~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I've left out mentioning friends, family or previous events in the life of the main character on purpose. This is because there are side stories in the works and I did not want to keep referencing the same events over and over from different PoVs. The side stories are being written separately because I don't know how to add them directly to this one without spreading the story too thin by having too many character PoVs.

~*~ Chapter 40 ~*~

Kayas was moving across the compound. Her bare feet carried her threw muddy lanes and gatehouses, threw each walled off section as silently as a cat threw puddles of water. Guards and residents of the area paid her little attention, thinking she was just as much a Scarlet as they were. Behind her a fire roared with life, consuming the bodies of the freshly dead and infected Humans in the Field of Agony.

A shadow to her right moved but she kept going. By the time she reached the living section of the compound the rain washed the blood from her tabard and leggings. A familiar feeling began to bubble up, one the Druid though recognizable and yet subtly different from the truly familiar. Under the archways that lead to the living quarters of the civilian residents the long figure paused to consider. It was a similar feeling to when she had been followed by the elf that bore the Priest and Warlocks blessed-cursed seed. This was…

A shadow lunged forward, wrapped a thickly muscled arm around her waste and a gloved hand going over her mouth. "Shhhh!" The man held her firmly, moved her into the shadows. "Stop fighting me, I'm here to rescue you!" Teeth found a finger but he only ground his own teeth and refused to release the squirming girl.

Eyes wide she recognized the feeling… her own nature magic. He was infused with it after being healed at Queen's Rout. Fear burst threw a normally brave mind. What did he plan to do as revenge? This sickening worry increased with a fresh view of the smoke rising up threw the night sky. It was as if the rain-pelting shield didn't exist at all.

"Calm down, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. The Lady sent me. She sent me to get you out of here!' His voice suggested this was a wonderful idea and she would be oh-so-happy to hear it.

The Commander may be crazy and scared of the Scourge, but he's doesn't frighten me more than she does.

She bit his hand harder, earning a wince and the withdrawal of the offending appendage. "I quit like it here; I think I'll be staying." Shifting into her bear form she spun and made a bite for his softer bits. Booted feet jumped back in surprised, leaving small dimples in the muddy ground. At least over there his manly bits would be safely out of mauling range, and the would-be savior got to see him for the first time since the clearing.

Black, as all of the stalking-in-the-night variety tended to wear, fitted snuggly from crown to softly booted toe and dripping wet in the rain. Over it all the purple and black tabard of the Undercity clearly marked his new allegiance. The scythe was the only unexpected edition. A black painted farm tool bearing the signs of rough use and lackluster care replaced the normal stabby tools most of the shadow men preferred.

The man stood gaping at her the same way she stood gaping at him.

"Gone native I see." The words were spat even as she had shifted back to standing. "She's evil; she's going to kill everyone and fatten her army up and then march them off to Northrend-"

The hole in the mask covering his head and neck allowed only the narrowing eyes to be seen, "You handed me to her on a silver platter; what else was I to do?" he hissed, "Fight her? How well did that work out for you?" He spat on the ground in disgust. "Besides, you joining the Scarlet is the same as me joining the Forsaken." The resentment and anger welling out of him struck her like a stick to the head. Right about now she was thankful she had not taken up the mantle of a priestess else her skin would be much thinner.

Ire made the Druid grind her teeth to stop from lashing out in her own defense. His Commander was to blame, not she. "At least they don't beat me." Not today at least. "That is more than I can say for your Lady." She turned to continue on her way but a rough hand grabbed her arm.

"Look, I know you don't like her but she's… she's all we have between us and him. I know this much for certain: it's her or him so make your choice." Weeks in the Plaguelands and everyone knew who he was, elaboration unnecessary.

Looking up at the taller Human in the cold rain made her blink. "We're just pawns to her. Easily acquired and easily replaced. Let her…" … replace me. But with whom? Who would be sacrificed so that the Dark Lady would finally have a Druid to work on her cure? Come the next setbacks in healing Quel'thalas of the Scourge and getting her revenge on Arthas who would take the Plague in her place? No doubt the Tauren would have something to say if one of theirs rose as undead… so it would be another Kaldorei.

