~*~ Chapter 50 ~*~
The Banshee Queen smiled in satisfaction. "Finally," she said to the willing Scarlet warrior, "Someone with sense at last. My deathguards have secured a section of the compound. Surviving Scarlet fighters are being taken to that area and quarantined." She indicated the section between them and the main gate, "It is more important right now to get them fighting for us: they will not follow a Forsaken commander. You will go and inform them of our position and ensure their cooperation. They are your soldiers now."
Though the look of her suggested she'd rather be taking orders than giving them, Salira shouted, "Ma'am," saluted while pulling on her helmet. Running off to locate her new charges, her red and white form vanished through smoke and cinder.
"Pity she's lost the stomach for command," the undead elf commented to the commander, "Even you can see the potential, yes?" The commander only stared at the space where the woman had been but ignored the Dark Lady's audacious remark. "Don't look so glum; I highly doubt you'd have wanted to lead Forsaken troops. I wouldn't trust you not to put them on the front line as cannon fodder anyway." Which they both knew is exactly what he would have done; unliving bodies as meat shields to protect the living.
Thunder, drizzling rain, the sizzle of shadow powers. The heat of magic fed fire. The screams of enraged Scourge, the flow of the Light that would bring them death. The prayers of civilians, the tears of children and the sound of metal slamming… slamming… slamming…
The wall crumbled again. More. A little more.
The Dark Lady studied the sounds for a moment, "Pay attention everyone, I have assignments for you all. You," she turned to the Druid, "have one job: stay alive. Stay out of the battle and preserve your own life." Kayas opened her mouth to reject these orders but the Dark Lady's voice grew louder. "You, warlock and you, " she indicated the single archer, the warlock and the scout, "keep the gargoyles away from our spell casters. Can you do that?" She was more than a commander, this one. She was a Queen now, but standing as the only line of defense between the living and the dead once again. Tall and imposing, she issued orders with ease, "Nekov, Commander Hillburn, and the Razor Wing Angels (3), I'm making it your job to guard that druid and keep her safe. At. All. Costs." This time she would not play it safe. "All adults capable of fighting will wait until the first wave has come and loot whatever weapons and armor you can. You are young and old and hardly trained to fight, but you will have to fight. Try not to die." This time she would use every arrow in the quiver. "Mage-priest and my Frostfire Angles, you're to slow their advance where you can and hit them hardest where they come in groups." Every single arrow.
The mage-priest was looking around for the Forsaken spell casters when a tug at her dress caught her attention. She glanced down. The Quel'dorie child looked up at her with glowing eyes, skin icy to the touch and smiled. The woman paled and shrieked, jumping back. The elfin undead's smile melted and she took a step back. Children gave their trust quickly if they have to, but just ask quickly it can be taken back.
"Oh, by the Light! By the Light!"
"The Light didn't save me," one of the other caster children said, "It won't save you either. Better the Dark Lady than the Lich King. Trust us on that."
Sinking to her knees the woman tried to look the rotting children in the face, many of them only have partial faces themselves, "R-right then. What's the plan…?" They closed around her in an instant and she was lost in small magical bodies.
The commander and Nekov were arguing with each other while the Razor Wing children looked on and waited. Grown-ups talk too much; they didn't know when to just follow orders.
"I think we should get her to another section of the compound!" The commander was a commander after all, not used to having his orders questioned. There had been a system of checks and balances in the Scarlet High Command. It was gone now, dying with the Archbishop, burning in the magic-wrought fire, replaced in the hearts of the Scarlet priests by another of the Lich King's fabled promises.
"No! She stays here where the Queen can keep an eye on her during the battle!" Nekov's slavish devotion to his lady was apparent; he wanted to make sure the Queen's interests were not thwarted by any random priest they may cross paths. Keeping her in sight would also ensure the commander did not try to spirit her away should Nekov be incapacitated.
The commander reached out to slap some cooperation into Nekov but the warrior-rogue ducked and kicked him in the stomach. The commander hardly budged, so heavy was his armor. Nekov's foot on the other hand… "That stupid rogue! When I get my hands on him-!"
