Author's Notes:
Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.
Just the usual warnings – there will be graphic violence, male/male pairings (which heat up a little bit this chapter; I know some of you have been waiting for that) and also some implied (not terribly descriptive) hetero pairing. Thankfully almost none of it is as gruesome as the previous chapter with the exception of K'dzok, but you know to expect that from him, and that's also slightly sanitized.
Act I, Scene III
Strange Reflections
By the end of a week in Dalaran, Nathiel was normally ready to be free of the city with its rules and its constant buzz of people, sidewalks throbbing with life, roads filled with the never-ending clatter of wheels. That activity ebbed in the darkest hours of morning but never truly ceased, the city not so much sleeping at night as falling into a sort of sluggish stupor before recalling its faculties and its harried schedules beneath the dawn's light. It irritated him, started to grate on his nerves, the high, often sharp voices of humans raised in a babble like a stream that refused to be still even with Northrend's never-ending winter all about.
And yet, this time was different. Nathiel wanted to hold Ambryn once more in his arms, taste his sweet lips, plunder the trove of his mouth. He wanted to feel Ambryn's soft skin beneath his fingers, see those jade eyes go hazy with pleasure.
He wanted to take forty-five minutes to say goodnight all over again, sit on Ambryn's couch again, feel hands press on his thighs as Ambryn levered himself up to meet his kiss, with no idea of how close he was to getting pulled into Nathiel's lap.
He wanted to hear the soft sigh escape Ambryn's lips as his mouth traced the human's jugular.
"Hey, Nath."
Nathiel blinked, shaken out of the memory. Reiyad was looking at him, concern clear in the other night elf's silver eyes. The hunter had his bow across his saddle, arrows in a quiver at his hip, knives strapped to his thighs, his long azure hair drifting in the cold breeze.
"You alright?" he asked, switching to Darnassian. "You've been awfully quiet."
Nathiel shook his head. He needed to focus. "Thinking about a sweet piece of ass," he replied with a grin, deliberately crude. And sweet, full lips, and eyes like an endless sea of forest, and beautiful pale skin. A baritone voice that was a touch on the high side for the range but still pleasingly low, not a childish tenor, husky with warmth. And the ass in question . . . he didn't even have words for that perfect rump, but his imagination was more than full of prospective activities involving it.
Reiyad grinned broadly and lowered his voice. "I know a place near the Silver Enclave, does business exclusively with Kal'Dorei and humans. It's a little pricey, but they've got both menus."
Nathiel shook his head, this time with his expression distasteful. "I see no reason to start paying for it when I can get a few drinks at Shysters and then take them home," he said flatly.
Reiyad shrugged, knowing Nathiel well enough not to take it personally. "It's just a little less personal that way is all."
"I appreciate the thought, but I've marked my prey. It's going to be a good hunt." Nathiel flashed Reiyad another grin.
Reiyad's eyebrows rose slightly. "Anyone I know?"
Nathiel shook his head.
"Reiyad! Take a look at this spoor!" The shout came from the head of the small column. Kuma gestured, the draenei shaman's expression indicating she thought it likely more dangerous than deer sign.
Nathiel unlimbered his spear as Reiyad heeled his sabre mount past the carriage carrying their cargo, glancing around alertly. There were a pair of human knights at the back of the carriage, but they were both young, and both clearly junior in rank, obviously new to their spurs. They'd fight if it came to trouble, but whether they'd be any good at it was another question entirely.
Likely that was why the girl's father had hired Vir Aegeae to get her to Valgarde in the Howling Fjord in the first place. Nathiel didn't ask why the services of a mage to open a gate hadn't been obtained instead. It wasn't his business to ask.
The carriage had come to a halt. The hairs prickled on the back of Nathiel's neck. He turned his sabre mount, keeping his back to the carriage.
"Reiyad says it's worgs." Bandrin Coalshield's long, thickly braided black beard flowed from beneath his helmet, shining in the sun as he approached, dark eyes hidden behind his visor. His musket was slung across his back, his massive hammer at his hip, broad shield in his other hand. "Maybe two hours old. We may not have anything to worry about."
Nathiel's mouth tightened. "No sign of Vrykul tracks?"
