonna have to kill and eat before the chief'll show himself?"

Khaul wasn't the brightest of orcs, but he had a mean hunter's cunning, a keen instinct for fighting, and a sadistic twist that expressed itself in ways that could be both gruesome and effective. He was the one who'd matter-of-factly split the gnoll's chest with the axe at his hip, broken off the ribs, and brought them in out of the howling storm to cook.

They didn't smell all that good, but it was better than no food, and it would be hot.

"If those two scrawny sprats we let live managed to get to shelter before the blizzard hit, I'd say he'll come screaming out of his hole the minute it lets up and they give him the news," K'dzok replied thoughtfully. "Especially once they tell him who showed up."

Gridis chuckled darkly. The orc warrior had been with K'dzok the last time the troll had been on Clan Bloodtooth's tribal lands. He'd been the one who pulled back the head of the chieftain's pregnant wife so K'dzok could shove his blade into her throat, the choking death rattle echoing down the hillside. K'dzok's axe had bitten into her squirming belly next, and Gridis had kicked her corpse into a roll down the slope so her mate could watch his litter die in front of him.

The gnolls had gone absolutely wild, and the guild had used that to their advantage, cutting down gnoll warriors so maddened with bloodlust they could barely see what was in front of them. In the end, the gnolls had been routed, driven back into their steadily-diminishing tribal lands.

If there was one thing that K'dzok was absolutely sure the chieftain would remember, it would be him. He would have smirked, except that that was precisely the reason the Steel Sheen had ordered him here. The horde commanders had decreed that the Bloodtooth clan was to be completely wiped out. Neither K'dzok nor the Steel Sheen cared why. All that mattered was that they were getting paid.

Khaul tested the meat with his knife, carved off a small piece, chewed, and then pulled the whole rack of ribs off the fire and started cutting them up. To K'dzok's surprise, Hiath ate too when the ribs were portioned out, the blood elf showing as little concern for the substance of their meal as his orc compatriots.

Two hours later the sky cleared and they dug themselves out. The storm had blown over, heading southwest towards the bay, carrying its burden of snow with it. K'dzok cast a wary eye out over the white-cloaked hills, dotted here and there with low, twisted pines, keeping watch for a lookout who might have followed on the blizzard's heels.

"Make sure we leave some good tracks boys," he called to the others.

Technically Gridis was in charge, but he didn't seem to have any more problem deferring to K'dzok's leadership now than when K'dzok was ranked his superior.

Khaul grabbed the carcass of one of the smaller gnolls and started dragging it along behind him as they headed back in the direction of the Steel Sheen camp.

"Want them to be able to smell it cooking," he explained as K'dzok glanced at it.

K'dzok grinned.

Predictably enough, the gnolls attacked at night, after midnight. They charged the seemingly undefended and unwary camp. Steel Sheen warriors emerged fully armored from the tents and trotted over the hills they'd been hiding behind to cut off the escape.

Howls went up from the gnolls as they realized they'd been tricked and their enemy had been waiting for them. They broke ranks, charged, and K'dzok emerged from his hiding place and let out a howl of his own, standing next to an artfully placed bonfire that clearly illuminated him for the benefit of one member of the Bloodtooth clan in particular.

Chief Rugru let out a booming, wailing cry from the midst of his warriors, his painted headdress rattling as he picked up speed, and K'dzok grinned and watched him come, hefting his axe.

Warriors were forming up in orderly lines, shields ready, preparing to meet the charge. The shamans posted on the hill behind the camp let loose with a volley of thunderbolts, peppering the onrushing gnolls. K'dzok waited.

Rugru did not disappoint, strength every bit as fierce as K'dzok remembered, shrugging off axe and sword blows, ignoring spears, decapitating a pair of unlucky orcs with one swing, gutting a troll with one clawed hand, breaking through the line, his warriors fighting to widen the breach their enraged eight foot tall leader had just made.

K'dzok paid them no mind. The Steel Sheen was disciplined. The grunts would deal with the rabble. He would, he thought idly as Rugru bared his fangs, take one of those massive canines as a trophy.

Then the gnoll chieftain was on top of him and K'dzok sidestepped an axe blow that would have split him cleanly from crown to crotch, bringing his own axe around.

