~* Author's Notes *~
More condensed writing. Each of the major events in this chapter could have been chapters of their own. I am trying to stay true to my outline without spending another 30 chapters on this one section of story.
This story has three titles because it is three chapters rolled into one.
~*~ Chapter 59 ~*~
"We have to get out, now!" The Scout grabbed her arm and ran for the hole in the wall. Arrows and magic flew every which way as Scourge and the new allies of Loarderon clashed in combat. Following the Scout, she dodged the Commander and bowled Nekov completely over before righting herself and going about her way. The Scout swung his bow down and clocked the black-clad warrior on the back of the head hard enough to set his stars spinning, then booked it out the opening. In front of him the druid and behind him the angry wails of both Scourge and the Banshee Queen.
This had not been part of the plan.
The little druid ran into the night, away from the fire and towards the densest, darkest part of the woods. Wet sod sponged under tailored red leather boots as she raced forward tearing at the terrain to put distance between herself and the accusing, hellish flaming fortress. Good bye, Scarlet and Forsaken and Scourge and everything in between. One singular though focused on her mind: getting away from the fighting. She had enough to death and dying for one night.
She was no one's pawn, least of all a bunch of humans and High Elves elves who didn't even live on her own continent. She would take the priest and all his misplaced intentions over anything that walked or crawled through the Eastern Kingdoms.
"Druid, watch out!" Almost too late does she realize they are being followed. The Scout's warning call brings her back to a bigger picture: namely the pounding of horse hooves not far behind her. Stopping suddenly, she spins close to the ground and crouches, ready to strike. She stares down the hellish warhorse, hand on the only weapon at her disposal – the vial of moonwell water which still hung from her throat. If you only knew what I could do with this, you would not be so bold.
The necromancer brought her mount to a halt faster than a living mount might stop. "Master has bade me get him a druid and I shall obey!"
"You've lost," the Scout said, bringing himself between necromancer and the other kaldorei, "The fortress is gone, your army destroyed and not a single new undead brought to your cause. Leave now and I may let you live."
The incredulous young woman just laughed at him, ugly scars on her face showing starkly against her yellowed skin. Once she had been a plain girl, but now she certainly would never be pretty.
"How about you volunteer to come with me and I will spare your friend the fate of becoming undead, yes?" She spoke to the scout. A quick look passed between both elves.
She doesn't know I'm the druid. How can she not know?
"How about you can keep whoever you can catch, hm?" With that the scout shot off down one trail, leaving tow bewildered females in his wake. Quicker than the other figured it out the druid took off down a separate trail. The glow of the warhorses eyes faded behind her as the necromancer turned her mount towards the path of the Scout and gave chase.
Idiot. Female kaldorei have been allowed into the ranks of the druids for decades now. Where are you from that you do not know this? (1)
Shifting into her feline form she sought the denser part of the woods. Crawling silently through the underbrush she stealthed herself and crept towards the smell of seawater. She endeavored to find a dock somewhere along the shore from which to find a boat and take it home. Even a small craft boat would do – her mother had been an expert sailor, teaching her daughters all about the seacraft and sail. Human made ships were different from the elegant elfin longboats, but the concepts were the same. The druid had confidence in her ability to figure it out.
How long she traveled, and certainly in no strait line, she simply followed the lulling feeling of ocean currents to their source. It was night, moon casting a pale light through overhanging rain clouds. The rain itself was all but stopped, just sprinkling here and there. The flaming fortress was now a couple miles away at least, though still a beacon in the night, with black soot-clouds rolling wide and long into the dark sky. How the scout was faring was first on her mind, though she was not sorry the necromancer had went after him. Elune guide me to safety.
As if her words were said aloud and that prayer answered she found herself on a trail. It was old, seldom used – at least by anything bigger than a deer or dog – and mostly overgrown. The narrow path lead steadily up a hill. Curiosity overcame her. Certainly the landscapes in the Plaguelands and Tirisfal Glade were spotted with abandoned buildings and this one was no exception. As the path came out of the woods into a clearing the burned down shell of a house appeared. A fire which had burned out years before left behind blackened poles of wood jutting towards the sad sky and fire cracked rocks where the foundation lay. A path winding up to the front door was almost overgrown with weeds. Someone had been happy here once, but all which remained was the ghost of better times.