"Maybe latter, sweetness," the Banshee Queen purred, that heat back in her eyes as she slanted a sideways look at him, "but for now Michael's in charge. He's a professional, after all." She left out what exactly he excelled at, which would make him ideal to lead the Druid's bodyguard, but as one of the children turned sharply to the commander there would no doubt who Michael was.
The red-haired child couldn't have been more than ten; dressed neck to deck in silver ring mail enchanted into silence, "Right!" the little boy said, all stiff spined and serious. "Fall in line, men!" Nekov and the commander stared at him for only a split second before a rather impressive two-handed sword was unsheathed from his back and pointed at their manly bits, "This is my sword. Her name is Shaver. Want me to tell you how she got that name?"
Nekov and the commander placed hands in the air in compliance, shaking heads vigorously. The undead child beamed at their sudden cooperation. He squatted down and the rest of the Razor Wings crowded around. He started drawing lines in the mud with one meatless finger. A few seconds latter he glanced up at the adults and tilted his head. Glancing at each other they turned back to their new commander and sank down into the mud with the others. "We're going to start by getting to know each other. When I point to you I want you to say where you're from, your name and tell us a little something about yourself…"
Meanwhile, Caspin, the archer and Serz were deep into their own conversation. A quick lesson on gargoyle anatomy from the warlock was winding up as Caspin finished installing a rather impressive scope on the archer's Standard Issue Scarlet Longbow (2). When the archer confessed to having cat allergies Mr. Meows took an obligatory step back but mewled when he could no longer hear the conversation. The warlock cast a voice amplification spell and the cat quieted. Serz didn't even stop in his sentence, though a range on his spell was added when the Frosfire and the Razor Wing leaders looked up at once and glared.
"So… you have demons?" The archer balked at having to team with one of the Scourge-tainted Forsaken, let alone a blaspheming warlock. If it was this or wait to die he would take the warlock, even if the white priestess didn't like him.
Serz smiled friendly, "I seem to be out of demons at the moment."
"What? Really?" The Night Elf and Forsaken continued their discussions. It was clear they didn't expect much out of him; even the cat had his opinion solicited first. The archer sulked but, through practice, said nothing. Forsaken or Scarlet, it didn't matter. If it came down to her or him he'd take her any day of the week. At least she was easy on the eyes, and Cigar liked her so that meant he would too, right? Right?
The Banshee Queen, firmly afoot now that her mount no longer understood her command, traveled from group to group learning each plan and relaying it to other groups. One of her black and red clad warriors, a commander in his own right, was put in charge of organizing the civilians. At least he would have if not for the shrieks of protest emanating from the children as he drew close. They scattered like chickens at the approach of the walking corpse. The Scarlet commander took exception of this "harassment of his lay persons" and threatened to end the scraggly man if he took one more step.
"Do be serious," the Forsaken Queen snapped in annoyance, "we've no time for games. Commander Surnamehere has the most experience interacting with the living of all my troops inside the compound."
The one-eyed commander frowned, humphed and looked back at the Forsaken, "What's your name, again?"
The undead commander's voice was smooth with use, "Firstnamehere Surnamehere." The accent was mildly Arathian, possibly from the Highlands, if not the foothills of the mountains. Judging by the look on his face, which was well preserved for an obviously older undead, he was serious.
The Scarlet commander shook his head and spat, "Let me lead my people. Put him in charge of the druid. At least then I'm not taking orders from whelps."
The Banshee Queen cocked her head and crossed her arms. A small tug at the corner of the commander's cape made him look down. The undead child, Michael, was looking up at him with large glowing yellow eyes. "Sir," he said in all childlike innocence, "I'm 20 years older than you and a veteran of war before you were a wet spot on you mother's loins."
The child leapt away as the commander swung a fist at his face. He landed neatly to one side and had Shaver unsheathed in a heartbeat. The sudden appearance of the undead Queen between them stopped the altercation, "Really, commander? I understand your aversion to working with those of our race, but must you insult and make injury with every single one of us before the day is done? I see you retiring to some shore in Tanaris when all of this is over."
