~*~ Chapter 42 ~*~
~ Main Gate ~
Salira
The rush of blood was not a sound in her ears so much as a reality of her surroundings. It spilled downward into the rain and despair, running in rivers threw the scaffolding that scaled the insides of the main wall. The wounded drug themselves away from the stampede of feet and waited their turn with one of the healers; few as there were to do that particular job. A few had given over to insanity, screaming out their rebuke of the Light that their lives should end like this after they had already survived so much.
Death is never pretty in Tirisfl Glades – not in these recent years – it never comes and leaves a being with their dignity intact when it goes. The stench of the dead on the wall melded with the smell of the swollen, rotten meat of the undead out in the darkness. Behind the sheets of rain and just out of reach of the Light the Dark Lady's black arrows proved to be more troublesome than any one archer should be able to produce.
Salira Porter returned to the wall - to the fighting - with news from the Field of Agony. The entire area was consumed with magical fire; it spread to the buildings there, escaping threw the tunnels and was now coming up in other sections of the compound. Worse were the flying rumors the spirits of the dead traitors who had been brought to the Light's justice were feeding the fires.
Every now and again merciless winds shifted direction, bringing smoke to their eyes and their lungs. In the blackness that followed they were forced to squat down and wait it out. The first few times the smoke came and went the lives of archers or Priests went with it. The Banshee Queen didn't need to blink threw the irritation; she was quit capable of finding her mark in the dark.
There were half a dozen undead with the former Ranger now. Dark Priests who shielded their Queen with shadow energy. Since the arrow that found it's mark the undead Queen hadn't moved an inch to advance, dodge or retreat. She simply stood and massacred from afar. Two of her Shadow Priests were not as lucky. Their incinerated husks lay not far away.
One of them had been Salira's work, much to everyone's surprise – least of all her own.
"Commander!" The disembodied voice was screaming over the din of thunder, fire and whipping rain. "The Warlock is gone!"
This got their attention. Commander strode over and helped the Mage-Priest up the last few steps, but they were swiftly ordered to keep firing. There was blood on her feet from the swift travels. No doubt the fancy slippers her ilk were like to wear had been sucked off her feet as she fled threw the muck.
"Say now, what has happened?" The one-eyed man demanded as he held the woman by her shoulders.
In place of an answer she reached into her bag and brought out a thick cigar, "Nekov says he owes you a trade. The Warlock, Druid and the jungle cat are also gone."
Which of this news struck the Commander silent was hard to say. Snatching the cigar from the huffing woman he strode over the length of the wall and threw it down into the darkness, "I'll have your head, you witch! Turning my own men against me!" The bellow was met with a fresh peel of thunder from advancing lighting that lit up the black length as it tumbled threw the air.
Down on the ground the Banshee Queen watched the tiny object fall. Blinking over she caught it, grinned, dropped it and was back under her Priest's shields in seconds. Where she had been a moment before was now riddled with arrows. They blinked out as the Light infusing them was recalled. The archers were diligent, if anything.
"Not if I have yours first." The voice coming from behind the Commander surprised everyone. The Mage-Priest shrieked and leapt backward, only to find herself slipping on blood and falling from the top of the scaffolding. A quick word to the Light made the feather in her pocket feed an ancient magic spell… she floated gently to the ground.
From behind the Commander the Banshee Queen gave a short shove and the man was balanced on the edging of the wall faster than anyone could move. One more shove and he would land right where Nekov's message had.
That is until a flurry of movement and the Banshee Queen doubled over in pain. She took the attack to the ground with her: the apprentice Priest who had been Lighting Salira's arrows. That quick sucker punch to the gut, filled with all the righteous fury she could muster, caught the Scourged elf off guard.
"I did not expect that," the undead Queen commended. A slight lightening of the malicious glow in her eyes caused the Priest to struggle away. Even so, she was lifted from her feet by those undead hands and thrown headfirst screaming over the edge of the wall. When the Dark Lady let go one hand came away bloody. It was a long fall into the night for an apprentice Priest inept at levitation spells. Forced to hear that scream suddenly cut short as the meat hit the ground the others on the wall went ridged. "I think I'd like her on my side."
Salira was horrified, mouth hanging open inside her helmet, tears mixing with storm water to run down her chainmail. Whatever she and the Dark Lady had shared in the woods was gone now, evaporated like so much kindling to the hungry fire that spread behind them.
