~* Author's Notes *~

Sorry I stopped posting for several weeks. I finally made it to the big 'escape' scene and it had run threw my mind so many times I got burn out and couldn't make myself finish it. I don't know if I'm just going to post a few more chapters and take another break or if I'm picking the story back up. We'll see

~*~ Chapter 41 ~*~

~* West Gate *~

Serz Huzad

Serz barely made it past the guards. Only because the rogue quickly blinded one and sapped another did the Warlock slip past. The gate, which normally took five strong people to open, was barred and locked fast. The thick metal of the monsterous gate, and the wholes just small enough to prevent all but a child slipping threw, mocked them as it blocked their way to freedom. At least the rain prevented them seeing beyond the gate, lest the vision tease them even more.

Serz had raised an eyebrow when the elf put hands on the turn and make to work the gate open.

"Little help?" the lithe man asked.

The undead man cleared his throat, "I, um…do not think just the two of us can get it."

The rogues voice was the driest thing for miles around, "Try."

"If optimism gave you wings we'd fly over that wall." But the Warlock joined him at the turn, getting his place and his bony footing. The toes on both his feet had long rotted away, but the first joint of bone had been wilted into passable claws. They dug into the ground and held where other feet might slide.

"I'm still alive." With a groan the Rogue pushed, only a half-second before Serz.

The Warlock didn't make any noise as he leaned into the turn, just the sound of fabric moving over rain-wrinkled skin. To his shock the Rogue's body strained at pushing the lever and it groaned slowly. Invigorated by the sound they pushed harder, it groaned more and the gate inched up as the chain was wound.

A few seconds latter and the Rogue reached down to slam home the bolt that would prevent the chain unwinding once the lever was released. He panted with the exertion and leaned on the handles of the turn, trembling with fatigue. Approaching footfall caught both their attention; there would be no time to rest.

"That was impressive." Serz admired, "Where did you learn that?" He looped an arm around the rogue and hoisted the light man to his feet. The other's body was fiery hot from the strain and breaking out in a fine sheet of sweat. His leathers would need to be washed when this was all over. The rain would refresh him no doubt but he was going to wake up tomorrow aching from head to toe.

"Construction work."

"Being a sneaky-sneaky isn't your first job?" They headed out the back door of the gatehouse and towards the gate. The Warlock made some quick hand gestures and spoke some garbled demonic. Quick magic of something that often took hours or days to perform, such a setting up the demonic circle that formed quickly on the ground behind them, was usually locked in an object of power.

"I wish." Glancing back the Rogue added, "Your not a Warlock."

"That isn't true. I have demons and everything." Smile.

"Misdirection." The elven man pointed towards the gate room and the sound of crashing indicating the door was about to break lose. He dismissed the Warlocks claims, not being one for pointless arguments.

The Warlock smiled. Inside the gate house there came a roar of anger as if the bowls of hell were opened and a minion of the Old Gods had stepped threw. There came loud bangs and crashing, the sound of screaming men. The Rogues snapped around to look at the Warlock.

"My voidwalker," the half-grinning man explained," He's rather… upset… after his long stay in the Nether."

"What did he do?"

The Warlock frowned, "Broke my finest china. Just smashed it all to pieces." At the look he knew the Rogue was giving him threw the mesh of his mask the undead man added, "It's a discontinued pattern! I'll never find replacements."

"You poor thing."

The Warlock huffed, waved his hand in the air to indicate the importance, drops of water flying in every direction, "Pre-Sundering Quel'dorie china. The blue phoenix was limited edition before; it's unheard of now!"

Curiosity overcame the elf, "Scavenged?" There were scarcely any blue, white and gold Quel'dorie artifacts left in the world. The remainder of the High Elves took what they could when they fled Quel'thalas and destroyed the rest. Anything they missed that was worth having had been almost warred over by survivors of the holocaust. How a Forsaken came by an intact set of Alliance blue High Elf anything was a puzzle worth pursuing, even in their current conditions.

The Warlock was quiet for a moment, "It was a gift. Before I died."

The Rogue nodded, the end of that conversation. It was understood that you didn't ask a Forsaken about their pre-dead existence. Kind of like how you don't ask an elven Rogue how he came to have an entirely Human accent without a trace of Thelassian.

The man in question was dropped to the ground by the gate and rolled threw the small opening. Serz Huzad followed, having one of his half-skeletal arms grabbed and being drug threw on his stomach. They were both a muddy mess, but when the gate snapped close seconds latter neither cared.

Both looked up from wiping the worst of the mud clots off to find themselves face to face with a Scourge General and his army. All involved were surprised to see the other there. This was quite an unexpected thing…

"Don't mind us, gentlemen. Just passing threw." The Warlock said with a deep bow and a step to go around.

The Scourge attacked.

~ East Gate ~

Kayas

Kayas' escort stopped abruptly, stealthed as a cat. It was obvious the man was on edge, but she got the feeling he had only recently had an introduction to the art of moving silently. Whenever he heard something he would jerk to a halt, the first instinct was to make sure he had not made the noise himself.