Rugru blocked with the back of one massive paw, blood flying, and swung his weapon once more.

K'dzok ducked beneath the blow, almost lost a knee to a clawed foot he narrowly avoided by twisting onto his other knee, and danced out of the way of the paw he'd just wounded, more blood pattering as it hit his skin.

Rugru didn't give him a moment's respite, continuing to press him, swinging his axe as lightly as a feather despite his multiple wounds. If the deep gouge K'dzok's axe had taken out of his paw was hurting him, it didn't show.

K'dzok pivoted out of the way of another downward chop and dove into a roll, axe swinging, but the gnoll was light on his feet, moving quickly, the blade glancing off of a shin as hard as granite instead of severing a hamstring, the vibration of the contact making K'dzok's hand sting, and he felt a claw tear across his scalp.

He came to his feet out of the roll and whirled.

Rugru was grinning broadly. He held up the tuft of bloodied red hair caught between his claws.

K'dzok's eyes narrowed. He charged, and Rugru moved to meet him.

K'dzok brought his axe across, swinging as hard as he could, anticipating that the gnoll would once again use it to block, hoping to knock it out of the way so he could get in close and use his axe on the chieftain's belly before the gnoll's axe came down on top of him.

His arm vibrated.

It took K'dzok a full half a second to realize that the explosion of blood wasn't a clawed foot ripping out his abdomen as he'd half-feared, that it wasn't even his own blood.

Rugru reared back with a squealing, whistling shriek, blood pumping from the stump of his arm, massive paw lying in a pool of blood two feet away. K'dzok's axe tore across his belly before he'd even really thought about it, slashed across it again, the third strike cutting through the organs already spilling out.

The gnoll chieftain tumbled back, shuddering.

A quick blow to the head would have ended the agony and sent Rugru on to whatever afterlife the dog-people believed in. K'dzok lowered his axe, stood back, and listened to the gnoll chieftain die a slow, gurgling, mewling death. When the death rattle was finished, he adjusted his grip on his axe, and started cutting out both of Rugru's massive top canines.

He'd have them made into matching daggers.

The gnolls were fighting furiously below, outnumbered, outclassed, surrounded, with nothing but their rage to aid them. K'dzok smiled, giving his axe a practice swing, Rugru's teeth tucked into his belt, and trotted down to join the fun.

It was pitifully easy to track down the females and the young. They'd hidden themselves in a cave in the heart of what had been their tribal territory. When K'dzok and the rest of the Steel Sheen emerged an hour later, the cave was as still and dead as the open grave it had become.

He caught sight of Mraugon, waiting with the rest of those who'd remained above, but the tauren didn't acknowledge him in the slightest, any more than he would have any other green recruit. A definite desire for vengeance and probably personal humiliation was starting to form in the back of K'dzok's mind.

He clapped another troll on the shoulder, laughed about the way the gnolls had cowered and whimpered as they were slaughtered, but his eyes went back to the tauren standing aloof above them, and he thought of of those dark animal eyes glazed over in death, head stuffed and mounted on a wall somewhere, tongue protruding slightly like a dumb animal's. His grin widened.

Ж

"So," Nabniath said conversationally as she lay atop the gnoll chieftain's corpse, looking into his glazed eyes, her heels up in the air, ankles crossed. "He has overcome you. He is a strong warrior then I think. You don't look like an easy foe to conquer." She cocked her head, rested her chin in the palm of one hand, her elbow supported on his still, stiff, blood-matted chest. "What was it like to dance with him? I would think he would be graceful. He would have to be quick, or you would have cut him in half. Yes, quick, and I think intelligent, because gnolls are quick, though not intelligent. No, no clever tricks or armor for gnolls."

She rolled over onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head. "Did you wound him perhaps? Might he have made a misstep, and you shed some of his blood as well? Do you think it's still there in the snow?"

Abruptly she turned to look into those glassy, dead, frozen eyes once more, expression alight with hunger, gaze fixing on the hacked holes where his canines had been. "Did you . . . taste him, gnoll?" Nabniath pursed her lips. "Did you taste the sweet tang of his blood?" she asked more quietly. Her eyes wandered over the gnoll's other teeth. There was blood in the back of his throat, but it was mixed with bile and likely his own, choked up when his innards were shredded. There didn't seem to be much of it on his forward teeth. Her eyes went once more to the place where the two canines were missing. "Did he take them as trophies . . . or in vengeance?" she asked.