"Not that he said." The black-bearded dwarf brought his riding ram's head around. "Kuma has him helping her keep an eye out for any more trail sign though."
With any luck, Kuma was just being cautious rather than prescient. Nathiel swept the trees around them with one more searching glance, and turned his mount to follow the carriage as it rocked back into motion. A few more days and they'd be through the Grizzly Hills and into the Howling Fjord, closer to Valgarde and the safe deposit of their cargo. He didn't relish a fight with the half-giant vrykul, especially with the carriage to guard. It'd make nothing so much as a splendid target for one of their massive axes.
They didn't encounter anything that afternoon, making camp shortly after dusk in a stand of tall pines. Nathiel was grooming his sabre mount when he felt eyes on him and glanced up.
Their cargo was a dark-haired, slim little slip of a thing, curves feminine but not overly generous, body petite. She met his gaze boldly, standing beside the fire, her cloak flipped back over one shoulder, revealing the wine-red dress that hugged her body. Nathiel returned to his task. If she was looking for a little extra-species excitement, she'd have better luck with Reiyad, or even Bandrin.
He was laying out his bedroll when he felt her petite hands on his back, sliding up to his shoulders.
"Such broad shoulders," she murmured. "So big. I bet you're amazing in the art of love."
If Nathiel was desperate and he'd been without sex for two months, and didn't look to be getting any more for another two, he might have considered it. As it was, there was only one human he really wanted to fuck at the moment, and this bitch was pissing him off by reminding him that he still had yet to get him in the sack.
"Fourteen and a half inches," he said honestly. He was big even among night elves, both in stature and in the size of his cock. He straightened, turning to face her. "Unfortunately for your cunt, all of it's going in someone else."
Her eyes widened, and then her lips tightened, her expression easy for him to read even in the darkness thanks to the keen vision of his people. She folded her arms. "Your other night elf friend?" Her tone wasn't silky or seductive or even moderately quiet now. She was trying to either shame him, or piss him off enough that he'd prove his manhood to her by plowing her. It pissed him off alright, but he'd didn't think she'd get off on him strangling her slender neck with one hand while he beat her face in with his clenched fist unless she was even kinkier than he suspected.
"Nah, he's got a butt like a rock," he said bluntly. "I like a little bit of cushion on the ass I'm fucking. You might ask him if he's interested. He'd probably have no problem pounding you."
"Maybe I will," she snapped.
Nathiel nodded and turned back to his blankets. He could sense her still standing behind him, not moving, probably waiting for him to turn around and change his mind. Things obviously hadn't gone the way she wanted.
"How did you put up with that last night?" Kuma asked the next morning over breakfast. The draenei shaman's luminously pale ice-blue face was fixed in a scowl, her copper-brown hair pulled back in a tail by a gray ribbon.
"I didn't think the guild would approve of me popping her in the mouth with my fist just for coming onto me," he said with a shrug.
"I was referring to the screaming while Reiyad was giving her the rogering she was after," she corrected sourly. "I had to get up and tell her to shut up or I'd have him do it."
"Definitely not one of our better-behaved clients," Nathiel acknowledged. He shrugged. "I just ignored it." He'd been too busy imagining kissing full lips until they were swollen with it, running his hands over the creamy, pillowy globes of Ambryn's bottom, dreaming of that divide between them, tight heat and soft skin and . . . he realized he was getting hard just thinking about it, the evidence of his thoughts a long, broad slab along his thigh beneath his suddenly-tight trousers.
Kuma's eyebrows were raised. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you this head-over-heels for anyone Nath."
Nathiel almost bit down on the next words out of his mouth, because they felt strange, almost somehow pompous, and yet, at the same time, they felt indefinably right. He looked right into Kuma's green eyes, chewed on the phrase a moment longer, and then let it out, suddenly curious to see her reaction.
"I don't think I ever have been," he admitted quietly.
He'd known Kuma for a fairly long time now, three years, and it was far from their first escort mission together. She knew his appetites, knew he never kept a steady lover for any length of time, moving from partner to partner. He waited to see incredulity in her expression, or amused skepticism, or even condescension.