If I were bigger I would carry you so we could get out of here faster. It was a long-standing tradition that larger Druids could and would carry their allies into battle, but Kayas had the feeling she was never going to be that big. The Priest kept calling her a kitten, a term she was coming to hate for its half-truth.

At least it was warmer now. The heat radiating out of the Field of Agony, the magical fire spreading towards the Living Quarters, combated sharply with the chill of the thunderstorm. If there was a tomorrow, Kayas knew, everyone was going to be deathly sick all this. The Banshee Queen was going to have her pick of new bodies.

The fire frightened her, making her creep faster along the ground and past the still man. He whispered after her, trying slow the progress but she blatantly ignored him and kept going. She did not like raging fire; few Kel'dorie did. Fire was hatred and fire was love and fire was death and fire was life. Fire consumed trees and did not care which enemy wielded it against the beloved forests of Kalimdor. Trees the elves would not give up willingly were burnt to the ground if the Orcs got their flaming catapults close enough.

The former Scarlet Warrior was forced to follow lest he lose her paw prints in the downpour. The rain and thunder was thick and loud enough to block out both sight and sound within a few yards. The screaming of the citizens of the compound could be heard from all sides. Mages headed to put out the blaze; Warriors in formation running to the front gate; reserve soldiers being woken to help strengthen defenses on all gates; Priests taking up their posts to work their magic on the Light-made barricade over the compound.

No one noticed the man in the purple and blue tabard or the feline prints left behind in the mud. The Druid had not learned how to disguise her footprints yet. At least the Dark Lady had been wrong about her blighting the ground she walked on. No plants sprung up in her wake, but she suspected that was because here the ground was not looking for an excuse to grow.

The commotion allowed them to slip threw the armory yard at the heart of the compound and threw the farmed fields that took up almost a third of the entire area. The okra was prickly as they jogged threw but the barbs only found leather and guard hairs to cling to and were as quickly falling to the ground with a shake or a gloved hand to wipe them away.

The West Gate loomed before them but soon they discovered over a dozen Warriors and archers lined up in front of it. A mage-priest behind them was arguing with the little girl Kayas had seen in the practice field that day. The little girl was arguing loudly and much as the Druid wanted to hear what she was saying the cracks of thunder were louder.

Finally the mage-priest decided to humor the child and off they went together, headed to the Practice Field. Someone looked to argue with her but the older woman just shook her head and mouthed something akin to "I'll be right back".

"Do you fly?" The leather-clad man inquired of the Druid. Though he was unable to see her in the downpour with her stealth held in place, he was still able to follow her paw prints in the mud.

Unstealthing she shook her head no.

"I though Druids could fly?"

She stared, willing him to not be so dense. It seemed to have worked when he shook his head, as if shaking away some idea that refused to leave. Droplets of water flew in every direction. "Ok, that's going to be a problem. I hadn't anticipated this gate being guarded so heavily."

Shifting into her upright form she hissed at him, "And just what did you anticipate? Them throwing it open and allowing us to walk out? You maybe, but me…?" Her head shook in denial. They would never let her go willingly, not as long as they though she could help them fight the Plague or the Forsaken or the Scourge or Arthas or any other Human problem the denizens of Lordaeron felt like thrusting into the lap of a single Kaldorei girl from Auberdine.

He knelt in the shadows and though for a moment, eyeing the guards and holding his weapon with both hands. "We need to get them away from the gate."

"Why are they even here?"

He was incredulous, "How would I know? I'm not exactly in the loop anymore, remember?"

Kneeling side by side it was easy to glare at each other in the few inches of space between them. Then they turned back to the gate, bigger problems at hand. "A distraction?" The Druid finally offered.

The Rogue want-to-be pointed to the billowing flames leaping into the sky, lighting up a good two-thirds of the enclave, "If that's not going to make them move, nothing will."

Just a moment latter the Mage-Priest arrived, running and out of breath, "He's gone! The Warlock is gone! Mariah went to give him a blanket but he's gone!" Somewhere along the way she had lost both shoes in the mud and the hem of her robes was soaked up to the knee despite the long cloak she wore. It seemed she was only gone a few moments but the Practice Field was quite a ways away.

Several of the Scarlets in the formation cursed. Kayas went stiff as a board when one asked, "And the Druid? Where is she? Where is that jungle cat, whatsitsname, Mowser? Where is Salira?" The list of names came as each was though with barely a pause between them.

They all turned to look at the magic wrought fire leaking black swells of smoke over the Living Quarters. They knew the Commander had taken her there to work on another experiment just moments before all this happened. "Light be damned," one of the men swore and was just as quickly slapped into silence for his blasphemous statement.

Beside the man hiding in the shadows the Druid blanched, wide eyed. Her companion turned to look at her in disbelief. "You did that?" he hissed dropping his head slightly to try to see her face.

She dropped into her feline form so as not to answer and wouldn't look at him.