She lingered there for a long moment, utterly still, not a single breath disturbing the air, like a cold, pale, waxen statue, and then she reached in and ripped out his tongue, vanishing a moment later in a shimmer of magic, leaving the corpse of the gnoll chieftain atop the frigid carcasses of his clan.

Ж

Annatta studied the book intently. It had to be perfect. There could be no errors, not a single misstep, every measurement precise. Neither she or her people could afford a mistake. For all their sakes, for the sake of the future of the Quel'dorei, she had to succeed.

She set down the cookbook, drew in a deep, cleansing breath, let it out again, and began measuring flour. She considered the filled measuring cup a moment later, and was immediately confronted with a quandary. Should she pack it in? Was it meant to be so light and fluffy? She was immediately glad that she was taking the time to do a test run now to work out all the variables and weed out any imperfections in the recipe that might lead to disaster.

She was anything but a practiced cook, but if there was one thing she knew for certain about humans, it was that they delighted in food, and it was a human she needed to closely befriend. Therefore, since a sexual relationship wasn't possible, she would have to make use of other means to accomplish her objective, and from what she understood the only other way to a human male's heart besides sex was food.

In human society, a thing particularly remarked upon and almost inevitably seen at all events of significance, including weddings, birthdays, awards ceremonies, and anniversaries, was cake. Annatta had given brief thought to pie-making but the process looked too complex for her to even begin, so for now, it would be cake, and perhaps after she had mastered cake she would move on to cookies.

Yellow cake, the cookbook assured her, was not difficult to make and was "scrumptious" to the palate. It would be an excellent place to start.

An hour later she looked at the slightly brown surface of the cake, which was supposed to be yellow, her lower lip caught between her teeth, trying to decide if it was what a human cake was supposed to look like. She dithered for a moment and then got out a knife and cut off a corner, bringing it hesitantly to her mouth, blowing on it to cool it.

The taste was light and somewhat sweet, not bad she supposed, but not exactly what she would have termed scrumptious. She finished chewing and studied the cake once more. Wasn't there supposed to be something else? All the human cakes she'd seen before had had a sweet, sugary sort of moist crust coating them. Perhaps she should have baked the cake with that on top. Perhaps it would have turned out yellow then instead of brown.

She went back to the cookbook, but it made no mention of any such coating in the instructions or the list of ingredients. Then her gaze caught on the subtext in parentheses at the bottom and she swore violently. Please see chapter twelve for frosting recipes, it read.

She was relieved to learn that she didn't need to have applied the frosting before baking, but there were more supplies she would need to acquire before she would be able to complete the process. Annatta grimaced. She hadn't expecting this to be quite so time-consuming. Normally she'd be studying spells or rituals right now, or refreshing her memory on thaumatic principles.

She washed her hands and face, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, caught up her purse, and headed for the door.

The human grocery store wasn't far, just three blocks from where she lived, and she blinked as she emerged, unaccustomed to the direct sunlight. There were few people on the streets, most of them at work or at home, those who were mages like herself likely asleep or at study. The pimply-faced human teenager behind the counter gave her a slightly apprehensive smile and she responded with an absent one.

"I need cream, for frosting, and powdered milk and sugar," she said, and the boy got up and quickly reappeared with three canisters. Annatta blinked, studied them each in turn and her eyes went back to the boy. "Bring me a dozen more of each of those."

She was turning to leave when a thought occurred to her, and she turned, glancing over her shoulder, catching the boy's gaze once more. "I need someone to test a cake for me so I know whether or not it's scrumptious. Are you willing?"

The boy blinked. "I . . . suppose ma'am."

Annatta nodded and went out into the street, a heavy paper bag full of canisters in each arm, and headed back towards her apartment, steps determined, running over the instructions for "Mary's Simple, Perfect Frosting" once more in her mind.

It had to be perfect. It would be perfect. For the sake of herself and her people, she would succeed.