But Kuma's smile wasn't any of those things. It was warm, and perhaps even strangely relieved, almost a motherly look.
"I'm glad for you," she whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Really glad."
"She'd scream and then look at you," Reiyad muttered grouchily as they rode behind the carriage forty minutes later. "I finally just rolled her onto her belly and let her lay there and stare all she wanted. Definitely not good sex."
Nathiel just shrugged. "Bad sex is still sex."
"True," Reiyad admitted easily. His silver eyes flared wickedly. "If she comes back tonight I'm going to see if I can get her to let me do her in the ass," he added in Darnassian. He winked at Nathiel. "For you, good buddy."
"Kuma would laugh her head off." Nathiel smirked. "I say go for it. You can always kick her out of your blankets if she won't."
"That might be almost as satisfying." Reiyad looked thoughtful for a moment, eyes unfocusing slightly, clearly imagining the scene. His gaze flicked back to Nathiel, and he leaned over slightly, gesturing conspiratorially. "So who is it?"
Nathiel blinked, not because he didn't know what Reiyad was referring to, but because it was unlike the other night elf to be so persistent about something like who Nathiel was seeing, sometimes even open proclaiming his desire to remain wholly ignorant, especially where the details were concerned. It was enough to make Nathiel wonder if the other elf saw the same thing Kuma had, wonder just how apparent his feelings for Ambryn actually were. The thought was very mildly unsettling.
"You haven't met him." Nathiel debated revealing any more, and then added "He's not affiliated with the guild."
Reiyad's eyebrows rose at that, but he was apparently content with what he'd been given for the moment, because he didn't inquire further.
They came across the site of a battle that afternoon. Trees were shattered, the earth riven in places, wintry grass and cold dirt thick with blood. It was plain to see from the way the grass was flattened and in some places torn up that something massive had been dragged away, and it had been bleeding heavily.
"Magnataur," Reiyad said decisively after he'd examined the battlefield. "The Vrykul surrounded it, probably used those massive javelins of theirs." He pursed his lips. "It didn't go down without a hell of a fight though. Some of the giants didn't leave on their feet." His gaze followed the blood-scored drag marks. "We may want to bear a bit further south."
Kuma shook her head. "We can't leave the road with the carriage."
Reiyad snorted through his nose, a cloud of steam wisping away on the air. "Then we'd best not move too fast. I've got no desire to catch up with this kind of hunting party."
They slowed their pace after that, Reiyad scouting ahead. They might arrive a day late, but better a longer journey than a run-in with a large, hostile force. Nathiel didn't once sense the girl's eyes on him when they stopped at camp that night. Perhaps she'd given up and settled for Reiyad. The thought wasn't enough to make him smile, but it definitely lessened his prickling sense of irritation, and he no longer felt the urge to break her pert nose.
The pained, muffled grunts and not-quite-squelched yelps coming from Reiyad's blankets during his watch did bring a smirk to Nathiel's face though, confirmation that the other night elf had gone ahead with his plan. Aside from the uncomfortable noises their cargo made, the night passed in relative quiet. The only ones not smiling the next morning were the two human knights, neither of whom met their charge's gaze as she crept back into the carriage with a noticeable limp, and of course, the girl herself.
For his part, Reiyad had a big, satisfied grin on his face, whistling cheerfully as he helped break camp. They mounted up, and he leaned sideways at a precarious angle from his sabre mount next to Kuma where she sat her elekk. They moved out to the sound of her loud, bell-like laughter.
The wendigo attacked the next morning, only a day from the Howling Fjord.
Their first warning was the tremors, and then it was topping the crest of the hill to the left of road, moving quickly and silently but for the huffs of its breaths as it swung towards them, rocking along on its arms towards the carriage with deceptive speed.
Nathiel set his teeth and moved his mount to intercept, spear and shield ready. Musket shots rang out, and the wendigo hardly blinked as blood spattered from one shoulder and a bullet ricocheted off a long, curling horn, not slowing. Bandrin slung his rifle once more across his back and grabbed his hammer, booting his ram into a gallop.