If Elune forgave one broken promise She can forgive another. Oh Mother Moon…

Standing quickly the former Scarlet stripped his leather headguard and Uncercity tabard, tucked them into the enchanted hip bag and handed the surprised Druid his weapon. Then he strode forward bold as day. It took everything in her for the Druid not to call the power of nature to root the foolish Human into place. The formation of Warriors before him readied weapons and tucked the caster behind them.

"The Living Quarters are in danger," the newcomer bellowed, "all available soldiers are to help evacuate the civilians!" He pointed toward the section in question.

They started at him for a moment, no one among them of sufficient rank to speak for everyone. Finally the Mage-Priest asked, "And who are you?"

"Does it matter?" The Druid wished she could see the look he gave her, "The orphanage is on fire and burns while you ask me stupid questions!" The panic in his voice, feigned or real, caused several of the men to glance in the direction he was pointing. "GO!" The haggard man bellowed. The caster finally took a step away; it was all the excuse the others needed to flee towards the orphanage.

She was the last to leave however, holding some sort of mental ground against this stranger in black, "Who are you? I would give your name to the Commander." Weather that was threat of consequence or promise of reward was unknown.

Even threw his back the Druid saw him smile at the woman, "Give him this from me and tell him he owes Nekov a trade." He reached inside the pouch at his hip, the same which now bore his wadded up tabard and head cover, and withdrew a fat cigar. The woman took it, frowning as if the thing would explode in her hand, and placed it quickly in her own bag. Wet cigars did not smoke well.

The slight hesitation in her movements bespoke the curiosity at such a message. As she turned to go the Druid was certain she saw a slight glimmer of recognition in the woman's eyes. As if she had been trying to place a name to the face and hadn't been able to until her back was turned to the man. The sodden figure headed quickly for the Main Gate, strait to the Commander.

As soon as the spell-flinger was gone Kayas sprinted out of hiding, tossed the man called Nekov his scythe and both bolted into the gatehouse. The wonderful thing about being Plague tainted is that it made you so much stronger than mortals. Well, that or it made you not feel your muscles ripping as you moved things two people should not be able to move alone. It took all the power of her bear form, jaws clamped around the turn and rooting herself in place with each step she took backward to lift the gate.

When Nekov went to slam the bolt home he found it not there. It took more mental reserve than the Druid had to give, in that heart-pounding moment of being so close to escape, to root the lever into place. Had she been better gifted in the art of natural magic she may have been able to make the root tighten and turn the lever for them, opening the gate further. As it was they barely had room to squeeze out, stealthing and sneaking every inch.

When they got outside it was just in time to notice the undead army rushing past on their way to another gate. One of the ghost-eyed skeletons happened to glance over and see the gate cracked. It halted, called out in a strange screaming song. More stopped, skeletal Warriors and rotted casters loping over to investigate.

They were horrid to look at, decaying corpses that had once been Human. Most of them were missing most of their skin and by all rights should not be able to move. Their shambled and unhurried gate bespoke mindlessness, or else a single mind in dozens of different bodies. Rusty weapons and even more rusted and withered armor rattled as they moved towards cracked gate as one.

By Elune, no!

The Druid leapt from the shadows and quickly undid the roots holding the lever. The distance was greater than she'd ever worked roots before…

"What are you doing?" Nekov's shouting caught her attention a second before he slamed her into the wall. A sword meant to kill her barely scraped down her ear, shaving off the finest of hairs but not drawing a drop of blood. It broke her preoccupations with the vines and when the gate came down it didn't come down far enough to prevent someone slipping underneath.

Or for undead hands to lift it with shear force alone and prop it open for a waiting lot to just walk threw.

She was stunned, staring at the soft white eyes of the undead man. He loomed towards her again, raised the two-handed greatsword up-

Nekov exploded in a flurry of movement, raining sharp blows with the black scythe. He may as well have wielded half a dozen longswords for how many pieces he made of the walking carcass. Kayas had seen Rogues and Warriors and Hunters learn their weapons, had watched them fight and practice, but never had she seen someone who was absolutely untrained in the military use of a weapon wield it so precisely.

Before she could speak he turned to her, "You stupid girl!" The hook of the scythe was dripping gore and the black ooze the undead had in place of blood.

"I couldn't let them inside!" She slapped him across the face to snap him out of whatever raging stupor he was in. Warriors often had to be knocked senseless to stop them berserking or bring them down out of that heated battle rage. "The Dark Lady-"

"The Queen didn't send them: Arthas did!"

Kayas understood then. Really understood. She had not though they would attack her because the undead in Tirisfal Glade belonged to the Dark Lady and the Dark Lady wanted her alive. How wrong she had been…. And Nekov had just saved her life and afterlife.

The rotting dozens before them stopped, the smell of death and decay permeating the air in a decidedly different way than the undead Forsaken smelled. One single collective continence shimmered threw all their sets of ghost-white eyes. Finally one of their number, bigger and viler than the rest, stepped forward, pointed to the Druid.

"The Master wants that one. I shall deliver."

"Oh, fel no!" Kayas and Nekov swore at the same time - battle cries in their own languages - while shifting into their respective battle stances.

The Scourge attacked.