The grip on her arm tugged, "We don't have much time. She's keeping them distracted by the Main Gate and the rain will cover our escape out the East Gate. Serz Huzad will be slipping out the West Gate-"

"How-?"

"He's got friends in high places, lets just say. Really, really high places." His voice was dry and almost sarcastic and just a bit jealous. "Besides, the other Warlock is just about ready to burn down Brill and everyone in it if the Priest doesn't get his … Druid… back soon."

Kayas glared, aware the word pet nearly slipped from between those traitor lips. Snatching her arm back she took a deep breath to think. Before it was let out they were moving quickly toward the East Gate.

~* The Practice Field *~

Serz Huzad

Serz Huzad sat in the little box to avoid as much rain as possible. The little red cushion was soaked threw however and ruined by the muck. This structure could not be called a shed anymore, seeing how the door was missing and there were holes rotted in every conceivable spot. Swaying in the wind was one thing but the old shed seemed to be melting in the downpour as well.

Even with the hole in the roof and the missing windows, it certainly has its small charms. Said charms were Warlock talismans hanging above the inside of the door and sigils scratched into the wood. The Scarlet would burn the shack as soon as they saw them but he planned to be long gone by then.

Quick eyes watched the Rogue enter the yard and take a good ten minutes reaching the shanty, weaving around all the other undead tethered in place. It occurred to him the elf must have though he was being stealthy. Perhaps to someone else he may have been but it's very hard to hide that particular scent of clean sheets from a Forsaken man with a very good nose and a familiarity with the finer things.

When the elf finally got to him Serz was to his feet and ready to go. The Warlock had been sure the Dark Lady would send for him soon; she had a habit of coming and going with the rainstorms. "You would be-"

"Your escort, m'lord." The mesh over the eyes prevented seeing even a small flash of skin; even his ears were pinned down tight under the skullcap covering his hair. The Common was pure and rich with no hint of any dialect of Thelassian.

Serz smiled, "Theron's man?"

"Yes, m'lord."

The Warlock looked out over the yard and the undead, "They wont bother me, but you best stealth your way back to the gate."

As he left the shack, unliving eyes saw a disturbing amount of light coming from the Field of Agony. The glow looked like a dome of fire spread across the entire area, but allowing smoke to escape. Eyes a little wide the Warlock though perhaps Corrosa had broken the High Priest's control and made it here after all, but the lack of green indicating fel-flame spoke of some other origin. Whatever it was the magical nature of the blaze was without question.

Perhaps it was the Dark Lady's distraction? Perhaps it was the Scarlet's way of getting rid of the evidence? The Warlock shook his head and signed as much as he was able without working lungs and shuffled forward. He hated mud and usually hated rain. After spending days in a robe soaked threw with the blood of the slain however, he would take any method of washing Whoever Is Listening provided.

Over by the gate they had to stop and allow a group of Mages to rush by on their way to put out the blaze. Apparently it was growing and would soon reach the limits of the shield. If the shield popped under the pressure the fire would spread to the Living Quarters. So the gossip said...

It had been a long time since a certain Warlock, once a Human survivor of the horrors that overtook Darrowshire, had skulked threw the shadows but the memory of how – bone memories as his long-gone wife had once called them – came back as quickly as an imp who strayed too far from the one who would feed it souls to live. He bent low burned the bottom foot or so of robe with conjured fel-flame. Satisfied he wouldn't be tripping over the ragged leangths of fabric he stayed low and crept along after the rogue, scooting threw the mud on half skeletal bare feet.

The Scarlet had divested him of his fine cloth boots soon after his capture, much to his chagrin. Nothing useful went to waste in a place like this; even the clothing of the undead they slew was recycled if possible. The utility belt had been left in place, well enchanted to appear like a ragged piece of decomposing cloth. Unbeknownst to them it held a variety of reagent for his spells.

Once it looked as if they would have been caught but for the rogue sapping the guard. It was a neat trick to knock the man behind one ear and cause him to sway in a stupor for several seconds while they hurried away. Serz hoped the damage wasn't permanent but as he looked back the guard was just standing there as if it was where he had been rushing to the entire time and now had nowhere else to be.