Twin summons from two different voices caught their attention. "Commander!YourMagesty!" Up on the battlements there was no room to fire arrows lest friend kill friend. Over the edge of the wall a Rogue materialized, an elfin man dressed crown to softly booted tow in faded black leather and smelling richly of cheap moonshine. A woman climbing the scaffolding three stairs at a time was chasing him up the wall.
"Yourcommandermagesty!"
"One at a time!" The Commander bellowed with a slam of his broad axe on the stone nearest him. Sparks flew, raining down over Salira and causing her to jump away even further. Her heart was racing, wondering which one of the straining archers, all of their dozens of arrows Lit and pointed in a neat glowing circle around the Scourged Queen in their midst, would lose their nerve or their strength and let the first arrow slip. "You!" the commander pointed at the woman who had come with his news.
"Commander, sir! The Scourge is at the East gate!" The large woman's huffing caused the next sentence to come out broken, "We don't know why but the guards we set there are all gone, abandoned it or … I don't know but they're breaking threw!"
Angry eye snapped around to glower at the Banshee Queen, teeth gnashing and spittle flying as he opened his mouth to condemn the already damned woman. The Rogue cut him off.
"Your Magesty! The Scourge are at the East gate. I vanished and got away but the Warlock – Serz or Sean or whateverhisnameis – he's still there!" The normal calm of his class was betrayed by the panic in his voice. Salira noted the accent was neither Darnasian nor Thelassian. It was purely Human and judging by the dialect she pegged him for Andorhal. Strange.
"Shadows of Darkness, damn him to the seven hells and back again!" The exasperated Queen exclaimed, making fists of her supple leather-clad hands. The spiked tips glittered in the Light of the arrows. "Did they know?"
Having so many eyes on him made the Rogue back to the edge of the wall and poise himself to leap off if necessary. "No, Magesty. We caught them off guard." No one doubted his ability to survive the fall.
The Dark Lady straitened, mind already whirling with military strategy. She was a genius after all. "Nekof and my Druid?"
"Can't say." The covered head shook and then sagged a little with unspoken regret, "Came strait to you."
The Mage-Priest had finally made it back to the top of the scaffolding, knocked aside by the previous woman on her way to herald the Scourge's arrival. "The one you call Nekof-" huff-huff "he sent the guards of the West gate off to the Living Quarter to evacuate the civilians away from the flames. I'm guessing they will be headed to Cathedral Square."
The Commander sputtered a second again and then roared, "By the Light, woman!"
Cathedral Square, as they all knew, was the section of the compound that also housed the West Gate. Surely, Salira wondered, he though he could escape before they got back. Surely he didn't open the gate and let them threw on purpose. Surely… She had know Cid Edgar well in her time in the Scarlet Campaign, had been a friend of his and had even gotten his transfer to her compound approved when they had shipped him out of the Monastery just the year before. He wouldn't say why but when he had found out about the Monastery Massacre he had hugged her and thanked her for getting his transfer approved.
That was the last time she had seen him. To think he was here, alive, in the enclave after the things that had been said about him…
The Banshee Queen raised a finger and pointed it at the Commander accusingly, "The Light has failed you again, Commander. The Holy Shield around this place has been gone for more than half an hour and the Scourge have come a-calling. Someone up your chain of command has betrayed you; your Priests belong to Arthas."
Apparently the commander had not stopped to wonder how the Banshee Queen had been able to get threw the Light barrier in the first place. She was there on his wall after all and by all accounts… should not be. Slowly his neck craned around to look at the nearest Priest.
Everything became a blur of motion. In less time than it took to determine who was friend and foe the Priests along the wall all screamed the name of their prince and let lose on the living with devastating shadow magic. The cry was echoed across the entire compound as hundreds of other Priests did the same.
In the end the only living things left on the wall were those who would take to their graves the images of the Scarlet Commander and the Banshee Queen fighting back to back to bring down their uncommon foe.
Some things are better left out of history books. Makes for bad patriotism.
~ East Gate ~
Serz Huzad
Warlock was not surprised that the Rogue vanished and left him there alone. What were two or three-dozen armored fighters compared to a paltry excuse of a Warlock in bloodstained and torn robes? Know fear!
Yes, correct. I am not Corrosa.
Out of the shadows bellowed a cacophony of noises. The term shadow was relative though; the entire place was lit up by the blaze. The trees still cast shadows however and from these came shrieks and hoots, animal calls and the wailing cries of the risen dead.