Nathiel knew the strategy, because they'd done it a hundred times before. He'd hold the wendigo and Bandrin would hit it from the side. Ordinarily Reiyad would be placing arrows with deadly precision, but he was too far forward.
Kuma wasn't idle. Nathiel could hear the sound of her chants as she held the leather cords from which her totems were suspended high in her fists, charms of wood and bone rattling without help from any wind as the spirits answered her call.
Nathiel's eyes widened as the wendigo abruptly dug in its feet, stumpy, powerful legs bunching, and leapt. It was going to hit the carriage and the girl would be shattered along with it. There was no way to get her out of it and out of the way in time.
Lightning blasted out of the clear sky, smashing the wendigo in the chest with enough force to throw it backward, fur aflame. Nathiel didn't hesitate for a heartbeat, his mount knowing his mind well enough that it was already responding, charging the wendigo. The beast was rising to its feet already, shaking off the muzziness Kuma's spell had wrought.
It retained its presence of mind enough to see Nathiel coming, lashing straight out with one powerful arm. Nathiel's sabre mount dodged, and he felt the air rush by his face in the wake of a massive fist which probably would have broken all of his ribs at once if it'd hit. His spear found the wendigo's throat, dug in deep beneath the hard-boned chin, and the beast let out a gurgling cough, staggering back. Somehow it still found the strength to bring its arm around, and Nathiel yanked at his animal's harness as he twisted in the saddle, rolling sideways, toppling both himself and the sabre flat onto one side, a huge fist whistling just above their heads.
Long, dark arrows thudded solidly into the wendigo's face, bare heartbeats apart, and it staggered back, giving Nathiel and his mount time to scramble out of reach.
Nathiel drew the three-bladed glaive he always kept strapped to his back in unfriendly places, but the wendigo was on its last legs, reaching up to pull out the spear with a trembling arm. It collapsed to one knee, frenzied gaze fixed on Nathiel, blood and pink saliva streaming from its slavering jaws, left eye a ruin, one of Reiyad's arrows protruding from the butchered orb. The beast ripped out Nathiel's spear, flung it away, and the light in its other eye went out as it toppled to the ground, the impact enough to send tremors through the ground under his feet.
Nathiel turned his head, shot a glower at the cursed carriage that had nearly cost the girl her life, and met her dark eyes, her face deathly pale, small fists covering her mouth. She was standing on the step, the door open, and she flinched visibly at the sight of him, liberally covered in wendigo blood and probably a little dirt and grass too.
He turned away, and tried not to feel the faintest hint of guilt, because he was pretty sure he'd just frightened the daylights out of her.
"Y'alright?" Bandrin asked, sliding his hammer back into its loop at his belt.
"Fine," Nathiel replied, turning and scratching his sabre mount under the chin, getting an appreciative purr. "Just fine."
They left the singed carcass for scavengers.
Evening of the following day found them at the gates of Valgarde. The girl hadn't left the carriage even once that Nathiel had seen since the encounter with the wendigo, which was just as well in his opinion. They parted company with her and her knightly protectors, and made their way to a tavern by the name of the Lively Wench.
It was as low-brow as its name suggested, the tables and the alcohol both rough and raw at the edges, the waitresses a mixture of gnomes, humans, and even a pair of dwarven lasses. Nathiel tipped a passed-out human out of his chair, leaving him sprawled on the floor, and they claimed the table for themselves. He'd scarcely sat down when a light hand came down on his shoulder and a moment later there was a familiar bottom in his lap.
Belauq's medium-length green hair was still a mass of waves as always, the night elf druid's sideburns long enough to extend just past his ears, curving to sharp points, golden eyes bright. His dusk-colored shirt hung open, baring his slim, smooth chest and belly, the loose black velvet slacks on his legs doing nothing to hide the muscle tone. His lips were curved in a teasing smile, the expression on his pale blue face warm.
"Well hello, handsome," he said softly. "I'd heard you were coming back this way."
The words came back to Nathiel instantly. "If it isn't beauty and the beast," he replied easily. "How have you been Belauq?"