"Neat trick," he whispered to the Rogue, "no shadow magic like they use in Silvermoon."

The man's back tensed, just a little affronted, "I have my own magic."

"Who taught you?"

"Who taught you?" There was anger in his voice and hurt, which he tried to disguise with little success. "Keep moving."

"I did not mean to offend you." Subtlety was not a spell-flingers art but who had taught Serz was as much the Warlocks secret as other classified names he held close. "I was only curious. My apologies."

"Given." And that was the end of discussions.

They were in the Animal Yard now, where the sheep, pigs and cows were kept. Sneaking threw animals who were lethargic with safety was rather easy. From the time they were born to the time they were slaughtered they never had a predator in the world and so were not accustomed to keeping ears and nose open, especially not in blasting rains. The pair came upon another gate and had to wait to pass threw it. They would be outside after the next gate.

Behind them the arcane shield broke and an angry blaze shot out into the night lighting up the entire Scarlet fortress. Inside the flames faces appeared, thirteen in total, screaming angry men and women reaching out to the living Mages who fought them and seeking revenge.

~* Main Gate *~

~ Salira ~

Salira Porter had identified the source of the disturbance not long after leaving the Druid in the Field of Agony. On the way back however, she had been drafted into fighting. Given a bow and an apprentice Priest she had been made to sit on the wall and fire enchanted arrows at the Dark Lady.

"I'm a Warrior!" she had protested when the slim longbow was thrust into her hands, along with a quiver of red arrows, "I can barely aim this thing, let along hit something with it!"

They would hear none of it and hauled her to the top of the wall. The wooden scaffolding crisscrossing the inside of the wall was slippery but the rouge stone at the top was not, despite the thundering torrents of water. The storm was getting worse.

The first arrow was notched with closed eyes, not really aiming. It went wide and stuck in a tree, Light winking out as the energy was recalled for the next arrow. Below them the Dark Lady darted around laughing and almost twirling threw the rain of bright arrows. The Light of so many archers firing at one target fairly lit up the night and turned the wind-swept rain into sheets of gold.

More archers joined the rows on the wall, even more Warriors and some civilians roused by commotion and offering to help. After a time the Dark Lady couldn't blink away from them all and even her inhuman ability to dodge showed it's limits when one arrow finally found it's mark, lodging itself in her wide hip and pinning the soaked cloak into place.

The Dark Lady stopped. Everyone stopped. For a split second they all stared at the arrow as if it were impossible. Her head snapped up, teeth chewing her lower lip in an uncharacteristic fashion as seething eyes scanned the rows of archers looking for a triumphant smile. They aimed and fired in that second but a dark pulsing shield shot up around the undead Queen, protecting her from everything that touched it.

"Which one was it?" she inquired over the din of the storm, voice barely audible, "Which one of you fired it? I would reward you myself!"

No one claimed it, though they each looked around to see who was smug or scared the most. No doubt there would be a full tankard waiting for them at the tavern whenever this was over and possibly a promotion. They didn't notice that the angry Scourged woman below them wasn't dodging arrows anymore: her own bow was notched, aimed, fired. The motion was quick, a single black bolt shot upward alone to meet dozens of bright Lights raining down.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" The enraged Queen screamed into the night, sending her own black magic to challenge the Scarlet Light.

When the first man fell Salira volunteered to take him to the infirmary. By the time they made it to a bed the shield containing the fire burst, sending waves of crashing heat over half the enclave and enough light to be seen all the way to the Undercity. The winds carried the smoke and the worst of it towards the Living Quarters, the section of the compound where the majority of the civilians resided.

Mages fighting the fire seemed to be caught by the very thing they strove to subdue and in seconds were screaming as they rolled in raging flames. It seemed as if the flames had faces and the faces had teeth and the teeth could bite. The blood jetting out of the wounds boiled before it hit the ground.

If seasoned spell fighters couldn't escape the flames… there was no way the Druid could have.