The Scourge turned to face the noise, dismissing the lone Warlock as a threat and was met with far worse foe. Sylvanas' Angels poured out of the night in a whirlwind of yellow glowing eyes and light refracting sharpness. An enormous black panther attired for battle and a Night Elf in form-fitted green Quel'dorie styled hunting leathers led the assault.
The Scourge general had the audacity to laugh. That was his mistake. The hesitation gave the Forsaken children the upper hand in the attack. If the Scourge though their small statue meant they were slower or weaker - they were quickly corrected.
The first wave slipped amongst them like so much sand threw the cracks of a deck. Hands snatched and weapons swung, but one consciousness slowed the movements of so many hands. The children filtered threw until they flanked the Warlock. Caspin and Mr. Meows slipped around to stop their advance on the road and a row of children winding up spells cut off any retreat. There would be no advancing or retreating to another gate: it was fight or die. Die – like shadows – being a relative term.
In seconds they were surrounded.
In those few seconds the Warlock wrought a demonic circle, out of which an enormous demon came to stand before them. It towered over the children like a giant amongst ants. Almost as tall as the gate itself the fel-bent guardian demon had one thing on his mind: the blood pact the Warlock had promised him the first time he had been tempted from the Nether.
"Do not waste my time lesser creature!" The demon boomed glancing down at the tiny husk of a man by his ankle.
"Tel'eshel is a waste of your time, Joogun?"
The ember glow in the demons eyes brightened, "I have little need of an incubus." He slurred the word is if such demons were far inferior to his own breed.
The Warlock grinned lecherously, "Perhaps not a need, but a want I am told. And told in detail-"
With a cry of battle lust – as much to silence the Warlock as to rouse the attention of his enemies – the fel guard sprang forward; bringing his enormous two-handed axe up and slicing the General clean in two. The head was neatly cleaved before the body even crumbled.
"Five minutes for ever head you bring me; is that worth your time?"
A grunt answered him as the axe came down to sever the arm of a Scourged food soldier. The soldier's sword was lodged in the Nether-forged armor enchasing the demon's thighs.
The children on the other side froze the advancing enemies in place and were lighting them up like so many tapers on a window sill come Hallow's End. They laughed and giggled to see the skeletons pulling their own legs apart in an attempt to attack. When they had no feet to walk they crawled. This brought no end of entertainment as the children leap circles around them and continued to break them apart with ice and engulf their heads in fire.
Caspin and Mr. Meow did not fair as well. Where dozens of children had the magic of ice and fire and numbers to keep their enemies at range and finish them off there was only the single boy and his cat. Or was it a single cat and his boy? The Warlock wondered at times.
The Kaldorei seemed to be following the great feline's plans of action. First the cat rushed forward, dodging blows from axe and sword, claws lashing out and coming away with tangles of rusted mail, then he slunk back and made them chase while the Scout rained down black arrows. When four of the Scourge lay in crumbled heaps, shadow-infused arrows sticking out of their brains, the undead caught on. Kill the boy, not the cat. They rushed in to do just that.
Apparently mindless zombies can be taught!
The children flanking Warlock sprang forward, coming up behind the Scourge who had turned on the Scout and made use of their sharp and shinnies, as they called their small dirks and short swords and axes. The first three of Arthas' minions to fall had that third of the company swinging back around to face off against the children.
Joogun was merrily chopping away as if the dry corpses before him were so much firewood. Much as he would complain about having to do work for his Master, he dearly loved to massacre. And yes, in his opinion, the undead were as capable of being massacred as the living. As long as he made someone miserable at the end of the day, did it matter what he or she was?
All he did was done for Tel'eshel, that incubus whom he was sure the Warlock though he must have some attraction too. In truth the lesser being owed him blood and he intended to collect. Five minutes for every head? All he needed was five minutes and he would bleed the creature half-dry and let him beg for something in return for the rest of what Joogun intended would be a very long time together.
Some demons needed to be taught their place.
"Caspin!" Serz called over the crack of frozen bone, the crunch of shattered ribs, the delighted squeals of children and roar of the panther, "Boy, now- go to the West Gate! Warn them!"
Without a hesitation the Scout was gone, vanishing into the shadows and was just gone. Mr. Meows eyes glowered at the Warlock but he resisted following. The sword that scraped across the armor protecting his spine caused the seething beast to bite the hand that owned it and twisted to pop it cleanly of the wrist.