"Gladly, woman. Gladly! But my demand still stands; I want to command my own lay person and let that thing be ordered around by… him."
"No." The tall elf was no longer in a congenial mood. It may have something to do with the growing sound of crumbling stone and rallying cries of the Scourge outside, "Suck it up. Your laypersons need to understand that this battle is not Scarlet versus Forsaken, but Loarderon versus the Scourge. Being commanded by a Forsaken will accomplish this better than allowing their own to command them." The civilians did not like the sound of that, but upon the final realization their commander no longer commanded they looked to their new commander with apprehension and fear.
The Forsaken commander rounded up his new troops much like a wolf rounds up sheep and herded them into one area to being instruction. The children were pressed tightly into the center, but they neither concerned the commander nor warranted his attention. His stratagem was to go over the basics of fighting for people who had never picked up a sward or staff before. "First, aim for the head. Anything else is your hide; don't expect to have me come rescue you because you hit the helmet or the throat and now it has you by the firos (1)."
The Scarlet commander had sulked and went back to Nekov, Michael and the Razor Wing. They were now spread out in a semi-circle around the Druid. She was being guarded under an awning of what used to be a relic shop of some kind. The relics were all packed up for the night, but at least it afforded a tiny bit of shelter from the rain. The striped canopy leaked and the ground was sodden, but at least when she pushed some of the relic boxes off the shelves her emaciated form could huddle there and not have to stand in water. She stealthed, watched and waited.
Watching these exchanges take place, the little Druid finally understood why the Dark Lady was splitting everyone up and it was exactly as she had said: they need to understand that they cannot fight each other while they are fighting him: they must be united as a single cohesive unit. Therefore she had done her best to mix both the living with the undead – with the Forsaken – to ensure they would rely on and work with each other. That's brilliance or madness, I really cannot decide.
A minute latter the familiar pattering sound of many feet running threw the mud drew the little druid's attention. The Banshee Queen, the Scarlet commander and Serz took notice as well and moments latter Salira and her new troops poured in threw the gate. Most of them were covered in blood and every one of the living amongst them were injured somehow. Most of the injuries were magic wrought and cauterized; obvious survivors of someone flinging powerful searing shadow magic.
Salira's arrival got everyone's attention and she approached the Dark Lady quickly, saluted with a shaking gauntlet-clad hand and removed her helm. Her brown hair, which had been in a ponytail just minutes before, was down now and lose inside the steel cap. Hasty fingers brushed the damp strands out of the way. "Ma'am, 22 surviving Scarlets were found; 20 fighters, one lay person. Of your own troops there are 15 warriors, 3 mages and one … "cleric" left. The rest of all the combined fighters are dead or very, very good at hiding."
The Banshee Queen regarded the Scarlet woman for a moment, "Twenty-two surviving Scarlets were found? And yet ten fighters and one lay person equals twenty-one. The last one…?"
Salira took a deep breath, eyes focused on the Queen in front of her while her mind worked out what to do with the bit of information she had. Give it to the Forsaken or keep it for the Scarlet? Decisions, decisions…. While she came to her conclusion the Banshee Queen waited in all patience for her to decide to trust her with the information. Trust was very, very important to the outcome of the battler, after all.
In the end she caved, never being one to keep secrets from the higher ups, "The twenty-second is a priestess, your Majesty. A Scarlet priestess."
~* End Notes *~
(1) Firos – Dwarven word for "balls".
(2) Standard Issue Scarlet Longbow: Chance on hit to burn the enemy for holy damage equal to 10% of the archer's current level of Faith. Higher levels of Bow Skill (or Desperation) greatly increases proc rate. How do you measure health in the real world? "Well, your liver is fine, therefore your bow will produce damage equal to a second degree burn?" Sounds legit.
(3) Guild names: Razor Wing is the melee guild; Frostfire is the spell caster guild. Michael is in charge of the Razor Wing Angels and the Queldorie child is in charge of the Frostfire Angels. The Queldorie has a name but that's in another chapter.