Oddly enough the trees did no encroach here. Having been to her share of ruins the little druid knew the first thing which usually turns a home into ruins is natural disasters and the second is the flora. Vines grow up to crumble the stones and trees grow in with roots that break foundations into rubble. Within a generation even the biggest stamps that humanity can put upon the land begins to recede back into the earth. The land is in a perpetual state of renewal, swallowing up everything we throw at it and constantly regenerating towards a pristine state.
She is exploring the outside of the house when a sound breaks her solice. Turning she sees several mindless undead coming through the underbrush. When she broke stealth her living scent must have carried on the wind, alerting all the free-ranging minions of the Lich King to her location. Slowly the come, lumbering along like ones who have no place better to be, but steadily. First one, then a second, then a ninth and finally. How had so many followed her? Surely they could not have come so fast; she had seen none when coming up the trail.
A hiss comes over the wind, coming from the side of the house which faces the ocean. "Druid! Over here!" Rounding on four paws the feline rounds the edge of the house – and stops short. On the far side of the clearing, as far away from the house as she can get without backing herself down the cliff face, she finds Salira Porter. Broad purple and green shield in one hand and glowing black and red ax in the other, the Scarlet warrior stands over several undead who have already met a grizzly fate.
Shifting out of her feline form the druid runs over, "What in Elune's grace are you doing here? With children!" Dozens of fearful, wide-eyed faces peered up at her from the bushes. The druid realized that instant that the undead had not followed her alone: they had been following the children since they left the compound.
"Where else can I go? Where can I take them that is safe? All of Tirisfall belongs to the undead and the last Scarlet stronghold has fallen." The desperation in the aging young woman's face showed in her eyes most of all. The narrow bands of hair above them had already gone gray and in the moonlight the white in her brown hair shone clearly. Here stood a woman who had been through too much and was one her last leg.
Kayas looked around, trying to find some path our or some shelter. "Get them inside the ruins, at least. Their scent is being blown everywhere and the undead are coming for miles." Reaching out to take one of the children her hand was grabbed by the Scarlet woman.
"No. I'm not going inside that house, and neither are they. Nothing good ever happened to anyone who stepped foot in that place. It's coursed."
Incredulous the druid pulld her hand back, "I don't care about your silly local legends, I mean to keep the children-"
"They aren't going inside!"
"Then what do you expect is going to happen to them? How many undead can you put down in one fight? Will they lift an ax to help you-"
"Don't." There was pain in her voice, tears in her eyes, wrinkles where there had been none before. "Don't talk to me of children fighting. I cannot bear it."
Confusion marred the druid's features. She pointed to the flaming fortress, "The Dark Lady has children who fight just fine." If she though that would win her the argument she was wrong.
The sorrowful woman let one tear go before brushing the rest from her eyes. "Yes," she said, "she does have children. She has dozens of children. They learned how to fight very well..."
"...And it was not your fault." Turning sharply Salira and Kayas both landed in ready positions before relaxing. The Razorwing stepped out of the bushes, led by Michael. Carefully he covered the distance between himself and the Scarlet woman. "We though you would come here. You did last time you wanted to keep the children safe. We took care of the bigger undead, but there are dozens more coming. They cannot fight, but we can."
The silence between the heartsick warrior and the unsure warrior was broken when several more RazorWing ventured into the clearing. Now that they were outside the compound and away from the Dark Lady there wasn't an assurance the Scarlet warrior wouldn't turn on them. Michael volunteered to test the theory and still had his head so more came forward.
"Right," Salira said after gathering her thoughts, "and what happens next?"
"I wouldn't dream of giving orders to you, Porter. You were a commander once; you would be a commander again."
Grieft shook her voice, "I failed. You and yours, of all people, should know that!"
"We are keenly aware of your shortcomings, but make no mistake, they are a lot less than you think. Certainly far less than others who chose lap-dog service to the Scarlets marmots. We were outnumbered last time, with no weapons and no training. This time..."
We? The druid felt like a third wheel who was eves dropping on intimate conversation.
The Frostfire band of ice and fire mages came pouring into the clearing and quickly destroyed the weak mindless undead. "This time," said the Quel'dorie child, a wicked glint in her glowing yellow eyes, "we win."
~ End Notes ~
(1). Answer to this question is in the side story, "Of Death Knights and Necromancers".