"Oh you know." Belauq shrugged absently. "Doing the rounds, keeping the Vrykul and the Horde respectful. Waiting around for a handsome kal'dorei to come around and show me a good time." He ran his fingers lightly over Nathiel's short hair. "The latter is more time-consuming than one might expect." The curve of his mouth deepened. "My patience seems to have paid off though. A particularly handsome specimen has just wandered right into my territory."
Nathiel's smile dimmed. He didn't reach for the other night elf. "I'm actually seeing someone at the moment," he said quietly.
Belauq didn't get up, but his lips instantly reversed themselves into a frown. "Nathiel Highfury, I've known you for five hundred years and you've never turned me down before." He snorted and tossed his head. "Hell, I've never known you to turn down anyone who's half-decent looking." Abruptly those golden eyes widened, and Nathiel blinked as a hand closed around his junk. Belauq leaned forward. "It's not . . . damaged, is it?" he whispered in Nathiel's ear. "Nath, I couldn't bear the thought, you should let me-"
"Everything is in good working order," Nathiel growled back at him. The way he was reacting to Belauq's touch was ample verification of his words.
Belauq was silent for a moment, apparently at a loss. He didn't let go however, stroking his hand over the quickly growing bulge along Nathiel's thigh.
"Why don't we go upstairs, and you can tell me what's bothering you," the druid murmured. "I haven't had you in my mouth in such a long time, and I still remember the way you taste."
Nathiel's cock was a thick iron bar along his leg, jaw tightening as Belauq's tongue laved the side of his neck, teeth closing gently on his ear, tugging tenderly. His nimble fingers continued to stroke. It had been over a month now since Nathiel had last tasted that sweet sexual release, felt himself empty out into his partner. It had been an even longer time since he'd slept with a warm body in his arms, held his lover close.
Belauq's mouth closed on his. He was straddling Nathiel's hips now, grinding pleasurably against him.
Nathiel let him, just watching the other night elf's expression, not responding in the slightest.
Belauq pulled back after a moment, expression confused, and a little frustrated.
"Why?" he whispered harshly.
The words were out of Nathiel's mouth before he thought better of them, and a heartbeat later he was wishing he could call them back, because the hurt in those golden eyes was a jab in his own heart.
"He's special."
Belauq kissed him full and hard and deep, and Nathiel could sense the anger in the kiss, turning it to bitter fire in his mouth. His temper began to boil as those hips gyrated over his crotch, motions slow and hard. He put his hands on Belauq's hips, but the druid only clung to him.
Nathiel stood up, and shoved Belauq off of him and onto the table, chest heaving, embarrassed and furious and frustrated. Kuma and Bandrin and Reiyad all looked up, startled.
Belauq didn't say a word. He got up slowly, and stalked away into the crowd. The sound of conversation gradually returned.
"Nath."
Nathiel's blazing eyes went to Kuma, his chest still heaving, ready for an argument, but she just pointed, expressionless.
"Your fly."
Nathiel glanced down, and saw that Belauq had left his fly mostly undone, a thick patch of night-blue hair and the top of his penis clearly visible, and hurriedly did himself back up.
"Thanks," he muttered as he sat back down and waited for his erection to go away. When the beer finally came he took a long, healthy swig that barely cooled him in the slightest.
Mostly drunk by the time he got into bed (with help from Reiyad), Nathiel sprawled out on his stomach and dreamed of jade eyes like windows onto the forest above full lips curved in a sweet smile, just waiting to be kissed . . .
Ж
K'dzok was bone-tired. His skull throbbed, and his right arm ached, the flesh of his shoulder and upper arm hot to the touch. Snow hissed on contact with the inflamed flesh, and he almost imagined he could see something moving rhythmically under the skin.
The Storm Peaks were anyone's worst nightmare, and K'dzok couldn't for the life of him imagine what might have drawn his target here to this frigid, mountainous wasteland full of giants, monsters, and blinding ice so bright it could burn out your eyes without dark goggles.
He knew why they'd sent him of course. He still remembered golden eyes like amber, hard and cold as the ice that surrounded him now, full of rage. He remembered the human's sun-tanned face, his thick brown hair in a multitude of braids knotted at the back of his head. He remembered how sweet it had felt to rape him again and again, to see him curse and try to bite through his gag, wrists wet with blood as he tried to free them from the tight leather cords that bound them behind his back, his expression full of berserk animal fury as K'dzok raped his son, his only progeny, in front of him.
