I took a break from this story to focus on schoolwork. Thanks to that break, I managed to bring home a 4.0 this semester, bringing my cumulative GPA for the year up to a 3.53. I thank you for your patience, and humbly ask forgiveness.
This installment is a link in the chain, I suppose you could call it. A stepping stone. It's not the most exciting chapter, but I do hope that it will shed some light on the characters I'm working with, here. That, after all, is my most important job as a writer. To make these people live, and breathe, and think.
For those of you who are enjoying this story, and want to see some of my original work with fantasy settings, might I suggest keeping an eye on my new Facebook profile (look for the "Iced Blood" from Lodi, CA). I am posting daily updates to a new blog, "The Cottage at the Edge of Forever," and each update is posted on that profile. This project is dedicated to original fiction with a bend toward the fantastic, and were this story not fanfiction, it would fit right in.
If you decide to take a look, thank you very much. I hope that you enjoy it, and that you enjoy this installment.
See you next time.
"I will have you watch over this boy while we attend to the king," Sylvanne said to Kayli, who was disciplined enough to hide her discomfort at such an arrangement. "It would do you well, I think, to spend time with this face of blasphemy. Perhaps you will see what my brother has seen, and what I well intend to see."
"I am being punished," Kayli murmured.
"Think of it as such if you like," Sylvanne said, waving a hand. "I have done what I can to curb his sickness. The plague has a surprisingly soft grip on him, though it runs deep." She turned to Olrec. "From what I understand, undeath usually falls upon its victims like a wave. In this boy, it seems content to creep up his legs like an inching tide."
Olrec blinked. "Ye sense this?" he asked.
"I do."
The dwarf's brow knitted in study as he regarded the elfling, who was lying unconscious in a sea of pillows. Sylvanne had taken him back to the room where she was staying, at the Gilded Rose, and had surrendered her bed to him. Olrec had used every gift he possessed, every bit of knowledge he had ever learned, and had not sensed such a thing as this fledgling priestess had.
"Where is my brother?" Sylvanne asked.
"Tryin' ter clean 'imself up," Olrec replied, grinning. "Ne'er met a king afore."
Sylvanne chuckled. "You would not know from his habits, but he comes from…shall we say, noble stock. Our father is one of Ashenvale's most well-regarded officials. Our mother is renowned in the Cenarion Circle."
"…That so?"
"Indeed." Her smile widened. "Perhaps we should check on him?" She turned her attention back to Kayli. "You understand what must be done? He must be brought up to eat and drink regularly. The sickness burns through whatever nutrition we might give him. We have no choice but to outrun it."
Kayli nodded, looking grim. "I will do as you ask, Mistress."
Sylvanne beamed at her. "Well and good. Thank you." She regarded Olrec as she stepped over to the doorway.
They found Sythius in an adjacent room, staring bewildered into a mirror and struggling to shave the thick, not-quite-beard stubble on his face. A number of razors lay scattered (and broken) about the giant's feet. He had cut himself a number of times already, and as they watched, he nicked the end of his chin, growled, shook his head, and snapped the damnable instrument clean in half.
He stared down at his hand, looking—as he almost always did—like a wild animal taught to walk on two limbs; frustrated and pitiful. Sylvanne stepped inside. "Brother," she said, and he turned to look at her. "Might we assist you?"
Sythius growled, which might have been assent. It could just as easily have been a warning.
Olrec let out a low, deep chuckle. "A regular savant, lad. 'At's just what ye are."
Together, the two healers managed to right the innumerable wrongs crisscrossing over the lower half of the druid's face. Olrec, no stranger to thick hair, managed to work Sythius's mane into submission, and Sylvanne fixed his clothing. He wouldn't pass as the nobleman their father would have wanted him to be, but he did cut a striking figure, and had the unmistakable bearing of a soldier.
As they were preparing to leave, the young priestess picked up her sibling's tabard, and looked at the sunburst pattern with a mixture of pride and fear. As she handed it to him, and he slipped it reverently over his head, she said, "How is it you came to join the Argent Dawn? I was told that you had eked out a home in the roof of Kalimdor."
Sythius's eyebrows raised, then furrowed, as he seemed to think on this. "I felt…I must act. Drive back…darkness. Undeath is darkness. I must undo it." He did not seem to be speaking to his sister, so much as putting words to something he didn't think about consciously very often. Olrec thought, as he listened, that this man wasn't quite sure what he intended to do. Small wonder he wouldn't listen to anyone who told him his mission was impossible; he didn't know what his mission was.
Nonetheless, there was something in Sylvanne's face that told the old dwarf that she understood him. She heard something that Olrec didn't, because there was a kind of reverence, even worship, in her eyes.
She put a hand on her brother's arm. "Come, Brother. Let us see the king."
Sythius nodded, and the three of them left the room. They met three soldiers from the Stormwind Royal Guard outside the inn. They looked questioningly at Sythius, then spied Olrec and looked surprised. They saluted. "Master Olrec," one of them said. "We did not know you had arrived in the city."
"Aye. Unexpected mission. Hear told this lass's got'n audience with th' king. Mightn't I join 'er?"
"Of course. And this…gentleman?"
"Me partner," Olrec said, and Sythius flushed with pleasure at the sound of it. He grinned. "New recruit. Made quite a name fer 'imself on the field."
"If you've taken him on as a partner," one of the others, a large human man that nonetheless looked tiny compared to the druid, "he must have."
"He is my brother," said Sylvanne.
The guards seemed surprised by this. Aside from hair color, there was no real resemblance between the two siblings. Nonetheless, they inclined their heads and gestured for the three companions to follow them.
The small party marched through the city, earning no small amount of curious glances as they headed for Stormwind Keep, a huge white fortress nestled in the northeast corner of the city. The floors were covered by lavish, expansive rugs. They passed the royal library—only Sylvanne gave it a glance; Olrec had seen it before, and Sythius had no use for books. They were quick, as though on an important mission, and did not stop walking until they had reached a private council chamber behind the throne room.
The chamber was dominated by a gargantuan, heavy wood table, its mammoth legs carved into the likeness of the regal, royal lion that was the city's greatest symbol. At one end of the table, a human soldier sat; he was dressed in armor that made the trappings of the royal guards look like cheap tin, and a huge sword sat in a tooled scabbard against the back of his chair. He had chestnut-colored hair and a trimmed beard. He turned when the group entered, revealing bright, cutting, scrutinizing eyes.
"Regent-Lord Bolvar Fordragon," murmured Olrec, seeing that Sythius's attention was drawn to the man.
Sitting opposite Bolvar was a young woman, sultry and seductive, in a simple but alluring black dress that perfectly accentuated her lithe figure. She also turned to regard the new arrivals, and she also seemed to stare straight into their souls.
When Sythius set his amber gaze upon this woman, his face immediately darkened, and he began to growl low in his throat. Olrec sent an elbow into the druid's gut. "Watch yerself, elf. That's Lady Katrana Prestor. Royal councilor."
Between these two, sitting at the head of the table, was a much, much smaller figure.
A blond human boy no older than eleven smiled brightly at them, and stood up. Bolvar and Katrana stood as well. The boy-king of Stormwind opened his arms and declared, in a young but strong voice, "Welcome to my hall. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'm so grateful that you've agreed to meet with me."
Sylvanne bowed deeply, and Olrec took a knee. "The gratitude is mine, milord," the priestess said.
"A pleasure, Majesty," Olrec offered.
Sythius did not speak. Nor did he move.
He was too busy staring.