The human mage had been angry, so deliciously angry, hate bleeding out of every pore, and then the light in those amber eyes had gone out as K'dzok's teeth closed on the boy's neck, and he'd jerked his head, soft flesh carved deep by bronze-capped tusks as he came, the shivering body in his arms going still after a few moments.
Hot, slick blood still all over his powerful, nude body, K'dzok had gone back to raping Heironymus Goldpalm, and delighted in the sick, horrified, broken sounds the human had made.
No one was quite sure how he'd escaped from the camp two nights later, but they'd found the bloody cords and the corpse of the orc he'd strangled with them in the morning, no sign of the human mage anywhere.
Four months ago, he'd been sighted for the first time in years, leading a band of steel-eyed human killers mounted on gryphons. They didn't call him Goldpalm anymore. They called him Skinslayer, and whispers grew of the terrible magic he wielded on behalf of the Alliance. Of course, like the best and the worst of such awestruck whispers, they didn't elaborate much on exactly what shape that magic took.
K'dzok glanced over at Hiath, and hoped the blood elf mage would be up to the challenge. In all honesty, he didn't have that much confidence in him.
The elf didn't return his gaze, wrapped deep in fur-lined robes, face barely visible in the light of the fire that lit their cave.
K'dzok went to the mouth of that cave, where new snow was already piling along with sleet, sparing a brief glance for the sheer cliff that fell away into utter darkness. He knew from climbing up in the first place that it would be a very, very long fall down. He got more snow, and packed it onto his burning shoulder.
He turned back, allowing a slight hiss to escape his lips as he walked back towards the fire. Six orcs lay huddled further back in the cave. Expendables, all of them, disciplinary liabilities – like him. He didn't feel any kinship towards them for that simple fact. To the Steel Sheen, and to him, they were the same - cannon fodder to be used up and disposed of when they couldn't be used any further.
He kicked one of them awake, and ordered him to take the watch.
He bolted awake to the sound of a scream, just in time to catch a glimpse of a massive, hulking, green-skinned figure and a robed, slender one go plummeting out of sight. Then big, sausage-like fingers were on his shoulders, wrapped around his arms, wrestling him onto his back, cursing and snarling.
He was going to kill them. He was going to . . .
The orcs didn't move, just held him down, and they stared at him with eyes that had irises of amber, as though the darkness of their natural eye-color had filled in with crystallized sap, hard and reflective in the light of Hiath's magical flame.
"It's been a very long time, K'dzok," they said together, tones cultured, voices eerie in their perfect sync. "A very long time."
K'dzok's eyes narrowed. "Heironymus." He smirked. "Why play games? You want me to fuck your brains out, just show yourself. That's what this is about, isn't it? You wanted more of the mean green. Nothing else quite got your rocks off after me, did it?"
He felt the first flutter of apprehension when the possessed orcs chuckled, once again in eerie unison. He didn't allow it to show on his face.
"I was such a wretched, broken being by the time you finished with me, troll," they said together, expressions turning faintly sad. Dark smiles abruptly curved their massive mouths, the depth of intelligence in their eyes, the richness of the irony in their unnatural amber gazes looking wholly out of place. "Then I became something much worse."
"I'm supposed to care?" K'dzok barked a harsh laugh. "I didn't come all the way out here to listen to you piss and moan about the way I pounded your hole."
"No," the orcs said thoughtfully in the cultured tones of Heironymus. "No, you came to kill me for your superiors in the Steel Sheen, superiors who care nothing for you after your rather flagrant indiscretion in grand old Dalaran." They cocked their heads. "At least, you think that's why they sent you. You never even considered the thought that this might be a bargain, an exchange of . . . favors." There was another eerie multi-mouthed chuckle. "Well, let's begin shall we? I think the best place for us to start was where you yourself began."
Two of the orcs held him down. The other three reached for their belts, meaty fingers fumbling open their pants.
"You see, the best way I can think of for me to make you suffer, is for you to become me," Heironymus said as green shafts engorged with blood, swelling. "There is nothing more horrible that I can think of than becoming Skinslayer."
K'dzok's legs were wrestled into the air, hands pulling his trousers down over his hips, then his knees. He let out a roar of rage, fought with all his strength. He'd be damned if he was going to be gang-raped by a pack of orcs like some milk-skinned, thin-blooded human.
There was a hiss and then a click from his right shoulder.
Golden eyes widened, and then the orc holding down his right arm hit the cave wall with the sound of crunching bone. K'dzok's clawed fingers dug into green flesh, and the orc on his left vomited up blood. K'dzok closed his hand and pulled, sending gore and blood spattering across the cave.
"That's very interesting," the three remaining orcs said, amber eyes flaring as they backed away. "What have they done to you, troll?"
"Does it matter?" K'dzok asked as he rose to his feet, flinging his blood-covered arm to one side, blood pattering against the cave wall. It was his turn to smile. "Does it hurt when they die?"
Amber eyes went absolutely flat. "Nothing hurts anymore. In some ways, that's the worst part."
K'dzok had assumed from the way that the orcs had spoken and reacted in unison that Heironymus was only capable of giving them all the same command at the same time, or at least had some difficulty in dividing his control over their actions. It quickly became apparent that that was exactly what the mage had wanted him to believe.
They moved out of the way of his swings as nimbly as dancers, graceful and smooth, far more so than they ever had been before their eyes had turned that striking shade of amber. He jabbed with his right arm, which, damn it all, was beginning to heat up again, the painful burn returning, and the orcs easily avoided every blow, as slippery as shadows.
Their fists were far more substantial, and his head would be spinning away from one blow only to feel the next smashing it in another direction, merciless strikes connecting with his belly, his ribs, his back.
Scarred green knuckles caught him along the edge of the jaw and he staggered back, clearing himself space for a heartbeat with a powerful swing of his right arm, which was beginning to hum at this point. His vision was hazy, and the fire in his shoulder was only getting hotter.
"Strange," the orcs said together, amber eyes still hooded. "I always thought I'd enjoy this more."
"What a disappointment for you." The voice was a thin rasp.
Suddenly it wasn't just K'dzok's shoulder that was unbearably hot. The very air seared his lungs, the world erupting in flame. When he could see again, breathe again, three very charred corpses lay on the floor of the cave.
Hiath's thin face was bone-white, a long scratch down one cheek. Most bizarre of all were his eyes, not faintly irridescent green anymore, but blazing with blue radiance. Blood was snaking from the corner of one eye like dark tears. He turned, and more flame erupted from his hands, thundering out into the whirling snow and sleet beyond the cave mouth, bright as the noonday sun.
K'dzok shielded his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Letting off excess magic before I explode," Hiath said after the brilliance and the shrieking roar of fire had died away at last. "I drew it off the pawn that attacked me until I almost burst before I realized that that was exactly what he was hoping for, and then it took me a little while to figure out which way was up."
"So . . . why did your eyes turn blue?"
Hiath glanced back and shrugged. "Human magic. It's the same power that once filled the Sunwell and runs through the ley lines of Azeroth. It's why the dragons of magic are blue. Before the Scourge, all of my peoples' eyes were the same color."
"Get some sleep," K'dzok ordered after a moment. It took him a moment to understand why Heironymus hadn't been able to take control of Hiath. The elf had evidently eaten the spell and then some. K'dzok absently cursed Mraugon for not sending more blood elves along with him instead of a pack of useless orcs. He waited until the snow began to accumulate in the cave mouth once more, and packed it onto his shoulder. It was going to be a long time until he could sleep.
Ж
Nabniath smiled as the magnataur carcass began to move and twitch. It wasn't sentient like her, any more than the ragged vrykul that stood around the edges of the clearing, their dead eyes watching as the colossal beast struggled upright beneath her will. Broken javelins still protruded from its dead flesh, flaps of torn skin and muscle hanging down in places.
Let the shaman throw his lightning at this, she thought triumphantly, smiling as tusks shone dully under the cold moonlight, moving from side to side as the animated magnataur settled once more onto its massive feet. It looked to her, waiting for orders.
"No," she murmured lovingly. "The cow-man will not stand against you. You will crush him, grind his bones, tear his pet mages to pieces. And then you will bring me my blood sacrifice, my strange and lovely troll . . . my beautiful victim." She spread her arms in exultation, her massive servant aping her motions, her will still tied to its cold, dead body. "I will bring the torturous thing called life to an end. I will free him . . ."
Nabniath stopped, became utterly still, her eyes fixing on the undead behemoth before her, widening.
"I will make him just like me," she whispered. And then she began to laugh, turning in a circle, whirling, and the earth danced with her, trees swaying, boughs shaking as the magnataur followed her motions, a puppet, an avatar of her desire.
Ж
"This is excellent," Ambryn said as he sat across from Annatta. "I haven't had home-made cake in practically forever, and the frosting is simply perfect."
Annatta allowed herself a satisfied smile as she sat across from Ambryn and chewed. It was her best effort at yellow cake yet, and she'd done herself quite proudly. She swallowed and washed down the crumbs with a glass of sweet wine. "Thank you. I've been studying cooking lately." She made her tone deliberately off-hand. "It's become something of a hobby of mine recently." Very recently.
Ambryn looked suddenly pensive. Annatta tried not to let her gaze sharpen.
"Do you think you could teach me?" he asked after a moment. "Honestly, I usually eat out, and . . . well, now that I'm seeing Nathiel . . . I'd like to do something special for him."
Annatta tried not to panic. She couldn't reveal that yellow cake was as yet really the only foray that she'd made into human culinary preparations. It would look too obvious. She thought fast. Better a little bit of the truth to give the words the right ring, because if she announced she was an expert chef, it was only a matter of time before she was caught out.
She half-shrugged, willed a little bit of a blush into her features as she stalled. And then an inspiration struck her.
"Well, it's actually a little new to me, but perhaps it's something we could explore together . . ." she suggested delicately, carefully watching his expression, praying that he wouldn't draw away in disappointment.
To her surprise he blushed slightly as well, but the smile that curved his lips was genuine, jade eyes relieved, an odd mirror of exactly what she was desperately trying not to display herself.
"Actually, I'd feel a little bit better about the whole thing if it was with someone I knew was closer to my own level," he confided quietly. His smile widened. "But I think it'll be great fun."
Annatta tried to make her smile warm rather than triumphant. "Why don't we meet at my place tomorrow, decide on what we'd like to try, and then we can do the grocery shopping and come back." She made a mental note to bribe the teenager she'd been feeding cake so he wouldn't mention that he'd been her guinea pig. Really, she thought – this was even better than her original idea. She wouldn't have to think up an excuse to come see Ambryn with food on a regular basis. It couldn't have worked out better if she'd planned it so from the very beginning.
She left his apartment, and only as she turned the corner and was out of sight of his watchful gaze from the porch of the building did she allow the true smile she was feeling inside to cross her face, fierce and exultant. Her recipes, no their recipes, she amended, would be truly delicious, and as she worked her way deeper into Ambryn's confidence, she would do what she could to help him grow closer to his new kal'dorei suitor as well.
She was so pleased with herself that she twirled right there in the street, a giggle escaping her lips, and smiled and winked at the guardsmen on patrol. Their presence had noticeably increased in this part of the city in the last few days, either as a public reaction to Ambryn's attack or his father's, which were practically the same thing anyway for practical purposes.
Tonight was the beginning.
Author's Post-Script Notes:
Alright, let's hear it – which of you sickos is a fan of K'dzok? You can remain anonymous, but I know some of you like him.
Was anyone shocked to see how Nathiel actually thinks? "ZOMG, he's not a Gary Stue!" I know, right?
Oh, and at this point, now that the plot's starting to roll (slowly) into motion and you can kind of see the shape of it, I'd like to formally invite folks to start posting reviews. (I'm surprised there hasn't been even one yet.) You can speculate on where it's going if you like, but mostly I'm looking for constructive critiques on style now that you've had a chance to get your teeth into how I work. Also, I'm kind of assuming that if you've read this far, you have a genuine interest in the story, which is why I extend that invitation now.